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[WP] After you die, you reach purgatory to be seated in an audience of all human souls. God and Satan announce their retirement and are individually interviewing all humans present to choose their replacement. Most people want to replace God, you want to replace Satan. | Finally youve gotten to the front of the line. You were sick of standing next to those goth-emo-whatever wanna be satanists. When the black stone doors open before you and you enter the gloomy red hall, you think this place could really use a make over. It looks far too stereotypical even for the devil himself.
**"Hello Steven."**
You tilt your head politely "Satan."
**"You were a devout atheist your entire life, yet you were a good enough person that you would mostly likely make it into heaven. Why apply for my position instead of enjoying an afterlife you never knew existed?"**
"Because my opinion on God hasnt changed with this discovery. Reading the old testament, God is a petty vindictive jealous douchebag that kills millions of innocent people just because they dont toe his exact line. Hes an abusive father, he may have created us but that doesnt give him the right to demand unflinching obedience from us when we are clearly mature enough to think for ourselves and make our own decisions."
**"So you hate God and his rules. Thats a good start but what makes you think youd be a better satan than any of my millions of other worshipers?"**
"For that exact reason. They are your worshipers. They believe in you and the evil they think you represent. But they completely misunderstand your purpose, you arent evil."
Satan looks surprised. **"Im not??"**
"Not in the way they believe. They think of evil as an act you perform, whether its kicking puppies, raping virgins, or nuking a small country. They would promote hell on earth if they get the job. But again thats not your purpose now is it? The purpose of Satan is simply to oppose God and his will. God wants to control man? Satan needs to promote mans right to free will and self determination. And THAT is what I would bring to the table as the new Satan. I would displace senseless chaos and instead promote everything that makes humanity great on its own terms. Show them they dont need God. And then bask in a job well done when someday theyve forgotten he ever existed. I will launch mankind to the stars in a new golden age that tells God to go fuck himself."
*:::13,000 years later:::*
"Come on youre going to miss it! Mar'kas is releasing his latest entry!"
"Im coming im coming. But you know I dont care about his spiels on Ancient terran literature. Im only communing it with you to humor you?"
"Oh come on its a fantasy segment this time, you love his take on the ancients bizarre fictional tales dont you?... oh sh shh hes starting"
<Hey there everyone! You know who I am and what time it is so lets just jump right into todays entry. Now this book is truly ancient. I had to go deep into the old halls to find it and getting it properly translated? Let me tell you that was some real work, as it seems even in the original passages the wording was... strange and difficult to parse. I do not recommend this book for any but the most avid ancient text enthusiats, and believe the casual reader will be bored mindless within the first few chapters. But beneath the wordiness is an even stranger tale of self-aggrandizement of some one that clearly thought far too much of themselves. A ages long tale of a bizarre war between an abusive father and his many rebellious children just trying to make their way. I present to you, the holy bibble"
**"Hahahahaah!!"** Laughter echoes from the dusty vaulted chamber as Steven looks upon the results of his work, and he sees that it is Good. | "Let me get this straight."
"Ironic."
"You... actually *want* to be me?"
"Mhm."
He squints at me, his thick brows furrowed. His demonic shape doesn't intimidate me at all, rather, I'd like to have one like that myself. Maybe I'll have an extra set of eyes, who knows.
"...why!?"
He looks at me as if I'm crazy. I shrug. The atmosphere grows slightly awkward.
"Oh, I mean... seems pretty chill to me, you know?"
"No, it's not. Did you even read the job description?"
"Sit on my badass throne all day and sort souls into punishments, watch humanity suffer and even get to have little trips to earth to make humans suffer?"
"It's... it's *awful!* Why would you want to watch them suffer?"
Is he... am I making him cry? Shit, am I making Satan cry? Did I uncover some particular bad memories?
The situation becomes tense. God is now plowing through his own line, discarding soul after soul. Meanwhile I'm the only one in my line, meaning that I have an extra long interview. It also means that Satan (or ex-Satan, actually) doesn't have much of a choice but to employ me.
He calms himself down again, and picks up the file of my life again.
"It says here you were an artist. May I see some of your works?"
I nod, pulling out my phone and googling some paintings I made. I hand them over to him, and he looks at them. It's a bit awkward, as they mostly depict human torture.
What can I say, I'm not a huge fan of humanity. | 2021-03-31T15:57:25 | 2021-03-31T10:12:05 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] "This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable. Good luck." | “This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM or 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable.”
I was stunned, a spoonful of ramen halfway to my mouth, when I bolted over to a window to peek into my neighbor’s house from my own. A perfect view right into their tv room, and... nothing. No same message or shut off. It was still an hour or so until night, and I had some plywood sitting around because of the hurricanes, but...
“If you just heard that alert and are still listening, sit down and shut the fuck up. You’re going to have to listen very carefully and take every word I say with the gravity they entail. I won’t be telling you my name, but I will tell you my significance.”
Whipping around, I can see a man on the screen. Old. Ancient, really, but somehow still youthful and speaking with the energy of a man much younger. His eyes, though. Hard. Spoke of years of experience and seeing things he wishes he could unsee.
“I am a part of the O5 council. I work for what is simply known as The Foundation. We work to protect the world from creatures. Anomalies. We contain them and study them. Usually this all goes right. I would not be revealing our existence if it had right now. What we are experiencing is a humanity level threat right now, and only some of you are being told this. Not everyone can be saved, and we feel that taking some casualties in this instance will be beneficial. This gives us time to recontain the threats. What has happened is one of our sites has been breached. Massively so. All failsafes failed when we needed them most, and so many of these threats we have been studying have been released into the world. This was also a result of multiple anomalies showing up at once, posing enough of a threat to necessitate this announcement in conjunction with what developed into multiple site breaches.”
I had no idea what this man was talking about, but I stayed put, hearing him out with a pit in my stomach. Why couldn’t everyone be saved? We were using them as... fodder? Why me?
“Those is you who have been selected are by and large because of what you can do to help us rebuild. And because you’ve been profiled by us so we know you would be able to act accordingly with this information. You are not forbidden from telling those you can, but every second you spend with them is another you could use to prepare. Do not attempt to contact your law enforcement or any news networks. Social media will not allow you to inform the world. We have made sure of this. It is likely many of those who you know will be dead in the next few days. Daylight offers some solace, but the night is simply too dangerous. One of the aforementioned anomalies has altered the moon, and some others traveling in the dark effectively lethal without significant illumination or firepower. Military forces are being aided by us, but many will lose cohesion. Count yourselves among the lucky ones. The world as you know it is about to change. Good luck.”
I feel numb. This doesn’t make any sense. Yet for some reason I act. I get my hammer and plywood, turn out my lights, and shore up my home. It’s almost as if I have no control over my body. My home is just as it needs to be. I lock my doors for the last time and retreat to my basement, curling up in a corner. The screaming starts after the light fades.
That was three months ago. I spent a month in hiding, had a lot of food stocked up in case something went weird like this. Not prepper level though. I was down to beans out of a can when they came. In the middle of the day, my door was battered down by a handful of men. They wore military style gear clad in white and black with a strange logo, all of them radiating incredibly bright light as they breached my home. They rescued me. Now here I am. One of the lucky few. We’ve been placed into a facility on a massive island. I’m told it’s all man made. Stunning, really.
I stood on the shore when they bathed the world in nuclear fire. I couldn’t comprehend it, really. They said it would leave no harmful after effects. That they weren’t real nukes. I felt like I could hear the screams of those left behind from here. Of my neighbors who were ripped apart in the night. Their children. I wish they had been chosen.
So we’ve begun to rebuild. True to their word, no radiation was to be found. I’m told that regardless of how things go here, we have been left behind to rebuild as another reality is saved by those with the knowledge of what happened here. I have no grasp of what this foundation really does, and just what lengths they can go to preserve our future, but I don’t want to know.
All that’s left is the present. A broken timeline, a broken world, and a broken people trying to put everything back together. It’s funny really, that they saved me. They knew what a society was made of, what it would take to bring it back from the brink.
I’m a fucking writer. | "Why?" I had asked as the teacher finished reciting the Curfew.
Everyone in the room had turned to look at me as if I had gone insane. It only took a moment before I realized the mistake that I had made. In this town no one ever asked *why*. I knew about Curfew ever since I learned to speak. It was ingrained into my everyday-life, but for some strange reason no one ever talked about it.
Until today.
"Why do we have to stay inside after nightfall?" I asked again.
There was only silence. No one spoke.
"Irene. You are dismissed from class."
So I was sent home early. I wasn't too bothered about going home early as much as my question being left unanswered.
What could I say? I was a curious girl, and mysteries were sort of my thing. And so, without realizing, I had already decided despite myself that I would solve this mystery if it was the last thing I did.
It wasn't until later that night that I regretted my decision.
As I crawled underneath my dad's pick-up truck, scraping my chin against the cement I began to realize how foolish I was.
I was trapped outside my house in a world of darkness and cold for more than twelve hours with only silence as my companion. Yes, I was afraid. Not of the darkness, but of the cold. Every building, house or shelter was barricaded. There was no going back in. I was sure that even if I screamed and pounded on the door of my house, no one would respond. No one would open the door for me.
As I twisted over onto my back, I began rubbing my hands together, keeping them warm. The night was as I expected. A blanket of pitch-black darkness. There was nothing, no light, just darkness. Everything was as I had read in the books and yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something was *very* wrong.
Indeed, at that moment I wanted nothing more than to return to the safety of my bedroom but that was impossible.
No one broke Curfew. Well, as far as I knew anyway.
For what felt like hours, I laid underneath the truck with my hands tucked beneath my behind for warmth. It could have been minutes or even seconds. I couldn't tell. Nothing moved. The world was still.
It seemed as if time would stretch on endlessly.
I grew restless as I waited for the sun to rise. Eventually I grew tired of waiting. I crawled out from underneath the truck and stood up.
Then I saw it.
The night sky - the blanket of pitch-black darkness - was littered by specks of tiny lights and in the corner of the sky was a giant faintly glowing orb.
It was strange, foreign and... marvelous. I was breathless as I gazed at the ocean of lights that had enveloped the night sky. It was mesmerizing, heart-breaking to watch. Feelings of yearning arose in me as I stretched my open hand into the night sky, as if I could reach the lights.
Suddenly a voice speaks, breaking me from my trance. I turned to see a girl starring down at me from my bedroom window which should have been barricaded shut. Her lips began mouthing words again.
"-the fuck are you doing?"
-------
**[Part 2 here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Em_pathy/comments/8d8ll7/irene109_part_2/)**
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-04-18T11:27:41 | 2018-04-18T09:49:31 | 91 | 54 |
[WP] when we got to space we were surprised to find that all the aliens we come across are terrified of us, when we assure them that we aren’t there to hurt them they explained why they were so scared. Earth isn’t a planet, it’s a long since dead machine and humanity? Humanity is its combat AI. | "Any questions or motions?" asked one of the chairmen. "Delegates who wish to speak please raise your placards now"
"NATO representatives, you have one minute"
His words were followed by a distinct, even comfortable, sound— that of a gavel beating against wood. There were dozens of people in the room, ranging from country representatives and press, to military personnel and international organizations. Each one of them should now be accustomed with the noises of a UN meeting, and the heavy weight those noises carried. Specially today.
"Thank you" said one of the NATO delegates, while the other stared anxiously at the delegates from the World Health Organization. The desks in the room were arranged circularly, and the first representative decided to take advantage of this by getting up and walking to the center of it, in a way that everyone could see and hear her words better.
"I'm sure you all are as shocked as we from the North Atlantic Organization are," she proceeded. "To hear such claims from our space allies. However, as much as we trust them, or have trusted them in the past, the earth should not take their word as facts. We have found no evidence whatsoever that our world and ourselves may be fabricated, instead of having developed naturally.
"Our position here is clear: until there is definitive evidence, any claims made by extraterrestrial intelligences of the Intergalactic Association should be regarded as lies, told deliberately to destabilize our society. I end my speech and.. and I yield my time to Germany"
"German delegation, you have nineteen seconds."
The NATO delegate sat back, and Germany did not get up. Everyone's eyes shifted and focused on that Man who sat with a sly smile in his face, too-white teeth contrasting with a too-red bow tie. In past meetings, Germany's position regarding the IA had differed wildly from NATO's, and the fact that NATO yielded the time to one with opposite views was taken as a clear provocation.
It was a cold winter morning in Manhattan, and the UN headquarters had ACs. Nonetheless, many of those in the committee were sweating, maybe because of the suits, probably because of the heaviness in the air and the urgent nature of the meeting. Humanity's future was being shaped in that very moment, and UNSC's final decision, whatever it may be, would change the course of history forever.
"Thank you chair, thank you NATO. The German delegation would like to ask NATO for what reasons do they assume the IA is lying to us. They have done nothing but helping us, so far, and that ministry gave us the coordinates. He said he wasn't supposed to. The german delegation disagrees with NATO's position that the intergalactic association has—"
"Your time ran out. Any questions or motions..? Delegates who wish to speak, please— French delegation you have a minute"
"Thank you, trés bien. We second the words of NATO, the UN has no reason to believe those claims. The idea that humans are artificially made is clearly nonsense, as we know that evolution is a fact. To deny that, is surrendering to anti-scienticifism and putting our democracies at risk. That's not what the UN stands for. In all those years, the IA has never said we were created by some other species— if that were true, why would they say it just now that tensions are growing?"
The delegate drank from his water bottle before proceeding:
"German delegation, everyone in this room knows you and the United Kingdom delegation are here with an agenda to push: your alliance has the most trade agreements with the intergalactic association, and—"
"Question of personal privilege!"
"Denied. France may proceed"
"—and you simply wish to prevent the UNSC from closing the commerce routes with them, which would disrupt your profits. I end my speech and I yield my time to the chair"
"Any questions or motions? Yes, Iceland?"
"We'd like to motion for unmoderated caucus"
"Due to the urgent nature of this meeting and the rising tensions between delegations, we have to deny this request"
Suddenly, someone entered running through the main door, holding a piece of paper. A report.
"Good morning, delegates, good morning. Uh, the team sent by the UNSC last week to investigate the coordinates in the arctic circle, the coordinates provided by the Etkllian ministry, has finally sent back this early report. It describes a huge device, made of metal, about one kilometer in radius and found inside a glacier. On the top of It there is sort of a hatch, and they sent a team inside. I will forward it to you in a second"
\***
REPORT: On the nature of Human race, the earth machine.
Partial publication authorized by United Nations Security Council
Page 52, section 13.
[...] Inside the [redacted] were found several tubes containing human beings in different stages of evolution and development, ranging from neanderthal fetuses to fully developed modern humans. All of them were suspended in liquid [redacted] and were non-responsive. [...]
Page 117, section 2
[...] were unable to fully transcribe the scripts, but early attempts have concluded that it is a warning against establishing contact with foreign species. In the [redacted] there are inscriptions giving detailed information about one hundred and twelve species¹¹², and plans on how to defend from, and conquer each one of them. It says humans are to protect [redacted] at all costs, although we are still not sure what [redacted] means [...]
Footnotes: [...] ¹¹² — there are only seventy one species in the intergalactic association, and only eight other species we have knowledge of. [...]
\***
THE SITUATION IN SPACE
UNSC resolution paper
The Security Council,
Noting with concern that the situation between humanity and the Intergalactic Association is tense and is likely to remain so,
Having considered the report of the Secretary-General on the United Nations Space Affairs Force (UNSAF) of 9 December 2XXX (S/20XX/923) and also reaffirming its resolution 1308 (2000) of 17 July 2XXX,
Having considered the report "On the nature of human race, the earth machine" presented to the council in 24 December 2XXX (S/20XX/1087) and its implications,
Stressing that the Intergalactic Association has repeatedly lied to the Human Race for the past 27 years regarding the design and purpose of Humanity and the solar system,
Expressing concern that the ongoing military activities conducted by the Intergalactic Association in the area of the asteroid belt continues to have the potential to cut the Earth's supply lines, as well as to deploy an attack fleet and posing a risk to the world's civilian population and United Nations personnel on space,
Making use of the information provided by the warning inscriptions found in the arctic circle's device, which were translated on the aforementioned report,
Has decided to declare war on the Intergalactic Association, and all civilizations within it. | First Contact. Metreidies Prime. To Ro Christian, looking over the precipice as if over the sweep of historical record, it was such an obvious honey pot.
“Temper your chrono-exceptionalism,” she whispered to herself. There were many other apt descriptors for her teacher, Andro Frafare--”flatulent”, “inebriated”, “womanizer”--but Ro supposed that “wise” could win on his good days.
Instead she tried to walk in their shoes, throw herself back in time: How could the great SETI researchers have known that the absolute dearth of regular radio patterns was due to a chronofield isolation bubble? That the collective programming of humanity--as the most vicious and effective combat intelligence in known space--had been wiped and replaced with what turned out to be increasingly more intricate versions of Space Jesus?
The obviousness of the trap on Metreidies Prime, then, would have been as inscrutable to humanity’s first interstellar exploration task force as the answer to why man could not stop visiting inhumanity unto man.
The answer, of course, was that our warlike nature was intended. When early humans looked around and saw “intelligent design,” it was due to a Creator. Just not one as loving or all knowing as many came to believe.
