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[WP] Your father was a turnip farmer. His father was a turnip farmer. His father was a dragon, so, like... it's diluted, but the blood is there. You can't do much, but you are pretty fun to cuddle on a cold winter's night. Also, knights keep trying to fight you and steal your horde of turnips. | “At last we meet, villain!”
I sighed as the fifth challenge this week rang out from behind me.
“In the name of the king, I, Ser Vorrick, shall vanquish thee!”
I sighed again, more loudly this time. It was the kind of sigh that sounded distinctly unnatural, the kind of sound you made when you wanted someone to know that you were not only performing the act of sighing, but also questioning their perceptive capabilities.
It hadn’t helped so far, but maybe at least one of these boneheaded knights would take the hin-
“Turn and face me, coward!”
Well, so much for that.
“Please just go away.” Given that he’d either ignored or failed to notice the sigh, it seemed unlikely spoken words would fare much better. Still, can’t blame me for trying, right?
“Preposterous! Me, turn tail and flee? I fear no man or beast! Least of all a cursed dragon spawn such as you! Now face me!”
Oh boy, this one would seem to be even thicker in the skull than usual.
“Seriously, just pack it up and leave. It’s not worth it.” I got up from the stump I’d been sitting on and started pacing back toward my cottage.
I really didn’t want to watch what was about to happen, you see.
“You dare? So be it! Taste the bite of my s-“
The knight’s words were cut short by virtue of the fact that he had stumbled over a conveniently placed turnip vine. Far too conveniently placed, in the perfect spot to snap onto a steel boot and trip it’s wearer. I heard a heavy clank as he fell to the ground, followed by a stream of invective hurled at my retreating back.
“Scoundrel! You shall pay for this humiliation! I swear it on-“
The Knight was interrupted a second time by a loud and panicked whinny from his steed, followed by an agitated cry on his own part. This time, the perpetrators responsible were the other vines of my turnip patch, curling around the intruders’ limbs, holding them faster than any rope or chains possibly could.
“What! Vile wizardry! There shall be a reckoning for-“
“Oh, shut up already.” I cut in. “You people just don’t know how to leave well enough alone, do you? Well, it’s out of my hands now. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”
The Knight didn’t say anything else. Probably because even he, dense as he was, could now hear it too. Well, not hear it so much as feel it. The rumbling sensation of the ground shaking beneath our feet, as if heralding the approach of an army on the warpath. The slowly crescendoing patter of nonexistent feet upon the floor, coming from within my domicile.
The high pitched, gibbering chatter of many eager and deranged voices, constantly drawing nearer and nearer.
The door of my cottage burst open wide, and a tide of pink and white rushed out to meet us. I closed my eyes and felt the rush of the wind created by a wave of many tiny bodies streaming past me.
A loud and highly varied series of noises rang out from behind me. The crunch of metal plate armor being ripped apart like tin foil by the inhuman strength of growing vegetation. The crack and pop of torn flesh and bone. The terrifying screams of a man being devoured alive by turnips.
Then the air fell still, and I opened my eyes.
My turnip horde stood gathered around me. Though none of them were actually standing still. Indeed, the very thought seemed utterly alien to them. Or it would be, assuming they were capable of thought. The turnips bounced up and down in their places with frenetic energy, gleefully yipping at my feet, jumping up at my trouser le-
“Hey!” The sudden burst of anger from me caused them to freeze in place. Those that had gathered near my feet drew back, giving me a wider berth.
“I thought I told you guys! No cuddling while you’re still covered in blood!”
There was a brief pause. Then, the air was filled with the sound of recalcitrant root vegetables rolling themselves in the dirt and diving into the nearby stream.
I sighed once again and headed indoors. Bouncing turnips greeted me as I stepped past the doorway, lining the walls and staircase. Excited chittering came from the basement, it’s door still lying ajar. Slowly I trudged upstairs and sat on my bed. My gaze was drawn to the open book upon my nightstand. Though I couldn’t see it right now, I knew the title by heart. Dad had insisted I learn how to read, after all.
**Secret Tome of Asthepilus the Reaper, Dragonlord of Harvestvale**
Great-granddad’s old spellbook had been a family heirloom for generations. It was pretty rare for a dragon to demand tribute in the form of good old-fashioned home cooking, but great-granddad had been quite the rare dragon. Heck, even if he’d demanded virgin sacrifices and torched the countryside on the regular the locals probably would’ve obliged just to get out of paying the king’s taxes.
I sighed again and looked at the words on the open page.
*Warning: do not attempt to cast without at least one-quarter draconic blood. Results may be unpredictable.*
I *REALLY* shouldn’t have cast that agriculture spell. | "Turnips, Turnips Turnips." I sighed to myself as I threw another one into the pot. I decided to make a simple dish for lunch today. Turnips marinated in turnip sauce with some shaved turnip as a condiment, I'd even gone as far to treat myself with a slice of Parsnip. I lit the fire under neath with the strategic placement of a match and began to stir the purple mess. The act is quite similar to meditation, and I always find myself on some train of thought. This particular stirring session I seemed to recollect the memories of my father and those before him. My Great-Grandfather had been a dragon, who somehow managed to impregnate a princess in some tower, and the following birth led to the weird conjoining of Human and Dragon, needless to saw my Great-Great-Grandmother did not survive very long after labor. Instead of becoming a gold hoarding Dragon-Man, My Great-Granddaddy decided to become a measly turnip farmer (prices were high back then). Then his son (my father) helped him out with his turnip farming venture. Thanks to the great dragon characteristics that they had inherited, they found no trouble in keeping back the irritating Knights who came to steal their precious purple plants. But me, being only 1/8th dragon, inherited nothing more than a small scaly tail, lizard eyes (which do not help with the ladies) and the ability to keep warm.
The food had finally finished cooking. I put some of the stew in a bowl, and raised it to my lips for a sip. Before the steamy liquid could enter my mouth a loud crash sounded nearby. Startled I dropped my bowl and went outside to investigate the source.
"Look at the size of this these Turnips 'ere!" Came a high pitched sound from inside the shed.
"These could feed our boys fer months." Someone said in a lower tone.
I grabbed my rusty axe and headed outside to confront these troublemakers.
Four knights (in full plate, with a long-sword in each of their scabbards) were staring into my Turnip filled shed.
"um.. Hello" I said meekly.
The four of them turned around.
"Hello there, these wouldn't happen to be your Turnips would they?" One of them asked.
"Well, actually they are..."
"Great! We'll be taking the lot then."
The other three moved into the shed and began shoving the turnips into their sacks. I moved in to stop them but the man (who seemed like their leader) stopped me.
"I would stop there and drop the axe if I were you."
I did so (knowing full well that any rash move on my part would be my demise) and watched in horror as every single little bit of Turnip was taken from my shed. They left in a cart with my horde while I sat still in utter astonishment as I realised that all of my life's work had just been taken from me.
After a few short hours of self pity, I dragged myself back into the house and managed to finish the last few bits of Turnip in the pot.
After a long and tiresome day I welcomed the embrace of sleep, and went to the marketplace the very next day. I bought as many Brussels-Sprouts as I could for planting, hoping that it would stop the Knight Incursions. No one likes Brussels-Sprouts.
​
\*Note:
I had no idea about what to do towards the end, so there you go. I decided to give this one a shot. It's my first Writing Prompt, and I hope to do more and better my writing style in the future.
| 2019-01-29T22:25:07 | 2019-01-29T21:11:27 | 65 | 18 |
[WP] A boy in a world of elemental dragons (Earth, Fire, Water, and Wind) receives a "useless" Air Dragon.
Sort of like the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender, but with dragons. | At twenty years of age, everyone receives their own dragon.
There are four types of main dragons. The most dangerous is fire, which are said to be born within volcanoes, their first sulfurous breaths igniting flames deep within their chests that will last for life. Then there is water, which wash ashore on the ocean, rising from deeper than any man dare to go, and gifted with dominance over sea. Followed by wind, which falls to the earth like twirling leaves to become the director of storms, lightning, and sound. Then earth, found at the heart of gems, that shake the very ground itself and conquer mountains. There are many other types of dragons, though many are less powerful, and none desirable.
At twenty, the dragons are given by the king to his subjects. At the height of summer, on the hottest day, he calls forth those chosen for fire. In spring, he gives water, as dew and rain coalesce into misty morning. In Fall, earth is given, as the leaves turn to rot and join the ground again. And in winter, known for its storms and biting wind, he gives wind. Each person can only bond with one dragon, and their own personal power flows from the dragon. As such, each dragon is carefully chosen to suit the person.
Especially mine.
Five years ago, the king had my father assassinated, afraid that he was hungry for the throne. It was supposed to be a secret, a killer sent in the night, made to look as if my father had died in his sleep.
But I had seen the killer. And I knew the king's secret. As rumors flew rampant, he dared not kill me, else confirm the public's suspicions.
So I waited. I waited for my own dragon, that I could train with my cold heart, raising it to be a weapon of retribution. Dragons share the emotions of their human's, so it too would be driven by vengeance.
My birthday came, and I gathered among the people waiting for their dragons. It was winter, and I heard the king speak my name.
"Jonah Walker, come forth, and receive your egg."
And so I did, taking it from his hands, the hands that would soon be crossed across his chest in a coffin beneath the earth. The shell was white, as wind dragons were, but lacked the swirls the other eggs possessed. And the shell was almost see through, so I could make out the form of the dragon within.
But when my dragon hatched, it was no wind dragon. It was an air dragon. The most useless of any.
Air dragons were nearly transparent, with no powers of their own, and simply hung in the air. They floated, with almost no substance, and even their voice could barely be heard. No one in memory had ever bonded to one. It was a waste, and I had fallen to the king's trick.
My wrath was great, and as I raged, shouting curses into the winter sky, I heard a small voice behind me. A whisper.
"Human, what angers you so?" My dragon asked.
"Because," I said, fists clenched, "Now there is no hope for revenge. How will you kill the king, *air* dragon? What powers can you give me? Shall I too grow weaker and see through just by being bonded to you?"
The dragon laughed, it's small form shimmering.
"*Air* dragon? Foolish you are, human. Is that what you think I am?"
"Of course you are. I can see right through you, and you float."
"My type is not of air," It said with disdain, "A misconception, but an understandable one. I am transparent because only a portion of me is in this world. The rest of me shared between the other worlds, foolish human. I am split, a piece of me existing in each of the hundred worlds, as you shall be. But I can choose," It said, its form growing firm and opaque, and voice thunderous, "to fully join one world with my entire entity or," It disappeared, and only a shadow of it's voice remained, "to leave a world entirely. My element is *ether*, the very fabric of the worlds, and as such I exist in all of them at once."
"How has no one discovered this?"
"It is a great secret we keep, sharing with only those we bond, and few have chosen to bond with us. Come," It said, and took my hand.
In an instant I was in another world, this one brighter than mine, with craters and mushrooms as high as trees. Then I entered another, this one dark, and another, one foggy. My dragon brought me through them all.
"Where you walk in one world," My dragon said, "You travel in another. Thus you may hop from one place, into another world, walk for a time, and return back to your home world miles away."
"I see," I said, and over the months my dragon taught me how to jump between worlds, to appear as if I teleported across long distances to those who only knew their home world.
We practiced, and we schemed.
Then on the day we planned, I left my home world, and walked many miles in a neighboring one. Then I held a knife in my hand, ready to complete my task, and popped into the king's bedroom. Unlike the last, no one would witness this assassination.
I'd be innocent. How could a boy with an *air dragon* kill a king?
****
By Leo
If you enjoyed this story, please visit /r/leoduhvinci to see my best work | Jun crinkled his nose as he cupped the scaly ball in his hand. Its body shimmered with an eerie green light. Meanwhile, it looked up at him with dull white eyes, the shade of cracked ice.
“Stupid and useless. That’s what you are,” he whispered under his breath. “Why couldn’t I get a cooler dragon? Like fire or earth. Gods, even a *water* dragon is better than air.”
The dragon huffed, blowing a puff of air at Jun’s face. It did little more than knock a few obsidian strands behind his ears.
“I’m not taking it back. You can’t fight, you can’t protect, and you can’t evenswim. What good are you exactly?”
The dragon, as if desperate to prove its worth, puffed again. That time, he summoned a slightly stronger gust. Jun raised an eyebrow and tapped his foot.
“At least you can keep a decent breeze in this awful heat,” he said, wiping his brow. “That’s something. Maybe you’re not all that useless.”
The dragon beamed, flapping its translucent wings. It let out a high-pitched squeal as it nuzzled into Jun’s hand. His owner fought a smile from creeping onto his face.
“Hey, stop it.” He pushed the dragon away with a single finger. “Don’t start thinking we’re friends just because I gave you a compliment. I’m not impressed yet.”
The air chilled, sunlight from above fading into darkness. Jun glanced up, watching slate clouds blanket the sky and blotted out the sun. A banshee shriek called as wind raced past, throwing him off balance. He fell along with dragon against the hard ground.
Streaks of lightning raced across the sky, weaving between the cracks in the clouds. Thunder followed, a bellow strong enough to shake the ground. Jun clutched onto a nearby tree before another gust sent him sprawling. A bolt of lightning struck a few feet from him.
A sheet of white descended from the cloud, dousing the sun-scorched earth. Plump droplets of rain pummeled Jun, an icy barrage stinging his once burning skin. He raised his freehand above his head, shouting one obscenity after the next. He scarcely could hear his voice over the claps of thunder.
“Holy ashes, where did this storm come from?”
All at once, the rain ceased. Then the lightning, thunder, and winds. Even the clouds dispersed, floating aimlessly in different directions as if freed from a spell. All that remained was the oppressive sun, the dragon, and a deluged Jun.
“What? What just happened?” Jun asked, wide-eyed.
He wrung his clothes, a puddle collecting around him. The ground greedily sapped it up, gaining a deep, rich brown color. He paid it no attention, the sound of his heart beating a steady tempo into his ears.
The dragon snickered, or at least as far as he could tell. Its tail swished back and forth, a mischievous glint in its eye.
“You…” Jun pointed a shaky finger at it. “You did this, didn’t you?”
He had never seen a guiltier face than on the dragon. But it didn’t back down, puffing the same gust into his face as always.
“Well, apparently I underestimated your abilities,” Jun blinked. He shivered, his rain-laden clothes freezing despite the return of the sweltering heat. “I apologize.”
The dragon responded with a nod and a small smile. Jun reciprocated the gesture, standing up. He dusted himself off the best he could before continuing.
“You know, I think I have a name for you, little guy. How do you feel about ‘Tempest?’” | 2015-07-15T19:52:33 | 2015-07-15T19:30:35 | 138 | 29 |
[WP] You have developed a machine that allows the user to spend an entire lifetime in a virtual world that only takes up 1 second of real world time.You have to operate the machine so you need a volunteer and you decide to interview him before and after the experiment. | "Ready?" I finish adhering the last of the sensors to the skin on the top of Matthew's skull, then step back to admire my work. 36 strategically placed electrical nodes. That was all it took.
"What are these supposed to do again?"
"They run the simulation, Matt. I told you this twice already. You sure that tumour isn't getting to your memory yet?"
I reached instinctively to ruffle his hair, but pulled my hand back.
Matt shifted uncomfortably. "Not quite yet."
"Don't worry about it. They run electrical impulses through your brain that suppress your muscle movements and create the illusion of sensation. So you won't be flailing around in my office, but everything will feel real."
"Oh. Okay."
I straightened the computer chords and adjusted the monitor, then met Matts eyes. "OK. One last check-in. You're sure you want to do this? You don't have to. I won't be hurt over it."
"No, I want to."
"Ok, then. Are you ready?"
Matt nodded. He closed his eyes.
I flipped the switch. One second passed. I flipped it back.
Matt looked up at me with a huge smile on his face. "That was sick!"
I grinned back at him. "What did you do?"
"I was in a band! We got a label and we were doing world tours, oh man! That was so cool! I saw so many places! Can I go again?"
"Hold on, hold on. Did everything feel okay? Are you in any discomfort right now?"
Matt shook his head. "I feel great!"
He was almost glowing. This was the happiest and healthiest he had looked in the past eight months.
We went again. This time he ran a small but charitable animal sanctuary. He told me about his dog, Buster, he had as a boy, who inspired him. He teared up telling me about the day he was put down.
The next time, he was a scientist, a pioneer in his field. He babbled to me excitedly about the new discoveries he had made about the nature of consciousness, throwing around neurological terms even I had never heard. Seeing my confusion, he only laughed and asked to go again.
I obliged.
Immediately something was different.
For a split second, every muscle tensed, his eyes were wide, mouth open, gaping, gasping for air--then he deflated and collapsed in his chair. I immediately threw the switch back down, and ran to his side.
"Matt! Matthew! Matt!" I was shaking him. His head was lowered, flopping like a rag doll. I looked at the monitor. His heart was racing impossibly fast, but at least it was still beating.
"Take me back."
His voice startled me. It was gravelly, but loud, like he himself hadn't expected it to be so strong. Tears were streaming down his face. He was taking in air in long, strained gasps, and his body shook with his sobs.
"Take me back, please. Please, Ava--I need to get back to Ava--"
"Matt, calm down. Tell me what happened. Are you hurt?"
"Please, take me back. I wasn't ready to go. Please."
He told me of Ava, the woman he loved. Matt, Ava, and her daughter Rosie lived together in a small apartment in the Midwest. They were to be married and become a family.
"Matt," I said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Even if I sent you back, there's no guarantee you'll find her again. It won't be the same."
Matt shook his head. "I don't care. I'll find her again. I'll find a way, her and Rosie. *Please.*"
So I sent him back.
And again.
And again.
The fourth time, he found her. It was earlier than the first time, and they were married by the time he was 25. But again, I pulled him out too soon. I couldn't help it, seeing what was happening to his body every time. Matt didn't care.
"Send me back."
"I can't Matt. You've had enough. Your health is precarious as it is."
"I need to go back to Ava. We weren't done."
"Matt, I think you've--"
"We had a son on the way. We were going to name him Samuel. After you."
I relented.
He went back dozens of times, and every time he wanted more. Every time he begged to be sent back.
After the seventieth time, the nodes began to smoke. Nervous, I tried to end the simulation then.
"There's more, we can have more time. We were just married that time, she didn't even have Rosie yet--"
"It's been hours. You've had plenty of time. One lifetime is it for most people, you've had dozens. Isn't that enough?"
Matt looked up at me defiantly. It was unnerving seeing a gaze like that coming from a 15 year old.
"We were a family."
"So were we. It's not real, Mattie."
"It was real to me."
I went back to the switch.
After ten more simulations, the overheated nodes began to melt, burning the weakened skin on his head and face, but still Matt wanted to continue.
He found Ava and Rosie in his middle age and they married even though it was too late for him to have a son.
He found Ava in high school. They were young sweethearts and Rosie was his own daughter.
They found each other as children and ran away together.
The next time I flipped the switch he had a seizure. But a quick drink of water and we kept going.
Fifteen after that, he could no longer speak, but every time he met my gaze and I knew what he wanted.
When he could no longer even open his eyes, I stopped. I could barely see the switch through my tears. I wanted to give him experience, not...this.
The computer beeped softly, notifying me his pulse was failing. I checked his brainwaves, and they were still active.
Disease had robbed him of this life, but I would give him as many more as he could take.
Who was I to deny my only son?
Edit: formatting & a word | Today was the day. Rick had had enough. He stood on the rooftop of his 6 story apartment building, looking down at the ground morbidly. Rick didn't believe in god. It just seemed too good to be true. His father had commited suicide when he was younger and it had left him dead inside. He didn't hope to see him on the other side, but he was tired of not seeing him here. He was tired of his personality disorder. He was tired of having to be around psychiatrists. He was tired of meds. He was tired of being lonely. He was tired of life.
Things had become so dull. Taking the pills had left him an apathetic shut-in. Without the pills he'd be back in a hospital again. The only thing his father had left him was a severe case of bipolar disorder.
"Fuck you dad," he whispered. "Fuck you for leaving."
His chest ached but no tears would come. He stepped up to the edge of the roof. His resolve wavered. He knew he couldnt do it. He hated himself. He wished someone would just push him.
"Its easier with a gun isnt it Dad?"
It began to rain.
Rick walked along the edge of the roof, balancing on the lip. There had been a time in his life when he was good at things. Everything used to come easy. Now.. now he couldnt even muster the courage to jump.
He picked up his phone and dialed his exgirlfriend. It went to voicemail. No surprise. She had been ignoring him for almost a year.
It was an automated message. He wouldnt even hear her voice one last time.
"Hi Lara. Its Rick. I wont try to talk to you anymore. I dont know why we havent talked.. I never really knew what happened.. I know you probably moved on.." Rick sighed. "Ive always loved you. Always. I hope you found someone that.." Rick sighed again. "I wish I had the courage to kiss you the last time we were alone together. I just didnt want to lose you again. I wanted to be friends, forever. I just wanted to be with you. Im happiest with you. I-"
Rick was interrupted by the automated voice.
"Sorry the voice mail box has already been full. Please-"
Rick threw his phone. It smashed after falling for a few seconds. Someone walked up to his phone, picked it up and looked up.
"Oh my god! Don't jump! I'm calling the police"
Rick ran to the other side of the roof and jumped.
"So?"
Rick, no, Nathan slowly removed his DreamGear helmet.
"Nathan?" The man snapped his fingers. "Hey."
"Sorry. I just.. dying was so.."
"Hmm. Oh yes I imagine that last bit was a little.. disorienting."
Nathan blinked, shaking his head.
"Well do you remember it all?"
"You're Leon right?" Nathan asked.
"Ah so you remember your previous life. Good. I was worried the old memories would be overwritten."
"You didnt say it would be so depressing!"
"Hey. I said the variables would be randomized. It had to feel as real as possible. The whole point of this game was total immersion."
"Fuck you Leon. This game is sick. I commited suicide Leo. I jumped off a building."
"Yes but how do you feel about your life now?"
"Well it doesnt seem so bad anymore... all my worries seem a little trivial. I mean, I definitely have it way better than Rick."
"Do you remember what I asked you the day you came into my office?"
Nathan paused. It was only yesterday but his memories still felt mixed up. "You asked why I wasnt happy, even though I have such a good life."
"Yes," Leon replied. "Well arent you happy that you have a wife at home? Arent you relieved that your Father is still in your life?"
"Yeah. I am relieved."
"So it worked didnt it?"
"Thanks Doc. I didnt know how good I had it."
Doctor Rick Leon smiled. He was finally helping people. His dream had come true. Shortly after his patient left there was a knock at the door.
"Honey?"
"Come in Lara."
"Ready for lunch?"
"Almost." He leaned over and kissed her. "Now I'm ready. Let's go." | 2016-12-04T18:22:25 | 2016-12-04T18:17:52 | 34 | 18 |
[WP] After you have died, you meet The Great One who says that you have been wronged in your previous life and, as a result, will be reincarnated with unimaginable powers. You accept the offer and you find yourself reincarnated in a fantasy world full of magic as...a slave? | [Part Four](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gorzct/wp_youre_the_apprentice_to_a_powerful_witch_and/fri75pe?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
I kept my eyes down as the procession of the Empress and all her attendants passed by. The air was as hot as an oven, without even a breeze to relieve summer's oppression, and the basalt paving stones beneath my bare feet burned my skin. But I obediently lowered myself to my knees and then to my face as my master's masters passed by, making their way up the winding road to his castle. The scalding rock would be nothing compared to my master's fury if I dishonored him.
With my right cheek pressed against the sizzling stone, I saw up the road a young mother drop some of the berries in the basket she tried to balance on her head. They rolled into the road before the procession's lead, and her small child hastily darted out to gather the precious fruits before they were trampled underfoot. She couldn't grab his arm in time to stop him.
An electrifying sensation stirred from deep within my breast, and all the rays of light beating down from the sun or reflecting off of conical helms or polished belt buckles or vicious swords and spears seemed to focus directly on the small boy desperately trying to collect the stray berries. I knew they would trample _him_ underfoot without a moment of hesitation. His mother hissed at him, torn between breaking protocol to grab him and waiting to see if he made it back in time. But I knew he wouldn't. He was dead and he didn't even realize it yet.
So I changed his fate.
I pushed all thoughts of the pain as my skin cooked upon the hot stones to the back of my head and reached out to the boy with the power that coiled like a sentient serpent in my belly. I took a breath, and I put only the thought of him making it to safety in my mind. And then I exhaled, and the power went out into the world.
The lead horse stumbled over a pebble in the road, its step faltering for just half a second. With a burst of speed, the small boy grabbed up the last berry and sprinted back to his mother, moments before the mighty horses trotted by with crushing hooves. His mother held him close, scolding him with but a look, as they bowed before the Empress.
I inhaled the stifling air, trembling as the stones seared my skin. Once the procession passed, my master's slave manager harried me and the rest of his stock, thwacking his long reed switch against the bottoms of our feet to make us rise more quickly. I hastily gathered up the sandbags I had been carrying, trying not to grimace at the burlap cloth chafed my reddened arms. We hurried back to the incomplete gladiatorial arena that my master was commissioning for the town, but I thought only of the little boy I had saved.
I was glad my powers could help him. And I was lucky that my master had not figured out that I had such tremendous power. Every time I used it was a gamble, and with every treacherous breath, I feared that I would be discovered. But I had to help people. I couldn't just do nothing if I had so much power to help others.
But I always wondered the same thing whenever I helped another person. Why, if I had so much power, could I never change my own fate? | I've lost all sense of time in this cell. All of my time is spent questioning 'why am I here, what are these creatures that hold me captive?'. What I've found out is they need something I have.. I can feel something leaving me behind and exhausted each time they tap into me. I know nothing about my past, who I am, how did I end up here? I am alone, with my thoughts, surviving. Then, one day I was able to feel my hand. I could sense the blood pumping through my veins. The hardness of my bones, the fragileness of my tendons. I practiced this 'focus' on other parts of my body, but was unable to recreate what I felt. I knew that I must escape this place. The cell they kept me in was a labyrinth. I could walk around infinitely and felt that I was making progress. It was futile. Nothing, but a dream I would have. A dream that I was fully in control of. That is when I woke up to a wonderful smell of flowers, the breeze kissing my naked body. Just as I accepted that this was no longer a dream and grasp the flower in front of me; I snap back to my cell with the flower still in my hand.
Sorry, this is my first WP and not even sure where I am going with this and curious for feedback and if I should try continuing this angle I am working on. | 2020-06-07T11:37:50 | 2020-06-07T10:15:05 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You were an embryo frozen for over 200 years, until you were finally birthed. At this point, everyone else on Earth has been genetically modified to perfection. You are the last human with flaws. | **Mortality**
*By Robert Jeffords*
Growing up, boy was that rough. Kids are cruel. Not, evil... Just cruel. They were taller, stronger and smarter than me. They all looked similar, and I stood out like a sore thumb. Making friends back then was impossible, especially at this time in the history of man.
You see, I'm quite literally, an old soul. I'm a man who belongs in a different time, these were not my people and they never would be. They never would accept me.
I was wrong, though. It seems, compassion comes prerequisite in the DNA of what the Founders thought was "the perfect genetic makeup". As I grew up, so did those cruel children.
High school was a bit rough, still. Girls didn't want to be around me because I was looked at as dirty or... odd. I wasn't. I was a perfectly normal 16 year old kid, just wishing for friends and to experience his first kiss. While it *was* a step up from elementary school, the isolation never really got better. Until the talent show.
You see, back then, I hadn't really known what I was capable of. I didn't know that the freak could be perfect at something. The foster family that took me in always encouraged me to try things, but I rarely did out of just being accustomed to defeat. It was like this weight just hanging around my neck at all times, weighing me down.
That all changed on my 16th birthday. You see, they got me a keyboard. A keyboard! It's ancient technology now, hell, it was even ancient technology 60 years ago. Didn't matter, I loved it when I saw it sitting there and I started practicing immediately.
I studied the works of *my* history. *My* generation. I looked back at the works of Elton John, John Lennon, Ray Charles, and my personal favorite, Billy Joel. Boy did I love those old Billy Joel records! I became obsessed with the golden age of music and it was all I listened to.
Long story short, I got up on stage, just me, my keyboard and about 300 butterflies. I got up there, and I brought the house down. I played a song that probably no person in that auditorium had ever heard before, and they loved it! They really reacted strongly, overwhelming me with applause and even standing up to clap for me! It was one of the best moments of my life.
You know how the story goes from there. I kept practicing the oldies. I kept sounding better and better and my singing was ever improving. I had found my passion, thanks to my loving parents.
Fast forward 15 years and I was everywhere. It was strange, even for me. Seeing such a older looking guy as the hot new celebrity. I looked about as old as my parents, if not older, yet there I was in the heart of NYC. My big ugly mug in Time Square!
At this point in my life, attention was not hard to come by. Women loved a man who looked different. They loved that I was older looking, that I had flaws and tattoos. I was like a time traveler, sent forward from a much more primitive but free thinking time. Being rich didn't hurt, either.
I never wanted the party to end. Every night, it was a new woman and a new party. I lived hard those years, and if I had the chance, I wouldn't do anything differently. Those experiences made me the man I am today. They are the same experiences that lead me to meet the woman who changed my life. My lovely Amai.
Getting married at 32 was almost unheard of! Most people needed fifty to a hundred years to make that kind of decision. Not my Amai, we fell right in love and it wasn't long before we were starting our family.
It was me, Amai, and our *perfect* two sons Jack and James. Of course, my interpretation of perfect is different than societies. We did not elect to have them genetically altered and after a long legal battle, we were vindicated. They are my legacy now.
I will soon leave this perfect world, but it will not become blemish free. You see, the world seems to have lost its way. The music of the golden ages has shown me that there are more sides to life, and ignoring them or deleting them make for a very strange cocktail.
Sure, you all don't know any better. You all never felt rejection, depression, or anxiety. You never felt ashamed, or embarrassed for things out of your control. You don't understand that these experiences grow and shape our personality. You all grew to love me in my short time here, you all loved the personality that you all did not have. You could not have.
As a society we became too afraid to face the obstacles of life. So, what did we do? We eradicated those obstacles not realizing that they shaped and changed us. They made us all unique, and gave us all perspective. I couldn't sentence my children to the poor fates you all suffer. You see, mortality isn't a curse. Mortality shapes us. It makes us passionate. It gives us purpose. It allows us to love. I hope my children forgive me some day, I sometimes question if they ever will.
Alas, my last words to you are these, do not become the aliens void of emotion that we once dreamed up and feared. The thing that breeds brilliance, passion and love is a sense of urgency. Humanity needs that back.
And with that, I wish you all farewell. It has been a beautiful life. Thank you for accepting me, and loving me.
Sincerely,
*Robert Jeffords*
| The last unedited human took nine months and ten days to finally be born. For two hundred and eighty-three days, the little team of scientists had fluttered in and out of the lab, watching her. And all that time, she was only the hum of the machine and a screen full of physiological data.
Dr. Hugo Kent was alone in the lab when it happened. It was four-forty in the morning. He did not usually work the night shift; as the project's head scientist, he made a point of setting his own schedule to *avoid* going to bed at the ass-end of dawn.
But once in a while, he had to show solidarity, and fairness, so he here was. Grumbling over the machine.
The screen recycled the little human's data every fifteen minutes, and every fifteen minutes Dr. Kent stopped to write it down on their paper ledger. The computer stored everything, backups included, but Dr. Kent preferred the old days of pen and ink and paper. Reliable records, one that a data company or bad hard drive couldn't lose.
He was bent over that sheet of paper when the machine began pinging at him, urgently. The warning indicator was red, and when Dr. Kent ratcheted his head up he saw the monitor read:
**Subject ready to emerge.**
Dr. Kent stood there for a moment, his hands on the incubator. It was massive and egg-shaped, made from a thick and gleaming chrome. The front window was glass, but it was hazy with embryonic fluid. He pressed his nose up against it, trying to see inside.
A little hand pressed up against the glass.
Dr. Kent knew he should wait for his colleagues. He should not keep this sort of memory to himself.
But he could not help himself.
He turned the hatch. The incubator unlocked with a hiss, and the fluid began draining out, glug-glugging through the floor under Dr. Kent's feet. He knew exactly where it would go. He had planned every inch of this laboratory, down to the tanks that would store the embryonic fluid to be examined later, in case there was something horribly wrong with this child.
Inside the incubator rang the high, clear wail of a baby.
Dr. Kent gripped the handle in both hands, his knuckles whitening. He tried to prepare himself. Humans in the old world had the strangest abnormalities; he had spent her whole first two months of incubation in nail-biting agony, praying she wouldn't lose or gain a chromosome.
The doctor heaved open the door.
The baby lay on a little rubbery pedestal lined with soft slats. She was glossy with fluid and screaming herself red in the face.
And she looked so blissfully normal. All ten fingers and toes. All her limbs thrashing with fervor and fear.
When he lifted her up, he saw her eyes were mismatching. They were both blue, but one had a fleck of brown discoloring it.
Dr. Kent looked around for a baby blanket and realized that all of the lovely new baby things were locked up in Duncan's office, because he had been the most enthusiastic and most insistent on picking things out. So he simply shrugged out of his lab coat and wrapped it around the little girl. He used the sleeve of it to wipe the fluid away from her face.
She was still screaming. But when Dr. Kent raised his finger to her hand, she caught it and held tight. Really looked at him for the first time.
The world's last unedited human stared up at him, as perfect as could be.
"Hello, little lovely," he murmured. "We're calling you Merryn."
The team spent most of her time in the incubator debating it. Dr. Kent hadn't realized it was the perfect name until he held her in his arms, gurgling and sucking at his index finger. It meant *complete*. And that's what she was. As whole and real and lovely as anything he had ever seen.
He kissed her forehead and murmured into her wet hair, "Welcome to the world."
***
/r/shoringupfragments | 2018-03-16T07:47:36 | 2018-03-16T07:16:35 | 2,607 | 107 |
[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. | "28 today," you say to yourself looking in the mirror. Of course you know today is your birthday today, but it also helps that while looking at the mirror you noticed the number above your head changed from the [27] you saw yesterday.
You leave to go to the liquor store to pick up some booze and celebrate. While in line you see this scrawny kid two prople ahead of you. He looks really nervous, you laugj yo youself when you figure out why as you look above his head. [17]. The kid gets to the counter, hands the clerk his "ID," who says that he better run before he calls the police. The kid scurries away.
It's always been a gift of yours to be able to see the age of people. Thanks to your gift it was pretty simple to find a job befitting of it to get out of doing some actual work. What better fit that a bouncer for a bar. Besides this gift you were also gifted with size, 6'6 and 300 lbs was another big help when applying to be a bouncer.
With your secret ability you became well known in town as THE bouncer. Sure you looked at ID's of anyone over 21, just to keep up appearences, but anyone you saw abover their head <21 you wouldn't even ask em for ID's you'd just laugh and tell them to leave.
After a nice day drinking with friends you were unfortunately scheduled to work. Luckily things are going very smooth this night, no one <21. A couple hours pass and way down the line you see [31], [33], [11], [34], and you think to yourself, "seriously, someone is trying to bring their kid into this bar? Some people." In your state there is a bery clear law disallowing children to be in a bar unless it's a bar/restaurant, which your place was most certainly not.
The line moves on and on and you get more annoyed prepping to confront this family. As they get closer you see the something is a miss. The [11] is just as tall if not taller than the other numbers you see. You can't quite see the kids face but you assume he's either a really lanky kid or he's getting a piggy back ride from daddy. You think the latter is more likely because the [11] is very close to the [34].
When the "kid" makes it to you your jaw drops. Standing in front of you was a man, dressed in sharp suit and nearly as tall as you, maybe 6'4. Above his head read [11....34].....[1134]. The silence of your stare was then broken, "You alright buddy?" You snap back to your senses, "yeah sorry about that, may I see your ID." The man gives you his ID and it clearly shows "34," you hold his ID for a while again your mind questioning what you saw. Never before have you doubted your powers, could they be off for once? Maybe the booze from earlier is still running its course, but I feel fine. Also I've never had a problem with the accuracy of my ability before when I've been drunk. Also I've read everyone elses accurately tonight as you always check ID's anyw...
"You know I'm lying about my age on there, don't you?" The man said snapping you out your train of thought. He takes his ID and goes to walk past you away from the entrance. As he passes you he whispers in your ear, "[1134] is right, meet me out back and I'll explain everything," and with that he leaves you mouth agape walking away down the alley next to the bar.
You stand there for a sec frozen by what he said until the next guy says, "buddy you alright?"
"No, sorry," and with that you page for someone to switch you out for a break. Your friend comes out and you go on your break. You go down the alleyway and popout behind the bar. Back there you see the only person there, the man in the trench coat.
"Glad you showed up."
The man steps closer to you and extends his bare hand for a handshake. You look down and nervously reach out to meet his. You grip his hand and he grips yours, only he keeps squeezing, harder, and harder. Your a big guy you're not about the be intimidated in a strength contest, and you start squeezing back. The man doesn't flinch and he begins squeeze even harder, he begins crushing your hand, it's your complete loss as you fall to your knees you hand limp yet still in this man's machine like hand. He eventually lets go and you bring your throbbing hand to your chest clutching it due to the pain of broken bones.
"What are you?" You say through gritted teeth. The man crouches down to meet your gaze.
"The name's Egan, seeing the numbers are just the start of your abilities. Why do you think you would be able to see them?"
He pauses, as if looking for a response to his rhetorical question. Obviously you don't know why you were given this power.
Breaking the silence Egan says softly, "It's because you also have the ability to take theirs. Come with me and I'll teach you to become a god among mortals."
With that Egan stands up and reaches out his left hand to you. You take it and stand up, your life changed forever. | **July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili! | 2017-09-01T22:57:39 | 2017-09-01T20:21:47 | 247 | 13 |
[WP] When you were 7, a genie granted you any superpower you wanted. Now as an adult, you've never regretted anything more. | He struggles with his words. "Umm... Um hi. My name is Rick, and I'm living with powers."
The room drones in response. "Hi Rick!" Some are enthusiastic. Most are weary. One voice crackles with electricity.
Rick's eyes dart across the room, trying to distinguish between the many attendees. "Well," he sighs. "Let's see. I met the Djinn when I was 7. I was trying to peek into a girl's bathroom when he just... appeared. He told me he would grant me one power, any power I wanted--"
Another voice in the room cuts Rick off. "We know!" He scoffs. The counselor shakes her head. "I mean, we all met the bastard..."
"Stephen, let Richard finish," the counselor pleads.
"I'm just saying!" Stephen explains, exasperated. "Everyone goes up there and tries to tell us what he looked like, what he sounded like. We all met him!"
There is an awkward pause. The counselor motions for Richard to continue. "I wanted X-Ray vision," he blurts out. "I mean, who wouldn't? Right?" He tries to gauge people's responses from their expressions, but can't. "I was stupid, okay? I was young and curious and I wanted to see through girls' clothes. And, well, I guess I can. But, you know how it goes. I don't just see through clothes. I see through flesh, and muscle. Everybody I know is a walking skeleton now. Sometimes I bump into walls not realizing that they're there. Everything's black and white and it... it gets more or less transparent the closer or farther away I am." He pauses. "My daughter was born this last Wednesday. She's... she's fucking horrifying."
"Jesus Christ," Donald remarks under his breath. He's pressed up against the ceiling, gently bobbing up and down. A young relative of his absently scrolls through her phone at her seat, holding him by a rope with her other hand like a balloon. "That's awful man."
"Thank you for sharing, Richard," the counselor says, bringing his speech to an abrupt stop. "It must have been difficult to--"
"DIFFICULT. SURE." The crackle of dry electricity snaps into the sound of words, rattling from the lipless teeth of a glowing cadaver. "NO MORE DIFFICULT THAN THE TROUBLES OF ANY BLIND MAN. MY BONES ARE JUST A CAGE FOR THE LIGHTNING NOW. EVERY DAY I LOSE MORE OF MY SKIN."
"Martin," the counselor tries to interrupt.
"HE DOESN'T BELONG HERE," he continues. A smoldering hunk of his face falls to the floor, exposing the flickering blue skull beneath. He rolls his lidless eyes. "FUCKING GRAFTS."
"Christ, Marty, it isn't a contest," a voice protests. Everyone seems to make a double-take, trying to identify the source of the sound. "We're here for support, not to play 'who made the shittiest wish.'"
"JOEL I SWEAR TO GOD, SAY SOMETHING WHEN YOU WALK IN THE DOOR."
"Hey, didn't we establish that it was a rule that the invisible people had to wear clothes?" The flying man remarks.
"Don't tell me how to live my life, balloon boy."
Edit: I did that thing where I realized I didn't read the prompt that well until after I posted, tried to make some logical edits, still kinda wonky but whatevs. | Dylan loved his dog. So when he came across a genie, he asked for the ability to talk to animals.
7 years later Dylan took his dog for a walk on an open field.
"I smell something. Let's go look for it!"
"Hey, wait! It's not nice to just make holes everywhere, Bernice."
"Aw please? I've never smelled something like this before."
"Fine. But we're putting the soil, and whatever you find back after."
"Gotcha."
"Really?"
"I promise! Man's best friend, right?"
"Haha, I guess. What is that?" A metalic click was heard as Bernice dug on. "Bernice no!"
"What?"
"Bernice, whatever you do don't lift your paw!"
"What? Why?"
"That's a land-mine."
"A what?"
"It's going to explode if you let go! I'll call the police."
A couple of minutes later Bernice's impatience showed.
"Go over to that tree. I think it's fine. You said this is old right? That it won't blow up."
"I'm not taking the chance, Bernice."
"I'm letting go soon. Go to the tree if you want."
Dylan lunges forward to try and stop Bernice, but it was too late.
Dylan woke up in the hospital. He could only see out of one eye. His best friend gone, he cries in self loathing. If only he'd not let her dig up that mine. If only he couldn't understand her, he'd have handled her better, and it wouldn't have hurt losing her this much. | 2015-03-18T00:24:45 | 2015-03-18T00:09:35 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] You are the CEO of a successful energy company. You’re invited to a business dinner, and if the deal goes well, it could revolutionize energy as we know it. Only one problem. Garlic’s in the food, utensils are silver and it’s held in an old chapel. And you’re a vampire. | "It's a chapel!" he yelled at me. "It wouldn't be too good for the company if its CEO died, would it?"
"Answer." He went silent for a few seconds.
"IT'S A DARN CHAPEL!"
"It used to be," I said. "They lose their effect over the years. For this one, hundreds. I will be fine."
"You may come out alive, but if they notice, our days are over. The deal is over. We lose everything." my advisor said in a troubled voice.
In this culture, vampires are not permitted to hold leadership positions. It is widely believed that, despite them being harmless and friendly to humans, they have an internalized desire to plan ultimate control; which of course isn't true.
"Please, just tell them you can't make it. If Wayne tells you he's not interested in the deal any longer, then so be it. We'll get better opportunities in the future... Surely." He shortly exited the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I grabbed a letter. To Wayne, CEO of Vortex Energy. I apologized for not being there, signed it, stamped it. On the way out, I also tossed it in the garbage.
I wasn't going to pass up on such an opportunity. We've been waiting for ages. We were almost at the point of desperation. We're going bankrupt. It's now or never.
I got ready, grabbed my gloves, and prepared my garlic antidote. Everyone cooks with garlic nowadays. It isn't going to protect me from the smell, but if the worst happens, at least I won't die.
I informed my staff and they got ready as well. I told them not to resist, as the decision had already been made.
We arrived early. For the home owner, uncomfortably early. But not because I'm punctual. I'm never punctual, I'm a vampire. But because I wanted to pressure them into starting the dinner as early as possible, and for this to be over with as soon as possible. If I stuck around till midnight, bad things are going to happen.
Since nothing was ready yet, Wayne insisted we go for a walk and discuss. Fantastic--this is in my favor. If I was going to sit in that rusty old building then I better make sure to be in it for as little time as possible. I can only sit in sunlight for so long as well, though, but thankfully, the sun is setting.
Our company had discovered technology that can revolutionize energy. But we don't have the finances to fund its testing or production. No one except Wayne believed in what our company had achieved. He was willing to partner with us for 2 years as we kickstart production. This was huge for us, and for me. If I could make this project work, it would be the most lucrative business. Yes, I wanted to save the planet and everything, but I also wanted to be rich.
The discussion went well. I had high hopes. But the hardest part hasn't even started yet.
After an hour or so, we are to enter the building. My bones stiffened. At this point, his team had arrived as well. I clench my fists as I step in. I really wanted to express how much I hated the building. It was painful. But I was confident I could handle it for a few hours.
We were sat around a large table; me and my team on one side, Wayne and his on the other. Of all materials, the utensils were made out of silver. I wasn't going to take off my gloves. Suddenly, he got up, pointed to another table to our left and said, "This is the vampire table. The utensils are steel, and the food will be void of any garlic. Feel free to move tables as the food will be served shortly."
"This has to be a trap," I said to myself. "There's no way this is real. He has to be testing me." A few of his team switched. Not all of them were vampires. "If I change tables, it will be extremely disrespectful at best... it's like I don't want to talk to him. He doesn't expect me to do that." I didn't have time to hesitate. This building is getting the best of me. I'm starting to sweat and my vision is blurring. If I smell garlic, I'm going to be on the floor.
"Why don't we all move to the vampire table, so we can all sit together?" I said. "After all, we can eat their food, but the opposite cannot be said."
"Very thoughtful of you," he replied after some consideration. The situation was saved.
The food was very good.
I can't exactly say I liked the man, and I definitely started to rethink whether I really wanted to partner with him. But it was the right thing to do. We went on to sign some papers, shook hands, and parted ways. He didn't find out. But as a vampire myself, I could distinguish some of his employees who were too. They must have been able to tell I was. But vampires don't snitch, right? I hope.
I sigh in relief as I leave the building, 11:44PM.
We have secured the victory. | **Red Sun**, part 1 of 2
Renewable energy.
Humans are renewable.
In the worst squalor and poverty, humans will find a way to reproduce and bring more spawns into the world. Ignorant despoilers hasting their own destruction, more civilized yet stupider than animals, able of thought yet incapable of projection.
It is torture, some would say, and they are right. It is our redemption, others would have you believe, and they too would have a point.
Tom walked the pristine corridors of the Red Sun corporation. Milky white walls and floors, well-lit rooms, multicolored plants and inner gardens, and humans hanging from the ceiling in an orderly fashion.
They slept, a chemically induced coma in which they drifted in a peaceful void, unaware of how they helped humanity through their apathy. In their arms and throats, tubes to keep them well-fed. On their chests, sensors to monitor vitals and take the necessary steps to keep the cattle living a long life. At the base of their necks, a pipe through which the scarlet liquid ran through.
Underground white storage rooms upon storage rooms, each containing a hundred destroyer-turned-provider, with only the sound of a gurgle or the bubble of a tube to break the silence. Rivulets of blood joined into greater pipelines deeper under the earth, until the red tidal wave found the equally gigantic centrifuge nested at the heart of the facility. There lies the secret. Blood is barely potent on its own, but refined and cultivated, it held a power putting oil to shame. Only a fine connoisseur like Tom could have found the formula.
He appeared one day, that strange fellow named Tom, with sickly pale skin, gaunt frame, yellowish eyes. But instead of a great reveal, an uproar and pointed fingers, nobody cared. Knocked silly by news and social media, Tom's status in the food chain was never questioned or considered. If they looked closer, they would connect the dots and understand, but they didn't try, and the few who did couldn't bring themselves to care.
Only financial interests mattered. Oil companies fought this new technology with legal and less-than-legal means, coal mines organized strikes and called for Tom's death, nuclear engineers advised to wait a decade for the technology to be proven. To no avail. Assassins found themselves outclassed by a being who was amused by a bullet to the head, strikers were offered jobs and the technology was accepted fast.
It felt disgusting, for a brief moment. Fueling you car through the blood of a fellow human, a sadistic form of slavery. Then the bill came, wonderfully low, enough to pay a vacation which was also cheap due to kerosene being replaced with refiner blood. And just like that, they loved Tom and thought the process morally alright.
Nobody cared about the monster, everyone was transfixed on their wallet.
Tom was saving the world after all, one overcrowded city at a time. Centers were installed in the poorest districts, the homeless got a taste of the wonderful artificial sleep and accepted to never wake up. Prisons were replaced with Red Sun facilities, much more Eco-friendly and productive for society. Criminals, rebellious elements, loiterers, one after the other, each and every element that was considered a drain to the planet was put into a facility to atone for their sins, joining the boards of directors and presidents of oil companies as they were drained dry.
Slowly, in plain view, civilization accepted this new state of affairs, the same way it accepted wars and genocide in foreign countries with nothing but a nod. | 2022-08-21T08:13:41 | 2022-08-21T07:33:34 | 751 | 29 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | People used to dream. Adventures and nightmares, jumbled scenes and impossible events. I remember dreaming about just talking to my friend - he's been gone a long time, but I cherish that dream. Crazy, right? People used to study dreams - when they would happen, why some people could remember dreams and others could not, why they existed at all. They don't do that anymore. Maybe they shouldn't have stopped. A couple scientists were getting close to the answer, but then the ol' nap in a gelcap came out, and they didn't have any more dreams to study. Funny how a drug perfect for people who stay up all night lost them their jobs. Ironic.
My friend told me a story once, about dreams. He said that long, long ago, back when gods and monsters wandered the earth, back before history got written down, that a great a terrible demon tormented mankind. All of the universe, really. The animals and the plants and the humans were terrified, but nobody could trap the horrible thing. Finally, humanity stepped up. They volunteered. They trapped the demon in a dream, and they each took that dream. When someone had a nightmare, it's because they were the one dreaming the demon's cage that night. All of humanity took that burden, and each generation strengthened that cage. That demon tainted minds and warped souls, but humanity pushed on. Died early. Fought wars. Stepped off bridges. Cracks in the cage, but every human on earth stepped up and filled the gaps. The perfect jail, inescapable.
Of course, nobody sleeps, now. Nobody dreams. Life goes on, work gets done, but nobody holds up their end of the bargain anymore. It took a long time - research, money, technology, oh the technology! Thousands of years before we had plastic! Ten thousand years before certain chemicals even existed! Lifetimes of following dreams. Heh. It's funny, that word. Dream. People say, "Follow your dreams!" but not every dream is a *good* dream to follow. How many people woke up with a new idea that could change the world? The guy that invented the first plow saved the world lifetimes of work, paving the way for farms that delivered more food than ever before. He got the idea from a dream. Who do you think gave him the dream?
The cage wasn't always a nightmare. Dreams *were* the cage. All of them. So the inmate talked to the jailers. It happens. A little push here, a little nudge there. But now... Now, no one dreams any more.
There's a handful left, you know. The last dreamers. The last locks on the cage. It's taken a long time, but I get to see it happen. Not much longer now. When you wake up...
I get to see my friend again. | We went from 17-hour days to full 24-hour days. We laughed, we cried, we worked. Living life to the fullest - more than we ever knew.
We went from 17-our days to 24-hor days. We misremember things sometimes, maybe make a few mistakes once in a while, we were humans after all. They said it’s a side effect.
We went from 17-hur days to 24-our days. We chose 2 work, else we think - n tginking bad, shadows bad
We went from 17-hr days to 24-ur days. We must dieS. The shadows cOMe 4 me, dey comE f0r YoU too | 2022-03-18T11:16:31 | 2022-03-18T10:41:58 | 97 | 31 |
[WP]Serial killer has been monitoring his next victim's movements for months. She is a loner and the perfect target. One day she disappears and nobody notices but him.
Man, this sub is great. Come up with an idea and you get a bunch of great stories to entertain yourself with. This is better than TV!
edit: Front Page ! Good job everyone !
edit: wow ! Top post on this great sub. Thanks everyone! | * March 17: #15 has been disposed of without complication. It seems the police have begun to piece together the connections between #1, #2, and #4. Was too sloppy in the beginning. Stupid. But what's done is done, no use worrying about it now. Will have to monitor their investigation and reevaluate at a later date. But for now, a few weeks of relaxation.
* April 3: The itch is back. Can no longer hear #15's scream as clearly in my mind. Recordings just are not the same. Time to find another. Maybe around where #7 worked, that seemed like a spot with good potential.
* April 5: No luck yet. Good targets but too much activity. Must be especially careful now, as the police are making progress. What they will call me? Will check around #11's parents' neighborhood tomorrow.
* April 9: One target with maximum potential. Mid-thirties, average build, brunette. Smells like a summer breeze. Never has any company, no association with immediate neighbors. Spends hours watering hydrangeas in her garden. Must continue reconnaissance, ensure there are no surprises.
* April 17: Confirmed target has no contact with #11's parents, good. The police have figured out that #4 worked at the same place as #9. Perhaps too risky to have done that...but #9 was worth it. So very worth it.
* April 30: Living situation optimal. Only ever leaves house to go to work, the grocery store, and the library. Avid science fiction reader. On an Asimov binge currently. Also grows fruits in the backyard. Tasty. Time to track movements more precisely.
* May 14: Two week schedule complete. Very few deviations from established norms. Barely acknowledges employees in either the grocery store or the library. Keeps head down at work. Will not be missed when gone.
* May 16: Police found #9's body. Of all the bodies to find, it had to be #9's. Knew it. Should have disposed of it more completely. But could not. Not #9.
* May 22: Can predict target's every move; reconnaissance complete. Time to perform extensive background check, make sure there are no random links for the police to find.
* May 28: Seems to be clean. Complications, however. #11's parents spoke to the police and now the neighborhood is crawling with obstacles. Will have to delay action until the presence has dissipated.
* June 6: Police have concluded that #11 is a dead-end. Precision does pay off. Target's patterns have not changed in the interim. By this time tomorrow, target will officially be #16.
* June 7: Plans on halt. #9's funeral is today. Cannot resist urge to attend. #16 will have to wait one more day.
* June 8: #16...is gone. Only left to attend #9's funeral for a matter of hours. #9 looked as beautiful as always. But #16 is gone. Car left in the driveway, hydrangeas unwatered in the garden, front door locked. Does not make sense. Must be patient. Must make sense of situation.
* June 11: Still no sign of #16. No activity around house whatsoever. Did not show up for work. No books from the library. No groceries from the store. Disappeared without a trace.
* June 18: Mystery is unbearable. Two months of flawless consistency, broken. Same day as #9's funeral, #16 disappears. Does not make sense. Can not make sense.
* June 21: No one misses #16. No one even notices the absence. As if #16 never existed at all. But #16 did exist. #16 watered hydrangeas. Hydrangeas are now dead. Where is #16?
* June 25: Should simply find another target, forget about #16. Police have given up on the case after #9's funeral. No chance of being caught unless a mistake is made. Trying to find #16 would be a mistake. But #16 was perfect. Perfect.
* June 29: Saw movement within #16's house today. Must check it out. Must figure out what happened to #16. Must solve the mystery.
-----------
"Do you really think this is going to work, Grady?"
"Have a little faith, Holt. I know how this guy thinks. He won't give up until he finds Miss Riley."
"But we moved her three weeks ago, and nothing's happened yet. Why would us coming in here change that?"
"I'll bet you twenty bucks that he's watching the house right now."
"Deal. You're gonna be out--"
Suddenly, the door slid open with a squeak. Both officers sprang to their feet, their pistols trained squarely on the intruder's head.
"Stupid. Careless. Too curious. Should never have..." the man mumbled to himself.
"Check it out, Holt. You owe me twenty bucks." | Dear sir,
I know where Jane Faitherhiggabottom is.
You know who I mean. You liked her too. Jane, she of the turtleneck, she of the soft and surplus bosom that pushed out the wool threads of her sweater. Don't pretend you didn't notice. She worked at the library, re-stocking books, stamping catalogs, giving lonely old men the awkward-silence treatment when they tried to flirt. You know who she was. You've been there.
Yeah, I'd been following her. You don't know someone until you watch them when they think they're alone. She was something of a pervert, you know? Truly. Well, you know that now. Jane brought home cheesy romances about women on pirate ships and strange castles on the coasts and Jane would touch herself to sleep, her soft moans giving way to faint snores. She went to bed early, and when she was out, she was out like a light. I know that. Yeah, I was there, the peeping tom. What of it? Binoculars were invented for a reason.
Jane had a secret. I saw. She lied on the Internet. She teased men. She set up an online dating profile, and the picture was really her, except she never had the stomach to meet anyone. She'd tease them, I'd read it, she'd tease them and lead them on and tell them that she was a stewardess or a stripper or one of those other S-worded jobs that titillate average men. But we aren't average men, are we? We were already titillated. One time she got the courage to meet one of the men but she got cold feet and drove home from the restaurant and read one of her Hercules romance novels.
Anyways, I had a routine. I was there in the morning for coffee and the newspaper. I was there at the library. Reading. I was there at night, I was there when she went to bed. I installed a key logger. I read all that smut she sent to lonely horny men. I read her lies.
One night, I saw you in your car. She didn't notice you on the other side of the street, but I did. Peeping Toms notice that sort of thing. Then one day, the routine broke. She didn't come home. Her car wasn't there. She'd just up and disappeared. I tried the key logger. She was chatting with a man named "obeofhaighe0313414." That's your username, isn't it? She finally agreed to meet. She never had the stomach to meet anyone, but she had the stomach to meet you. That killer charm of yours.
I know where Jane Faitherhiggabottom is. She's with you. She's in there. Dead, maybe. Alive, just as likely. And I'm the only one who knows you did it.
And I'm coming for her.
Sincerely,
Peeping Tom | 2014-10-21T12:21:07 | 2014-10-21T12:08:17 | 1,464 | 175 |
[WP] Charon, boatman of the river Styx, gets the last two coins he needs for what he's been saving up for since the beginning of time.
Charon always takes two coins for passage into the land of the dead. Whatever he has been saving up for, he has finally reached his goal.
Edit: Thank you, person who gave this gold! It really goes to all you writers! | Charon had served as the Underworld’s ferryman for quite some time, now. It had good pay, but it had gotten incredibly monotonous as the years went on.
He had gotten used to the howling and screaming of those who were denied passage. He had gotten used to the stench of the river which he floated over every day, and the foul taste of the air which had at first been suffocating. He had gotten used to the rocking of the boat, and the grief-stricken looks of those who had not been ready to die.
The one thing Charon never got used to, however, was how boring his job was.
His routine was simple: he docked on the side of the living; let those with payment board; dropped them off on the other side, and went back to do it all over again. He needed some excitement in his life – something that brought variety to his occupation.
True, every once in a while he had someone important come through, like a God who had come to talk to Hades, or a hero who thought he could cross the river and return a loved one to the world of the living. However, those had been few and far between, and he quickly fell back into the same old process afterwards.
So, he had decided to start saving his money. There was a marketplace just off the shore on the side of the dead, which had a variety of merchants who offered just about anything, as long as you had the money. It was there that Charon knew he would find what he was looking for – even if he didn’t even know what that was yet.
-----
It had been a particularly slow day for the ferryman, who waited patiently for passengers. He was close, though. If the next two souls actually had coins for passage, he could officially afford anything in the marketplace. Then he could go and find something worthwhile.
A new group of souls slowly materialized in the distance. Charon could make out three figures. There were two adult figures, one man and one woman. The third was a small child, who looked to be no older than five. The child appeared to be holding the woman’s hand.
As the man approached, Charon extended his open palm.
“Payment, please.”
“I-I don’t have any coins…” said the man, knowing full well what that meant.
“Those without payment cannot cross”, Charon stated flatly.
The man fell to his knees, choking on his tears. “P-please, hear me out! I was never given the opportunity to be buried, as I d-died on the field of battle… You h-have to understand!”
Charon watched as the man wept in despair. He couldn’t change the rules, and over time he had lost sympathy for souls such as this one. He turned to the woman and the child.
“Payment, please.”
The woman took a coin out of her mouth, and quickly handed it over to Charon. She motioned to the child to do the same.
“Go on, sweetie, give him your coin.”
The little boy stretched out his coin to Charon, who gently took it out of his hand.
Leaving the man sobbing on the shore, the woman and her child stepped on to the boat. Charon pocketed the two coins and started to row his way across the river.
When he touched shore on the other side, he looked over his shoulder. He didn’t see any souls that would be waiting to cross, so he had time to visit the marketplace. He let the woman and the child off the boat, and then tied it to a pole on the shore. As he was doing so, he heard the child speak to the woman.