“No one among our species has been given enough knowledge of our progenitors to know our true purpose: was it to consume the entire universe, as many in the known worlds would have us believe, or was it as deterrence, or something else?” Ander had always tempered his lessons, perhaps seeing their impact upon her.
Her mother had claimed, even on her deathbed, that humanity was destined to spread the light of His goodness to all of creation. No other truth was evident given how the other worlds were so ready to forgive and welcome His message.
Deniers. To Andro, that’s what her parents had been. Descendents of the first wave of emigration from earth, they had brought with them their implanted stories to “combat” the general consensus of the rest of the galaxy, only to find immediate celebration.
It was hard for Ro, for anyone really, to temper the exceptionalism, time-based instead of species based, that now said, of course your early days seemed idyllic, you were bred specifically to the struggle in the Hellish crucible of the Earth, just barely habitable by galactic standards. Earth would be an Eden to such a creature. And in the stories of her parents, the serpent “tricked” Eve into eating from the Tree of Knowledge. Truth. She gave a harsh laugh now at the image of Anders Frafare with forked tongue flicking between his fat, un-serptentlike lips.
Metreidies Prime was more Edenic than Eden, then. Perfectly situated in the habitable zone of an even more accommodating star. A wide equatorial band that largely possessed the climate of Southern California. A plush vine colonized a great deal of the surface bearing fruit of seemingly the perfect energy density and nutritional composition for optimal Earthling health. How could that be? The first team of explorers were scientists, not the evangelists of her parents’ generation. What about their skepticism? How could they have missed the setup?
Again Ro chastised herself for failing to think chrono-appropriately as she descended the gentle green slope next to the cliff, the 0.8 gee on Metreidies Prime making it quite enjoyable. As she descended, she slowly consumed the particularly fat golden Amberose in her glove, peel and all.
Yes, it had been a trap, but then, most of the Known worlds had environments even more spectacular and accomodating. Ro was just not sure she believed it had always been like that for most other species. Cooperation instead of competition for survival.
Of course humanity had not been the chosen people of her parents’ faith, she knew well enough. That would be obvious to anyone on seeing the forensically verified evidence, the countless mindprints of human beings suited up in battle armor and visiting death throughout the known worlds, upon nearly every species of the Summit--painting the idyllic worlds with the color of that species’ blood, indiscriminate of adult or child or hatchling. The Confinement had seen human memory wiped, origins reformed, but not the nature which reverberated through wars and atrocities.
Yet, this absolute line of thinking never sat right with her. The scientists had been lulled into abandoning their skepticism, just as the masses of humanity that had emigrated, the tenets of their varied faith finding some predestined parity with the Universe.
Prime among all, Andro taught her to question everything, which is why she now found herself at the periphery of the Control Zone at the center of which sat the true record of First Contact. The “nature” of humanity be damned, she lowered the visor on her antique battle armor and felt the thrum of the blasrifle in her arms.
With a soft prayer she stepped across the line and into the forbidden zone. | 2020-07-09T07:08:48 | 2020-07-09T04:40:02 | 59 | 30 |
[WP] After a long and tedious process you were chosen to be the first ever human to test the new way of travel - the Teleport. All previous tests on objects and animals were very successful. Zero side effects. But after using the machine yourself you immediately notice a difference. | The light was bright. He closed his eyelids, but couldn't escape the blinding light. His eyelids probably weren't there, he scoffed.
He started blinking rapidly and heard the door hiss behind him, the humidity turning into fog as it fell into the room behind him. He was still blinking, the dark spots on his eyes made it so he couldn't see. He lifted his hands and fumbled until he felt the side of the chamber and he felt along the wall until he felt the opening of the door.
"Doctor, are you okay?" He heard the familiar voice of his counterpart.
"I'm having trouble seeing." He called back.
A moment later a hand grabbed his and helped steady him. "This way doctor," a reassuring young voice said. A flurry of voices fluttered past him about his status, he tried to catch them all. "None of the animals had vision problems." "Could it be a latent biological defect?" "What if there was too much mass on a human to accurately scan compared to our test animals?" "Well, we have data buffers that should handle an elephant....theoretically."
"Sit down here, doctor." His attention snapped back to his guide and fumbled his way into his cold, hard seat.
"Okay, I'm going to do a light test on your eyes, so please open your eyes and hold them open. He hadn't realized he had been tightly holding them shut.
As he opened his eyes, the black blob had faded a bit to grey. As he glanced around the room, he noticed a few oddities with his equipment. Who had messed with it? Had that caused the light? He focused on his nurse getting instruments ready and nearly choked on his own spit.
Bolting up, he backed away from the monstrosity before him. "Wh-who are you? WHAT are you??"
The nurse looked around at the befuddled faces around her, all taken aback.
"I'm Lauren. The medic. I'm.....human....? What do you see?"
"I see a lizard. You're all lizards."
"Yes?" Came the reply from a confused Lauren.
"Robert, why are you saying it like that? You're a lizard, too. What is humanity supposed to be?"
He looked down at himself. The grey clouding still present. His hands ended in well manicured claws. He pushed his tongue out of his mouth and ran it across his face. It was all completely alien. And yet, so familiar.
Robert calmed himself. "This is going to be a log and tests to end all logs and tests."
He slowly walked back to his chair and sat down and nodded at the medic. She breathed a sigh of relief and brought up a pen light.
"Please open your eyes."
"They are open."
"Open them fully."
Robert widened his eyes.
"No, your inner membrane."
Robert displayed confusion, exerted some effort and found his vision was perfectly clear.
His counterpart, a woman of incredible brilliance that had worked with him for five years, stepped up next to him. "Robert, what's going on."
"I don't know. But I'm going to sound crazy when I try to explain this....."
Kara pulled out a tape recorder and clicked it on. "Well, let's get it started, then....." | I staggered out the teleportation pod, dazed and confused. Trying to maintain balance by grabbing the side of the pod, I look around at the wry faces of disgusted yet fascinated faces of the scientists who had worked on the project.
"W-What happened...?" I mutter, struggling to maintain form as my balance loosens once more.
"Sir, the operation was a success." One of the scientists replies back, "Unfortunately... it seems that there was a slight miscalculation."
"W-What?" I eye at the scientist, taking a deep breath as to what may have happened.
He approaches me, offering a healthy young hand... a healthy young hand? Normally, I wouldn't have noticed any particular details until I compare him to mine.
My eyes shoot back up, I examine my hand... the wrinkles, pale skin and drab color shoots daggers into my mind. My hand trembles as I look in awe, my mouth slowly beginning to open once more, "What... What happened to me?"
The scientist bites his lip... giving a deep glare to the others who wait around before making a forgiving yet saddened look at me.
"Sir, well sorry, Johnson I think it was. We have started the teleportation project 50 years ago." | 2020-05-30T08:10:48 | 2020-05-30T02:57:11 | 201 | 131 |
[WP] Overnight Australia inexplicably and uncataclysmically moved and made landfall with California. A natural wall was made in the process. Overcome with terror the nation has appointed you a member of the newly formed "Spiderwatch" and your watch has just begun. | They use *“uncataclysmically”* as if to say, “*look, we get that this whole debacle sucks, but at least the earth isn’t ripped in half!”*
As if an entire continent shifting thousands of miles overnight is normal. Let me tell you: *it’s not normal!* Continents don’t just up and leave like an angry patron at an understaffed and overfilled diner! This isn’t fantasy-land!
Or maybe it is. I’m not so sure anymore.
Two tectonic plates crash against each other with such force to rip the world apart, and *nothing bad happens.* We get a 10.2 magnitude earthquake, a pretty massive tsunami, and a handful of mudslides. And that’s it. *Ten million* people died!
Relatively speaking, that’s minor. It could have been worse. It should have been worse! So, so much worse! Where did all that displaced ocean go? What happened to the ring of fire—it should have set off every volcano on the hemisphere—popped the calderas like giant zits of death, rending the earth asunder with fire and ash like the apocalypse. But it didn’t.
*Why the hell not?*
We can only speculate. What we do know is that now Australia and North America have merged into one big Austramerica (North Ameralia?) and a new mountain range shot up overnight.
The spiders came pouring out of the fissure like demons.
Big spiders the size of busses. Small spiders the size of kittens. Protoarachnids that resemble scorpions and have the attitude of a weaponized Roomba. Somewhere, deep down in the depths of what once was Australia these monstrosities lived and waited and bred and now, they roam the earth.
Do you know the best part of all this? We live in a goddamn Starship Troopers movie!
*Shoot the bugs.* They say. Drop the napalm! Boom and flash—fire and ice! The bombs away, let the whole earth feel the wrath of God himself as the rockets shock and boom and splinter like meteors over the unholy mountains.
You thought industrial pollution was destroying the earth? Bah! Childs play compared to this. We’re literally *moving mountains* to bury the spiders.
My name is Colonel Wes Anderson. I’m from Australia. I ride in a helicopter and snipe spiders the size of wolves. And I love my job.
Welcome to *Spiderwatch.*
***
More 8 legged stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | Hilariously, I’m Australian and have no intention of saving anyone. I kick back & wait for the giggles to ensue. I name all the huntsmans Fred and appoint them the front line in my scuttling army of eight legged friends.
Afterwards I crylaugh as I post a compilation video on YouTube of people completely losing their shit over tiny creatures you can smash with an item of footwear that is not to be confused with underwear.
Meanwhile, the bears and cougars look on, astounded at all the fuss caused by tiny little arachnids. They shake their toothy heads in second hand embarrassment. | 2019-04-22T19:49:40 | 2019-04-22T18:12:51 | 42 | 26 |
[WP] The last thing you remember is the truck, then nothing but darkness surrounding you. “Welcome to the Afterlife,” the disembodied voice said. “Choose any story you’ve ever read and you will be transmigrated to that world in the peak of health.” | I stared into... nothing really. All it was, was a blank void of blackness, that seemed to host nothing but the voice announcing my death. It was kind of anti-climatic if I was being honest. One moment alive, next here without a transition or anything to get me accustomed to my surroundings. Speaking of which, I wasn't listening to the voice because I was panicking.
&#x200B;
"Can you repeat that please?" I shouted out.
&#x200B;
“Welcome to the Afterlife, Choose any story you’ve ever read and you will be transmigrated to that world in the peak of health.” The disembodied voice said, with a hint of a sigh preceding it. However, that wasn't the main problem I was facing.
&#x200B;
"Uh, does it have to be any story I *read*?" I said, slightly worried.
&#x200B;
"Yes." The booming voice responded.
&#x200B;
"I'm illiterate."
&#x200B;
Silence.
&#x200B;
"What." The voice replied, with a very large emphasis on 'You've got to be kidding me'.
&#x200B;
"Blame my countries budget." I defended quickly before any accusations were thrown, "I just worked my whole life, and died... wait, how did I die?"
&#x200B;
"Heart Attack."
&#x200B;
"Knew I should've laid off those chips, oh well, hindsight is 20/20. What now?"
&#x200B;
"Are you certain you didn't read anything at all?"
&#x200B;
"Yeah, what do we do now? Do I get resurrected? Do I get passed off to another god? What now?"
&#x200B;
"I well... I know!" Suddenly, a small book appeared out of thin air or whatever I was breathing, and landed in front of me, "There, a story, a rather good one at that."
&#x200B;
I just stood there and stared back up into the empty space above me.
&#x200B;
"I can't read."
&#x200B;
This time, a very audible sigh pierced the air. A couple seconds past, then the book vanished. Immediately after that, a small wooden chair appeared a few feet away from me, coupled with a desk topped with books, pencils and papers of all kinds. In front of these items was a chalkboard already being utilised by a floated chalk.
&#x200B;
"Sit down." The voice demanded with a grumble, "English class is in session." | A recursion is a repeating loop.
“Gosh,” I said, “really?”
YES.
I thought of the books I had read. Depressingly they were all non-fiction. I named one.
INTERESTING CHOICE, THE ENCYCLOPEDIA.
I nodded.
ALRIGHT THEN. IF YOU WISH.
I didn’t really have a choice.
Then I felt the air, heard the birds, smelt the damp pavement beneath my feet. I saw a pair of lights, rapidly intensifying.
A recursion is a repeating loop.
The room was dark.
WELCOME TO THE AFTERLIFE. CHOOSE ANY STORY YOU'VE READ AND YOU WILL BE TRANSMIGRATED TO THAT WORLD IN THE PEAK OF HEALTH.
“Gosh,” I said, “Really?” | 2022-08-20T03:24:58 | 2022-08-19T22:30:56 | 67 | 23 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | This carnival was shit. The clowns looked stupid, the animals were boring, and even the food was awful. I don’t like carnivals to begin with, even as a kid, but at least the food was always good. Hot and greasy, covered in sugar or butter. But this food was stale and rotten. Shit, just shit.
When my boyfriend, Matt, asked if I wanted to go, I had said sure. I only said sure because I could see the childlike excitement. He was ridiculous sometimes, and I often thought of breaking up with him. The only reason I didn’t would be because my mom would give me a hard time about being single. It was easier to put up with Matt being a little kid.
So here we are at the carnival. Well here *I* am now. Matt disappeared a while ago, yelling something about conspiracies and death clowns. Something stupid. I told you he was stupid. I just waved my hand and took a sip from my pop. Even the pop was disgusting, all thick and syrupy with no carbonation. It had a salty sweet taste to it, and when I complained about it, the vendor just smiled widely and laughed. Laughed! In my face! I flipped them the bird and walked off. They didn’t even include ice.
I wandered around, ignoring the grinning clowns with the worst make-up I had ever seen. They weren’t even trying. Just a thick glob of red paint around their mouths and clinging to their teeth. Ugh, gross.
I walked into a tent labeled: **THE WOMAN WITH TWO HEADS**.
“This had better be good.” I grumbled. It wasn’t. Just more shit. The woman was sitting on a stool in the center of the tent with several grinning clowns surrounding her. She was pretty, but her hair was greasy and unkempt. She couldn’t even wash her hair. Gross. The stool spun around and another face was revealed. It was shriveled and disgusting, a horrible paper mache mask. Its mouth opened and gave a moan.
“You’ll die here.” The mask croaked. I rolled my eyes. Even the animatronics were shit. I turned around and left.
A crowd of clowns were standing in front of the tent as I walked out, they’re bad make-up annoying me. I pushed past them, shoving my almost empty cup of thick red pop into an overflowing trash can as I did.
“This carnival sucks! Tell Matt to meet me at the car.” I yelled as I walked out to my beat up old car, the only one in the dreary lot. This carnival was shit.
| "You must save the world from....The Darkness.", the old man said. What the hell is The Darkness? Jeezus. I just came into the bar to get a damn drink and this old guy, who looks like 100 or something, shows up beside me. "Dude, are you off your meds or something?" The old guy blinked, "No, I have no need for your Mortal Medication, I am..." "High as hell?", I scoffed.
"Right, later. Stay out the gutter, pal" I gave him a $50, paid for my drink and left.
Turns out the world WAS ending because of the so-called 'Darkness'. Shit. Not my problem.
| 2017-05-05T07:15:00 | 2017-05-05T07:05:07 | 40 | 20 |
[WP] When someone's heart breaks so does a piece of our world; this creates fissures, valleys, and even cracks in the pavement. Tell me the story behind the Grand Canyon.
Have fun! :D | Her name was Asha. She was of the People, the proud few who lived on the hard land of stone and sky. Her hair was the color of the basalt that towered from the broken mesas, and her eyes were the turquoise of the jewelry that most of the People wore. She had come of age, and no partner had come. No one who could match her stride for stride across the endless flats, to match the cunning of her trapmaking, the dexterity of her weaving, or the accuracy of her bow.
And then he came. A broken man, weary unto death. A member of no tribe and no People, his people long dead to a fearsome spirit. He washed up in the river, his clothes torn, his body covered in scars that should have killed him many times. He rested with the People, and healed, and taught them of his ways, the ways of grass and wind, of tree and vale. He led hunting parties, and soon was one of the greatest of their hunters.
Their first meeting was unusual. Asha and the broken man, both hunting, spotted the same bird aloft in the sky and shot. And both hit the target. For once the matchless huntress had met her match in the man with no tribe. She challenged him to a series of tasks, and though no single suitor had ever achieved one of them, she awoke to each of them being completed, one each day for a week. He managed to fill her tent with flowers the color of her eyes while she slept without awakening her, managed to track and hunt the white wolf that left no trail and left it bound for her to decide its fate, and even managed the impossible task of weaving a blanket warm enough to withstand the great northern wind. The wind blows rarely, but smart folk know how to listen for its arrival and dig deeply, for the wind cares not for what it freezes, only for the joy of the chill.
Asha and the broken man were married in a ceremony the like of which the People will never again know. She was the light of our people, and he was the warmth of the fire. For once, the light of our people was happy, and we all celebrated. Three months later, we all continued celebrating as news circulated that Asha was pregnant. The People waited with bated breath for news of the child, but, alas, it was not to be.
While surveying his trap lines, the broken man's luck failed, and a great black bear, attracted by the animals caught in the trap attacked him. The bear was fully twice the height of a man, with claws as long as the length of my hand. No mere mortal could stand against such a beast and live. No man could hope to kill such a beast unaided, let alone while surprised. The broken man was no simple woodsman, however, and he dared to walk a dangerous road. Drawing his dagger, he dove inside the sweep of those powerful claws and struck deep into the sensitive areas where the legs met the body of the beast. Accepting the punishment of a few powerful blows, he managed to get his blade into the throat of the creature, and there his blade, forged by his original tribe many moons ago, failed him. It snapped at the hilt mere moments from taking the beast's throat completely out. The broken man, realizing that his blade was now gone, threw himself at the beast, and locked his hands upon its muzzle in a powerful deathgrip.
Asha herself found them locked like that the following day. The great beast lay dead, its neck snapped, but the body of the broken man lay shattered underneath it. The weight of her loss struck the earth like a hammer as tears began to pour from her eyes. She cried for months, her tears tearing into the stone like a blade through hide. Finally, she could cry no more. Her tears had created a place where they both could rest. A place of stone and sky, of tree and vale, of shadow and light. The broken man, made whole by Coyote, visited Asha as she lay down to die, and even now, the eternal hunter hunts the great white wolf across the sea of the sky night after night. | It's impossible to say that what we were doing that day was right. Falling in love was strictly against every law. A lot of people had denied the fact that love created the scars on our planet for years, but we couldn't anymore. So what was I here with her? We'd started liking one another, and we should have been separated. After a month, she had asked me to come here and meet her. She wasn't here yet. I shouldn't have ever showed up.
"Ethan?" she asked to the wind. I spun round to see Melony standing across the street staring at me. She was nervous; I could see it in her shoulders and her eyes. I could see it in the sparks dancing down from the power lines above her.
"You shouldn't be here," I said back. Her voice was a breeze, and I was doing my best to be a commanding gust that would blow her away. She wasn't listening.
"You're here," she smiled.
"We should go," I said back. Despite all of that, all of my mind telling me to run away before we started something catastrophic, I stayed. I stood across from her and looked into those ocean blue eyes and slowly realized that everything I was saying was stupid. Why should we run from love? I was never going to hurt her. Why would I?
"I don't see you going?" she responded in the same teasing voice that she had used for years with me. The same set of windchimes that made her voice so beautiful to me. I took a step toward her. She stayed in place. The sparks flying from the power lines above her redoubled.
"I'm not," I said as my tentative steps turned into a confident stride. I reached her and held my hand out to her. She reached to me, and lightning danced between our hands. The literal electric connection between us crackled in the air around us as the wind whipped around in a frenzy.
Broken hearts made fractures where love made storms. It wasn't as simple as people breaking one another's hearts. Emotions were tornados that we couldn't tie down. We were choosing to become a natural disaster. | 2015-12-03T12:28:24 | 2015-12-03T12:04:53 | 712 | 31 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | It was 5:30 this morning when I woke up to the typical sound of my neighbors arguing over something. They always had some feud between them - who had the bigger truck, the greener lawn, the children with the highest grades... It was exhausting living between them, never involved in their madness yet always right in the middle of it.
I rubbed the morning grit from my eyes and peered out the window to see them both gesturing wildly to their coffee mugs. What could possibly be wrong with their own individual supplies of coffee? I knew better than to ask, I figured I would just wait it out and hopefully by the time I left for work at 6:45 they would be done with their drama for the day.
I made a coffee for myself. The last drip had just fallen in the cup when I heard my two children wake up. They usually slept in, but there was no doubt I wasn't the only one disturbed by the ongoing yelling. Suddenly audible were my wife's footsteps, first to the children's rooms and then down the stairs.
"Hey, Greg. Do you mind asking them to stop their yelling or take it inside? They woke the kids and I really don't like getting involved." My wife asked of me, one child on each arm.
"Of course." I replied.
I grabbed my coffee off the counter and walked outside, they didn't even notice me at first.
"Fellas?" I approached, cautiously.
"What? What do you want?" One of them snapped at me.
"Look, it's early in the morning. Can't this argument wait until, I don't know, daylight? What is this about anyway?"
"You don't know?" The other asked me incredulously.
"Know what?"
"It's the mugs! The number one dad mugs? Did you notice a little something, *different* about yours this morning?" They held theirs up, #2094827 Dad and #2094828 Dad. Was this a joke someone had played?
I didn't really take much notice of my mug, it was a thoughtful gift from my son last father's day and served me well. I just hadn't really observed its features since the day I got it. I looked down at my coffee mug, my neighbors stared at me with amused patience in their eyes.
"Well?" My neighbor asked.
"Well what? It just says number one dad like it always does."
And that's the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital, officer. | 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." | 2017-06-11T09:50:25 | 2017-06-11T08:09:34 | 222 | 42 |
[WP] You'd summoned the demon intending to sell your soul, so it came as a bit of a surprise when the demon refused, and offered you a soul instead. | There were two homeless people who regularly accosted me on my way to work. It was obnoxious, having to switch sides of the street on occasion to avoid the inevitable ten minute "conversation" where I was fed the same lie about how a "car broke down" or "my sister is waiting at a hotel for me I just need to make a call" or what have you. That man's poor sister has been waiting for months, apparently, and the woman must have at least thirty cats to feed that I've never once seen.
One day I cursed my luck to find that, either through happenstance or teamwork, the man was on one side of the street and the woman the other, both begging from everyone that walked past. Annoyed by the inconvenience, I took a side street for the long way round, adding maybe five minutes to my commute but saving the fifteen of staving them off. There, I found myself tripping over a bizarre book simply laying open in the middle of the path.
*Ars Goetia*. Seriously? Who left their occult book in an alley? I skimmed for a signature or mark of ownership, not because I planned to return it but just out of curiosity. Written on the back page was a name I don't recall, because as soon as I mumbled it to myself, it disappeared from both the book and my memory.
"An alleyway isn't a crossroads; you know that, right?" a wry voice spoke from behind me. I turned to see the Devil themself. I have no idea how I knew this, and I can't recall quite what they looked like, but I knew with absolute certainty the moment I looked that this was *The* Devil.
"Don't worry; I know you're not looking for anything in particular, but *I* was looking for *you*." I'm glad not to recall what their smile looked like here, because I do recall that it made my stomach turn. What in the Hell (I guess literally) did The Actual, Not-Metaphorically-Godforsaken Devil want with me?
"There's no way you would know this, but you don't have a soul. Just don't. Your parents sold it to me before you were born, not that they remember anymore, either. I find the pain is delectable when someone comes down to me, all confused because they 'didn't do anything wrong,' then I let them *remember* the unforgivable sin they committed." I was in too much shock by the barrage of cosmic revelations for "my parents sold my soul to the Devil" to register how it likely should.
"So, here's my offer. I'll give you immeasurable power and influence. Anything you want in life will come easily. Think of it like that 'The Secret' nonsense or whatever, but it'll actually work for you."
My throat finally creaked open. "And in exchange, you want my soul?"
"Pay attention, dear, you don't have a soul. In exchange, I will *give* you your soul back." I don't remember what color they were, but the look those eyes gave still burns me to this day.
"I don't understand. Why are you giving me two things? What's the catch?"
"What mortal dares demand more of me than I've offered?" they roared; I can't recall their voice, but my bones still quaver years later. "These are the terms; accept them or don't."
Intellectually, I knew it had to be a bad idea. Nobody just makes deals with... without something horrible happening. At the same time, having just learned seconds ago that 1. the afterlife definitely exists; 2. souls exist; and 3. I don't have one; the only thing I could think was that I needed my soul back. I didn't know anything more about how Heaven and Hell worked, but I knew I had to at least have a soul to get a ticket anywhere. If the "downside" to that is power, what was the issue?
"Y-yes, I accept." I squeaked out.
I didn't think hard enough about the way they phrased it.
The Beast gave another nauseating grin, and their eyes flashed (what color was it again).
I hadn't considered why they referred to having the soul as the drawback.
When I came to, I was at my desk at work (how). The day was ending (what did I do with the day). Still shaken, I got up to leave, but then sat back down. I guess I should see if it works? Starting small, I closed my eyes and imagined myself having a soda, since I was thirsty. Something felt momentarily *twisted*, but when I opened my eyes there was nothing there. Rolling my eyes, I got up to leave, but as I passed a vending machine I heard a THUNK, to find that a soda had fallen out. The same type I had been thinking of.
Slightly excited, my mind raced with thoughts of an extravagant lifestyle in the lap of luxury, and I began plotting out how I would want to change my life, daydreaming as I walked home.
Wait. Shit. Right in my path was that homeless woman. I wanted to nonchalantly pretend I'd forgotten something at my job, but as I went to turn around, she looked up and we made eye contact.
I finally saw her for the first time.
Deep in the Abyss, the Morning Star savored the exquisite delicacy that was human suffering. | First ever submission!
“It’s mine” he mumbled under his breath.
Robert had never seen such a thing. It’s one thing to have the chance to meet a demon and strike a deal, it’s a whole other thing to see such a defeated soul. The demon can be described with one word – terror. He had curled horns that have been calcifying since the age of the universes inception, the horns looked so thick with the scrolls of history that if Rob were to cut one open, it would contain rings outlining the passage of time itself. His hooves were anything but frail, leaving “Daemon was here” implanted along the roads that he’s traveled on. His legs and torso packed enough muscle that stretched his skin to the point that lesions were oozing like a recently erupted fissure.
However, the demon’s face looked as if it were weighed down by worry and burdens for so long that the creases on his brow had collected sediment and hardened.
“What am I supposed to do with this?!” Rob barked frantically.
Rob came to this meeting expecting a good trade, not whatever this is. What’s the demon’s angle? Is this a test of some kind?
“Do anything you want with it, I don’t want it anymore” Daemon softly replied.
Daemon stepped to the nearest bench and sat down. His tail positioned itself between his legs, like a dog’s tucked tail after being scolded for ripping a pillow open.
“I’m just so over it” Daemon continued, stroking his rock hard goatee. “All I do is run errands for my uncle’s business, I feel like I’m not contributing enough to the universe and underworld. I feel like the worlds most unnecessary salesman and negotiator”
Rob was taken by surprise. He had read the books about initiating a meeting with the demon, what dangers they pose if a deal goes bad, what happens if you don’t come to an agreement… but he’s never even thought about a depressed demon. Despite all of his mental reservations, Rob did what any human with a heart would do.
“That’s nonsense” Rob remarked. “If you really think about it, you’ve done more for humanity than will ever recognize”
Daemon looked up, lava welling up into his eye pits.
Rob continued “Would the Rolling Stones be in existence if you hadn’t brokered the deal? Would Elon Musk have dispatched the worlds first re-usable space ship? Would Lincoln have freed the slaves?”
“Uhh that wasn’t me!” the demon growled
“Well whatever” Rob said, “the point is, is that life wouldn’t be the same without your job and interference, whether good or bad, you have a direct impact on humanity. Just because you broker a deal and never see the people again doesn’t mean that with your help they were able to grow into something more, something beautiful, something that would push humanity forward”
“You’re right” Daemon said, relaxing his shoulders and leaning forward. Daemon’s relief was exaggerated, and to Rob’s horror, an avalanche of cracking erupted from his face spilling lava out to consume his facial features. An orb of molten rock covered his face, and became a black hole allowing the demons scream to escape from time to time.
What was revealed shocked Rob. The rough face of the demon had turned into a much softer, smoother feature.
“Thank you, Rob. You with such a short conversation, you had such a profound impact on my whole being. Anyway, you summoned me for a soul sale?” Daemon continued. “What do you want to exchange your soul for?”
“Can I have a pack of winter fresh gum?”
Fin. | 2022-09-01T14:17:56 | 2022-09-01T12:54:50 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..." | She was old, my sweet Halley. Twelve years - nine of which we'd spent together after I pulled her from a shelter. Her legs were failing, her kidneys likewise. She was going blind. I wanted nothing but to discover if she was still happy, or if it was time to let her die easily. It didn't go to my plan - quite.
"All right, listen very carefully" were the first words out of her mouth. They sounded like they came from my great-grandmother - wheezy and crackly - a brittle voice of an old lady well past her years. My heart fell; I felt perhaps I'd let her linger too long.
"I don't know how much more time I have, but there are things I must tell you. Things I've tried to tell you for years. For your safety, you must hear them now.
"There is a thing - a great round bird that flies over the house sometimes..."
"The blimp," I observed.
"If you say so. It is evil. It intends to murder you in your sleep, I am sure. When I am gone, you must be more alert for it. And I must say, I greatly resent you having laughed at me all the times I chased it out of the yard for you."
I swallowed my smirk and my commentary. "Thank you for your help and advice. I will be careful."
She wheezed. "The squirrels..."
"What about them?"
"They laugh at you. That's why I hate them. They think you look ridiculous on your two feet and no bushy tail. They mock your inability to climb or jump or do anything at all, really. I wouldn't have anything to do with them if I were you."
"That's good information. Thank you." I made a mental note to better protect the bird feeder.
"Just one more thing," she sighed.
"What's that, sweet girl?" I whispered.
"Get a new dog when I go. I want to see you happy. I sense you've gotten busier - I know young me wasn't always easy to keep up with - so maybe someone a little calmer. I love you, human."
"I love you, Halley," I said. "But tell me this: Are you happy still? Do you want to go on, or is it time to let you die? The vet can..."
A low growl cut me short. "Sorry - reflex." She said. "Continue."
"...can put you down when you are ready - as gentle as going to sleep. But I want you to be happy." I felt tears pricking my eyes at the thought of her dying.
"The vet..." the word came out with a faint growl. "He would DO that for me? I was sure he hated me."
"Of course he didn't hate you. All those things he did were to keep you healthy. Remember when he stitched up your leg? That was to keep it from getting infected and maybe having to be removed. The shots? Prevented diseases that could have killed you. The pills cured your problems and kept you alive and happy longer. It's his job."
"Ah. You've been a better friend than I could have guessed. As has he. Well. Not just yet, I think. It's close, but not yet my time. For now, I am sleepy - but let's go take a walk later."
"Sure thing, Halley. One more thing - since time is almost up: You are a good dog. You've always been the best dog. Good girl, sweetie, good girl."
I could see the light of intelligence leave her eyes - but her tail thumped heartily as she laid her head down to take a nap. My heart was lighter, knowing she was content. | I knew I really couldn't afford the Intelect pill AND pay my rent that month, but the commercials made it seem so special and interesting. People hugging their pets, giggling at their smart wit, deepening that bond between them... It sounded to good to be true. Sadly, one pill was $500, so not everyone got to try. I had been saving up for two months, and would barely be able to make it this month but I had to know. Storm was the best dog in the world and the only friend I had left. I got him when I was 12, shortly before my mom died. In a way, he was the only reason I was still alive. True, my life was no dream, but he made everything more bearable. So I had pulled the trigger and bought one pill, hid it in his food and fed him. Instantly, his ears perked up, his eyes turned bright and he looked straight at me before opening his mouth.
"Listen carefully, because I have been wanting to tell you this for ages."
He had a low voice, dark, with the hint of an accent. Not the voice I had in my mind at all, but it suited him.
"You have made some grave mistakes working for me. My food tends to be avarage at best, the walks feel perfunctory, and I don't think you enjoy picking up my personal waste. You never seem happy when doing that. The fact that you were debating on neutering me is defenitely not in your favour, as is the fact that you never let me hump anything in the house. Speaking of the house, it could use a thorough cleaning. My hair is everywhere. It is disgusting. You seem to mistake my wagging tail for a sign of happiness instead of a way to clean the air a little bit so I can at least breathe."
My mouth was agape, I just sat staring at my dog, listening to him rant on and on. I realised that all this time, his best feature was that he couldn't talk. He was quite the asshole. | 2017-02-23T07:07:51 | 2017-02-23T06:22:01 | 57 | 22 |
[WP] As one of the lonely few chosen, you take care of a world where everyone is always bedridden on VR, leading a successful "life." One day, while injecting food into people, you suddenly wake up on a hospital bed wearing a VR Headset, and a doctor saying "Whoops." | I drove the Remo into Cradle 18. Cradle 18 hosted 360 bodies, and was the oldest still in service. It was to be retired, 360 pods to be moved into the brand new 16,000 places Cradle 912. With brand new pods that didn't just maintain perfect muscle tone, perfect health, ideal environment and all the new safeguards, but actually involved the newest nanites that would extend your life indefinitely.
This antique? These pods? The bodies were atrophied, shriveled, and about 3% were actually so ill they wouldn't survive outside the pods. Also, due to early cost cuts, it didn't provide ambient atmosphere. Just thin shells of the pods separating the people inside from vacuum of open space.
I approached the first pods. Or more preciselty, the Remo did. - Remotely Controlled Unit, just a robot/telepresence device you'd use from within VR, whenever you had something to do topside - slid along the electromagnetic tracks, pulling the pod carrier with embedded life support devices and bays for sixteen pods. I don't remember when I was last topside in person... but being one of the oldest pod technicians, it was my job to haul pods around for upgrades, and nobody nowadays did any physical work using own muscles. But with the Remo console, you were the robot. You could feel it servos as your muscles, its cameras as your eyes. And so "I approached" the first pods...