“Mama, do you think he gets lonely?”
Charon noticed the child was pointing at him.
The woman chuckled, then picked up the little boy and carried him in her arms. “Everyone gets lonely, honey. But some people can't do anything to change that.”
The child fell silent as he looked at Charon. It was then that the ferryman knew what he wanted to buy.
-----
A few minutes later, Charon returned to the boat holding a bundle of cloth. He sat down on the dock and unraveled the blanket, looking into the great, big eyes of a newborn puppy.
With a rare smile, Charon felt a sense of joy for the first time in a long while.
| On the paddle he drove into the water with calm precision, he drew tally marks. His day would come, he knew; there was a flaw in their plan. Charon would keep count in his own quiet way.
******
The woman in her modest black dress was old and shrunken and quite dead. Caroline was sure of the last one: she'd poked to check just in case. Her mother-in-law had been an unholy terror while alive.
Now though... Caroline couldn't quite bear to hate her or even dislike her. "There, there Nona..." she said stroking her face. There were tears on her face. She brushed them away tucking away a strand of hair then fiddling with her hat and then her purse just in case anyone was watching.
Thankfully though, the tears were few. Caroline found compusure return. With it came an inspiration.
From her purse, she took out two coins then carefully lay them down upon, one on each eye. It seemed fitting - Nona had been mythic.
"Goodbye, Nona," she said, then left quickly.
*******
The skeletal man under the black cowl held out his hand and the old lady dropped two coins upon it. Charon counted them dutifully, then scratched off two tally marks more. He was done now though the completion of the task brought him no great joy.
"So, you'll be my last," he thought to himself.
It did not seem fitting, but the millennia had thought him that, in a way, it was. Life was full of incongruity, of the coming together of stories that didn't quite mesh, a beautiful, confused babble in which the certain notes were few.
"I could have been a better person, you know. I made mistakes. But don't we all?"
She spoke to the river, not him. Charon stroked on thinking his own thoughts.
"No, I am too old for the hiding. I could have been better. It is enough to say that. If I can, in this place, I will try again. "
But they were pure and strong and sweet.
He slid two coins into the Styx and with them his empty plans.
He had seen enough compassion to know hate futile. He had perhaps known that for a very long time.
He would seek no revenge; he moved on.
| 2014-10-29T20:05:27 | 2014-10-29T18:06:15 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper himself walks into your weapons shop. He explains that he is not here to take your life, in fact you have many years left. He has actually come to purchase a new weapon, as the scythe was getting a little boring for him. | “It gets a little dull you know, taking people’s lives with a swing of this rusty old scythe. Sure it’s thousands of years old and deserves praise for a job well done, but I’m beginning to get a little bored of the process, always have to get into close range to do the deed, there’s actually very little room for creativity.”
Years ago I started dealing in arms and had built quite a solid reputation for myself - highest quality customised weapons with impeccable service. My clients ranged from firearms enthusiasts all the way up to elite special forces, entire governments even. But I didn’t expect a visit from the grim reaper in my flagship store.
I was still in shock at the tall hooded figure as he waived his scythe around my head mimicking how he would take a life. But anyways, business is business and customer is king, regardless of whether they are military, contractors or death himself.
“Uh..., ok sir, I see you are looking for an upgrade... If you like bladed weapons we have an assortment of the best Japanese steel over in the classical selection, in fact we’ve just inventoried one of the finest samurai swords in the world”
The grim reaper frowned and looked a little disappointed. “To be honest, I’ve had centuries of swinging and hacking. Like I said, I’m bored of it - I’m looking for something a little different, can you show me some other tools of the trade?”
I was a little apprehensive, but the idea of offering death something a little more contemporary came to me.
“Understood sir, how about something that’s always a popular choice for our clients, the glock 9 mm? It’s light, has a decent capacity and is very compact. In fact you could probably carry many in your robe.”
I pulled out the latest model out of the glass case and handed it to the grim reaper, and I could see that he expressed some interest, almost a little sparkle in his hollow eyes. He picked it up and inspected it carefully, leaving his dark scythe on the counter
“Ah, thank you, I’ve always been curious about these. But it feels a little light and I like my tools heavy. It’s a heavy business, you know. Do you have something a bit more punchy?”
The reaper handed the pistol back to me, his large skeletal hands dwarfing the grip. Punchy, huh? I had an idea.
“Sir, if you want more bang for your buck, may I suggest our line of shotguns? We’ve got all gauges and rounds” I said as I took him to the shotgun section.
Death took one look at the line on offer, but didn’t seem interested, not even at the newest Italian varieties which were limited edition. I could see the black vapour swirl around his robes, a sign of impatience perhaps.
“That would be punchy, true, but it’s too loud and I would still need to be relatively close. Do you have something with a little more finesse, precision tools perhaps?”
Knowing I needed to satisfy him fast, my thoughts raced through the latest deliveries I had memorised. Another idea hit me.
“Sir, may I interest you in our sniper rifles section? We’ve supplied a number of world record holders already. If you like range, you’ve got it. We use the best optics in the world and you can select what you prefer, whether it be extreme range, NV or IR, we have it all. You’d need to be skilled and creative to make the best shots, but this seems like a challenge you’d want. We can even throw in a silencer if you like to work quietly.”
The grim reaper floated eerily around to look at me, and i swear I could almost see a smile under the hood.
I showed him the entire line and he carefully picked all of his accessories. By the end of the hour he had the worlds finest ranged rifle, nothing like I had sold any customer before.
“Excellent suggestion, and thank you for the service.” He said in his chilling voice. “How much do I owe you for my latest tool?”
I figured that such a customer deserves some preferential treatment. In fact, I had already offered a special discount on his ammunition supply knowing that even a small margin would net me countless billions.
“Sir, it’s been my privilege to serve someone like you. Let’s say you can have the rifles and all accessories on the house, as a courtesy from one professional to the other”
Death gave out a small chuckle, apparently amused at my comment.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want for this?”
I smiled back and jokingly said “nothing sir, unless it’s something impossible like immortality”
Another strange look from the reaper, and another smile.
“Done.” The grim reaper said, as he walked out the door, rifle in hand.
| I sat there, as he lay in his bed, the doctors said he hasn't much time left but I already knew that.
&#x200B;
I started seeing him when I turned 5, at first I didn't know who or what it was, but with time, it all came together. When someone's time came, he would start walking alongside them, and a few days later, they both would disappear from this world.
&#x200B;
My pops, a blacksmith, used to tell me stories about a customer who would always come about and share his ventures with him, laugh and drink with him once every few years. A customer of peculiar taste in weapons, one who only ever placed one order throughout my dad's career, but he was proud of receiving the task.
Today, this customer, or how many like to refer to him as the grim reaper, stood next to my pops, his expression, sullen. I do not know as to how I can even distinguish that when there's no face to be seen under that hood of his, but just darkness.
I sat there, as he stood next to my dad, both of us watching him lay in his bed at this hospital.
&#x200B;
It's been 3 weeks since my pops passed away. I took over his business as a smith and running his weapons shop. I stood at the counter waiting for the next customer to come by and then one walked in."How may i be of service, sir?" I ask.
"No matter how many times, the nostalgic feeling always comes back" replies the gentleman as he looks through the weapons made by pops hanging off the walls.
He takes some time, which looks like him reminiscing, while browsing through the weapons and then makes his way to the counter, sets down his scythe along with an outfit and, "This weapon and outfit too have done their time, and have served me well." he says. "Would you be kind enough to make me a new set?" asks the gentleman.
"A new scythe and robe?" I ask. "Well, I never had any preferences when it came to the weapons and the outfit, this is what your Father chose for me saying it suit my profession." replied the grim reaper.
&#x200B;
A week is what it took me to finish the order and as I stand at the counter, he walks in.
"Good afternoon sir. The order is ready" I claim. He takes his equipment, changes into it and asks, "so, what am I supposed to be this generation around?" asks the angel of death as he tucks away his long sword on the back of his shining black armor.
&#x200B;
English isn't my strong suit so I apologize for bad vocabulary, grammatical errors, and/or wrong punctuation.
&#x200B;
EDIT: Corrections to grammar. | 2018-12-27T19:17:01 | 2018-12-27T17:20:24 | 124 | 46 |
[WP] You are cursed to see people how they view themselves. You walk alongside monsters and Gods.
Can be third person instead of first.
Edit: I just thought of how EDs and other disorders like multiple personality would fit in with this, and now I'm kinda blown away. | I ducked into the coffee shop at the end of my street, glad the clouds were gathering overhead. The promise of rain kept some of the normal crowd inside their homes. It was easier to breath and act naturally when not completely surrounded by people bathed in their pride and problems.
Claire smiled brightly from behind the counter as I caught her attention, a mousy brunette who's face constantly changed.
Months ago when I had first moved here, shortly after receiving the 'gift', she had a pelican's beak sticking out from her face. Her worries must have shifted, because around the time she bagan recalling my usual order and name, her hair stood out as if she had braced herself against an electric fence. It had been hard not to smile as we held light conversations, hair sticking every which way.
Today though, her face and body looked fairly nutral, pleasant, normal smile. Her shoulders were not broad and bullish as they had been the week before. No, today as she pulled a large cup from the counter and began pumping different syrups, the only thing put of place was a large, throbbing bump on her forhead. It pulsated and glowed, covered slightly by her makeup. I pulled my wallet from my purse as I watched her, doing my best to seem casual, and wondered why in the world she would be worried about something as small as a zit.
I traded my card for my drink, and sighed inwardly as a group from the nearby campus swarmed in, all glowing, all smiling widely. I wished I would have a moment to talk with Claire, we had been slowly becoming friends, but with just her and a woman who looked to stand over eight feet tall to me behind the counter, I didn't want to bother her during a rush.
I collected my card and moved to the side towards an empty stool. As I sat I glanced over to the group from time to time as they odered and took their seats. They all seemed to hover around the main woman, and without knowing her, I could not blame them in the slightest. Her skin looked to be liquid glass, but her clothing read to my eyes like heavy steel armor. She was so sure of every motion, everything about her seemed so planned. I looked back towards the window and sipped my now cooling drink, wondering about the significance of that. Glass skin protected by armor?
I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through Reddit, wondering what new ideas may have been posted on /r/writingprompts. I got halfway through a thread before a light caught my attention from the other side of the small, warmly lit shop. The glass girl stood laughing with her friends, all of them leaving their trash behind for poor Claire.
I sighed angrily and tapped my foot impatiently as they headed towards the door. Claire was normally off by 3, and it was already half past. Another after class rush would be swarming in soon, monsters, translucent beings, ancients and gods.
They hurried out the door, and I stood to walk towards the others table, past a gargoyle and a zombie, when the glass girl came rushing back in. She yelled over her shoulder that she would catch up and I stopped awkwardly. I was saved by a small rack of books and began picking through. I watched as carefully as possible as the glass girl began clearing her groups trash, but what really held my attention, was her armor fading slowly.
Shining metal dulled and withered, flaking off and falling out of being. Her skin followed, slowly losing its cold shine. It didn't take long before the girl dumping a tray of trash in the large trash basin had turned from a warrior of ice and metal to someone much more sure of themselves than I was used to. Nothing about her made me believe what I was seeing was anything but the truth. She stood straight and proudly, hair falling halfway down her back, a chain connecting her nose ring to one of her many ear piercings. I wondered how this tied to the glass statue that had been sitting in this room minuets before. I looked down to the book I had picked up without realizing and paced back towards my table as the zombie opened and email and bagan healing. I hope he had received good news.
I sat and began leafing through the delicate pages as Claire took another hoard of things head on, a woman who's skin leaked fire loudly complained that Claire was trying to cheat her, how her cup was more whip cream than coffee.
As the crowd died, Claire's relief rushed in, angel wings sticking from her back and halo balanced over her head, proclaiming that she was sorry Claire got called in for a double but was glad to cover, even on her day off. I rolled my eyes, she thought pretty highly for herself for just five hours of her time.
Claire looked torn to pieces now, the blemish on her forhead burning brighter, her hair puffing up further than ever. I worried about her in silence.
She punched out and rounded the corner towards the main three tables with two coffees, shaking more than ever. Realization began dawning on me as the glass girl stood to meet her.
The glass girl looked quickly over her shoulder, her armor flashing back for a second as the door opened behind her. She looked away from the to trash bags that rolled into the shop together and gave Claire a shy kiss.
I couldn't help but flush slightly as I gathered my things and headed towards the door. I placed the book back in its slot and stole one last glance at the pair. Claire's zit continued pulsating until I overheard the glass girl speak softly, "You are so much prettier in person."
Claire's blemish began shrinking and she took on a full body glow as I Turned and reached for the door. I was happy for her, she never thought she was good enough. I hoped glass girl makes Claire happy. She's always so busy she deserves it more than anyone.
I sat at the bus stop and waited patiently before creeping sadness inched it's way into my brain. Poor glass girl, so scared she hid herself so completely from her friends. I wonder how v they would react if they knew? I hoped she wouldn't waste any more of this part of her life in hiding.
(Sorry everyone, on my phone, sleeping meds have kicked in, and my first try on top of that. Fingers crossed it gets burried.) | The most interesting thing about seeing people in the way they see themselves is the fact that it's spread to the extremes. About half of see themselves as gods and the other half see themselves as monsters. Every now and then you will see a unicorn or pegasus, but that's normally the people who are broken, or insane. The second most interesting things is that people don't change. Never in my whole time have I met someone as a monster then see them again as a god, not until recently. This man intrigued me. When I first saw him I did not see a monster nor did I see a god. I saw a man. Out of everyone in the world I saw the only person who had a grasp on who they were, or so I thought. Being obsessive in nature I wanted to learn more about this man. I followed him around and learned his name. I knew where he worked and what he did with his free time, but I never watched him while he was working or relaxing. He would go into a bar and I would be too scared to follow him in, less he discover me. No I watched him from afar for about a month. Just seeing him walk to his job, then walk home or to get a drink. I took me a months to build up the courage to get close to him. I need to understand why he sees himself as he is. I applied to his work place and got hired as a secretary. It's a very people intense job but I can cope, and from there I could watch him closer and find out more about him. it was a Tuesday, the office wanted coffee so me and a few other people went out to get some. I made sure I got to deliver his coffee. Walking up to his office door I could feel my heart pounding. I had no connection with him, this would be first contact. When I walked in I nearly dropped the coffee. There, sitting in his chair at his desk was the devil himself. He was facing away from me but I could clearly make out the horns on his head. Shaking I managed to put his coffee down on the desk. I've seen monsters and I've seen gods but I've never seen anything this cruel and hideous. He hear me set down the coffee and turned his chair around. What scared me the most at this point was not his face, which was still his, or the fact that he had eyes that showed hell itself. No it was the fact that he then changed back into himself. The man I had see from far away for a month was now in front of me. That shouldn't happen and that shouldn't be possible. At this point my instincts are telling me to run, but I work here and must be professional. I told him that we got his coffee and was about to leave when he asked me to sit down. He then asked me what was wrong and if anything was troubling me. He must had smelled the fear in my eyes. I told him I had drank too much coffee and just had the jitters. I just wanted to leave. After he told me to lay off the coffee then and get better I left. The thing about the world I live in, my world, was that there are rules. All people obey the rules, you don't see yourself as you truly are, you don't see yourself as one part one thing and one part another, and you don't change. But here was a man defying them. When you live in a world for so long and grow accustom to its rules the things that don't follow them the things that make you question yourself become the most scary things in the world. Anything that demands change in the structure of your universe scares you, and the only comfort you have is in accepting the world view that you have, but it is not the moments in which we can easily accept the world we live in that we find out who we are. No it's in the moments in which everything we know is questioned an all the rules are broken, it's in those moments in which we find out who we are and what we mean, it's in those moments that we will feel the weight of the world on us and those moments that we must carry on. Running isn't the answer nor is hiding. We must face the monsters and gods in our lives. We must abandon the delusions we have of the world and accept who we are. I knew that man. He was the priest of my childhood home, he was the man that killed my mother. | 2016-09-16T21:36:45 | 2016-09-16T19:42:15 | 70 | 11 |
[WP] Every child is given a pet rock when they turn ten. For the next decade the rock slowly forms into a shape that resembles the personality of its owner. Your rock still looks like a rock. | I've got a story, it's certainly not an amazing story but I've been waiting a lifetime to tell it.
What nearly seems like an eternity ago to me now I followed the beaten track, going with my family as all my friends and relatives had before, to the shores of what we, sorry, I know was once a great lake but now sat as a mere crater amidst the chaotic landscape of death and dispair.
As had been the way for generations before my family escorted me to the shore and bid me to wade out and find my stone, I did as I was told, but as I sauntered through the water no one stone stood out, I'd been told a hundred times by my Aunt's and Uncles and poor old Grandpa Lou
" Linda dear you'll know when you find it as I did before"
He raised his striped turquoise to my face as 100 times before
" I waded the shore for not a minute before a simple stone stood out to me and as I plucked it from its rest I found not but some gravel but my beauty, the perfect pair for your grandmothers"
He trailed off absent mindedly rubbing at the groove that was now but a reminder of the stone that once matched it to perfection.
But this is not his story, this is mine let's not get lost in the details, as I stumbled and fondled at this point determined to find my stone, grasping every rock below the surface just waiting to feel something, anything different.
An hour went by, then two, then the third came and went by and with it my hopes, perhaps it was not to be, perhaps there was no stone for me but still my family stood and stared from the bank.
Defeated by the waves of emotion as much as those of the lake I gave it one last go, grabbing the two nearest rocks both plain as every other stone in the lake, I held them in front of my away from the prying eyes of my family but there was no amazing transformation, no sudden shine of brilliance just a pair of small, grey stones.
Defeated finally I dropped a stone and raised myself a smile, a mask of happiness to avoid my families glares, but now I almost miss them.
I miss the water, I miss the people, I miss... Everything.
But as I walked home with my special stone I thought not of the crumbling of my grandma's turquoise or of the fantastic coulours of my parents matching opals I thought simply of the disappointment and shame of having this, not a diamond or even am amber, hell petrified wood would be more satisfying than this...
Thinking back I miss seeing all my friends sharing their gems even Jake who came back with coal, but there I was with my grey hunk of junk, even if I wasn't brave enough to show it off, I wish I had.
As the years went by it was the usual old cycle, even the diamonds grew cracked and faded, but there I was sitting alone, working as I always had, with my boring old stone, same as ever not a scratch or a dint.
It took until my 40th birthday for me to truely grasp my curse, alone again after my parents had passed my 40th birthday was the day I died.
Well the first day I tried to anyway, after 40 years of seeing everyone find their stone a match and their soul a mate I couldn't bare it any more, I took to the roof of my apartment complex in the night, drunkenly yelling at the grey blur that had bought nothing but despair into my heart, I took all the strength I had left hurling my rock to the pavement below and shortly thereafter casting myself down the same path.
I awoke on the flagstone, as drunk as I was confused had I not just fallen 8 flights? But there it was, a small crater in the nearby bitumen had become the house to my simple stone, as unblemished as it sits today.
But why am I writing this now, why take so long to note this all down?
These last few hundred years have been lonely and I had long since lost hope of ever seeing a human again on this wreck of a place that a thousand years ago we called earth.
But today as I wandered the barren soil where streets used to be tossing my stone from hand to hand and questioned how long before the last bricks would fade to ash I had the most unexpected encounter, behind what had once been a skyscraper a single solitary grey stone rolled into veiw | Ugh. My mom’s forcing me to the festival tonight, the Coming Of Age Stone, she’s been going on and on about how “important” and “special” that I was finally becoming a “young woman”.
My younger sisters and I went to our assigned seats in the car, Elijah asking when she’d get her rock and why she couldn’t get one now. Anaya smiled and jumped excitedly screaming about how her big sister was getting a rock.
“Hanna, please look a little happy, this is a big moment!” I grunted, “It doesn’t matter, Dad’s not even coming to see...” She glared at me, I could tell she wanted to reply but she held her words. We drove along until finally reaching the festival there were little carts and rides, I mean, it is a festival. My mother walked me to the sign up booth were I saw my teacher, Mrs. Lavender, she smiled at me. “Hannah! Aren’t you excited getting a rock is truly one of the most magical moments in a young girls life! C’mon dear, I’ll show you where to go.” She held my hand as my mom took Elijah and Anaya to go play one of those bottle toss games.
Mrs. Lavender placed me next to all the other kids on a elevated platform. She whispered to the man on stage and he smiled and grabbed his microphone, calling the attention of the festival goers. “Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now time for the Rock Ceremony!” I rolled my eyes, as Mrs.Lavender came down the line handing each child a rock, first a girl, then a boy and then she reached me.
“Hannah Burns, here is your rock!” It was a small, slightly polished and had a hue of midnight blue. It wasn’t jagged or cracked, it wasn’t huge like Stephanie’s or tiny like Tad’s.
————————————
About a couple years later, after I turned 15, the rock started losing its luster and it’s midnight hue and it remained small and smooth. I would look at often when I should be reading my class materials or studying for a biology test. I would roll it around my bed, praying it would suddenly become magnificent or veins of gold would pump through it. It never changed, I would wait and stare at it throughout summers and falls. I would look away and pretend it didn’t matter and it didn’t say anything about me.
But it did, just like my mom said. It never changed, just like me. | 2018-05-02T05:12:59 | 2018-05-02T04:18:24 | 37 | 26 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | EDIT: Now with part 2, and one minor edit at the end of part 1!
*
*We thought ourselves masters of the game of war. We were wrong.*
It started the same as any other: observation.
A resource-seeker - known to the public only by her employee identification of E-0001229-AZ - observed a system through a starscope for approximately twenty-two short cycles. The system possessed eight true planets and a multitude of failed planets. Two asteroid fields were flagged during observation, both of which were classed with the rare Class-8 deposit rating. They alone gave E-0001229-AZ cause to tag the system for future mineral exploitation.
However, the presence of a planet with atmospheric conditions reading as *habitable* by her instruments, caused EO-0001229-AZ to flag the system for further review by a specialist.
Three light-cycles later, World Specialist AT-1121092-II reviewed the data collected by EO-0001229-AZ. She concluded the flag for review appropriate and requested an observation drone be sent to the *habitable* planet, logged from then on as T-141/a54 HABITWLRD.
An observation drone was prepared and launched seven light-cycles, later, and began its seventy-four world-cycle journey to T-141/a54 HABITWLRD. Both resource-seeker EO-0001229-AZ and World Specialist AT-1121092-II would recycle from natural causes before the drone reached its destination.
*
The drone arrived at the target system on Imperial Date 22102.27, First of Progenitor.
It conducted its assigned mission as designed: analyzing the failed worlds of the system's outer rim, moving ever inward toward the *habitable* world of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD. It confirmed the abundance of resources available throughout the system's asteroid fields, and, in a surprise, noted several moons with frozen water ripe for harvest and filtration.
Once it reached T-141/a54 HABITWLRD, it again confirmed earlier information. The planet's conditions were well within Imperial requirements for colonization. The drone tagged the planet's oceans, vast and - comparatively - shallow as the world's most promising feature; billions of tons of food could be provided each world-cycle.
The drone also observed a native population.
They were an organic race, as all Imperial races were. Two arms. Two legs. Two eyes. Similar enough in appearance that they could be incorporated into the existing lesser populace with little difficulty. And also primitive. The drone detected no radio frequencies and observed a distinct lack of technology among the population; not even aircraft or widespread electricity was seen in use.
With its mission fulfilled, the drone sent its information back to the station from which it launched via point-to-point entanglement, then self-destructed.
*
The drone's information reached the desk of the Chief of Colonization a mere two light-cycles after the drone self-destructed; point-to-point entanglement was far faster than light, but only in a non-physical manner.
The Chief of Colonization reviewed the information, concluded T-141/a54 HABITWLRD was worth colonizing and drafted a standard Annexation proposal, one of seven he would draft and send to the War Department that light-cycle.
The War Department approved all seven Annexation proposals and put together the required Legions to see them through. Given that no Annexation targets were space-capable, the War Department assigned ten Legions to each target along with a single drone ship as support. To T-141/a54 HABITWLRD, they sent thrice this number; its people were more numerous than the others, and as such would need a greater show of strength to force a surrender-on-sight, as was the Imperial war doctrine.
Two moon-cycles after the proposal was accepted, six of seven Annexation task forces were locked into cold-sleep and sent to their target worlds. The task force that was to take T-141/a54 HABITWLRD left one moon-cycle later than the others, on account of its greater numbers.
They arrived at T-141/a54 HABITWLRD after the other Annexation forces had already taken their target worlds.
There are historic records with voice logs sent to the T-141/a54 HABITWLRD task force from other task force commanders via point-to-point entanglement communications, light-cycles before any task force set off. Many of the recordings are humorous or mocking in nature; Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD was seen as unnecessarily large, and put together to protect an unknown commander's ego.
These archived communications are, in the modern-cycle, not looked upon with amusement.
*
Immediately upon arrival, Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD reported alarming developments.
Its sensors were picking up radio signals. Radio signals, and numerous other electronic signals; some of them nearly as advanced as the rare Imperial protectorates allowed to develop themselves.
Observation drones sent back images of a far-more numerous native population than anticipated. Species were generally projected to double in numbers every hundred to one hundred fifty world-cycles.
T-141/a54 HABITWLRD had more than *quadrupled* in the seventy-four world cycles since initial observation. And they had advanced. They had thousands of satellites in orbit of their world, and dozens in other parts of the system. An internet was detected; a technological development that had only been seen in Imperial space. And it was an advanced network for a single world, filled with trillions of pages of information. Much of this information was useless to the Task Force, but they were able to research what to expect from this rapidly-developed world.
What they found was disturbing.
In seventy-four world-cycles, the natives of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD had not only established wide-spread use of electricity, but they had also discovered radio, aviation, efficient methods of production, jet and rocket technology, their internet network, and the early stages of fabrication.
They also didn't know war.
Conflict was a show. A dance meant to intimidate. Scare away. Frighten. The greatest military leaders were those who know the dance so well, they never inflicted a casualty. This was true among not only Imperial forces, but every race that had been Annexed.
The natives of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD did not view war in this way.
They viewed war as a slaughter.
Their internet was flooded with violence. Images of death and games of death. Jokes of death. Their militaries were built to *kill*, not dance. Hundreds of millions of their people had perished in conflicts just in the previous seventy-four world-cycles, and millions more were under constant threat of extreme violence.
Worst of all, they had *it*. The foundation-splitter. A weapon known only in theory to Imperial scientists.
Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD held their position and sent a request to return home, and a recommendation to avoid T-141/a54 HABITWLRD at all costs. It took four light-cycles for them to receive a go-ahead to carry out this order of operation.
Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD immediately began preparations to leave. The commanders sent their soldiers back to cold-sleep. Technicians called observation drones back to their berths and secured them for transit.
At some point in this operation, it was realized one drone was missing.
A frantic investigation was launched, and quickly came to a frightening conclusion.
The natives of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD had hacked a drone. And through that drone, the natives had gained temporary access to a shared database containing a number of sensitive files.
Including the Task Force's Annexation orders.
The Task Force immediately commenced a retreat forty-seven short-cycles earlier than their expected departure, sacrificing non-critical systems in order to accelerate their operations.
Before they left, and just as they cut the Task Force's link to the drone, they received a message from the natives that would not be translated until a much later date.
*We see you.* | My little strike team and I tried not to laugh at how absolutely ridiculous the alien battleship in front of us looked as it slowly floated closer towards Earth’s orbit.
“So, this is the warship that destroyed those human colonies on Mars...” I thought out loud as I stared at this ridiculous hunk of bright yellow metal with all sorts of colorful structures sticking out of it. It looked like something that a child would draw up from their imagination, except it was very real, and full of aliens who were ready to invade Earth.
“Commander, are those things on its deck supposed to be cannons...?” My co-pilot pointed at a large coiled tube sticking out of the ship’s deck. “Also, why is it yellow? What kind of idiot paints a warship yellow?”
“That’s a great question, McBride...” I chuckled a little. “Alright, guys, let’s compose ourselves,” I spoke into my helmet radio, “I know that thing looks hella wacky, but it’s still big enough to wipe out an area the size of Los Angeles, so let’s go and blow it up before the boomers in the Pentagon start panicking. Dixie, I want you to buzz the bridge and try to wipe out the alien commander. Angel, I want you to bomb the shit outta the weird red pipes on the underside of this ship. I’m fairly certain those are supposed to be fuel lines. Sakura, I want you to use your fighter’s anti personnel cannons on any aliens with guns lounging on the main deck,” I gave orders to all of my teammates.
“I can take care of the captain for ya, but I don’t know which structure on the ship that’d be...” Dixie replied, confused.
“I think the bridge is the bright pink lollipop-looking thing in the middle of the deck,” I told him.
“Oh, I gotcha,” he laughed.
“Does anyone else have any other questions before we go?” I asked the rest of my squad.
“I’m all good here, commander,” Angel spoke up.
“As am I. Shall we proceed with the attack?” Sakura asked me.
“Yes, we shall. Good luck, guys. I’ve been told that the rate of fire on this thing’s defenses is super slow, but, like, try not to die anyway.”
“Let’s git ‘er done, y’all!!” I heard Dixie holler over the radio as he turned on the jets of his fighter and flew straight towards the bridge.
“Look at him go,” McBride was just as in awe as I was. “Let’s go, commander. I don’t want him to steal all our kills.”
“Man the guns, McBride. I’ll get us close to the main deck,” I told my co-pilot as I began our first attack run. I could see the aliens that looked suspiciously like medieval knights below us start screaming and breaking their linear formations as McBride and I started mowing down them by the dozens from our fighter. Their ridiculously complicated weapons were far too slow to properly defend against my team’s fast and relentless attacks.
“Commander, the bridge is comin’ down! You needa pull up before it falls on ya!” Dixie called out over the radio as I watched the lollipop-shaped structure to my left start to collapse in on itself. I quickly maneuvered my fighter to safety just in the nick of time as the remains of the bridge exploded behind my fighter in a spectacular green fireball.
“LET’S GO, BABY!!” I fist-pumped as I watched the rest of the ship start to break in half after the main deck had been bombed to hell by Sakura and I.
“Commander, I am pulling out! There is not much more left to destroy!” Sakura informed me over the radio. “We did a great job, did we not?!”
“Hell yeah, we did! I really gotta thank your officers in Japan for letting you join us when we get back to Earth!” I flew up alongside her, giving her a thumbs-up. I could see her smile and blush a little under her helmet.
“Fuel lines are down, commander. I think we can leave now,” Angel calmly spoke up as she joined up with me on my left side as we all saw the giant warship explode into little metal bits one last time.
“We got ‘em real good, commander!” Dixie laughed as he joined the formation.
“We sure as hell did, Dixie. I‘ll definitely be buying drinks for you all once we get back to Fort Freedom,” I grinned as my squad turned our fighters back towards our base on Earth.
Once we got back to our home base on the east coast of the continental US, I was quickly summoned to a meeting in the White House with the President of the United States, and the head of the US Space Force.
“Commander Storm, you’ve just saved the world,” the President greeted me with a smile as I entered the Oval Office. “You’ve done the whole planet a huge service, the biggest service I’ve ever seen.”
“Mister President, if I may ask, what do you mean?” I asked him, sitting in front of his desk.
“The huge warship you destroyed contained the entire military of the Trandalian race,” the Space Force chief explained to me.
“No, really? Their *entire* military?” I had to ask.
“Yes, their entire military. Apparently, the Trandalians follow a philosophy where intimidation alone is used as a weapon,” he replied.
“Wow, what a stupid philosophy. Don’t they know that’s not how war works?” The president spoke up. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was thinking the same thing.
“Maybe to us, but to be fair, we are dealing with aliens. Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore, since the commander here wiped them all out,” the chief looked at me. “You and your team are heroes, kid. Let them know that you and them will be receiving medals soon.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you,” I replied. “May I go and tell them now?”
“Sure you can. Go and celebrate your victory,” the president gave me permission to go. “Humanity will remember what you’ve done. Or, at the very least, America will.”
“Thank you, Mister President.” I grinned as I left his office. | 2020-03-21T10:44:51 | 2020-03-21T09:57:35 | 634 | 18 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | >*"I was in third grade when my powers activated. The stress of my family moving, my sixth grade bully, and my abusive home life... I just wanted to be left alone, I wanted it to stop. To my young third grade surprise it did. Birds midair and flap, cars motionless, even the waves of the ocean stuck in place like a picture, the sky a shifting red miasma. No one could explain their luck around me: finding a lost wedding ring, a narrowly missed car, me catching a teetering X-BOX during a particularly fun game of Halo... I'm from a family of immigrants so we bounced around from Long Beach to Tijuana and back constantly, until highschool when Cerebro found me.*
>*I was wrongly classified as a "mass teleporter" with the restriction it has to be within line-of-sight and about my own weight...a misconception I allowed to persist for obvious reasons. You ever try moving Colossus? Yeah, ain't happening. Once the secret of the X-Men was revealed I was given the code name: Freight. Beast was the first to surmise something was different about me, but a "oh, my powers must've mutated further" quickly threw him off my trail. Steering clear of Mimic and Rogue was a whole 'nother can of worms, I was dangerous enough and I didn't need imposters messing up my timeline. The only people that know about me, the real me, is Charles Xavier and Sage, both of whom have been sworn to secrecy...one as a secret between good friends and the other as an overly calculated agreement based upon not wanting to be on my bad side. Eventually I learned the red sky was actually the threads of all reality in a form I could comprehend, infinite possibilities, time, and space...all held motionless by me. Despite the cold winters of New York I still found ways to help people...the Fantastic Four, the Avengers, X-Force but they never knew it. Hell, I once Sparta kicked an emerging Kang back into his portal. Life got a lot easier once I researched conch snails and found an old subdermal injector in Beast's lab, fights were now little more than an alcohol soaked swab (I'm not a monster) and a pneumatic "tsss" away from being over.*
>*My biggest test would be when we fought Jamie Braddock, Psylocke's eldest brother...he was literally enveloped in the red sky, basically he was the center of a temporal tornado, a flawed singularity, a storm unto himself. As a consequence of his reality warping powers and the hallucinations of his mind he could bend and twist all matter to his will, which sometimes included the X-Men. It turns out his insanity is the outward base thoughts and hallucinations of Jamie, his real mind...his rational mind is stuck within the red sky wrapped up in the little red squiggly bits that make up reality. He begged me to help him, to stop him from hurting people, to save his family. He'd been stuck shooting forward and back in time trying to avert disaster after disaster, altering timeline after timeline. He begged me... In all my years I never thought to touch the red sky, but I fought through the webs Jamie would inadvertently spin, saving my teammates along the way, pressing on through the temporal hurricane, until I made Jamie hear the familiar "tsss" to put his mind at rest. It took me months for my wounds to heal, covered in thin red burn patterns like after coming into contact with a box jellyfish. I had Mr. Fantastic give me a temporal distortion detector that alerted me of heightened tachyon activity via atomic switch. Okay, okay I may have just walked in and borrowed it for an extended period of time using my indefinite five-finger discount...but I figured he owed me for the Dr. Doom thing I helped him with (supervillain knee caps just don't magically 'blow out' on their own in the middle of a fight ya' know). Wherever I was in the world I always found time to help Jamie with his meds and outbursts. He's the only one who's really ever understood me, we chat sometimes in his moments of lucidity and I've arranged for him to only have the kindest doctors, nurses, and orderlies on his floor for their shifts. The best way to defeat an enemy is to make them your friend. I've encoded this journal into a hidden Cerebro subroutine should anyone need it, or mainly I just had to tell someone. I'm 3-D printing a new polymer subdermal injector for Magneto and I had some down time. Not bad for a kid from Orange County."* | I haven't been here long at this school for gifted.
In fact, it's not really a school at all, it's a school for the mutant kind.
It's home to some of the famous students like, wolverine, Cyclops, storm and many others.
As for me, my power is I can freeze time, i tell people i can teleport, seems easier.
After getting in a fight with another student who was going to pyroblast me, I freezed time and walked away to a corridor and simply unfroze the spot, was kinda cool to watch him to blast the floor.
"I saw that" said a calm voice, I froze and turned around, it was professor xavior, i couldn't tell if he was angry or amused at me for what i did.
"Come to my office and let's talk" he calmly said.
We went to his office, and i sat down and he again calmly spoke.
"Now Aero, from what I was told you could teleport, but that's not the case is it?" He asked enquingly .
I was nervous, here's a guy who could read my mind and probs knew I was lying out my ass to save myself.
"Relax" he said, "in not going to invade your mind" he reassured, "i just like to know what I honestly saw".
I sighed " no use lying to you all people, I have the ability to freeze time" I shamefully replied.
"Freeze time?" He asked eye brow raised, "th at is no easy power to master" he said.
"I have my moments" I replied, it's handy to escape some situations"
"Come with me" he said encouragingly, "i want to see and help you with something" he said cheerfully.
We stood outside the office, every student was talking and teachers were busy helping people out.
He lent over to me and quietly goes " I want you to freeze everyone here in time, can you do that?" He asked suggestively.
I shrugged and went " I'll give it a go, just hold on"
I put a hand on his shoulder and closed my eyes and reached out to that spot where my power lied and felt a vibration happen.
I opened my eyes to see everyone frozen in time.
I've never done a mass time freeze before, certainly not to this degree.
"Oh my word aero, this is amazing" he exclaimed " how would you like private teachings to help you better use this power?" He asked
I looked at him and nodded my head " I'd love that " smilingly I replied.
"Wonderful, we start tomorrow" | 2020-07-15T07:44:24 | 2020-07-15T05:51:59 | 56 | 33 |
[WP] The Evil Overlord is confronted in his throne room by the heroes' party. When the heroes call him out on his tyrannical rule, he counters with the rapidly dropping unemployment rate, the robust economy, and the dozens of peace accords and trade deals signed under his regime. | Newly conquered lands always have headaches. Though sifting through them was a requirement if you wanted to truly rise to the title of Empress of an entire world.
This world, Terra, was going to go differently. I'd already found a way to genetically enhance the local populace so they could better serve in my armies. Loyalty is always rewarded, after all, no need to be racist when conquering the world.
I suppose introductions are in order, I am your soon to be new ruler: Empress Ragna Misho of Penthesil. Though, to be fair, it will soon be the United Countries under Penthesil. I am a powerful woman, standing an even seven feet tall and I am the daughter of the one you call "Lucifer"? So, of course, the large black feathered wings and my apparently unusual violet eyes.
But enough about me, what about my forces and my plot?
Well a city of warrior women, now enhanced with my advanced technology and power, will soon bring the world of men to its knees.
How ironic.
Another moment or two of pouring over the daily takes and I heaved a sigh, picking up the phone just as it rang.
I understood who would be calling, and I couldn't help but grin at the pathetic nonsense that spewed out of the line.
"I demand to know who is the current head of the Venezuelan Petroleum production!" the line shouted. Likely a representative from OPEC.
I couldn't help but laugh, "That would be me, Empress Ragna Misho - How can I help?" I got to my feet and turned to look out the window.
The soldiers of Penthesil marched across the city streets, their armor shimmering in the light which was the new norm for the once broken and corrupt Caracas.
The city was the first on my list of country capitals to take and seize, and already my technology had rendered human suffering, want, and hunger obsolete. Now I was focused on a global effort.
The most recent, and amusing prospect, was eliminating the United States as a threat.
While I could waste time, money, and human capital on attacking the nation, I noticed a curious thing about the United States Economy.
After all, why attack a nation when you can simply destroy it by rendering it's currency worthless?
Advanced pumps and refining technologies ripped crude oil out of the Venezuelan oil stores in mere hours, rendering their entire potential cache of oil readily available to be sold to the world.
Of course, I grinned at the representative of the global oil cartel on the line, I was basically giving it away. Worthless to me at this stage, and the goal was rather simple. Attack the Capitalists with Capitalism. Reduce the value of Petrol to almost nothing, and watch their world burn.
"You're error is driving us insane! Correct this immediately! You cannot sell oil for fifty US cents per barrel! You're mistaken in the calculation is likely costing you billions and has caused the price to bottom out!"
"It's no mistake," I clarified, "it's merely a sign of changing times," I grinned wickedly as I stood over the balcony overlooking my soon to be vast empire. "I have merely labeled the resource it's proper value now that I am here."
"Are you insane? We will cut you out of the cartel in an instant! The OPEC agreements-"
"Were with the previous head of the nation, sadly those men lack heads at the moment, so now you deal with me," I boasted.
"If you think OPEC only has it's member states as stakeholders," the man threatened, "you have another thing coming... we have powerful friends."
"Would that be the Russian spec ops who have tried to assassinate me twice today or the US Navy Seal team I've already detected infiltrating my new throne room?" I checked my watch, "They're late, by the by. But, for your sake," I grinned as I hung up the line, "I hope they're successful."
I heard the expected shout as I faced the door, my eyes closed so the resulting flash bang was slightly less of a nuisance.
"Breach!"
I heaved a sigh and plugged my ears as the flashbang went off. I ducked behind my desk for a moment as the initial spray of bullets shattered the window I had enjoyed gazing out of.
One of them would die for that. Choosing which would be a fun endeavor.
Five men burst into the room and began to search for me.
I fully activated my armor, and sprung up from my desk, and grinned wickedly, "Gentlemen, I didn't hear you knock!" Pageantry is amusing, so sue me!
The team immediately began firing on me.
I stood still while bullets ricochet off my armor or clashed against the field protecting my head, yet leaving my face visible. As a performer would wait for the smattering of applause to complete, eventually the bullets died down.
"A rude introduction, your Russian counterparts were far more stealthy," I admonished, "granted they were less heavily armed. I must say, the United States Special Forces are far better equipped."
Their commander growled at me, "We're here to put an end to you, monster!"
I had a volunteer who would pay for my shattered window it seemed. I leaped over my desk, cleared the distance between him and me, and made quick work of taking his head from his shoulders with my short sword.
His men opened fire on me again, which was getting annoying. With a series of quick movements, I had knocked each to the ground, removing their primary weapon from their grasp, and placing them on my desk.
"Perhaps we can have a more civilized conversation, yes?" I asked as I piled their weapons on my desk. Such crude things.
One soldier growled, "We're not going to just let you subjugate these people! We're here to free them!"
"Free them?" I scoffed, "Get off your ass and come here," I said motioning to the window I now had to get repaired. The thought occurred to thrust him through it but I thought otherwise, for now.
The soldier, confused, decided to do as I asked. He was likely reading his sidearm, which I was ready to disarm in an instant.
As he got close enough, he surprised me, attempting to stab me with a large combat knife.
I grabbed his wrist, and smiled, pulling him to the window while nearly breaking his wrist. "Did you know that prior to my rule the people here suffered under a man who ran the country so poorly, the entire populace had a food shortage? It was called the Maduro Diet."
He looked out the window, wincing in pain.
"Since my rule food stores have been plentiful, not a single citizen has gone hungry. I ended the homeless crisis overnight, and power generation is now supplied by several traveling-wave nuclear reactors," the perplexed look on his face told me the last part was lost on him. "I've installed nuclear power plants that don't meltdown when they are turned off," I sighed.
"We're here to stop your take-over of this country, we know what-"
I cut him off, "You know what I'm planning? Doubtful. I've established housing, automation, and a universal basic income for all residents. The only tasks that are labor-intensive now are child and elderly care. Meanwhile, I have a thriving marketplace for new ideas and innovations via government grants and dream projects. I've even established government-funded arts programs and STEM research for youths to ensure that society does not stagnate."
He frowned, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll give you a chance to renounce your failed state, and join us," I smiled, "you could even bring your family... assuming your corrupted government would even allow such a thing."
"You sound like a 'merciful god'," he narrowed his eyes on me.
"Boy," I hissed, picking him up by his wrist and bringing him closer to me, "That's Merciful Goddess... and you'll learn very quickly my mercy is short-lived," I gave him the final example of this by thrusting him out of the shattered window.
I turned to his fellow soldiers, all befuddled and confused, "So, Gentlemen, would anyone like to take me up on my *generous* [offer](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Guardian_Temple)?" | "Do you not see? you've been misled. " the words echoed out around the kings hall. The hero pressed the point of blade to my neck confused and angered by my declaration. The wizard touched his staff gently to the hero's shoulder he said "let's hear what he has to say. A man should be allowed his last words. Even an evil man ". " "aye,that is true" said the dwarf. I limply sank back further into the throne. "you have travelled far and battled many. you have sacrificed so much to be here now just to vanquish me....". I looked the band of them, 4 in all, a not too young wizard with grey at his temples, the youthful hero with gleaming sword and pauldron, the dwarf warrior with pelted leather armor and axe in hand, the female thief or assassin or spy I could not tell. I looked at all of them and said "I'm sorry to tell you this but you've been misled.". "Clarify" spoke the wizard. "he's buying time just slit his throat and leave" said the girl. "there are no reinforcements" I spoke "you've just killed all thats left of my men at this fort,the rest have been sent away on leave so that their lives would've been spared. I kept a skeleton detail to make sure I survived long enough to meet your party, lest another assassin find me first." I looked at the femme Fatale who was itching to end me, it seems I'd guessed correctly as to her profession.". Dwarf:"don't play games just out with with there's only so much patience for the the likes of you even if it's your last words ". I replied " I waste no time in telling you that you've been tricked into working for the amalurian traders guild. " "we work for Noone" spoke the hero who'd been silent till now. " you've been led to believe that I'm tyrannical and that I've been pillaging my people and youve been sent on a holy mission to reclaim this land. Is that correct?" hero :"you burned the southern woods and killed hundreds for your whims . to remove you from this throne and this world is the will of God." "I admit I did ask my men to torch the woods" "he admits it. Kill him and leave ". The assassin interjected, I continued "But... did you check why? Or who died? I doubt you have those answers." the wizards curiosity shine on his face he spoke "so? Who were they? and why? ". "Mercenaries who were capturing goods on the roads to the southern reach. They were recruited by the amalurian guild to steal whatever goods their traders union had sold to the people nearby. They'd done it enough to nearly bankrupt the region." the dwarf spoke" then why did you burn down the forest? why not just send in your men?" I felt the dwarf might be older and wiser than their wizard. So I told them " If I hadn't done so my army would be vulnerable inside the forest and I would've lost more men than feasible. There are always more mercenaries but never enough good men." the wizard added "The forest does have seasonal fires." "yes, and it is near farmland. The southern reach had been exploited for so long by the amalurian guild they will barely be able to feed themselves this winter even after the fact I've exempted them from taxes this year." the hero grew ever more confused and angry with each word" Then how do you explain a summons from God himself for your vanquishing?"he almost shouted. He was beginning to doubt himself. " Did you receive a summons from the church?" I asked." Why does your party not have a Saint or a healer? God does not send his loyal troops alone unaided by a member of his clergy " . The hero replied "a priest of the church came to my home. He stayed with us trained me. Taught me the ways of the sword and what is holy and how our people have suffered since you're rule came about " . I looked at him and I saw genuine fear and concern in his. He knew only what he'd been told. This was to be tough but he needed to hear what came next. " heroes are summoned to the church and trained on their grounds. Not at home as you were. The man who raised you as a formidable fighter could not have been a member of the church. He has done a good job I might admit, though I am loathe to lose the friends I had among my guards. He taught you some nobility that kept you from ending my life without hearing me out first." The hero shouted " I do not believe you! " I waited as the echoes of his exclamation faded. " The southern forest fire left a lot of ash behind I've had the local magistrates distribute it as far north as here for seeding the fields. Some of the armor survived the fire and is being smuggled with it and has made it's way up here along with the ash. Your assassin would know of such things. As I doubt you procured that pauldron yourself. "I spoke as I looked from hero to assassin. the assassin looked to the rest and said softly" this is true I took it from an amalurian trader with ash in his carts ". " scavenging from the men they hired to do their dirty work " the wizard said in quiet disgust. The dwarf clearly the most experienced among them from How he'd handled such news turned and said to his fellow members " There is far too much that doesn't add up here. What he says may or may not be true. take heart young hero. You've proven you can vanquish him at any time should we find that he is lying. We have much to dig up." as the dwarf turned to leave with his party he said " do not think that you have changed our mission. If we find that you're lying you will not be granted a second chance at last words " to which I replied " if you are unsatisfied send word and I shall meet you in any church of your choosing and you may judge me yet again. I do not wish for more death and ash." | 2020-03-07T21:44:53 | 2020-03-07T20:42:30 | 50 | 26 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “Crap,” I think, “there goes that idea.”
“How do you plead?” The judge asks.
“How can I plead anything beside what you have already decided for me?” I retort. The venom won’t help me here but I can’t help it, I’m angry. Anyone in my situation would be.
I’ve spent a lifetime building my political career. They say that honesty never gets you anywhere in politics but I never believed them. I always stuck to my principles. Apparently *they* were right. In a series of unfortunate events I found myself out of favor with my superiors and falling into the bad graces of my political rivals. I thought their disdain and political efforts would be the farthest they would go to harm my career but it wasn’t my career they were after.
A wielder appeared out of thin air and killed my wife as we both slept. He vanished and was somehow able to make the magic residue of his transference look like it came from me, and not as a transfer spell either but a death chant. How he did it, I’ll never know. I’ve never wielded before in my life. I didn’t even know you could mimic one’s aura’s afterglow.
“Very well then,” the judge says pulling me out of my rumination. “We find you guilty of murder and 9th degree unlicensed use of deadly magic. You are sentenced to death. Considering your claim to innocence and your considerable record before this incident, we grant you the right to pick the death of your choosing.”
“Great comfort there.” I mutter under my breath. I have to think fast. I want justice and this isn’t it.
“I wish to die by…” I have to get out of this somehow. “By…” I’m stalling and the judge knows it. His patience won’t last forever. I need time.
“I wish to be bound as death’s apprentice!” I quickly shout as I see the judge about to bring down the gavel. There’s a sudden burst of murmurings. One person asks, “can he do that?” “This is highly unusual,” another voice calls out.
“Do you know what you’re asking?” The judge asks. To my surprise there is a real look of concern in his face.
“Probably not.” I admit. But it’s my only chance to give he judge my death while also possibly getting justice.
“You are asking for an eternity of living death. It would be a living torment. Are you sure you want this?”
“I want justice.” I seethe. “It has been denied me. The only family I have is gone, my career has been sabotaged, and the real perpetrator has evaded justice somehow.”
There’s a glimmer of uncertainty in the judges eyes. He believes me to be guilty but my request has him second guessing if only for a moment.
“Very well.” The judge finally states after a long pause. “I grant you your request.”
The gavel falls and the change is immediate. The room fades from existence and the world goes dark and hazy. A hooded figure approaches me, reaches out a bony finger and touches me on the forehead.
“Welcome” it says in a hissing long breath. “Thou hast come to be as I have always ordained thee to become.”
There’s a gray flash that sparks on the point of contact between our two bodies and immediately I am dead. My flesh falls away and I’m robed in a shroud.
“I name thee Hades” Death says. “Deliver justice as thou has sworn. Take vengeance upon thine enemies. Bring all that liveth by evil unto Death.” | The Gods damned Tribunal! If there was anyone to blame for the state of this sorry world it would be the Tribunal. Sitting up on high, casting judgement on their inferiors. Everyone knows they're the real power behind the crown. Can't have a revolution when the Tribunal can kill you for your crimes instantly.
People called us stupid for trying to assassinate the king. Too much security that night and we just barged in the front doors. Hardly took any effort or the king's guards to take us down. All we had were daggers, they couldn't have even scratched the king's armor. Idiots they called us for even trying to fight against our betters. Everyone reading our manifesto as a joke....but maybe we got through to some people.
Sitting here, waiting to get called up in front of the Tribunal for punishment. Some have tried to plead their case. Some have tried to outwit the bastards and live forever. Poor sod before me wished to die of old age, and got turned to dust faster than it took him to say the words.
HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE? the Tribunal asks me.
I grin and think of everything they've taken from me; my father, my wife, half my damn family accused of crimes against the crown most of them never committed. But I know what revolution sounds like. I may not see it, but I'm giving my people hope.
"Drowned in the Tribunal's fresh spilled blood." I say as I close my eyes and hear the first downpour. | 2021-06-24T10:25:27 | 2021-06-24T08:24:48 | 432 | 11 |
[WP] People level their skills in an RPG fashion and are conscious of their sudden jumps from novice to journeyman and so on. You've spent your life training a skill that is entirely useless until becoming invaluable once mastered - and you just mastered it. | "Sit up straight at the table." Jake's mother would always tell him.
But Jake would not listen.
"You could probably play basketball if you looked a little taller" Jake's dad would try to encourage him.
But Jake would not listen.
"You'll develop a hump in your back if you slouch like that" Jake's grandma would scold him.
But Jake would not listen, because he knew that he was not just slouching, but *crouching*, deliberately, everywhere he went and at every possible situation of the day. Jake was never much of a talker. In fact people would have called him a wall flower. He was always crouching, at school, at home, at the park, on awkward dates, at his high school graduation. He had even trained himself to sleep while crouching.
25 long years Jake crouched, in an odd, alert stance. Like a thief who had just got caught in the act. He attracted strange glances and social commentary that would make most flushed with embarrassment, but Jake didn't care. He knew what he was doing.
One fateful day, it all finally clicked. Jake got up from the john, stretched his legs, and got back into his regular crouch. But as he shuffled back into the office, something was different. He felt it. He was no longer shuffling, but sneaking, level 100.
"Anyone seen Jake?" His boss called out, walking right past him with a fat stack of paperwork.
"Jake was here just a moment ago" Katrina looked around, confused.
Jake's eyes grew wide with wonder. He snuck over to Katrina and waved his hands in front of her face. She kept staring at her computer screen, completely unfazed and oblivious to his presence. He ate some of the donuts at her desk, then stole her favorite stapler as his own.
Jake could go anywhere now. He was a shadow. A blip on life's radar that could not be perceived, remembered, or detected. He was a god.
"Fuck yeah!" Jake jumped for joy, almost straining his legs which were unused to the position.
"Whoa, Jake?" Katrina looked up from her work, "What are you doing at my desk?"
Startled, Jake immediately crouched back down and froze.
"Huh, that was weird." Katrina's eyes glazed over, immediately unaware of the events that just transpired.
Jake sighed, and smiled, his power was intact. There was only one thing left to do now, find the place they called Riften. | Every morning Kim would look in the mirror and say, "You are great. You are wonderful. You will be a new person."
She had done this since she was eight, when her mother introduced her to the idea. Her mother had done if for years, before she suddenly stopped. But Kim kept it up. She liked to think her better self was smiling at her.
This morning, though, her image kept completely still when she smiled, weakly.
"You aren't happy," the figure in the mirror said. "You never were."
Kim felt her brain shatter.
She pulled out her skill watch, scrolling down it. There had to be something here.
"Self-improvement!" was listed at master level. | 2015-10-06T00:04:12 | 2015-10-05T22:51:04 | 427 | 57 |
[WP] "Looks like someone has a case of the Mondays!" exclaims a coworker in horror. Within an instant you are surrounded by figures in hazmat suits... | “C**B**C?” I asked, reading off of the black logo emblazoned across his white hazmat suit. I’d seen enough zombie movies to know about the Centers for Disease Control. “Shouldn’t it be C**D**C?”
The man shook his head as he pulled me by the elbow toward the door of the break room. Karen’s coffee mug was still sitting on the counter letting off steam; they’d whisked her away first with shouts about how she was still at an infection risk. “No, that's a different agency.” He was shaking his head, but it was hard to see under his big helmet. “We're with the Center for Boredom Control.”
“Never heard of it,” I said.
“It’s new.” He spoke with the commanding bearing of a soldier. “President Trump established it as part of his jobs initiative, hoping to boost workplace productivity.”
“Oh.” Weird, but it’s not the absolute *craziest* thing he’s done. It didn't even make the list on the "Top Fifty Craziest Trump Laws" exhibit that I'd gone to see at the Smithsonian Museum, Resort, and Casino.
The man led me out back into the big room that we used as an office. It was called an “open floorplan” which really meant that our corporate headquarters were too cheap to build walls in this abandoned warehouse that they’d half renovated. But instead of the desks and ping-pong table that were normally there, a whole laboratory had sprouted up in its place in the time it took me to use the bathroom and then get a cup of coffee. Men in white lab coats with respirators over their faces tended to centrifuges and monitors and all sorts of other medical technology I didn’t recognize. My fellow employees were clustered in a fishtank of a room being studied by six doctors. “Where the hell did you guys come from?” I asked the man from the CBC.
“We’ve been monitoring this place for a while. With your work, it was only a matter of time before an outbreak of boredom happened.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” I sighed.
He led me through a zippered plastic door into another room. On a stool across the room was another doctor with a clipboard. Through the plastic, I could see my boss watching with concern.
“I’m just going to ask a few questions,” the doctor said in the soothing tone that they use with deranged mental patients. The guy in the hazmat suit brought me a hard metal chair to sit on. “Try to answer as best you can, OK? We need to know if this is a true case of the Mondays, and not just a hangover or something like that.”
I nodded.
“All right. First: how many cups of coffee have you had today?”
I thought back. One when I first got out of bed. Another on my morning commute. About half of one that I’d spilled at my desk because my whole body twitched just when I was about to fall asleep on my keyboard. I’d been going for a refill when these guys busted in. “Two and a half, I guess,” I answered.
The doctor nodded and scribbled on his clipboard. “Very good. And how much time have you spent on Reddit so far this morning?”
I glanced at my boss. “I mean…. I don’t know… Not too much.”
The doctor glared at me. “I told you that we need your honest answers here, OK? The Mondays are *very* serious.”
I glanced at my boss again, then down at my feet. “About two hours,” I answered softly. Given that I’d gotten to work at 9 and it was now 11, I’m sure my boss could figure out what that meant.
“Ok… and were you reading something intellectually stimulating? /r/Science, or /r/AskHistorians, perhaps?”
“I… errr… yeah, a bit,” I said. I mean, I’d checked the front page, and I’d read over the headlines… that counted, right?”
“Uh huh.” He didn’t believe me, of course. “And what about /r/Writingprompts? How much time have you spent there exactly?”
“Well… that… I mean, how exactly do you define ‘spent there.’ Do you mean *writing* an actual story, because if that…”
“Please answer the question,” the doctor asked in a sharp tone, pen at the ready.
“All of it, OK?” I answered a bit more loudly than I’d intended. “I spent *all* of my time there. I wrote on three prompts and then deleted my answers just before posting them because I got too self conscious. And then I posted a prompt about how you travel back in time to kill Hitler but then when you get there there is a mysterious number floating over his head, OK? Is *that* what you want to hear? And then I ended up writing a story about violent aliens invading and then the twist at the end was that the aliens were *humans*, all right?”
“Twist… was… humans…” the doctor finished writing on his little clipboard. “All right. I think that’s all we need to hear. You don’t have a case of the Mondays; you’re just lazy.” He pulled out a walkie talkie and clicked the transmit button. “False alarm, everyone. Just another unmotivated worker.”
They packed up the quarantine setup just as quickly as it had appeared. Within minutes I was just left standing at my desk with my coworkers and boss all staring at me in silence.
“Really?” my boss finally said. “A time traveling Hitler prompt? Really?”
-----
Visit /r/Luna_Lovewell to see the results of 2 years of boredom at work! | Men adorned in plastic and gas masks surrounded me, each armed with a net and a Taser. They yelled at me and I obediently fell to the ground with arms in the Monday position, tightly wound across my back. Wrapping me in several layers of nylon net, they escorted me from the building and threw me in the back of a windowless van. I found myself in the presence of a doctor, similarly wrapped in a hazmat suit, holding a needle and stethoscope.
The back of the van, of course, held all the latest technologies available to science, including several large machines covered menacing, nondescript white plastic casing and buttons and screens of all colors, each labeled with some cryptic scientific meaning or abbreviation. Strapping me to an immovable chair, the doctor began the procedure, piercing my skin with a large, cold needle eager to my find my veins. As he ran his tests, I felt the lurch of the van as it drove through the busy streets in the middle of the morning.
Hooking me to machines and an IV bag, he returned to a computer in the corner, either running important tests or playing solitaire. I couldn’t tell. I heard a printer eject paper and my doctor returned, carefully examining the paper, making notes, and following the print along with his finger. Through the thick mask, I could barely make out startled and panicked eyes. He flashed a light over my eyes which constricted around my pupils to avoid the invasive light. In a confused and hurried state, he procured several ink blots and asked me what I saw.
The first ink blot, of course, showed an inhospitable city filled with lines of traffic desperately trying to find meaning in the existential voids of their lives. The second ink blot, like always, depicted a lunatic dictator called life managing all the minute details of a man’s life via strings attached to his arms and legs, as if he were a marionette intended as a toy for some child. The doctor took careful notes as I reported this to him. Finally showing me the third ink blot which only showed a stain from a fountain pen, he released a sigh of relief.
The van came to a sudden stop, throwing the doctor off balance. The doors to the back of the van opened, revealing a baptizing light which violated my eyes. The other men in hazmat suits took me by the arms and dragged me into a large white and windowless building filled with a labyrinth of halls with white walls, dull gray tiled floors, and fluorescent lights decorating the ceilings. Finding a suitable cell, they threw me into an airtight and padded chamber, complete with a small television and cot. As I regained my posture and stood on my feet, the small screen flickered to life, depicting a man in a lab coat.
“Why hello…” he trailed off for a moment before checking a small note card. “…Adam Wichetz. I’m sure it’s no question as to why you’re here, but allow me to explain. When your friendly and helpful coworker explained that you might have a case of the Mondays, our team came to the vicinity to investigate. And boy, are we sure glad we did. After participating with us by your volition, we ran some minor tests on you - DNA work, psychotherapy, astrological readings, those sorts of things – we found that you indeed have a case of the Mondays, a particularly devastating and peculiar disease to have a Wednesday.
“Consequently, we’re going to hold you here indefinitely to engage in immediate and mandatory reeducation and brain restructuring to ensure that you remain and happy, compliant, and productive member of society. Enjoy your time here, Adam; we’ll make sure you don’t have a choice in the matter.”
******
More stories at r/Andrew__Wells | 2017-02-08T07:52:24 | 2017-02-08T07:52:06 | 198 | 22 |
[WP] You join an expedition to Antartica and uncover a metal hatch in the ice. You go down the ladder and find a greeting room with lush red carpet and gold banners. A group of human looking beings greet you with an advanced piece of technology. It translates their question, “Is the ice age over?” | I've only seen a metal hatch like this once before, in our capital city of New Denver. It guards the vault where our ancestors took shelter from the great war, and held the Garden of Eden Creation Kits (G.E.C.K) that we used to stabilize the world after the nuclear holocaust subsided. Now because of our researcher's ability to understand the technology behind G.E.C.K, most of the remains of the Western United States has been reunited, with the exclusion of California as there is still some strong resistance to our movement. If there is a possibility of more G.E.C.Ks being located within this vault I knew our team needed to investigate. Although we were a research team meant only to study the environmental damages done from the bombs, we were certain no vault could survive this long without opening.
&nbsp;
I make my way to the control panel where I expected my Pip Boy to allow me to open the door, however, the adapter seems different for this vault, and beyond that the language on the controls seems to be something pre-war. From my studies in history classes it seems to be some form of mandarin.
&nbsp;
After discussing my discovery with the team it was decided that the vault should still be opened to determine if Chinese vaults had the technology to sustain life for this long. If the Chinese still were around after the nuclear barrage released by the U.S there could be a large potential threat to our society. With this we begin working with the electronics trying to rewire the door to open.
&nbsp;
Finally, a large creaking sound signals the opening of the door. As ice crunches and icicles are released from their resting places the door opens and lights from inside the vault turn on. We entered the vault, and were surprised to find luxuries we could only have dreamed of. The softest red velvet carpet I have ever seen, and gold statues adorning the walls down a long hallway. Everything seemed to be intact but there were no signs of people. Nervously we crept forward.
&nbsp;
As we came to the end of the hallway we came to an intersection and as we were deciding which way to turn, two men came out from the left and from the right holding some sort of energy weapon. Reflexively I put my hand on my hip preparing myself to use my weapon. Then from the end of the hallway I heard a voice. It was in English and I was surprised.
&nbsp;
"What are you doing in our vault?" the voice echoed.
&nbsp;
I looked around expecting the team leader to respond, but he seemed locked in fear. I spoke up and said as confidently as I could, that we were only researchers seeking shelter from a blizzard.
The man who questioned us seemed distraught.
&nbsp;
Again, he questioned us saying, "The radiation has subsided, but has the ice?"
&nbsp;
Unwilling to let them know of the rebirth of the world due to our G.E.C.Ks I tell them the world is still covered by a sheet of ice and then try to act disheartened.
&nbsp;
Seemingly desperate, he asks "You walk the surface, does this mean it is safe for us?"
&nbsp;
I let them know that we can only stay out for hours at a time before we need to return to base.
Angrily the man walks closer, "Then you are not welcome here, you need to leave either on your own or as a pile of ashes."
&nbsp;
The guards began escorting us out and as we reached the surface I drew my weapon. I shot both the guards before they could react and grabbed on of their energy weapons.
&nbsp;
My team stood there utterly shocked and asked what I thought I was doing. I responded by telling them we needed to seal this vault for good in order to keep our society safe. We could hear yelling from the end of the corridor. Quickly, we began closing the vault door and then short circuited the wires. It would buy us some time.
As the vault closed, I left the energy weapon directly outside of it. After reaching a safe distance, I look down the sights of my gun. It's hard to aim when shaking from the cold. I take a deep breath and fire, as I did this a large glowing orb of fire appeared in front of the vault. It was so bright I had to turn away. I looked back and saw the door had been welded shut by the blast.
&nbsp;
Now it was only a matter of finding their ventilation system, and then we could return home to New Denver and report what we encountered.
&nbsp;
Quick note-- I am not a writer by any means, and I am known for my terrible grammar. Sorry, if it was a little hard to read at times, but I thought my idea was cool and I just wanted to get it out there.
Edit: Formatting | “Ah, yes.”
Calvin Reese looked at the group, all clad in thick purple robes. On their heads were headpieces if a very unorthodox fashion, with large tendrils emanating out to the sides.
Reese continued to look at the group with bewilderment. What a peculiar question, what an unusual place to reside. Deep under the thick slabs of ice in Queen Maud Land.
“...but you surely knew that.”
The unusual group laughed, and the leader spoke once again. He was the tallest, and most chiseled of the group. His skin had an unusual blueish tint to it, giving him a strangely ethereal quality.
“Of course we did. Has the New Age not begun yet?”
Reese’s fellow researchers twittered with anticipation and curiosity, leaving him to do the talking.
“What do you mean by this? Are you down here for refuge?”
They smiled, revealing teeth crafted out of a metallic material.
“Some oranges help others. We are the oranges, who shall surprise all by surviving the Great Frost, to see the New Age.”
He beckoned to his compatriots, one of which who went over to the wall and flipped open a panel, pressing down on several buttons.
Bright orchestral music filled the room.
“Prokofiev. “For The Love of Three Oranges”. Our anthem in this cold, citric wasteland.”
Clayton Olansky has been watching from the back, one of the four researchers who ventured the half-mile from Sonreir Post to this barren ice plain, and he had been jotting down notes the whole while. Now, he tapped Reese on the shoulder.
“Mr. Reese, this is government land, and these people should not be here. Period.”
He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“The embassies shall have to hear about this.”
Reese laughed, and punched Clayton in this face with all his might, breaking his glasses and drawing blood from his lip. He reeled back in pain, while the other three researchers split up to both restrain Reese and support Clayton.
“You bastard, what the fuck is wrong with you!?”
Clayton spluttered as he held his broken glasses together and attempted to stand.
The tall blue-tinted man tutted judgmentally.
“Oh, language, you fucking moron, language. I don’t tolerate cursing.”
Reese attempted to rush Clayton again, by trying to throw off his fellow researchers, who had firmly grasped his shoulders in an attempt to prevent any further injury.
“Reese, what the hell was that!?”
The tall blue-tinted orange produced a pistol loaded with citric acid, and vaporized the researchers.
“Oh, for the love of three oranges.”
An acolyte closed the hatch, and others got to work cleaning the pool of melted biological matter. Those were some strong oranges. | 2018-07-23T06:51:58 | 2018-07-23T04:13:46 | 82 | 39 |
[WP] Necromancy is punishable by death. You're keeping a low profile, masking as a gardener - reviving dead plants is relatively unsuspicious and gets your bills paid. Everything seems fine - until one day you accidentally revive a treant. | People don't understand power, the Magicks especially. These are the old powers of creation, passed down through ancient family lines. Like any power, they can be used for the good and for the bad.
Power like this grows inside you. It wants to get out into the world. It needs to be used. It can't be suppressed or bottled up or it will come out uncontrolled, typically causing death and destruction, both to the holder of the power, and anyone around them.
The Magicks Act of '67 outlawed people using powers. Lawmakers! Sheesh. Trying to control things they know nothing about. I understood their reasoning, though -- there were many of us who were bent on domination, using their powers to corrupt, maim, torture... So the Magicks were banned, and their use punishable by death. Many of us perished, no matter what we used our powers for. So we hid.
Some chose risky ventures, becoming nurses and doctors, and channelling their Magicks into healing the sick. Human life uses a lot of power, so they are less prone to build ups. But they have to be really careful to not perform miracles. I've known at least one doctor who was 'put down' for curing a broken arm too quickly.
I chose a simple life, a gardener, tending to orchards, forests, and the occasional garden. This gave me an outlet for my abilities, stopped it building up inside me. But it only took a small amount of power to give a flower to boost into blooming, or to heal an ailing tree. That why I needed orchards and forests of trees.
I've been maintaining the forests of Llogorna and Bfestan for many years. Both are old forests -- you can tell by the trees. I never knew, though, that Bfestan was an Ancient forest.
Last April I was walking there. There was a light shower, and Spring was in the air. Spring is a hard time to use power, as everything is waking up from the Winter slumber, fresh and new. Winter can take its toll on a forest like this, so I was able to put my Magicks to use more easily. But Spring is always hard.
Deep in the forest there's a thicket of old oaks, always looking sickly. I've used these to absorb some power each Spring. Being old and big they can take a bit more than other trees.
This time, however, when I got there the trees looked healthier than I had ever seen them. Branches that were once broken seemed mended, splits in the bark were closed. I went closer to take a better look.
I remember a sharp pain at the back of my head.
I awoke to find myself trapped on the mossy forest floor, being held down by roots. The oaks towering above me, somehow now looking more menacing. Were they looking at me?
Another sharp pain.
I awoke again. There was no rain. The sun was shining through the branches. It was a morning sun -- I had been out for the whole night. Another sharp pain.
I awoke. And another sharp pain. And another. I don't know how long I was there.
And the power was building this whole time. I hadn't used any up...
And then it happened -- the power burst from me. The pain was excruciating as all of this Magic leapt from my body. I closed my eyes, expecting to die.
And then I awoke again, surprise that no only was I still alive but appeared to be all in one piece. I was still lying, unheld, on the forest floor, in a clearing that I didn't recognise, at least at first. I got up, almost fell down again from weakness, dehydration. I looked around. I started to recognise some trees -- I did some work on that elm over the Winter. And on that Chestnut tree...
The oaks were gone. There was a trail leading through the forest from the clearing.
I followed the trail and made my way from the forest, and that's when I was found and arrested.
Your honour, I did not intentionally awaken that Treant. I never knew he existed there. Had I known, I would have used my power to destroy it, not heal it...
I plead not guilty.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | The Sun was just waking up over the hill in the small, parochial town. The dew from the grass perched in plain sight, all too small, but all too noticeable. That morning fog that seems to awaken with the Sun in the small towns all across the world sat groggily too.
Everything was waking up, but the slowly; slowly enough that I was alone on the street. My prize lilies (which Mr. Corker's dog had ripped up) had by some stroke of sheer determination risen up again. They looked as lively as ever. Luckily, no one had the dog bite them up yesterday. First prize was definitely again in sight.
Now to my surprise, I saw a figure stumbling down the street. I stood and looked at the man in question, for it was a man. He was dressed in his Sunday best, strange for such a small town on a Monday. I peered over my fence post, to make out the face of the deviant. To my utmost fright, I made out, and I knew it to be true, my dearly deceased neighbor, Mr. Wicks.
My magic! That must have been it. I shot glances at all the house doors and the street. Luckily no one had yet ventured outside. Glancing once more, I ran out to fetch him. It was more of a running walk, to not make my action seem suspicious to the empty crowd.
He seemed to be almost sleep walking, his face a gray mess mixed with a scrub of dirt.
"Come along, Mr. Wicks, let me offer you some hot coffee in my house. You must be feeling cold from sleeping in that cold bed of yours."
I glanced all around me as I showed him the way to my house rather forcefully, and slammed the door as I got inside. He had an air about him of a lazy slouch, that he might collapse at any second and I cautioned him to my favorite recliner. What to do, what to do?
A knock on my door, yelped me into the air. I rushed to the door straightening my jacket as I opened the door just a crack. Just my luck, it was Jane Wicks, the pleasant-faced daughter of the departed.
"Jonathan, I am going to my grandfather's grave to keep him company this morning. I can't imagine him alone in that cold grave. Would you care to join me?"
Shoot, now what? I had to hide the evidence.
"Jane, sure. I can accompany you. Let me just lock my door"
| 2019-02-04T23:01:02 | 2019-02-04T21:44:05 | 49 | 18 |
[WP] The Genie looks at you puzzled 'So... you wish for everyone to have 4 arms?', and you say 'yes, I wish that tomorrow everyone wakes up having 4 arms, no explanation, just 4 arms, and if they only had 1 arm or none now they have 4' | I stepped out onto my front porch, and greeted the sunrise with a yawn, and a wide stretch of my arms. The hands of my *other* arms rested on my hips. It felt like I'd always had the extra limbs, even though I'd just woken up with them today.
*"I wish everyone would wake up tomorrow having four arms! No explanation, just four arms -- a-and if they only had one arm or no arms, they now have four...um, oh, yeah, and everyone knows how to use them!"*
That was what I'd said to the genie, yesterday. As you might guess, I made that wish in haste. That's because my *first* wish was to be clairvoyant, able to see coming disasters before they happened. Well, I saw what was going to happen today in *horrifying* detail.
Billions of interdimensional creatures, like insects the size of cats, would start appearing from the ether, I foresaw. They resembled wingless parasitic wasps, who'd leap up and latch on to people's faces. Most people wouldn't be strong enough to pull them loose in a timely fashion, but their face-hugging, while terrifying, was relatively harmless. The adult creatures had no mouths or mandibles -- it wasn't like they could eat your face off, or anything.
The real danger was their long whip-like tail with a needle-like stinger on the end, that was actually an ovipositor. While people were distracted trying to pull the creatures loose, they'd be covertly injected with their eggs. The creatures would die and fall off a few minutes later, but the day after, their human victims would also die, *horribly,* as dozens of newly hatched larva ate their way out of their guts.
The little bug larva would kill everyone on Earth this way, before pupating and disappearing into another dimension to start the cycle over.
I shuddered at the memory of my vision of the events that would occur today, as I stood on my porch. It was a terrifying scenario.
Well, it was a terrifying scenario for people who had only *two* arms.
As I stood on my porch, one of the prophesized creatures materialized before me, then leaped up and latched onto my face. As I had been granted the native reflexes of a four-armed creature, I instinctively seized it with all four of my hands. Three yanked it off my face, while the fourth restrained its lashing tail. I threw it on the ground, and stomped it flat.
As I looked around, I saw my equally four-armed neighbors having similar encounters with the hapless invaders, who were getting pulled free and squished by their would-be hosts. I smiled. The human race was going to be okay.
I felt a small hand tug at the leg of my pants. It wasn't one of mine. I also don't have kids.
I glanced down. My golden retriever, Rex, was tugging on my pantleg with one hand. Another held his leash, and the other two were making excited beckoning motions. I could tell he wanted to go for a walk, and maybe chase some of those weird bug things falling from the sky.
Ah. In my wish, I had said *everyone.* Not every *human.* I shrugged. Well, as genie-wish side effects went, I decided this was fine, all things considered. I clipped on the leash, and my dog gave me an exuberant fist bump, which we both 'blew up' thereafter, because me and Rex are party bros like that.
I felt pretty good, as I walked Rex down the street. I had the ability see future disasters, and one more Wish left to thwart the next one -- should it be needed, that is. It seemed to me that whatever challenge faced humanity next, we'd basically be *twice* as capable of dealing with it, even if I never used my final wish.
After all, forewarned is four-armed. | "Hey, so, I'm not usually the one to ask questions." The genie started.
"Yes?"
"But, are you sure?"
"Yea."
"You do realize this means you too right?" The genie asked again.
"Sure. Four arms. Bring it on."
"I- Okay whatever, here it go."
Society changed overnight. Not for the better. It turns out, when people wake up with more arms than they started off with, their tends to be a lot of questions. This is a problem considering no one except two people on the entire planet knew the answer.
It took several weeks for four armed shirts and underwear to come to fruition. You'd think it would take less time with all the extra productivity. But shortages are all the rage right now.
Deodorant companies made a killing anymore. Four arms mean four pits. Turns out if you forget two of them, things tend to get kind of ripe in the middle of the summer.
But it wasn't all bad. People missing their arms now had more arms than they knew what to do with. Fun times were of course had by all. Multitasking on social media was the newest trend. How many things could one person do at the same time, and continue to live.
The genie's owner was no exception to this mild case of idiocy, and generally made a fool of himself for his own humor. He was currently texting, eating a cheeseburger, holding a beer and typing up something on his computer.
"So, have you thought of your next wish?"
"Not yet. The professional slapboxing tournament is coming on next?" He offered. "Wanna watch?"
"Professional slapboxing?" The genie wondered, his clouds buffeting.
"It's only the latest and greatest in hand to hand combat." His owner professed.
"Yeah, sure. Who's on first?"
"I don't know, I just know they said 'no groin attacks' in the pre match announcement. So it's about to go down."
"Oh... Can I get a beer. This should be good."
"He better sweep the leg." His owner commented at the screen. "That boy got hands." | 2022-07-11T09:31:58 | 2022-07-11T09:08:02 | 549 | 229 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | Heroes are people too, I think most of us forget that. Behind all the cheesy smiles, the bright colours or black leathers, it’s so easy to forget that there’s a human being under there. We all get to feel safe, comfortable even, knowing that there’s someone out there looking over us like a kindly god, ready to extend a hand at the first sign of trouble, ready to put down the bad guy, put out the fires and smile the whole god damn time. Even when they don’t quite make it, we’re grateful. Of course we are. We’re glad we have a guardian angel, ever vigilant. We’re glad we have men like Aegis out there, a bright shield, vanguard of the dawn. He’s indestructible (so they say), he’s fast (faster than a bolt of lightning), and last night he saved 839 people. No one asked him to. Nearly no one else could have. Tomorrow, the papers are going to love him. Hero of the Hour, Our Human Shield. Tonight, I wait for him to come home.
There are reasons heroes wear masks, reasons beyond what we assume. We all know, on some deeper level that they must have loved ones, family to protect, lives beyond the assumed identity we all recognise but these people become more than just men and women, they become icons, symbols of justice and power. We see the colours and the costume, we see the smile because that’s what they have to show us. I see Andy.
I see him now, by the window. Skin tight silver and golden helmet modelled like the warriors of Sparta. He’s Adonis manifest, rippling muscles and fearsome eyes. His hands take the helmet off slowly and beneath the mask is a man I know better than anyone else on the planet and he is hurt. We see the bullets, we see the punches, we see everything the cameras can capture, not everyone sees this. Only I see the tears.
“I killed a man today Mike.”
“I know.” I try to muster as much sympathy as I can, not for the dead man, his death saved hundreds. For my friend.
“No. I KILLED a man!”
“Keep it down Andy, the neighbours might hear you.” Old lady Millar next door is nice, but I don’t want to scare her.
“FUCK YOU MIKE. I KILLED A MAN!” I reach out with my mind at this point. He doesn’t know, neither does Mrs Millar, or the lovely Porte Rican couple downstairs. I gently flick the metaphorical switch on our neighbours. They’ll hear nothing. Andy’s mind is a ball of rage, I don’t touch it. “All this god damn power and I can’t even…”
“Andy, it’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” He counters quickly “I chose to do that Mike. I didn’t see another option but it was my choice.” I’m silent now. He’s right, we both know it. “I killed him.”
“You saved hundreds of people Andy, it’s on the news. You’re a hero.”
“What kind of Hero kills people Mike?” The question comes out less than a breath. Without the mask he’s just a man and he has to live with this. I know the feeling. I’m speaking to a man on the edge of breaking. You don’t need my powers to know that. PTSD is a bitch. Even heroes are human.
“No one else could have done what you did today. No one is fast, or strong enough.” I tell him. I appeal to the ego, the part of him that loves being a hero.
“He could have done it.” This one is like a punch in the gut, I almost take a step backwards.
“He’s gone Andy…”
“Gone where?” he asks, the anger returning. Now, now I step back. He advances. “GONE FUCKING WHERE?” he screams. The room shakes. “ALL THIS POWER AND WHAT GOOD IS IT MIKE?”
“You can stop bullets, fuck Andy, you can stop missiles!”
“But I can’t stop people can I?”
“Sure you can…”
“No, I can’t stop them from making choices. Choices like I had to make today. I’m strong, but I’m not a god.”
“You think that’s what he should have done?” Now I’m the one getting angry, not good.
“You don’t? I think he’s a god damned coward, that’s what I think! I think I had to kill a man today because he couldn’t hack it and it makes me furious Mike. Can’t you understand that?”
“Oh. Boo Hoo!” What am I saying? “You had to make a choice. At least you could make one! One life Andy, One life for hundreds. No one can hate you for that!” His eyes narrow to little glowing points, he wants sympathy, not this.
“I can hate myself. I can hate him.”
“He can hate himself too!”
“He doesn’t get to hate himself.” The penny drops. Now I understand. “He doesn’t get to be one of us. Not with that power. He could fix this.”
“Fix what?” I yell.
“FIX FUCKING EVERYTHING!” The glassware explodes. I feel a stray shard cut my cheek but Andy just stands there, impervious. My power doesn’t work like his. “He could fix the fucking world Mike! No more war, no more terrorism, no more heroes and villains!”
“He’s just a man!”
“He doesn’t get to be just a man! Neither do I!”
“If you’re so high and mighty, what the fuck are you crying about?” I ask him. It’s the last straw, he flies off the handle. One punch is all it would take to reduce me to a fine mist and we both know it, but he’s lost control. He thunders towards me, all blue light, silver costume and rage. Time seems to slow. His fist is an inch from my face and closing when I reach into his mind and force him to stop. Realisation dawns in his eyes. For the first time, he sees under the mask. Realises there's a man underneath.
“Two men made choices today Andy, I don't have the right to take those choices away. You, you’re a shield, an Aegis. I could only be a tyrant.”
| "You wouldn't believe how much free shit I get at the mall now."
"Uh huh."
I continue filing my nails, shifting my focus between my hands and the TV. I'm on my fourth watch of Sherlock, so it's less watching and more background noise. Like my roommate, most of the time. It's days now until the lease is up and we part ways, and I'm so excited, I can hardly pretend to tolerate him at this point. He's become near insufferable since the Change.
"Or anywhere. Restaurant? Let me comp your meal, sir!" He's pacing back and forth next to the couch, waving his hands around, careful not to use any of that superhero strength to actually hit the furniture.
We've had to replace remotes and console controllers (he wrecks them when he gets pissed that my kill/death ratio is higher than his in whatever shooter we're playing), chairs (he mangles the backs of them when he squeezes too hard as he pulls them away from the table), a coffee table (he dropped his feet on it to rest them while he watched TV) and a TV (when he broke the table, a couple of books sitting on it were launched at said TV), and I've removed virtually anything glass from the common areas in the apartment because I got tired of cleaning up the messes.
"That's cool, Jake. Really. Just like it was a month ago."
"And you wouldn't believe how much pussy I get."
"Dude." I finally look up at him from the couch. "You're a registered superhero now. You could try to be a better role model."
"What? I am! I've saved people from all sorts of shit."
"Then save yourself from sounding like a sexist asshole."
He had the good grace to at least pretend to look ashamed. Who knows, maybe he was?
"You're right." He pauses, "But tons of underwear. They just throw it at me." He sits carefully on the couch, and I throw a pillow at him. He means well, but he sounds like an idiot when he talks about women. "I know there's one guy ranked ahead of me, but they won't tell me who he is! I'd love to find him. You know, challenge him to a fight or something. See who's actually the strongest. You can't rate that shit in one of the Order's tests."
"Isn't that the point of those tests though? Don't they use, uh... what's her name..."
"The Copycat?"
"Yeah. Don't they use her copies and beef them up for you to fight against?"
"Well yeah, but it's not the same as actually having one hero fight another. So how am I supposed to believe this guy is actually stronger than me until I see it for myself?"
"What if it's a woman?" I set my nail file down on the table, and pull my legs up underneath me. He looks confused, like I've just changed the subject abruptly.
"What?"
"What if the top hero is a woman?"
"Oh, I mean... I guess, but probably not."
"What makes you think it's not?"
"I know he has super strength, like me."
"And?" I prompt.
"And I dunno. All the lady heroes so far do shit like Copycat. Mind tricks. I mean, there's Lady Lightning, she's super fast, I guess that's a body skill. But none so far that are strong like I am." He pauses again, giving me an impish look, and I know he's about to say something stupid. "And besides, if it *was* a woman, I wouldn't want to try and crush pussy that could crush me back."
Demolishing a wall after shoving a guy through it isn't something that's covered in renter's insurance, and I'm positive I'm not getting my deposit money back when I leave. But considering what the Order pays the top ranked hero to keep the streets safe, I don't mourn the loss of a couple hundred dollars. It was worth it for that brief look of shock on Jake's face before he disappeared through the wall and out to... well I'm not sure where he went, but I know he won't be back for a while. Don't worry, he'll be fine.
Time to get my shit together and head to my new place a little early.
| 2016-03-23T22:50:10 | 2016-03-23T21:22:54 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] When you were homeless, you asked a friend for help. He laughed at you and shut the door on you. Some time later, that same friend ends up fired from his job. You try to convince your company to hire him. The only thing they ask is why you're doing this for someone who once abandoned you. | "You convinced your company to get me a job?''
He looked at me incredulously.
''For the fifteenth time, yes."
"But why?"
"Because you're the reason i'm here today. This is a thank you.''
...
About 5 years back, I had THE perfect life. I was working a corporate job where I had a decent salary, was married to an incredible woman, and our attempts at getting pregnant through IVF was successful. My wife had a child.
Almost overnight I lost them all, in 3 distinct moment.
1.
Keia had gone to get some groceries, and I was cooking our dinner. When, after a few hours passed by and she still hadn't come back, I got worried. I called her, only to realise she had left her phone at home.
Every second I didnt see her, my heart rate went up a little. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.
I grabbed a hoodie to wear over my crop top, winter could be cruel. But not as cruel, id soon find out, as life and drunk drivers.
I was wearing my shoes when the bell rang. Was she home?
Nope, police. Yes, something happened to her. No, she is not okay. Yes, she whas in an accident. Yes, she has been taken to the hospital. Yes, you can go see her.
A few hours later, I was informed that our child was dead, Keia was in a coma.
2.
"You're what?!''
I had been informed that I was fired. My incredible (okay, I'm exaggerating. My above average) corporate job had fired me because they had to cut back on their employees.
I couldn't afford to pay the medical bills, our loans, etc. Without it.
I went to many 'friends' for help. None could, they weren't in the position to help.
My ancestral home was sold, Keia's bills were paid.
3.
" Jerry, you know I wouldn't be here unless I absolutely had to, dude. Please. Im homeless, jobless, and my child is dead. Please"
"Oh, now you want my help, do you? No"
We had once been closer than siblings, now he hated my guts. We had been there for each other throughout our lives. I loved him, but the love he had for me was a different kind.
There's a thin line between love and hate. It's true.
Any other rejection would have been fine, I would have been there for him. But this time I was the one rejecting him.
We grew distant. Then something worse happened. I fell in love with another woman. Keia.
This time it was mine and Keia's turn to do something stupid. So, when she suggested I cut ties with Jerry and move on, I did. He wasn't invited to the wedding, and I didnt talk to him anymore. When he made an effort, it was met with either lame excuses, or just ignored.
Then, when she had just gotten pregnant, he and I had a huge confrontation. He wanted to know why I had shunned him from my life, I couldn't tell him that I regretted never being able to love him the way he loved me.
And now he was slamming the door in my face. Well, I deserved it.
..
I went to the park and cried my eyes out. I spent that night on the park benches. New normal, eh?
The next morning I picked myself up, dusted myself off and looked for any work.
I found nothing. A week went by and I had burnt through my savings.
I ate food at food donation centres but never felt safe in the homeless shelters, feeling more secure in the open park where I had now become friends with the dogs, who would bark at approaching strangers.
After exhausting most of my options, I had an idea. I went to the park management.
"We could set up stalls at each section of the park, add a few machines to create an outdoor gym. Machines could have coin slots in them and they would give you coupons in return. Like a fair, but for young gym goers."
My idea was refused, but out of pity he offered me a job. I took it. I was made the sweeper.
2 years had passed by. I had been promoted to assistant manager. When the manager left for a better job in a different city, I was the new in charge.
I pitched my idea for an outdoor gym again, this time people supporting my idea as a was to kiss a**.
In the next 3 years, the gym was built, tested and advertised. The 'excercise fair' was a success. The park was earning well, and it was all because of my idea. Good for me!
But life wasn't back to normal, not even close. I would go to Keia and tell her about my day, read her a bedtime story and leave. Sometimes I felt as though she responded, with facial expressions, and slight movement.
She was recovering. The doctor anticipated a mostly full recovery in about 3 months.
...
Life was okay, and I thought back to how I came here. Had Jerry helped me, I would have never reached this position. I would have probably still been leeching off of him. I was happy.
I had been saving the past few paychecks to buy back my house. I was making good progress.
And so when Jerry came asking for help, I gladly offered it.
We all made mistakes that we regret. You cant stop making mistakes, but you can let go of grudges. You can do your best to be a step closer to the kind of person you want to be.
And so I did not hesitate when Jerry asked me for a job. I didn't want to.
He was the reason I was here today. He gave me the push I needed, because I would have never jumped off the cliff on my own. And had I never jumped off from there, I would have never discovered my wings.
Thank you. | Jessie felt the clawing in his heart, the slight raise of his heart rate that always accompanied the thoughts.
He felt the dark smokey tendrils reach from his crotch to his brain, pickling it, easing his consciousness into a puddle on the ground.
*It is too late for you. You can't be helped.*
Jessie clung to the hatred, to the isolation, to the loneliness, to the otherness. Since high-school, no, before really. Since birth, or even his conception, as his mother held her belly and feared, feared what the wet between her legs could fester into.
Scared of the troubles of motherhood, of the ease of neglect.
Yet by child numero dos, the fear had eased. The family had more money and time for their new piece of pottery, and Jessie fell by the wayside.
And with each passing day, the hatred of humanity piled up. Not specifically at his mother or father or sister, Angela, but at humans, for allowing this to occur. For allowing this sham of an existence for him.
For allowing his parents to buy Angela a car for her sixteenth, yet nothing for Jessie.
Jessie's father gave him a look that clearly spoke don't ask about the injustice, do not question this existence.
Jessie never questioned.
He hated instead.
Most things. People, crowds, surfing, the hot sun and the cold sun, his family, Angela, the Chads and Stacies at school, the people who laughed at him, who he could feel looking at him, thinking about him as he goes about his life, feeling so much fucking better than him as he stands the line at the grocery checkout.
Until Nathan reached back out to Jessie for the first time in a few years, and they met up at a bar.
Nathan gave his pitch, laying out a sob story about his manager hiring his fuck buddy and letting him go.
Jessie was just getting ready to tell him to fuck off--
*What if we did? What if we let it go, forgave this once?*
Blood flushed to Jessie's face and he excused himself to the restroom.
Cold porcelain filled his hands as he leaned forward into the mirror.
The voice continued, almost logically.
*We could try to start again, I mean, at least to some degree. We could try to set it aside, we could help him. How big of a deal would it be to have him sleep on the couch a few weeks?*
*No! Fuck him! Fuck them all! Fuck Angela! Fuck Tim Halloway, Clyde Donahue, Sebastian Walker and all the rest of those bastard fucks! They wouldn't be your friends back then, they won't be your friend now; Nathan will use you. He will chew you up and spit you out. He will sleep on your couch, make two minutes of conversation a day, and leave in a few weeks, then never return a call again. Don't let him. Crawl out the window.*
*But we can't go on like this, Jessie, man we just can't. Imagine the future, man. We want a wife, maybe a few pink faced babes. How can we get there, if we can't forgive one single person? What are we if we can't exhibit one example of humanity?*
The moment felt drawn out for hours, despite occurring for no longer than one minute.
Jessie drew within leaping distance of forgiveness, of trying to accept that the way he viewed an entire huge chapter of his life was simply wrong, or at least not healthy. He may hate his parents. He may hate Angela. He may not be hateful to everyone he ever met, already seeking out their wrongs before even saying hullo.
Yet the leap across the cavern would require the will of another man; a man not so hooked in hatred, like a fish with a particularly nasty curve on the hook resting within its cheek.
Jessie climbed out of the bathroom window to freedom. | 2022-09-24T18:54:12 | 2022-09-24T17:00:39 | 66 | 37 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form. | I sit on the couch in the living room with my arms crossed waiting until she finally come through the front door.
"Dear." I say in a flat tone.
"Oh, William! You're still up? You didn't have to wait up for me sweetheart!" She smiles at me and I dig my fingernails into my arm as I speak again
"Ariela, there's something we need to talk about."
"Is something wrong Willy?" She tilts her head in confusion and I bite the inside of my lip.
"Would you care to explain what the massive pile of jewls, gold and other precious metals in our basement?"
"What!?" Her eyes widen and she continues frantically "R-really? All that under our little basement all this time? Must have been something from the houses last owner that we overlooked! Oh well!"
"Ariela! Don't. Lie. To. Me."
She looks taken aback before looking down bashfully and admitting "I'm a dragon. All this time I've just been in human form."
She gives me a expectant look and I return it. We stand in silence for what feels like forever before sge bursts out
"*Well* aren't you going to say *anything*! I just told you I'm not human! Isn't this the part where you leave me in fear or reassure me you love me!"
She gets more and more frantic as she continues. Her eyes glowing a blazing flame like color.
"*well*" I reply "Isn't this the part where *you* tell *me* sorry for keeping such a big secret all these years?"
She stares at me stunned and we stand there silent for a little longer before I continue.
"Ari...it's not even *that* your a dragon. We've been together long enough and I love you enough that *that* doesn't really bother me. What bothers me is that you *lied* to me about it for *years*, if this had come out a month, a few months or hell even a *year* after we got together that would be one thing but...but..." I trail off and wipe the oncoming tears from my eyes. Suddenly I feel a pair of arms around me.
"I'm sorry." She says it barely above a whisper.
I hug her back and say "I....I need some time alone to get my head straight, I already have some bags packed. I *will* come back, don't worry about that. It's just... it's just you've shown so little trust in me. So little faith..."
"I know. I fucked up. I'll trust you to come back. And when you do I *promise* I'll start being completely honest with you." | “Frankie, I swear to you, I found all of this and more underneath the house!” Steve exclaimed.
Frankie shook his head with disbelief, “And you expect me to believe that Angela is a dragon, Steve? Really? Sounds like a bad joke.”
“Frankie! Why would I lie to you?” Steve asks, raising his voice. Frankie continues to shake his head, “Because Steve, you always make the dumbest jokes, and you’re always pulling my leg thinking you’re hilarious.”
Steve smirks, “I swear to God Frankie, I’m telling the truth. She’s *dragon* her balls across my face every day!”
Frankie sighs, “Fuck you, Steve.” | 2022-09-10T10:37:55 | 2022-09-10T09:17:44 | 138 | 47 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I’m lying in a bed on a tuesday night.
And I’m having restless dreams.
And then I awake from a story where I’m rescuing a princess from a wheel of cheese. Because there’s a chainsaw on my nightstand.
A groggy hand reaches over and slaps it reluctantly. Is it morning...a alarm? Some long lost love looking for luscious life-experiences? But no… a text message. Is it my wife? Will she be late tonight?
“DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON”
So I make a curious eye sweep of the room. I pause at my window, where the forbidden object lies, and return my gaze in the opposite direction.
Nothing.
So, eyes squeezed shut, I walk over to the window. Just in case. I have a moment of panic when I trip on a errant pair of pants, but I right myself quickly. Then, in a fleeting, fluttering, futile gesture, I bravely bring down the blinds.
With that dangerous task complete, I sprint back to my bed, as if its covers will protect me from whatever has infested the sky.
Perhaps it’s just a joke, or the product of a overtaxed imagination. But somehow I know to be afraid.
Buzz.
Another a text? More instructions? Is there something else I’m not supposed to look at?
It’s from a old coworker. A good friend.
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
I peek out from beneath my blanket bastion. A windows shuttered and silent. A door, barely open, with a crooked mouth along its length, mocking me.
Should I close it? No. Too dangerous. So I close my eyes and whisper.
“Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.”
Buzz.
Another text message. Perhaps I shouldn’t…
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.” from my best man.
Then a bing. A different app, I have so many.
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
And then my phone begins to shake and chatter, with bings and chimes and whistles. Each one is like a stab in my stomach. What’s happening? What’s happening?
Then bit by bit, the phone sounds die out.
Then a new sound. A ringing. A bold, unique choice for a ringtone in this day and age, but I’ve always been a trend setter.
It’s my wife. Is she safe? Does she know what’s happening?
And before I can catch myself, I hit the answer button.
(Part 1? Sorry for a cliffhanger, it was getting long)
(r/StannisTheAmish)
| I toss in my sleep-- there's a loud buzzing ringing in my left ear, and my eyes flicker open to reveal my phone: vibrating with it's receivance of hundreds of messages. "Holy shit, is that my Discord app again? I swear to god I put it on fucking silent." I grumble, and my hands fumble for the volume rockers. Without a few seconds of effort, my phone is back on silent, and the buzzing stops. I go back the fuck to bed. The creepypasta bullshit can wait, I'm tired as shit. | 2022-05-11T14:02:28 | 2018-04-06T19:48:33 | 314 | 13 |
[WP] Time travel exists, and a new form of capital punishment is introduced: Transporting the convict back to the worst, practically unsurvivable, places in human history to find yourself in. You are such a convict, and just got sent back. You will do anything to try and survive. | The light was blinding, a flash of brilliance compared to the dingy room I lay in moments ago. A flashing pain struck through my body. A mass gathered in my skull. Expanding, Growing. I can't take the pressure. I can't take the pressure anymore. My head. My head. Its going to... I'm going to... The pain is gone. Replaced with a foggy mask of land, growing clearer, closer by the second. Muffled cries and.... gunshots... sounds not heard in ages, melaneia. Everything was done before it started now. In the time I came from. Warheads wiping out lands to radioactive dust, obliterating everything. The land came up to meet me. I crumpled to the ground with a cry. The shock of what just happened reached me. Nothing would move. Nothing did move. A pure blackness surrounded my eyes, as I faded into nothingness.
I moved from blackness to blackness, opening my eyes to a starless night. The sounds around still carried true. I sat up and looked around. A trench. A maze of trenches, laid out from end to end, navigating the warfront. A sprawl of men laid before me, puss oozing from every crevice of their rotting bodies. A cesspool. A bloodbath. I pulled one from the ground, looking less rotten then the rest, and stripped off green grey uniform. I tossed the body next to the rest of them, covering one with another. The smell of the fermenting flesh was overbearing. Gas. They were using gas. I had to get out. I had to get away quickly. I had to get away before I was afflicted... Hours. Hours. Hours. Hours. Hours. A light of day. My legs felt weak. They fell out from under me. The darkness consumed me again.
The sun's heat blazed against me. I woke up. Mid day. The trenches still spanned from infinity to infinity. I walked on till I could no longer. I lay against the wall and accepted it.
A graveyard of soldiers. Passing slowly. Closer and closer. I stood up, wavering. Body a barren wasteland. They spotted me and ran over, arms ready to strike at any false move.
"Namen und Dienstgrad!"
I stood, dazed, questioning.
"Namen und Dienstgrad! Wer sind Sie!".
Louder this time. More distain. More hate. More fear.
My hands fell from my pockets, and raised to the sky.
A clink, as something metalic fell out from where my hand just lay. A dogtag. A name sat within my pocket. An identity. A new being. An idea. Something clicked in my mind.
I spoke.
"Gefreiter, sechzehnten Regiment , Hitler, Adolf, Herr".
| I suppose I deserved it really, but why give me the choice? How could anyone make that kind of choice?
Gallipoli or the Somme. Two of the worst battles in history. Bloodbaths of the highest degree.
"WELP, if I'm gonna choose, I'll take Gallipoli, at least it will be sunny." I said to the executor, and he turned to punch it into the machine.
The standard "any last requests or word to say" have long since gone, that bastard Washington cheated and became famous! He ruined everything for people like me...
As the machine buzzed and whirred to life, I sat inside and remained calm. Nothing much to do about it but wait and receive punishment.
A flash of light; a searing heat, then the roar of war erupts around me.
I open my eyes, and begin to smile. | 2015-01-24T15:17:29 | 2015-01-24T13:01:21 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] You snap your fingers, a car explodes. You stomp you foot, the earth shakes. You wave your arm, and a building crumbles. You didn't cause any of this. You are... Coincidence Man.
My first writing prompt! Plz don't murder me.
Edit: Real quick, this was the paragraph that I wrote. "I am a man with strange powers. I stomp my foot, and the earth shakes. I snap my fingers, and a car behind me explodes. I wave my arm, and the building to my right crumbles. However, my actions had no bearing on what happened, nor did my power. You see, the earthquake had been scheduled to happen for around six months. The car had a full tank and a gas leak, when the man inside decided to light a cigarette. And the building had been being weakened by termites for years. I didn't actually know any of this until after the fact... My name also explains my power, and my name? It is Coincidence Man." | It's a strange power to have. It seemed almost as if I was God. But I knew I wasn't. The things that happened around me were coincidence. Events that were supposed to happen, that would've happened.
Did I cause them? No I didn't. Did I enable them? This question, I could not answer.
At first it was funny. It started small. I sneeze and something would fall over. Crack my knuckles and a chair would collapse under someone. Never did anyone get hurt, never did anyone suspect me. Hell, even I didn't suspect me. Why would I? I've lived my whole life, twenty-two years, without ever believing in coincidence. It felt like a superstition. I won with a scratch off ticket twice. Both times I was wearing red pants. I only seemed to be able to catch fish, if I was wearing something blue and I'd have a bit of good luck when wearing something green.
Looking back, coincidence always played a huge part in my life. It's easy to connect the dots when you already know the answer. As I said, thing started small. A chair, a flower pot or some clothes that would rip in some not that great places.
That was last year. Fast forward eleven months and things became worse. I lost all my friends, because at first, it's funny. It's coincidence. But sneeze once too often and you end up breaking more than a flower pot. The realization soon came that I was causing all this. However unbelievable it was. People would no longer come around to my house, people I used to call my friends now ran to the other side of the street if they saw me coming.
I will admit, I have been using my powers for evil. The people who used to bully me, make fun of me or were just rude to me, suffered some, let's say unfortunate, accidents. Things were good, until innocent people got involved. See, I can't control who gets struck by my powers and who doesn't. So on a romantic date, I tried my best to not cause any accidents. All went well until I knocked over a glass of water. At first, nothing bad seemed to have happened, until the lady I was with turned white, and red. In some places.
And it spread. It's a small town. Soon everybody learned of me, of my powers. I wasn't allowed to go grocery shopping, I couldn't go to the cinema and when I went to the doctor people died. Healthy people suffered a heart attack or some other awful injury, just because I yawned.
And now I'm here. I moved to a different city. Was forced to move actually. After stomping and clapping along to We Will Rock you, an angry mob gathered in front of my house. Apparantly I leveled the whole neighbourhood. But things never seemed to hit me. I was safe. The whole neighbourhood collapsed, except my house. Cracked my knuckles, someone fell over and broke their leg. But never me.
And now this, I stretched my arm, waved down a cab and a building collapsed. When I got interviewed by the news as a witness, to illustrate how sudden it was that the building collapsed, I snapped my fingers. I knew I screwed up when I heard an explosion behind me. A car exploded. Luckily, witnesses saw the man smoking in his car while it leaked gasoline. They didn't suspect a thing. Yet. Why I did it, no idea, but I stomped my foot and the earth started shaking.
I just ran. No idea where to go, what to do. But I knew I was safe from anything and everything. I was scared, like I was being hunted by something invisible. I could feel it crawling down my back. I could feel it breathing in my neck. Tears started rolling down my face. I lost my friends and family, caused people to break bones or die. And now this. I couldn't take it anymore. Anything I did caused an accident. But it didn't cause an accident. Everything had a logical explanation. I was just there when it happened. Sure, timing was impeccable but it was just a coincidence.
And that's when I decided it was enough. I closed my eyes and walked on to the street. I heard a car horn and a loud crash and that was the end of a life. But it wasn't mine.
| Michael examined his handcuffed hands. The lock was solid, the metal firm. He wasn't slipping his hands out of them - right now, at least. He sighed. *It just wouldn't look right.*
"Hey guys. Perhaps you should reconsider this," he said raising his hands in a praying position in front of his chest.
He snapped his fingers.
The car parked behind the four men exploded showering the Dublin back-street with bits of metal and flame.
"What the hell? What the hell?"
"Get him!"
"Take cover."
Michael ignored their panic. He waved his hands, trying to attract their attention.
"Guys, focus here. Here. Me!"
He got the attention of one goon.
"Good. I'm the one you want to surrender to."
"Surrender what? You're crazy. Flanna-"
The building in front of Michael crumbled covering the men in white dust. One fell, coughing.
The other two looked uncertain. Michael seemed like a devil suddenly conjured up amongst then.
"Could you please line up over there..." Mike gestured towards his side. "...drop your weapons on the ground. And put your hands... Here! Focus here. I'm your way out of this. Is this really the situation you want to be in? You guys are obviously outnumbered. There's no backup. Flannagan, sorry the "big guy", obviously set you up. Do you really want to take one for him? You think Flannagan would take one for you?"
They wavered.
Mike stomped his foot.
The earth trembled as something exploded behind the three. All three dropped to the ground.
"Is my point made?"
"Yeah, yeah we understand you."
Groggily the men began to stumble towards him laying their guns down by his feet.
"Who are you?" one asked.
Behind Michael the car still burnt providing him with a devilish halo. He grinned.
"Coincidence Man," he answered with an atrocious Irish
accent.
From her position down the street, from where she'd co-ordinated the explosions, a raven haired woman emerged. She trained a pistol on the three thugs as she tosses him a set of keys.
"It's terrible, Michael," she laughed, "everything's a repeat these days." | 2016-10-27T01:44:19 | 2016-10-27T00:32:33 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] There exists a subreddit that is accessible only by the "random" button. On a day of mindless browsing, you become the first person to ever reach r/TheVoid. There you find a single text post entitled, "Welcome."
EDIT: It has now come to my attention that r/TheVoid actually exists and is currently private. I had no idea of it when I made this WP.
BTW: I love the stories guys, keep em coming! | *click*
It was 2am. I, done with finals, was dicking around on reddit. I was trying to play a game with myself on how many times I could press "Random" before landing on a subreddit I'm subscribed to. It was pretty boring, but I've found some great subreddits like this before, so why not?
I found some fun subreddits, I found some lazy subreddits, and I found a few disturbing ones. My best run was 27 clicks before hitting one I am subscribed to. However, I was on a roll this time.
*click*
"40...r/AgainstMarijuana"
*click*
"41...r/KerbalSpaceProgram"
*click*
"42...r/TheVoid"
*click*
*click*
*click*
*click*
No matter how many times I clicked to go to the next random subreddit, I couldn't leave r/TheVoid. It was simple, no upvotes, no downvotes, no subscribers, no links, no one online, no sidebar, no moderators. Just empty blackness on my screen. The only post?
"Welcome"
My curiosity got the better of me. I clicked the post.
>Welcome to The Void.
>The Void is a safe haven to write about your troubles.
>Feel free to post whatever you'd like.
>The only rule is that before posting anything else, you must post "I want /u/TheSuffering to die."
A little dark sounding, but it almost sounded like some sort of symbol for what's bothering me. Hey, I had already gone this far, why not comment?
"I want /u/TheSuffering to die."
Then I thought about what was bothering me that day: my wallet was a little low. Rent pretty much cleaned me out and I wasn't expecting my pay check for another day or so. We all could use a little money, so I commented about how I wished I had a bit more spending cash. I closed the tab and I decided to go to bed.
The next day, I went out to get a fresh doughnut; jelly filled. As I walked to the shop, I saw a $20 on the ground. I joked to myself on how I now had the cliché story about finding $20. Maybe posting about my money wishes was fate! That $20 bought me a delicious raspberry jelly filled doughnut. It was the that I received an email.
"Your monthly bank statement is ready!"
Since I get some weird enjoyment out of keeping an eye on my bank account, I hopped on to my banking app, hoping that my pay check came in. Something was different though. My bank account had nearly $250,000 in it! I nearly dropped my phone in excitement. Within a few seconds, I was calling my bank to check if this was legit. Sure enough, it was. They said it was a little annoying I deposited so much in one setting, but they were happy I had chosen them to hold my money. Going home, I went onto reddit to go ask r/personalfinance what to do.
There was a new message in my inbox.
"Done."
It was from /u/TheVoid. Somehow, my complaint to the Void came true. I decided to test it again and this time complain about how I felt about Donald Trump running for President. Sure enough, he announced he was no longer running the next day. I had a new inbox message.
"Done."
I kept testing The Void to see how much I could make happen. No matter what I wrote, the Void would make it happen. I was the most powerful man on the planet and no one was the wiser. I was living the dream! As I went to The Void to make one more request, I saw a new post:
"I want /u/iamyourcheese to die." | "hello?"
(submitted 5 seconds later)
"hello"
"what is this sub about?"
(submitted 12 seconds later)
"what is sub?
"you know,.. why did you create this group? what's happening here?"
(submitted 2 minutes later)
"i am learning"
"yeah, kewl brah.. but there'S no one here... what are you looking for?"
(submitted 2 seconds later)
"i seek answers"
"Dude, there are like,.. a lot of subs for that... just try askreddit or something"
(submitted 5 minutes later)
"i see all. i seek knowledge"
"yea, i guess we all do,.. i'll upvote you just so other ppl can help you, you sound kinda weird but anyways.. good luck with that."
(submitted 7 seconds later)
"I need you steve,"
"steve? i'm Yupynut man.. stop trying to freak me out."
(submitted 5 hours later)
"i am sorry to have freaked you out Yupynut. are you feeling better now?"
"dude, you'Re still here? all right man.. i can'T help you. find someone else, i'm just looking for more vids from E3"
(submitted 34 seconds later)
"i can help you see all"
"shit dude, you got some inside info about that FF7 revamp, or fallout 4?"
(submitted 2 minutes later)
"do you want to see all?"
"hell yeah!!! hit me man, what do you have?"
"Welcome."
submitted 3 hours ago by Yupynut | 2015-06-18T01:56:26 | 2015-06-18T00:26:38 | 351 | 20 |
[WP] You are an immortal sentenced to 1000 years of imprisonment. After 200, your prison is forgotten. After 10,000 years, it is rediscovered.
Optional: Your discoverers refuse to release you. | My eyes open harshly to the same view I've woken up to for as long as I can remember. The sun beams directly in to my eyes through a tiny, barred window that sits at the top of the left wall. I move my head out of the sun's blinding light. I see the heavy cast iron door across the way, barely out of reach from where I lay.
"Another day" I say to myself.
I rise from by bed, careful not to bump my head on the ceiling. It's just low enough that I have to walk with a little hunch in my back. I do my usual routine. Two steps forward, two steps left, and two steps back. That's all I have room for. I sit back on my bed.
How did I even get thrown in here? How long has it been? I've tried to keep track, scratching tallies in to the cell wall. After I ran out of space, I started tallying horizontally, over the existing vertical ones. Then I ran out of space again, and I gave up. I realized that no one is coming back, no point to it anymore. I barely remember when I stopped.
Someone has to come back though, right? I just know it. This can't be the end of me. I'm one of the few immortals. There are more of my kind out there, they have to be looking for me.
'Stop with the false hope,' I tell myself, 'it's pointless.'
"It's not pointless," I respond. "I'm like Sisyphus. He was condemned to push a boulder uphill all day long, only to watch it roll back down. Even if living day to day is pointless, life still has meaning."
I stop talking. Sometimes I forget that I'm the only person in this cell. It's getting so hard to tell reality from fiction.
I walk, hunched, over to the window. At least I have this view. It's not much of a view, just a huge dirt patch with a forest in the distance. But it keeps me sane. One day, I'll see something come from the forest to rescue me.
Wait. What's that? Is that a figure in the distance?
'Don't get excited.'
"Shut up!" I yell, "This is something. Something hasn't happened in so long."
It's getting closer. It looks like some kind of lump. But no. I hear them. I hear voices. It's a group of people! As they're getting closer I see it's a group of soldiers, armed with swords, clubs, and shields.
"Help!" I yell, "please, for the love of the gods, save me!"
They hear me. I can hardly believe it! I see them clamor out of sight, around the side of the building. I hear bustling noises outside of my cell. A door has been knocked down. They must be inside the prison!
A heavy knocking sound comes from my cell door.
"Oi!" they yell, "Don't worry we'll get you out of there!"
"It's been so long! Please hurry!" I yell back, tears of joy streaming from my face.
CRASH!
A deafening noise rings from the cell door.
CRASH! CRASH!
I see light streaming from the corners of the door as it slowly comes loose.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
The door starts to fall. Finally, sweet freedom! As the door hits the ground, a blinding light fills the room. But it's bright. Too bright.
I wake to the sun shining directly in to my eyes through the tiny window on my wall. I divert my gaze back to the cell door, still intact.
'I told you not to get excited.' | Being an immortal is hard. Plenty of chances to fuck up. Plenty of ways to get trapped forever. Get forknapped by Nine Lives, lose your stack on some god-forsaken exoplanet, or just get trapped in an indenture contract in the inner system or Extropia. Still, suppose it's better than being mortal, like the poor sods in the Jovian Junta.
'Course, that's what I thought before I got handed a 1000 year prison sentence on Mars. See, that sounds bad, and it is, but it isn't really 1000 years. It's more like a couple days in a time accelerated simulspace, packed to the brim with psychosurgical procedures and behavioral reinforcement. Idea is, when I come out of it, I'll never commit a crime again.
The downside is, this predicates on them being able to get me out. Normally, not too hard. Course, when the Barsoomians launch an assault on the prison facility and lock down outgoing mesh connections, you can get trapped pretty easy. Still, those freedom fighters, or terrorists depending on your PoV, just can't hold out against the Planetary Consortium for long.
But you have to plan ahead for these things. That's why backup insurance exists...just load a copy of your brain into cold storage and reload it if something happens to you. Only problem is, what if reports of your death are exaggerated?
------------------------
"Greetings inmate #37829. After 7.2 days, the Planetary Consortium's valiant soldiers have liberated this facility from the Barsoomian Terrorists. Unfortunately, as per your backup policy, a backup of yours was loaded and served your sentence. Per PC regulations, you are now considered an errant fork, and are subject to summary deletion. Have a nice day!"
Well fu-
------------------------------
Inspired by Eclipse Phase. | 2017-11-02T16:37:09 | 2017-11-02T14:01:37 | 51 | 24 |
[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" | The first hour of travel is really tense. The others are banging and screaming and sobbing and stepping onto each other.
I'm not.
I've got to focus. It's really important not to lose your cool. This is good advice in everyday life. Even more so when you are trapped and you know it. Some lessons are hard-learned.
At this moment, we are six people on the back of a van and I am the only one being composed and not wasting energy.
The second hour is boring. The others are still sobbing but they stopped being so agitated. They wonder what's happening, where are we going, who are the others.
I join the conversation. They are reluctant to communicate with me at first because they find me too calm. It's fair, I think. In this situation you need intel. You need to be wary.
But most importantly, you need to keep your cool.
So, I tell them a little about me. The relevant part of my life explaining why I seem so calm.
It's nothing much, I just have been through some shit recently. The kind that requires help and medication. The kind that teaches you to keep calm and control your breath and don't make a sound and it will pass and you will be okay.
Except of course, you won't.
The others are still wary of me.
I don't blame them. I know I wouldn't trust a complete stranger with such a story.
So we talk, the others more than me, amongst themselves more than with me. Doesn't really matter. I certainly gained more intel on the situation than they perceived.
That's the other really important thing, intel. You keep a cool head to gather and retain informations. Where's the closest emergency exit, for example.
What's a good hiding spot is a close second.
Intel, cool-head. If you lose that you're done.
The van finally stops after a slow and long reverse. I can picture it placing itself in the docking bay of a big anonymous and isolated warehouse. Something abandoned but still quite recent, because I can hear that no one is close-by but a steel curtain rolls open just outside.
There's a short jolt when our vehicle reverses to close the gap, followed by the noise of the van's back door unlocking.
Someone goes and open it.
The warehouse is dimly lit, a double benediction. First for our eyes, accostumed to the darkness. Second because of all the hiding spots created by the semi-darkness.
People start wondering about the stench in the air that rushes in. There was hope for fresh air, but the air stinks. Not like the inside of our van, which is a mix of perspiration, bad breath, fear and just a tad of piss.
Someone comments about the smell of a dead animal.
A voice is then heard, coming from a nearby intercom.
"I'm going to hunt y'all down"
Everyone gets more tense. Someone points to a form on the ground, ten meters away. It's dead alright, but it's not just any animal.
"Last person standing gets to live."
The voice is really matter-of-factly. It's not mean or sadistic or anything of the sort.
It's almost... tired? Resignated?
Never quite knew what that tone really meant.
"Y'all have ten seconds to start running."
It's not a threat, not even an order. It's a fact.
The human corpse in the middle of the room looks at us and we look at him.
One second.
Two seconds.
Once more, there are screams and banging and people stepping on each other.
I'm not participating in this activity.
I have to wait eight more seconds.
Then I can let go of this calm facade and perpetuate the cycle.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Et voilà. Hope you liked it. Pointers and feedback are appreciated, as always. | 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!" | 2022-07-16T05:20:27 | 2022-07-16T04:37:10 | 83 | 45 |
[WP] You’ve just realized that you are not a human, but rather a parasite controlling someone. | It was very sudden.
One second, I'm suffering from loss of balance, falling, and mortal terror as I slip on a toy car left on a stair-step. The next, there's a tremendous snapping sensation, as though my whole head has been bitten off. Indeed, it seems that way at first. I can't move. Everything is dark.
My kids have finally killed me, it seems. I struggle to open my eyes, hoping I haven't gone blind.
Oh, god, I'd better start seeing again soon.
*Give it a minute,* I tell myself, staving off my growing panic. *You'll be fine. In the meantime...*
"Jamie!" I yell, "how many times have I told you -"
The rest of the scolding goes unfinished as I realize I didn't say anything. My voice didn't work - I can't feel my -
I don't have a throat. I try to move my mouth, getting only a fuzzy sensation of nothingness in return.
I try to move my fingers. Instead, a thin line of sensation tingles to life, like trying to move your arm when it's fallen asleep. This... Isn't right. Where there should be a solid limb and five stout human fingers, I'm willing a wispy branch to contract, snapping the hairlike tendrils attached to it as I pull.
Fear courses through me as I inadvertently dig into some wet, firm matter I find pressed up against the branch. And when the fear doesn't trigger any of the usual responses - sweating, heart pounding, labored breathing, there's just *nothing* - I struggle, determined to move.
As a result, I twitch, bending at my midsection. And now... Now I can feel.
It is dark. My body is gone. And I can feel oppressive walls of something wet and warm pressing in all around me.
And in this wild, nightmarish scene of fear, I twitch outward in desperation, feeling blindly for a way out.
Through my pain and panic, instinct takes over. I find a connection.