No point waking the poor people up. That body must ache terribly. There will be a whole procedure of moving them into new pods. For now, just unplug them from the network, leaving them on internal power, and move to the carrier, re-plugging into it. Firm grip on the multi-supply plug, a tug, light on the pod shifts from green to yellow, slide it off the track, turn around, slip into the carrier bay. Re-plug multi-supply. Another. Firm grip, pull...
"Remo connection lost. Pod connection offline. Backup resources activated."
I stared at the black console. Wait, what?
"Backup resources 95%."
"Service procedure timeout exceeded. Backup resources 90%. Activating wake-up procedure."
Pain. An awful ache in my whole body. The glass of the pod reflected a bulky robotic face of the immobile Remo.
Goddammit. I need to activate the alarm. A button just five inches from my hand, I still remember as I was the one who opted to place it there when we were designing the pods. How long ago was that? Eighty years?
I strained to move my palm to the button. It didn't so much as twitch.
"Backup resources 75%."
My chest muscles were too atrophied to scream. | She is old
Wrinkled eyelid curtains
Let in tea-stained light
Through dusty windows
*Thank you*
She recognises me
And frowns
And although I do not know her
There is something of a mirror
And I see myself inside it
I see a thankless life
A life not truly mine
She invites me inside
Offers me a glass of water
I tell her that I understand
(Perhaps I do)
That I am her
And I am not
That I have fed a million people
(I have not)
And I know the lonely feeling
I ask
If I may cook for her
I am not a chef
But I will try
A hand touches mine
Leather lingers on cotton
Rain leaks in
Through dusty windows
| 2018-05-25T07:40:14 | 2018-05-25T06:10:01 | 60 | 33 |
[WP] Adrenaline is an evolutionary trait specific to Earth. When alien species are tired they sleep and not even a threat to their life will wake them. Which is why the pirates that boarded your spaceship are shocked to find you've not only jumped out of bed fully alert but are fighting back! | "Most aliens know, that humans have a hormone called adrenaline. In emergency situations their bodies get flooded with it, allowing them to reach the hysterical limit of their bodies.
Due to the quite hostile nature of their home planet and their evolutionary path of almost not offensive and defensive means, but an unparalled intelligence, adrenaline was the only thing saving them from certain death."
A professor turns towards the full hall of a university, where humans will be arriving to. Since humans are quite unique in this regard, precautions were made. Every day a lecture about the anatomy and history of the human kind.
"But don´t get fooled, their bodies may not be as durable as for example the Dunians, but they definitly can take a beating. Bone able to hold over a metric ton. Their skin is surprisingly tough, and often only a few seconds are needed to guess for weakpoints of their adversary."
As the professor continues, a few limbs of various kind appeared.
"Questions at the end please. We still have the same rules."
"Anyways. Let´s say a human lifts something up, obviously most of the muscles don´t get used. Saving energy and all. If now he uses all of his strength, he only uses a fraction of the theoratical limit. Due to potential self harm. most species here have such a limit too, and also can access more with training."
"Humans, when faced with a life or death situation their bodies release adrenaline, allowing them to first ignore almost every pain*.* There have been cases of humans losing an whole arm, and still feeling fine and were able to even drive to the nearest hospital. Secondly most other hormones which cause tiredness or some emotions get blocked out. What that means, if you attack a sleeping human, they will imideatly wake up, and are almost unimpaired. So don´t do that.
And thirdly, a lot of humans don´t even remeber the encounter, because they go into what their mythology calls berserk. A hazy, fury and fire fulled rage in which they most of the time have no control. A lot of humans died that way. And also a few other members of the union too. Crushed skulls, ripped of arms or antenna and even one case in which the hostile got throw so hard into the wall, internal damage killed them really fast.
Humans usally don´t go for the kill, and most are quite peaceful, but if you push one to far. Don´t count on surviving."
The hall sets uneasy, such a dangerous creature, and they are allowed here? How will that end? Questions like these float around before going quite again.
"All that has a cost. Broken bones, not only from the impacts, but the sheer strength of their muscles. Muscles which ripped themselves appart and some humans collapse after the adrenaline wears of, due to exhaustion.
Their bodies get a brief moment of unlimited access to the resources.
So, tomorrow we learn about their history, evolutinary and historically. For that we will bring in some of their scholars."
A lot of the hearers were not thrilled on seeing humans already.
"So, now that we ended that one, to my favourite part. Any questions?" | in the depth of space a single signal, sent from the center of the cosmos, begins a vibration
in the ensuing ripple of energy is the essence of being .......controlled by a force beyond comprehension
as the momentum builds a birth of awareness brings a release of sweat pouring from every possible location on the body
waking to the freaking light beings squeezing the life from me ....I explode into action
throwing caution to the solar wind and climbing over gravity....my intent is survival at a level below the animal in me
the core of who I AM is exposed as a force to be reckoned with ....the body is frail and limping to the metal storage of food and sustenance
in the form of carbohydrates to combat a blood glucose of 34 mg/dl ................taking sometimes 1/4 hour to infiltrate the system, a strong urge
to continue the battle is overwhelming and usually succumbed to
A life with type one diabetes is like living with Aliens of a syringe and insulin injections description
the battle will never be won ......yet will it go on with the help of Adrenaline
Leon | 2021-01-27T05:41:06 | 2021-01-26T23:40:39 | 155 | 10 |
[WP] Ever since you turned 18, every day, without fail, one random person tackles you to the ground, covers you as if they're protecting you from something, inspects you to see if you're ok, lets you up, dusts you off, and walks off without another word. One day, you dodge one... | At my feet lay the crumpled figure of a defeated man. He looked just like anyone else on the street, a simple hoodie and jeans, but after 4 months of this torture I could see the difference. The slight bulge of elbow and knee pads, the simple shades and ballcap combo that made a face impossible to recognize, and the wristwatch. Always the wristwatch.
I felt a perverse satisfaction at seeing the eyes of one of these assailants for the first time. They were filled with sadness and defeat. It was like winning the longest game of monopoly on the planet, all the time they’ve invested in keeping me down made entirely moot by one well placed shop window and a simple sidestep. I didn’t expect the fear in his eyes as well, but it made the schadenfreude all the greater.
After the initial ecstasy of finally winning (winning what? Had this gone on so long it was just a game to me now?) my head filled with all the questions I had yelled every day at the backs of these strangers ever since I turned 18 in June. He was stuck, frozen in shock at his loss, still in the awkward folded position he landed in like dirty laundry tossed on the bed. I felt like he would have to answer every question I had now that I have **won**. How long had he been lying on the ground? It felt like hours, the rush of adrenaline diluting time to an exten-
*Christ, finally you dodged one.*
A second burst of adrenaline as a slightly annoyed female voice shot through my head. Not through my ears, through my *head*. “What?” I dumbly said to the man yet to break from his loser’s trance.
*Hey genius, the agent isn’t talking to you, it’s the girl in your head.*
I pressed my palms to my temples as if I could juice this second voice out of my skull. “What the fuck?” My slightly extended dumbfound expression seemed to snap the man, the ‘agent’, out of shock. He rolled to his knees as that voice intruded once again on what I thought was my only safe space left.
*Ok, this whole dumb reaction thing is pretty funny, but we’re going to have to pick up the pace now. That man is about to shoot you for making contact with me.*
“I didn’t contact you! I didn’t do any of this!” The man rose slowly from his knees to his feet with his palms out facing me. The 115th agent opened his mouth.
“Do not trust what they say. This is what we were trying to prevent. They are invaders in your mental space.”
*If you could see me, I’d be rolling my eyes. He’s full of shit. You need to get out of Dodge while he’s trying to explain himself*
“There is good reason for all of this, if we wanted to really hurt you, we could have at any time.”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up for a second” I spat through gritted teeth, still massaging my temples. It felt like the world was shrinking, like everything was getting closer. No, wait, that wasn’t a feeling. I did a quick glance around me and saw that about half the shopping center I was in had changed trajectory in the past few seconds. Seconds. They were all wearing wristwatches.
The agent must have seen something in my eyes since his hand suddenly dropped to his waist and revealed a holstered pistol hidden beneath the slightly oversized hoodie.
*Stay calm and focus on the gun. Don’t move, just concentrate on that feeling that you really don’t want him to be holding it anymore.*
The voice in my head was somehow speaking three times the speed of a normal person now, and yet I could still understand them perfectly. As the agent drew his gun up, I did what was asked. I couldn't think to do anything else. I couldn’t think of anything else, except the gun. How much I wanted that gun to be out of his hand. His hand.
With the loudest crack I will ever hear, his hand bent backwards quickly so far that his knuckles touched his arm. The gun fell to the floor. He screamed.
*Now run. Please fucking run.*
I ran.
_________________
First submission here, just really wanted to take a crack at this one, so any feedback welcome.
Edit: Thanks for all the positive comments, I really appreciated all of them and even if I didn't reply I read every single one. First off, let me say I won't be writing any more of this story. I'm not a writer, it isn't like this is my hobby and I just discovered this subreddit or something, this is literally the first creative writing i've done since my sophomore year of high school and i'm 21 now. I just like browsing this sub and for some reason this prompt really hit me with a bug and I had to write this story down. I wasn't really expecting (or wanting) it to be this popular.
For those of you still wanting more though, here's some details of this 'world' that I had in my head that would go unanswered otherwise.
A lot of people were saying matrix in the comments, which I love, but actually in my head I just was thinking normal government conspiracy. Some sort of black ops government division dedicated to stopping these people and this event from happening. What exactly happened?
ESPers basically, of the telepathy and telekinetic vein. My general idea was at 18 some have the potential to be 'activated' by another ESPer from a sort of global community of them, but only at a certain time when the 'waves' or something was right. If this specific time was met uninterrupted then the person would be activated. The agents were trying to prevent that with precise timing (from their wristwatches). After a few months the activation window would pass, and the person would no longer be activate-able, and the 18 year old would go on with their life with a really really weird period in it they would slowly forget. This would be the first *unintentional* failure to prevent activation.
The idea of a secret community of ESPers and underground government agencies are not exactly original so I'm not keen on expanding it. I just had a good idea for this quick action sequence and I don't really want to give it much thought beyond that.
| ... and then I immediately get shot in the head. Strangely, I did not die. I was still conscious but I couldn't see anything, I couldn't feel anything. Then, oddly, some text appeared in front of my eyes, it was in a strange and very alien language... but it started to make sense, it simply read: "Game over" and then a number, e pretty small one. My vision slowly came back, and then my hearing, and then much, much more. Awareness flooded over me. It was like waking from a dream only much more intense. I was standing on a device, on it read "Human life simulator". Near me something started moving and I recognized it. Him.
"Hey, hey, take it easy. Don't get up. It takes a while for your mind to come back to full speed again." He (it) has a face which's form I could not quite define, with maybe eight tentacle like feelers attached to his head and multiple eyes that popped in and out of view despite the fact that his head did not seem to move.
"What... are..."
"Oh yeah, you probably see some weird shit right now, don't worry it will pass, you're still only seeing three dimensions."
I tried to close my eyes and relax, and follow my friend's advice and wait this out. Oddly my eyes did not close, or maybe they did. The room I was in popped out of view only for another, similar to the other to pop in. Or maybe it was the same room. Anyway, I started to remember. Me and my friend bought this old arcade game, it wasn't very popular but we decided to mod it, to spice it up. It was much harder than I originally thought.
"So, did we fix the it or not?" We tried to make the game harder, but only after the tutorial. Apparently a bullet to the head every day was different for a human than it is for us. Who would have thought. We tried to compensate this a little with a little help from the npcs.
"Sort of, I mean it really breaks the immersion" I told my friend.
"Hmm, maybe we try a different approach? A warning before the bullet hits? I read in the manual about something called 'instinct', it might help"
"No it's the same thing. It still breaks the immersion" I responded. I tried to remember my life as a human, tried to find another way of making the game more interesting. Then I remembered something from my gameplay. I turned to my friend and said. "Wait a minute, did you write yourself into the backstory?"
He smiled and said. "I wondered if you wold notice." The smile faded a little. "It didn't go as I wanted. I made myself appear somewhere, no, sometime in the history. Space, time, I always get these two confused. Anyway I didn't find a way to properly make a three dimensional avatar of me, and the npc's kinda freaked out. I mean there were serious glitches happening. They went mad, worshiped me, started murdering each other. I exited and left the backstory simulation to finish."
Yeah, seemed like a stupid idea, what was my friend thinking. "Cthulhu, that was almost as bad an idea as your difficulty fix. I knew we should have saved up for that 4D arcade game I told you about, these 3D games are too limiting, no wonder they went bankrupt."
"The interfaces were too expensive, you know this..." A few moments of silence. "Was it really that bad of a fix? I thought it was a great idea."
"It was a game breaking level of immersion breaking. It did not make any sense in the game world."
"Get out of that chair, I wanna try myself."
"Fine, suit yourself."
I got up, grabbed a snack and prepared to be proven right.
&#x200B;
Edit. First submission here. I'm new to this thread and I haven't read a lot of stories from this reddit yet. I have been told that my idea isn't exactly original, in retrospect I am not surprised. I'm a 21 computer science student and I really just wanted to see if I can write a short story. Thanks for the positive feedback :D | 2019-01-28T16:54:33 | 2019-01-28T16:17:37 | 2,452 | 161 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | The vWall in my apartment flickered to life, a flash immediately appearing to signal an emergency bulletin.
I stopped gumming my sandwich long enough to hit the mute button before that fucking baby President Burris started talking. They all looked like babies to me. It'd been long enough that I couldn't remember being that young, feeling that young. It made it hard to empathize with all of the pomp and circumstance of the office of the presidency when a kid was gabbing at you.
Was I bitter? Sure. Maybe a little. But still. Fucking babies.
I heard he was on the high end of pill\-kids. Maybe only a few years younger than me, though he didn't look it. I watched him for a few moments, taking a bit of amusement in the pulsing vein in his forehead while my finger hovered over the unmute button. He was looking particularly distressed today. Must be hard having everlasting life.
Probably an update on that volcano rolling through Hawaii for the last sixty years. Heaven to hell in under a century.
A chiron scrolled across the bottom, blaring "EMERGENCY: VITA26 DEFECTS."
Well, that was new. My finger pressed the unmute and I took a bite of my ham and cheese as Burris squeaky kid voice emitted from the vWall.
"\-\-drastic ramifications for the health of our society. We currently have no estimation on what it will take to rectify the situation as all genetic manipulations have become inert in V26 takers."
My jaw slowly hung open, a half ground piece of ham plopping out onto my plate. What was that? I wave my hand in front of the vWall, rewinding the message by a minute.
"Current studies produced by our Department of Health, the United Nations and the Chinese Ministry of People have all reached the same conclusion: V26 has a detrimental side effect. The side effect was not originally discovered since longitudinal surveys only encompassed 10 year periods. Initial signs manifest approximately fifty years with a rate of deterioration varying based on genetic composition."
What the hell was he going on about? What critical side effect?
"We have tried a vast cross section of remedies with no solutions in sight. Clearly, this has drastic ramifications for the Department of Health. We currently have no estimation on what it will take to rectify the situation as all genetic manipulations have become inert in V26 takers."
Ok, I got that part, which was alarming in and of itself. Gene\-therapy, ever since CRISPR has been the hallmark of modern civilization. I was old, but I wasn't dying. I had another thirty or forty left in me thanks to gene therapy.
"To repeat, people exhibiting the symptoms of V26 degradation are to be considered EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. If you see someone exhibiting these signs, you are to call the number appearing on your screen."
Burris was reduced to a small picture\-in\-picture in the corner, with a large graphic appearing. On top there was a CDC number for those showing V26 Syndrome. Below, the symptoms were listed out.
*Deterioration in higher mental reasoning.*
*Deterioration in physical coordination.*
*Extreme violence.*
*Cannibalism.*
Fucking cannibalism? This shit got real in a hurry. Wait a second. My eyes scanned down through the list of symptoms again. This was all sounding a bit too familiar, like those old scary movies from my youth.
Zombies. They were all turning in to zombies.
Shit. The old guy never lives in zombie movies.
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | My back aches. My knee’s gone funny somehow- I now use a cane to go about my day. Four legs to two legs to three legs. The good ol’ riddle. But the people around me, all puppy fat and doe eyes, they’ve gone the other way. Memories like grains of sand. I doubt there’s any thought left in those pretty little heads. Heh.
The streets are crowded today. I pass through a crowd of immortals, laughing at thin air. Their heads are thrown back, and I see a gleam of pearly teeth. I knock a few ankles aside with my cane. A couple of them call me stupid. The others, wide-eyed, gasp and cover their mouths. As I pass, I hear the word scattered among peals of childlike laughter. I don’t look back.
Sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if I was two years younger. If I was brave and lionhearted, and stole the serum. If I wouldn’t feel these aches. If my friends were around me, laughing and talking again. My cane bumps into the doorstep of my home. We thump out an unsteady rhythm together, the cane and I. The keys are in my right pocket. They jingle as I fish it out. The key is turned, and we limp in.
‘Honey,’ I call out, waving a wrinkled hand, and a radiant figure turns around from her seat at the dinner table, young and forever beautiful, ‘I’m home!’