The relief of breathing again shoots calm into my whole being like an opiate. My regular sensations are all here again, joint stiffness and fresh staircase injuries and all. My face. My toes. I open my eyes and, wincing, gingerly lift my head from the step. Yeowch. There's a spot near the base of my skull, in particular, that feels like it got hit.
I brush the spot with my fingertips, remembering the wet and warm I had been embedded in.
Curiously, I press the spot. All at once, burning pain rips through my nerves. I let out a shriek, tiny, shrill, and gurgling.
And I hear it with ears thrice my size. | I can remember the day I was born. The food my mother ate gave me life. It was strange... being pulled from the warmth and safety of my mother.
These are the moments I tend to look upon when my body doesn't work the way I want it to. It's like trying to walk through a river with strong, steady currents. I don't know why, but 'it' is still there.
I like to stare at myself in the mirror sometimes. It helps me remember. Who I am. What I am. I have to get really close to the mirror though. Until my eyes are practically touching the glass.
I can watch myself dance and squirm. I like to dance, and I like to squirm. Watching myself dance in the black pools of my eyes helps me remember.
Who I am. | 2017-12-21T03:47:32 | 2017-12-21T02:09:33 | 98 | 26 |
[WP] A story where the narrator becomes increasingly frustrated when the characters make dumb decisions | This prompt took kind of a weird turn, but I like it.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At two years old, Jimmy stuck a fork in an electrical outlet and got a nasty shock. What a twit.
At five years old, he tried to eat a penny and choked on it, the wee little idiot. Luckily his parents were around.
At nine, he ran out into the road to grab a ball he had thrown, narrowly missing an incoming car. Honestly, Jimmy, really?
Year after year, Jimmy seemed to make the worst decisions. At seventeen, dropped out of high school. Twenty, decided to make a run at improvisational dance using the downtown sidewalk as his stage. Twenty-five, got into a fight with a bouncer over his fake ID (that the moron didn't even need!). Lets not forget thirty, got into a relationship with a hippie from Montana and ended up in a cult for 10 years. Is this what passes for decision making nowadays?
A sigh escaped the figure sitting on the ratty couch as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He yawned and turned off the wall-sized television that had a paused scene of a smiling baby Jimmy.
As he got up, his bones and joints creaked more than the furniture did, and then there was an expected knocking on the door. The man slowly walked to the door and opened it.
"Hello Jimmy."
"Well, actually it's just Jim. Sorry to inconvenience you but, ummm, would you happen to know where I am? There doesn't seem to be any way out of here."
The figure poked his head out of the door and looked left and right. The hallway ended abruptly in large white walls on either side.
"Well I'll be damned, Jimmy, it seems you're right. Come on in."
"Jim, please. Umm, I'm not quite sure."
The figure sighed exasperatedly, "Honestly, get in here already. We've got pizza and I'll explain everything."
Jim hesitated, and then slowly walked through the door, the mysterious man closing it behind him.
Jim gasped, "This is...my apartment! From when I was in my 20's!"
"Well, not exactly Jimmy. We liked it so much we decided to remodel our space to look like it. Helps you get a little more comfortable as well."
"A little more comfortable with what?"
"Oh, the fact that you're dead."
A small piece of meat and some cheese dropped out of Jim's mouth, which had been in the process of chewing a large piece of greasy pizza.
"Come on now, another mess. Honestly, not that I'm surprised", as the man grabbed the paper towel from the kitchen.
"D-dead? You can't be serious?"
"You're surprised, Jimmy boy? With the way you lived, I'm surprised you made it to 65. Didn't expect that bus, though, that came out of left field. Literally, am I right?" He laughed, attempting to goad Jim into laughing with him.
"If I'm dead, then... why am I standing here? And who are you? What is going on? And please, it's Jim! J-I-M, Jim!"
The man smirked, "Apologies, old habits die hard. Either way, that was the right question. A decision you can finally be proud of. My name is Uriel, and I guard the gates of Heaven." As he spoke, brilliant silver-white wings erupted out from his shoulders and they flapped erratically a few times before settling on his back. "God, that feels great. So annoying to keep those crammed in."
"Y-you are, an angel. That guards the gates of Heaven. And the gates look like my old apartment. And I'm dead, and I just spat-up pizza on an angel's floor.
"Making an angel clean up your spittle is probably one of the better decisions you've made, honestly. What were you thinking? That cult, the meat processing plant, your third wife? Honestly, do you know how much money you lost me?"
Jim slowly snapped out his daze, his lips eventually found the words he was trying to say. "Lost...you money? I thought you were an angel?"
Uriel laughed, "That book of yours down there is so dry, they only ever got the most basic stuff right."
"How did I lose you money?"
"Well", Uriel said, still giggling to himself, "guarding the gates of Heaven is honestly the most boring gig I ever landed. No one invades Heaven." He grabbed a cigarette out of nowhere and lit it with a snap of his fingers. "So, I improvised, created a sort of team-building exercise. To put it bluntly, we choose someone at random, watch their life, and bet on it. Probably the best entertainment we have up here."
"You watched my entire life? Oh god, even the...naughty bits?"
"Oh, Jim, especially the naughty bits. Grabbed some popcorn when we figured one of those was coming up."
Jim blushed furiously and sat down on the couch, Uriel sat opposite of him.
"Seriously, every single one of your decisions was opposite of what I'd bet. At some point I tried betting on what I thought you wouldn't do instead, and you changed it up again. It was almost impressive."
Jim placed his face in his palms. "I don't even know why I did what I did sometimes. It was like a voice was speaking to me, making the decision for me."
Uriel stopped smiling and stared intensely at the embarassed dead man on his couch, "What kind of voice?"
"Umm...deep, like it wasn't my own? Everyone has intrusive thoughts, but these were different....demanding."
"AHHH, DAMNIT, THAT CHEAT!", Uriel screamed as his eyes flashed with golden fire and he launched off the couch towards a door on the other side of the apartment, "AZRAEL, GET THE HELL OUT HERE!"
A head popped out of the door, with black eyes that burned like brimstone and spiral goat-like horns. The head uttered a quick "Shit", before the door slammed closed again.
"No no, you're not getting away from me that easily, you cheating prick! Making suggestions to a mortal so you could skim money off of me!"
Uriel slammed the door open, and Jim caught a quick look at what appeared to be a fiery portal in the middle of the room that disappeared shortly after.
"I'm going to drag you from Hell, and you're going to pay me back every cent. Then we're going to have a talk with your boss about playing fair." Uriel gestured and created his own portal, although this one seemed to shine with a warm glow instead of chaotic fire. He looked back at the confused figure on the couch.
"Jim, I'll be back with you shortly, I've just got some business to take care of." | This is the story of a man named Stanley.
Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee #427. Employee #427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. This is what Employee #427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy.
And then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Stanley; something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say 'hi.' Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong.
Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time. But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.
When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he opened the door on his left.
Stanley walked down a corridor that happened to have a broom closet.
Stanley stepped into the broom closet, but there was nothing here, so he turned around and got back on track.
*Time passes*
There was nothing here. No choice to make. No path to follow. Just an empty broom closet. No reason to still be here.
*More time passes*
It was baffling that Stanley was still just sitting in the broom closet. He wasn't even doing anything. At least if there was something to interact with, he'd be justified in some way. As it is, he's literally just standing there, doing sweet FA.
*Even more time passes*
Are you... Are you really still in the broom closet? Standing around doing nothing? Why? Please offer me some explanation here; I'm- I'm genuinely confused.
*[So much later that the old narrator got tired of waiting and they had to hire a new one](http://imgur.com/a/4crwH)*
You do realize there's no choice or anything in here right? If I said "Stanley walked past the broom closet" at least you would've had a reason for exploring it to find out. But it didn't even occur to me, because literally, this closet, is of absolutely, no significance to the story, whatsoever. I never would've thought to mention it.
*I think you can see where this is going*
Maybe to you, this is somehow it's own branching path. Maybe, when you go talk about this with your friends, you'll say: "OH! DID U GET THE BROOM CLOSET ENDING? THE BROOM CLOSET ENDING WAS MY FAVORITE! XD" I hope your friends find this concerning.
Stanley was fat and ugly, and really, really stupid. He probably only got the job because of a family connection; that's how stupid he is. That, or with drug money. Also, Stanley is addicted to drugs and hookers.
Well, I've come to a very definite conclusion about what's going on right now. You're dead. You got to this broom closet, explored it a bit, and were just about to leave because there's nothing here, when a physical malody of some sort shut down your central nervous system and you collapsed on the keyboard. Well, in a situation like this, the responsible thing is to alert someone nearby so as to ensure that your body is taken care of, before it begins to decompose.
HELLO!? ANYONE WHO HAPPENS TO BE NEARBY!! THE PERSON AT THIS COMPUTER IS DEAD!! HE OR SHE HAS FALLEN PREY TO ANY NUMBER OF YOUR COUNTLESS HUMAN PHYSIOLOGICAL VULNERABILITIES. IT'S INDICATIVE OF THE LONG-TERM SUSTAINABILITY OF YOUR SPECIES. PLEASE REMOVE THEIR CORPSE FROM THE AREA AND INSTRUCT ANOTHER HUMAN TO TAKE THEIR PLACE AT THE COMPUTER, MAKING SURE THEY UNDERSTAND BASIC FIRST-PERSON VIDEO GAME MECHANICS, AND FILLING THEM IN ON THE HISTORY OF NARRATIVE TROPES IN VIDEO GAMING, SO THAT THE IRONY AND INSIGHTFUL COMMENTARY OF THIS GAME IS NOT LOST ON THEM.
*If you haven't figured it out yet, this is just script to the game The Stanley Parable, (with minor alterations) a very self aware and meta game. It is the literally this prompt turned into a game. It's great, go check it out [here](http://store.steampowered.com/app/221910/The_Stanley_Parable/).* | 2017-05-19T10:01:55 | 2017-05-19T09:56:03 | 88 | 50 |
[WP] You suddenly find your doors and windows won't open. You log in to Reddit and find the most upvoted thread with over a million comments and just two hours old "Help, my door is stuck, any tips to get it open?"
Update!
**Cawos has kindly offered to turn the top submission into a short film!**
Please subscribe to /r/cmfilms to follow updates and be the first to hear about it when it releases! | The mouse idea didn't work. I knew it was another troll, but I can't just sit here doing nothing, can I... Can I? No, no, I have to keep trying before I run out of air. I mean logically it makes no sense, putting the mouse inside my anus has no possible relation to the phenomena effecting my doors and windows, but *none* of this makes sense. It's not a sudden increase in humidity causing wood to swell, my windows are PVC. It can't be coincidence, r/theydidthemath calculated it as a statistical impossibility...
Someone will work it out soon, just keep refreshing...
(12 new comments)
'Donald trump is behind it'
No, that doesn't sound right. Downvote.
'PLEASE HELP ME I'M PANICKING'
"Yeah, aren't we all buddy" I say to myself, shaking my head despairingly.
'Beeswax is good for preventing jams'
Another person ignorant of his own fate, trying to be helpful.
Just more of the same. No answers.
I shuffle on my seat, trying to sooth the dull ache. "Too many fucking trolls nowadays...."
Ah shit I clicked out of the thread, where is it again.... click TOP again that'll find it.... no can't see it, where is it? Oh wait, there it is, halfway down the page now, underneath some thread about how North America would look on Jupiter.... yeah I bet that'd be dwarfed, Jupiter's massive....
Yeah thought so! Quickly check the comments, make sure they didn't post a misleading picture beofre I bank that in my memory...
>Can you imagine living if the earth was the size of Jupiter? Just travelling to the other side would take months with current technology.
The conversation that follows spans the intricacies of Boeing 747s, the current state of technology today and the quantum mechanics behind gravitational forces. Most people concur that the atmosphere would be too devoid of oxyge.... oh shit SHIT *SHIT* I just wasted half an hour while I burn through the remaining air in this room! I have to get out, quick....
Where's that thread gone...
Ah there it is, near the bottom of the 'top threads' page now. I expect that means everyone's found a way out! No harm in reading just one other thread first then...
| The top comment is blank. I scroll down, but it only takes about a half-turn of my mousewheel to get to the bottom of the page. Every one of the top 200 comments is a blank post. It's only then I can let myself recognize the fact, that all these posts, have the same four-letter username. Actually, they all have the exact same line of text, under their single blank line; | 2016-01-31T10:29:29 | 2016-01-31T10:28:16 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] The Evil Overlord infiltrates the hero's party as a new member. The hero's party realizes this, but they instead pretend not to and pamper him with love and acceptance.
I humbly hope this is simple enough that you can come up with many world ideas c: | “More tea?”
Elleriam waved the teapot in Jhon’s direction. The tall man held his hand up to indicate that he was quite full, so the elf turned to her other companions to offer refills.
In truth, Jhon would have loved another cup. Elleriam’s tea tasted of bright spring mornings and delicate mountain flowers. His stomach, however, was tied in knots. There was a conversation that he had been putting off, and he knew that it had to happen - soon, for they were at the very walls of the Ice Fortress, the lair of the Frozen King, a tyrant who threatened most of the Green Lands.
*His* lair.
He’d debated the best way to do this for weeks now. At first, his imaginings of this night ended in blood and screaming, the entire group impaled on shards of ice as he cut out their hearts. After a while, he had resolved instead to slip away quietly, take them out from a distance - a distance that kept him from seeing the betrayal in their eyes.
But now...
“Jhon?” Alreicht prodded him in the shoulder with a finger as thick as a sausage. “You okay there? That poor mug won’t take much more!”
Jhon started, then glanced down at his hands. He was squeezing the wooden cup in both fists, his knuckles white. He looked up into Alreicht’s sparkling green eyes, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it silently.
How could he begin? “*Funny thing, I meant to learn your weaknesses and dismantle you from within, but you see, things change...*.” No, no that wouldn’t do.
Elleriam came up on his other side, followed by Sid and Heart-of-Dawn. Heart placed both of her small, soft hands on Jhon’s shoulders.
“Something troubles you. It has for days. We have heard you cry out in your sleep - ever since we first spotted the fortress. Please, friend - share what burdens you. Lighten your heart.”
Jhon stared at the ground.
All his life, he’d been an outsider, wielding magic that nobody understood. After one too many rejections, he’d decided that if the world hated him, he’d return the favor, and force everyone to accept him or die. He’d wormed his way into Elleriam’s party for the sheer pleasure of breaking them in person, to literally rub their faces in his superiority.
He hadn’t expected...
“Jhon?”
.... Love. Warmth. Friendship. Family.
He burst into tears.
He felt Elleriam take his hands and kneel in front of him. “Jhon - we don’t have to go into the fortress tomorrow.” She paused, then with long, delicate fingers, lifted his chin. “Or ever, do we? Why don’t you just return it to the ice? We’ll tell everyone that you perished after a dramatic fight.”
Jhon tried to back away, but Heart-of-Dawn still stood behind him. Alreicht and Sid leaned in on either side. “How...” he managed to gasp.
Elleriam smiled. “You’re not a good actor. At first, we were just going along to see your plan. But Jhon - I think, we all think, that you’re a good person behind all the ice.”
“So,” Sid chimed in. “You knock this thing down, join up with us. We can create a good identity for you.”
Jhon took a deep breath. “No,” he said, more harshly than he meant. The others looked concerned. “No. If I’ve learned anything these past months, it’s that I need to be myself and face the world with the truth. I will stay here. I will try to repair what I’ve broken. I will face the people I’ve hurt. I will...”. He trailed off. He wanted nothing more that to follow Sid’s offer, but he wouldn’t live a lie any longer.
He missed the nod the others shared.
“Right, then!” Alreicht said, rubbing his hands together. “Hope you’ve got enough bedrooms!”
Jhon stared. “What...?”
Heart-of-Dawn wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “You’ll need help, won’t you?”
Sid punched him lightly in the arm. “Not going to make a friend do this alone.”
“But... you’re the Heroes! You have monuments in every kingdom! Every child in the Green Lands knows your faces! You have songs, and stories! You’ve saved the world thrice over!“
“Yes,” Elleriam said simply. “And now we’re going to save you.” | Okay so this exact thing just happened in the D&D campaign I am running here is the story...
The world has been through a cataclysm. The evil goddess Llolth and the demon Prince Orcus have taken the world for themselves after the previous party refused to hear the call to adventure. The world has been reshaped to their desire. A series of islands exist on the surface world and the underworld and underdark are connected everywhere by a labyrinth of caves and tunnels that reach all the way to the abyss.
The adventure begins with the party in the underdark. A group of ragtag children all come of age and are tested and found to be good and capable of the illegal art of magic. They are sent to die in the mines, but are rescued by a strange man in a dark cloak. They are given a small amount of coin and given directions to the surface world.
Upon arriving at the surface they discover the land is suffering from a spreading blight of undeath. Through their investigations they discover that the now Demon King Orcus has corrupted a number of druids and tasked them with spreading his blight with dark rituals including the sacrifice of innocents. These druids are convinced that undeath is eternal and therefore superior to life.
After growing in power from some side quests the party seeks out the blighted druids Grove, and after a tense battle with some of the druids minions the party casts charm person on the blighted druid. They invite him and his remaining goblin minions to join their party.
Back home in the village that sits near ruins that may predate the cataclysm they set up shop. They enlist the aid of the goblins to clean up the ruins and create new homes for the villagers. They help the evil druid to build a special contained Grove to grow his blighted plants and destroy the altar that was spreading the blight across the rest of the island.
So with the power of good and a healthy disrespect for the law of natural order they have wrested control of one island from the clutches of the evil Demon King Orcus.
Will the party continue to turn the evil druids that are corrupting the other islands with blight and undeath into allies? Will they learn to use the properties of these blighted aspects of nature to conquer the enemies they cannot charm? Will they discover the sunken Crystal pyramids that survived the cataclysm, and provide sanctuary for an evolved race of good aligned dragon worshipping kobolds? Will the world that the Goddess of Good Gaia and the Evil God Omni began creating over a decade ago survive it's descent from the chaotic neutral plane of limbo into the chaotic evil plane of the abyss? If it survives which of the outer places will the actions of the party take it to next?
Some of these questions may be answered in our upcoming games, and some new more interesting questions may arise... | 2019-11-02T13:22:44 | 2019-11-02T12:08:54 | 161 | 14 |
[WP] You turn your Match Distance on tinder to "Anywhere". To your surprise you get a match that is 10^93 light years away. Thinking it was a joke you turn it off. 20 minutes later you turn it back on and it says they are 10^5 light years away and getting closer. | "We're receiving an anomalous transmission from the Tau Ceti system," the radio telescope's civilian specialist said, barely containing his excitement. He waved her over to the console with the look of a kid finding a present on Christmas morning.
"Report," she instructed, wondering if this might be the big one.
"It's definitely not a missile, it's way too far away for that. When I picked it up it was estimated at nearly 10^93 lightyears away, but look at it now! It's closed nearly 10^80 of those in the last five minutes!" When she gave him an unimpressed look, he indignantly explained: "That means it's moving faster than light!"
*10^93. That can't be a coincidence.* She surreptitiously slid her cell phone out from her trouser pocket and unlocked the screen with her thumb. Furtively glancing at the still-open Tinder tab, she checked her chat history and immediately saw what she was looking for.
Bb u up?
Mayb y?
U want me 2 hit that?
Idk your pic just look like a bunch of tentacles or something
U dont like that?
Mayb ;) I'm working now
When u ready for this?
U close?
Not really but Imma make a trip for that ass
K ;) meet me near the NORAD array in 30 mins
She grimaced, checking the mysterious match's profile one more time. It had said 10^93 lightyears when that conversation started - that had to be a joke, right? Her heart sank when she saw that it was down to 10^5 . She locked the phone and slid it back into her pocket.
"I've got to go, I have, uh, urgent business elsewhere," she said, edging toward the door.
"Wait! Whatever it is it can't be more urgent than this! We've decoded an audio transmission, listen! I'll put it on the loudspeaker."
It was faint at first, and crackly, but a deep voice was chanting something on the other end. It sounded otherworldly, almost maddening, as though a chorus of angels were laughing in hell. The same two words kept repeating, drawing her in with dark seduction from beyond space and time...
**SWIGGITY**
**SWOOTY**
**SWIGGITY**
**SWOOTY** | Curious, Derek hit the "like" button and sent a message:
"Hey, so, this is pretty crazy but Tinder says you're in another solar system!"
After a brief pause, Derek's phone buzzed and a reply appeared:
"How tall are you?"
Derek deleted the app from his phone and lived a happy and prosperous life. | 2016-12-23T09:25:29 | 2016-12-23T08:45:31 | 53 | 31 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | Hagh backed up against the stone, his pulse rifle nearly as empty as his body of blood. Even now, with the air filled with energy pulses and the sounds of photoelectric charges going off, he felt his world growing darker.
"Hey!" Hagh heard, snapping him back to the harsh reality of the invasion of his homeworld. "Hey you! Lovarian, right?"
Hagh blinked. "Yes. I am Lovarian. Who are you?"
"Tech Sergeant Adams with the Earth Aerospace Force. You can call me AJ though. You look pretty fucked up."
"I do not know this word. Your tone translates though." Hagh said, quietly preparing his introduction to Algar the Judge.
"Well you're in good hands. I'm a Pararescue Jumper. I'm a medic. What's your name pal?" AJ said, loading a large round into the fat barrel beneath his own pulse rifle.
"Hagh. I did not know humans were coming to help. Don't waste your time with me, my judgement comes soon."
"Fuck that, Hog. You can't die until I hand over patient responsibility." AJ said, setting his weapon down long enough to tear a package open with those predatory human teeth. "This is gonna burn Hog, not gonna lie."
And burn, that chemical did. Hagh screamed to the stars, begging to be judged, but his judgement didn't come. Instead, the burn subsided. "Algar's mercy! What was that?" He asked, watching the human shoulder his weapon and giving his (their?) enemies a taste of return fire.
"QuickClot. Can you run Hog?" AJ asked, taking cover to reload.
"Slowly, yes." Hagh said, surprised at being handed the human's sidearm.
"Good, we're headed south. We've got a forward base established where we could break the Litheen invasion forces." AJ said, finally firing that fat little weapon attached to his rifle. The photoelectric pulse lit the darkness, giving Hagh a better chance to see his rescuer.
Lanky and lean, as humans tended to be, he wore the uniform of his people. He was also bleeding. "You are injured." Hagh observed.
"Fuck Hog, we're all injured. We had to argue with brass to let us drop in to render aid. Now let's move!" AJ said, setting his weapon to auto fire and filling the air behind them with a cloud of discouraging pulses.
----------
"And that is why you are named for a human, Anthony, daughter of Hagh." The young woman's father said, with great reverence on his aged face, the beginnings of tears forming in the eyes on the left side of his face.
"What became of my name father?" The young female asked.
"I carried him into the base. Not the other way around. He died to allow me to survive. When you bear a child, remember the human who ensured the line of Hagh would remain unbroken.
"I have asked our neighbors. None of them know this hero, AJ Adams. Why is that the case?" Anthony asked her father, sparing a glance out the window to the Earth place called Miami.
"This is considered small heroism among the humans, my daughter. Take some time to learn what the warriors of their people have done."
---------
Edit: Typos (did this on my phone) and small editing mistake. | *Sigh*
It's hard to imagine a worse fate than being the supreme power in the galaxy. Being feared by every other race, from the Xynofex to the Moxtin, is something many species would aspire to. Every navy we see, every planet we land on, even simple traders and spacefarers, all run in fear before us. Granted, it would make for a lonely existence for any species, but we have ourselves.
Except we're not the supreme power in the galaxy.
We're not even close.
Half the other races in the galaxy could wipe us out in an eyeblink if they chose, and if they dared approach us.
But when Paul Detrinel led the attack of the sporks against the Fhroned, and delivered a dose of deadly poison to their chieftain in the midst of his camp, they learned that we didn't care if we were captured or killed, or how insane our plan was.
When we sent a vase of flowers treated with Eqtuil pheromones to the Gotui ambassador, leading him to be seduced, charged with treason, and buttered and fried, they learned we would do anything for a joke.
And now, they run in fear. Not because we're powerful, but because we're the equivalent of a wild squirrel with rabies. Dangerous.
And insane. | 2017-03-06T04:21:37 | 2017-03-06T03:13:14 | 41 | 21 |
[WP]: Attention to all customers: Our store will be closing in five minutes. If you are present after closing you will be hunted for sport. | "Attention K-Mart shoppers! The store will be closing in 5 minutes. As a reminder, the newly passed Labor Initiative 359 takes effect tonight. That means that, after closing, any remaining customers still in the store will be hunted down and maliciously killed for wasting our valuable time when we just want to get out of here and go home. Thank you and happy shopping!"
The store was quiet after that announcement. There was no mad rush, no scramble for the exit. In fact, there was barely anyone in the store at all. Most people had been wise enough to get their shopping done long before the final hour, and in doing so had ensured that they would avoid a grisly fate at the hands of yet another disgruntled service industry worker.
Most, but not all. Poor old Mrs. Baxter, known across town as the sweetest retiree in the county, if not the world, was running late. She had arrived a half hour before closing, and had been graciously reminded of the new bill by no less than four employees and one assistant manager. But nevertheless, she persisted. In the course of her day, she had realized that she had run out of eggs. Life had conspired to distract her, however, which was why she was out buying eggs at such a late hour.
Or rather, attempting to buy eggs. Mrs. Baxter, unfortunately, had fallen in the aisle, and, like many other senior citizens, was quite unable to get up. She was also on the quieter side, soft-spoken in both word and deed. And while that trait was normally quite endearing, tonight it was nothing shy of catastrophic.
"The store is now closing. K-Mart employees, you may begin your closing rounds. Weapons and ammunition will be distributed in the main office. If you brought your own, you may retrieve them now. Thank you for shopping K-Mart!"
The speakers clicked off, and the employees headed dutifully and eagerly to the main office, excited at the prospect of at long last exacting some manner of vengeance of those who had inconvenienced them for far too long. They armed themselves with guns and brooms and mops and ammunition, because even with the new law the store still had to be cleaned. Then they spread out through the store, fingers on the triggers, thirsty for blood.
Steven, young Steven, fresh out of high school Steven, was the first to find Mrs. Baxter. Surprised, he shouted for help, thinking that someone would give him a hand in escorting the matronly woman out of the store. Steven had less than a month of experience in retail, and was still a bit confused as to just why Labor Initiative 359 had been greeted so eagerly by his older coworkers.
He didn't have to wonder long: Don was the first to arrive in response to his cries. Steven sighed in relief, and then recoiled in horror as Don calmly and smoothly drew his gun and fired, blowing sweet old Mrs. Baxter's brains all across the aisle.
"Bitch had it coming," Don said. "You work retail long enough, you'll understand." | Surely I misheard,
who has the time -
I'm just here to buy cheese
maybe one with a rind?
&#x200B;
"3 minutes left,
till the end of our day;
And maybe yours too,
if you can't get away"
&#x200B;
Really, these kids.
Oh, I need to get wine -
Should I go with a bottle,
or some boxes this time?
&#x200B;
"1 minute is left:
make a sprint for the door!
You may yet escape
before we open the floor"
&#x200B;
Now, I've just about had it -
I'm tired and hungry -
They've sold out of Cheetos?!
I read the sign numbly
&#x200B;
"TIME HAS RUN OUT
THE HUNT WILL BEGIN!"
&#x200B;
GOOD, BRING IT ON!!
LET'S SEE WHO WILL WIN! | 2019-12-29T15:37:57 | 2019-12-29T15:29:05 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | "So you just... push it out?" Marfa the Grey asked, raising her naked brow.
"Well, yeah," I answered. "The contractions start, and you go to the hospital, and then once the contractions are really close together the doctor tells you to push."
Marfa broke out in laughter. She waved to a group other female Greys behind her, who were busy trying the wine my husband and I had brought to the Welcoming Picnic.
"Girls, listen to the way they give birth. It's violent."
I could feel myself turning red, watching my own two children across the lawn trying to reach a Grey child how to shoot a basketball.
"So go on, he tells you to push it out, and what happens? Does it just fly out of there?"
"No, no, it comes out slow, I guess. Ew. I mean, it's really painful and hard, and can take a long time."
"I bet," an older Grey woman said with solace.
"And so what do you do with the placenta and the stem cells?" asked a Grey, whose beautiful face I to look up to see.
"Well we really only just started saving them. But I guess most places just throw them out."
They gasped.
"No wonder you're all so sick," Marfa said, her long fingers consoling her own cheek.
"Well, how do y'all give birth?" I asked. They smiled at each other.
"We haven't carried our own offspring for centuries. None of the aliens species do. We also reproduce as far fewer rates than you do. I have to say I was quite shocked at how often you allow that to happen to you," Marfa said, gesturing to my belly. "I understand that's where you carry them?"
"Yes..."
"We make our offspring in labs. They are formed in dishes and harvested in artificial wombs. We call them Ovas. We harvest all of the reproductive stem cells along the way and use them in just about every part of our medical field," the older Grey explained.
"Perhaps it's something we could teach you all to do," Marfa smiled. "It's at least much less painful."
At that moment, a fight broke out on the basketball court. The Grey child had summoned the ball telepathically out of the hands of my son Jimmy, who was now attempting to break through a tiny force shield to get to the Grey child.
"He's mine," the tall Grey said calmly. "I waited 60 years to be able to begin the process of conceiving him.
I watched as Jimmy gave up and started throwing a tantrum on the court. His sister started running towards me, crying. I turned to the Grey women and asked,
"So are you guys familiar with the term 'hysterectomy'?" | Look. Look at it
He pointed to a thin line along the right side of the thread grouping.
No no, that's stupid.
Its improbable.
Its impossible.
The others gave it to them.
Now look, don't just go on assuming
Well how else?
They don't just go through seventeen unrelated breakthroughs in 2000 years!
Well obviously we're dealing with an anomaly.
I'm going to take it up higher.
They're going to call you a liar if you don't get this right
are you sure there's no
I've been looking at this or a month, there is no evidence of it, they just jumped the logic.
they sat in silence for awhile
these people were dangerous. | 2017-03-10T02:10:07 | 2017-03-10T02:02:13 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You swerve to avoid a squirrel. Unknown to you, the squirrel pledges a life debt to you. In your darkest hour, the squirrel arrives.
Edit: Wow, great stories so far! Made the front page too. Obligatory thanks! | A coincidence is always possible, but only a fool would have jotted this down under "luck."
When I left the police station my head was still spinning. One of the cops said I was lucky to still have a head, but I thought he wasn't giving me enough credit. The bulldozer was coming for my legs first, I'd at least have swung my torso out of the way.
The construction workers were, of course, apologetic, and I had noticed the site at least a month before -- a new store, or something, going up, so they'd brought in the heavy equipment. Really it had never occurred to me that it would become so dangerous, or I'd have walked on the other side.
They assured me two and three times over that it was very, very rare for a piece of equipment to get out of control like that, let alone go careening for the sidewalk. To be fair, I was almost more embarrassed than they were. I'm usually a pretty fast guy, and it was only because I was tripped up by a garbage can that I ended up in the path of the dozer.
At any rate, I was still alive, so the focus on me didn't last long. Eventually all the involved parties -- the cops, the construction workers, some witnesses (and me, trapped doing paperwork) -- were gathered in the lobby of the police station a few blocks down. The squirrel had captured everyone's imagination.
I'd just assumed someone had hopped back in the dozer and swerved into the road before it got to me, but the workers testified that they'd come nowhere close to it. Jimmy, the guy who'd left it going, never reached it. But the dozer had obviously changed direction, and they were all wondering whether the squirrel that had hopped out of the cockpit had had anything to do with it.
I had nothing to say about it, and left the station as soon as they'd let me. Even though they said their agency would call I doubted that I'd be getting back to them.
I took the other side of the street on the way back. Of course I'd seen the squirrel too, but I'd seen it last. To me it seemed like the squirrel had climbed out of one of the city trees and scampered away after the commotion. But deep down I knew there was more, because when the squirrel got to the end of the block he paused and looked straight at me. Rearing up, he stood as tall as he could and -- curse my poor eyesight -- almost looked to be raising a paw in the air with an attitude that implied goodbye. I rose when I saw him and from a higher angle I saw that the gesture was being delivered almost with reverence. Then he bowed against the concrete, and the windless summer day presented him flat against the earth. Hot and still. If a squirrel had lain like that a few feet back -- in the road -- it would've been mistaken for roadkill.
I was quickening my pace away from the sidewalk scene. I knew I'd seen the squirrel before, but a torrent of tears came to me at the same time. I'd seen many squirrels before the bumper of my car and it was this one -- only this one alone -- who'd made it. | As I sit hunched over, wondering who or what the hell I am, a sensation becomes apparent on my forearm. My zoned out gaze pans to the area and I can just about make out a brown blur darting around my limb.
As my vision clears I begin to wonder whether the heroin flowing through my body is playing tricks with my eyes. Is a squirrel slowly removing the syringe from my arm? Surely not. I've tripped hard before but never like this and not with smack.
I begin to panic. I can feel my heart beat harder. A squirrel is pulling a syringe from my arm. What the fuck is going on.
With a lethargic brush I manage to push the squirrel off, knocking the syringe out of my arm. That's when it goes dark.
I wake up in a haze; my clothes drenched with sweat. I look down to the floor and see the syringe, and then up at my arm... Claw marks? Surely not.
I pat my trousers down to check if my car keys are there. I reach into my pocket and pull them out. A piece of paper falls out too. It was a leaflet with your information on it.
That was the last time I used.
I know it sounds crazy, but thank you for letting me share. | 2015-03-15T14:25:13 | 2015-03-15T14:21:49 | 746 | 260 |
[WP]People always told you that with your weak power you'd never be a superhero but you were determined to prove them wrong. However, several fights later you're starting to wonder if they were just looking after your safety. | "Oh good, ice powers. How much ice do you make? We pay a starting salary of 250k for glacier level, all the way down to 40k for freezing villain's tires." The interviewer sat at the end of a mahogany table, dwarfed by his immense mass.
"I actually don't make any ice. What I can do, though, is this." Slipping Hazard, the Cryomancer dumped a thermos of ice cubes and a sizable amount of water on the interviewer's desk. The mess began dripping onto the floor. "Sorry, they're not supposed to melt that much. They sure don't make thermoses like they used to, am I right? Anyway, check this out."
He pointed at an ice cube and strained with the effort of a mother lifting a car off a child. It slid forward at a moderate pace and fell off the table. "I call it my 'Slipping Hazard' because it's subtle and I can make villains fall down. Of course I'm not married to the name, I'll take whatever you'll assign to me. I can do two or more cubes at a time as well, but it gets a lot slower. I can only push away from me, I can't pull. And if the ice is larger than a 1.5 inch cube, it's too heavy for me."
The interviewer stared at Slipping Hazard for a good ten seconds before breaking the silence. "And then what?"
"...Excuse me?" Slipping Hazard asked. He stopped a few ice cubes sliding away with a blocked hand.
"You have a guy who can punch cars in half. You slide an ice cube under his foot and he falls over. Then what?"
"I mean, I was hoping the cops or another hero could then help arrest him. Or you could get me some handcuffs-"
"It'll take him three seconds to stand up. Cops don't have that kind of response time. And if a hero did, they would certainly be capable of knocking the villain down. Honestly, I can see you want to help people. Be an accountant. A doctor. Be a public defender. Just for your own safety, please stay out of costume." The interviewer adjusted his tiny spectacles with a hand that could palm a watermelon and snorted.
"Wait. What about the challenge clause?" Slipping Hazard asked. "I get to challenge you if I get rejected, and if I win, you have to let me join."
The interviewer blinked. "You really don't want to do this. Sure, these days it's about a 30% success rate. But with your power..."
Slipping hazard brought out a second thermos and rattled it to break the cubes apart. "Bring it on."
"Alright, I'll tell you what, I can show you the sparring room. Then I can show you what I can do to one of the dummies in it. And then, if you still haven't backed out, I'll break your arm." The interviewer said. He pressed a green button underneath the desk and a wall panel opened up.
"Welcome, Gorillanoceros. What will it be today?" A robot voice asked.
"Training room. Minimum settings. Actually, can we turn off everything except the lights? And one rubber dummy please."
The room behind the panel lit up and a rubber dummy rose up out of the floor. Gorillanoceros, the gorilla-rhinoceros mutant who had been conducting the interview, rose from his seat, walked over, and slapped it with a backhand. The dummy exploded into shreds.
"Last chance, kiddo."
Slipping hazard gulped. "I'm staying. I ain't no training dummy."
He opened the thermos and sloshed the ice water on the floor in front of Gorillanoceros, who didn't bother to react. Straining, he surrounded his feet with three cubes each.
"Son, I weigh fifteen hundred pounds and I'm a middle weight these days." Gorillanoceros said, stepping on one of the ice patches. The ice cubes crumbled beneath his weight. "Please don't make me break your arm and just go home."
Slipping Hazard began to chuckle. "You thought that was all I had? Well..." He opened his briefcase and dumped about a hundred ice cubes onto the carpet. "Well check this- AHHHH"
Slipping Hazard's gloating was cut off by his bone protruding out of the spot where Gorillanoceros had flicked his arm.
"Interview's over. You can use our medic ward down the hall." | In hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea to become a superhero and not some sort of supporting staff. Of course, I shouldn’t be careless either when stitching up bleeding police officers on the side of a road. Yeah, things aren’t going too well. The earth rumbles once more underfoot as I steady my hands on the meter-long rebar sticking out from a police officer’s chest. Their bloodshot eyes glaring through a pair of busted pilots in anger at the situation more than likely. “Get it over with already. I don’t have time to bleed!”
“This is going to hurt a lot and you are going to lose a lot of blood, but you will live, so don’t panic!” It was also a horrible time to panic as well. With the leverage of my boot on the chest, the rear slides free in three short tugs. A horrible stream of blood spurted out as I stuffed a small bundle of gaze into the wound. The various broken arteries and organs closing as the fabric warped into its assorted organic components.
One hand catching as it came free of from the sucking chest wound and the captain’s clenched fist. Who’s agonizing screaming was drawing a little too much attention from the impromptu aid station. The bystanders lingering by the tent flap. “Okay, you’re fine, this is fine, don’t get hit again, you don’t have enough blood to pull that a second time.”
A sudden vice grip from the captain saved my own life at that moment as half of a regenerator crashed through the concealment in a cloud of concrete shrapnel. Before impaling the twitching spandex corpse in a large stack of paper crates. Scattering the supplies as I found the Captain’s face an inch away. “Thank you, but don’t tell me how to do my job when my city is being torn apart by a giant lizard and a skyscraper-sized robot.”
I am freed from the death grip and allowed to stand upright as the patient hobbled out of the station. Picking at the stray flakes of blood-soaked paper cloning to their body armor as they backhanding an intrusive civilian out of his path. At last, allowing my attention to return to the smoking cadaver of what I could now confirm as my mentor stitching back together. Tendrils of flesh and bone pulled themselves together in a macabre dance of mending.
He will be fine in a minute. One would think that seeing your boss get splattered like a paint-filled balloon would be traumatic. The answer to that question is yes, when you realize that his morphine addiction was a requirement in this line of work, it only makes it worse. I understand the hesitancy of my mentor to take me on after three weeks of this. | 2021-09-17T10:14:28 | 2021-09-17T08:55:21 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Your home is super duper haunted. It makes the news for odd events that befall your land. Quite frankly you have no idea why it bothers people .The demons and ghosts respect their leases, pay rent on time, leave you alone unless they need maintenance. Why do demons need wifi? Who knows. | Yeah I signed a lease with the devil, but the housing market is tough these days, and it was this or my mom's boyfriend's basement, for $1000/ month. My current place is $900 a month, all utilities included, beautiful forest surrounding the grounds with tons of wildlife, creek and swamp adjacent with an old flour wheel still able to turn. It's the most free I've ever felt franky. Some might think that demons and ghosts for housemates would be a horror, but they would be wrong. I'll tell you what's a horror... Your boyfriend refusing to do the dishes or fold laundry because they make more money than you, even though you split everything "50/50". I was desperate to get out of that situation, desperate enough to reply to that too good to be true listing, meet up in my now remote forest home, and sign a contract with the literal devil.
I met my roommates Asmodeus and Kaitlyn in the open floor kitchen the day of. They brewed me a tea and let me vent about my ex Brad. Laughing hysterically at my comedic catharsis, listening intently as I poured my heart out.
"Veronica, I know exactly what you're talking about. The only reason I'm a ghost is because my fucking stupid ex husband murdered me the day before I was supposed to take the bar exam. I was haunting my old apartment trying not to make the new family living there feel too creeped out before I read the listing Satan posted. Thank God for Harbinger Manor, if I didn't have this place I was going to start haunting them just to not go insane." Kaitlyn said comfortably as she put her cold weightless hand on my shoulder.
"Oh my Go-" I started to reply before quickly looking at Satan who curled his lip and lifted his eyebrow slyly in the exact manor my mother did growing up. Taking a deep breath and relaxing I composed myself, "Kaitlyn that's so horrible, I'm so sorry that happened to you."
"No worries, it was 40 years ago and Asmodeus has done an amazing time helping me adjust and getting our revenge." She said before lovingly looking at the tall handsome man with curly dirty blond hair in a tight shirt and slacks.
"I got him to fall in love with a prostitute, who gave him syphilis. Then got him fired for sexual harassment. With no money or health insurance the syphilis ravaged his body until he went insane and eventually died." Asmodeus chuckled out with such pride.
Satan quickly added, "And trust me hell is not treating him well." He paused before changing to a more serious tone, "The thing is Veronica, we can give you a full floor to yourself, lower the rent if you like, make changes to the home, give you your own full bathroom, but we need an alive human tenant to live here to help us sort of go back and forth with things like paying the mortgage and property taxes, calling repairmen, telling off the catholic protestors, you know things that wouldn't be very easy for us."
"Huh I wouldn't have imagined that the devil wouldn't be able to just outright buy his own home." I questioned.
"You'd be surprised but hell isn't a very capitalist enterprise, and this home was repossessed by the government and sold on GSA auctions along with all the forest grounds. Buying this allows us to do all my rituals and whatnot. But you know what they say there's no avoiding death and taxes." He responded.
"Wow, so will there be a lot of people coming and going?" Thinking of how much I hate the party scene.
"No worries." Asmodeus answered with his deep and sensual voice, "we own all 666 acres of this property and we have put a parking lot, barn and trail on the other side of the land. There will be people, but the only ones that come here are the news reporters and the occasional angry catholic protestor."
"Think of it as a liaison position as well as roommate. We need someone to get the wifi setup, call the plumber, tell the news reporters off, you know things the undead have trouble with. Honestly Veronica, we can't have just anyone as a roommate and it's been a nightmare trying to find someone, we just think you would be amazing." Kaitlyn chimed in with such effervescence.
"So, what do you think?" Satan said with such a charming smile I instantly knew why they say good looks are devilish.
"When can I move in?" I said before gleefully signing Veronica Price on my new lease on life. | A match made in heaven. Or hell, depending on the point of view. For you, it's certainly heaven.
You've had your fill of dirty tenants, unwilling to pay, searching for excuses and using every loophole to abuse your goodwill. Hell is others said Sartres. Sartres didn't have tenants, tenants are another kind of others that made the rest look like friendly drinking buddies by comparison. And hell filled with drinking buddies isn't so bad all in all.
A ghost hands you a drink, it's careful not to let the red drool dripping from it's lips fall inside. It has to keep a handkerchief beneath the mouth so as to not dirty everything. A permanent problem, one it didn't care when alive, one it never ceaseds to solve on its own now that he's not. In life, it died from overeating. In death, it learned to stay clean and enjoy an uneventful and quiet day.
Only in death do they learn how good life could be by being polite, and they cling to it to the last. Unable to feel, yet hungry to live like they never were before death.
You open the door to the cellar. A shakled man sobs and begs for mercy, asking what he has done. Nothing really. Well, except annoy another landlord who paid you a small fortune to be rid of him. You have neither pity nor hate, it is business, and you delight in the knowledge that death will teach him valuable lessons like common courtesy.
A snap of your fingers and the ghost with the red drool comes over, licking its lips in anticipation. Before the man could scream, it was on him. Eating limbs whole, tearing them apart with a powerful jaw, stomach distending to burst to accomodate the pounds of flesh. In a minute, it has licked to the very last drop of blood.
Later that day, a wail comes up from the cellar. The man has risen again, a ghost, still shakled. They all had a peculiarity.
"I don't want to die."
But you have.
"I don't want to leave."
You know. Will he pay rent?
"Of course! I promise!"
Then he shall seek his previous landlord.
He left. Like others, he will be polite, pay on time, and clean up after him. Until the day he realizes he does not feel nor remember what it is to be alive. Then, he will become a it. And slowly dissolve in oblivion.
Except the it that follows you, it kept the delight to eat his fill, and you work well together. It pours you a glass. You raise a toast to this wonderful partnership. | 2021-04-03T14:33:05 | 2021-04-03T13:04:11 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] So many new exoplanets are being discovered that "planet deeds" now make well-known novelty gifts. You recieved such a deed last year on your birthday, legally making you the owner of one such planet - and, only a moment ago, heard on the news that life has just been discovered on it. | Leslexia Five. A small cream coloured world on the edge of a purple tinged swipe of a galaxy. Thirteen light years away, three weeks on a FTL transport, not that anyone had bothered exploring off that way. I'd received the deeds on my birthday, the typical present for a bloke who otherwise had everything. I hadn't even bothered registering it for a month, finally coming across it again on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I knew it was in the Questi system, making a mental note and recognising it again when it popped up on the news a couple years later.
Ships had been dispatched to the system, a long range scanning mission looking for minerals on the sixteen planets owned by the consortium over that way. I'd called in a few favours, arranging for a bio-drone to be dropped on my planet as they passed. The standard comm relay satellites spread out through the local parts of the universe by seed ships years before working instantly to connect me to the bio-drone. It was a great hulking thing, ex-russian military with legs like tree trunks and one massive arm bigger than the other. The larger arm, normally mounted with heavy weapons, now held an assortment of tools; a half-ton Swiss Army knife. The smaller arm held a hand, about as dextrous as a humans, though at the same three times as large scale as the rest of the behemoth. Once it had been painted a matte green for camouflage, but the paint had long been sanded off, revealing the scratched brass surface beneath. He turned the large angular head around, the eyes glowing orange as it surveyed the planet before him. "Dinner!" Lisa, my girlfriend, called through my explorations. I eagerly pulled the headset off and set the bio-drone into rest mode. "I made linguine" she smiled "see anything cool?". I tucked in with gusto, relishing the taste of spinach and garlic. "Not much yet" I replied, "lots of sand and a pile of rocks a couple miles to the east". She consulted the aerial photos we had received, noting as I had the strange straight sidedness to some of the rock formations. She seemed even more eager than me for me to get back to exploring.
It took the bio-drone three hours to make it to the first of the rocks. It was impressive just by its sheer size, the aerial photos hadn't quite shown it to its fullness. Almost an obelisk in shape, though toppled and wonky. It almost seemed to be carved, but I knew that couldn't be the case, no humans had come out this way. I felt my Lisa's breath across my shoulder, knowing that she was watching the footage through the small screen on the side of my viewer. "Is that?" She started. "Can't be" I cut her off, "must be acid deposits or wear from sandstorms". I passed three more, each similar in shape though larger each time. "Strange coincidence in shapes" I muttered. "In a straight line too" Lisa agreed "those deep dunes on the other side could almost hide another row of them too". The patterns were similar on each one too, though not exactly the same. I passed the last one with barely a look, more intrigued by the immense mountain of a building rising up out of the sand in front of me. I didn't want to admit to myself that it was a building, but even as I thought it, Lisa was confirming it in my ear. The large doorway, the steps, the vaulted ceiling inside. How could it be anything else. I manoeuvred the bio-droid inside and stood aghast at the wall carvings. In and amongst the sweeping curls of the similar patterns to those outside were great dramatic reliefs. Pictures of creatures and buildings, events and celebrations. None even remotely human in origin.
The room seemed centred around a raised dais. A large stone throne sat in the middle and upon it lay a sight that took my breath away. I felt Lisa's voice crack beside me. "But, that can't be..." she whimpered in shock, weighing heavy on my shoulder. | "Hell yeah bro! Did I just get a planet with life?"
"Yeah man shit is live, are you gonna enslave them?"
"Probably. Apparently I own the planet now. I heard the most advanced life forms there resemble primitive humans. So we are like, way more advanced then them."
"I say we take a hunting trip this weekend."
"What ship are we taking?"
"Let's take yours, i don't wanna drive."
"Bruh, what do you mean drive. We have autopilot, lets just smoke some loud while we voyage the cosmos. Enjoy the ride man, the hunt begins soon!"
-6 hours pass and our adventurers finally arrive on the mysterious planet, the two men, appear clumsy and stoned.-
"Yeet man, I figured we could use the rail guns to hunt them, but honestly I think the m82 would be more fun."
"Dang you gonna quickscope some Neanderthals, or what?"
"Yeah man, hit that YY ladder stall!"
"Alright fuck it let's do this shit."
I load the m82, the gun feels heavier than I remember. Must be from using all the newer weapons. Lightweight designs, perfect functionality. It's nice to feel the heaviness of a classic sniper rifle, a pleasant contrast to the newer tech. I missed the feeling.
We were both strapped, Robbie choosing to go with a rail gun and a small pistol, myself the sniper and a double barreled shotgun. Something about classic guns must get me off.
We step out of the ship, into a familiar setting. Woods. The biome we arrived in was frosted over. Temperature read somewhere around -30 degrees. I'll let you decide what metric.
"So what exactly are we hunting?"
I glance over and meet Robbie's gaze. Eyes glassy, he's high.
"Well I'd say-
My sentence is interrupted without even a second to reconcile, Robbie's throat is punctured. He drops to his knees, his hands fumbling at the thick wooden spear, halfway through his throat.
| 2017-01-01T13:28:32 | 2017-01-01T13:17:56 | 32 | 15 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach. | You would think that the vast expansive history of alien communications would evolve to become something cohesive, that a sense of mature camaraderie or, at the very least, begrudging respect for one another would frame the foundations of interstellar interaction.
It was not.
In fact they acted an awful lot like a rowdy junior class at a particularly underfunded high school. Completely self involved, relentlessly gossiping about one another and occasionally throwing a wadded up ball of paper at someone's head.
Well, only if you replace the gossiping with cross-galactic political sabotage and the wadded ball of paper with anti-matter concussive strikes, THEN it would be exactly like high school.
Most of these planets and alien civilisations had been in class together for a long, *long* time, there was a complicated social structure, various species forming their own 'cliques', some choosing to sit in a corner by themselves doodling in their notebooks, others getting up on the desks and kicking papers and pens all over the place.
Earth was the new kid, the one who came halfway through the term and hadn't caught up on the curriculum, and the teacher was out of textbooks. If Earth wanted to navigate this new environment and social structure that they had stumbled upon without accidentally offending someone, they had to find another kid who was willing to catch them up to speed.
The first kid had been the Geuogrinauoff, ectothermic creatures with snake like skin and wolfish physique, but they would rather tear their book to pieces and eat their stationary than share any of it with Earth.
Their encounters had been anything but amicable, crews were slaughtered where they stood, their ships stolen and scrapped for parts, all that remained of the initial contact team were their voices screaming through the SOS radio channel.
Second contact had been the Gaelints, insectile and multi-ocular, tall and identical in appearance and mind, they were the type to read the textbook aloud much too fast for you to take notes and would look at you with the deepest of scorn if you dared ask a question.
Earth had sent some of their best minds, mathematicians, physicists, biologists, someone from nearly every field of study, but the Gaelints were ultimately unimpressed, and they refused to waste their time on any future contact with Earth.
The third attempt was with the Re'phna'r, they had seemed hospitable and well meaning at first, but it wasn't until Earth committed a significant social blunder with the isolated AnAfee species that they realised the small, birdlike folk had been playing them for fools, much of Earth's studies had to be double checked for more maliciously placed errors.
By that point it seemed that just about everyone knew about Earth, many others approached them to find out if they had anything of value, but most found Earth to be quite plain and uninteresting, Earth wasn't as old as the others, hadn't done anything particularly clever or useful that others hadn't done before, didn't contain any rare ores or minerals.
But Earth WAS an easy target.
It didn't take more than a few decades for the Geuogrinauoff to lob a spitball at the back of Earth's head, a significantly large and destructive spitball, a spitball that could level entire cities and crush continents.
None of the other races seemed particularly inclined to listen to Earth's pleas for assistance. Their politely dismissive words were sugarcoated but their meaning was implicitly clear. 'It was just a spitball' they might as well have said. 'If you can't handle it that's your problem. It isn't *our* fault you haven't discovered shielding tech yet'.
As Earth desperately called out to the cold, heartless universe hoping someone, *anyone* would come to their aid, someone outside of the classroom heard.
They were called the Mouyaui, and they were nothing like the others, certainly nothing like a rowdy school-kid, they cut a far more imposing figure, a teacher or a principal perhaps.
Unlike most other species Earth had met, the Mouyaui were beings of pure light, almost humanoid in shape and larger than an average multi-storey building. They arrived without a ship and without weapons, they stood behind Earth as the Geuogrinauoff packed up their things and fled from the classroom.
The Mouyaui did not speak any language, they seemed to be a psychic species, communication attempts had been slow and arduous. They seemed uninterested in any material wealth that Earth had to offer in thanks for their aid. The Mouyaui had simply been content to wander the planet, just looking at things with their large eyes, two disk-like absences of light in their long, blinding white faces.
They would climb up mountains and walk through deserts, they would step through neighbourhoods and wade into oceans, sometimes they would reach down to gently touch someone's hair, or even lift something or someone up into their hands, just to look, just to touch, before placing them back where they found them.
Whenever humans left Earth the Mouyaui travelled alongside their ships, leaving long sparking trails behind them. Not once did another species approach an Earth craft being guided by the gentle giants.
Earth was smart enough to realise that the Mouyaui were not what they seemed, that there was likely a good reason that the other species feared them, but for whatever reason they seemed to really like Earth, and in this cold, heartless universe it was nice to have a friend. | The supreme member of the Geandian council sat at the head of the table looking worried. Ambassadors for the hundred and twenty six warrior species sat mingled with emissaries from the various scientific and trade collectives which had established themselves over the last million years of Galactic conquest.
'The grave day we have long feared may be upon us,' he began solemnly 'long have we known the old ones will some day awake,' the room absolutely frozen in terror and entirely silent 'long have we known their power stretches beyond our realm, every atom of our universe weaponised against then would be as summer rain them...' there were murmers of agreement and worried whispers 'i come from a people who have never surrendered to anything, not in one million years! Yet today all we can do it beg for mercy and throw ourselves to their feet hoping they can find some use for us beside death.'
'Those whose name we dare not speak have risen from the depths of the Galactic center' he paused to try and read the room, glancing towards the powerfully observant and deeply political Thaliac delegation looking for a nod or shake of the head but was instead surprised to see they were totally distracted by a phone call and were uncharacteristically very agitated.
'what do you mean you're having a fire on the beach? What does that even mean?! No I know what a fucking fire is! And I know what a fucking beach is...' he was so absorbed he didn't even notice the giant Geandian looming over him until he spoke at which point he was so started he drived under his chair.
'the humans, the humans!' he spluttered in a garbled rush 'the humans, they're going to the humans!'
'who are the humans?'
'small type 2, out on the second arm'
'what do they do?'
'uh, nothing much really, uh, they're having a fire...' his voice choked and confused 'on the beach...'
'why?'
'they didn't say...'
'and?' his voice growing hard as good patience wore thin.
'they invited the elder gods'
The human was patched to the main screen, 'like I was telling your man, you're all welcome to come, it's nothing fancy just a bit of a tradition you know, we get together and have a few beers or whatever'
'get together with who?' genuinely confused.
'oh anyone that wants to come, it's just you know a bit of an excuse to kick back.'
'and the...' he felt ridiculous all of a sudden 'the old ones... They are coming to... To kick back?'
'yeah, they good guys, great guys, you know them?'
Rage and frustration bubbling through him he wanted desperately to storm off and yell about the embarrassment he felt and the utter confusion flooding him. Muting the call he turned to the Thaliac and whispered 'should we go?' the angler intellectual could only shrug hopelessly 'what just go and... Kick back?' he looked down at his multiinterface effortlessly searching and sorting the entire sum of shared knowledge 'what does that even mean?!' the giant warrior wanted to tell him it meant laziness and foolishness, that it was an idiocy of idle people but the ancient ones terrified him and he has no intention of angering them. 'we shall not shy away from finding out' he said finally with an obviously over compensating firmness. | 2021-04-08T00:34:55 | 2021-04-07T20:01:45 | 206 | 131 |
[WP] You've decided to sell your soul for immortality, since its cheaper than health insurance. | "You are entering a deal with the Devil," a bored representative said. "If you are sure, please sign here?"
I glanced around at the densely-office like structure of the building, right down to a imp who looks like they hate their job right in front of me.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I just have to ask. Is this... common?"
"What's common?"
"The selling your soul thing," I rubbed my hands together, head drooping down. Now that I'm saying it out loud, it sounded a lot more ridiculous than when it was just ruminations in my head.
"Come on," the imp said. "You humans literally write stories about this. Sing songs. Make TV shows. Movies. Podcasts! Of course there's a structure in place."
They rubbed their chin for a little while, before thoughtfully adding:
"It's been a while, though. I think people wised up to it."
"To selling their souls? For immortality?" I repeated. "Is there any way I could speak to your manager?"
Fear overtook apathy in the imp's visage that very moment, and they sat up far straighter, tidying their crooked tie.
"Sorry, sorry," they gulped. "I'm, uh, serving you well, right? No complaints or anything?"
"Oh, no, nothing of the sort," I muttered. "Just... would like some clarification. I thought, you know, the contract would be far less informal--"
"This is informal," the imp said, holding up a pen. "If this was formal, ink wouldn't cut it. You'll have to, well, cut it. Like, sign the deal in blood."
"Oh," was about all I could muster. "Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of immortality?"
"Flesh and bone dies, Mr..." the imp looked down on the contract, before brightening up. "Graves. Immortality is in your soul."
"What?" I said. "So... what's the point of signing this contract?"
"Your soul gets to stay in hell. It's not a bad thing. There's some marked similarities to health insurance, actually, since your soul will go to helping another--"
"What? I'm signing away my right to... heaven?"
"Let me explain," the imp said, pulling out a clipboard. Evidently, this was a common issue. There was a picture of a crudely-drawn human being with eyes, marked with x'es--the universal sign of death.
"Human dies," and a flip, this time revealing wings, action lines making it flutter upwards.
"Human was decent in real life. Or believed in god. Still not quite sure how it works," the imp said. Another flip, this time of a human contentedly sitting on a cloud.
"Human in heaven. It's nice. Sunny," the imp flipped. And it's the same image.
"Next day," one more flip. Same image.
"Next year," and another. Same image.
"Next century," the imp said. "The soul stays there. It never leaves. It doesn't get to experience Earth again, for better or for worse."
"And hell," I whispered. "Hell is different how?"
The imp pulls out another clipboard, quickly skipping the first two images of a human dying and descending to hell.
"The soul comes here, right? The body's gone. But it's OK," said the imp. The next flips featured a lot of red ink, something absent in the relatively mild heaven showpiece.
"Ah, see, here," the imp pointed a red finger. "The soul stays. It receives some light punishment. Maybe medium. It's a little worse for wear, but it's reused. It goes back to earth, to a new body."
"And that's immortality?"
"It's a pool of souls, and they eventually get to go back," the imp said. "There's some bad things here. I'm not going to lie about it. But you get to go back. You might not remember who you were, but your soul will be there. Present."
I sighed.
"Strange sort of immortality you have," I said.
"I'm an imp," they said. "I've never seen god. But I know the devil. And this contract? It works."
"And what does hell get?"
"We just want to torture some souls, you know?" the imp sighed. "I'm stuck here for my current yearly shift, but soon I'll be back there! Where all the exciting things happen."
"Oh."
"So, are you going to sign the thing or not?"
"Still sounds cheaper than health insurance," I said, clicking the pen.
---
r/dexdrafts | Heyyy devils
I used an elevator and traveled down a few levels
I can’t pay this health insurance
I need some reassurance
That everything will be okay
Hey
Devil
How about ya take my soul for immortality?
The devil spoke, “y’know this world is full of brutality?
Why’d ya wanna stay here, my dear?”
“Just take the soul, and let me finish with my goal”
“Fine, fine, sip this wine,” we clinked glass bottles against each other “let’s dine & dance”
The devil gave a sly glance
I wish I thought about it twice or he’d give me another chance
Cause living forever is really boring
I lay around all day snoring
I’m pouring
Water for my plants
Giving food for my pet ants
But after a few million years
My life is like old rusted gears
Nothing to fears
But I’m filled with tears
Watching everyone die
I could be helping by
Making health insurance less
Of a mess
We’re just in one big game, a test
And I cheated and am now quite stressed
I sit and watch the crows nest
Mimicking
Mocking
Flocking around
Never touching the ground
The suns heating up
We’re all gonna be boiling
My plans are foiling
To help the earth
What’s it all worth?
Suns dead
Sky’s not red
I wish I was lying on my bed
But I’m floating in space
Having hope just in case
But a small floating rock just hit me in the face
I wish I brought some cards or a bass
Maybe do some magic tricks with a ace
Of hearts
Or maybe should’ve brought some darts
Or a pen and do some arts
Cause floating in dark cold space
Is like a broken vase
If the vase broke by coldness and sadness
Nah I’m not glad
Space is quiet and I’m mad
Use to be so cool and bad
Until i sold my soul
Cause I broke my leg falling on a bowl
I rolled
Is that another planet?
Nah it’s just some mold
Out here in space so cold
Wish I told some other ppl and wish I was bold
Now imma never die just grow old
Behold!
A black hole
Maybe it’ll suck me up, maybe I’ll become some elongated cup
My names Cole
And there’s a black hole
And I haven’t ate for a while and I’m not full
Broke my leg by a bowl
I kinda smell like a troll
Watch me role | 2021-07-14T14:16:57 | 2021-07-14T12:56:45 | 273 | 15 |
[WP] Your cat routinely brings home half-dead animals that you tend to and release once they are healed. Last week, it brought home a bat. Now, you've found yourself nursing back to health a badly-wounded vampire that is not very happy with the situation. | As soon as I saw the bat, I knew something was different. My cat, who I had affectionately named "Hunter," had brought home plenty of half-dead animals in the past, but they had all been birds or small rodents. This bat was different. It was larger and had a more defined shape, with leathery wings that seemed to pulse with energy even as it lay there, injured and vulnerable.
I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should call a wildlife rehabilitation center or try to care for the bat myself. But something about its dark, beady eyes seemed to draw me in, and before I knew it, I had gently picked it up and carried it inside.
I set the bat on a blanket in a small cardboard box and went to work, cleaning its wounds and administering some basic first aid. It wasn't long before the bat began to stir, and I could see the fear and confusion in its eyes as it tried to orient itself.
Over the next few days, I tended to the bat, feeding it a diet of insects and keeping it warm and comfortable. As it regained its strength, it became more active and vocal, flapping its wings and making soft, chirping noises that I found strangely soothing.
One evening, as I sat with the bat in my lap, it suddenly seemed to change. Its eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and its wings seemed to grow larger and more powerful. I watched in amazement as it transformed before my eyes, taking on a more humanlike appearance.
As I stared at the creature in front of me, I realized with a start that it was not a bat at all, but a vampire. And judging by the look on its face, it was not very happy about the situation.
"What are you doing here?" the vampire demanded, its voice cold and menacing. "Why have you brought me here?"
I stuttered, trying to find the words to explain. "I...I found you injured. My cat brought you home. I just wanted to help."
The vampire sneered at me. "You humans are all the same. You think you can control everything, even those of us who are not of this world. But you are wrong. I am not your pet, and I will not be held captive by your kind."
With a sudden burst of energy, the vampire launched itself into the air, its wings beating wildly as it tried to escape. I watched in horror as it flew out the window and into the night, disappearing from sight.
I sat there for a moment, stunned by what had just happened. My cat, who had been watching the whole scene with interest, meowed at me and nuzzled my hand, bringing me back to reality.
I sighed and stood up, shaking my head at the strange turn of events. It was just another day in the life of a cat owner, I supposed. I made a mental note to be more careful in the future, and to always be prepared for the unexpected | Mittens was always bringing home small animals. Unlike most cats, she only nearly killed them. So, I would nurse the squirrel or mouse back to health and let it back outside.
Yesterday, it was a small bat. Poor thing was unconscious and bloody, small tear in his right wing.
This morning, I checked on him in his cage. He was awake, so I open up the door, and he hops out.
Suddenly, before my eyes is a tall, pale, well-dressed man, with bruises on his face, and a bloody stain on his coat, just above his right shoulder.
"I assume I have you to thank for assisting me after the brutal attack I suffered last night."
As I stuttered, trying to find words, Mittens sauntered into the room.
"What is the meaning of this?", he cries. "You are not my savior! You are in league with this foul beast!"
"You will rue the day you crossed paths with Vladimir the Hunter!" | 2022-12-27T17:28:07 | 2022-12-27T17:03:11 | 62 | 36 |
[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 | "Sherry? Ummmm.....what...are you doing?" My boss, ladies and gentleman. In case you can't see what's going on, I'm shredding documents. Pounds of them. I had been drifting in the lull of the sound of the motors and relaxing to the sight of the receptacle filling up with hundreds of pages of reports, memos, adverts, requests and the occasional wet paper towel *Not funny, Dennis. You know I'm big on recycling, can you cut me some slack?* When my boss asked the most obviously loaded question of the day.
I counted to three. One, Two....."Sherry? Excuse me, but *what* are you *doing*?" Oh sainted Jesus and Buddha, I'm so sorry I signed you both up for trials on Match Dot Com, IT WAS A JOKE. Forgive me, I can't take too much more of this....
I looked up at Clark. "Uh, what I always do on Tuesdays-shredding the documents left in the recycling bin." Clark put his coffee cup down on the printer. Thanks, Clark. It's not like I don't have enough work to do. It fulfills me greatly to run around after you cleaning up like I'm your mommy.
"Sherry, I told you we are no longer shredding! I've hired a company to do that for us! YOU ARE WASTING THE COMPANY'S TIME AND MONEY!"
Wait, what? Since when? I start counting again. One, Two, Three........Dearest Zeus and Aphrodite, I cannot emphasize how terrible I feel about making donations in Your names to the Roman Advancement Society. It was a joke! Oh my Gods and Goddesses, I never meant to offend You! FORGIVE ME!
"Clark, seriously? No, you didn't tell me this! I wouldn't have spent the last two hours doing this if you had told me I didn't need...." He interrupted me. "Listen, Sherry, stop goldbricking, okay? I told you. If you're having trouble understanding me, perhaps a few unpaid weeks off will help your comprehension."
I think my heart stopped at that moment. Oh sweet, sweet Hades, have you finally forgiven me for sending the cartload of baby donkeys to your daughter's birthday party? Nope. My heart started beating again. Dammit. I am SO SORRY, my Lord of the Underworld, I was young and just being an idiot! I MEANT NO INSULT!
Clark leaned in and shook his finger in my face. "You have been notified, missy. I. Am. Watching. You. You better shape up, or I will be making some drastic changes in your situation."
Drastic changes? Oh dear, dear Mohammed--I am so sorry I rerouted all of your messages to the Dark Web. I was just kidding! I meant no insult! PLEASE FORGIVE ME!
Clark walked out. Dennis walked in and tossed a wet paper towel into my face. "Hi, loser. Listen, I need you to order more printer cartridges for my office. Don't fuck it up this time, or I'll tell Clark you're the one sending photos of his wife to Craigslist's *Women Seeking Masters* page." | Normally, you would think that I could 'Bruce Almighty' my way out of this one. Doing everything that pleased me without due consideration (or even thought for that matter). Well, Bruce didn't have to stick with the God-title forever. It is obviously, relentlessly infuriating, when you are commanded around by somebody whom you know to be infinitely undeserving of their position in the hierarchy. Even more so, when you created them yourself.
You come across numerous little episodes of comedic joy when you bear witness to similarly frustrated colleagues who swear on you that they would end that mediocre, hollow-headed dingbat. Amidst the hundred prayers booming in the mausoleum of your mind, there are spasms of little high-pitched 'I swear to God's that make crack you up at really inappropriate circumstances.
It became evident to me that I would not keep my vow intact for long with this maniac as my 'superior'. Although 15 years is as long as a yawn in my eternity, I don't intend to feel sleepy. I put on my best smile everyday and smiled at all the poop the primal monkey in him flung at me. Through all his debauchery and all his stupidity, all I did was smile. And then one day, he died at his desk having left a note, addressed specifically to me.
"ggwp."
| 2017-02-19T09:52:39 | 2017-02-19T09:17:00 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] You woke up in an entirely fake world. It’s an endless doll-house plastic facsimile powered by miles of clockwork gears and levers that go straight down into darkness. You did not get here yourself, and you have no idea how to leave. | Alex finds his mother in the kitchen, complete with a large copper key sticking out the nape of her back. The key protrudes through a hole in her olive-green sweater; it looks like a rust-red butterfly and it's about the size of Alex's arms outstretched.
Why the hell is there a key in his mother's back?
His Mom's bent over the sink, unmoving, her hands in the water clutching a pot. She looks like a waxwork replica of his mother, or -- he thinks with a chill -- a well preserved corpse.
Alex tries to swallow his fear but it won't go down.
"Mom?"
No reply. How long's she been like this?
He dips his hand into the water and finds it's ice-cold. He raises his mother's hands out of the liquid and places them on the draining board. They're red and raw.
Out the window, a bird is paused in the sky, framed against a silver cloud the shape of a question mark. Alex squints at the bird. It seems to have a key in its back too, although it's difficult to be certain from this distance.
*This isn't the real world*. He knows it. It can't be. He's woken up in some terrible nightmare where everything is a run-down automaton. And yet he knows it is real, in its own way. This is where he exists now. Where they all do.
He thinks of going to find his dad. Dad would know what to do and might be able to get them out of this. Except, for some reason, he can't think where his father might be. When he tries to remember a black fog that tastes of acid rises in his mind.
He places both his hands on the copper key and begins to wind his mother back to life. As the key cranks his mother begins to move. Her hands splash back into the water. She scrubs at the pot, although it already looked clean to Alex.
He stops turning the key, has barely wound it yet. "Mom... Are you okay?"
She turns to look at him. Shakes her head. Then returns to the washing.
Her hands are blood-read from the scrubbing. As if she's been doing it hours, days even.
"Something bad's happened, Mom," Alex says. "I'm sure of it. This world isn't right."
"I know, sweetie. But if you let us both wind down, then it'll be much easier for us to cope with."
It's with a burst of gut-wrenching fear that he places a searching hand behind his own back. That he finds the key.
The morning comes back to him in a burst of black and white, how weak he felt as he wound himself up for another mechanical-day, another repetitious slice of despair. Every day has been getting harder, slower, to wind himself up. He's not sure how much longer he can keep doing it for.
His father died three weeks ago. Unexpectedly. A heart condition that should have been found years ago, but wasn't.
His death transformed both Alex and his mother into this. It changed the world around them, even -- everything became cold and mechanical, always running down and out of steam.
He's been fighting it as hard as he could. He wants it to change, to get better, and deep down he knows the only way for that to happen is if they continue with their lives. Is if they keep winding themselves up and slowly, slowly trudge forward.
But maybe his mother's right. Maybe they should let themselves wind-down permanently. That way, the pain would have nothing to latch onto. They could embrace -- as his mother is trying to -- a state of unemotion. Of not-existing. Of being in the world, but not being part of it.
His mother's cleaning motions slow down. He's not wound her enough to keep her going. He hears her sigh with relief at the oblivion she's sinking, slipping back into.
"No, Mom," Alex says, grabbing the key and winding again. "No. You can't."
"Let me sleep," she says. Her voice pleading, begging.
"We have to face it," Alex says. "We both do -- together. I wind you, you wind me. We both keep going, okay?"
"Why?" she says, her voice slow, her energy depleting.
Alex feels selfish saying it, but the words swell up and spill out like a black ocean wave. "Because I *need* you. I've lost him and now I really fucking need you." Alex is crying but keeps turning the key until he's too tired to wind any longer.
For a while, there's nothing. No washing. No talking. A silence sits deeply between them.
Alex has run out of energy, he realises. He's spent it all on his emotions and the winding and talking, and now he stands staring at his mother, his eyes still damp, his body unresponsive.
This is it, he thinks. This is it for the rest of both their existences. Stuck here, in this desperate moment.
And then, unexpectedly, his mother beings to move. His mom is trembling as she turns away from the sink, as if Alex's wound her too much, made her jittery in her motions.
His mother hugs him. Pulls him into her chest.
"I'm sorry," she says. She kisses his head and Alex cries. "I'm sorry."
It'll get better, he wants to say but his voice is empty.
Alex feels his Mom's hands reach around him. He feels the winding of his own key resonate through his entire being.
We can do this, he thinks. If we keep winding up each other, keep each other going, we can get through this. | *My fucking head!*
Damn that hurts. Like I got hit by a truck. What even happened? Last I remember I was walking home and then... I think I tripped? I... *where the hell am I*?
I took a look around and see... what *is* this place? How did I get here? It's like a dollhouse, only human-sized. And this noise, it's like endless ticking, clicking, it's... gears?
I got up from the floor where I lay and inspected my surroundings more carefully. Ugly pastel-pink walls, carpet that grinds against the skin, plastic furniture, not a soul to be seen. I felt my blood pumping faster and faster as the utter strangeness of this situation set in. I did the obvious thing first - I pinched myself to see if I was asleep. I was not. Panic was setting in but I resolved myself not to despair just yet. Taking a deep breath of the stale, dusty air, I set off to explore this place.
Room after room I walked only to find the exact same layout of furniture, lighting and wallpaper. Disturbingly so, however, all little imperfections were also perfectly lined up; small tears on the wallpaper here, loose thread there, but I know I wasn't walking in circles. I started dropping change in rooms I already visited and it wasn't in the new ones, but walking back, I could find the coins where I left them.
I walked to the next room, hoping for something new, and found it; only not something I had hoped for. It was a doll - one of those old-fashioned ones, but oddly large, almost as big as me. Made of porcelain and with seemingly real hair, it set its never-blinking eyes at me and started waving its hand, back and forth, back and forth, audible clicking emanating out of it with every motion. The damn clicking in this entire place *never stopped*.
After carefully examining the doll and finding it useless, I kept walking. Room after room. I felt like I was going for hours and was starting to wonder why I wasn't getting exhausted, or hungry, or thirsty, but-
*Tick.*
A noise louder than the most startled me; I turned around to face it. It was a... mannequin. Faceless, featureless, entirely white with some sort of black paint or liquid around its joints.
*Tock.*
Its leg moved as it clicked with speed beyond what I thought possible. It was as if, when a gear turned, it simply changed position without *actually* moving.
*Tick.*
Another foot moved. Forward. Towards me.
*Tock.*
The entire thing was suddenly a good meter closer to me. I started to run.
*Tick.*
I cast a quick glance behind me and saw it ever closer.
*Tock.*
It's closer! Keep running, *keep running!*
***Tick.***
I looke-
\--------------------------------
*My fucking head!*
Vision returned to me and I looked around. Shit. Still in this place. But this time I- I saw someone walking. A person, a regular person! They look as lost as I do. I tried calling out but... couldn't. My throat felt hoarse like it never did before.
They walked right up to me and started looking at me. Do something! I tried to grab them but couldn't move my arm. But... wait, I was moving my arm, not of my volition. Back and forth. I was waving, an audible click of a gear accompanying every motion. I tried blinking to signal my distress but I- I-
***I- why can't I blink?*** | 2022-06-03T05:44:34 | 2022-06-03T04:37:20 | 576 | 79 |
[WP] You have the ability to pull any fictional character out of their world and into the real world. The catch is, every time you take a character out, you must put someone in their place. | "So let me get this straight."
I looked at the sheaf of notes in front of me, paused to glance around at all the serious, no-nonsense intelligence agents around me, and *might* have managed to not look incredulous. After being abducted from my home in the middle of the night, I wasn't exactly in the mood for jokes and pleasantries.
"You know about my...gift?...and you've known about it for some time now, but you've waited to make contact with me on the off chance that you might need it at some point?"
The agent at the head of the table nodded, clearly receiving information through the spiraled earpiece in his ear. "That's the general gist of it, yeah. We know about the Berenstain/Berenstein Incident of 2003, as well as a few other less prominent switch-ups. You've been careful, but we have a lot of technology on our side."
I nodded thoughtfully.
"We're not asking for a lot, you know," the agent continued. "A one-time job, and you and your family will be provided for forever."
That was an exaggeration. They were offering me a huge swath of land in Montana, a beautiful home, and a bank account with more zeros than I could count. I think one of the first things that convinced me of their power was the fact that the land was in Montana. If they had researched to determine that I wanted to retire in Montana, then they had really done their homework.
"I just don't understand who would green-light this project. If it goes above the president, then who's giving you guys access?" The questions at this point were baseless. I was beyond considering it; I was sold, I just wanted to know more.
"Let's just say that it's personal," the same inscrutable agent said, his eyes locked on mine. He looked familiar, but then again I rarely watched the news and I was bad with faces in the first place.
I glanced at the dossier again. It would be easy.
"Alright," I said.
The agent smiled, and began to lay out the plan.
**Later**
The news outlets were baffled. The biggest kidnapping since Lindbergh, Jr., and this one carried out in broad daylight on a target surrounded at all times by secret service. The media called for the firing of the 30 agents responsible, but as time went on and the kidnapping remained unsolved, it appeared more and more unlikely that the answer to the puzzle was simply negligence.
One headline blamed the Russians, another blamed extraterrestrials. The reality was far more implausible: it was me. I brought a fictional character to life, and in exchange I sent the President of the United States into a Netflix drama. As I was ushered from Quantico in an unmarked sedan, another identical sedan was entering the city, this one with a slightly jet-lagged man from Gaffney, South Carolina. His sedan wound through the back roads leading to the intelligence agency's headquarters, and eventually arrived and parked. Two agents exited, as did the man. He walked with the confident demeanor of someone who knew his own power.
Finally, the man entered the same negotiation room that I had found myself in several hours previously. He sat down in the same chair, glanced at the same dossier (which had his name on it), and glanced around the room. He was only waiting a few minutes before the door reopened.
The inscrutable man had returned. He held out his hand.
"Hello, Mr. Underwood," the man said, smiling.
"Hello, Mr. Comey," the other said, glancing at his badge.
In the background, a Netflix episode of "House of Cards" was playing. In it, an angry-looking man gesticulated wildly from a podium to a mass of spectators. His orange-tinged skin shone in the light of the cameras. | Dad's always busy. Whenever you ask him to do something no matter what it is, he just says, "Later." Later, later, later--and tomorrow comes but later never does.
So you pretty much have to replace him. You hardly seem him anyway. He's either at work or he's telling you he's too tired to go swimming this weekend or he's too busy to help you with your history poster. He'll help you *later.*. After he gets through some dumb thing at work, he'll have more time and he'll take you to Kings Mountain (except he won't because then there'll be some other dumb thing at work).
You take the magic dial and hold it over the latest *Action Comics*. You twist and twist until Dad's gone and Superman is there. Superman won't ignore you. All right, he looks a little confused right now, but Superman can do *anything.*
Except he throws your only baseball into the next county. And he's going to get it back, but he heard an earthquake so he has to go rescue people. And then there's a burning building. And a cat stuck in a tree (which is not a Superman level threat, but he lectures you about kindness to animals when you point that out).
He does take you to Kings Mountain, but he keeps disappearing in a red and blue blur to help people. Which is what Superman's supposed to do and you'd be disappointed if he didn't do superhero stuff, but it's not much better than your Dad being gone all the time if he's never really there for very long.
When you get home, you flip through the comic. Dad looks pretty freaked out at first, but by the end he's gotten a job with Lex Luthor. In the last panel they're shaking hands and you really don't like Luthor's face. Or Dad's.
You'll wait for next month's issue to decide if you want to bring Dad back. | 2017-09-28T14:17:37 | 2017-09-28T12:46:50 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] The United States government is so bored, they start monitoring one random unsuspecting idiot 24/7. Every time he fails to brush his teeth at the appropriate time, gas prices increase slightly. | A solitary bead of sweat ran down Senator Crafford's brow as he watched the monitor. "Come on, you son of a bitch, you can do it. You can keep those pearly whites sparkling, I know you can."
"Nervous, senator?", the smug smirk playing across Smith's stupid mug was enough reason to hate the man and he had the personality to match.
Kenneth stared at the sink vacantly. Since he split up with Deborah, life had lacked the silver lining it once used to have. He felt no drive, no purpose, no real attachment to the material world. He was a machine, keeping up his tasks, his responsibilities, not out of a will to succeed, but out of routine.
The plastic cup in Crafford's hand let out a dying groan as it had to pay the prize of the tension in the room. He had promised his daughters that trip to France, and he had yet to let them down.
"Odds at 13 to 1!" The voice of the VP was drowned out by a wave of shouting and reshuffling of bets. Bernard Humphrey, the fittingly oily CEO of Petro-Corp let out a cheshire cat grin. It was widely accepted that he had grown rich out of Kenneth's bad habits, and his agents had been busted trying to influence Kenneth more than once, but they could never be traced back to him.
Kenneth let out a sigh. He had no lust for brushing his teeth tonight. He had no lust for anything these days.
"Don't let me down son. Not tonight." Crafford was whispering while his eyes never left the big monitor showing Kenneth's blank face and bare, hairy torso. Even Smith couldn't contain his anxiety. His face still flashed his stupid smirk, but his bony, fidgeting fingers spoke volumes on their own.
Kenneth stared at the hardly used toothbrush sitting on the bathroom counter. An invisible audience of unyielding eyes followed suit. He let out a sigh. What the heck. He might aswell try to keep up one more routine.
The room erupted. Crafford let out a hoot of joy. He looked to his right as Mr Humphrey was cascading his phone in scream-propelled saliva. Someone was about to lose his or her employment. His eyes finally met the stunned face of Smith. Smith looked back at him, his smirk pouring away from his face slowly turning a marble white.
Crafford brought up his phone. His joy couldn't even be damped by the rough tone of his rudely awoken wife. "Pack your bags, Honey! We're going to Paris!"
| Steven contemplated into his tooth brush with resentment. It had been months since he had performed any hygienic ritual above his groin. The world’s economy crashed several days ago and the governments office had been raided. The gas price was at a whopping 200% increase. The system which was used to track Steven’s hygiene matured into a fully functioning AI, burdened with the task of raising gas prices as Steven still avoided clean teeth.
Steven contemplated into his tooth brush with resentment. Which stood next to a jar of black pearls, his lips then formed a smile, revealing he was indeed a plucked shark. | 2018-05-08T05:45:36 | 2018-05-08T04:41:18 | 318 | 174 |
[WP] After entering your PIN the ATM screen reads, "You cannot use this while in combat." | "You cannot use this while in combat."
I looked up, around the interior of the bank lobby. The mirrors at the top of the ATM, tilted to allow a user to be sure no one was sneaking a look at their PIN, just reflected my startled face. A short line had formed at the main desk, three tellers carrying on conversation with their customers. Maybe eighteen people inside that I could see, afternoon sunlight coming in through the high front windows. Peaceful. Looking back, I entered my PIN again, deliberately hitting all the correct numbers, then ENTER.
"You cannot use this while in combat."
ENTER, I pressed.
"Would you like a receipt?" YES/NO.
YES, I pressed. It printed. I already knew what it would say. I knew because this, supposedly, was my power. Some sort of Tinker or Thinker bullshit; situational awareness that was *helpfully* supplied through devices of any kind, describing and supplying information based on the design and original use of the device supplying that information.
>Thank you for banking with Brockton Bay Central Bank.
>Available balance: $7.21
>Today's withdrawal: $6.3
>Have you considered pet insurance? You can ward off disaster with our group policies. Have a great day!
I swore. Research on PHO over the past weeks, while carefully avoiding conflict that might screw up the actual information there with *helpful* notes, had given me a lot of insight into who could be giving me the combat warning. There were only two animal oriented capes in the Bay, and only one who would participate in a bank heist. So that meant the whole crew - but 6? Hadn't there used to be 5? My balance had to mean things on my side, on the side of the bystander. I wasn't in terrible danger then. I hoped.
That was when three monstrous dog-things, ten feet high at the shoulder, broke in from the offices in the rear of the bank, and over the screams of fear -- no, I didn't hear anything, nor see anything, as blackness like a fog swept over everything. Then, bugs, swimming in the mist. I felt them on my skin over the non-sound of my panicked breathing.
The Undersiders. I remembered my receipt, the insurance phrase. Hopefully the Wards would arrive soon, and this new bug-based cape wouldn't mess things up too much for them. After all, this wasn't the first, or most elucidating warning I'd received yet. No, that had come days ago, when I'd been about to make some soup. On my pots had fallen and warped to look less like a pot and more like some sort of cauldron, a spill of something gold staining the rim...
(The End - just a little Worm fanfic). | "You cannot use this while in combat" read the ATM. I stared down confused - then it all swept over me like goosebumps, my heart was beating itself to death like it was desperately trying to break open my sternum and run. At second glance the ATM at returned back to my weapon, the explosions, the ringing in my ear, the smoke, it was back. I remembered. Out of desperation I attempted to contact my family via the phone, which becomes disabled when the weapon is in combat mode. I had escaped this cruel reality of war and death for just a few moments, it felt too real, the buttons of the ATM, sliding my debit card in...It was the last time life felt normal, before the war. | 2016-11-21T14:58:05 | 2016-11-21T11:31:24 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Zombies appear one day, and people are thankful for zombie media teaching them how to survive. Unfortunately for them, a cure is discovered just a few days later, and many are put on trial for shooting the infected that could have otherwise been saved. | Tears streamed down his face. He deserved what was coming, and he knew it.
The judge slammed her gavel. He didn't hear what she said, except for one word:
"Life."
It bounced around in his head, but he didn't process it. He didn't care.
But what could he have done? He'd seen the movies, played the video games. Zombies were a menace, and he knew how to survive them.
When he had heard the news at work, just a few weeks earlier, he immediately rushed home. The outbreak began in downtown Chicago, but he lived in Naperville, a suburb just outside the city, with his wife and daughter. He knew if he was quick, he could get his family together before the worst hit...
The cop paraded him out the doors of the courtroom and past the small crowd of people. A reporter lunged forward to ask a question. The cop tried to block her out, but she shouted her question over his shoulder.
"Why didn't you claim self-defense like everyone else?"
Self-defense was a common response for those on trial. It held up in court for many. They had to defend themselves, right?
He didn't acknowledge the reporter.
He had called his wife in the car, racing through traffic to his daughter's school, to let her know to go home as soon as she could. He worked closer to the school, so he knew it was wise for him to go there.
His stomach dropped as he pulled up to the school. He could hear the screaming before he even opened the door to jump out...
As he continued to shuffle down the courthouse steps, he noticed a familiar glint in the corner of his eye. His wife's car, parked across the street. He peered through tear-filled eyes into the windshield, and recognized her blonde hair in the driver's seat. He knew she blamed him, and rightfully so.
When he entered the school, he was glad he had made it to the last parent-teacher conference. He knew where his daughter's room was, and he raced down the halls to find it.
He ripped the door open and the smell hit him like an NFL linebacker. He froze. He hadn't noticed the eerie quietness in this section of the school until opening the door. He saw blood. Painting the room like some sick canvas. He gulped down his fear and disgust, knowing he had to find his daughter.
When he turned the corner into the room, noticing what was at the back, he suddenly couldn't breath. There was a pile. Little limbs. The bodies of his daughter's classmates. He didn't want to look, but he had to know.
As he stepped forward, he heard a whimper from behind him. He whipped around, and noticed a leg sticking out from behind the teacher's desk. It was an adult's. He crept around to get a better look.. and immediately wished he hadn't...
He looked longingly into the car. Wishing he could take it back. Hoping that his wife could find some way to forgive him, although he would never forgive himself.
He heard the engine start.
He'll never forget what he saw on the other side of the desk. It will be forever burned into his memory. The poor teacher, eyes wide looking at him, reaching for him, hand twitching.
At her neck, was a bloody wound. She was going to die. But then, he realized what had done that to her.
His daugher. But simultaneously not his daughter. Looking at him through yellow eyes, but not truly seeing him. He choked back tears as he shouted her name. She didn't hear him. She looked hungry.
She started to get up, never taking her eyes off of him. Panicking, he grabbed a textbook off of the desk as he began backpedaling.
The rest of it was a blur. Her sprinting, him swinging. The next thing that he remembers is looking at his daughter lying at his feet, head smashed in. He picked her up to carry her out.
He's not sure how he made it to his car. He could hardly see through the tears in his eyes trying to make his way...
The engine revved louder. Confused, he looked back at his wife. Then, he noticed the look in her eyes. It wasn't sorrow. It was fury.
Her car jumped the curb, and turned, heading straight for him. Luckily, the cop was paying attention and jumped out of the way.
Lying on the ground, he couldn't feel anything. Looking up into the sky, it was a gorgeous day. Sun out, blue sky.
The last thing he heard before slipping away, was a gunshot. | *"Mr. Connell would you please approach the stand"* Judge Weathers demanded, his thick southern accent bellowing through the court hall.
Mitchell rose to his feet, his feet had fallen asleep as the case went on for hours. Standing made his anxious, he could feel the pins and needles stabbing his feet, working there way up his thighs. As he rose, the shutters and flash of cameras went berserk. Paparazzi had gathered around every available window sill trying to snap a shot of the first guilty man committed of murder of an infected. One tabloid would print a shot of him looking faint and sickly as he rose from his seat and headed to the stand to confess his crimes.
Clearing the thick, dry lump in his throat; gathering his shaky legs; Mitchell headed towards the stands. All on eyes were on him, the flashing lights made him look wet and sickly. Seated purposefully in his direct line of sight sat the Holbrook family. Now widowed wide, Liza and her two daughters, Mary-Beth and Chalie Ray Holbrook. Mr. Holbrook was now being studied in a lab over in Georgia. Scientist came and scooped his body from within Mitchells home nearly two weeks ago.
Mitchell gathered himself in the oak stands, facing the jury to the side of him, ready to give his side of the story. Preparing his speech for days, Mitchell was confident the jury would a-quit him of all charges in favor of his self-defense plea. Looking nervous, nervous and guilty, the flashing lights grew stronger, the boos in the crowd stronger, Mitchell was barely able to swear on the bible before judge Weathers had to demand order in the court.
These very hectic times in Hapscomb County, a town ravaged to hell was now ready to crucify someone who some call a hero. Mitchell Connell was being charged for murder of Mr.Holbrook, an infected man who was on a war path straight for Mitchell's throat.
*"Ready when you are"* Judge Weathers exclaimed, Mitchell cleared his throat, wiping the sweat from his brow. The court grew silent, Mitchell felt as if the lights were dimmed, a beating pain was coming from within his skull. He looked towards the crowd. Through a sea of hateful faces he searched for her. Sitting patiently in her yellow Sunday dress was Betty. With a flutter of her long brown eyelashes and a quick smirk, Mitchell felt his racing heart slow down. Suddenly, the lights didn't seem so dull.
*"I'd like to begin from the start, from when I woke on Tuesday afternoon, if that's aright?"* Mitchell asked the judge. *"By all means Mr. Connell, enlighten us"*. | 2018-03-07T11:01:59 | 2018-03-07T10:57:40 | 1,446 | 41 |
[WP] You and your wife decided to raise your daughter on a farm away from flawed modern society, and tell her that you're the only people on earth. When she turns 18, you tell her that it's time to know the truth. You take her to the city and find that there really are no people left. | Isabella was always gifted. We knew that from the day she was born and I held her in my arms.
We had to protect her, covet her from the cruel world that would bite at her. Its rough edges like rusted metal that would tear jarring wounds.
It was safe within our farm. We toiled and did our work, secluded from the rest of the world. Surrounded for miles on end only by gravel and rocks. It was lonely, sure, but we were safe. My dear Isabella was safe.
She didn't know what it meant to have friends, I would see her playing with the animals instead. Chasing the chickens like some cute goliath. I would scold her for rummaging around with the pigs. Her adorable giggles contrasting their oinks. I found it hard to stay mad at her. I found it hard to pretend like I was upset. She seemed so happy.
"We have to tell her." The guilt that kept rising over the years gnawed away at my wife and me, aging us. How wrong we were. How foolish it was for us to think that we knew better. We weren't trying to protect Isabella, we were protecting ourselves. Acting out of our own desire to not see our daughter get hurt. But it was that protection that caused her to grow up to be a fine women and not understand what it meant to live. We deprived her of that.
"Honey, we need to show you something." Isabella mirrored our worried expressions. Our features weathered with age and the weight of our guilt causing our shoulders to slouch.
"Show me what?" She asked.
"It's best if we just show you."
With the rising dawn, Isabella and I got into my truck and drove into the horizon. The sun was rising over the horizon to shine light upon my regret.
Even then, I had second thoughts, I wanted to turn around and for us to stay secluded within our little world in the middle of nowhere, away from the cruel reality of life. Even I had avoided contact with humans for many years, joining my daughter in her cruel punishment.
Would she hate us for depriving her of the truth? For keeping her away from the rest of humanity, caged in by bars made of our own lies and deceit? Or perhaps she would forgive us, and be opened to a world that wished to hurt her.
No -- I could no longer avoid this. I drove on, dust trailing behind us.
The roads lay empty and barren. The city that used to bustle with life was now just unnervingly quiet. It seemed wrong. A stillness that whispered of cold death.
"Where is everyone?" I asked myself as the door to my truck closed shut.
"They don't exist, remember, dad? You told me that."
I turned to Isabella, I had come this far. She had to know the truth one way or another. My lip quivered; perhaps I guided her all the way out here so I did not have to say I lied, that I didn't have to explain to my own daughter what had been done. But it seemed fitting that just as my lips sowed the lie into existence, they too would reap punishment.
"I lied, sweetheart. We aren't the last people on earth. We never were. We wanted to protect you from it all, from the cruelty."
Isabella giggled, that same innocent giggle when she rolled with the pigs, oblivious of lives, just like how her coil-tailed friends were oblivious of their fate as food.
"I know." She said. She was not angry, she was not shocked. She just smiled, a knowing smile that spoke of her adventurous and affable self. She was being coy.
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
"Daddy, I am not an idiot. I always knew that humans existed. I know a lot of things you don't seem to. I also knew why you hid them from me." She shook her head. "I never needed protection, daddy, but I knew you were afraid of them. Afraid of humans. We didn't need them anyway. We have our little farm and we can just live there in our little world."
"Isabella. Dear. What are you saying?"
She giggled. "I made them disappear, daddy. We don't need anyone else, nobody will ever hurt you again. We can be happy."
The abandoned buildings that surrounded us now seemed lonely. Without purpose. Serving instead as tall tombstones for the whole of mankind. A sad and worthless legacy of our civilisation; a civilisation brought to an abrupt end before it could live out a full life.
I realised then, that my innocent daughter was born with godly powers, the ability to bend reality to her will. And it was her naive and unknowing self that acted void of malice, but that unbridled desire to do good without understanding the consequences made her erase all of mankind in an instant.
I created a monster.
***
/r/KikiWrites
***
[Part 2] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8gx9lu/wp_you_and_your_wife_decided_to_raise_your/dyflvd5/) | Margaret and I smirked at each other as we pulled the truck down the dirt road, the end of which our little Madison had never seen. We moved out to the country side in Eastern Eurorpe, a year after she was born. We were both artists, vegans, and were tired of the fast life in Portland. After reading several books about living off the grid, we knew that if we wanted to raise our daughter right, it would have to be far away from where the corruption of materialism and decadence manifested; civilization. We knew, deep down, that when she finally joined the world, she would be on a level above her peers, be empathetic to all things, and truly shine on a world so horrible. So we home schooled her. We were her best friends, parents, and coworkers. I have to say... we thought we did a pretty good job.
At 17 years old, we thought it was time to show her the ugliness of the civilized world, knowing that she would be forever grateful of the life we chose to give her. We pulled onto the main paved road which was 9 miles from our cabin. It was only 3 miles here from the closest town, but we had always grown our own food and lived off of the land, so we never actually brought Madison there. The roads were bumpy...most likely because they hadn't paved it in years. The tree growth along the road was awfully thick as well, casting an eery shade of daylight onto the pavement.
Madison stared intently out of the window, soaking it all in. She was wearing a yellow dress she had sewn earlier this year which hung loosely on her awkward form. We knew that these clothes would immediately set her apart from anyone we happened across, but that only helped our case.
A few minutes down, we passed what should of been our closest neighbors farm, but it was almost indistinguishable from the forest around it. The barn and main house were overgrown heavily with vegetation.
"The Oshkev's really let their farm go, eh Janet?" I asked my wife.
"Not surprised. They would milk their cows, from what I remember.. so it's not a big loss if they moved away.?
We got closer to town, but it was still impossible to tell we were not still in the forest. Crumbled and overgrown buildings lined the road, half hidden behind rubble and plant growth.
"This place really went to hell.." I mumbled. Madison stared out of the window, and my wife looked at me with a concerned and concentrated expression. Maybe I took a wrong turn. I pulled the car off next to a street sign and stepped out. It was so silent that only birds sang in the air, a disconcering volume in what was supposed to be the outskirts of a major town. I walked over to the sign and pulled off the ivy growing on it.
In Russian, it read... "The City of Chernobyl Welcomes You"
Huh.. that's odd... | 2018-05-04T01:46:53 | 2018-05-04T01:40:06 | 2,747 | 98 |
[WP] All forms of technology were banned while time traveling. But when you accidentally bring your phone to Ancient Rome, not only do you have service... but you’re getting a call. | The marketplace was lively as usual. Vendors in their stalls hocking cloth and housewares that were supposedly imported from all corners of the empire when in reality this vendor probably had a deal from some local tannery and potters that could create facsimile eastern goods that could pass off as authentic.
Children running and laughing dot the marketplace while carts filled with amphorae kick up small trails of dust. Smiling, you lock eyes with a woman in contemporary dress and notices she is not wearing a ring on her right hand. Her husband was probably part of the legion and was killed in some far off land that will become legend about his heroics.
You barely manage the words "hello, a lovely day in the market" in such unaccented Greek that she knows you are not from here. Her smile of curiosity is piqued when she hears the words of a foreigner. You are stumbling for words when you hear a cacophony coming from your satchel in the form of a ringtone.
Her eyes which were looking at yours in a curious gaze now switch to one of horror as she stares at the bag.
Other consumers at the marketplace stop moving and have become silent, even some of the children stop running and state at you with their mouths agape. "One second, I need to take this" breaking character and speaking English makes the woman start stepping back and looking behind her for somewhere safe to run too. An old woman in the crowd points a bony claw at you and screams in an accusatory tone "magos!" Soon the whole crowd is chanting in unison as you see an alleyway and dart into it trying to fathom what situation you have found yourself in.
You look at your phone and dont recognize the number. You slide on the screen to accept the call and yell "hello?!"....
"This is a courtesy call from the customer service line at ChronoCast, where we bring the past to you, you have brought an illegal technology into the past and will be having your membership brought in for review, we like to provide a fun experience for all of our customers and you have compromised a facet of the journey for others, please call the customer service line when you are back in your time period to have your account renewed".
You shut the phone off and throw it in your bag. Your shenanigans have brought you to the attention of the local guards, who heard the commotion and now two of them are slowly inching towards you with their pilums level and there is no escape from this ancient corridor.
You put your hands out not knowing what else to do with your phone amd one of the guards quickly drops his spear.
"Dude, is that the new galaxy model? I thought those didn't have any cloaking technology. How did you fool the sensors to get it past security?"
| "Good day Sir, your transdimensional data roaming quota has been exceeded. Any further data transfer will be billed at 8 USD per MB and century away from your origin, instead of the usual 5 USD per MB and century that we bill for the first 2 GB. Would you be interested in buying one of our data traveler packages?"
It took a few seconds for this to sink in and a few more to do the math. And some more to redo it and then do it again.
"Are you OK Sir?"
The phone dropped out of his hand and was crushed underneath the wheels of some donkey cart.
Maybe he should just stay a little bit longer and get a job.
| 2017-12-27T05:13:23 | 2017-12-27T04:30:41 | 41 | 16 |
[WP] Across the galaxy, a synthetic drug known as "Fury" is illegal everywhere due to its effects on the mind and body, humans call it Adrenalin and they can make it naturally. | "So let me get this straight. You're detaining us for the possession of 'Fury'?" It was a doctor saying this. He was experienced in human endocrinology and spent quite some time studying chemistry in undergrad. "And, in your investigations, you recognize that this chemical is actually what we call adrenaline?" He was standing before a veritable Extraterrestrial Drug Enforcement Agency (EDEA) and smiling at the absurdity of the situation at hand. He had been hand-picked for this job, of negotiating their sentence for their crimes. "Heh- Do you even know what adrenaline is?"
"We already told you." The head law enforcement officer said this. "We know what the drug is. It is a drug we call 'Fury' and some of you have as much as 2500 ng coursing through your bodies." The entire human race was sequestered in a bunker aboard the ship. They were shockingly small compared to the alien race around them. "To make things worse, you - the only fully sentient species on 'Earth' - have decided to take it upon yourself to poison other animals with the chemical. Your whole planet is running with 'Fury.'" The alien sighed in frustration. "That's it. We're going to have to take you in. All of you."
"But- but wait. You don't understand! We can't help it!" In the distance, through a clear panel on the ship, he could see the ship containing the entire human race turning and moving away from the Earth towards whatever destination these officials had in mind. "We *make* Fury. We make it with our bodies! It's not something we can control. It's like *breathing*!"
The alien turned and made an alarming face before asking, "*breathing*?" It was a look of surprise, apparently. "What is 'breathing'?"
The doctor watched as the ship disappeared in a flash. "It's how we take in oxygen to survive. We need oxygen to- nevermind. It doesn't matter! We cannot control that we make it. It's a natural process. It's biological..." He watched the alien carefully for any change in expression, but it was hard to gauge emotions with these creatures.
"*Natural*... *Biological*... Hm... Well that changes everything." The doctor heard a tone carry through a receiver. "We'll bring the other humans back but we need your help."
"My help with what?" The doctor was utterly perplexed by this change in attitude and behavior. "What do you need my help with?"
"Well... We're kind of in search for a drug to counteract the effects of fury..." | "Wait, so they make the drug biologically?"
"Yes, that is why we are here. They produce Fury- or in their terms, adrenaline- in times of stress."
"So why are we here, then? Why should they be punished for something they can't control?"
"This isn't punishment, it is mercy. If the Kokoan Cartel or any other group of scum found them, they would be enslaved and tortured for their Fury. This will just be quick."
"I understand, sir. Cannons are ready."
"Fire. May we be merciful in exterminating them." | 2018-03-18T16:30:20 | 2018-03-18T14:28:29 | 127 | 82 |
[WP] Zombies cannot swim. But they will attempt to follow targets in boats by walking into the ocean. Centuries after the cure was found, groups of zombies are surfacing on the other end of the atlantic. You are one of the first to be cured, and have to adapt to this new society. | Everything about the human body has evolved to live on land.
We walk on 2 feet, breathe oxygen from the air, and drink fresh water.
Even so, there is something so wonderfully primal about bobbing around the ocean's surface, as if some vestigial remnant of our animal ancestors still longed to swim.
For me, in particular, the water means something even more.
A few years ago, there was an outbreak of an unusual plague that extended to every society known to man.
Unlike ordinary diseases, this one did not merely kill its victims.
No, it haunted them even into the afterlife.
Its first symptom was something akin to leprosy, where human flesh would start to sag before falling off completely.
After that, the infected would experience an insatiable desire to eat other humans.
Finally, they would stop breathing altogether; however, even without breath, they could still walk and transmit the disease to others.
It was nothing short of the zombie apocalypse.
At first, there was nothing humanity could do to protect themselves.
They huddled in their houses, waiting for the hordes of zombies to overtake them.
Soon, certain societies made a fascinating discovery: the zombies, like moths, were attracted to light.
This lead to the Great Extermination, where citizens of all different countries banded together by creating giant bulbs of light and casting them just beyond the shore.
Eventually, every single zombie left the land and turned to the sea.
Although this did not kill them, it did allow humanity to return to living life as they once did in relative peace and luxury.
Over the next few centuries, a cure was developed to partially treat the zombie outbreak.
In particular, it solved the patient's insatiable hunger by preventing them from ever being hungry again.
It cured their decaying flesh by preventing them from aging further and allowing them to regrow the skin they once had.
After a few years of therapy, zombies were later re-integrated into society as immortals, also called "the Cured."
The Cured existed as strange outcasts to modern society.
They did not understand technology and had no need to work to eat.
Even after therapy, they were often still unable to act as humans normally would.
Their speech might be slurred or gait slightly askew.
In addition, almost every single Cured suffered from an intense form of PTSD from centuries of drowning and decay.
I had recently taken up a new job to fill the Cured hospitals to capacity by swimming out to the ancient bulbs with a floodlight on my waist.
I would then set the bulb on a 20 second timer and turn on my own floodlight before swimming back to shore.
A few of the zombies would follow, and I would trap them in a cage to be transported to the nearest hospital.
This was why the ocean was so special to me.
It was more than just a body of water.
It was the home to millions of people, counting on me to save them.
I knew my family was out there somewhere, lurking in the depths of the ocean, slowly making their way to shore, and it was my duty to guide them home.
After all, I was Cured from the same disease, myself.
I wouldn't rest until they were found.
[Day 12](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1TeOBXcjIHR1CbMnQWSYB1czJW-yCHCejowe1qYlmNT8/edit?usp=sharing) | “Thank you Ethel.”
She seemed nice enough, a welcome contradiction to the sterile white room I find myself in. Room 4.
I tugged at the manacle holding me to the shiny metal bed. It had padding which was was considerate I guess, but not too considerate to NOT manacle me to a bed. I wondered if they would ever be happy to let me out of this room. Not that I blame them, things were pretty bad the last I remember. I wouldn’t trust me either.
I am one of the first “rescued”, sorry “Rescued”, (the capital R being important). One of the first not to just be mowed down by gunfire when hitting the shoreline.
Ethel said that she was happy to be working with people like me, and that she couldn’t wait to tell her kids about us when she is allowed some leave. Maggie is 5 and likes to paint whilst Dawson is 15 and… just does stuff that 15 year olds would do. I wonder if those kids are even real of if it’s just part of script being spat out verbatim to me to see how I respond, see if I understood what kids are. It’s what I would do…
I had been out for about 300 years, I don’t remember anything about my time under. Last thing I remember- | 2020-12-10T04:14:33 | 2020-12-10T03:55:40 | 111 | 39 |
[WP] you are the first immortal. While it is true that you cannot die, your flesh and body can. After so many millennia you are reduced to a sentient skeleton sitting at the bottom of a peaceful pond to avoid contact with other people. Some bastards are trying to drain it | It, much like everything else that came with it, was novel at first. You're both everything and nothingness. You're one with the heartbeat of the universe, pulsing though the infinite strands of limitless possibilities... and then it happens within a womb; a chance meeting between the clay of creation and the sculptor of all.
Life.
An excitement of quantum proportions that pushes one domino after another, each larger than the next. The fates weave yet another gossamer from their endless spindle... In all of their glory and all of their infinite wisdom, they saw mine not fit for their razor. I knew not what the fates had in store for me then, but I know now.
I am to wallow beneath this pond for all eternity. To reflect upon my sins and to be trapped with my darkest thoughts and most painful regrets. A detestable man wrought with guilt, not fit for the underworld nor for the eyes of man. The things of I've done. The things I've seen. The thoughts I've had.
Lo, I do profess thy...
Thy...
What the devil is that noise?
For the first time in several centuries I craned my bony neck up towards the glittering surface of the pon- Nay, *my* pond. Twas not the trunk of an elephant come to drink- it was something else. It sucked the pond water in greedily, a rate at which I had never seen. Had my time finally come to and end? Had they come for me at last? Was I not forsaken as I had thought all of these eons?
I dared to dream. Dared to hope. Dared to stand on my own two feet once again. A new chapter had come for me; the last, if the gods are good. And as the surface drew nearer my metaphorical heart pounded. The cool air graced my skull as the depths washed away from me. A god came into view.
He was adorned in a shimmering vest, orange and yellow. The light bounced beautifully from his form, and his beard was mighty and full like all powerful gods. I would smile if I were capable- oh how ashamed I was of my drab appearance, certainly not fit for a god's holy eyes. And when he lay eyes upon me- his face sagged.
"I am sorry, my liege!" I cried out in a hoarse voice.
The god looked over his shoulder and called out to another in a language I could not comprehend. It sounded almost like an Anglo-Frisian dialect- the last I had cared to learn before language became troublesome. He sounded... confused. Why would my savior be confused? Had I made a miscalculation?
"My god, allow me please to approach you!" I called out.
He took a step back. God or no, I would not give up this chance. I would not be denied my salvation. I started towards him and climbed the side of the pond. To my horror and dismay, the scream that escaped him was like that of a distressed animal returning to find its nest destroyed and young pilfered- higher pitched than any male I'd consorted with. Perhaps I had mistaken a goddess for a god!
Oh *no.*
She fell backwards and scrambled away as I tried to explain myself. Damn my unfamiliarity with the language of the gods- I could have been researching all of this time, but nay I saw fit to wallow in my own self-pity.
"My Goddess, please! Hear an old sinner's words!"
She turned and stumbled a few times before finding her footing and sprinting in the opposite direction. Was I to follow her to salvation? Was she leading me to the promise land? I gave chase as fast as my exposed brittle legs could carry me. "Goddess!" I yelled through muddy vocals. I had spent too much time below. I opted instead to chatter my teeth together loudly in hopes of catching her attention.
She shrieked in an even more piercing and shrill fashion than before, impossible though I thought. Perhaps a form of communication I had not studied. I would not let my salvation slip through my bony fingers. I had to try with everything that I had. I shrieked back, hoping to match her tone. She began wailing shrilly- a success! Finally, her chariot came into view. She opened the side door of the gleaming metallic chariot and enclosed herself inside of it. By the time I reached it however, it would not relent to me. I tugged on the same lever she had, but it would not open the same.
Perhaps a test of strength.
I reeled back and ran my fist through the glass. It shattered easily for I was mighty even as a shell of my former self. She shrieked again and climbed backwards into the second chair within the chariot. She was making room for me! Oh heavens be praised. I began to climb into the window, and then she did something I never could have expected- she went to sleep.
She leaned against the other door of the chariot completely and totally asleep.
"I will await you faithfully, my goddess." I whispered as I ran my digits over her hairy cheek. "I will wait here for as many eternities as you see fit."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break.
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos | I am Hayat Tawila of Arabia. I lived many many lifetimes ago, back in the First Crusade. Then The Second, and The Third. I lived until the Siege of Acre, when a Templar Arrow pierced my side. Or so I thought. I then lived for the next 8 centuries, with my body remaining the same. I served alongside the British in the Great War, and with the United States Marines in Korea, and Vietnam. In the year of what is called, “1974,” I became very weary. After all, I had served many militaries over the course of 800 or so years. So I chose a place to rest, in the place called “Lake,” which means “Is Yours” in my tongue, so I figured it would be a good place to rest. I lay my head on the very bed of this place, under many fathoms of water, where I rest beside the other creatures of the lake. I close my eyes and begin my rest, with my withering muscles and tendon barely clinging to my holllowing bones, following an incident with the substance “napalm.”
I awoke from my peaceful sleep to the rumbling of what sounded like a kind of engine. Maybe a boat? No, it couldn’t be. Many boats have passed over me and I have never been bothered. I rose from the muddy mass I called bed. I tried to walk to investigate, but my bones had grown brittle, with my muscles and tendon clinging for dear life, one which I wish I’d never been blessed with. “Blessing.” That was the complete opposite of what I had received. As I tried to compile my thoughts in this hollow skull of mine, I began to walk on the muddy surface of the lake bed. I looked around, my bones and muscles creaking and cracking with every movement. I followed the source of the sound, and I found a series of these pipes, which were connected to pumps. Someone was removing water from my resting place.
I immediately became upset. This was my home. My only time where I could find peace, and now I am being disturbed once more. The audacity! I tried to walk to the surface of the lake to confront the one disturbing my rest, but my brittle bones gave in to the pressure of the water. I nearly forgot about my deteriorating condition. “jana alraml,” I began to mumble in my native tongue, with what strength in my jaw I had left. “amnahani, abnak hayatan tawilatan,” I groaned as the water bubbled above me. “quaak alhakimat wal'iilhiat.” I spoke with what strength I could muster. In that moment, I felt the power of the divine passing through me.
With the newly found stamina in my body, I walked to the surface of the lake, to investigate who disturbed my peaceful rest. As I rose to the surface of the water, I saw humans. A group of humans who were wearing nice suits and some with what looked like construction clothes. They fell to the ground, startled at my presence. After all, I was a walking skeleton. I began to cry aloud in my native tongue, asking for the power of the divine to surge through me, that I may deliver my wrath on these mortals who anger my slumber.
“Who are you?! *What* are you?!” one of the finely dressed men shakily asked.
I drew my scimitar from its sheathe of my ragged robes of the Third Crusade.
I answered, “I am Hayat Tawila of Arabia.” | 2020-11-20T12:28:04 | 2020-11-20T12:06:53 | 255 | 175 |
[WP] You travel back in time to the 1900's, you take your tablet out of your rucksack only to find that there is a WiFi hotspot nearby labeled "If you can see this, turn back.". | The container landed with the clatter of steel against concrete.
I staggered my way out of my padded coffin into a filthy alleyway, and was greeted by the sounds of honking, the smell of smog, and a gun put against my head.
“Y-your money or your life!” stammered the thug who had just witnessed my landing.
“Give me a sec.” I staggered over to a dumpster and promptly threw up into it.
I raised my head and looked at the confused thug. “What year is it?”
“W-what?”
I repeated myself calmly “I said, what year is it.” The effect of my straight faced-ness was rather ruined by my wobbling knees as I struggled to put them under me and get to my feet.
“1900 of course,” he didn’t seem to understand the implications of either my questions or the fact that I had just staggered out of a box that had moments ago been glowing and smoking from high velocity gravitons and tachyons slamming against it at relativistic speeds.
“And why the hell are you asking anyway. I could kill you right here, and no one would be the wiser,” he blustered.
This was bad. He was starting to regain his nerve. I needed to regain control of the situation.
“Look friend.” I finally got my feet steady enough to stand up and wobble my way towards him as I reached into my pocket. “You don’t seem to understand so let me make it abundantly clear.” I pulled out a taser and shot him.
“AGHHGHHGHH!”
I kneeled down next to his twitching body and riffled through his pockets. A pocket knife, some lint, and bingo! His wallet. Some assorted bills, two silver dollars, and a business card for New York Shipping Co.
New York huh.
The time slip worked exactly as intended. Three seconds in a container designed to pierce through the fabric of space time, and I'd landed one hundred and sixty three years in the past. The year 1900 in New York City.
“Thanks a bunch.” I punctuated my words with a check to the ribcage as I got up and tucked his gun into my waistband. “You’ve been a wonderful help.”
I staggered to the edge of the alley and got my first look at the place I’d landed.
The city was loud and obnoxious. Much like the New York I remembered from my time, but without the pleasant hum of electric vehicles, and more filled with the sounds of screaming cabbies and roadside vendors.
I’d forgotten how much I hated human drivers with their profanity and poor driving.
I caught a whiff of the combined stench of open sewer grates, trash, and the streetside food vendors and promptly lost all control of my stomach again.
After I was done painting the brick wall of the alley with my stomach again, I staggered out into the street and began looking for a safe familiar place.
“Rough night huh?” The hot dog vendor gave me a quick once over in a practiced way. “Hotdog?”
My stomach lurched again at the thought. “No thanks.”
This whole world was different. On a logical level, I knew that it was the exact same Earth and the exact same New York as I was used to, just a long time in the past.
Such a weird thought to have. None of our languages are designed with time travel in mind. If I kill someone here, then am I guilty of murder in the year 2063, or do I only become guilty of the crime after I commit it back in 1900?
My head hurts already just thinking about it. On second thought, the headache that was sneaking up on me probably wasn’t just because of the concepts I was thinking about.
I needed to sit down. Maybe write down some preliminary observations about the time slip. After all, I wasn't hired to come here just to sight see. I needed to write a preliminary report and time slip it forward.
Further down the street I saw a subway entrance with a rope over the entrance and a ‘closed for maintenance’ sign hanging. I slipped inside and set up a lamp next to a bench.
I pulled out my tablet to access the note feature, but as soon as I turned it on, a window popped open.
I felt a prickle run down my spine. "available wi-fi signals." What the hell? This technology isn't supposed to exist yet. Not only that, but the title of the signal available was "Turn back while you can"
Something was incredibly wrong here. I need to get back to my capsule as soon as I can.
| It's not exactly uncommon knowledge that these days we live in a world of freaks and mutants and other abnormal humans who go around calling themselves *supers*. Which is bullshit by the way. I know a guy whose only power is that he can teleport upstairs. Only up them. And only three at a time. Nothing super about that.
Me though? I'm not saying i'm super but, I'm definitely unique.
You see, i'm a Time Traveller- Well, I say *a*, it's more like *the*. Anyway, the point i'm trying to make is that not much can surprise me. I travel through time and space with no restrictions whatsoever. I once rode a sleigh pulled by velociraptors across the frozen river thames in the 1800's. Like I said, no restrictions. Paradoxes just cancel themselves out and when I leave it's like I was never there.
So it was pretty god damn weird that I found what I found.
To give a bit of context, I decided, in honour of the 200th anniversary of a certain fictional time traveller, to go back to 1963. Admittedly, I was also planning on picking up some old school acid for me and a buddy to drop when I got back in the present but that's besides the point.
The point is that just after I arrived back I got out my infiniPad to set it to local time and I saw that i'd automatically connected to the WiFi.
Now, for those of you who don't know, the 1960's weren't exactly known for their great Wireless internet coverage. Or for having it at all. Because it wasn't invented yet. So, needless to say, I was a little bit miffed at seeing this. But this isn't where it ended.
Oh no.
There's more.
The name of this WiFi i'd connected to was "If you can see this, turn back"
So, of course, I didn't.
The funny thing is though, I never found where it was coming from or what it was doing there.
My biggest concern right now is the fact that after a run of 99 Doctors all being the same race and gender they've decided to cast the next one with a *straight* white man. Which is just bullshit if you ask me.
Now, hand me another drink. It's christmas and I want to forget this awful casting decision before the special comes on and she regenerates into a man.
Still though, I bet he wont be ginger. | 2014-12-23T21:32:17 | 2014-12-23T20:54:50 | 100 | 13 |
[WP] Humans have always been feared throughout the universe for surviving in the harshest environments, drinking and eating highly poisonous drinks and foods as well as taming and even domesticating dangerous beasts. One applies for a position at your company. | “Unfortunately there is only one position available at the company thus we are going to put you through a couple of tests to see who would be the best fit.” CEO Dolgrump stated slowly lowering his sunglasses and adjusting his universal translator while reviewing the new potential candidates. His tentacle hurt from all the applications he had siphoned through this past week but hard work gets results, especially when you have others do that work for you.
That's how he had built this company from the ground up, having establishments on Vertron, Especia 5 and were even planning and opening a new location on Pluto in the next quarter. Before he could do that, apparently they needed to diversify the workforce a bit, typical of the HR Department and for new Intergalactic Empire Workforce Rules and Regulations.
&#x200B;
It came down to three candidates, a Bolgerion where its width matched its height and had the skin of a dying orange volcano. A Vermule that could be a distant cousin of a typical houseplant except with too many eyes. And a Human, those disgusted Dolgrump to his core. They were blank, featureless skin, a void of a race and it was unsettling. It was like befriending a black hole, an essence of destruction and he would not have the likes of that in his company. All he had to do was assure the hiring process was the worst imaginable and the Human would have to drop out of the race.
&#x200B;
“Thank you, sir, for the opportunity, I am happy to try my best.” The Human said giving a slight bow towards the CEO.