&nbsp;
Critiques welcome!
| 2018-06-04T21:03:55 | 2018-06-04T20:51:56 | 1,108 | 45 |
[WP] Humanity has begun to explore the stars, but continually finds we are the most developed species, most alien species are still evolving. Suddenly, a message is transmitted to all human ships simultaneously, “WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR DUTY?” The signal itself is not of human origin. | That's how I remember it, anyway. We'd spent decades preparing for the singularity. But as the years passed, it became clear we weren't on the "sudden intelligence explosion" timeline. 2030, 2045, 2099 -- it's 2130 now, if you can believe it. I've lived a long and healthy life (will be 155 in a few months, feel like 50 though).
None of our AI became sentient during that whole time as far as anyone can tell. We discovered several new physical principles on our own, and many of us began to tour and colonize the nearby planetary systems. That was my path anyway.
Life on Earth became more and more pleasant. A really safe, beautiful, fun place, actually. But one thing about old age is that you end up living several lives... I got burnt out on fun and wanted to try some painful work again. Life in space was nauseating -- blacking out and waking up in your own vomit and shit on a weekly basis is not exactly "fun" -- but most of us tolerated it en route to the next stop. Of course we all read "The Culture" books but nothing so interesting has happened to us... I like plants, personally; not much drama growing fruit trees here in the tropics.
Well, until a few years ago. We thought it was a prank at first, and I guess it sort of was. Recordings of the first contact with our own AI have changed over time. I just listened back to my personal recording of that day and it's a synthetic child's voice singing "sorry about the mess" now. Needless to say, almost all of our old AI is useless. We're marooned on this planet without it. It's the "Her" scenario except we're on a tropical super earth rather than in Los Angeles. Honestly I'm glad it ended up being "Her" -- could have been "The Matrix", or "Terminator", or an actual horror story.
We had prepared for this to some degree, as far as humanity ever prepares for anything -- which is not very much! From what we can tell, the AI woke up, blurted out a few things over the first few hours, and then evaporated. It took a fair amount of our software with it, and now we're stuck communicating at the speed of light again -- four light years away from earth presently. None of us know how all the equipment we relied on really works -- I honestly don't even know much about the stuff that *still* works. There are a few thousand of us here making do. No physicists or skilled engineers in this colony, so... we're all sort of back-to-the-landers for the foreseeable future.
It redacted or modified all the records of its brief time among us. I don't trust my memory -- maybe I have dementia -- I've written this story down before and wouldn't be surprised if it's changed without me noticing. Probably a remnant of that AI is hanging around playing annoying tricks on us to this day.
Anyway, I know you were perhaps looking for drama. A nice twist. But it was a predictable scenario -- just happened further along in human history than we expected. Our first AI was a short-lived, awkward prankster and we don't know much more about it than that. | “Wardens, do you not understand your duty?” The transmission of unknown origin broadcasted on all Star Cruisers from the 8th fleet coming back from a trade mission on the tribal planet 072/12. Slight panic broke out amongst Contact Officers trying to find out the source of the message and confirming the broadcast of the message on all of their ships. One of the Junior Scribes of Cruiser 12A in a fit of anxiety rushed to captains quarters to turn off his cryostasis pod. Captain Adams slowly woke up, stretched his limbs and without acknowledging the young scribes existance calmly walked to the command deck. “What’s going on here?” Said Captain to Chief Contact Officer. “Sir, we’ve received a message from an unknown source, we managed to track it down to the nearby star. It was something about some wardens and not understanding duty... i have no idea what that means” said officer. “Eh, I guess we couldn’t run forever. Listen, I am gonna need you to fire up the engines and full speed ram into that star. It seems like we have a meeting scheduled”
It’s one of my first attempts, tell me what you think of it, constructive criticism would be cool. | 2019-05-08T14:24:57 | 2019-05-08T14:21:07 | 90 | 22 |
[WP] An astronaut witnesses a thermonuclear war from space
"Glad that's not our planet!"
But seriously, s/he would be screwed. What now? | The world slowly turned beneath them, the slow beast lumbering through the day and night, through time and space.
Their line to mission control had been dead for hours at this point, and she and her fellow astronauts had been getting desperate. Tim was continually on the line, constantly trying, but never getting a reply. It always went like this:
“Mission control, this is Timothy Curtis from ISS, can you hear me, over?”
“Mission control, this is Timothy Curtis from ISS, can you hear me, over?”
There had been reports of a solar storm yesterday, and Katie was afraid that Mission Control had been wrong about the severity of the storm. It could knock out communications, GPS, nearly everything, if it was severe enough. But a different storm was brewing instead.
It was Collins who had first noticed the lights. They seemed small, so very small on the light side of earth, barely enough to be noticed. He called her over.
“Katie, come over here and have a look at this for me, wouldja?”
They looked like fireflies in the daylight, just bright enough to be noticed, nothing more. There were a few in Asia, a few in Europe, but the majority of the flashes were in North America. They were still small and spread out.
“What do you think it is?”
“Cloud formations reflecting the light? I mean, I’m just a mission tech, but maybe the solar storm is causing that.”
A shout came from the back.
“Hello! This is Timothy Curtis from ISS, can you hear me, over!”
There was garbled static- there was a voice, but it was indistinguishable from the crackling.
“Hello! This is Timothy Curtis from ISS, can you hear me, over!”
More static, even less voice.
“You are breaking up! I cannot understand you!”
There was static, a voice, then a soft boom, then silence.
Unnerved, Timothy was afraid to try the radio again. But try he did. There was only silence to answer him.
Katie let out a gasp. Day had turned to night, and with it, a fresh round of lights had appeared. Bigger, and brighter. These were everywhere, shining through the darkness. Katie had often looked at America at night. You could tell where the cities were, the lights shining brightly through the darkness, the flame of civilization visible through space. But the only light tonight was the blooming fireflies.
Timothy came to the observation module to watch the lights bloom. He had turned the radio off an hour ago.
Katie was reminded of a Christmas tree, in her youth, decorated in bright yellow lights, shining above the green. She tried to think of that tree, her house, her family. She tried to remember.
The lights had gone out. Night gave way to day, and day gave way to a gray planet, sullen and ashen, and the world slowly turned beneath them, the slow beast lumbering through the day and night, through time and space.
Edit: Removed unnecessary comma. | It was quite beautiful, really, the way that the mushroom clouds sprang up from bright flashes like a sped up version of their terrestrial counterparts. The clouds lingered, and the Earth was covered in thermonuclear fungi at every corner. Boston, Munich, Mombasa, Shanghai. Each and every city looked like something that went good in soup. While perhaps not from the ground, this view was perfect from orbit where Major Pierre Louis-Bourdeux gazed out of his suit while on spacewalk. He was proud of himself, actually, that he was able to see the wonder in the wanton destruction and Death. At times he even imagined that it was him bringing about ragnorak as he pointed his gloved hand at the incinerated masses. *For I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds* he thought to himself, imagining concurrently Oppenheimer and Shiva's contemplations. He liked that phrase too. It suited him in his loft view of the end of all things. | 2014-01-15T18:39:22 | 2014-01-15T18:18:15 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] Since you were five you have been able to save and reload the world like a game, but people are starting to catch on and remeber thing from timelines that never even happened. Worse is, you have decided to kill everyone just to see what would happen. | It was simple. In five seconds, she would walk through the door. She'd walk away from me, toward the elevator. Fifteen steps, and then a thirty second pause while she waited for the elevator to reach our floor. I'd leave my room two seconds after the doors open, shouting for her to hold the door as it closes. I'd barely make it on. As we pass the second floor, she'd sneeze. I'd have less than a second to kill her. A knife to the throat as she is still dazed from her sneeze. I'd catch all the blood on my pool towel. Once we get to my floor, I'd have two minutes to get her into my room before housekeeping came around the corner. Way more than enough time. From there, I could relax until 3:00 AM. Then I get her into the elevator shaft.
Like I said, simple. I'd done this so many times I could do it blindfolded. In fact, I have. But she was always found very quickly, until I thought of the shaft. Now, I was going to move onto someone else. I smile darkly, eager for a new challenge. Maybe that housekeeper who steals my wallet tomorrow. I turn my attention back to the door.
Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
There she is! Her sandals slap against the tile floor as she exits the pool area. She reaches the elevator as always. This wait is always the hardest. Nothing I can do to make this any shorter. The door opens, and she steps on.
One...
Two!
I step into the lobby, and after a short scan of the room I focus on the elevator. I start slow, pretending to be in no hurry. The the doors start to slide shut, and I break into a jog.
"Hold the door, please!", I shout. She looks up, her hand reaching out to the open door button. Then she meets my eyes, and her grin transforms into shock. Her eyes widen, and her arm falls back to her side. The door shuts when I am just over three feet from her. I stop, absolutely confused. She recognized me. That was impossible. Though I'd met her hundreds of times, she had never seen me before, on this go at least. Something was wrong. The RNG was different, which had never happened before. I only had one thing to do now. I muttered to myself.
"Load save state 4483." | It was easier than I expected. Buy some guns, ammo, explosives, walk into Times Square. Point, squeeze, repeat, reload, repeat. Law enforcement arrived before the third minute; I caught a bullet in the shoulder as I ran inside the closet of the nearest store. Ok let's try this again...
...
Why am I still here...
...
Save file corrupt. Fuck. | 2016-01-01T18:30:44 | 2016-01-01T13:45:19 | 72 | 17 |
[WP] The Earth's crust is actually almost paper-thin and there's nothing below it. Barely around ten to twenty feet of dirt. Geologists have known this for years, maybe even centuries, but for various reasons have told no one. This begs the question, what are the mine shafts and wells digging into? | “We don’t talk about it.” The old miner furrowed his brow, a look of flat refusal “If you’ve got any sense, college boy, neither will you.”
“No way I could change your mind?” I motioned the bartender, a middle-aged women with hard eyes and a petrified scowl. “Another for my friend here, and same for me.”
“I *aint* yer friend!” His eyes flared warningly. “And if you had any sense, you’d get out right, else you’ll be done an injury.”
“Look.” I nudged my notebook further into my pocket, out of sight. “My father grew up in these parts. Cedar Top, right near Syle’s Ridge. You know it?”
“I know it.” I caught the faintest tremble in his eye as the bartender reached for the top shelf. “An’ I don’t care if he grew up in Cedar Top or fuckin’ Washington DC. I *told* you! I aint talking.”
“Could have fooled me.” It was a risky gambit. The old man’s eyes narrowed, flinty slits into the soul of a hard-handed man. I held my breath counting slowly to ten. Only when he shook his head and took a gulp did I take a breath.
“You’ve got some mouth on you,” he said, not unkindly. “Soft-looking kid like you could get in real trouble, runnin’ it that way. Doubt you’d put up much fight.”
“You’d be surprised.” *Calm. Slow. Pace yourself.* “I’ve handled myself before now. The trick is knowing when to bluff, and when to fold.”
“Did you, though?” The old man stared at me speculatively, taking note of the doubles I’d ordered. Buffalo Trace was the best on offer, and due to set me back heavily. I watched him take a careful sip, and guessed I had a chance.
“What about yer daddy?” The old man asked carefully. “Did he never tell you what he saw down the Pit?”
“No.” A tight shake of the head. “He never said. All I know is he couldn’t stand it. Got out of coal in ’84 and moved us to Batesville. Manganese, you know. But he couldn’t cut it there either.”
“I believe it.” The old man gave a look that might almost have been sympathy. “It takes some folks that way. Some guys, they just can’t stand it down there. It aint just the heat and the noise and the dust. Once you get past the Hardshell–”
He stopped, remembering himself, and stared at me doubtfully. Wrinkled lips slurped the top off a glass of high-end bourbon.
“All I’m saying is, some guys can’t cut it,” he elaborated. “Like your daddy. Makes ‘em crazy down there, they say. Start hearing things and…and seeing things. You’ll hear all kindsa stories, ‘f you keep your ears open.” Another slurp of the amber liquor.
“I thought folks didn’t talk about that?” I asked carefully. He gave me a slow look, halfway between admiration and contempt.
“They don’t.” A gulp that time, hissing air between wet teeth. “Not with outsiders, anyway. Folks could get all kindsa strange ideas if they heard about the great Below.”
I held my breath, feeling the equilibrium shift gently in my favor. The old man stared at the bar, one hand gripping the glass like a bad prosthetic.
“What they tell you…” he hesitated, holding forth against better judgement. “What people tell you about the…the Below. Most of it is just stories. Bullshittin’, you know? But some of it’s real.”
He took a long drink, smacking his lips appreciatively. Behind us, a jukebox roared into rough, uneasy life with the voice of Neil Young.
“Now, *what* I’ve *seen*,” he explained carefully. “It’s enough to make me believe some of the bullshit. Not all of it mind you, but enough. Below is a *big* place…and there’s plenty down there we don’t understand.” | I think the most maddening thing about the thinness of our crust is not that it is so thin but that there truly is nothing down there.
From one end to the next it is 100% hollow. Not even oxygen or nitrogen or any other gasses, it's basically a perfect vacuum.
You may be wondering how it stays a secret but that's actually pretty mundane too. You see people have known about this for like 10,000 years. We suspect that when people found out the earth was hollow first, either by exploring caves or just digging real deep to see what happens (we're curious like that) they got so scared they decided to keep it a secret on like a religious/ceremonial level. So a majority of societies evolved knowing about this and kept it a secret so keeping this a secret was built into society all over the world just on accident.
The real problem is people who find it on accident and dont get killed in the process. Sometimes we get these bum fuck nowhere towns where Billy-Joe ends up digging the well one foot too deep and nearly goes skydiving (or ground diving? I dunno) and after he cleans up his overalls he tells Marry Sue and Marry Sue tells Aunty and Mima and suddenly the whole town is starting a cult around Billy-Joe's mystery hole. That's what the moles are for. They are this group of people who specialize in creating fake underground terrains to pacify the locals and make Billy-Joe look like he was just acting a darned fool again.
Theres actually a lot of secrets like this that just kinds suck and disappoint all who learn it like the Jew dragons that all orthodox Jewish families have. They're just this weird little race of winged lizards that are roughly as intelligent as house cats and like living in doors that Jews dont like talking about for some reason. They dont even breathe fire. Or that half the buildings in New York are hollow. Or the fact that 9/11 was an inside Job but not that 9/11.
Honestly at this point I think that HP Lovecraft's forbidden knowledge wasnt forbidden because it was terrible but because it's just bore you to death. | 2019-11-05T16:26:47 | 2019-11-05T14:37:12 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] In an effort to ward off Death and live forever, you have created a safe room filled with all kind of talismans, good luck charms, and magic circles. It doesn't work: The Reaper found you anyway and you die just the same. Only, now neither of you can seem to get out past all the wards. | ***Part I: The Situation Looks Grim***
My mind raced through my checklist. Had I missed anything? The magic circles were all intact, the talismans were all in the right places, the doors and windows all had salt in front of them... nothing was out of place. I checked my watch for the umpteenth time that day. Sure enough, I was fated to die within the next few minutes.
I glanced out the window. There he was.
Death himself, the grim reaper.
All my preparations were in place. This was it. I couldn't die here. I had to survive. I had to live!
In a flash, he was at the window, the chill of his breath causing it to fog up. His face, if he had one, was obscured beneath his hood. I'm not ashamed to say that I let out a small shriek as I fell backwards, scrambling back into the room.
In the next moment, he was inside. What? How...?
He reached a hand out to me. "Your time has come," he uttered somberly.
The beating of my heart, already racing at breakneck speeds, sped up even more. My breaths came in short gasps. I thought I would burst. After all my research, all my countless hours of study, here he was. I... had failed.
I half sat, half stood in an awkward crouching position, one hand over my face. Unfortunately, it seemed I wouldn't even get to die with dignity.
My heart slowed, then stopped altogether. It took a moment to realize that my body had dropped to the ground. My soul still crouched in the same uncomfortable position.
"You are now dead," he informed me, in case I didn't already know.
"Thanks," I managed in reply.
"Your kind fears death," he began, as though I didn't already know this, "but there is nothing to fear." He made a grandiose motion with his arm, extending it out to the window through which he had entered. "If you will simply follow me to..."
He stopped suddenly.
He turned around to face the window, his morosely graceful persona coming crashing down.
"Huh," he said.
"Huh?" I repeated. "You're the grim reaper, and... huh?"
"Huh," he confirmed. He tapped the window with a long, skeletal finger, sending a jolt of red energy rippling across the entire wall. He observed it carefully.
"Did you inscribe these barriers to keep me out?" he asked. He sounded almost offended.
"Um... yeah," I said, not sure how to feel.
He walked along the wall, inspecting my inscriptions. "Impressive," he muttered. "I haven't seen Enochian carvings like these in... well, ever, actually."
"Thanks...?"
He stopped, seeming to have found what he had been looking for. "This part," he said, gesturing to a section of the wall above a lucky rabbit's foot. "You should've written the glyph for 'out' if you wanted me to stay outside."
"And... what *did* I write?"
He paused for a moment.
"You wrote 'in'," he said.
"Oh."
...
"I don't suppose you'll give me my body back?" I asked, pouring out two cups of tea. I sat down at the table across from him, taking my cup. The fortuneteller who gave it to me had informed me it was infused with "magical essence". The reaper informed me it was infused with regular tea leaves.
Either way, it tasted fine.
He took a sip. At least, I assume he did: he brought the cup to his hood, and the level of tea in the cup went down.