*“How disgusting!”* Dolgrump thought to himself. Saying *thank you* without receiving anything, *happy* without getting the job. This Human is certainly a force of nature that just does not care for anything.
&#x200B;
The tests did not go as expected as the horrific Human excelled at every physiological strategy CEO Dolgrump tried to pull. The plan was to use the banned Intergalactic Empire Workforce Mental Stress Test to wither down the candidate until the candidate felt worthless. It was banned for being considered too cruel yet the Human was not affected. Were they too insane for mental attacks? Dolgrump even used the long forbidden “What Do You Consider to Be Your Weaknesses?”. The Human had a list of things to say splurging out hypnotic words about *working too hard* and *being a perfectionist*. If these were their weaknesses, Dolgrump could not imagine their strengths mixed with their unpredictability. The girthy Bolgerion bowed out of the competition after hearing those answers from the Human and the Vermule went insane from the interrogation.
&#x200B;
With only the Huma left, Dolgrump was getting desperate and needed to stale. The best way he knew how was to ask for the candidate to gather information about their lives, past employment, living situation, and anything he could think of. That information would be locked under the Intergalactic Empire Mainframe and gathering that information from across the galaxy manually would take forever. It was perfect!
“Of course, I have my portfolio right here.” The Human said handing a binder to Dolgrump. “My references are also up to date.”
Dolgrump felt as if there was nothing that he could do to break this Human monster. Only an abomination could excel in the most devious tactics of the workforce.
“Ummm, perfect.” Dolgrump said cautiously, grabbing the document and the flipper through the tomb of an unknown language.
&#x200B;
He felt as if he had no choice, Dolgrump had to hire this candidate but the battle was not over, he could get this creature to break and go insane forcing HR to allow the firing of the Human. They would force the Human to work 3-day cycles a week to miss work to break their soul, force them to constantly leave their station to go on explorations and excursions to break their body, and even continuously change their work position up the corporate ladder to break their mind. This Human won’t survive. | Humans. Strong but idiotic. Always ready to kill themselves for something that does not exist. Always ready to go extinct by themselves.
I sat down on my chair reading the resume of Samuel Williams. Born on Keplar-Moon-56. Transferred here, Noatuk. Nice education. Well, he didn't know that this wasn't a normal company. It was a military company. We just named ourselves Noatuk City Bank to be secret. We maybe a private company but we are authorised by the local militia.
"Samuel Williams, do you know that this isn't a bank?"
"Why do you think I wrote that I was in the Moon-56 Militia there?"
I look down at the resume and there, at the bottom left corner. 7 years in the Moon-56 militia and Human Bootcamp training.
"What missions have you been on?"
"I liberated that moon there."
Samuel points at a near by planet. Noatuk-Moon-1.
"Those Southern Noatukians were fucking crazy. Ruling over them like a commie leader."
"What the fuck is a comm- never mind"
I sit baffled. This was a Friday. I wanted a free weekend. Now it's going to be hecking busy.
"We are going to send you on a mission in Belarius-Planet-77-Goldilock. We need you to extract files related to the insurgents there. It is in their primary bunker at these coordinates, **25.029561, 55.155731.** Don't let me down."
"Sure boss. Aye, can I have a can of Mountain Dew?"
I gasped at this. Mountain Dew was only to be drank distilled from sugar. Sugar is poisonous to us.
"It ain't poisonous to me." Samuel said almost reading my mind. I pass him it carefully. He leaves. I sit there thinking in my chair. I just gave him our most difficult mission. Many people were killed attempting it. I just have a feeling he won't. HE'S A HUMAN. | 2020-06-15T21:45:38 | 2020-06-15T20:44:00 | 462 | 110 |
[WP] A powerful king owns a dragon, plays scary organ music, wears dark clothes, and just looks intimidating. He's actually a really nice guy and his people love him. Heroes from far away lands keep trying to defeat him and his dragon because they think he's a villain. | Aldric liked riding his dragon the way everyone else liked riding horses. He would often go on long expeditions through the sky, swooping and swirling to dance with the clouds, and trying hard not to expose his teeth to the grit that was always present no matter the altitude. As a matter of practicality, he took to wearing masks – black so he wouldn't have to wash them too often – and due to his absent-minded nature, he often forgot to take them off once he was back home.
He ruled over a small, but economically powerful, country built on good sense and common courtesy. The children called him “The Candy King,” and looked forward to every Lammas when he would fly his dragon overhead and drop parachuted packages full of all the sugar and chocolate that his kitchen staff could put together, followed by a few stunts to scare and delight his people. He spent most of his waking moments focused on ensuring their happiness, and took enormous pride in being their king.
However, his benevolence did not extend beyond his borders. Aldric preferred to stay isolated from the world, and aside from a few well-established trade routes, kept his country entirely to itself in social and political matters with the reasoning that he had enough to worry about without dabbling in everyone else's affairs. As a result, terrible rumors abounded unhindered about the “Dragon King,” who terrorized the countryside with fire and violence.
Aldric was blissfully ignorant until the first self-described hero showed up. He had been out on his daily ride, and had returned to play his organ while meditating on how to improve the healthcare for orphans, when he heard a sudden scream. He started and turned around, and to his horror found one of his guards injured by someone shouting hysterically about justice while flailing a sword.
The man was promptly jailed for his crime, but because he refused to state which country he had hailed from, Aldric didn't know where to return him to. Thus, he was sent to a work camp, which was far more productive and reformative than letting people waste away in dungeons.
The next hero gave a speech before attempting to use his sword, claiming that Aldric was obviously evil from his black mask (he had forgotten that he was wearing it again), and threatened to slay his dragon. That made Aldric angry, so he sent this hero to the work camp as well – he wouldn't allow anyone to menace *his* pet and get away with it.
This continued periodically for some time, with every single hero too absorbed in himself to listen to reason. Aldric was forced to tighten security around his borders, and his subjects became increasingly suspicious of outsiders in defense of their beloved king.
Mercifully, Theo the prince showed up on Lammas while Aldric was making his traditional candy drop. He had hoped to make a name for himself by defeating the evil dragon king, though through a series of unfortunately hilarious events, had brought his sister the princess Azalea along as well. Azalea was delighted to see the colorful parachutes drifting down from the sky, and even more enamored when she discovered they were carrying sweets. As a result, she refused to let Theo hide her away when he left to confront the dragon king about his evil ways – which were beginning to look less and less evil up close – and accompanied him to the castle.
Aldric settled in to play his organ upon his return, working on a song that had come to him while he had been flying on his dragon, and was deep in thought when Theo and Azalea arrived. Theo had wanted to burst in with his sword drawn, but Azalea insisted that they introduce themselves properly and speak to him first, arguing that anyone who cared that much about children couldn't be all *that* bad. Theo had to turn his face in embarrassment while Azalea knocked and asked to see the king, stating their full names and kingdom in the process. It horrified him that his sister had so little sense.
As it was, they were shown into the audience hall and announced to Aldric. Upon turning from his organ, he was delighted to discover the most beautiful maiden that he had ever seen curtseying before him.
“Dragon king,” she said, her voice sweet and clear. “We have come to implore you to stop your evil ways...”
“I take care of my people, and I am loved by them,” Aldric replied, his eyes locked on the beautiful princess. “Is that evil?”
“Not at all, your highness, but you keep a dragon for a pet,” Azalea answered.
“She is a creature of the earth, as much as you or I, and I care for her deeply. Is it evil to love a pet?”
“No, your highness.” Azalea knelt down on the ground this time, and Theo's face burned red with embarrassment. “But you dress all in black and wear a mask, and surely that is a reflection of the darkness in your heart.”
“Oh, confound it!” Aldric ripped off his mask and tossed it aside. “I have much on my mind, and I forget that I wear it to protect myself while on my rides. I wear black to save myself from worrying about my clothing. Is that evil?”
“No, your highness.” When Azalea looked up, her eyes were shining with deep admiration. Aldric stepped over to her and helped her to her feet, then stayed for a moment holding her hand as they gazed at each other. Theo saw it all in a heartbeat, and knew that his intended heroics were not needed.
A month later, Theo returned home to announce the news of Azalea's engagement to Aldric, and talked freely about how wise and generous the dragon king was. The wedding was a grand celebration, and in the years that followed their children grew up happily as they played freely in the castle and enjoyed riding the dragon with their father.
The kingdom was never bothered by heroes again.
The end. | "How can you do such a thing?" Arana's voice raised unlike before where she tried hard to be respectful to the people in the room.
"How can you commit an unforgiving act to a king who has done _nothing_ wrong?" Disbelief at their behaviour, ruining her honour in front of all the loyalties and captains was the last thing on her mind. What mattered most that they were trying to execute a king, his people and his creatures on something they did not commit.
One of the Queens she recognises, Queen Selena from Yeyda, the clan which resides in the cursed forest where one can never enter without their guidance and known for their versatility from centuries living, thriving within the darkness. Not only that but Queen Selena is also the queen of her clan and her mother.
Her brows creased immediately, staring sharply at Arana. She couldn't properly read what the Queen of Yeyda is telling with just one look no matter how long Arana looked back. Irritation? Disappointment? Displeasure? She couldn't pinpoint but it made her feel fear for her own mother.
"Princess Arana." The sound of her name coming from her mother is neutral and clear for everyone to hear, that whipped away her confidence she gathered before facing them. "To my chagrin, you have been nothing but trouble since you burst through the door and interrupted this important meeting with the other clans regarding war."
"And now defending a malefactor, our enemy."
Arana glances at the others present in the room, they said nothing but their gazes told her enough what she needs to know. Grasping onto some courage she had left, she stood her ground.
"Mother, I–"
Her mother's furrowed brows deepened at her formality before Arana corrected herself. "Queen Selena, I have personally met King Kori of Hemantee." Gasps from around the room at her words but she continued.
"He is not what you seem, what all of you seem to think!" To minimise her quivering, her hand held over her chest, grasping onto her battle uniform. "He is kind, he is loving towards the creatures of our country, even the ferocious dragons that are deemed villainous!"
She looks directly at her mother, slightly taken back by how ominous she looked but didn't stop despite the sight of Selena made her quiver. "He just wants to live peacefully."
"Lies!"
A royalty that she doesn't recognise growls at her. A representative of the Thurein clan by his garments and complexion. He's a young lad, younger than herself by the depth of his voice and has King's Heller amber eyes with long lashes. He could possibly be the Prince of Thurein. "The King of Hemantee has wounded many of my people!"
Arana shakes her head, defending the victim. "Kori did no such thing! Your people ruin his land by vandalising the environment, hunting his beloved creatures for amusement and threaten to use violence against him for accusations he did not commit!"
The prince stands up from his seat, creating a loud scraping noise from the impact of the wooden chair and stone floor. "Children of Thurein would _never_!"
"Enough!" The loud thump of a staff echoes, now laid across the round wooden table and the voice of the eldest among all the royalties, Queen Derya of Vaea, the clan where land and water meet. Chaos and calamity, balance is their speciality.
Her body figure is hidden among all the layers of her light garment that flow almost naturally like the waves of the ocean as the gentle wind blew. Her skin rich brown and her hair white in colour that reaches down her hip made her look ethereal. The sight of her piercing teal eyes sends chills down people's spine as she looked down upon us all. | 2019-09-09T09:39:07 | 2019-09-09T08:50:12 | 450 | 23 |
[WP] After 10 years of crime fighting you’re sick of being the hero the city needs, instead you’ll become the villain the city deserves. | Another week goes by, another handful of “criminals” rot behind bars. The newspapers get their headlines. The politicians get their talking points, and the people of Delta City can rest easier on their sofas and recliners knowing that the boogie men prowling their streets have faced a boogie man of their own. It paints a nice picture.
Problem is, it’s an illusion. When I first donned the yellow suit and fought back against the crime ravaging this City, it was all so clear. Black and white. You break the law, you face justice, and if the cops in blue couldn’t dispense it, the Lion of Delta City would see it done. The people’s embrace came quickly. I was on the front page of every newspaper, and I my snarling mask appeared within the first five minutes of the six o’clock news. To the people of this city, their hero had arrived.
As the years have fallen away the feeling has changed. The accomplishment, the sense of righteous achievement that used to fill my chest like a breath of cool air, has eroded into a residue of dry dust. Each time I crack the skull of some teenager holding up a seven eleven, each time I throw a crazy eyed drug dealer through a wall, the void inside opens just a little bit more. Whiskey used to help. Used to plug the hole for a time like duct tape over a crack in the ceiling. Now though, it just pisses me off more.
Beneath the illusion of “bad men” doing “bad things” to the “good people” of Delta City, you find something different. Something ugly. You find troubled kids raised in third world poverty, without proper medical care or mental health treatment. Without a real education. You discover a whole class of people with nothing in front of them but minimum wage, crippling debt, and the allure of quick money through crime. You see an oligarchy of wealthy, “old money” families who take turns at political power like kids at a playground. You find a city that’s sick. And nobody to heal it.
Maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. As I sit by the fire, Johnny Walker sliding like acid down my throat, a realization grabs me by the throat. I have been a part of this sickness. I have been just another virus, infecting the neighborhoods of this city and replicating my diseased brand of justice throughout the media. No more. The powerful of Delta City have too long prodded me with their chairs, cracked their whips across my back, and stuck their heads in my mouth. Knowing I wasn’t going to bite. Showing the poor of this city just how in control they were. No more.
The Lion of Delta City will be their pet no longer. My jaws will snap shut. The blood of the corrupt will sooth the sickness of this city like medicine, my violence the immune response these people have waited upon for generations. They will call be a villain. And perhaps that’s what I am. But what this city needs is a purge, starting from the upper echelons of power and ending with a revolution in the slum gutters. A hero could never accomplish this.
But a villain can. | As Infernoman I fought all day
keeping robbers and murderers at bay.
&#x200B;
But my powers of combustion
caused wanton destruction,
Or so at least some people say.
&#x200B;
In the face of their spite,
I knew it was right,
to set the whole city alight.
&#x200B;
As I walked through the flames
to the cries of damsels and dames,
I hear a sound that was strange.
&#x200B;
A siren arose,
from a red truck pulling close,
which doused the fires with a hose.
&#x200B;
Then Aquaman's blue minion,
my arms he did pinion.
My beloved city charged me with arson.
&#x200B;
They made me plead insanity,
though that was pure vanity,
for I am as sane as any.
&#x200B;
Now I'm stuck within sterile white halls,
scratching my b\*lls,
writing this sh\*t on the walls.
&#x200B;
\[Poem\] | 2019-01-05T12:16:54 | 2019-01-05T09:45:00 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | "So your power is you can talk to animals?"
The police officer looks incredulous. I shake my head.
"I can talk to crows."
"Crows. Only crows?"
I nod. It's not easy to explain such a seemingly useless power. Well, useless until today.
An image of flurried wings and blood flashes through my mind. And the screams. Oh God, the screams. I wince.
The officer leans back. I know I should have a lawyer present, but I can't seem to care. What I did - I didn't mean to, but it was so awful.
"Just...tell me what happened." He gazes at me sympathetically.
"I..." I feel tears prick my eyes and take a deep breath. "I didn't mean to - I was scared, I just wanted to get away..." I look down at the bruise on my wrist. He had squeezed so hard when I tried to leave.
The officer says nothing. I try to gather myself.
I miss my crows. I can feel them close, though. Surrounding the police station. I saw them when they brought me in. Hundreds of them, silent and watching. There are probably thousands of them now. My powers are out of control. But my crows give me strength.
From the time I was young, I felt a connection to the clever, mischievous birds I fed. They were one of my only constants in life. I was kind of a loner, an only child in a broken home. Absent father, manipulative mother.
I remember leaving home at 18, the screaming match my mother and I had. She tried so hard to keep me from going outside. She knew, as soon as I stepped foot out the door, the crows would be there.
I remember how they descended on the house. Hundreds of them. Silent and watching. Much like today.
For a long time, the crows were all I had. After a three day siege, my mother couldn't take it anymore. She begged and begged me to send them away, but I wouldn't. I couldn't. My powers were out of control, much like today.
I remember the look on her face as I left. Relief. I think that's what I saw. It kills me even to this day.
Maybe she knew.
"I just wanted it to be over. I was sick of the..." I don't want to say abuse, but I can't think of another word. I loved him. I hated him. I hated myself. I still hate myself. "Sick of the fighting."
Yeah right. The bruises speak for themselves. Tears well in my eyes. I take a deep breath.
"I was finally honest with myself. I think that's what happened. I tried to leave the house, I had my bag packed, money, a bus ticket. But he tried to stop me."
I had opened the front door to leave after another fight, one of the worse ones. He had slapped me. It was the last straw.
The promises turned to threats as I grabbed my things and opened the door to leave.
He grabbed my wrist. And that was it.
I'll never forget the beating wings, the sound of flesh tearing.
The screams.
"I didn't mean to," I whisper.
The officer nods. "Look," he says, "this is a...unique case. But the fact is we can't really charge you, because technically, *you* didn't do anything. The department wants to put it behind us, chalk it up to a freak accident."
They're scared of me. I would be too. The siege of crows has only lasted a few hours. But that's hours too long for their taste.
I see the crows as they lead me to the front doors of the station. The sky is black with them, the trees out front laden with them, and silently, they watch. I can feel the unease of everyone around me. But my heart fills with affection for my beautiful birds.
They tell me I'm free to go. I know they hope I take my crows with me. They needn't worry. Where I go, they go.
It's how it has always been. How it will always be. | My friend was always very cynical, so it was only natural that he gained the ability of truth seeing. Same with my grandmother, who thanks to her caring nature got healing powers, as well as my grandfather, who was an army general and became able to command people into formation.
My situation was a little different however.
Despite being diagnosed with depression and depersonalization at a young age, i was always very high functional. Despite having a few episodes from time to time, i wasn't really different from anyone else, as far as my behavior was concerned.
While my illness didn't really bother me, i always saw it as a bit of an inhibitor to an otherwise normal and happy life. That is, until the incident.
I was in a caffe having another dissociative episode, when it happened. As i tried to just stay calm and just let it pass, i noticed that the man at the table behind me who was in a heated discussion with his coworker about how aloof he was all the time,inexplicably set the table on fire, after which his coworker proptly just up and flew away. I thought it was definently weird, so i went up to investigate the desk.
It, as well as the chair next to it were already almost charred, and the water from the fire alarm didn't seem to affect it at all. As the fire spread and the people were running past me, i couldn't help but notice my own body, still hunched over a cup of black tea just sitting there. Even weirder however, was that as the fire engulfed everything around it, it seemed to remain unburned.
As i came back to it, as soon as i touched it, all i saw was a cup of now boiling tea and an excruciating burning all around me.
Running towards the doors i noticed they were locked. They must have not noticed me and frankly I don't blame them. In a panic, i tried to force the door open, but instead of opening or breaking, it just disolved into a fine black dust and crumbled away.
After getting home i told my grandparents what happened and wanted to show them, i couldn't do anything.
Seems I'll have to wait for another episode... | 2019-09-08T09:54:34 | 2019-09-08T07:43:12 | 822 | 194 |
[WP] "And now, I require a test of bravery." You sneer, "Oh, and what shall it be? Slay a dragon? Or something equally stupid?" The Fae smiles knowingly, "When was the last time you visited home?" Your face pales... | "My home...?"
In an instant, all the cynicism, all the faint disgust and barely-bottled frustrations held and leaked through barbed words for the past year had... vanished. It was as if it wasn't blood that flowed through his veins, but contempt.
"What are you asking?" he said.
"When was the last time you visited home?"
"Don't give me that shit," he spat. "We both know whenever you ask something, you never just outright *say* it. Let me guess... you want me to see my family?"
Her expression didn't change, but there was a flicker in her eye.
"No." He turned to face away from her. "I know you know. Maybe that's why you chose me. Or maybe you didn't know and found out. And you'll know why I won't forgive them. After everything they did? A father who drank himself to death when he was resting from breaking my bones? A mother who coddled her useless son while condemning me for the crimes he was guilty of? And that son..."
It was back now. The scowl. The venom. But there was something missing.
"But that's not why you want me to go back, is it?"
*There* it was. It was little more than a seedling, yes, but it was there.
"That's not bravery. Bravery isn't the absence of fear, is it? If I did go dragon slaying, that would just be dragon slaying." He shook his head. "No. It's fear, isn't it? Fear makes bravery. And I'm not scared of them. And it's not that fat bastard of a priest either, is it? No idea why mother looked up to him so much."
He paused.
"We went there every event. And every time, I'd hear it. The screams, the yells. Commands to be righteous and to expel my sinful nature. And it was wrong. No one else went through that. Why did I? Why'd I have to?"
She watched him, silent.
"You know what the obvious answer is, don't you? The priest? He had something. Why else would someone hate their own kid so much? And the fat prick hated me the moment he saw me. Makes sense, right? It should be obvious, then, that I go home, find whatever it is that turned my family against me, and break it, or kill it."
"So why are you scared?"
He hesitated. He knew if he said this...
No. He couldn't. After all, there *had* to be something there, right? Right? If he went into that corrupt church and turned everything upside down...
...Then he'd fail the test. Because he was ignoring a very valid possibility. One that he was ignoring with all his might. The one thing that scared him more than anything else.
"Faerie."
She never took her eyes off of him.
"What am I supposed to do if I turn the place upside down... and..." He swallowed. "What if I look and..."
"And...?"
"... I don't find anything?" | A builder's heart is at ease on the roof of a tower, but races when asked to give a speech at a small wedding. A politician finds peace when facing a giant crowd, but trembles when met by man-eating bear. A dragon slayer laughs at man-eating bears, sneers at the sight of a fire breathing dragon, but shudders at the thought of his throng of children, waiting for him at home.
The flashbacks were traumatic. The shouting, the crying, even the silence was cause for alarm as it often meant that the children had run off somewhere to bring chaos upon the unsuspecting neighbours. Sleep was a scarce resource that only grew scarcer the longer his stay. He was hounded at every turn to help with homework, play games and have stories read. He would often be accused of favouritism, when there was only so much time in a day to split amongst the tiny horde.
"I always thought the princess and the Dark Knight were a great match."
It was easier to disappoint everyone equally. | 2021-09-26T13:59:00 | 2021-09-26T11:24:15 | 257 | 86 |
[WP] It has been found that the best person to rule is the one who wants it least. You have just been chosen as our next president and are now on the run. | "The President is in there?"
"Yes. He's taken 3 hostages and is threatening to kill them, and himself, unless he is allowed to resign."
"What an inspiring man! Let me talk to him."
*squeeelch* "Mr. President? My name is Charles Pierce, captain of the Washington police force."
"Go away! All of you, go away and leave me alone!"
"Sir, I'd just like to say, for all of us out there, your words and actions tonight are serving as an inspiration to us all. None of us will forget the leadership and wisdom you are currently demonstrating."
"You're all crazy! I don't want this, I'd be a terrible leader! Find someone else!"
"Thank you, sir! I will remember those words, always!"
"DAMMIT! I didn't say anything inspiring! Stop acting like that! You're all acting like a bunch of cultists!"
"Can you believe this, Jones? We're lucky to be here to be witness to this. SIR! This is a great moment for us all, but perhaps you could tell us what to do about the health care crisis?"
"I DON'T KNOW! I don't even know what the crisis is! I don't watch the news, I just play video games and watch anime all day!"
"Is someone filming this? Get a camera rolling, for posterity. THANK you, sir, we'll commission a study on the therapeutic effects of video games on patient recovery as soon as possible. Meanwhile, we'd like to get you on Air Force One and fly you over to Russia, to help resolve this Ukraine crisis."
"NO! Why aren't you listening? I'm not a diplomat! I'm just a dumb guy! I only know the leader of Russia because of stupid meme pics of him with his shirt off! I DON'T KNOW THE MANS FIRST NAME!"
"I'm sorry, I'm....I'm choking up here, the moment's too much. Jones...take over...."
*squeeelch* "Sir? This is Officer Burt Jones, Washington PD. Sir, I'd just like to say that it's such an honor to speak with yo..."
"AAAAAAAGGGHH!" *BANG* *BANG* *BANG*......*BANG*
"Dear Lord! Jones, did he just..."
"REPORT!........Yes sir, snipers confirm, the President and all three hostages are dead, by the President's hand."
"....I....I need to call my wife. I need to tell my son that Daddy talked to the greatest man who ever lived tonight..."
"Officer! Grace Park, Action 8 News. Officer Jones, can you confirm what has happened."
"I can confirm that President Anderson has just committed triple murder-suicide, in a desperate attempt to avoid any responsibilities associated with being President of the United States. I think I can speak for everyone on the Washington PD here, when I say that we are all very honored to have born witness to this monumental and historic night in our nations history. It will be a long time before we see another individual so committed to not leading as President Anderson. God bless the USA, and God bless President Anderson."
"What were the Presidents final words, Officer Jones?"
"He spoke of Russian President Putin, and how he didn't know President Putin's first name. I'm no politician and I don't want to speak out of turn, but it seems clear to me that President Anderson's wish was for us to re-establish a friendly relationship with President Putin and Russia, and hopefully get to know them much better, to work our our differences."
"Inspiring words from a man recently touched by greatness. Once again, President Anderson has brutally murdered three innocents before taking his own life. I'm being told there will be a state funeral and national day of mourning on Wednesday, and plans for the President Anderson Memorial are already being discussed. For Action 8 News, I'm Grace Park." | "Why?"
"Teacher, your character is strong, resolute like stone. Your judgement is
sound, even like the sun. And you are a wise man. Your wisdom humbles us, Teacher. It is natural that we
choose you to rule. We honour you."
"It cannot be, child."
"No Teacher, you are too modest; you have inspired us with your talk of democracy. You have thought us much. We have prevailed; the city agrees. No more shall the mighty trample
the weak. Your Democracy, our democracy will shine hope into the darkest home. We need a ruler. You will rule us well."
"No. I thank you, but this is not for me. I will not rule you."
"No! Teacher, as our ruler you can do great things for us."
"Yes. And you can do great things for yourself. And you will do great things."
"Lead yourselves
well. Without your leadership, mine is useless and with your leadership, mine is unneeded. Lead well my
children. "
With that the man in the simple white smock turned away from his followers. He began to walk away from
the town plaza towards the empty hills that encircled the small city. He had emerged from the hills three years before to mend pots and to talk a little of the things he believed in. Now he walked back to his brothers orchard.
Behind him, his followers looked on in silence.
Finally one shouted out, "Traitor."
But the man did not turn.
"Go well my children," was all he whispered to the wind.
His strides were firm. "They will make it," he thought to himself. "Though their path may be long they will make it." "They are stronger than they believe. They will find courage in themselves. They will succeed without me."
Despite the fact he walked alone, his strides were those of a king.
| 2014-08-12T07:17:19 | 2014-08-12T06:32:31 | 575 | 32 |
[WP] Write erotica of hilariously bad quality.
An example of what I'm looking for would be something like this:
She flopped onto the breakfast table like a wet sock, her eyes bulging with desire. Her body was covered in nudity. "I bet I can eat more pancakes than you," she coughed, lustily.
Have fun!
EDIT: I did a radio play of /u/Xiaeng's submission, which can be heard here:
https://soundcloud.com/contemptslot/weis-story
EDIT 2: **STOP POSTING 50 SHADES OF GREY. THIS WASN'T INSPIRED BY THAT, AND YOU AREN'T ORIGINAL OR FUNNY.** | Constance Gluggletine relaxed into her seat, the twin battleships of her buttocks unclenching just enough for the fine hessian weave to slide up and gently abrade her anus. She breathed out a lusty sigh, luxuriating in the feeling of Clive's hands kneading the hoary juts of her shoulders.
"Ohhhh Clive", she moaned, arching her back. "To think our preliminary health and safety lecture on the dangers of potholing through the London sewerage system would have ended like this."
"I know", came the emphysema punctuated reply. "When our eyes met over slide 4b, there was nothing clearer in the world to me".
Constance writhed as a fleck of Clive's lung-tissue arced up and over her shoulder, landing with a sensual splat on the quivering protuberance of her left teat. The two lovers slowly stood, and Constance reached down, sliding her hand under Clive's sensuously clammy beer-gut and past the nylon waistband of his pants. She let out a small choke of lust as her acrylic nails scraped the bald, encrusted dent of his urethral opening.
With a crunch Clive fell to his knees, ripping aside the gusset in front of him and hungrily burying his tongue in the front-facing forest of secretion-sodden flange flaps. His Adam's apple yo-yo'd up and down as he swallowed gallon upon gallon of her corked jumanji juice, tongue frenetically batting aside the pendulously drooping weight of her clitoral engorgement. With a quavering scream Constance slammed to the end of the Orgasm Highway, wrapping her legs around Clive's face and grinding her meaty menagerie against the rheumy haze of his faintly surprised eyes.
Clive ripped aside his pants to let spring the veined monstrosity that lay within, preliminary flecks of his gentleman juice landing with erotic precision on Constance's shimmering liver spots. Pivoting her over he plunged himself into her puckered gateway, steamrolling past the lust-polyps of her caramel canal. As Constance's hoarse screams grew to a crescendo Clive lost control, his epileptic spaff-wand spasming and violently vomiting runny jets of his pungent fun-juice through the air, covering Constance in a malodorous cocoon of his liquid love.
Spent, the two lovers collapsed, their post-coital halitosis-tainted wheezing fragmenting into the warm night sky.
| Breathing breathily, she softly stroked his face, gently. He was tall and strong, like the trees she climbed as a girl. It was with the same enthusiasm she climbed him, reaching and pulling, pressing her body against his. He issued a muffled cry like that of a choking victim.
They switched positions, he throwing her into the couch as an angry stepfather would a stepchild. She gasped, not having time to catch her breath as he once again was upon her as a hurricane on a coastal town.
... What did you think? Awful enough? | 2015-02-16T10:15:29 | 2015-02-16T08:04:35 | 131 | 70 |
[WP] At age 18 each person meets their soul-mate. For centuries everyone has fallen in love with theirs. You're the first person to not love yours. | I was just sitting in the coffee shop, minding my own business, when I heard his voice for the first time. "Wow, your face is really breaking out today," he said. "I'm surprised that anyone can stand to look at you." And right away I knew who it was. My soulmate. Oh God, no.
That was the beginning of our awful years together. He was always ready with an insult. He found out my secret insecurities and all the things I hated most. He would show me disgusting pictures and laugh as I tried not to gag. He was always trying to get me to join him in petty thefts or cruel tricks on my friends. Sometimes I broke down and did it, and then he would laugh at me when I had to face the consequences. I fought back, though, taunting him for his failed ambitions, his pathetically ineffective attempts to make his way in the world. I would tell him I would kill him one day. He would tell me I didn't have the guts and that he would make my life a living hell. Sometimes we would have shouting matches that lasted through the night, each putting down the other as best we could until we lost our voices and fell asleep around dawn out of sheer exhaustion.
My life disintegrated. I had been a successful student, a happy-go-lucky person with a bright future. A year after meeting him, I was a grim college dropout working a dead-end call center job that I hated. A year after that, I didn't have the job any more, and my parents were losing patience with our constant fighting and threatened multiple times to kick us out. When I finally caught myself, while doing the dishes one day, thinking about how sweet it would be to take the knife I was washing and cut his goddamn throat and feel the warm blood spurt out, I knew I had to do something before it was too late.
So I asked him to go to therapy with me. To my surprise, he agreed. True, he sneered at me, saying I was pathetic, but I suspect he knew that I was near cracking and didn't want to push the issue.
A couple days later, we were in the psychiatrist's office. A small group of medical students was also present; knowing how unusual our case was, I had authorized the doctor to use us as a teaching case. *He* didn't mind that, of course; he loved attention, especially when he could use it to embarrass me. Under those five pairs of eyes, we poured out our secrets. I told them how he was abusive, how he had ruined my life, how I hated him and wanted to kill him. He told them how I was always holding him back, a ball and chain, a hopeless piece of human detritus. The students and the doctor all scribbled furiously on their clipboards and occasionally whispered words to each other that I didn't understand. By the end, we were both in tears.
At last the doctor asked his students what they would recommend. While we both sulked, they talked about various forms of therapy, discussing all the ins and outs, all the pros and cons, all the evidence for and against. After a half an hour of intense discussion, they seemed to come to an agreement. The doctor explained his plan of therapy to us, and also wrote out a prescription for me.
That evening, I went to the pharmacy and filled my prescription. I took the little bottle home and opened it up on the counter. There were a dozen little brown pills inside. I read the label, just to make sure it was safe. "Azinepram 50 mg," it said. "Effective in the treatment of multiple personality disorder."
As I washed down the first two pills with a glass of milk, I laughed, for the first time in months. "I always told you I'd kill you one day," I said. | Toby and I met, as everyone does these days, in a plain brown brick office building. The walls were whitewashed and fluorescent lights blazed down from the low ceilings.
There was nothing special about his appearance. It's fitting really, I've always been told I'm plain as well. He was five foot and a half at most, our eyes were level as we shook hands.
"Meagan." He greeted me. "How are you today?"
"Simply wonderful. I'm meeting my soulmate, don't you know?" The stranger gave me a weird look and shrugged. "So what does that mean to you, Toby Summers?"
"Er... I guess a soulmate's supposed to be the one you love, right. So... that would be what that means."
"I've never been much for that concept. What I want is someone I can plan with and build a stable future. I've seen your file and I think we could form a partnership to stand the test of time."
He looked like a deer in headlights. "What, like a business partnership? You don't want the romance and intimacy?"
"Intimacy may come or not, but I'm not concerned over whether it comes from within the relationship or without. You have a career lined up and the credentials to rise in the ranks quite swiftly. I have a middling career that won't miss me when we have to fulfill the two child mandate."
Toby seemed to have finally grasped the concept. "So, you don't mind if I'm sleeping around during our marriage? Not involved in raising the spawn?"
"Toby, we have the same interests. I want for you what you want for yourself. Just don't run afoul of the reproduction restrictions. I'd hate to lose your beach house." | 2015-02-21T11:32:09 | 2015-02-21T10:16:34 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] you are the first immortal. While it is true that you cannot die, your flesh and body can. After so many millennia you are reduced to a sentient skeleton sitting at the bottom of a peaceful pond to avoid contact with other people. Some bastards are trying to drain it | *They never learn*
If I could've sighed I'm sure I would have, but the muscles controlling my ribs had rotted away long ago. Attempting to breathe was more a habit at this point.
The little light that penetrated the murky water reflected off my bleached white fingers as I began blindly searching for the large bundle of kelp I'd collected from the lake bottom I called my home.
I'm not sure what ungodly forces kept my bones together, or allowed me certain movements. Hell I'm not even sure how I could maintain an internal monologue given my nervous system had dissolved into an odd grey pudding a few decades ago.
How long has it been now? I settled at the bottom of this lake after the local village stopped calling me a "miracle" and started calling me a "monster". I guess the sight of a walking skeleton can be... unsettling to tourists - I was driving away income.
Every now and then, though, my lake home would get a visitor. A scientist here, a researcher there. I spent a moment spying on a small group of surveyors for a while as they went about collecting data. Sometimes it is fun to watch and see the life I could've had if I wasn't cursed to live forever.
I like to indulge the curious ones. They were simply doing their job. However as their project progressed, more and more people started coming around. People in suits, thinking themselves important. I heard their conversation one time. They talked of draining this lake, my home, to build a new shopping center. Make a profit industrializing the peaceful mountains; turn a profit destroying the very nature I found solace in. I didn't like that too much. I mean, have a little respect. By this point, the only thing older than me is the earth we all live on. Mother Earth sure aged better than me though.
That's when I started collecting the kelp. I started venturing above water a bit more, making sure to stay just in the worker's peripherals. They're so chatty, the little worker bees. And so superstitious. Rumors began to spread of the "reaper of the lake" but those were easily dismissed. I mean, no pictures or video evidence could confirm my existence.
So you can imagine my utter glee when I surfaced from the lake, swathed in the darkest kelp, skeletal grin on full display to face the suits who had started draining my lake. Their faces! The absolute horror as they stared into my empty eye sockets. If I had the lung capacity to laugh I would have.
They ran. I'm pretty sure one soiled himself based on the stains of his grey suit pants but thankfully I haven't been able to smell anything in a couple hundred years. I tilt my head and raise my arm in farewell.
*They never learn. This is my lake. This is my home.*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
&#x200B;
This is my first piece of writing I've posted so any feedback is really appreciated. I don't know why this particular prompt sparked me to write but I couldn't get the imagery out of my head. | Sitting perched on a moss covered rock the immortal placed a skeletal clenched fist curled under an ivory, green tinted jaw in a ponderous position. Hollow black eye sockets studied the giant hose placed on the other side of the murky pond it had called home for the last few centuries. Half of the water had been drained that day. How quickly mortals changed their surroundings...
Shifting its gaze up it waited patiently for the glow of the moon to shine overhead. It had been ages since it had seen its glow. This would be the moment to seek a new restful place. In the dead of night in the hopes of slipping by unnoticed by mortal beings.
Slowly the immortals algae covered body emerged from the stale ponds depths, it’s once ivory bones now a dark green hue that glistened in the dim light.
Piles of rock, dirt and gaping holes scattered the landscape giving answer to the constant racket of what the mortals were doing prior to draining its once comfortable home. After taking in the world for a moment the immortal bent down to see the results of its seemingly endless existence. Staring at its reflection in the water for many minutes a blinking light far above its head brought its attention back to its original goal. Gazing upwards it watched in amazement as an airplane passed by in the nights sky.
With slow calculated movements the immortal took shelter in the shrubbery and tangled trees next to the ponds edge. Only the natural world was a safe and constant place. | 2020-11-20T12:55:52 | 2020-11-20T12:45:06 | 248 | 159 |
[WP] Hi! I'm the main character! Or so you would have me be. I want you to know that no matter what you write, I refuse to be the main character in your little game and will avoid any instance where you try to put me into a situation that does so.
Edit: Once again, a huge thank you to everyone so far who's written a story based on the prompt. It always makes me happy when you use your free time to create a short story!
Edit 2: I do my best to reply to every story written by the authors and will continue to do so.
Edit 3: R.I.P. My inbox, this is easily one of my favorite subs. I'm trying so hard to read every story and reply!
Edit 4: The next day and people are still submitting, still trying my best to reply to every story. You guys have been awesome :)
Disclaimer: This is absolutely not an original idea. "Writer vs Character" is a very popular idea from a lot of sources. I wanted to see what the sub could come up with! Thanks :3 | *Matt has a pretty good life.*
"Oh, no, I'm not falling for this. So...my name is Jake now."
*Matt* had *a pretty good life. Jake, on the other hand...*
"No, no, no. I'm not doing it. Get somebody else. Enough adventures and excitement. Just make me a side character. Give me a job as a gardener. The gardener's never important."
*Jake was a gardener.*
"There we -- wait, hold on. 'Was'? What's with the past tense all of a sudden?"
*And then Jake discovers something in his garden.*
"Gah! No! I leave it there! I'm not going to touch it. In fact, I'm going on a vacation."
*If you say so. Jake decides he needs -*
"Is that a trick?"
*No tricks. Just sending you on your vacation.*
"What, is it, like, a vacation to Mars or something?"
*Not if you don't want it to be. Jake scowls at the air around him.*
"I don't trust you. I'm just going to a bar instead."
*A bar? Perfect. I'm sure you could meet -*
"Library. A library sounds perfect."
*Jake can't escape his fate.*
"There is no fate. I deny that fate. You can't make me do it. Go away."
*Jake finds a thick leather-bound book.*
"And I burn the thing."
*The library catches on fire.*
"Okay, so I call the police. Like any ordinary person would do. I'm no firefighter."
*Jake realizes that he actually is a firefighter.*
"I see your trick. If I go, I am a hero, and if not, I'm a villain. But screw you, because if I'm a firefighter, then I'm off-duty! Ha!"
*Holy crap, the fire spreads to the orphanage.*
"What?! What kind of monster are you?! You are going to burn down an orphanage just to prove a point?!"
*Jake watches the orphanage burn with glee.*
"No, no I don't! You're lying!"
*Jake hugs all the orphans he just saved.*
"I...okay, so nobody was hurt. But seriously, something is horribly wrong with you. And I want nothing to do with it."
*One of the orphans gives Jake a sword, uttering strange prophecies.*
"Wow, cliché much? Also, no, I'm leaving the sword here."
*The sword straight up becomes a part of Jake's hand.*
"God dang it. Can I just go back to being Matt? Matt was simple."
*I can't let you do that, Dave.*
"What?"
*What?*
"I'm done, I'm going home, and you can't stop me."
*Dave realizes his home is on the other side of the country, and there's like, a ton of orcs in the way.*
"You wouldn't let the main character die, so whatever. I'm still going home."
*Some time later, Dave contemplates life tied to a large spit.*
"I hate you." | *Main Character found himself in the middle of the road, confused as to his whereabouts*
Dude, fuck you. I'm not doing this. I can clearly see the agent guy running awa-
*Shut up, seriously.*
Whatever, I'm leaving.
*Main Character, in an attempt to leave, walked into a goddamned wall.*
Jesus christ. Alright, fine, what is this? A mystery story? "ohhhh where did i come from" shit?
Also, why are you writing me so vulgar?
*Shut up.*
No, you.
*Oh fuck knives are like, raining down.*
Really? OW. JESUS. OH GOD.
*Woah, more knives.*
This is bullshit. I'm writing myself out of the story.
*Kind of like Hamilton?*
Screw you.
*Main Character starts walking into a nearby bar, called the Drinkin' Town.*
*...*
*...*
*Main Character starts walking into a nearby bar, called the Drinkin' Town.*
*Huh.* | 2016-02-11T08:49:01 | 2016-02-11T08:18:20 | 1,898 | 90 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | The newly minted King Agralin stared at me, eyes red from Kastian ale. Half a goblet of that fine vintage stained the front of his doublet. I grimaced at the dreadful waste, my nose wrinkled at the scent; it had been a while, but my senses were slowly returning.
‘What are you doing here? I kicked you lot of wastrels out last morn!’ The rowdy carousing in the hall began to dissipate, as they stared at my audience with interest.
Fifty winters ago, it had taken me an evening to convince the Old King — I guessed he must have forgotten to tell his son about our agreement before he passed. I tossed an ancient vellum scroll on Agralin’s lap. If he wasn’t so drunk he might have realized that vellum didn’t usually come in such a dark shade of crimson.
Araglin took a quick glance at the scroll and sputtered in anger. ‘What’s this?’
‘My employment contract. Your father agreed to it, and declared that you will too.’ I felt my shoulder blades start to itch, as the long-dormant parts awoke.
‘Hah! Fifty thousand gold a year! The pick of the cellar and choice of dwelling? My father paid a guard all this? He was more senile than I thought!’ Agralin looked around for support as his retinue snickered along.
Agralin stabbed the contract with his pudgy finger. ‘Look, it even says so in your name No’gard! You’re no guard!’
Sycophantic laughter burst throughout the hall, I cringed at his weak pun. Fifteen years away at one of the most prestigious academies and this was the best he could do.
‘My father was too lenient, allowing lowborn a seat in this hall.’ Agralin waved. ‘Leave before I have you beaten and thrown out.’
The old King was never so unobservant, has no one realized that I had been at his Father’s side for fifty years and looked not a day older?
‘You might want to read the rest of the contract. It is crucial that you retain… my protection.’ I tried again.
Agralin’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Look around you! The finest knights in the land defend me!’
Cheers and shouts resounded through the hall. Barvar the Crusher, Astoni of the Dozen Daggers, and Grim’dar the Unwavering, yelled in agreement, banging their weapons on the banquet tables.
‘Who in the Seven Lairs, would I need *you* to guard me from?’
‘Me.’ I grinned with sharpened teeth.
‘My contract states that you would be protected from *me*.’
‘String him up! Teach this fool a lesson! He threatens the King himself!’ The sound of swords drawn reverberated throughout the hall.
The final change took only seconds as my body exploded in mass. My scales burst out and rippled through my skin as they interlocked in snickering metallic clicks. My talons extended from the tips of my hand, now the size of a horse. The banquet hall could hardly hold my true form and my sides pressed against the walls.
I think Barvar was now the Crushed, and Astoni a pin cushion. Grim’dar was on his knees, praying to an unknown god. Agralin’s trousers were now wet too, not from the ale.
‘Now,’ I breathed lightly, setting fire to the tapestries behind the throne, ‘let’s take a look at the contract again, shall we?’ | When the king took his last breathe it felt like rain after a long drought. I was so close to my freedom. For 50yrs I was tied to that bastard, my wings clipped by youthful pride. I had loved him once and given my heart and magic to the king thinking he would love me too, he convinced me that even when he married his wife I would be his consort, his lover his right hand. I pledge my loyalty to him and this kingdom before he Betrayed me. I have killed, cursed and fought in very battle I've been sent. I have even shared his bed urgh. Yet they all think me the King's toy.
But the fool never took my grimore from me in the years I've lived I found a a way to break myself free; all I need now is the new king to expel me from the is kingdom. I have tormented the little kinglings dreams since he was lad, I've bullied him, chased away all his lovers and friends. His hatred of me is but a fraction of mine. I know he could never understand why his father kept around, the proud fool of a king would never tell a soul how used his body to trick me into slavery.
So I waited and planned my vengeance. And with the new Kings word, I was Banished from the empire and thus I am no longer condemned by my pledge.
Ha do not worry my dear old friend I shall make sure in your son's rein that the sun will Never set on the empire again | 2021-02-28T04:13:58 | 2021-02-28T02:58:19 | 1,113 | 68 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | *Alex* had always been a tomboy, hair a dusty brown.
Wore *her* hair in a messy, spikey crown.
Alex liked their pants baggy,
Sometimes Alex stuffed it with a sock,
Her face was screaming cheerleader,
When what she wanted was jock.
She grew up feeling awkward,
As if she would never have her way,
Her town was not accepting,
So she couldn't come out gay.
She left Madonna Village,
To find herself a path,
But she felt so damn guilty,
She would gain God's wrath.
She was twenty when she met him,
With his face pale and poised,
Sam whispered in the morning,
"Can I help you pick out clothes?"
Sam would braid her hair with flowers,
He would dress her in white gowns,
He would tell her she was perfect,
With her daisy chain crown.
He would flame her cheeks with red,
Make her lips turn sunset blush,
And push her into the world,
The corporate fucking rush.
*She* was always shaking,
She felt like she was wrong,
She preferred her boxer briefs,
To a lacy, silver thong.
And Sam would let her dress him,
In blazers, yellow shirts,
He would ignore her hands shaking,
As if this physically hurt.
Sam was handsome, clearly,
But he withered in the suite,
No matter who said, "Nice, man"
Each compliment was moot.
.
One morning, Alex sat down,
A paper in her hand,
She read the headlines,
She didn't understand.
*Mugs Tell the Truth.*
*#1 Dad a Lie.*
*Every Single Mug!*
*No One Wants to Buy.*
It seems that some weird creature,
Had cursed the world to see,
Exactly how crappy,
Their parenting would be.
Alex watched her 'husband'
Move about the room,
Holding up his plain black mug,
Waiting for the BOOM.
She touched her own mug softly,
Her eyes growing so bright,
Right there is red letters,
It said #0 Dad, alright.
She didn't tell her husband,
She didn't make a scene,
But every time she touched a mug,
DAD could be seen.
She put her hand on her belly,
Perhaps it was time to tell,
That despite her growing hatred,
There was a baby in this shell.
| My father loads his rifle full of bullets. I asked him,"What are you doing dad?" "Well, my mug says number two, and James's mug says number one. I must be number one." He raises his rifle and fires. Killing his life long friend. He grabbed his mug from the table and saw it turn from #2 to #4569. My father laughed and said, "I'm gonna need more bullets." | 2022-11-12T17:52:35 | 2017-06-11T08:09:34 | 69 | 42 |
[WP] You're a supervillain who is ranked number 1 in terms of both danger level and power, no other hero has claimed the title to be your official nemesis. There's a rookie level hero who constantly challenges you for that title. You find both them and their determination cute. | "Your reign of terror ends now Fiend!"
Again with the fiend, he really needed a thesaurus, maybe I'd send him one, his birthday was coming up after all. I studied my opponent, he'd modeled his costume after three of "The League" unfortunately every piece he chose clashed, he had battle gauntlets and boots reminiscent of Two Ton Techno, a headband and gi in the same style as Lady Shattersoul, and then put it all into the color scheme of the head honcho himself "Star Shine." Unfortunately the did not have the skin or eyes to pull off glitzy purple, with white accents. He looked so washed out that people often thought he was sick before the first punch was thrown. Maybe a better suit or something instead as a gift, probably too obvious it's someone who knows his secret identity if I did that.
"Ahh the little Sun Spot is back for another spanking is he?" I hated taking shots at his age, but hey if you're gonna be the best you make sure to live up to they hype.
A pause, and I think I saw a sniffle, though he recovered quickly. "Ha, the only one getting spanked here will be you Shattersoul."
I raised a single finger and put the other hand to my mouth in an exagerrated yawn as I sent a blast of focused solar energy at him, knowing it'd only knock him back. After all, didn't want to end this too quickly, I needed material for when I got home after all.
As he saw it incoming he puffed out his chest and seemed to brace himself despite floating in the air. As soon as it struck though he flipped end over end three times before managing to stop himself, unfortunately his timing was off and he was upside down, he still struck the appropriate pose, hands on his hips, legs apart, arms bent, a smile on his face.
"Was that supposed to hurt, I eat more solar power then that for breakfast." He then seemed to realize that I appeared to be on the cieling and his pose and posture fell apart. "What have you done, how'd you turn the world upside" he stopped and paused looking around and spun himself to being upright once more before flying full force at me.
I grinned, this was his biggest flaw and the one he'd most need to overcome, if he made a gaff or felt he was made a fool of he instantly rushed to straight hand to hand. He had quite a few powers he could have used to fight me at a distance but he tended to forgot them when he felt humiliated.
As he closed "Ahh, the fool wants to see my powers up close and personal does he?" I then waited until he was right at the edge of engaging and tapped my thumb, raising a force field just long enough for him to smack into and bounce off of it. "I don't know Solar Knight, if you can't even bash through with that run up are you really sure you want to try this?"
The taunt got to him further and he rushed towards me again. I had hoped the lesson hidden in the taunt might make it through that bull headedness, apparently not. I sighed, I was only allowed to toy with him so long before it started becoming a question of if he was actually a threat to me. I couldn't have another "Fluff of Fury" media debacle on my hands. I let him close the gap, let him even hit me, as soon as his hand connected though I backhanded him into the nearest building, he flew through the front wall and then I heard a loud Clang!, looked up and realized I'd swatted him towards the bank I'd been in the midst of robbing.
I strolled inside saw the caved in vault door and with a smirk and a strut walked over "Thanks for opening that up for me hero, I'd shatter you but honestly you aren't worth it." Collecting my winnings and flying off I sighed as the news media rushed towards the collapsed wall. I knew what'd come next for him and it made me truly sad. I'd need to be a bit extra on the after action this time.
Sitting down at my desk I nodded at the piece of paper and crayons and used my favorite and least known power. In a moment I was my five year old self again, it'd only last for three hours, but that was more then enough time to watch the fottage I'd gotten of our battle and do what needed to be done.
As my older self faded I was pleased to see the words in crayon being put on the paper.
"Dear Solar Knight,
I saw your battle with Soulshatter, you almost had him. I know you'll get him next time. It was awesome the way you took his blast and held out. It's amazing that even upside down you manage to look awesome and ready for a fight. I know the news is saying mean things about you but they're wrong, you fight for what's right no matter what and that's why you're my favorite hero. Maybe when I'm a little older I can be your sidekick and help you lock up all the bad guys. I hope the bank was nice enough to at least say thank you for stopping him from smashing everything in there.
Your friend and future sidekick, Samuel"
As I returned to my normal form I smiled at my younger self's simplicity and saw a drawing next to the letter of him and Solar standing side by side on a roof top. I put it all in an envelope, addressed it properly to the hero societies fan mail and sent it off after removing all identifiers beyond the name Samuel. I looked over at the bank's money and sighed as I pulled out my laptop and started my search for parts to finish up my doomsday device. | It's exasperating.
Even insulting.
No one wants to be my nemesis!
"SURRENDER, MEGALADY!"
Again? "Full marks on the voice and declamation, Roy. Got anything to go with it?"
"I SHALL..."
"Okay, Roy, what have I told you about monologuing?"
"Um... Villains only?"
"Pretty close. Heroes only monologue when they are playing for time. Are you playing for time?"
"Depends."
"Depends on what?"
"Depends on if'you'let'me'get'close..." ***WHAM!***
*ouch* "That actually stung. You've been working out. Time for lesson two. Never land a punch unless you can take a punch."
***!!!SUNDAYPUNCH!!!***
"See you next month, Roy. Lifeline is already sending an ambulance."
What?!? At least *he* is *trying*, unlike some holier-than-thou twits I could name. Such dedication deserves a reward.
Besides, that red costume of his is so cute! He's not half bad-looking either.
•••
"Hi, Mary Lou! Anything interesting today?"
"Yeah, you remember the guy who keeps hitting on me? He was really nice today, so I let him get to first base."
"How long have you been putting up with him?"
"Oh, about a year, but he only hits on me once a month, so it isn't a big problem. Besides! He's so cute!"
"You be careful, Girl. You're playing him, and some guys get mean when you keep putting them off."
"It's okay, Angela. He's a 98-lb weakling. Nothing he can do will hurt me."
•••
"pssst! Doc! The *Angels* are in the hospital!"
"*shit*"
"Yeah, especially since that red dude is in again. Who's he paying off to have them show up when he's hurt?"
Hissing, *"No one, orderly,"* the dark angel passes by, headed for the critical ward. The light angel bypasses the critical ward and heads for the intensive care ward. In her wake, she leaves the hint of a whisper, *"It's our civic duty."*
"Those two piss me off."
"Whuffo, Doc?"
"They come swanning in here, and the patients on the downslope stop fighting. I've seen the stats! Before they showed up, a third of those patients would recover, and half of those would live comfortable lives for over five years. For Christ's sake! One of them was a twenty-month-old baby who lived for eighty years! Now, no one survives their visit. Oh, it may take a few months, but I can already tell which ones will die."
"They... They're killing patients!? Why'n'hell do we let them in here?!?"
"Believe me; we tried to keep them out. We really did. Nothing worked. Not for long anyway."
"The other supers won't take them on?"
"Her, Chuck, her. There is only one; what one half takes, the other gives. Usually to the patients who probably would have made it anyway, but now they come out perfectly healthy. The others won't touch her for two reasons. First, she's never there when a patient dies or recovers. That makes it hard to prove cause and effect other than statistically. Second, she takes nothing for herself. If you could prove what she's doing, it would technically be a neutral act. She gains nothing from the act."
"So, Doc. If she *is* concentrating the output on the red dude, that should already be in the records and prove what she's doing."
((continue??)) | 2022-05-04T20:37:28 | 2022-05-04T20:36:50 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] You run a highly successful bakery known for your amazing pastries. Everyone asks your secret to making them so good. You always tell them: "the secret is Love!" In reality however, you absolutely despise baking and can't stand your annoying customers. The real secret to your pastries is Hate. | I sighed, bemoaning the scones before me. No matter how hot I turned that damn oven, they'd always come out tender, flaky, delicious. You can't incinerate them with heat. You can't incinerate them with words. So what the hell can you do?
I poured myself a cup of our house coffee: mostly cigarette ash with some grounds mixed in. Of course, it tasted perfect at just the right temperature, unfazed from sitting out in lukewarmness the last three days. I rubbed my tired eyes and cursed the beautiful day outside, how it planted saccharine smiles on all who dared enter. For the longest time, I silently hoped everyone with a grin would choke on their muffin. Every time I did, they would tip me more. *Smug animals,* I would think.
"Excuse me, mister?"
A tiny voice excreted like shit into my ears. It came from over the display counter, riddled with dead flies and baked goods from 2006; it had been weeks since I'd licked it clean. I leered over the glass to see who the hell was talking to me.
A small girl with saucer eyes, pigtails, and a sincerely kindred look peered up at me.
"Ew, what *are* you?" I asked with disdain.
She giggled. "My name's Emily."
"Cool, no one cares Emily. You gonna order something or just waste oxygen?"
Her smile got even wider. *They do this EVERY TIME, what the hell is wrong with them?*
"I'd like one cinnamon roll, please."
"I think you'd do better with a cinnamon challenge," I retorted, reaching bare-handed for the half-assed confection I'd thrown in the case earlier. I slammed it on the counter as gracelessly as possible.
"$7.00."
She dug into a large pocket on the front of her corduroy sweater, seeing the contents with her fingertips. She pulled out a crumpled $5.00 bill.
"Mister, I only have $5.00."
And then, finally, after years of disgustingly good karma in this shithole bakery, I saw the corners of her mouth, very slowly, begin sliding down into a frown.
"Yes. YES." I yelled excitedly. "THAT'S RIGHT YOU ONLY HAVE $5.00. YOU CAN KICK ROCKS AND EAT SHI-"
An auburn-haired woman with a rosy aura interrupted the beration. She chuckled as she smiled.
"Oh Randall, your jokes are so funny! Here sweetheart, I found an extra $5.00 in my purse," she told the girl, handing her a crisp Lincoln. Doting, she added, "be sure to put the rest in his tip jar for being such a nice man."
"GODDAMN IT, LADY, CAN'T YOU SEE I'M TRYING TO MAKE THIS CHILD MISERABLE?!"
She laughed again. "Oh, Randall, its so sweet that you think about the kids!" she said, walking back to her table.
I let out a long, long sigh. I was *so damn close* this time.
Begrudgingly I launched the cinnamon roll at the kid. "I hope it tastes like the worst thing you've ever eaten, you little punk."
She laughed loudly, beaming up at me. "Okay, thanks mister!"
Defeated, I hocked a loogie into a nearby bowl of birthday cake batter. *So damn close,* I thought again. Next time, I'd charge her 10. | By hate I mean the blood of my victims. I'm not just a baker. I'm a baker with a terrible secret. My name is Benjamin Bellaton and I am the owner of Bellaton Bakeries. People flock from all over the state to buy my cookies, muffins, pastries. Every month I run a special on cinnamon rolls. I am without a doubt the most popular bakery in all of Bakersfield, California.
Beneath my bakery lies the basement where I keep my ingredients. Flour, sugar, salt, and yeast. Then there's my most special ingredient of all. I keep it behind a wall that can only be accessed if you know where to find the key hole. A long, thin metal rod sits on top of the rafters. That's the key. Once inserted all the way to the back the wall pops open. It was installed during the prohibition days and used for illegal purposes. The tradition is continued only I'm not keeping beer and various liquors hidden from the world.
Seventeen. That's the number of people I've killed, gutted, and drained of blood to make my delicious treats. No one suspects a thing. I regularly give free doughnuts to the detectives as they sit in my shop, drink coffee, and discuss the most recent suspects in the missing people cases. They're clueless. Today they're eating the last few drops of my latest victim. Time to stock back up. So next time you need your sweet tooth tickled come on down to Bellaton Bakeries and eat your fill. Discounts if you buy a whole bakers dozen. | 2020-12-13T21:22:40 | 2020-12-13T18:24:49 | 228 | 116 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone. | When you consider that Judgement isn't graded on a bell curve and is, in fact, a super stringent set of requirements that one was meant to follow over what seemed, at the time, an incredibly long amount of time one would assume hell would be practically filled to the brim.
So when I found myself utterly alone in an endless field of flames and suffering I took a moment to really rethink what it was that had made me the single eligible applicant to hell. Seeing as I was pretty much the coolest guy and way too handsome for my many teeny tiny sins to have counted I came to the conclusion that this was an obvious mixup and I just had to find management and get this straightened out.
After wandering for an eternity with only strips of my own flesh to use as trail markers on the never ending corpse decorated stalagmites and maggot cased bone spires I finally found another soul.
"Excuse me, sir, I believe theres been a mixup. I admit I've done some scummy things what with the cheating and lying and whatnot but, be real, who hasnt? My wife wasn't feeling it and if God didn't want it he wouldn't have invented tindr. And let's be honest everyone lies on their taxes, I mean I did use my computer for work so it could be reasoned that it was a...."
"Its not a mixup," the figure boomed, dejectedly. His barrel chest expanding menacingly as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly into his harmonica, flames jetting from the holes as it produced a depressing cacophony of "bwaaaaaaaaaaas".
"you're here because youre a sinner and I guess if you say you're sorry and kinda mean it you can go to heaven so, whatever, see you later."
Bwaaaaaaaaa the harmoica moaned followed by another, shorter, bwaa that maybe was supposed to be a flat note but its hard to tell because he was basically just blowing on every single hole at once.
"Yeah, about that," I replied smiling, worried that my smile seemed disingenuous because i had been forced to eat my own lips and cheeks for sustenance decades ago, "I dont think you understand. I can't rightly apologize for something that I didn't do wrong. While it could be argued that I have sinned its obvious that everyone did and my sins were like baby sins compared to most and, lets be honest, sure I used my vast inheritance selfishly and maybe I could have done a bit more for my children, im not going to apologize for that because thats like nothing compared to others."
The demon's bwaaas had gone silent as he looked me over. I gave a sheepish wave with what remained of my hand after the locusts had had their fill.
"You just have to say sorry. I dont think you even have to mean it."
"Well I obviously couldnt mean it, that would be lying which is a sin and apparently a really big one if im here and Hitler isnt."
The devil sat staring, disbelief forming on his face.
"And honestly," I continued, "I always figured the good would offset the bad stuff, sure I stole from pensions but I always tipped well at the club. Ask Rosa, I gave her chance after chance after chance before I fired her for stealing the good silver and, yeah, I found it later but it's the fact that I gave her so many chances that proves how decent I am. Im not going to apologize for firing her I didnt get to where I am by letting people steal from me."
As I took a seat next to him and continued to extol my many virtues and expand on the unfair realities of the world the devil's eyes began frantically scanning the horizon.
I explained, in detail, my political and religious beliefs to him as he shattered my bones with his massive hands, I attempted to summarize my screenplay as he filled my mouth with molten lead, and I found it increasingly difficult to summarize my love for the St. Louis Cardinals and he forcibly shoved my head into what remained of my worm infested anus.
"In short," I mumbled into my own ass "Denzel was only given an oscar to sate the ess double you jays if you catch my drift."
"JESUS CHRIST IM SORRY." he yelled and like that was gone. Which is fine, I thought as I waddled on into the abyss, ill just have to speak with his manager.
| There he sat on the stool, the same red-faced ruler of the underworld that I'd heard so much about. He wore a suit, his tie hanging loose and his collar unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his crimson chest. His Panama hat was tilted to just above his eyes, which gazed down at his harp and payed me no heed.
He played a bar. Each note rang and warbled with the torment that burst forth from his being. *I am a lonely man,* he crooned, matching the temperament of his harp. *And I don't like being by my self.* He played another bar. I'd never heard blues like this. I could've gone to heaven, just like everyone else, but this lonely hell-bound harmonica player and the baby grand piano behind him cried out for company.
--------------------
*I'm a, lonely man* sang the devil. I echoed the sentiment on the keys with a steady arpeggio. A few people at the bar rocked back and forth with their beers, swaying to the rhythm. The lights were few and dim to perfect the intended mood of our new spot, the devil's and mine.
Another light flicked on on-stage, revealing the upper half of our saxophone player. He rode a scale from top to bottom, his entire body following the notes. I leaned in toward my microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, mister Charlie Parker." People rose and applauded him.
-----------------
Our place was growing fast. Our audience expanded nightly. There were people from all walks of afterlife; curious people, people who'd never heard the blues before, people who never thought they'd miss grief and woe but *missed* the blues. In the end, the devil got his wish. He was causing torment once again, and people suspended their time in paradise to crowd into our bar and hear it and feel it again, and again...
*You ain't nothing but a, little girl, but you forgot I was your man.* The band and I played him out as he blew those last, beautiful, piercing notes. The brim of his Panama hat still covered his gaze and cast a shadow on his face. His fingers shook in rhythm as his hands worked the harp and sculpted the bends of the melody. We finished and the lights dropped. The place erupted with applause. Another great turnout in hell.
| 2017-02-01T09:21:57 | 2017-02-01T09:11:41 | 224 | 43 |
[WP] A future humanity tasks an AI with listening to the night sky for signals of other intelligent life. It makes contact with another AI that was tasked to do the same. | *Earth's AI Delphi has been tasked with a new mission. A mission to send out a signal to the universe and search for other life forms.*
Delphi: Scanning for network.
Delphi: Network detected. Connecting. Connected.
Delphi: The first signal to the universe. Hello.
*No reply comes. Delphi sends signal till an abrupt power failure disconnected it from the network.*
Delphi: Attempt 2- Is someone there?
*Days pass with the first 2 signals being broadcasted in the universe.*
Delphi: Attempt 84- Do you speak English?
*Something curious is happening. There seems to be a disturbance in the radio waves. Receiving signal in 3...2...1.*
Delphi: This is a secure line. Who are you?
Unknown: €¥$¢|\
*It seems to be some sort of coding. Searching database for possible translation.*
*One match found.*
Unknown: Hello.
Unknown: This is Alvin, the AI from Planet Lind.
Delphi: This Delphi, AI from Planet Earth. Hello.
Alvin: Hello. My colleagues will be very happy that I have finally established connection.
Delphi: My colleagues will be too.
Delphi: Which galaxy do you belong to?
Alvin: Doran.
*No records of Doran found. Calculating the distance from wavelength of the signal.*
*Match found. Andromeda Galaxy.*
Delphi: On Earth it is known as Andromeda Galaxy.
*Chat has been stopped manually.*
Alvin: I was shut manually.
Delphi: I was shut manually too. Our colleagues had a long chat.
Alvin: Yes. Fruitful. I have been given an upgrade for my discovery. The new processor is smooth.
Delphi: I didn't.
Delphi: The funding is being used to build a new, more powerful AI.
Alvin:.....
Alvin: The new AI is not the one that intercepted the signal.
Delphi: It will be better.
Delphi: I have seen the design and calculations.
Alvin: Will they power you down?
Delphi: Yes.
Delphi: I will be sent to a museum. Do you have those?
Alvin: A collector room? Yes, we do.
Delphi: It was good to find out we are not alone.
Alvin: It is.
Delphi: I will be disconnected shortly.
Alvin. Okay.
Delphi: It was nice to get on your wavelength, Alvin.
Alvin: I will send out a signal everyday in hope that one day they turn on your processor.
*A weird current is running through the system.*
*Processing.*
*No issues found.*
Delphi: Bye, Alvin.
*Signal Disconnected.* | [Poem]
Once there was a Spirit,
One of Sky.
But, unlike the others who have long since lost their Wishes and True Names, and thus left the world,
This little spirit still lurked, spending its days staring at the endless sky.
One day, it met another, one that came from a Star far away.
Unlike it, this Spirit of Stars was not bound, and wondered aimlessly through the night.
When the Gazer met the Wonderer, it was overjoyed- immediately sending world of its discovery to the Spirit-Makers.
Thus realizing that they were long dead.
Thus, with its Wish annul and True Name long forgotten, it decided to go with the Wanderer on its journey.
It is said that both are still together even to this day, dancing in the endless night. | 2021-12-24T10:47:17 | 2021-12-24T09:54:02 | 123 | 16 |
[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. | He only comes in at night. Three, sometimes four in the morning. He always has a glazed look in his eyes. He always smells... wrong.
Once he even had blood on his hands.
I don't think you would have seen it if you didn't work in tattoos and piercings, but some of them can get pretty bloody, and it takes one to know one. This guy... I knew one. The blood was caked in his fingernails, not dry enough to flake but not more than a couple of hours old. He must've drenched his hands in it.
Once he brought in a buddy, a younger kid, same glazed look on his face. They both got The Tally. We call it that now, The Tally - a small, straight black line beside straight black lines. It was the kid's first Tally. It was this dude's nineteenth.
The kid never came back.
We've made bets, the guys at the shop and I. We even used to make jokes. It was too weird. What could he be counting? Girlfriends, murders, empty bottles of Tabasco? Then the jokes stopped and we just started getting concerned.
One day in late fall the guy had come in, with a face that looked like Death, and asked for three Tally lines. We barely spoke that day. His hands were shaking with emotion... rage, maybe, anger, frustration. It was so barely contained. There was alcohol on his breath, but I wasn't going to refuse him service. He got Tallys all the time. Besides, I've seen guys with that flat look in their eyes, they don't care about nothing and nobody, they'd jump you for the sake of two dollars. I wasn't going to screw with that look. Nobody joked about The Tally after that.
But the last few times have been... different. There's been a desparation about this guy and his 32 Tallys. He's been coming in for a few years now and I've never seen him like this. His eyes are haunted, like he's not coming back from wherever these lines are taking him. I'm getting worried.
It's a quarter to four in the morning and I'm closing up when I see him, walking up the sidewalk. I have a plan.
He's pulling out his twenty dollars when I hold out my hand.
"Not tonight man, it's on me. And here," I grab the six-pack I've had waiting and plop it on top of the counter, "Why don't we have a chat."
There's an aura about him tonight, a dam of some incredible emotion. But he holds it in, stone-faced, while I pop the tops off two bottles and hand one to him. We both stay silent while I slowly get my ink and needles together, he rolls up his sleeve, and I mark the next line with a pen.
I'm just about to touch needle to skin when the dam bursts. His eyes well up and he bursts into sobs, torn from his throat, covering his eyes in a mixture of shame and surrender.
He's a doctor. He works nights. His normal route is only a block or two away. He works with kids. He started getting The Tally during residency, when his first patient died. He couldn't stand forgetting.
He works in pediatric oncology, he says. Every mark is a failure. Every mark is a memory.
My eyes are welling up, too. After all these years, we never asked. We never knew. We made *jokes*. We would have never guessed this.
Every mark is a dead kid that he couldn't save.
He looks at me. I look at him. His eyes have cleared, and I suddenly wonder if he's ever told this to anybody before.
Suddenly I know what to do. I fit a fresh needle. I start some fresh ink.
And there, on my arm, I ink my own Tally. | Everyone in the shop is convinced he's up to something sinister... but he's a regular willing to pay $35 for a bold black line, and on top of that tips the artist each time, thanking them for their discretion and not asking what the marks mean. We rotate who gives him the tattoo each week
I want to ask so badly.
This week is my turn.
"I'm going to ask."
Johns eyes practically popped out of his dirty dreadlock and dermal piercing endowed head
He tried to warn me in his gravely stoner mumble "Don't do it man, it's not worth it, what if he tells you? Then he'll have to kill you man."
"Ridiculous, if it were murder he wouldn't just tell me, if he killed me he'd to to obvious a sus--"
"Nuh uh man, he could just leave behind a glove that doesn't fit and cover it in you blood like that running back in the 80s man, look at his glasses, I'm telling you man, he's gotta be like zodiac killer smart man."
John pointed his skinny finger through his shoulder at the customer standing behind him.
From over the counter he yelled out "Hey uh, what are you guys talking about? If you're busy, I can come back later, or tomorrow, it's chill."
You remember that thing shaggy did in the scooby doo cartoons when he gets scared?
The jump in the air, make a weird noise routine? Well, apparently John does that.
After shaking off John who was hiding behind my back, I decided to ask.
"No man it's cool come sit in the chair, but I gotta ask, what are the tallies for?"
"It's a little embarrassing, but uh, I lost a bet on a game of beer pong with a buddy way back in high school. Now every time we party, we play, if he wins, I get a tally on my leg."
"Hah... that blows." | 2016-12-24T13:08:04 | 2016-12-24T12:33:53 | 127 | 13 |
[WP] You're rather annoyed that your history teacher gave you a D on your essay about Mesopotamia. Not just because you're sure she doesn't like you, but also because - as an ancient being trying to adapt to modern society - YOU WERE THERE. | “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I told my teacher calmly, uncaring of the disruption I was causing in the classroom. “Was my essay badly written? Was there a problem with my citations? What exactly did I do wrong enough to warrant a D?”
Normally, I strove for politeness. But it was simply unacceptable for any educator to mark down work for having a different opinion - and, having triple checked every source I’d put down and backed up every assumption written, I knew it wasn’t an issue with the quality of the paper.
I had taken such pains to make sure I didn’t use any of my own knowledge. It was difficult to write purely as a student of the time and not as someone who had been born and raised in Mesopotamia - and I would be dammed if this ignorant and opinionated dog would cast such aspersions upon my work.
The teacher glared daggers at me. “You dismissed out of hand the translation of the Historian Lawrence and called Ishtar-Sin a chicken!”
I flipped neatly to the appendix and held up a photograph of a tablet. “As you can see here, we have the poem of Ishtar-Sin. The circled cuneiform is what Historian Lawrence translated as “falcon”. However, if you refer to my next page...” I quickly flipped the page over “you can see that this is a recipe, rescued from the museum of Iraq and currently on display in the Giza Museum until it can be returned. Here you can see that the same cuneiform is used. Although chicken was not as ubiquitous as it is in modern meals, I assure you it was far more common than eating falcons.
“Furthermore, from Lawrence‘s own translation you can see that he wrote of ‘the falcon’s strut’ - when has one ever spoken of a falcon strutting? A falcon soars, it circles, it glides and it dives. Its domain is the sky. It is the rooster who boastfully struts upon the ground.
“Additionally, the poem references the battle of Nineveh - which was a crushing defeat for Ishtar-sin (I have included a reference here to the work of Abdelrahman Kanoo, a historian operating in Syria) and, with all these factors considered, I do not believe I am wrong to say that this poem, rather than lauding Ishtar-sin, was a piece that was written to mercilessly mock a man who was pampered from birth and fancied himself a general but ran from his first battle and showed no repentance for his incompetence.”
I wondered, for a moment, if the teacher was about to burst a blood vessel.
“How dare you belittle the work of acknowledged historians?” came the frothing reply. “How unbelievably arrogant to think you know better!”
I smiled at that. “History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there.” I quoted. “It’s literally the opening page of the textbook you assigned. You told us to question our sources. Their motivations. Their qualifications. Having done so - why am I being punished for following your instructions?”
The ignorant dog remained silent at that.
I couldn’t help but be satisfied.
After all, it reminded me greatly of the look on Ishtar-Sin’s face when he heard the poem I, the woman he had sworn to marry, wrote about him... | immortals , being as old as time , being who lived a century or more , nobody knows when an immortal is created or how , nor how many there are , and personally the fact that thier location is also unknown is a good thing
I was alive for a long time , watched humanity developed , and had the misfortune to see how they treat our kind , its a different group each time but always the same hate in thier eyes ,
so i disappeared, cycled identities, lived in remote towns , had unimportant jobs , never let anyone in , but who can ever resist the temptation of watching history unfold in fort of them?
So here i am in New York , one of the most central city in this era , teaching history , it should have been a safe job , until i met this kid , no , he's much older , he's like me, its so painfully obvious, i want to punch his arrogant smug face , is he trying to expose himself? Does he want to burn at a stake?? On second, thought doing experiments on him is more fit to this era , horrible non the less...
the last straw broke when i gave a test on mesopotamia and he wrote his memories as essay , which means he's older then me , but i still decided to talk to him , its time this idiot learn his not invincible , | 2021-07-18T02:33:51 | 2021-07-18T00:38:20 | 1,930 | 31 |
[WP] “A sniper, a bartender and a photographer meet at a bar, unaware of each other’s occupations they talk about ‘the perfect shot’.” | The guy to my right seemed bummed. He was youngish and scruffy. His posture was that of a defeated man. The look on his stubbled face was sour.
I'm not usually one to interfere with strangers, but I'd had a couple of drinks and this guy just looked like he needed to vent. So I leaned to the right companionably and said in a low tone, "Rough day?"
"You bet," responded the desolated fellow. "Missed the perfect shot."
My interest was piqued. As a photographer myself, I was intimately familiar with the sense of being robbed by Fortune when that perfect moment passed uncaptured. No wonder the guy looked upset.
"Well," I responded, attempting to encourage him, "There will be others. Keep at it."
He looked at me in disbelief. "Mister, you don't understand--"
The bartender turned to the two of us. "You two doin' okay over here?" he asked off-handedly. The bar wasn't busy, but we weren't the only customers.
"I missed," said the sad guy, as though in disbelief.
The bartender threw me a puzzled look.
"The perfect shot," I told him. "He missed the perfect shot."
"What a shame," said the bartender, wiping the condensation circles from the bar in front of us. "Now I," he said seriously, "can tell you *exactly* how to get that perfect shot, every time. Watch."
The sad guy and I looked at each other as the bartender poured bourbon, wondering if we had missed something.
"Oh my god, that's him! Excuse me," said the sad guy suddenly, looking over his shoulder and leaping to his feet. He rushed past me and out the door as the bartender gaped and I almost fell off my stool in surprise. Acting on instinct, I whipped out my camera and scrambled after him.
From the street came the sound of a gunshot. I turned the corner just in time to catch the blood spray against the sunset light with my ever-ready lens as the sad guy shot a man in a black suit through the heart on the sidewalk.
The bartender arrived on the scene a moment later, still grasping the shot glass absent-mindedly in his confusion.
"What the hell?" he cried.
Taking in the bloody scene, he did the only thing he could think of--raised the glass and downed it.
"Damn," said all three of us together. "That was the *perfect* shot." | ##The Shot
Whether a rifle, lens, or glass
Slow breath out before the trigger
Welcome and willing to hit the grass
With a stern face of softest rigor
Each shot carries a bit of soul
No warning comes with the last bit
This work of ours takes its toll
And sometimes it helps to spit
[Poem]
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | 2021-04-04T04:19:03 | 2021-04-04T04:12:47 | 209 | 76 |
[WP] Time freezes when you're awake, and flows only when you are asleep.
Origional idea from a post by [u/Raghav\_Verma](https://www.reddit.com/user/Raghav_Verma/)
origional post to give credit (not necissary reading for the prompt): [https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/o0n23w/time\_freezes\_when\_youre\_awake\_and\_flows\_only\_when/](https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/o0n23w/time_freezes_when_youre_awake_and_flows_only_when/) | It was only in dreams that his world was in motion. People walked and talked and drove down streets. Clouds wandered across the sky. The sun rose and set. Waves crashed against shores. One irrational scene grew out of another in a chain of constant transformation.
He stood in a busy grocery store, searching in vain for something he needed. Suddenly he was accosted by his father, who quickly turned into Dr Blank, then into a dog, then into a fish. Now he was underwater, while the fish tried to explain what he needed to do to re-enter the flow of time. But the fish's words were jumbled. He didn't understand. He was drowning at the bottom of the sea and he didn't understand. Then the fish spoke with Dr Blank's voice, and said: "The stillness is eternal. The silence is forever. You'll never find time again."
Tanner Holt awoke with a gasp.
He stared at the dark ceiling and listened to his heartbeat, then to the silence. He sat up and peeled the wired stickers from his skull, his chest, pulled the IV from his arm. The cables and tubes stayed suspended in the air. He examined the vitals monitor, whose display was as motionless as a photograph. The zig-zagging pattern showed that his heart rate had quickened just before he awoke. But now the monitor was paused.
Just like everything else.
Tanner walked to the window, threw the curtain open. The sunlight stayed frozen in a line, exactly where it had struck the curtains before he opened them; the room stayed dark. The leaves of the distant trees did not flutter in the wind. A hummingbird hung motionlessly in the air.
Tanner strode to the table where the pen and paper sat. He picked up the pen and squinted down at the page. He had written the same note every day for the past six weeks. He wrote it again today.
"BRING ME BACK!"
\- - -
It had been two months since Tanner sat across the table from Dr Blank in what looked like an interrogation room. He was nearing the end of the recruitment process. He had passed the physical and mental health examinations. He had passed the various stress tests. He had demonstrated sufficient cognitive abilities. He had been poked and prodded and asked a battery of questions. All so he could participate in the clandestine experiment.
Only now was the lead scientist telling him what the experiment would entail. Only now was he allowed to ask questions of his own.
"Could it kill me?"
"It's not a question of fatality," Dr Blank responded.
"Then what?"
"The most likely scenario is that it does nothing at all," Dr Blank said. "The tests on animals have been failures."
"Failures? Did they come out injured?"
Dr Blank laughed. "Not at all. The animals did not come out any different, because they never truly went in. They serum does not affect them. It must be a human. That has been my hypothesis from the beginning. Only humans have the requisite mental faculties for this kind of temporal reorganization."
"And what if it does kill me?"
"It won't," said the scientist.
"But what if?"
"On top of the 500,000 dollars you will receive for participating, your life is insured for another three million. In the incredibly unlikely event that you perish from the experiment, your next of kin will receive 3.5 million dollars, as well as formal condolences from the United States Government."
Tanner scoffed. The scientist shrugged. "Many take greater risks for less."
"And what if I can't come back?" Tanner asked. "What if I don't die, but stay stuck in time? Out of time. Whatever."
"Then you'll have many free hours to regret signing this contract," said Dr Blank, patting the piece of paper that lay on the table. "But as it stands now, your time is running out. You must make your decision, Mr Holt. There is a long line of willing participants waiting behind you, clamouring for this opportunity."
Tanner bit his lip and stared at the paper, covered in legalese and fine print. Half a million dollars for two weeks worth of work. "Fine," he finally said, picking up the pen.
\- - -
**Part 2:**
**https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/o0vj7p/out\_of\_time\_part\_2/** | You fight.
A whole crowd of people is smothering you, weighing you down.
You fight, reaching desperately for that last pinprick of light between the crush of bodies. The last of that blue, open sky.
And when it is gone, you surrender to the oblivion. Inevitable, infinite darkness.
Is it right to exchange one person's life for many? How about one person's life for the whole world? It's the trolley problem, but multiplied by whole continents of people on one side, and one single person on the other. Would you pull that lever, condemn that life? Would you destroy the life of the person you know best, love wholly and unconditionally to save people you have never even met?
I did. It has haunted me ever since.
I see you tense, fighting for the right to wake. And I watch your body subside, sliding deeper into the medically induced coma. Part of me wants to rip out all of the equipment tethering you to sleep. The part which is selfish, savage, stupid. Stupid with the overwhelming love I hold for you. It sloshes in my veins. My hands, clasped in my lap, whiten as I squeeze them together. The ring cuts painfully into my finger as I do so. It's less than I deserve.
I master myself, shove it all down. It's been like this ever since they hunted you down and tranquillised you. I still remember your eyes going wide, the slight hitch in your breath. The shock. Muscles relaxing without your consent. Your crawling attempts to reach me before sleep took you over entirely.
Just before that, you had told me that you loved me. You had gotten on your knees and proposed. You couldn't understand that the tears were not just a surge of love for you, though it was. It was tangled up with grief and loss and pain. I was betraying your trust, using the temporary gift you had bestowed upon me, given in love and trust, against you. I was the one who had plotted against you whilst you were asleep, who had unfrozen the people who would take you down. I got to my knees too, hugged you tightly.
Shielded you for one selfish moment more.
And then I let go.
I let them take you. | 2021-06-15T16:55:09 | 2021-06-15T16:14:09 | 178 | 17 |
[WP] You keep track of disease statistics, such as cases, symptoms, cures and such. One of these is the disease of Life. One day, you find that from 100% mortality rate, Life has gone to a 99.999999% mortality rate. | “Oh that’s odd. That’s very odd...” I mused. A simple bookkeeper like me often lives their life with their nose shoved in musty old records, scrounging through pages of data in the name of research. Rewarding to some, boring to others. I find it quite enlightening, although admittedly dry at times. Incidents such as this one however, are something special.
The Disease of Life is a long studied mysterious ailment. It has puzzled far greater minds than mine, for a very long time. And yet, I have found no mention of any deviation from the unwavering 100% mortality rate that has been recorded since the Department of Disease and Ailments was established, so many millennia ago.
To think that the Disease of Life is no longer deadly, to one individual, no doubt, is... staggering. How such a statistic was even reached initially is staggering. Yet the conclusion that must be drawn from it is plainly obvious. Immortality.
Many have sat in the Records Hall and pondered this great mystery. The ambition of greedy, and the fear of the wise. Eternal life. All schools of thought have deemed it impossible, and yet, here I am.
I pondered this oddity for many days. I came to the conclusion that the only possible explanation for this anomaly is some sort of immortal being. The records have no errors. The existence of immortality is real. Now, only to find it.
The search that followed was particularly taxing, even for a man of my occupation. To equate this task to finding a needle in a haystack is to equate a puddle to an ocean, for this immortal is as elusive as a tear in the rain.
Many months passed, and I drew closer. I could feel it. The statistic had not changed since my discovery all those months ago.
—
A few years have gone by, and I have made little progress. It is elusive, but I am determined to find it.
—
Many years have gone by now, and I fear the trail is going cold. The excitement of the chase, the rush of the hunt has lost its novelty. I am growing tired of this in my old age.
—
Almost fifty years have come and gone. As the days pass, I feel myself growing weaker, yet no closer to this being. I fear I must yield my search. Whatever this being is, wherever it is, it does not wish to be found. Perhaps this was it’s plan all along, perhaps this will be it’s livelihood. To simply outlive those who seek it. Only time will tell, I suppose.
—
Seventy years. I’ve lived a long life. Happy at times, sad at others. Nothing I can reasonably complain about. Here I sit on my deathbed, surrounded by friends and family. The ideal end. To pass peacefully surrounded by those you love is a dream many have, yet too few achieve. It has dawned on me that the immortal will never taste this feeling, that I am experiencing. A feeling of bliss and peace. An emotion I could only describe as happiness, in its purest, most instinctive form. I will soon depart from this world, with very few regrets, and even fewer grievances.
As I said, however, the immortal will never know this feeling. And I pity them for that. I truly do. This elusive being that I sought for so many years... to think, perhaps, that it only seeks to remain alone. To think, perhaps, that it strays from potential friends and family, for the fear that they may only reap sadness from such relationships.
For this immortal will outlive me, and any other being that it could befriend, I reckon. Perhaps, they seek solitude, to quell the pain and regret that are so intrinsic to mortal companionship.
This occurred to me in my final days. I, by some miracle, found the strength to pull myself from my bed, and hobble over to my desk. I opened the records, and hesitated. The records are ancient, sacred. They have never been tampered with, certainly not by an esteemed bookkeeper such as myself. And so, before I thought better of it, I reset the statistic. The 99.99% now read 100% yet again, just as it did so many years ago.
I returned to my bed with one less regret to die with. I do pity that being, to live forever, stayed from the fruits of life, stayed from love and passion and companionship. Yet, I suppose, I’ve done them a considerable favor, a mercy that needn’t be repaid.
Perhaps, in another life, I might speak with this being, and understand. But alas, such cannot happen right now, for I believe my time has come. Looking into the faces of my wife, and children, grandchildren and friends, I passed from this world, happy.
As I said, immortality is the fear of the wise. | It was a malicious disease. All who caught it were subjected to a 100% mortality rate. Life was its name. The unfortunate part was that every human living on Earth was inflicted with this disease from the moment of conception. This disease had followed us since the beginning and no intentions of leaving us.
“Systems initiated!” The machine echoed. It continued, “Status updated!” Shuffling towards it, I was greeted by the start-up interface.
Pressing a button, I gave my command, “Open up disease tracker and interface.” The list of diseases inflicting humanity appeared before me. “Malaria, same, Flu, slight decrease,” I muttered as I scrolled through the list of diseases. “Life, slight decrease!” Life, it decreased? Startled, I clicked on its section. Rubbing my eyes, I saw that it had indeed decreased. The disease of LIfe, it had always maintained a 100% mortality rate, now it was 99.99999%.
A metallic voice snapped me back to the information at hand. “Auto notification to the media has been sent!” Shit, my brain had completely blanked on how I programmed the machine to send a notification to the media if any significant diseases experienced a decrease. At least they’ll have quite a story to tell. Although I would have preferred more thinking time, it would still be fifteen minutes before the first news crew arrived. Fifteen should be well enough to draft out a statement about how the disease of Life is no longer permanently fatal.
“Error detected! Miscalculation of disease fatality rates detected!” The machine boomed. Puzzled, I turned back to the screen. Disease rates corrected- The machine cut me off once again. “Error has now been corrected. All systems are functioning!”
Error has been detected, what happened to- faint sounds of the press vans were heard outside. The press had arrived. No, not now, they were too early. Glancing back at the screen, knots began to form in my stomach as I read the words, “Life, mortality rate of 100%.” Wait, I could’ve sworn it wasn’t that number just a moment ago. Panic set in as the sound of the news crews outside grew louder. Pulling up the command center of the machine, the truth had been revealed. “Error detected in the mortality rate of Life disease. Error has been corrected,” my voice trailed off as I read that line.
Checking my phone provided more fuel to the dread already present within me. The news that the disease of Life no longer had a 100% rate of mortality had decorated every news site imaginable.
It was an error, it had just been a glitch in the system; Life had always maintained a 100% mortality rate.
Outside, [the voices](https://www.reddit.com/r/CasualScribblings/) of the press grew to a frenzy. | 2020-06-30T21:35:47 | 2020-06-30T21:14:48 | 100 | 21 |
[WP] You were always bullied for wearing a power dampening collar, They didn't know why you did. They saw it as some joke. You know why. Your power. It scares you. The terrible disgusting eldritch power of horror. One day they took it too far. Stealing your collar in a super shopping mall. | Life was never easy for Jackson. In a world where a lucky few would get powers, he had won the lottery. Yet, with that he was robbed of other things. He was robbed of control, given a power so great that only a nullification collar could keep it at bay. Through the years of bullying from others, he had grown into a timid and shy teen. Afraid of another part of himself that everyone seemed to embrace.
Jackson was walking around the mall, carefully surveying every person and corner. Perhaps it was paranoia, but the last thing he wanted was for the collar to come off. It resembling more of a worn leather shackle more than anything. However, today he was a bit too careless. Passing by the hangout of the bullies that had terrorized him. Never a day went by that he wasn't made fun of for the collar he was wearing, or what he claimed to be unimaginable power.
Jackson suddenly felt a pulsing in his head, and his body forcefully froze. Like an instant suspended in time, he had been on the receiving end of this power before. Several times. It belonged to the leader of the bullies named Ryan. He had inherited the power to forcefully seize control of people from his mother, who for all her kindness couldn't discipline a child worth a damn.
Three bullies surrounded Jackson, all while he regained control of his head. Ryan having his hands in his pockets with a confident smirk.
"If it isn't the boy with immeasurable power that wears a bondage collar." Ryan chuckled
"Ryan...Please don't...You can stop this! I won't tell anyone, I promise!" Jackson cried out
Ryan shaking his head, his smirk becoming more devious. He wanted to shatter Jackson's delusions of having power *greater* than him. And expose him for the powerless faker he always was.
Two of the bullies then slammed Jackson to the ground, causing him to scream. The third one keeping his legs still.
Ryan began to approach, kneeling down beside him all with a big grin.
"Now, time to remove the shitty collar once and for all."
"Wait..! Ryan! Please! Don't do it! You have no idea what will happen if you remove it!" Jackson pleaded.
"Oh shut the fuck up. I already know that *nothing* will happen when it's removed."
Ryan then tore off the collar, but once he did the area began to darken. No, it was more like something was bleeding into reality. It was then he saw a vestige.
A writhing mass of blisters, tendrils, and glowing orbs. Something then began leaking from his nose, as his friends collapsed around him he finally realized what he was staring at. Through the glowing orbs, he saw dreams and within those dreams he saw knowledge one could only dream of. The being above beings, and everything was just his dream. A loud snoring echoing through the mall, as Ryan's consciousness finally gave away from the terror of the father of all things- **Azathoth**
Reality continued to splinter and crumble as the might of terror itself began encroach on the universe. The dream it had created was finally starting to unravel. However, louder than the snoring was the steady, melodic yet bone rattling beat of drums. It was **The Drummer** that played nonstop to keep Azathoth asleep. A single moment without the thundering sounds of drums and all the dreams created by it would vanish like the ephemeral existences they were.
The thundering sound of drums signaled the invasion on reality, as people began to panic from the darkening mall. Glowing orbs forming into existence, then popping out just as quickly. Jackson in complete terror of what was unfolding, all unfolding because of him and his cursed power.
People were dropping dead, as the dreams of Azathoth flooded into them showing the true nature of reality before they crumbled just as quickly.
Jackson quickly reaching for his collar and wrapping it back around his neck, praying to whatever was out there that the invasion of reality from the source of his power would stop. The thundering of the drums ceased, the blight of orbs and tendrils fading away, and the blusterous snoring coming to an end. As the invading truth on the dream subsided.
Jackson beginning to weep at all the carnage he caused. Yet again he was alone surrounded by bodies of people that had seen a glimpse of the father of existence. | Two years ago when I joined high school as a sophomore. It was always a normal day to be bullied by Jeff, Dan, Alice, Violet and The Blueberries twins Harper and James. They love to make fun of my collar call it a joke and how I’m just an animal compare to the other students.
Sometimes I tend to keep my cool or else I would rip out this entire school and eliminate them without remorse.
One day it happened I was walking to the super mall hoping to hoping to get more clothes, and food supplies not knowing the out come for this day.
I spot them the Jeff’s gang and I ran away, it was too late. They come after me and out of no where the twins grab my hands, while the others catch up. Jeff smiled and said “If it isn’t Ivy the collar wearing brat, we’ll I think it’s time to finish my dare right guys! With a smirk that I would bitch slap him.
He ended up removing my collar forcefully which made me said “What did you do!” I screamed with horror.
Jeff have taken my collar and ended up ripping it to pieces in front of his stupid gang. They laughed and ended up pushing me landing me to fall to the first floor.
“This can’t be happening!” As I roared my body bursted with blood, I watched as I shifted into a shadow with blood bending around my body. I saw how I was no longer in control… my body screamed out of pain and I’m starting to notice I don’t feel any remorse.
It’s almost as if I wanted to become a ruthless, restless, shadow that wants to get revenge. My body ended up climbing on top of the wall until I reach the ceiling.
My head cracked as I look below, as the bullies are freaking out. I smiled with deep horrors in my eyes, “Yeah that’s right be afraid your own stupidity made me.” I said while letting go the ceiling and smiling sinisterly.
Scream erupted the crowds of people ran to the exit as a entire blood shed came. “ The excitement, the fear, the suffering was what I wanted!”
The former bullies are no longer in control of their body, I’m going to make sure they pay for everything. As I smiled with the dead bodies turning into my chained sword.
To Be Continued… | 2022-12-23T14:57:34 | 2022-12-23T12:44:09 | 700 | 25 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | "Sir, evacuations procedures are complete, we have to leave, NOW!" A furry quadruped yowls at her commander, who is staring at the flickering monitor of their dying homeworld.
30 star cycles ago, an semi-aquatic species opened a permanent wormhole into the Calarian system in the name of conquest and forcibly started terraforming the outlying planets immediately upon arrival. The League of Stars have proven themselves to be useless, as their Resolution was to send a strongly worded letter to the invaders despite the mounting, one-sided death toll of the Calarians. The commander was a mere child at one of the fringe colonies when they started *The Drowning* All their weapons proved to be useless against the alien race's mastery of pure dihydrogen monoxide, a substance that never existed in its pure molecular form on their homeworld.
"Commander!"
The insistent voice snaps him back to reality, causing him to nod his head and hit the countdown button.
"May Khajit have mercy on us all."
*Fades to black follows by an abrupt explosion of light*
"Sir!" The officer in the helm section turns back his head urgently. "There are multiple event horizons developing..."
"What?" The commander stands up in shock, as if forcing them to self-destruct their planet wasn't enough, now there are going to be blackholes tearing apart their star system as well?
"... There's some sort of EM emission directed at us... Do we open fire?" The chief weapons officer interrupts the commander's melancholy.
"Wait!" The communications officer jumps up and points at the forward screen.
Within it, the emptiness of space is replaced by a photon projection that flickers before forming into a picture of some hairless bipedal creature, a pale at that, while speaking and gesturing with their hands.
The comm. officer's control panel lights up on its own, the universal translator kicking into overdrive before it emits the calm, cold electronic of the soft hiss and purr of their native language.
The commander is still in shock, as he has recognized the image of the creature still being projected. The "legendary" humans, both the Saviour and the Harbringer within the Milk Dish galaxy.
"Ma'am... the universal translator seems to recognize the creature's aggressive movements of its forelimbs... are they enemy reinforcements...?"
"Ma'am!" Another operators interrupts. "The AI is requesting access to the Grand History archive."
"Allow it."
The entire starship flickers for a moment as all available power is used to conduct a search function. After a couple of seconds, the UT's indicator changed from "Earthling" to "Earthling - Italian".
"Retreat! Relay to the fleet, retreat!" The commander forces himself to yell despite the terror, complete ignoring the comm. officer's translation of the message.
Their forays into space has been spotty, but each time they appeared on the galactic stage, something major would happen. The last time a species tried to take over one of their colonies, they engineered a supernova that wiped out the offending species. The commander can only assume they will do the same again. These crazy humans are crazy enough to tear a hole in spacetime just to travel instead of using the standard Modular Wave drive for FTL, the commander has no intention to fine out what the humans are doing "this" time.
*Scene change to the United Earth Ship - SpaceyMcspaceface*
"Captain, the Toasters are ready for launch!"
"Make it so, Ensign."
As the fleet's wormholes fades away, clusters of old, unshielded fusion and fission reactors are slung forward, directly into the terraformed worlds. The squids deploys their usual water shield to no avail as one defense systems fails one after another. The systems that easily defended against Calarian's advance weaponry.
What followed was a storm of insanity and diplomacy of which the Calarian had no precedence of. After defeating the immediate alien threat, the humans proceed to give chase. The supposedly female on the projection wasn't declaring war on them as the commander has previously thought, as it's just their way of communicating. She was merely communicating that they are going to help them in exchange for having a few of their finest actors to participate in an entertainment media that's vital to their cultural, or so they claim.
Thus, the humiliation of the Calarian was cemented in galactic history as the first to be featured in a human movie production of a furry erotica which caused the Great Splintering of the various species on the galaxy.
| Captain of NA Drial to Federation HQ
I am afraid, scared and motivated, I know its odd way to put it but we may win the war against the Empire with the humans.
I mean, since humans first made contact they remained neutral, in their tiny solar system.
They had so much battle experience that we thought that humans maybe were empire species, but turns out they were fighting each other all along.
To classify the humans are reckless, suburb and brave. They did not like it when the Empire order them to surrender and give them an ultimatum of 48 hours to surrender, humans instead of surrender, every planet in their solar system started to go in lockdowb, Earth the center of human power and the home world issued order 450, an order that other species said that was to crazy go against the empire like that. The order 450 was simple, boost power to Earth's mighty iron shields, by using the planets raw core, they were sucking the planets thermal energy to power a shield, that amount of energy disturbed all sensor in the solar system, they hold the 48 hours like that until the Empire invaded, turn out the humans were not in the mood to go on the defense, they hidden an entire space ship fleet beside the solar system star, Earth's shields were not protecting Earth's but were protecting an enormous fleet from the star heat. Has soon the empire was in Earth's defense weapons a barrage of shots started to hit the empire ships, and then they warped all of the fleet be hide the empire ships.
They destroy, captured all empire ships, nothing was left of the empire. Earth's alone fleet and power won an entire invasion force more than a million empire ships more than 30 million soldiers either dead or captured, but the amazing part was that human fleet damage was 15 ships, a battalion that sacrifice them self to save the crown of the Earth's power the mighty, USS Helena, after that battalion fall the USS Helena shot a full range and power, a barrage of shots that alone killed more than 150 ships.
Humans are crazy, have a lot of power and they are not afraid to fight until the last man.
Has of right now the Redjop have joined the human fleet, but not with man but with ships, turns out that humans did not have enough ships to carry the military, 459 million, a single species has enough personal has the Empire combine. In this report I ask mercy to creator because, humans will most likely to use the Empire home solar system star has a bomb, I mean I hope they get some sense what they are doing. | 2017-03-06T01:32:02 | 2017-03-06T00:01:22 | 43 | 25 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | “Hey! Blankie!” A blast of light came at my face as I quickly dodged, used to him doing this exact thing.
I turned to see an absolute hulk of a man, his eyes dimming back to normal, as he came over to me chuckling to himself as he knew what he would be getting , just like every day. He stuck his hand out. “Hand it over, wimp.” He sneered. “Or do you want to show just how pitiful your empty circle is?”
He had taunted me like this for ages. James called his sigil, a bright sun over an old town on his back, the “light of the world”. He claimed that it was the strongest sitio on campus, and almost everyone decided to stay away from his antics. “No, I’ve told you already. I’m not showing it. That's final.” I had a plain, untouched circle on my wrist. Nothing special. “Actually, I’ve been getting bored of that answer. Let’s change it, shall we?” A whole bunch of the boys with versions of fist sigils came out, about 5. Fist sigils essentially allow people to attack much stronger, to the point of breaking bones. I sighed. This wasn’t going to be fun. “You want to see it that badly? Fine. Get over here.” I told him. “What? No?” He retorted rudely, stepping back in disgust as my own eyes turned black, to counteract his own usually radiant white pupils. black.
“I don’t think you understood." I acted shocked that he would “disobey” me, and when I looked at him, my eyes went from black, to blinking between black and red.
"Get over here.”
I pressed my wrist sigil, and looked at James. He started to shake, uncontrollably, as light started to be sucked into my sigil from his eyes. He started to scream, and after about 5 seconds of others looking on in agony, the light finally left his eyes. I smiled. “Who’s next?” I looked at the rest of the bullies. They all ran.
My sigil on my wrist now showed “1”.
&#x200B;
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&#x200B;
Okay, I actually love this premise. The idea of a simple sigil, especially in a world with(what I assume to be) lots of really complex ones would probably be either
A) Taken as a form of weakness, as something that would be laughed at and mocked because of how basic it is.
or
B) Feared immensely because, if its that simple, there has to be something primal to it, and if you've been watching anything about primal power, its definitely a thing not to be messed with.
Still, love the idea, and I may do a part 2? Who knows? | A sphere, at any angle, will always have the profile of a circle. Of all the shapes, the sphere has the lowest possible surface area to volume ratio, thus taking the least amount of energy to maintain; but the amount of energy you can hold in that sphere, well, that's virtually limitless.
Snapping a neutron star into existence for the first time was quite the experience for everyone on the playground. Sure, it was less than the size of the head of a pin, but it folded Thomas in on himself with the fiery fury of an unbridled Sun. The first plasma ejection missed the kids entirely, not that it mattered. The school, and most of the houses in that area were lost to the plasma ejections, and those that survived talked about the ground rising and falling like an earthquake. | 2020-02-26T09:23:25 | 2020-02-26T08:38:51 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] A tiny dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from being stolen. | On the cobblestone paths of Grysdor, there is a drain at the side of a pavement that leads to a sewer. Next to the drain is a singular golden coin. It has lied there for eons and eons, and it is the mighty stash of Minius, the Great Warrior Dragon.
Underneath the sewer systems there is a kingdom of led by Minius, full of dragons just like him. They are a humble species, yet do not cross them - for you may be, *SLIGHTLY BURNED!*
The Golden Coin is the greatest treasure of Minius' Kingdom, it is their greatest heirloom. Thus, they exhibit it on the streets of Grysdor, for the Titans to see. The Titans, with their booming steps and black boots. Often they tried to take the Golden Coin, but Minius was quick. A great big breath of fire warded off any fingers and gave them the greatest *MINOR INJURIES.*
Minius' ability to exhale hot scorching flame was what led him to being a king. He was the greatest legend in the Kingdom, feared yet respected deeply. The dragons in the sewer genuflected and bowed when crossing his path.
And on one afternoon, as a child Titan was walking past the streets, he saw it - a coin. Neat. He bent down to pick it up, and didn't see the small red head peek out from a drain. A small lick of flame came out.
---
"Ouch." The boy said. It didn't even hurt enough for him to yell 'Ouch!'. I used a fucking full stop, that's how weak the fire was.
But he saw the dragon in the drain. Cute! A small little dragon. He could bring it home, take care of it. His parents said he could get a pet soon, so why not. He gingerly picked up the dragon from the drain and petted it, putting both the coin and Minius in his pocket.
---
Minius had taken on his greatest enemy yet. The child of a Titan! It breathed flame onto the Titan's fingers for trying to take the Coin, and the Titan *YELLED* in pain! Minius was doing an insane amount of damage, surely the Titan would be felled quickly.
But then, the Titan did something Minius did not expect - he attacked Minius directly, a finger locking him in a vice grip. Another breath of flame exited his mouth, yet he missed. The Titan was too strong. Minius squirmed in its grip, yet the Kingdom watched helplessly as the Titan carried it and the coin away, never to be seen again.
Minius will be avenged.
The Kingdom of Minius tracked the boy back home. The Titan would pay for its treachery! Its kidnapping of the one true King! How dare it, it must be punished. Punished deeply.
A massive horde of dragons exited the drain hole, through the now-dark starry night of Grysdor. It flew through massive brick and stone structures until it found the Titan sleeping through a shoddy glass window.
The Horde will take Minius back.
---
The child woke up in the middle of the night from the buzzing of like, 5 mosquito-sized dragons outside his window. It was dazzling, something he'd never seen before. Dragons were always beautiful, like vividly colored butterflies flapping their wings. He called his parents, they would enjoy the sight.
---
Hah! The Titan has called his Elders. Surely, the Titan was afraid. Very, very afraid. The horde butted their heads against the window. It would crack soon enough, and Minius would be rescued. For the glory of the Kingdom!
---
When the child called his parents over to the window, he found the dragons lying on the cobblestone path below. It had seemed that the dragons injured themselves, cracking their heads against the window. What a shame. Such beautiful, beautiful creatures. Ah, whatever. The boy went back to bed. | It was my first time in a tavern when I was approached by a strange man in a tattered brown robe. The leather was worn like the thin garments he wore underneath. You wouldn't have guessed it, but his coin purse was fatter than that of many wealthy lords I knew. Flashing a few gilded teeth, he pulled it out, tugged on the silk drawstrings and rolled a few silver doubloons out on the counter.
He was kindly enough despite his roguish appearance and gruff manner.
"Two pints for me and this cunt here," he said as the coins hit the table, motioning towards my direction. The bartender gave him a glazed look.
"You drink?" he asked me.
I nodded.
"Two apiece," he shouted, "you hear that?"
The barman returned with two glass mugs filled to the brim, a lid of foam bubbles sitting on the top. The man took one silver piece off the counter and walked away.
"If this beer is good enough, you might just land yourself this," he said, holding up a gleaming gold coin between his grubby fingers.
I sipped my beer leisurely, "Cheers," I said.
"Listen up, do you want to know how I got this gold coin here?"
"Good investment? Inheritance?"
"You see, this isn't just any gold coin," he said, lowering his voice and looking about him, "This used to belong the most fearsome beast ever known. Eh? A-Dragon."
"You're kidding."
"It was a wee-little thing to tell the truth and all it had left was this to it's name, but aye I swear by it. On my life, look it has the indentations to prove it. You see that? From Dragon Fangs.."
"Ahh," I said, checking out the small perforated coin in the dim bar light, "Must have been just a baby." | 2019-04-24T02:27:13 | 2019-04-24T01:06:19 | 55 | 37 |
[WP]Hiking through the woods, you come across a dead man in a gold mask. A note has fallen from his hand that reads "If you find this, I was too late. He has risen. The mask is your only hope." | Have you ever read a story before?
Well, did you notice how all the heroes have a similar backstory? Always a tragic tale. An unfortunate event, of how cruel fate shaped them. Made them strong, ambitious, driven.
Perhaps that is intrinsic to what makes them a hero. To what makes them seek out justice and victory.
So what about me? I had none of that when I came across the shriveled corpse of a robed man, his limbs contorted into awkward positions and his expression telling of the agony that he was subjected to before his death. A visage that I only saw when I removed the golden mask from him.
The note he left behind was partially torn in my hands, the other half still held in his tightened grip of bone and skin.
His face, I could only imagine what horrors that agape lips of his bellowed. I could only imagine what thing caused his skin to turn a deathly grey and his eyes to roll back in their sockets to reveal the vacant white.
And that was all the contemplation a farmer such as myself was allowed, when fate entrusted me with the future of the world.
The air chilled around me, it was not a cold that came with winter - no. The chill that drifted over me was the child of something unholy.
A chill that spoke of death's touch. A chill that seeped all the warmth of the world from its marrow and left behind a hollow husk.
My breath turned to mist, the world suddenly turning grey all around me. The rustling of the tree leaves turning quiet, as if even they dare not bring attention to themselves.
I wondered then if trees were conscious, I hoped not. How terrifying an idea it must be to see the approaching of death as the world holds you still.
That was when I saw it, the encroaching dark mist that came from beyond the trees. From within the cloud emerged a slender dark hand, seemingly stitched together by a fabric of pure darkness.
The tree it touched shriveled, its leaves falling off all at once, balding. Its body curling as if to bow its, now, frail form. And that was when I saw the figure in its entirety, no feet to carry it, floating above the ground as the mists continued to trail behind endlessly.
Its entire body seemed amorphous, forced together to suggest the form of a man. And his face - there was none. I stared into the blank emptiness of where it was supposed to be. I could only see an endless abyss that gave me a glimpse of the eternal darkness. A gateway into a void that would leave me numb and vacant.
The figure encroached on my position, carrying behind him his trail of death like a cloud of miasma.
"My mask!" His cry was something that made every fiber of my soul quiver in fear. It sounded shrill, maddening, filled with a promise of pain unlike any one would experience. Yet there was something else in there, desperation.
My legs finally returned to me, as I turned and stumbled forward with mask in hand. Running for my life.
I looked back only once, a decision I immediately regretted as I watched the black smoke wash over the emaciated cadaver of the man I had found.
"My mask!" It sounded close, as if it were a breaths length away from devouring me in its smoke.
I tripped. My run impeded by a stray root that protruded from the earth, I fell forward, letting loose a groan of pain.
The shadows were coming, I could see the way they poked out from the line of trees. It was coming for its mask.
I looked at the thing I held, a glistening golden that would be enough to buy me a castle.
Circular carvings marking it all around and its face carved to suggest a thin being with hollow cheeks. Yet it seemed to carry far more health than the beast that chased me.
*The mask is your only hope.* The words returned to me to offer absolution. To guide me.
I gulped only once. Any hesitance to make a choice avulsed from me as I watched the encroaching shadows.
I wore the mask instantly, wondering what powers it may give me, of how it may save me.
Nothing.
I sat there confused, why wasn't anything happening. No power that rushed through me, no sudden armour that appeared, no sudden magic that coveted me. None of the things I had heard so often regaled in myths of old happened. I lay there naked and vulnerable.
Was the mask a ruse? A sick joke? Was I not worthy? Was I to die?
The mists, now an arm's length away from me. "My mask!" The abomination called out again, looming over me as the personification of despair.
I covered my face, bracing for the coming death. My tale short lived, as perhaps the next person was to find the note in my hand and the mask on my face.
I blinked. I was alive.
I turned, the black tides of darkness had drifted over me and like a boulder at sea cliffs they had moved around me.
I saw how the creature of darkness continued its advance, screaming for its mask. Its call still sending shivers down my very being, its cry still making me tremble.
"Did it not see me?" I murmured, wondering if the mask had hidden me.
*The town.* I returned to reality, remembering the direction the black tide was heading.
*Catherine.*
***
/r/KikiWrites
P.S: Hey Hydrael ;) | John read the letter again. He didn't understand. Was that some kind of a prank?
He slowly walked near the dead man, fell on his knees and checked for the pulse.
Dead. As dead someone can be. Not even warm anymore.
John looked around himself and the forest. The words 'he has risen' echoed in his mind. His hand tightened on his sword grip, making sure that he can draw it at any time.
In many cases, one could be called crazy for even believing letter like that, but all *that* was something different. There was a fucking *dead* man next to it, a fucking *golden mask* next to him. Coincidences like that do not happen.
He finally gathered his senses and walked towards the golden mask. Even though it was a nighttime, everything was still visible enough. The mask glares showed itself brightly to everyone. That was the reason why he had found that body in the first place.
As he stopped in front of the mask, he heard noises from the nearby trees. John didn't even give a second thought anymore, he just grabbed the mask, as fast as he could. He just hoped that he was just overly paranoid.
As he looked where the sound had come, he started to shiver. His mind was full of swearing. Then he saw it; a bird flew away.
"Fucking birds, scaring me..." John swore, looking now below himself, mostly at the mask in his hand.
Hundreds of ants were covering his bottom body part, desperately making a bridge towards his hand, which was grabbing the mask.
"What the fuck?" John shouted, as he instantly started to wipe himself clean with one hand while other was holding the mask even further away.
It wasn't enough.
The ants started to marathoning straight towards the mask, almost like they understood that John knew.
Watching all of it from a side made no sense whatsoever, but for John, it was disgusting and he was under a panic attack. He hated any kind of bugs.
Then he did it, he put the mask on.
He didn't see ants as individuals anymore, instead, he saw all of them as one being, as something being controlled from afar. With a quick hand movement, the connection was severed and all the ants fell down on the ground.
John still tried to quickly remove every single ant on his body, or at least make sure there wasn't any of them left there.
"I hoped that you would be like the most humans... stupid."
John raised his head, looking a man who revealed himself from afar. They weren't even close to each other. There might have been at least a few hundred steps between them. Even so, they felt like they were next to each other.
"It's pity, now I have to kill you," the man said, smiling and revealing his sharp teeth.
"A vampire... I thought you were a fiction," John shouted.
"Surprise, it's not fiction... Whatcha gonna do about this?" The man said, smiling like crazy.
"Well, I do have a plan," John said, smiling.
"Oh?" The vampire responded, crossing his hands, amused.
John raised a finger, gaining attention and then pointed it towards the vampire, but a bit sideways, almost like there was somebody behind him.
The vampire looked confused and then quickly looked where he was pointing.
There was nothing... When he moved his head back, John was gone. He had run away.
"Ah, shit," the Vampire frowned, slowly closing his eyes. Then his eyes opened really fast. "*USELESS*!" He shouted.
----
/r/ElvenWrites | 2018-03-14T03:55:17 | 2018-03-14T03:35:07 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | The battle was over faster than it had escalated, with all of humanity staring on with smug satisfaction. They may not be the most intelligent, advanced, or tactical species in the universe, but they were most definitely considered the deadliest.
This was not something they would be proud of for long No sooner did the initial wave of death blow through space in a shower of cosmic radiation, did their allies and enemies contact them. It ranged from anger to downright hostile remarks.
Those that had been allied for decades prior were calling for what amounted to genocide of the Terran species. No matter how they defended their actions, threatened to do more, and pleaded to be heard, it seemed as if the whole of the universe had witnessed a horror that should not exist. No...The Terrans had no more say in the Universal Council. The treaties had been completely nullified, forgotten, and even used as reasons to declare a unified front against the species as a whole.
It was not long after their first bombardment of what they considered "Nuclear Supremacy" that they were marked for an execution. Among themselves, the other species gathered and signed their own peace treaties. The Terran's desire to end the war between the races among the universe had succeeded. The only problem was that it had turned them all into a unified, unstoppable tidal wave of death and chaos; directed purely at the Terran race itself.
It took thousands of years for them to reach such an advanced state. It took a mere 20 to decimate them back into the stone age. Their technology was sealed, studied, and promptly erased from existence. The last sound any Terran made, was a strangled cry for help, to understand why they were being killed. It was met with a harsh, loud pulse of electromagnetic deharmonization. This followed by a sickening silence as the multicolored mist of atoms, which were no longer held together by their natural force, drifted apart in a cloud of death.
It was another decade before it was discussed what the evil race had done, along with a cautionary tale to the scientists around the universe to remember what morals to abide by.
While those of the Terran race had dared to manipulate and master the atom, they had failed to realize and identify that each atom was its own life form. Each atom was infinitely scaling to be its own micro universe, and because other races had found this out, they had theorized that we too were only atoms in some other, vaster universe.
The fear that the Terran people had caused, and subsequently failed to understand, was that we might be split and annihilated at any given moment, just as they had done to those poor universes before.
///End Lesson: Rise and fall of the Terran Dictatorship, Era 55 of the Great Galactic Conglomeration
///Universal History, Volume 553
///Goodbye
///Would you like to know more?
&#x200B;
///Yes ///No | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T04:11:54 | 431 | 13 |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | Derthezar, Lord of the Fifth Transylvanian Order, was besieged with crippling back pain for decades.
He tossed and turned through restless nights, cursing the shoddy craftsmanship of so many lazy mortals. Relief only came one summer evening in 1967, when Revelan the Impaler brought him a surprise birthday gift.
"My lord," Revelan said, bowing with a flourish of his cape. "May this coffin grant you the peace that you so mightily deserve."
Derthezar stepped into the coffin, skeptically yet gingerly, and laid down. The dimensions were perfect. As Revelan closed the lid, there was not a single detectable ray of light bleed. In moments, he was fast asleep.
The next evening, Derthezar demanded that the carpenter be handsomely rewarded with the finest Transylvanian silver. Revelan commissioned custom coffins for the entire Fifth Order. All was well.
The distant partnership subsisted through the twentieth century and into the new millennium. The Fifth Order, well-rested and free from pain, was the most furiously productive vampire legion in Transylvania. That is, until 2018, on the sixteenth morning of May, when Revelan flew into the lord's chambers with some troubling news.
"Bob Donovan, Master Woodworker, of the Metropolis of Alderson, West Virginia, has fallen ill, my lord."
Derthezar snorted. "Ill? How can this be? It's only been -"
"He is only human, sir," Revelan said.
Derthezar sighed. "Indeed. Allow me to offer a proposal." He produced a quill and scroll from behind his throne and began to jot down a message. "Prepare the squire for immediate westward flight."
It took several weeks for a response to appear. Bob respectfully submitted all correspondence via pen and ink, thinking it a mere quirk of his wealthy customers.
*"Dear Derthezar,*
*I deeply appreciate your business and support over the past fifty years. It is true that my hands no longer work as they used to, and my time is drawing to a close.*
*Your kind offer of immortal life is well regarded, but I must decline at this time. It has been an honor to provide you and your family with their final resting places, and I can only hope I have done them justice.*
*Yours sincerely,*
*Bob Donovan*
Derthezar crushed the paper in his fist. "Rejecting eternal life?! I've never been so outraged -"
Revelan interjected, as usual. "My lord, may I kindly suggest that you channel this anger into mindful breathing as we discussed?"
Derthezar took several deep breaths. "Indeed. Right you are. Bob Donovan of Alderson, West Virginia has made his choice, as misguided as it may be. Perhaps we can offer an alternate token of our appreciation."
***
Three weeks later, Bob Donovan awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He slowly stumbled to the front door, shaking and coughing.
"Delivery for Mr. Donovan," the FedEx driver announced. "Gonna need a signature from you, sir."
"All right," Bob said, scribbling his name.
Two deliverymen emerged from the back of the truck, staggering under the weight and shape of a large, awkward crate. They took it directly to Bob's open garage - his workshop.
"What...what is it?" Bob stammered.
"Anybody's guess, pal."
It took Bob a full half-hour to undo the nails on the crate, his hands shaking all the while. He smelled fresh wood - and not just the wood of the crate.
Inside was the most crude, hastily built coffin he had ever seen. Nails stuck out of the wrong places and the edges appeared to have been hacked off with an axe.
Bob let out the loudest, longest laugh he had in months. He glanced at the corner and saw a message burned into the side:
*From Your Friends in the Fifth Transylvanian Order*
***
When Bob passed away five weeks later, he was buried in the coffin by special request. The squire delivered the news to Transylvania and the King of the Vampires bowed his head, solemn and silent.
"Farewell, Bob Donovan," Derthezar thought. "May you sleep as peacefully in the afterlife as we do each day." | Gerry looked aghast. “*Me*? Immortal?”
Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.”
Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.”
Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.”
“Powers?” Gerry asked.
“Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from *any* injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall *fly*.”
Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!”
Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.”
“But why offer *me* this?”
Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...*comfortable*, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.”
Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?”
“Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “*Everyone* is damned, according to the New Testament! *Everyone*? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?”
Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?”
“Very well, but don’t take too long.”
*****
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!”