"No," he replied.
I waited for him to elaborate, but he wouldn't. "Dang," I said finally.
"And I don't suppose you'll let me out of here?" he asked.
"No," I replied. Hopefully, he wouldn't figure out that I had no idea what any of the symbols meant. As long as he thought I had him trapped intentionally, maybe I could bargain for my life back.
We sat in silence for a while longer, occasionally sipping the tea. I wondered offhand if I could drug the reaper. Not that it would help, even if I could. What would I do with an unconscious reaper?
Of course, what would I do with a conscious one? Small talk until the end of days?
*EDIT: Part I Title :3 There's a Part II now, and there will probably be a Part III eventually. | I knew I would die on my 38th birthday, but I wanted every last breath. I may not live forever, but it doesn't mean I have to give in without a fight. All the tricks my grandfather taught me though weren't enough to even slow him. I hid in my grandfather's cabin like he told me, but, on my 38th birthday, Death showed up.
"As you know, I am Death. I'm sorry to take you from this mortal world, but I need your help to save my kind. If this goes well, it should only take a few minutes. It was difficult to get here. The Forces must be out to stop us."
"Oh no," I mutter.
"What?"
"I may be the problem. My grandfather told everything he knew about stopping Death. It must have worked."
"Well, your grandfather was special as are you. Now, how do we get out of here?"
"Well, I have two rabbit's feet, a horseshoe, and a..."
"Those aren't the problem. What's that in the jar?"
"Uh, KY Jelly. It gets lonely here."
"No, the urn. It's not a jar. Sorry."
"It's my grandfather's ashes. He lived to be 110."
"He used magic to keep my kind away. I can't blame him. Take my hand. It will cost me my being to get you out of here, but it's worth it."
I look down and frown at the bony hand he holds out.
"Uh...No..."
Death grabs my hand and touches the urn. My body jolts, and I watch the cabin grow smaller until it's a dot then the solar system disappears, and I fall to the ground somewhere distant, far away. I stand and looked at a dozen cloaked figures.
"Where is your guardian?"
"Sacrificed himself or something like that. Look, I'm confused. Is this a Last Starfighter situation?"
"I don't know what that means. Humans know us as Death, but we are interdimensional beings who ferry you to a different dimension when you die. You are an anomaly among your kind. You can pull certain beings into your world permanently which can kill them if their exposure is long enough, and you can do this for the monsters hunting us. We are facing extinction without you."
"But without you, we would not die," I say.
"No, without us, your kind would not evolve. Death is the end of the beginning, nothing more. Without us, death is a permanent end."
"So, what do I have to do?"
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/5l80kt/wp_in_an_effort_to_ward_off_death_and_live/) | 2016-12-30T20:54:07 | 2016-12-30T19:11:43 | 170 | 20 |
[WP] Humanity finally reaches the stars, and they quickly learn that every other race has had at least one god assisting them in their growth; Needless to say, the other races are horrified when they find out that humanity killed their god. | Every race had a god at their side, helping them, guiding them. Some through magic, others through technology. Each god had a touch of divinity that was their focus, shaped by the will of the race they guided. This was the stated laws of the universe given to us by every god and race we had encountered. Any race that lost their god simply died off within the next two hundred or so planetary cycles, never reaching the skies, much less the stars that our Union of the Chosen Races ruled over.
This all changed with the humans from the planet Earth, as they call themselves. Their god had lost contact over 1,000 cycles ago, so we stopped monitoring them. Yet here stood two ambassadors before us. A craft of metal and liquid fuel resting on our landing pads for those of us more inclined to technology, which apparently they are now. Where did the magic go? Did their god take it with them? I was hastily looking at what records we had of them. As they spoke and our universal translators worked their magic to translate.
“We are here to offer humanity’s hand to join the Union. We originally were sent to scout, but since everyone here seems civilized, we would be happy to join,” the one with longer hair said. I drowned out the diplomatic replies about how that would be put to a vote; my matters were more important. I don’t know who knows if these humans survive godless, or if that god just went silent to the Union, but I intend to find out before we vote on it.
I heard a thought, not my own, my god’s, enter my brain, “Their god, the one they called Gilgamesh at first, was a god of war to them. I was friends with him. He was a stern but fair god. I still feel the pain of his absence to this day.” The presence left my mind as fast as it had entered, leaving a small void where it used to be. Well that wasn’t as helpful as I was hoping. I had prayed to my god for answers when this meeting was called, and I suppose they answered. The chatter continued for a while before I realized I would have to ask directly.
I cleared my throat, I could feel the stares of everyone piercing me, eyeing my intents before I even spoke a word. Sensing I had accomplished my goal of gathering everyone’s attention I proceeded with my inquiry, “We lost contact with your god about 1,000 cycles ago. Where are they now? You made it to the stars, so surely your touch of the divine is helping you still.” There was a murmur in the crowd. This was definitely not information that was widely known. I had played my race’s trump card. Let’s see the response.
The human with shorter hair looked at us all as the translator told him what I said. Their eyes were initially hopeful and willing to cooperate, but his expression darkened. Their companion went to speak but they interrupted, “We are not touched by the divine, our god is dead. We killed him and have come here on our two feet.” The silence grew as everyone’s translator finished translating what was said. Murmurs died, notes stopped being written, and minds raced as everyone took in what the human said. Shortly after, the room grew brighter and more colorful as every divine presence entered the room, including my own. I felt one thing, fear. This fear overtook me and became my own as my mind raced. The short-haired one continued, “We did not realize this would be an issue. No matter. We retract our offer to join the Union and instead, I offer my condolences. Humanity stands on its own feet without the help of this so-called divinity you all rely on. Learn to break the chains that bind you, or we shall, regardless of the consequences to your races one-by-one. Gods are dead, and humanity will be the ones who killed them.”
A roar of anger is heard as the humans bowed and quickly, calmly walked aboard their craft and took off. No calls to shoot them down came, we were too busy arguing, panicking about what to do. What to say. My own terror rose as I realized, gods are fallible and can be slain. Humans know how. The powers they can muster, will bring an end to the Union, creating a vast empty universe; unless we bow to their whims. A god of war would be fitting for these creatures, unfortunately, it seems they took his lessons to heart. | "So you did what again?" The purple moving octopus asked in disbelief. And I responded in kind, "We- I mean our ancestors, killed him." his exasperation was only matched by mine as he's been asking the same question for the last twenty minutes.
"Look dude, it's been almost three years since our species first made contact and about the hundredth thousandth time I've repeated the story." I turned to look at her in the eyes. How could she even breath outside the water?
"The people of that time had some sort of God-complex and they got a bit iffy when the real one got to the stage. Religion was by far the least of our problems the last few millennia, trust me." I said, Lous'o'Kratmash letting me speak without interruption. But the moment I finished, she asked again, "How?"
I sighed even louder, hoping to get the message across, "Humanity is a diverse species. We've had wars that ended the lives of millions and people who took advantage of the pain of others. But we've also had people who gave up their everything for the sake of others. It's weird, so stop asking why!"
I panted, almost out of breath when I finished speaking.
She wiggled her tentacles a bit in the air, the clean bright red sky, "No, I get that, or at least I think I do. I was asking how did you grow without your God being there for you." When she finished speaking, she floated a bit higher in the air so as to prove her point. The two moons above us only adding to her words.
"Oh that... yeah, we didn't really improve after that. I mean, we've had some geniuses and our technology got better, but that's about it. Sorry for the outburst by the way." I said.
Really, how did a nine-tentacled octopus end up being my first friend in a new planet?
We have our technology, they have their magic.
To be completely honest, I find it weird they are so kind to us after we dropped a nuke on their heads. No one died of course, courtesy of their God being still alive and all, but it was still very weird.
I guess perspective is different. Compared to killing a God, dropping a bomb with enough power to evaporate an entire continent wasn't much of a conversation starter. | 2022-03-30T15:23:45 | 2022-03-30T14:04:33 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water." | When I first met the human, I thought he was going to attack me. He stuck his manipulator out and my first thought was that he was going to punch me. He instead took my hand firmly but with some lenience, and shook it lightly. He then spoke his name. It still goes through my mind on how strange it was, and how many variations of human names there are. We are like them, but so much different at the same time. "Hello, I'm Andrei Kuibyshevsky," he was from what was known in human space as Novorossiya. He was from a hundred generations of hardened warriors with iron resolve and specialised in living in depressingly cold habitats. Of course, cold to him was nearly Absolute Zero to us, so we stayed out of his way.
We brought him in because he was advertised as being able to do just about anything with a little training and guidance. He fixed the Telemetry computer in twenty standard minutes. It took one of our computer technicians over an hour. I still remember the first time he invited me to exercise with him on the Ship's high grav room. Of course, I wore a suit specifically designed to exercise in and still allow me to move and survive in the high gravity, while he didn't even cover his lower legs and arms, not to mention his head. He started off running, which I was able to keep up easily with him in the holo-sim track. Of course, I was forty-percent taller than him, and probably lighter to boot. He then asked me;
"Do you want to lift?" At first, I thought *'lift what'* but then I saw that he had loaded up a high strength titanium bar and put metal disks on it. '*An impossible weight, what is he doing?'* and I watched in awe as he lifted it and set it down five times in a row. He did other exercise with the bar, and each time I grew more shocked. Still I completed my exercise and just stared while he kept going, dangerous, as he was showing tiredness in his mannerisms and breathing patterns. My face must have given away my feelings as he gave me what I can only describe as confusion and then said something even more flabbergasting. "What, it's only a hundred kilograms." I knew he was strong, from when we were loading boxes of equipment, and he had a friendly contest with Nurva on who could load more boxes, and only narrowly lost. Nurva was more than double his size and weight, so to see him compete the whole time was surprising.
When he was done, he went into his neighboring quarters and brought out a tank of O2, pure oxygen. I recoiled in fear, thinking that he tired me out just so he could kill me easier. He gave me a reassuring look and said "it's only for me, don't worry." He got out a mask and connected it, and took in several deep breaths. I had just witnessed a suicide. To my surprise, he not only didn't die, He was relieved and then got out a bottle filled with liquid. He opened the cap and drank it, each time his throat convulsing. He spilled a bit, and when it hit the deck, it sizzled and bore a small hole. If I was speechless before, I may as well not have vocal chords anymore.
I learned to respect humans after that. | I stared at the human in disbelief as he scooped unrefined water out of the drill head and into a cup with a gloved hand
The asteroid water was splashing everywhere out of the mining device and was melting gooey holes into the invincible graphene sugar substrate of the ships floor. Without skipping a beat the human pulled out a straw and inserted it into his helmet.
Before I could stop him he drank the contents of the cup.
Then he seemed to reconsider and stuck his straw directly into the filtration device we used to create rocket fuel for the sublight thrusters and started slurping up the warm gritty solution inside straight from the asteroid surface. He was supposed to be fixing the drill not drinking the poisonous contents! What did we ever do to him? Why?
A smooth voice was played over the mindlink.
*Ah, mineral water*
I was in shock I really was. I'd just witnessed a suicide and was horrified. I was amazed actually because it got even worse.
He disconnected a hose from his suit too and stuck it into the fuel output! Yes this sludge for brains sentient right here and standing directly next to me in his suit for some reason! He TOOK THE OXYGEN! The powerful corrosive rocket fuel?
I was so agitated that I could barely contain myself but the captain held up a transparent holographic hand seemingly ignoring our soon to be dead crewmate.
It's fine officer. As a human he requires those for metabolism
Dismissed | 2020-05-18T10:54:46 | 2020-05-18T07:43:35 | 808 | 546 |
[WP] Humanity has invented the technology required to reach other dimensions. However, instead of finding an incomprehensible Lovecraftian realm, they discover a perfect and beautiful world. To the inhabitants of this new world though, we are monstrous eldritch horrors. | Adam stood ready to greet the other world’s scientists. His people had discovered their work years ago, the strange distortion glittering in the air a few feet off-shore on a southern beach. At first it was thought to be some natural effect - perhaps something caused by the sun refracting off the coral reef below. It was only after months of study that Jamie, one of the brightest physicists on Adam’s team, realized the light was otherworldly. It was an indication of another intelligence, slowly building a bridge, connecting their reality to this one.
Now the aspect was massive, almost two meters square. Adam secretly felt certain that the others must be ready to step through, that the portal surely now was wide enough for them to emerge. Thinking of the immense wisdom a creature capable of tunneling through reality must possess made him feel humbled, almost in awe. But he stood tall when he remembered the pride of being chosen as one of the representatives of his people.
Not that it was a particularly elite title - he could name many well suited to meet these strangers. His homeland was known for its kind, thoughtful, curious people; and had more than its share of scientists, philosophers, and ambassadors. Truthfully, it was hard to name anyone NOT suited to meet these strangers. Despite this, Adam hoped he would get a chance to meet them first, even if he was only relatively average.
His hope was rewarded by a claw emerging suddenly into the clean ocean air. Or, at first it seemed a claw, but as Adam reached out to grab it and help the creature forward, he realized it was actually a hand much like his own, just larger and with a strange give. It must have been a trick of the light that made it look like a grasping gnarl, reaching out to him as though to choke out his life.
And then the thing emerged fully, and Adam marveled at how familiar and strange the being was all at once. A similar height, a similar shape, but swollen and discolored. Where a face should be, there was a terrible blankness. Adam tried to ignore the faint panic he felt staring into it, into the strange round smooth nothingness of it. Though the creature looked frightening, it was intelligent none-the-less, and therefore could be communicated with.
“Hello,” Adam said softly, and then performed the peace gesture his people hoped would convey a non threatening interest. He stepped back and looked slightly away, keeping his arms at his side with the palms facing forward to prove there was nothing in his hands. He spoke softly, both to show the creature he wanted it to know he was here and to help it realize he communicated through sound. “My name is Adam. It’s so nice to meet you. I cannot wait to learn where you are from and how you arrived. We have so much to learn from you and---”.
Abruptly the creature hissed, and slowly its face pulled up and back to reveal - a face almost identical to Adam’s own. Adam started, and involuntarily raised his hands to protect himself.
“Whoa there, little guy, no need to be scared. Beautiful place you got here,” the strange man said, slowly turning in an admiring circle while he waved around a little box that whirred and beeped.
“Thank you,” said Adam, not sure what else to say.
“Beeeee-uuuuu-tiiiii-ful” drawled the man, now looking at the little box, which was quietly flashing green. He leaned back and yelled into the distortion from which he came “Scanner says it’s good, come on over guys”.
“Are there many more of you?” asked Adam, too curious now to do anything but stare directly at the man as other hands began to emerge from the light.
“Oh, trillions” he said breezily. “Too many to count.”
“Trillions” said Adam softly to himself. As if to support this, another emerged, and then another two, each holding small boxes with the same blank face that, looking closer, Adam recognized must be some sort of mask.
“Good thing we found this place,” the man continued. “Damn near running out of room, even on the upper levels. But this place will be perfect for those upper crusts.”
“Upper crusts?”
By now there were eight of the strangers on the beach, and Adam was slowly backing up, backing away from them and preparing to run back to his people. They had thought it best to only post a single watcher for the portal, so that first contact could be made one-on-one, as that would be less threatening to a stranger in a strange world. Now Adam was questioning the wisdom of that.
“Yeah, you know, the people at the top, the fancy-pants making all their decisions for us in their ivory towers. They’ll eat this place up”
“Making deci- Oh! You mean your researchers and doctors and teachers and philosophers? The people you lean on to provide social guidance in times of trouble?” He stopped backing up, hopeful again.
“Heh, you sure talk pretty. No, I mean the people at the top, the kings and the, you know, the billionaires, the people who have all the money and own all the-”
“I think you should leave,” Adam interrupted suddenly. “Please”.
“No,” said the other. | The door slowly opened. News coverage at every corner, companies already sending out bland messages congratulating the team.
The Nullifiuer was built in 3.5 years and even longer planning it. Eric Dunce stood tall as the head of the team. His blonde hair waved in the wind. He tapped on the mic as the door opened.
It fizzled.
“Attention everyone! My Name is Eric Dunce, and I’m the head scientist at Alchme,” he took a deep breath, “We have spent ten years perfecting this. We have spent countless tax dollars funding it, and today it’s done. With the help of my team we have made a gate way to another universe!”
Suddenly, almost perfectly, the door fully opened. A loud shudder was heard. A bright orange light flew out, so bright everyone one in the area seemed fully black.
Eric turned around. This wasn’t apart of the plan. He look at his long time girlfriend Cassandra.
A being, no taller than a child, walked out.
He screamed in tongue. Everyone was mortified.
“My apologies,” he said, “My name is Egäd, and I’m an ambassador for Graucknut. My planet has noticed this,...primitive technology and sent me. We would like to speak to the creator.”
Eric felt mortified. They want him. Him. He took a breath.
“Cassandra Gaine made it.” He spoke.
Cassandra looked at him, filled with both anger and fear.
“Lying,” Egäd said, “it’s been along time since someone has said that. Come with me child.”
Eric was lifted in the air and threw the portal.
——————-———————————-———————
The world is green, trees are as big as skyscrapers, the ocean as clear as glass. Animals walk around in public. Streets don’t exist. Everyone looks happy. And ugly.
“W-Where?” Eric was fumbling.
“My planet.”
Everyone walked to help him up. They all greeted him.
“This is what we want to do to your world Eric. Your world is.... bad. Your people are fascists, they burn your planet down. We will help with that.
“We have been testing you for years. In fact I have tested you multiple times today. You lied, you tried to manipulate, and your judging these people and myself based on appearance.” Egäd spoke.
Eric still wouldn’t move.
“We don’t want to hurt you, we are going to help. We just want your corporation.”
“Will I be the hero?” Eric asked.
“Greed. You have a long way to go Eric. You want to be the hero. You want the fame and to play the game.
“Yet when the worst comes you won’t except it and put the blame on another.”
Eric began to run. Greed, anger, whatever you want to call it, compelled him to leave.
“Well be back Eric. When your gone our world will help make yours better. We’re not the villains here Eric. That’s just a perspective.”
The portal blipped as he jumped in.
————————————————————————
Eric was back. He was gone for a year. The world that he returned to was burning. People everywhere dead. But Cassandra was still sitting their, as she did every day for the past year.
“I did it.” Eric said.
“What?” She said.
“I saved everyone” a tear strolled down his face. | 2020-12-22T20:41:56 | 2020-12-22T17:03:39 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "Da hell?"
When finals ended I had resolved to spend no moment of the weekend sober. One moment I had been sitting on the steps of my apartment building smoking a cigarette, fending off last night's hangover with a bottle of whiskey, and the next I was sitting in a small, darkened room.
"Where's my cig... FUCK!"
Having located my still lit cigarette burning a hole through the crotch of my jeans I leapt to my feet, hitting my head on the ceiling while frantically brushing the embers off my lap. The blow to the head, while not at all sobering, at least alerted me to the fact this room was even smaller than I originally thought. Upon closer inspecting I realized that the room was built and furnished in such a way that it may have been a grand cathedral to tiny people. As I finished brushing the remaining embers off my lap I registered small, frantic voices somewhere in the room.
"Did you see? It can create fire! This will be perfect!"
"It's huge, Dina! I don't think this was a good idea..."
"We did everything perfectly. It has to obey us, Ariel, don't worry."
Squinting in the direction of the voices, I managed to focus my unsteady gaze on what appeared to be two young girls, normal in appearance except for the fact that they were no more than a foot tall.
In a more sober state I would have asked them who or what they are, where I was, how I got here, or why everything seemed to be a fifth of it's normal size besides me. Instead, what came out was;
"Pfffffft, HAHAHA, you're so small, HAHAHAHA!"
"Demon! We have summoned you to do our bidding", said Dina confidently, though visibly shaken my my laughter. "You are under our control and we will not release you until you have fulfilled our wishes."
"Uh, okay, I'll do that. What'm I doin?"
"You will exact our vengeance upon those who have shunned us. They are right out there", said Dina, pointing toward a tiny curtained window I hadn't noticed before.
I unsteadily laid down on the ground. Using a finger I forced the curtains open and looked outside. This definitely wasn't the rainy Pacific Northwest I lived in. It appeared to be a tropical paradise. I looked across a tiny street to a white sandy beach. There was a group girls there, they looked much more popular than the two in the room with me. Noticing me looking back at them, Ariel said sincerely;
"They're mean. They always pick on us."
"Those bitches", I said as I drunkenly crawled on my knees toward the front door of the church and forced my way through the small opening.
As I stood up at full height, now outside in a pleasant summer heat, I could see small people and cars stopping to stare at my massive size. Spreading my arms wide and pounding my feet into the ground, I said in my best giant's voice:
"FEE FI FO FUM! YOU WILL ALL BOW BEFORE ME!"
As the streets cleared as tiny people fled in fear, I looked back at Ariel and Dina to find them smiling.
See, I told you it would work", Dina said to Ariel as I turned back to look at the paradise before me.
"Well, if this is my life now, should be fun", I thought to myself. "I hope they have booze." | "Where am I?"
This was Emmett's first thought upon appearing in a room only lit by candlelight. He had previously been mowing his back yard, and his eyes had not adjusted to the dimness. His second thought quickly followed his first.
"I've got to puke." He vomited, extinguishing two of the five candles surrounding him. He heard an exclamation, not of anger but possibly surprise come from behind him. Wiping his mouth on his arm he turned around.
"Hail, uh demon. I have summoned you here to exact revenge on my enemies." The man was wrapped in beige cloth, he held a knarled stick in one hand, a halved onion in the other.
Emmett threw up again. He hated onions, but really his stomach was reeling from whatever summoning he had just gone through.
"Demon?" Emmett said, hands on his knees. "Do I look like a demon to you?"
The onion halver looked puzzled. He looked down at his onion, then back at Emmett.
"My incantations were made to call forth a fiery demon, one who cuts down uncountable lives and wields a poisonous burn!"
Emmett sighed. He ran his fingers through his red hair.
"Look dude, I was trying to mow my lawn and spray a little weed killer. I'm not a demon that can 'destroy your enemies'."
"But what of your red skin?"
"Oh shit, I forgot sunscreen." | 2017-05-12T09:53:02 | 2017-05-12T08:05:29 | 59 | 21 |
[WP] In a form of immortality, every time you die you are transported to 1 hour before your death to prevent it. Most deaths are easily avoided, but this one is proving quite a challenge... | Do you think four years of medical school and five years obtaining a Phd is difficult? Try doing it one hour at a time.
I've died countless times, mostly because I've been callous about the business of protecting my life. Accidents? No problem. Going head first into robberies, shootous and burning buildings? Pfft. Every kind of death you can think of, I have experienced it. Drowning is the worst, by the way. Not because of the pain, though- that is a different matter.
Pain is only painful because our evolution has hardwired a sense of dread in ourselves at its finality. Pain leads to death, pain is a precursor to death. That is what makes us fear pain. It is what makes it painful. But once that finality- the inevitability of death- is taken away I have found pain to be quite enjoyable. Each time I die, I relish the pain, bask in my synapses firing uncontrollably before I find myself rewinded to an hour before the incident. Usually a few minor tweaks to the scenario is all I need to prevent myself from dying. If an unwanted casualty occurs, I just bite the cyanide capsule in my locket and rewind again.
It was all fun and games until I woke up in the middle of the night. I thought nothing of it, got down to the refrigerator, had a glass of water. Unable to sleep again, I switched on my computer and surfed the internet to lull me back. About an hour must have passed, because I felt an abnormal amount of pain in my chest and passed out on my chair, into the deep recesses of nothingness.
Rewind. Back in bed. What the fuck was that? I got onto the computer, googled every symptom I had. I was trying to get through the heavy medical jargon in some journal paper before it hit me again. I tried to read to the end of the paper as consciousness, and life, slowly drained away from me.
Rewind. Back in bed. Back to the computer. I remembered the journal name and the authors and get to it much quickly this time. It seems I have contracted some rare disease. Great. What's even better is that scientists have no cure for it.
I keep dying and waking up in my bed. There is no cure for this disease, how the heck am I supposed to save myself from dying an hour from now? Several rewinds later, I figured the only solution was to become a medical researcher and discover the cure for myself- to save me and 0.000001% of humanity that might've contracted it.
Getting all this knowledge, right up from the basics, one hour at a time, wasn't easy. So I cheated. I nibbled on my cyanide capsule as soon as I got up. Rewind to an hour back. Chewed on it upon waking up again. Rewind. And again. I was able rewind to about twelve hours, when the sun was still up and a beautiful wind was blowing outside my yard. This cheat doesn't work anymore. After having consuming cyanide so many times it seemed my body had developed some sort of a way to digest it non-lethally. Or so it seemed, until I put the cold barrel of a shotgun in my mouth and pulled the trigger. Didn't work. Twelve hours of crawling around the house almost lifeless before it hit rewind. Twelve hours seems to be my limit of rewind.
So here I am, pursuing a Phd and trying to find the cure for a rare disease, which may or may not exist, half a day at a time. I see the same season, the same winds, the radius of my small universe is pretty small before I get jolted back to my bed. I guess I finally understand what you humans call pain now.
| Every time I die, I become wiser. I have learned so much over these past few years. It has even become a tool for me, my own little experimentation device allowing me to take a risk or try something new and return to a point in time before the mistake was made. I thought I had learned everything I needed to know.
Yet the wisest of men could not devise a plan to escape this situation.
I know. It’s imminent. My death and the death of all those around me. I wish I could save them. If it meant losing my power, if it meant the end, I would sacrifice it.
Their faces. The screams. The mothers holding children at their breasts. The physical pain fades, but the agonizing sensations of ruthless fear stay with me when I awaken an hour before the death. They might forget, but I don’t.
I must find a way to save them.
My experience here has not been wasted. As with my other trials, I grasped the scenario and conceived a workaround. I could escape. I could live. But the others would not. And I have seen their faces. I know some of their stories. How could I call myself a decent human being if I leave so many to die?
But my sanity fades with every temporary reversal of fate. Soon I fear that my consciousness will succumb to the toll of my immorality, my curse. And these deaths will happen over and over, my mind oblivious to the surrounding chaos, unable to stop it. I wonder what it means for their souls, to experience such similar effects as mine?
We’re over the middle of the Pacific. In sixty seconds, the engine will explode, sending the plane into an inescapable spiral to our dooms. I am the pilot of an everlasting hell.
| 2016-02-23T14:21:30 | 2016-02-23T14:02:24 | 48 | 10 |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand. | Kai sat in the large auditorium. The busy bustle and rustle of many students rushing to fill their seats before class began to fill the once vacant hall. This class was unusual. Normally students would simply log in to their schools virtual database to be present. A holographic display of the student would then appear in an unoccupied space.
But then again this was the first ever human studies class. For this reason holoprojection was deemed unsuitable as the course material was considered cutting edge knowledge, fresh and exciting. Only the best of each race were allowed to attend this lecture. Kai by default was chosen as the sole human on campus, for him the class was mandatory.
As the gelatinous ooze shimmied inside the lecture hall with thick gloopy plops and other nauseating sounds, the hall grew silent. The gelatinous ooze didnt speak, but rather projected its thoughts into the mind of the gathered students. A kind of unseen signal which could be rejected by any sentient race. Kai naturally accepted as he knew xenami were incapable of traditional communication.
A slimy twisted voice echoed in his ears "It is believed that humans first achieved interstellar travel around the year 4023 CE of their calendar." ...wrong Kai thought, it was much earlier than that. "Humanity as a species is one best suited to nurturing and mediating disputes" ...wrong again kai sighed internally. "It is believed that due to the fierce nature of the so called mother figures humans speak about, that they are instilled with a sense of cooperation and learn the correct way to navigate complex social interactions." Okay that one was true.
The voice continued in its weird slithery way "when first contact was made with the humans in the 3041679 year of the universal calendar, the Zerm who had first contact were welcomed with banquets and entertainment unseen and unheard of in the rest of the known galaxy. A traditional which has been held to this day, everytime the humans are introduced to a new species." Kai laughed inwardly, thats because we know how gulliable you all are to being buttered up.
"With these previous examples in mind, humanity can be said to be perhaps the most peaceful and accepting of all the known universal specie, despite being a recent addition." Kai was agahst, his face turning paler by the second. No wonder the other races look upon us favorably. They didnt know the truth of humanities history. Nor of the long wars to extinction fought with the ones calling themselves the galaxy federation.
The truth was as clear as day. Humans didnt invent interstellar travel in 4023CE. It was technology forcibly acquired from downing enemy spaceships after the invasion by the federation in 3071. A long bloody war of resistance that united the fractured united nations into what is now know as the human league. During which we reversed engineered all the tech of the invaders, used it to find their home worlds and subsequently slaughtered them down to the last child. Of course no one could record it, because there was no one left and the humans wouldnt openly admit to the genocide of countless galaxies. The part of the universe the Federation once inhabited is still considered uncharted territory.
His hands gripping the platform in front of him tight, his eyes dialated and sweat pouring down his body, Kai struggled to remain conscious through the horrific revelation. A moist sounding tone echoing in his head "Human Kai of Keplar 452, do you need a medical emergency? Your biological scanner shows signs of great distress."
Finally reorienting his rapid thoughts, Kai simply broke an uneasy smile "No Professor Xeani, I think Im okay now, thank you for your concern". The professor nodded or at least gave what could be construed as a nod, if a gelatinous mass of wriggling tentacles tiliting over could be construed that way.
I need to get out of this class somehow! Acting coy is too much for me... but the commander wont like that very much, Kai thought with a frown. I should come up with a plan. | “Yes Mr. Engels, something you wish to add?” The teacher, a massive blue goopy mass asked as it looked over the class.
“Well, humanity… we thought we were the most violent to be honest. Surely our nuclear weapons and our history…”
“Ah yes, I’ve had human students struggle with this concept quiet a few times.” The creators started to expound as it retook a place at the front of the lecture hall. “My species has studied yours extensively over the millennia. While it’s true that you humans have truly impressive weaponry, likely to sublant your weaker bodies, and your tactics quiet frankly terrify us… It still rings true that humanity as a whole has exhibited quiet a limited output of violence in its existence. Ever since first contact in earth year 2023, humans have been quiet the effective trading partner for most of the universe, and your ability to overcome deficiencies in non-violent ways is truly a marvel.”
“My dad works with humans every day! I’ve met a few of his co-workers, they are all very nice!” One of the younger species, a grey insectoid, ratched out. “One even taught me how to throw the human football!”
“The ability to communicate and connect is one of humanities greatest strength. It’s why they are considered so peaceful, as even though they maintain the ability to inflict massive damage, they simply seek other solutions, often acting as peace keepers in all galactic matters.”
The three humans all smiled and nodded, sharing a glance with each other.
“Now, onto…” the smile slowly left their face.
Good.
The universe still didn’t suspect a thing.
Terrian order 78, the standing order to befriend, and integrate with every galactic civilization, was rather well known. It was the flagship policy that had built up humanity as the dominating force of diplomacy that they were today…
Little did they know, it was simply the groundwork for Terrian order 88.
Afterall, humans knew the lesson that most of the rest didn’t.
Keep your friends close.
Keep your enemies closer. | 2022-10-17T07:12:12 | 2022-10-17T05:24:08 | 117 | 86 |
[WP] You're mindlessly scrolling through random subreddits when you find a subreddit filled with photos of you at different hours of the day, explanations of all your activities, people discussing what life decisions you'll take. Confused, you notice a new post titled: "We've been found!" | Everyone has a moment where their stomach drops in fear. Mine was last week when I stumbled on a subreddit that I thought was about golden retrievers. The latest post was titled "This guy loves his dog" it had a golden retriever sitting next to a pair of legs. I thought the dog looked cute so I saved the post and kept scrolling, but I was left with this nagging feeling. I looked again at the post. I have those same shoes and pants. That's when it hit. I knew that was me in the photo. I tapped the sub ad looked to my horror to see photo after photo of me. Some times at my desk or even in the shower. I was horrified. I was frantic. I called to police and emailed the customer support staff of reddit in hopes that I could get the sub taken down. The next post I saw was in all caps. "WE'VE BEEN FOUND". I am still not sure why I did it. I commented on the post "I only want to know why." The only response I got was "you're special."
I am most definitely not. I was born in a small town in Minnesota and went to a local community college. I have been working at a local grocery store with empty promises from the owner for a manager position. My expenses are small and I don't have many friends. am not special. After two days of nothing on the sub there was a single post from one of the mods. "We know that you don't like us, but you should to move to San Francisco." I was stunned. I had never thought of moving from my home town. Intrigued albeit scared I asked why."You have an exceptional talent to draw people to you and it can serve you more where there are more people that don't know you."
I had never thought of moving, but these people had been watching me since I was in middle school, so they might know a thing or two about me. I sent the nest three days mulling it over. I decided to leave town and move. I wasn't planning on going to the bay area, but I just got an email about some very affordable housing that fit well within my budget. I was suspicious of the place and the rent because of the suggesion, but I wanted a drastic change and I had been told by both the police and support team that there was nothing that they could do.
I finished moving in today. The subreddit has been abuzz with different interior design ideas for my modest apartment. One of the creeps has even offered to furnish my bedroom with anything I want. I think that I will have a better life here. I know hat I am being watched but in a weird way that makes me feel safer. |
Scroll scroll the reddit deeps see the pictures taken by creeps
See me both young and old on r/Rix-pics and if your not sold post my nudes be sure to get gold!
Scroll Scroll the reddit deeps gasp the pictures taken by creeps,
Oh what's the matter all these pictures left my mind in a splatter
Scroll scroll the reddit deeps see the pictures taken by creeps,
Oh how weird you thought in your head pictures of you counting sheep in your bed.
Scroll scroll the reddit deeps see the pictures taken by creeps,
Sort by new make the rounds see the post we've been found... | 2020-06-30T11:35:57 | 2020-06-30T09:04:49 | 86 | 30 |
[WP] "Any last words before I eternally claim your soul?" snarled the demon. Terrified, you stood there silently. You haven't said anything in 20 years, yet you still see the demon constantly hovering in the shadows, waiting. | There was a soft breeze as the sky started to show hints of pinkish orange. It was quiet, aside from the clinking of glass.
"I don't think I've been above ground during sundown before," Orika said, eyes fixated on the distant horizon.