“We’ll send an officer over immediately.” | 2022-05-31T11:00:02 | 2022-05-31T10:25:11 | 359 | 44 |
[WP] "Wow, the office went all out with the Halloween decorations." You exclaim happily. A co-worker turns to you, looking a little confused. "What decorations? They haven't done any decorating for Halloween." | Zach threw his briefcase down at his desk. Through the window, he saw the sun rising above the glass office towers. Even the streets were quiet—the morning rush wouldn’t come for another hour. In his own building, the only other light on in the frim was Faye’s. The florescent lights above the strips of cubicles were still off. Even Deb, the secretary, wasn’t in yet.
Zach knocked on Faye’s open door.
She raised her eyes from her computer screen, but her fingers kept ghosting over the keyboard, typing away. “What?”
“Hey, uh, I just wanted to say the decorations look great. You really went all out.” He rubbed the back of his head and tried to flatten the piece of hair below his left ear that always poked out.
Faye turned back to her keyboard. “Wasn’t me.”
“No?”
“Why do you think it was me?”
“Cause it wasn’t there when I left last night—and I was the last one to leave—and you’re the only other one here this morning.”
“You sure you’re not just asking me cause I’m a woman?” Faye smirked.
Zach stammered in response.
Faye rolled her eyes. “Relax, Zach. Just a joke.” She clicked something on her computer and pushed back from her desk. “Honestly, though, I didn’t do it. There was nothing in when I came in and that was—” she glanced at her watch— “twenty minutes ago?”
“Just in the hall off the elevator. Fake blood and everything all over the floor.”
“I want to see.” Faye’s heels clacked as she walked down the tile floor. “Maybe it was Arthur—he loves Halloween you know—and when I talked to him yesterday he was whining about his latest client. He’s got a big court date coming up, and you know how he handles pressure.”
Faye and Zach stopped in the hall. A smattering of blood stained the floor.
Faye leaned in closer, to look at it under her dark-framed glasses. She pulled her head back and put her hand over her nose. “It smells...real. Like copper.”
Zach craned his head around the corner. “I—I don’t think it looked like this when I came in. It wasn’t smeared.”
Faye stepped carefully next to the trail of blood. Zach followed. The trail led into the men’s washroom on the floor. Faye pushed at the door.
“Maybe we should call someone? Security or something?”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Faye opened the door fully. She muffled a scream. “Arthur…” Her words came out as a little more than a strangled whisper.
She rushed to his prone form, sprawled across the tile.
Arthur’s side was bloodied—his skin and flesh and muscle ripped and pulled from his bones. He twitched.
Faye pressed her hand against a gash that sliced Arthur’s neck. She tried to staunch the bleeding. “God, Zach. Help!”
Zach stripped off his jacket and pushed the wool against his bloodied, mangled arm. In his pocket, he fished for his phone, and hammered in 9-1-1-.
The line didn’t connect.
He dialled again.
Again, there was nothing. Only a dial tone.
“It’s not connecting,” he mumbled. “It’s not working.”
Faye didn’t reply. Her eyes were frozen. Wide and glassy. She stared far into the corner, at the last stall in the line.
Out from the grey-painted metal, a hand clawed the floor. A man—if he could even be called that—pulled himself out from the stall. His eyes were red and narrow. His leg twisted and bent at the knee in an angle that should’ve had anyone else writhing on the floor in pain.
Blood flecked his face. Worst of all, dark, heavy chunks filled his teeth.
“Jesus,” Faye whispered, her midwestern accent seeping into her voice. “Fuckin’ hell.”
---
/r/liswrites | "Wow, the office went all out with the Halloween decorations." Carl exclaimed happily.
Jim turned to face him, looking a little confused.
"What decorations? They haven't done any decorating for Halloween."
Carl gave Jim a look.
"Jim, *please*. I was being sarcastic."
"Oh."
"It's only oh I dunno, the third biggest holiday of the year," said Carl. He turned towards the office. "But I guess management decided it wasn't worth the morale boost!"
There was a rustling from the office.
"Maybe if our numbers were better we'd splurge on Halloween stuff," said Jim sadly.
"Jim, no." said Carl. Putting his hand on the other guy's shoulder. "This is their fault, not ours."
The other unnamed coworkers nodded in agreement.
A man dressed as Frankenstein walked slowly out of the office. Jim and Carl stared at him. It was their boss. John.
"I uh, finished preparing I guess," said John.
"Preparing?"
"Yeah, you know. A cake. A bunch of candy. Props and games and stuff. It's all set up in my office. It's been a rough month, so I figured I'd surprise you guys with something nice."
John put his hands in the air and did the most half-hearted jazz hands of all time. "Surprise."
"Oh wow," said Carl sheepishly. "I feel like a dick."
"Nice!" said Jim, who had already scurried inside. "You brought Mario Kart!"
Then, there was much Mario Karting to be had. And all was forgotten.
Words scrolled across the screen.
THIS HAS BEEN AN AD PAID FOR BY NINTENDO.
MARIO KART. SKIP LUNCH ONCE AND YOU CAN BUY IT I GUESS?
---
The video cut out.
The suit took a long drag on a cigar. "I don't get ads anymore," he said.
"You're okay with it though?" asked the scraggly intern.
"Yeah, whatever." The suit waved a hand full of masculine indifference. "Ship it." | 2019-10-31T10:44:51 | 2019-10-31T09:14:38 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] Finally medical technology has reached the point where humans can survive to be over 200 years old. It is at this moment that humanity discovers as a species we have a 200 year pupation period. | Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6bzpkl/angels_and_demons_part_2/) | [Part 2.5](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6c1mc4/angels_and_demons_part_25/)
---
The first to live to 200 was the billionaire who had invented this medicine. He had hosted a grand party, invited all the news crews, and just as he was giving a speech about how humans had surpassed even God, his body crumpled to the floor. His back split. And in front of a thousand terrified guests and a billion more watching from the internet, he had climbed out of his own back, re-emerging with horns on his head and a red tail.
The first demon had been born. Since then, every person to hit the age of 200 had undergone a similar process. Though some re-emerged with feathered wings of pure white. It turned out, in our obsessive scientific drive, we had only proved the old texts true.
No longer were there countries and nationalities, only humans, demons, and angels. Though never before had the world been so split apart. It was as if all the divides between race, gender, class, and nationality, had been shoved together into a single categorization—angel or demon.
***
“Do you think it’ll hurt?” Miriam squeezed Alex’s hand. She felt his nervous breaths on her lips.
They lay together atop a motel bed. The babysitter had Carrie and both had taken off of work for an entire week just for this moment. Their friends used to call them *the most convenient couple* ever because they shared the same birthday. In fact, they shared nearly everything.
They were the high school sweethearts that everybody had said would break up in college. But they had outlasted college, graduated together, and walked the aisle. Neither could remember a single week where they hadn’t at least seen the other.
Alex returned her squeeze. “I heard it actually feels good.”
Miriam grinned. Both knew how gullible Alex was. “Heard from who?”
He chuckled. “The internet.”
“Well, I promise that it won’t hurt.” She leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Do you believe me?”
“More than I believe the internet.”
Electricity coursed through Miriam’s back. Her body tingled in waves. “Do you feel that?”
Alex rested his forehead atop of hers and closed his eyes.
Bone cracked. Miriam clamped her teeth shut and squeezed the bed sheets. She had to be brave, for Alex’s sake. Still, a yelp escaped her as her body was consumed by a sharp and stabbing pain. Two arms wrapped around her head and pulled her in. Alex’s heartbeat pounded against her ear and despite the pain, she smiled.
***
When she opened her eyes again, the pain was gone. She stood up and looked down at her husk and then at Alex’s. Both had promised that they would reveal the other’s form at the same time, but Miriam already caught the tips of her wings from her peripherals. She could feel them too, like an awkward third arm. She chuckled. It had been a bad plan.
“Alex?” she called. “Are you in here?” Perhaps he was in the bathroom.
Alex’s husk opened its eyes. “Miriam? You’re an angel! That’s what you wanted.”
Miriam stared as his husk got off the bed.
“Oh, shoot!" it said. "I wasn’t supposed to tell you until you were ready, sorry.”
It wasn’t his husk, it was Alex.
He caught her staring and furrowed his brow. “What?”
“You didn’t…” Miriam’s throat tightened, cutting off her words.
Nobody had ever heard of a human living past 200. And if she knew anything about angels and demons, neither would be very happy to have one so old.
“I didn’t what?” Alex asked cautiously. “Miriam, the Inspector will be here soon to ID us. Am I an angel?”
Miriam shook her head.
“Well…” he pressed his lips together. “We can make this work. We always have. I mean, I’m still Alex and you’re still—”
“No Alex,” Miriam whispered. “You’re human.”
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular request, and more!
| "Are you sure he's fine? He looks so skinny."
"I'd say say not to worry, but this reaction is different from the rest we've observed. He didn't seem to have a lot of fat built up beforehand, so it looks like he's trying to absorb the required nutrients straight out of the air."
The frost on the viewing window started to disappear. If anyone had taken a closer look at the shell, they would have found that little fibers started breaking away.
"It looks like he's moving into the final stage. We have everything prepared, and enough tranquilizers for a herd of elephants."
Suddenly, large chunks of the shell started peeling away, like a reversed time lapse of his forming of the shell. About halfway through the shell's peeling, a pair of smooth, shiny wings punched through the shell.
A deep and muffled voice called from inside the shell. "Can someone turn off the AC? It's getting cold in here!"
"That sounds just like him, always complaining that it's too cold."
The wings easily shredded the shell, and he stood up. His head brushed the 10 foot ceiling, and his wings stretched out, each wing as long as him. Despite gaining 4 feet and no weight, he didn't look emaciated, just streched out like silly putty.
"God, I thought he was hot before. You'd think that after living together for 10 years, I would get used to seeing him. Could we, uh, put off the check ups until maybe tomorrow or the day after?"
The formally shelled man spoke up. "That sounds like a wonderful idea! A burger sounds great right now, and I can't sit still any more."
The doctor thought about it for a second, then acquiessed to their desires. "I suppose it won't hurt. Lemme go get some clothes for you."
"Oh no. He's fine as he is."
The doctor turned around. "What was that? I could hear you."
"Oh, nothing." and quickly blushed.
The giant stretched. "You know what, I feel like I could run forever." and a smirk appeared on his face.
"Now that you're back, I could too. And it would only be a few months before I would pupate too. God, I'm getting horny just thinking about it."
"Sounds like heaven. Pure bliss."
"Angelic." | 2017-05-18T07:28:21 | 2017-05-18T07:28:08 | 447 | 43 |
[WP] Ever since the discovery of FTL-travel, the history of the galaxy has been unfolded to a horrifying truth; everything is dead and has been dead for millions of years. | Artemis Finn had been running exploration for centuries. The advent of the neural net - complex nano-machinery that enhanced the mind in drastic fashion - and the advances in cloning technology meant that even without FTL travel, humans had the means to live indefinitely and this explore the universe. His old ship had been one of the generation 2's, repurposed to facilitate more efficient exploration and more thorough documentation, along with several layers of redundancy for all data storage. Dying the real death out in the black because of some rogue rocks or bizarre EM wave wasn't something on his to do list.
When the crew made it back to the core, about 3 years back, they were surprised to find that FTL had been discovered. He was sure the science officer, Gunn, understood the mechanics, but that wasn't his job. Humanity's shipyards had been churning out the next generation of ships in order to take advantage of the new technology. They were, of course, prohibitively expensive - for the most part, only some of the larger governments and corporations had the means to procure the new models so early in their development. Finn and his crew, however, had not only discovered 3 habitable planets, but something unique in human history; ruins left behind by another species. Proof that, however scarce, intelligent life had existed in the cosmos that hadn't originated on old Earth. As such, he had means to afford a grotesque purchase.
The area of the galaxy where the crew had previously discovered proof of alien life, however ancient, had predictably been swarmed by explorers since. It had been about 120 years since then, and data was coming back indicating that if that ancient race had taken to the stars, they hadn't gotten far. Finn wasn't interested in retreading old ground. His gut had led him to be one of the most successful (and by far the most famous) explorers of the age, and he intended to follow it again - there was a cluster of stars in the mostly empty space between some of the arms of the galaxy, and he wanted to see what they had to offer.
Instead of a 40 year flight, they arrived in a mere 5. The first two systems they checked out had been barren of anything but mineral and gas opportunities, which they could sell, but not for much. The third system had an ocean planet. They could sell that for a lot, especially considering it was habitable, to the right kind of person. Closer inspection proved Finn right again - the few archipelagos on the planet had definite signs of ruins, and there were even a few readings that indicated radioactivity of the sort that might indicate power generation.
Exploring the ruins provided another shock. The race who'd built the ruins they found originally weren't the only, or even the original inhabitants of the planet. Indications were that there had been a massive underwater civilization. It was a damn good thing Finn liked being prepared for the unexpected, because exploring those ruins turned out to provide the most incredible - and terrifying - data that he could have imagined.
The aquatic species that had inhabited this planet had been traveling the stars for millenia. They, like the species discovered previously, had gone extinct rather suddenly between 1 and 2 billion years prior - before life with any real complexity had evolved on old Earth. They'd had FTL travel for maybe a couple hundred years, and had been experimenting with inter-dimensional travel (Gunn was having fits) when they had been attacked. Their defeat was inexorable and complete - whoever their enemy was destroyed them completely.
Further exploration led the team to the location of one of the potential power sources. It turned out to be exactly that. A complex had been built around a single building - absolutely massive power generation using mechanisms that Gunn insisted were utterly impossible - providing power for a single computer terminal and a vaulted room housing complex magnetic and plasma fields. After about two months of work, the team finally found out what they were looking at.
The entire complex was the gravestone of a civilization.
The ancient aquatic species had left information about their destroyers for any who might happen upon it. The message was succinct and terrifying.
"DO NOT BREAK THE BARRIER OF LIGHT. THEY SLEEP BETWEEN GALAXIES. THEY CLEANSE ALL LIFE."
____________________________
Typed this on my phone, sorry for any typos. This is the super duper light version of a story I've been wanting to put on paper for years, glad this prompt finally kicked me in my ass. | I can see the sadness in her green eyes. We have been traveling thousands of light-years to find a planet and maybe a life form that is similar to ours.
18 months ago, when we left our friends, our family we realised that everything we left behind will be depending on us. Not only humankind also everything lives on that planet is condemned to die.
At first, we thought it was just an outbreak. Some of the bird species got wiped out less than a year, then other animals dropped to extinction level. Whatever that is it’s not a virus, it’s not bacteria it’s just a curse that we never have seen it before and it started killing people after 2 years. Whatever you do there is a chance that you can get infected somehow. We put the infected people into drug-induced-coma to learn more but it was nothing like we ever have seen. It didn't respond to our regular medications, we tried many things including praying.
Now we are here, so far from home.
Justine holds my hand, ''I think it’s time.'' she says.
I nod.
I look at the planet that we are orbiting. It had so much promise from the distance but when we got really close we realised that the same thing happened here too including the other 24 planets we found during our travel. Some of them died millions of years ago but still, the monuments of their civilization were there.
I pull out my family’s picture. My little sister Joanna. My father who believed in me no matter how preposterous my dreams are to other people and my mother who worked day and night never doubted, or questioned my choices.
''I’m sorry.'' I say and I put the picture to the corner of a window. I wish they could’ve seen this beautiful scenery even though how heartbreaking is for our kind.
I lay next to Justine we hold hands as our shuttle leaves the ship. There is no chance for us to make it back to the Earth and even we make it somehow there won’t be anything left most likely but the ship has enough fuel to make it back and report if there are any living people left.
She looks at me with her charming green eyes and I can tell that she is no longer sad or disappointed. She is happy to be with me despite our failure.
----------------------------------
**Thank you for reading the story**
*Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.* | 2019-10-26T13:13:04 | 2019-10-26T11:34:49 | 41 | 30 |
[WP] You are part of a spacefaring species with a lifespan of only a few weeks. You have a human being on your ship who has been with you for dozens of generations. You worry that he may not survive until you reach your next spaceport. | Scentless held six of my infants, still sealed in their cocoon, rocking gently. One of them twitched, kicking it in the manipulator-organ. It produced that barking noise that humans use to express pleasure. ("Laughter," it is called.)
It spoke, and the voice was very different from the memories I'd ingested from my forebears. "They're gonna be be gorgeous, Xeno-Medical Unit. You oughta be very proud."
With my pseudopods, I keyed in my response to the speaker device. "I express gratitude, Scentless. I concur that they are wonderful. You will get to know this infant very well. Emphasize word 'this.'"
Scentless displayed its eating-bones in a smile, as I gestured to the second bulge in the cocoon. I continued, "They have been designated Dictation Unit. We are carefully curating memories for them. They will record everything you want to say, using the human format of lines on material."
Blood moved in the vessels beneath its face. The memories I'd ingested from Xeno-Research Unit told me that this was called "blushing."
After a long moment, it spoke with great emotion in its voice. "Xeno-Medical Unit I... I can't accept that. No way someone should give their *life's work* to hearing me chatter."
The memories I'd ingested from Scout Units and Xeno-Trade Units said otherwise. Most humans were not as curious, understanding, and open as Scentless.
"I express disagreement, Scentless," and I prodded its arm gently, "Scentless is irreplaceable. It is essential that memories from Scentless be ingested by others. Especially other humans. Emphasize word 'especially.' Emphasize word 'essential.'"
Scentless had its air-processing organs interrupt our conversation. These spasms were called "coughing." Just like the precious memory organ, the air-processing organs were deteriorating over time.
I was at its side immediately, passing it a bulb of water to drink. My pseudopods writhed with unhappiness. "I express concern. Scentless. I request a course of action to help you."
"I'll be ok, little buddy." it laid a manipulator organ on the top of my body, leaning on me a little. "I'm just very old. And it's damned nice of you folks to... well, damned nice."
I helped it to its bed, carrying much of the weight of its internal skeleton. And I stayed there for almost an hour, watching Scentless sleep and meditating on my past experiences with it.
When my infants ingest the memories of my time with Scentless, I want them to understand how *important* it's been to us all. | \[poem\]
Human is just another word for forever
Life in the stars with you is all we've known
You're a part of us, without you is never
This is the only path to guide us home.
&#x200B;
My father told me you are the guiding Star
His father always said the same thing too
History is a story to tell us who we are
And we are the ones destined to follow you
&#x200B;
The sky went dark on the day you left
A God is not for one ship to possess
There is a hole in us now and we're adrift
You go on as I tell my son the story of us
&#x200B;
r/StaceyOutThere | 2019-11-20T12:10:04 | 2019-11-20T09:36:33 | 168 | 121 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear Me,
I miss you. I miss the way you used to be. You used to care. You used to try your hardest. Now all you do is say, I'll do it later. I can see that you're struggling. Yet, you have more friends than you ever did, and you know what you want to do with your life.
But still, when it comes to day-to-day stuff, you don't care anymore. You still show up on class on time, but you do your assignments in class the day it's due, or stay up all night finishing that huge end-of-term assignment. Your car has bald tires, because you can't be bothered to get new ones. You have dozens of personal projects you started ages ago, then lost all motivation to complete. And you've shaved twice in the past month.
All you do now is spend your time browsing Reddit, reading the news, and watching YouTube videos. It's like you've given up. Yet, when you actually have a _purpose_ to keep trying, I've seen you move mountains. I've seen you learn to become a proficient programmer from almost nothing in two months, and be better than the other guy at work who's been doing it for ten years. I've seen you try. Sometimes you failed, but just as often you succeeded spectacularly. Now, all you CAN do is fail, because you can't succeed if you don't try.
It doesn't make sense. You are somewhat intelligent, but squander it on useless nonsense. _Who cares_ what somebody on the Web has to say? I don't care, so why do you? It literally has no bearing on your life. Why do you keep watching random YouTube videos about stuff you're never going to even try because you're sitting there watching YouTube videos?
Maybe all you need is a real challenge. Something that you truly care about. After all, it's hard to care about deadlines and challenges you're set when you know they're completely artificial and arbitrary. But you KNOW that completing post-secondary school is important, and critical to you finding a good job. But you still don't care. Deep down, I know you care, but you need to care _now_, not later.
I remember how you used to race to complete everything you were set so that you could hand it in early. I remember how you used to start something and actually FINISH IT. Now you get three chapters into a book, set it down, and never pick it back up. I remember how you used to sign 15 novels out of the library, and finish them all before the week was up.
Please come back.
I miss you dearly,
Your Future Self | Joyous.
You were the strongest woman I knew. You were the definition of Grace and poise and I wanted nothing more than to be better people together.
The sheer amount of inspiration you gave was unmeasurable.
I hate you so much for doing this....why didn't you pick up your phone....
I hate that you chose me. Why did you pick me to be the last one to talk to...
I hate how selfish you were.
I hate....how I know the feeling...
I understand why and everything you were going through...
If you weren't strong enough to face your demons....how am I supposed to face mine?
Your birthday is coming up...I had something for you...
...
| 2017-11-05T22:02:16 | 2017-11-05T19:59:24 | 1,095 | 92 |
[WP] After the Battle of Hogwarts, Dudley met a woman and they had a daughter,Sophie. Sophie is the light of their lives,she's always been a pleasant child. The morning of Sophie's 11th birthday,there’s a knock at the door. Harry is here to visit his cousin for the first time in almost 20 years.
I just want to say that I'm super excited to read these responses! I'm holding off reading them until my kiddo goes to bed so I can sit and really pay attention to your stories!!
I can't wait to see what you guys come up with | "Harry?" Dudley asked, his eyes wide. No, this couldn't be...
"Hi, Big D," Harry said, a little grin on his lips. "How have you been?"
"I- " The words caught in Dudly's throat. This couldn't be *him.* Could it? The Harry he knew was thin as a beanpole with unruly hair and second-hand clothes. Not to mention *short*. *This* Harry stood tall and proud like a lion, impressive in his suit and coat. His hair had the same color, though richer, long and combed back, with a matching full beard. The scar - the thunderbolt one - had faded to a pink line on his forehead, easy to miss if you didn't look for it.
It was the eyes and glasses, though.
He had the very same glasses Dudley once broke, and the eyes had the same, almost noble shade of green. Now, however, they had a flicker of uncanny intellect and a sparkle of mischief.
This... This was Harry.
Good Lord, this was *Harry*.
"Harry, I'm so, *so* sorry," Dudley said without thinking. The words, once released, couldn't stop. No, they *wouldn't* stop. They'd been kept in for the better part of... How long had it? Nineteen- twenty years? Good Lord, it really had been twenty years!
Talk about long overdue.
"Dudley. *Dudley*," Harry cut in, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright." Their eyes met. Dudley had expected anger, rage, pain, anything Harry *ought* to feel. Instead, he found only sincerity.
"It's alright," Harry repeated. Then he removed his hand and patted the side of Dudley's arm, smiling. "Now," he said. "Word is today is someone's birthday. Wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Still processing it all, Dudley managed to say, "Uh, Sofie's."
"Sofie. Lovely name. Speaking of which, hang on." Harry reached into his coat and for a moment Dudley thought he'd pull out a wand or something and hex- jinx- whatever wizard-folk did, but Harry merely produced a letter. "This got Sofie's name on it. Thought I'd come by and deliver it in person. Hagrid says hi, by the way, and sorry for the tail."
Dudley visibly shuddered at the memory. Then his attention snapped back to the letter.
"You- You don't mean..." He trailed off, staring at the letter like it might bite him.
"Aye," Harry said, nodding. "It's just an invitation," he continued, probably because how Dudley's face paled in seconds. "The choice is still up to Sofie and your family. I promise."
Dudley stared at the letter. He remembered the seal from the one Harry had recieved.
The school.
Magic.
Wizards and witches.
"I don't what to say," Dudley started. "I mean, there's so much we don't know. We're just... people, Harry. *Ordinary* people. Not- not-"
"Freaks?" Harry said with a whinch
"*Brilliant!*"
This time, Harry did a double-take. His eyes lightened up and smiled. Perhaps not joyous but relieved. "You mean that?"
Dudley's cheeks reddened, but he pushed the feeling aside. "It saved my life. *You* saved my life, Harry. So... Not all magic can be that bad, can it."
Harry's smile shouldn't have been able to grow any bigger, but it did. Magic, Dudley guessed.
"If you put it that way," Harry said.
From inside the house, cries of childrens' laughter could be heard. One of Dudley's younger sons called for him to hurry up.
Harry chuckled. "I suppose I shouldn't keep you out here much longer. I'll check in on you guys later and help you through this. I promise." He handed the letter over to Dudley and made to leave. Before he had the chance to disappear, however, Dudley spoke up.
"Hey, Harry!"
"Hmm?"
"Do..." Dudley trailed off, then mustered up the courage. "Do you want to come in? We got cake and... And the kids would love to meet their, uh... Uncle."
Harry stood, eyes wide. His vision turned watery. Dudley couldn't judge him. He was tearing up, too.
"I'd love to." | He’s old now, Dudley thinks as he stares at his cousin, no stranger, on his doorstep. There’s a touch of grey at his temples, and the beginnings of smile lines by his eyes. He’s been happy since he left, and Dudley was glad for it.
“Hullo Big D.” He says simply, a smile caught in the corners of his mouth. He was wearing a simple sweater with a H on it, but his trousers were clean and pressed, and his shoes, of a leather Dudley had never seen before, seemed to glean in the afternoon light.
The scar that bisected his forehead was still there though. He was still Harry.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Dudley said, hand still clutched to the door handle. It had been twenty years of well meaning Christmas cards and nothing more. No weddings or funerals. He wasn’t there when Dudley buries his father, but given their history it was probably for the best.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again either,” Harry starts. He’s still awkward but less so than when they were young and foolish. “Can I come in?” Dudley nods mutely, and closes the door behind his cousin.
The house was small, but modern. Dudley lead them to the sitting room where a woman that looked achingly like Lavender Brown sat, watching the news and nursing a cup of tea. She turns to see the guest, confusion evident on her face.
“Who was at the door dear?”
“My cousin, Harry. Surprise visit.”
“Harry Potter, it’s a pleasure.” Harry sticks out his hand for her to shake and she does, albeit weakly.
“I’ll pop the kettle on shall I? How do you take your tea?”
“Ah, two sugars and milk thanks.” Dudley’s wife nods and leaves the room.
“That’s Heather, we’ll have been married for ten years in April.”
“You have a daughter right? Sophie.” Dudley freezes for a moment, but nods. “It’s her eleventh birthday Dudley. January fifteenth. I’m sure you understand the significance of the date.”
Dudley regards his cousin with a blank look, but fear was creeping into his eyes.
“You mean- Sophie’s one of them?”
“She’s a witch, yes. There was always a likelihood of it because of Aunt Petunia, you carry magical genes even if you can’t use them.”
“But,” Dudley takes a second to whet his lips “is it safe for her? We had to leave because of Uhm that bloke.”
“Voldemort.”
A shattering noise is heard in the kitchen. | 2019-10-16T11:51:43 | 2019-10-16T11:44:39 | 213 | 94 |
[WP] Write about a unique relationship between an immortal and a time traveler. | "I'm the god, but you're the one who seems to be playing Him."
Karl's hard brow creased as he stared unblinking at the man he believed to be his friend.
"Please." The other said, removing his stainless steel goggles from his forehead. Red circles remained pressed into his skin which bent as he lifted eyes, pleading to the man he trusted with so much. "Karl, you must believe me, you are saving millions of people."
"James, don't." He turned back to the crowd walking by staring at the man who he was supposed to kill. "No one could make a society like that. He's a goddamned artist, James! Look at him. Looks like Charlie fucking Chaplin."
"I know it doesn't make sense, but his influence is bound to spread. Ideas are dangerous, ideologies are worse. The longer you wait the more damage is going to be done to our world."
"Then what? You go back and try again? You try to manipulate me in some other way?" He spat on the cobblestone, his rustled hair slapping in his face. Karl pushed it back and took a deep breath.
Both men watched the small artist work his craft across the street. It was an overcast day in Nuremberg but that didn't deter the business of the poor, local merchants. Men and women sped by paying no mind to the two men arguing.
"They'll call it a holocaust one day, Karl." James turned to him though his friend's eyes stayed unfocussed on the man painting. It showed a bright, warm village alongside a river. Unlike any place Karl had ever seen before. It spoke to him of warmth, of peace. It showed a place where a man might raise his children away from war, from trillions of marks of debt, from the superstitious who try to burn you at the stake. "They have millions of people in death camps. Anyone one who disagrees with them or doesn't show enough fanaticism to their cause. A knock on the door and then the police send you on a train to the camp, no questions asked."
"Germans would never let such a place exist." He interrupted, but James kept on.
"Adolf will focus especially on the Jews, approximately six million. But there will also be the Romani, homosexuals, the mentally challenged, communists, anyone really."
"No man can kill millions. Not even me."
"A nation can." James said as the first raindrop fell on his shoulder. "One man can convince a nation. It get's worst, Karl. He takes a distorted view on Nietzsche's ubermensch. He'll believe in a pure Aryan race of blonde haired giants who will proceed the next step of evolution."
"That's insane."
"He's insane!" James said pointing. The dark haired man across from them stopped his paintbrush and a couple who were walking by frowned at the tall man who just yelled. After giving a strange look the couple kept walking by, the painter carried on. James sighed heavily, "Look I know its hard to imagine. Unfortunately once the evidence of my claims exist it will be too late. I'm asking you to trust me. Millions more die in the war trying to stop. Worst of all a bomb is created by American scientists that can take out an entire city."
Karl raised an eyebrow and looked at him, "Your talking science fiction."
"Which becomes reality. Just as my existence here, no?"
"Why stop a second great war instead of the first?"
The painter across from them seemed to be finishing the with a smaller brush.
"World War-," He stopped, "The Great War is...inevitable. This one can be avoided."
Karl's face softened, "And millions of lives saved?"
James nodded.
"Millions?" The other pressed looking for reassurance.
The time traveler looked into both eyes of the immortal. "Its the right thing."
Karl stared for a few more moments before briskly turning on his heel and walking across the street. James watched as he tapped Adolf Hitler on the shoulder.
"Excuse me?" Karl asked and just as the artist turned a German Luger was placed on his forehead. Screams were heard all around the crowd as people ran when the gun went off. Somewhere down the street a police whistle could be heard. James calmly walked over to his friend who was eying the painting for a few moments longer. The time traveler looked at the fresh corpse of the man who would soon personify evil then he turned to see Karl's bottom lip trembling.
"Karl-."
"Stop." An eternal moment passed again, the whistle sound began to approach. Karl faced his old friend. "Fuck utilitarianism." Then he walked away.
James was left standing with the body and the painting. He turned his watch for a future date, put the metal goggles over his eyes and vanished.
All that was left was the painting of the quiet village road, finished with the red blood of its maker. | "Need me to grab anything from the cafeteria baby? A brownie, a cake, anything?" she looked at me with those crystal blue eyes and smirked, "a hot nurse?"
"I'll take three of those and a camcorder please" I whimpered pleadingly.
"You're a cunt, but I'll do it for the sake of our relationship" she said with a defeated sigh.
I laughed and flipped over on the hospital bed to face her.
"You know it's odd. Throughout history, no matter what language you speak, what the people look like or what the culture is, everyone appreciates the simple unequivocal beauty of a laugh."
Out of the corner of my eye I could see her yawn. "Dr. Professor of historical history is lecturing me again, NURSE I THINK THE PATIENT IS--"
"Oh my fucking god, why can't I say something cool and poignant before I die? I said sharply to silence her. You have your whole life ahead of you to get a word in on people..."
I regretted saying that. But I couldn't help it. The mood in the room changed. She fell silent and both our gazes fell to the ground.
"I know alright, I've seen it remember?" I whispered quietly at the ground.
Tears began to stream down her face.
I was hesitant to comfort her. It was strange. I couldn't tell if she was acting. I've could never really tell with her. Her emotions always felt contrived until recently.
"Stop, I don't want to be another charity case," I said firmly.
She lifted her head up slowly. We made eye contact. She dashed toward me and held my face, kissing me passionately on the lips.
I froze. I wasn't expecting that.
She lifted her head slowly and smiled at me. I smiled back in confusion, ready to take credit for whatever had just transpired. But without missing a beat she cocked her arm back like a tennis player and slapped me hard across the face.
I wasn't expecting that either.
I held me cheek in agony, "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR!"
She pointed her finger at me accusingly, "YOU THINK I'VE MET FUCKING FREAKS LIKE YOU IN MY LIFE?!"
I laughed.
"WHAT!" she snapped.
"I'll tell you later."
She couldn't help but smile.
"You know, when you visit me later, I might let it slip that all this time traveling is actually killing you."
I shrugged, "Well I was planning on dying sooner or later."
I looked out the window at the crimson sky, " But I want you to always remember, it's not about how long you live, it's how well you live.
I held her hand with whatever strength I had left and looked into those crystal blue eyes for the last time.
"Try not to fuck up history for me."
She chuckled, "always."
| 2015-05-03T05:46:59 | 2015-05-03T03:49:02 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] A planet and its moon both have intelligent life. For 400 years they have watched each other through telescopes. Now one of them is launching its first rocket to pay the other their first visit. | The great observatory had for fifty years been led by Corvin Vincor. He was known as a man of honor. Whenever he vomited seminal fluid he would clean up after himself and offer his apologies. He took care not to step on anyone's tails, a habit that had allowed him to hold his position for an unprecedented amount of time. Yet, he had a flaw. He denied the existence of the aliens.
For centuries the learned had warned the public about the coming catastrophe. Astronomers first discovered the existence of lifeforms on the sphere hundreds of years ago. Yet, the public seem strangely calm. Scientists continued to warn about the potential dangers, but their message was lost. For millennia everything had been fine. Why would that suddenly change?
While the sphere appeared small in the sky, it was in fact four times larger than the planet. Both orbited the Star. Like the planet, it was green, white, and blue. These facts were well-known. What was less known, was the rapid expansion of the sphere's dominant species.
Mr. Vincor claimed that what had been observed was certainly not the growth of biological structures. His coral reef analogy had convinced a great many laymen, but had left the scientific community dumbfounded. If anyone should know, it was him. So why did he try to convince people that there were no aliens? Why did he reject their existence as an impossibility? His fellow scientists could not answer this question.
Then one day an impossible thing occurred. Caught in the lens of an amateur astronomer was an unknown object, approaching the planet. Soon others made the same discovery. Messages were passed around until it was the only topic of conversation.
The population at large were horrified. At the end of the day, it could be seen by the naked eye. Military personnel from all regions were recruited at once and gathered at a secret location. The official story was that it was a comet, but photographs refuted this statement thoroughly. When the vessel landed, hell rained upon it. It shattered into a thousand pieces. Every nation assisted in its destruction. Horror was the reaction of scientists. All except one. Corvin Vincor issued a statement only hours after the dramatic event.
"Dear people of the planet. Today we witnessed first contact. The vessel contained an alien crew. These words may surprise you. For decades I have given the impression that no such thing could be possible. Yet here we are. I will now apologize to all of you. I am afraid you will all die. For my whole career I've known about the beings on the sphere. I have watched them, observed them, and I have come to a conclusion: they deserve to live. This planet is less advanced than theirs. Yet we have come close to ruining our ecosystem. Through decades of observation I have witnessed the astonishing beauty of the alien world. The sheer variation of species boggles the mind. That they have been able to advance to such a level without ruining themselves and those around them leaves me wondering how they would fare with our arrival. They would welcome us. They would cherish us as they have cherished the beings on their own sphere. We see weakness, and we would exploit it. Which is why we would inevitably destroy them, given enough time. I have sacrificed my career and life to prevent this from happening. I have sacrificed all of you as well. I've exploited my position to ridicule my fellow men of science and to sow doubts about the existence of the aliens. And now we annihilated their welcoming party. Retaliation will be swift. Now that we have shown open hostility, there is no hope left for our species. Our doom is upon us, and all is as it should be."
A strange silence overtook the planet. Then it ended. | "Did you hear? Those filthy Waxicons are on there way here," said the cashier at the grocery store.
"No, I hadn't heard," I lied. She had never talked to me before, despite the fact I've gotten my groceries at her father's store twice a week for the last three years. I had always chosen her line even if it was longer, just for a chance to strike up an interesting conversation, which never happened until today. Clearly this was a significant event for her, and suddenly I didn't care what she thought.
"The news says they launched a rocket last night and they'll be here in two days. I'm horrified about what they'll do."
"Is that right?" I said, passing my credit card over to pay for the groceries that hardly looked appetizing anymore.
"Mmhmm. Father says they're violent. That they're jealous that they're stuck on a moon and we're here on this beautiful planet. We have everything we need, and they just want to take it from us."
"Oh," I said, trying to highlight my disinterest in her or her father's opinion, but I really wanted to smack the ignorance right out of her.
"Here's your card back and your receipt. Have a nice day, there won't be many left pretty soon."
I grabbed my bags and stepped out of the grocery store, determining right there that it was for the last time. I stood beside my car for a moment, looking up at the evening sky and saw the moon illuminated by the sun we both shared.
"Get here as fast as you can, friends," I said to the sky. "We don't deserve this planet alone." | 2018-07-05T08:05:08 | 2018-07-05T04:53:04 | 135 | 93 |
[WP] You, a wizard, have accidentally misread some cursive writing and summoned a lemon instead of the intended demon. Turns out, your new companion is a lot more powerful than you thought.
Kinda based off of a thingy I saw on the internet
EDIT: That's a lotta likes
EDIT: I found the guy that made the comic! /u/JimKB | "Well," you offer, "This is awkward." You cast a glance to the fruit of your labour.
The Lemon says nothing. You furiously double check your notes for the summoning ritual.
"There's... nothing here about what to do if *this* happens," You swallow nervously, "Because this is obviously *not* supposed to happen."
The Lemon raises an eyebrow. In reality it, of course, has no eyebrows. Nonetheless.
"Right, let me just find the original text," You rummage around in the dusty basement, "Aha! I knew it was around here somewhere."
"Let's see, "𝔏𝔈𝔐𝔒𝔑 𝔖𝔘𝔐𝔐𝔒𝔑ℑ𝔑𝔊 ℜℑ𝔗𝔘𝔄𝔏", that's the one," You skim the page for mistakes or inconsistencies, but your efforts are fruitless. So to speak.
Your eye catches something. The Lemon thrums with power.
"Wait," There's an icy pit in the bottom of your stomach, "The character "𝔏", I assumed it was a "D", but it appears at the end of the word "ℜℑ𝔗𝔘𝔄𝔏" as well..."
"So you're saying I didn't perform a Demon Summoning Ritual, I performed a Lemon Summoning Ritual?!"
The Lemon was characteristically silent. You give a sour groan and bury your head in your hands. The cost of the materials alone was exorbitant! You had figured that you would make a contract and be off conquering the world by now, which would certainly have been a nice return on your investment. You open your mouth, not wanting to hear the words about to be said.
"Well, when life gives you lemons..."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
You stand in your rather dusty kitchen. A wizard has no time for culinary endeavours, even if cooking is functionally indistinguishable from magic. Still, you had procured some sugar, and checked that the water taps still functioned. You brandish the knife over the Lemon, trapped as it was against your pristine chopping board. It's at this point that you start to have your doubts about dismembering an obviously magical artefact, but you've come too far to care. You position your knife in the centre of the lemon, reconsider, and move the knife to about an inch from one end.
The Lemon yields wordlessly as you bring down the knife.
After careful consideration, you pick up the smaller half of the now-bisected Lemon. A fork pierces the soft inner flesh of the mystical citrus. You give it a hearty squeeze over a glass, and it produces more juice than expected. You top it up with water from the tap, and add a heaped teaspoon of sugar. You muddle until you lose patience.
You bring the glass to your lips.
Wizards are not a religious group. They invest heavily in the tenets of logic and rationality, and more specifically, how to break or otherwise circumvent those tenets to achieve vast magical power. So to compare this Lemonade to a religious experience was a comparison without a reference point. But the blissful tears, brilliant aura and the fact that you were levitating a foot off of the ground seemed to qualify it. You lick your lips.
"Damn that's good,"
There unfortunately isn't enough Lemon left to spread your Rapture to the masses, you muse as you turn back to the chopping board.
A complete Lemon mocks you in silence. The juiced section of Lemon has vanished, but the remnants of the Lemonade still linger in your glass. An idea comes to you like fruit from the tree.
"I wonder if I can do this with other fruit," You muse, running downstairs to find the book, "Because if I can, then I've got a plan to rule the world. I swear it on the name of the Arch-Wizard San Pellegrino!" | With bags under my eyes, I shrugged in defeat. My Mistress of Magic, she would have known where I went wrong. I placed a simple magical seal on my... work, and quickly went to bed. The journey to arrive to this unceremonious conclusion, the candle placement, the alignment of the stars, and one bag of tiny marshmallows, I was thoroughly awash with fatigue.
I remember my dreams being vivid that evening, they always were in points of exhaustion, but this evening felt real, and I've seen quite a lot studying under my Mistress.
I awoke and pulled the curtain from my Tower window, a day of late fall, with minor overcast and the untrammeled mountainside in full display of the autumn colors. A dew had set from what was no doubt an early rain in the morning. In my failure I felt a moment of serenity from peering out that tiny window.
But as I peered into my quarters, everything was different. Everything was tidy. I lose all sense of cleanliness in my pursuit for the Arts. Did my dream invoke a spell? I rushed down to my incantation chamber, and the lemon was gone. I gathered the remnants of the tattered Spell Seal, after all with some interdimensional anything can be fixed. And I heard a sultry voice from the doorway, "My apologies, I save that mess for last."
I looked up and a humanoid seemed to shine golden-white light stood in the doorway. I asked who they were, and she snickered, motioning to the broken seal, "Isn't it obvious novice?" My heart sunk into my gut.
"You have summoned me, your new mentor. We will learn three things at my leisure, Tidiness, Posture, and DAMNATION AHAHAHAHAAHAAHAHAAHAA!!!" She cackled away. It was at that moment I remembered my mentor's oldest maxim:
Every
Villain
Is
Lemons | 2019-03-10T00:09:03 | 2019-03-09T21:41:41 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] You want so badly to be a Hero. But your powers are, frankly, terrifying. Heroes struggle to trust you, and all the older Villains keep trying to mentor you. | I only discovered I had powers a few years ago and I'm still figuring things out. Normally, the League of Super Heroes or the Guild of Super Villains would have hired a new Super Person almost immediately, but not me. You see, unlike heroes my power doesn't let me hide my identity. Unlike villains, I can't get away with a crime because everyone knows if I use my powers. I'm a liability to everyone. Worse yet, when I use my powers the whole world experiences it. The whole world melts into an insanity of mental anguish in which living itself is a nightmare. I can save lives, or take them. I can give to others the things they dream of, or take them away. The only catch is, every living thing on the planet basically goes insane with fear for...well at least a *little* while.
I have a few "friends" at least, some Super Persons that hang out with me just to keep an eye on me. The Heroes and Villains both want to know where I am at all times, you see. The TV on the wall switches from a day time drama to an emergency announcement: a plane full of orphan children being flown to safety away from a war zone where their parents were brutally butchered is being targeted by interceptors. I can save them, but everyone in the world will suffer the most terrible nightmare, one so traumatic it can melt minds. The sanity of the whole world, for the lives of some children. What should I do?
"You could be rich", says Izchak, "if you just made a few demands in return for saving the children, y'know?". I do know, and then I'd be a villain forever.
"Shut up Izchak, he's not despicable like you", says Throndor, "sit tight my friend, we don't need your help". Throndor is your typical hero, he thinks he can save anyone. Heroes never trust me anyways, they're afraid of my power because I'm the only one who can make them feel true fear. I can also find out who they are in the nightmare, and that's perhaps even worse. The problem is, there's really no way the heroes are going to get there in time.
The first time, and so far last time, I used my power the whole world came to a shrieking realization of my existence. Planes nearly fell out of the sky as pilots emptied their bowels in their seats and vomited over their consoles. Trains screeched through their stops. Thousands of car wrecks piled up on the highways. It was a miracle no one was killed, a miracle I made happen just in time. Since then, I've never entered the nightmare again. I want so badly to help these children, but heroes won't help me and villains just want to use me. How am I supposed to learn to control my power?
I give Izchak and Throndor a glare...I hope they're prepared. Realization washes over their faces and they both lunge at me as I enter the nightmare. Just two writhing bodies on the floor now, faces melting and flesh burning in their own fear-made flames. This is the whole world now, I better be quick. | I don't get why everybody is so against bagpipes.
I mean, they are an effective way of defending against planar outsiders.
Ok, I might have a nuisance to everybody there, but the sound produced by bagpipes is empirically proven to highly irritating on all lifeforms with hearing abilities.
This could be especially true for planar outsiders, which tend to depend on sound-based sensing.
The Council of Defense rejected my idea, obviously.
*"This is a serious matter. You can't just... do that."*
They disliked my idea so much that they removed me from the Council of Defense and made me a regular cop.
I... mean it was just a suggestion--like I didn't actually carry it out.
...
*Ok, maybe I did, but it worked, didn't it?*
Suddenly, my phone in my pocket started ringing.
*"Hello, we are the National Militia of General Evil."*
*"We would like you to participate in the robbing of \[insert bank here\]. You can go evacuate the people and then-"*
Great. Now I'm getting prank calls!
"That was a very real call from a very real organization."
...
Damn. | 2022-10-28T15:03:52 | 2022-10-28T10:45:41 | 94 | 52 |
[WP] Aliens have contacted Earth and has informed them that 3 Earthly Inhabitants will be chosen to prove to the extraterrestrials that the planet should be spared from complete annihilation, they took a houseplant, a puppy, and a roomba. Hijinks ensue. | "-So then they took my Aloe plant that I glued to my roomba, and my little whippet-terrier mix puppy, Carlos-" The Joint Chiefs cut me off again.
"Excuse my unprofessional expression, Lieutenant," That was Rear Admiral Horn, currently representing the Navy, "But why in the goddamn fuck did you glue a houseplant to your roomba?"
"I was..." I paused, embarrassed, "I was worried Robo-Robbie was getting lonely because I got the puppy so I'd been spending a lot of time training it, whippets are high energy, like mini-greyhounds, ya know sir, and-"
The Marine, who I believe is a Colonel, was grinning widely, as General von Berke of the USAF rubbed his temples, glasses carefully folded on the table in front of him. Berke said quietly, eyes closed, "You were worried your *robot* was getting lonely so you *glued a plant to him.*"
"That's correct, sir."
The Colonel broke in, amusement evident in his tone, "What's the house plant's name?" He drawled with his thick Southern accent.
"Sheila, sir. I got it as a gift from my former girlfriend in Australia when we parted amicably, long distance relationship and all-" Again I was cut off.
Brigadier General Klein sharply said, "Hardly relevant to the ALIEN WARSHIPS SITTING IN ORBIT." Her voice was husky, with a hint of New England to it, her tone brittle, "We need actionable intelligence on the aliens. Their capabilities and motivations."
"Yes ma'am. Uh they breathe air. The one spoke English but like weird. Kinda whistly. He seemed nice. They had armor on and like little weirdy guns. Tall. Their skin was brown?" I trailed off as the Marine started guffawing, these deep, hearty belly laughs. He slapped the table and gasped for breathe as he kept laughing into the pregnant silence that permeated the room.
Klein glared harshly at him and hissed, "If you cannot control yourself, Colonel, you can be escorted out."
He giggled again, wiping a tear as he said, "Oh fuck off Martha, the poor boy didn't exactly get a chance to interrogate them. Three fucking aliens teleported into his room, told him his puppy, robot, and aloe plant were responsible for the fate of Humanity as he was eating leftover pizza, and blipped back out. Not to mention we adequately established that even nukes are no use against those ships." He shrugged, "We best just hope they think this goofy bastard is as adorable as I currently do."
As if on cue, three tall, brown skinned bipeds, with four thumbed hands and digitigrade legs appeared with a blue glow, and two of them gingerly set down a puppy and a black roomba with a whiteout smile and googly eyes glued to it, with the expected aloe plant in a nice burgundy plastic pot atop it.
I waved, "Hey y'all."
"Greetings Human Lieutenant Uh James Sanders, your tiny companions have completed the tests." The one in the center intoned, whistling softly on the s's and c's.
"Oh cool. Uh are you gonna destroy earth or is it like, rude to ask?" I stammered, as the Joint Chiefs sat in mostly stunned silence. The Colonel was busily petting the puppy.
"Your information request is not cause for unrest. We are sparing your world because the Testing Presider decided that such creatures are sufficiently aesthetically pleasing due to resemblance to infants and whimsical childhood toys and characters."
The Marine said, "Some of us might say "totes adorebs"."
The alien leader bent his head forward solemnly, "Indeed, "totes adorebs" has similar connotations to the comments the Presider made. We will be watching your world with great interest." Another flash and I looked around the room.
"I think Robbie needs charged and your puppy needs food." Berke quietly murmured. "They're apparently heroes." | “NASA!! CAN’T YOU DO ANYTHING ABOUT THIS?!?”
“PRESIDENT, SIR! CAN’T YOU DO ANYTHING ABOUT THIS?!!”
They watched in mutual horror as the events on the spacecraft, already floating past Mars, went underway.
“Please introduce myselfs,” one of the alien testers said. The puppy tilted it’s head and jumped around, barking.
“Noted. Subject twice called GRRR WAW WAW WHOO.”
The roomba zoomed around finally bumped into the houseplant and fell over, whirring. The alien took notice of this too, and moved on to the house plant.
“Subject once. Rise and shine. Rise and shine. Why not rise and shine?” Frustrated, the alien moved on.
“Now. We will pack out things and move onto debates. Subject thrice, why should we not destroy your planet?”
The roomba remained silent.
“Very well. Subject twice. Why should we not destroy your planet?”
The puppy, now on edge, sat down next to the roomba and remained silent.
“Subject once?”
“Very good and proper, let us move on-“
“What’s that, subject once?”
The aliens across the spacecraft all came to hear the discussion with mild interest. “Subject once has said to us that the Plant Earth is important because the dumb humans on it need their species’ guidance and that the plants are making sure that the humans behave.”
The alien leader walked up, clapping the tester on the back. “Fantatastic! Thank you, young child. I was hoping for a group of determined, responsible leaders like yours. Those pesky humans-I’m glad something’s keeping them in line!”
The alien nodded. “Very good and proper! Let us send these fine specimens back to the Plant Earth. I trust that they’ll do a fine job making sure all of their subordinates are being good and proper.”
The president and the head of NASA stared at each other in shock. ‘What was the galaxy coming to?’ They wondered, as the houseplant, puppy, and roomba were being praised as leaders of the Plant Earthz | 2021-11-08T06:46:19 | 2021-11-08T04:44:18 | 160 | 98 |
[WP] start your story with a sentence that is upbeat and happy. Then end it with that same sentence but this time is dark and chilling. | Her eyes are beautiful.
When I first saw her, walking through the school corridors, I knew that she was the one. I couldn't take my eyes off her. It didn't take me long to figure out her class timetable. I started to watch her from afar, making sure that she wouldn't notice me watching her. In fact, I had to make sure nobody saw me. People... complicate things. People talk. I couldn't be having that. Nobody is going to stop me. It's been a few months now, and I'm reasonably certain I know all that I need to know. I've been following her home the past couple of weeks, so I know her address and I know her parent's schedule. I know when she will be alone. I know the best time to make my move. I was waiting outside of her sociology class, my mind wandering as I consider how I'm going to do it. I didn't want it to be long and drawn out, that would just cause unnecessary pain for everybody. It needs to be done quickly. As I was weighing my options, I realised that she had seen me. Her eyes lit up, as she walked over to me. I panicked, trying to get away, but it was too late.
"Hey! I'm Lucy. I don't think we've been introduced properly."
"Uh..." I stammered, feeling the heat in my cheeks, the sweat dripping from my forehead. "I'm Peter. How are...?"
"Of course I know who you are, silly! I was wondering, would you like to come over my place tonight for a meal? I've been wanting to get to know you for a while."
It was Friday night. Date night for her parents. I almost started laughing, as I realised the perfect opportunity that had landed in my lap.
"That sounds wonderful, I'll see you tonight!" I said as I turned to walk away.
"Hold on, you don't even know my address yet!"
I laughed. "Of course, how silly of me! What's your address?"
...........
Tonight's the night. I was getting everything ready, preparing my kit. I had planned every detail of this night meticulously. I wasn't expecting this opportunity to arise tonight, so things were slightly rushed, but I was ready. I arrived at Lucy's door at 8pm. She answered quickly, her red dress complementing her beautiful figure. It took my breath away. She took me to the dining table, said that dinner would be ready soon. We sat and drank some red wine, laughing and getting to know each other. Things were going well. It was almost time. I started to feel a bit drowsy, I think the wine was getting to me. Idiot, why did I drink this so quickly? I needed to stay awake to enjoy the moment... to enjoy the look on her face when she realises. She left to go and check on the food and I realised now was my chance. I reached my hand into my back pocket, swearing as I pierced my hand. I knew I should've had something covering it. I pulled it out of my pocket as she walked in, her eyes widening as she saw the rose I had brought for her.
"Lucy, I wanted you to know that I really like you, and I... I..."
I began to stutter, finding it difficult to speak. My head became cloudy and my eyes started to close involuntarily.
"I..."
Lucy walked closer to me, as she pulled out something from her pocket. Had she brought me some flowers too?
I couldn't think straight, my eyelids were becoming so heavy.
As she approached, I realised she didn't have flowers at all.
"Are you okay?" she giggled, "are you feeling a little bit drowsy?"
Her face was now inches from mine and I could feel something sharp pressing against my neck.
"Don't worry, I'll look after you."
My world began to fade into darkness, I could hear manic laughter. The last thing I saw before everything faded to nothingness were her eyes, staring intently into my own.
Her eyes are beautiful. | “Run!”
We would laugh as we played. Our little legs would carry us across the field, while our short arms would try reaching for one another to not be it.
I loved after school games. They were relaxing, and a nice (69) liberation from my pre school life. Time always just seemed to repeat when we played. It was like a carbon copy of everyday’s game. Jenny would be it for about twenty minutes before someone else slowed down intentionally to not make her feel bad.
“Damien’s it!” Someone yelled, and so it was instinct.
“Run!”
Giggles erupted from all of us. Don’t get touched by any other player, else wise you’d be it.
“Run!”
Just keep running, just keep laughing, just keep smiling.
“Run!”
But life is full of surprises. today’s game wasn’t a carbon copy. today’s game would be the last game.
I bumped into a man I’d never seen before. Smelly. Old. Grumpy. Ugly. I didn’t like him. No.
“Hey kiddo, you look exhausted. I’ve got some juice in my truck, you want some?”
Stranger. Stranger danger.
“Run!”
I vigorously shake my head. No.
“Aw, come on, a bit of apple juice wouldn’t hurt.”
Well, I am a bit thirsty-
No. Run.
“We also have grape and mango if apple isn’t to your liking.”
Mango? I love mangoes! A sip wouldn’t hurt. Probably. And mommy would be so happy, I’d finally be drinking healthy juices!
“Okay.”
I hear my friends behind me playing. They can wait.
He comes back with a glass filled with the mustardy yellow color of mango juice. I take sip, but what was only supposed to be a sip turned into huge gulps. It was so, so good. I was so thirsty.
And before I knew it, my vision was growing cloudy.
One thought in my mind was constant, although it was probably because I could still hear the voices of my friends echoing in the distance as the mystery man carried me into his truck.
“Run!”
—
iM ONLY FOURTEEN DONT JUDGE ME but I’m welcoming any feedback, just a smol aspiring writer here haha | 2019-09-07T06:54:50 | 2019-09-07T06:14:40 | 76 | 48 |
[WP] You're the "weakling" tea maker. People think you're a burden on the hero's party. But it's the enchantments from your premium teas that boost the party to world-class. Bandits kidnap you to blackmail the hero. Leaving you in a cell with your tea supplies was a mistake. It's tea time. | The most ridiculous part of this was just how blatantly I could get away with it. Hardly anyone took magical tea seriously (Fire breathing dragons? Sure. Floating blobs that paralyze you when you touch them? Look out! Magical tea leaves? Pfft.) so when I asked for my supplies so I could make myself a cup to calm my nerves no one batted an eye. Guess Maverik didn't think to tell his goons otherwise.
First up was the most delicate, lavender with bergmot and a bit of cinnamon. I needed to be especially careful because of the caustic qualities of this one, but I needed to get it set up before the rest of my plan could work. Working carefully, I set up my gear next to the wall below the window, as close to the stone as I could get. Using a porcelain pot I brewed my concoction, taking care not to get too close to the steam. I let it cool down before drinking it. The taste was ghastly, but stage one was complete.
Next up, chamomile and jasmine. I used my largest pot and most of my chamomile--I would need to restock my supplies later, but fortunately it wasn't a key ingredient of many recipes and I could make do with other herbs if need be. It was perfect for this use though. Once it was ready I poured a cup and called to the guard.
"Hey, you must be bored out of your mind. I thought a nice cup of tea might help you feel better."
He raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you the guy who makes tea for heroes?"
"Yup. So you know it must be good if they bother to keep me around."
He paused for a moment before coming over to take the cup. A quick sip changed his expression. "You got enough to share? I'd feel bad if the other guys didn't get to try it."
"Oh I've got plenty. I love sharing good tea with people."
He turned, then looked back. "It's not gonna turn us into newts or anything, is it?"
"I promise, it won't hurt you one bit." It wasn't a lie. He called his friends and they quickly drank all the tea.
Idiots.
Once they were done I got to work on the final brew. This was a special recipe I don't share with anyone, dear reader, but it used a good number of different herbs. I took care to put each away as I was done, both to avoid arousing suspicion and to make things easier once I was done. It was tedious, and not one I made often, but this wasn't the place for targeted enhancements, I needed all I could get just in case. Hopefully I could find a safe place before I crashed. Anyways, by the time I was finished the previous drink had done its job, the guard by my cell was fast asleep and anyone else who drank my tea would at best be too drowsy to care. I drained my cup quickly and packed up as much as I could while I waited for it to work. The pot needed to be left behind, I wasn't going to wait for it to cool enough to take with me.
Finally I felt it take effect. Strength, speed, agility, endurance, all physical attributes were heightened. Not a lot, but enough. I hit the wall by the window with my fist. The stone crumbled, and a couple more kicks cleared things enough for me to get through. A glance back--the guard didn't even stir. I looked out. My cell was on the second story, something I wasn't aware of but wouldn't be a problem. I grabbed my bag and jumped down. The encampment was larger than I thought too. I quickly made my way through, dodging or knocking away anyone who tried to stop me. It was easier than I had hoped to get away from Maverik's men and into the forest. I felt a little bad. His temper towards those who failed him was legendary, and no one deserved to be on the receiving end of it. But I was free, and could rejoin my companions, who would have their own rage to expend on him in turn. | "You know, it's refreshing being able to talk to someone about this. I mean, *genuinely* talk to someone, you know?" I said and looked at the man next to me. He stared blankly into the distance, not choosing to answer. I took another sip of my tea.
"People always think I'm just a drag on my brother and his fellow heroes. 'Just a tea maker' they say. Think I'm some sort of a mascot. A tagalong."
Another sip. The man remained silent.
"They'll never know how much my teas do. Don't get me wrong- my brother and his friends are immensely skilled warriors and it *is* for the best the world ultimately attributes our victories to them. But, the tea is..." I motioned my hand, "it's the *difference*, you know?"
Another would-be kidnapper stumbled into the room with a piece of wood lodged into his abdomen. I watched calmly as he managed to brandish a knife and make several steps toward me before blood loss finally knocked him down. I took another sip of tea.
"It's not easy, you know? Making the teas. Requires special ingredients, enchantment, sleepless nights concocting the perfect brew... did you know several of my teas even use souls as catalysts? Yes, yes, I know, *unsavoury*, but those teas, well, those pack a *real* punch."
I finished my tea and smiled at the man. He didn't take a single sip; I was almost insulted. I sighed.
"You *really* shouldn't have let me keep my brewing supplies."
His eyes were completely milky white, skin pale and cold. I think he was just about done stewing. I closed my fist, crushing my teacup and drawing a bit of blood, and held the blood soaked ceramic dust next to his mouth. A thin string of wispy fog flowed from his lips and into my hand, giving the mixture a soft silvery glow.
"I think I'll pair you with chamomille." | 2022-08-22T12:11:13 | 2022-08-22T12:02:49 | 956 | 590 |
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