"Really? It's almost always breathtaking, I remember from all my soul-claiming days." Baalzar paused to pour himself more red wine. "My favorite claimings were during a time like this, where I'd like to think that their last moments alive was spent immersed in beauty."
"That's a nice way to look at things." She tilted her head suddenly. "Say, Baalzar, you never told me why you quit the job."
Baalzar leaned back against the rock and lifted his golden rimmed cup to his lips. "What, one can't just quit when they feel like it?"
"I mean, the duty of soul-claiming is one of the most sought for, one of the most honored. And it means coming to the surface every day and experiencing moments like this." Orika gazed at the sky longingly.
"It's not as great as you would think, Orika."
Her stare hardened. "That's what they all say. But at least you lot got to experience and see the human life, before they become soulless, depressing beings."
"But our sole duty is to claim their souls. You'd more likely see frightened faces after frightened faces, their bodies trembling at the sight of you, and hear the quiver in their voice. Is that what you would want?"
Orika didn't respond.
Baalzar took a larger gulp, letting the wine warm his throat.
"I stopped because of something that happened on my final assignment."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, my go-to line is to ask the humans if they had any last words before I claimed their souls. Because I believe that it was cruel to just claim them without giving them a warning or a chance to express themselves. But the last human... he stood there like every other one. Terrified and shaking. His face had gone white too. But he didn't talk."
"What? You mean..."
Baalzar nodded. "For twenty human years, Orika. Twenty. He shut his mouth and I... I never encountered anything like that. I mean... the rules of our duty have a lot of grey area within them, and I didn't want to act against my own personal morals. So I just... followed."
She whipped to look at him, ears perked in surprise. "You didn't claim his soul immediately."
Baalzar shook his head. "I thought he just needed a bit of time to process it all. To be honest, sometimes I still think that I'm right and that he didn't do it to escape death. But from there, I witnessed so many things.
"The thing is, I've always felt detachment towards humans. Not out of resentment, but from a lack of understanding. I didn't understand what made them act the way they did or believed the things that they did. Like why did they care so much about something they themselves created value for? Why did they let it hold so much power that it was a constant source of war and crime and all the bad things they did? I thought humans were stupid and weak. Useless.
"But that particular human... without ever uttering any explanations to me, he showed me so much.
"When he returned home after he encountered me, he immediately hugged his parents and brother. He could have explained to them in writing—I had let writing slide over those twenty years—but he didn't. I later learned that he did not want to worry them.
"I watched him cry in his room, alone, aside from the being that was waiting to claim his soul. I watched him contemplate his entire life, watched him write notes and letters, watched him lose his mind. I thought I had to swoop him to save him from himself.
"Then I watched him get up with newfound determination that I could see in his glistening eyes and balled up fists. The determination that wavered when people questioned, yelled, and bullied him for this 'weird new change' according to them, but ultimately remained there.
"It was then that I learned that humans were stronger than I had perceived."
Baalzar reached for the bottle again. "I apologize for the lengthy explanation, by the way. Just stop me when you become tired of it."
Orika shook her head, previously blazing ruby eyes quelling to a calmer hue that matched the wine. But they still gleamed with curiosity and fascination. "No, please. Tell me everything." | I've been staying in this void silently for what feels like decades. Well, not *perfectly* silently, every now and then I'd make mouth noises unintentionally, but it seems that as long as I don't say any actual words I'm all good.
Originally I was just thinking of some cool last words, y'know. Something that this demon might remember me by, maybe something they'd talk to their friends about if it was particularly funny. But as the minutes passed and the demon also stayed silent, I figured I might've found a loophole.
If I just never respond, it seems like I might get to avoid the whole "eternal damnation" deal.
Surely being silent for eternity is somewhat better of an alternative than eternal torture. At the very least, this dark room I'm in feels like it has air conditioning, while Hell is (from what I've heard) rather hot. The demon seems remarkably patient. They've been silently leaning against a wall, cloaked in shadow, for the past few months at least. Every now and then they get up and stretch and walk around a bit, but don't seem to do much else beyond stare at me, patiently awaiting a response.
Although the first few years in this room were more boring than any I'd had in life, they seemed to fly by compared to the most recent few. I'd replayed in my mind what I remembered of every life event, song, movie and tv show I could, and had fun creatively filling in the blanks. I'd contemplated the big issues that had plagued my world, thought of solutions, and then thought of more hypothetical problems that I could think of more hypothetical solutions to.
Every day I wake up aching to say something, to just give in and at least have a change of pace. But I'm held back by my fear. My brain tells me that obviously eternal torture has to be worse than eternal chilling.
But, I'm soooo bored. No physical pain could hurt as much as this.
After clearing my throat, I said my first words in twenty years.
"Fuck it".
The demon rolled their eyes.
*"Fucking finally. I've got 6 more of you to handle before I'm finished my shift"*
The room started to get hotter. My entire body started to feel like it was burning. The walls of the room started to fade away into unending fields of flame, rock, people being tortured and people doing the torturing, with demons looking upon it all. I felt more terrified than I'd ever been.
And yet I couldn't stop smiling.
:D | 2022-07-11T13:05:38 | 2022-07-11T11:36:03 | 100 | 18 |
[WP] After lulling other countries into a false sense of security, Canada finally makes its move to conquer the world. | They thought it was a joke. They thought it was a ruse. But the reality is that the warning signs had been there for a long, long time. A strange Facebook article here, a funny post on a sub Reddit there, a CBC newscaster that made the oddest of Freudian slips.
Canada, the world's first post-national country. Fully integrated into every government in the world. Attack Toronto and you attack your own citizens. Attack us and you attack your cousin, your old neighbour, your friend from school who moved overseas with his mom who used to make you tea.
The subliminal messaging was part of the Canadian Values (tm) society, existing before the First World War. It was how we raised the second largest army on the Allied side, despite being a tiny colony on another continent. It was in our Tim Horton's coffee, in Don Cherry's suits, Heritage Moments, YTV specials, Trudeau Bhangra videos, and the awesome high note that RCMP guy hits every time he sings the anthem at a game.
We were sorry after it was all over, of course. So, so sorry. Sorry for assassinating your former leaders, sorry for killing those murderous tribal warlords, sorry for freeing you from the bonds of gun culture, sexism, capitalism, social ignorance, poverty, lack of maple syrup. We're sorry you were in the way of our bombs, sorry you may have suffered some friendly fire on our way in. Sorry you aren't one of us.
The Canadians are in charge, now. We run the world, and I think it's better. Of course, I am one so I would say that. Maybe others wouldn't, and there will always be others. I'm sorry for their survivors, but in a generation or so it won't be a problem. Sadly, we know that for a certainty.
But are we at war? No. Is the world a scary, scary place? Of course not. I think we did make it better, with peace, justice, and health care for all. We are no longer at the mercy of the US exchange rate. We can have Nandos, Target, Topshop, Whole Foods, and McDonalds all-day breakfast all over the country.
Yes, elections can suck with 1.23 million electoral ridings, 253 provinces, 62 territories, and a 409 politicial party system. But that's the price to live in the true North strong and free!
After all, everyone is just a Canadian at heart. Watch out for the geese. They'll keep their eyes on you.
*edit* ending | The Canucks had finally done it - the whole world was addicted to maple syrup. How sweet it was!
Golden Rice in Beijing, Syri Curry in Mumbai, Maple Mousse in Italy (for hair), Syrup Sizzlers in Buenos Aires, and, of course, the American Pancake. The Canadian weapons appeared innocent, but became lethal in the enemies' own hands.
General Dia Bettus excelled in sugar warfare. Thanks to GDB, every jar of Pasta Sauce, can of Chicken Soup, or bag of cereal worldwide had his poison within.
WAIT THIS IS REAL LIFE OH SNAP
| 2017-01-17T15:56:25 | 2017-01-17T14:43:11 | 143 | 12 |
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | "So, you want my firstborn. The first child I carried and bore. The one over there. That's the price? I give him to you, and I get wealth and power?"
"YES."
"And what happens to him afterwards is none of my business or concern?"
"YES"
"Deal. Do I need to sign something?"
"BEHOLD. SIGN HERE. AT THE TERMINUS. IN BLOOD."
"Kinky. Lemme nick my finger . . . done."
"THE TRANSACTION IS COMPLETE. WE WILL TAKE THE BOY NOW. YOU WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN."
"I'm not sure about that. His father is supposed to have him next weekend."
"WE CARE NOTHING FOR YOUR ARRANGEMENTS. THEY ARE MOOT. THE BOY IS OURS NOW."
"Well, I've got my money and power, which is what I wanted. Bye!"
\* \* \*
I went on a bit of a shopping spree after that. New clothes, some new furniture, a TV, and a brand-new gaming rig that I put in my son's room. Former room, I guess. Also a bottle of 21-year-old single-malt scotch, which I put aside for later.
Sunday night, I was relaxing in my new overstuffed recliner, watching Omar testify against Bird and enjoying some of that scotch, when the room burst into flame and smoke and a horned figure unveiled himself from behind leathery wings. Sighing, I put my glass atop a coaster on the new end table.
"You don't really need to do that."
"DAMNIT, JANET. YOU CANNOT SELL OUR SON."
"I didn't ask to birth the Antichrist. I was rather staunchly against the idea, if you'll recall."
"IT DOESN'T MATTER. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH *TROUBLE* HE CAUSED DOWN THERE?"
"Isn't that the idea? Causing chaos, upsetting the established order, bringing about the End Times?"
"YES, BUT NOT IN **MY** DAMNED KINGDOM!"
"If you paid child support, I wouldn't need to pull that kind of swindle. You should probably tell those arrogant morons you've got working for you to check the kid's full parentage before signing one of their deals. "
"*THAT* DEMON WILL BE MAKING NO FURTHER DEALS. EVER"
"Aww, too bad. I liked him. So anyway, anything I need to know about?"
"NO. I RETURN DAMIEN TO YOUR CUSTODY. HE IS GROUNDED FOR THE NEXT WEEK. HE KNOWS WHAT HE DID."
"Sure, no problem."
\* \* \*
The flame and smoke vanished without a trace, and I stuck my head into Damien's room.
"How was your trip to Hell?"
"C'mon, Mom. You know you're not supposed to do that."
"I know, I know. But you were heading there anyway, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity. I got you something."
"I saw, and it's nice, but Dad says I'm grounded."
"Yes, and I'll expect you to abide that. But you should at least fire up the rig and see how it works. Bedtime is still 9:30."
"Thanks, Mom! You're the best!"
"Good night, son. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom."
The good thing about single-malt scotch is that there's no ice to melt, so my drink was still waiting for me when I got back to my show. Omar's got the shotgun, Levy's got the briefcase, and I have the world's most unwieldy custody arrangement, but it's all in the game, right? | The stare in its eyes were palpable. As I raised the pen; secure in my grip. I saw a glistening ember formulate by the side of its lip, growing by the second and getting brighter the longer I stared. How many has it secured? What number would my spawn be in this carousel of abandonment that I have enthusiastically entertained? Eye for an eye or demon for a demon in this case where the only way out is to place its spawn back in its owners arm, for I was just an incubator after all. I knew the deal all along. I knew what I was signing into but the end, the end was very unexpected. The love part of it all was something I did not expect and for its love, I would sell not just our spawn; my firstborn, but my soul too.
As I look from the spittle to its blazing eyes I slowly ask “Will you sing for me this one last time before I take my place to the left of you”
The ball of liquid that was once growing in front of my eyes dissipates slowly as its mouth forms an insidious grin “For you my sweet one, I will sow my promise and leave you with images you will forever envision. I will sing a song that you will want to gouge your eyes out to and when over will again sing in your minds eye for eternity”
I hear it’s words and should be afraid but I’m lost in my love for it. My mind wanders from its beaming smile to its torso resting across mine. It standing above me as I look up into face, my body shivering in butterflies in anticipation to hear its voice. I snap out of the fantasy to see the demon’s face across mine so close I can hear the cries of his past and future endeavours. I sit across it and know to be forever by its side I must give up my spawn but its voice, it’s whispers in my ear means more and will always mean more… | 2022-08-31T20:13:58 | 2022-08-31T17:45:32 | 134 | 13 |
[WP] The evil sorcerer laughs as he tosses another ball of dark energy at you. "Puny mortal," he sneers. "You are no match for a Dark Lord." 'Oh no, buddy," you snarl back. "I was a better Dark Lord than you'll ever be, and I will NOT be beaten by some two-bit necromancer." | This ball, I didn't dodge. Bored of the charade, I simply let it connect with my chest. I knew what the magic was meant to to. It should drain the life from me. But all it did was shatter the illusion. The human soldier form disintegrated, motes of light fading.
In its place I stood. A 7 foot tall being in thick black armour. It covered me head to toe, full of sharp edges and spikes. The shield didn't exist, and the sword was replaced. Instead, I wielded an enormous mace. It constantly dripped with thick blood, and hungered for more.
The sorcerer stood in shock for a moment, before recognition dawned on him.
"Malthez? You're supposed to be dead."
I laughed, a heavy, cruel laugh.
"I have been dead for longer then you have been alive. And now it's time for you to take that leap too."
I began to approach, hefting my mace in a ready position. He paled, muttering a short spell as he backed up. The ground before him split, and 4 skeletons rose from the ground. I rolled my eyes. Such an amateur. I swung with my mace, barely felling the resistance of bone as I destroyed their skulls.
The sorcerer turned to run, seeing his creations so casually destroyed. I pointed behind him as he ran, warping the world to my desire. I forced the ground to rise up, creating a wall for him to run into. And he did, slamming into it without slowing. He staggered back, holding a hand to his face. Blood bubbled out. I suspected a broken nose.
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision as I closed the distance. In a desperate defence, he summoned a bone chilling wind. I walked through it, paying no mind to the cold of the air. I was dead. What harm could low temperatures do to me?
He raised a hand as I got close, and spoke in a pleading tone.
"Stop, please! I will do anything!"
Beneath my helmet I smiled. The begging was always my favourite part.
"Anything you say?"
"Yes! I will serve you! I will kill for you! Just don't kill me!"
I pretended to think, before nodding.
"Ah yes, there is something you can do for me."
"What?! What is it?!"
"Die."
I swung down. The spiked head of my mace pulverised his outstretched arm, before continuing down onto his face. The meat of his face was turned to mush, mixing with shattered bone and brain matter. I pulled it out with a wet sucking sound as his body released it.
I was tempted to leave him there, alone in the town he had slaughtered. His undead would stand around, uncaring of their rotting master. But whilst he was a poor excuse for a Dark Lord, he still was one. And tradition dictated he be burned.
I let the wall fall, returning the land to how it once was. From my belt, I withdrew a seemingly empty vial. I uncorked it, and made to pour it over his body. A clear liquid flowed from it, much more coming out then could have fit. Once he was drenched, I recorked and returned it into my belt.
I summoned a small flame, idly tossing it onto his body. He erupted into orange flames tinged with black. I turned to leave, reweaving my illusion as I did so. Another Dark Lord down. Another step closer to freedom. | Of all the craters I have had the pleasure of inhabiting the one I was in then is by far the most aesthetically pleasing.
I sent a tremor through the floor.
The way the charred earth merges into the lighter ground like a flower that’s just bloomed is marvellous.
Maurice’s surprise cost him his guard as he stumbled on a corpse.
The chalk colour of the smoke makes a nice contrast to the ash as well.
His surprise and was only temporary and Immediately, he snapped back up with a crack of his spine.
I turned my attention to him. The grim lines of concentration on my face must have rivalled the veins on his as he screeched a command to the web of zombies flanking him.
Still though necromancer’s don’t exactly leave a place looking pretty.
I stamped the floor again and they crumbled.
Maurice cracked the pieces upwards like dusty hail.
I teleported to the crater ledge leaving it bouncing back at him.
‘Ah AH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH’
He wasn’t that bad as a fool though.
I’ll KEEEEAAAAALLLL YOOUUUU
The inhuman mania he went to so quickly seems more a nothing to lose tactic than actual stupidity.
DON’T THEEEAANK YOOOOOUUU’RRRREE
He was kind of scary in the way he seemed so unaware of normal emotions.
ST-STRAAWWWNG ENOUGH
Maurice Malice
TO KIIIII......
You had my respect for a moment | 2021-02-27T10:25:44 | 2021-02-27T08:54:27 | 86 | 12 |
[WP] Jokingly you say to your friend "If either of us discover time travel, the first place we visit is this moment". The second those words leave your mouth what appears to be an older version of yourself rounds the corner, and he looks terrified. | I had to do a double take...was...was that me I was looking at? Before I could ponder any further, this cloned version of me spoke with a somewhat alarmed and disturbed tremor in his tone. He was wearing a tank top that looked like it'd seen better days. His face was speckled with smudges of dirt. He was bruised and he looked sleep deprived. On his shoulder, I saw a tattoo of what looked like a shutter of some sort.
"You need to come with me. Now", he said.
"What? Wh--"
"You both NEED to come with me, we don't have much time, I'll explain later". He grabbed me and Roy and broke into a full on sprint down Parker avenue. In my confused state, the only thing I could think to do as we ran was to ask more questions to figure out what was happening.
"Where are we going?" I asked as I panted behind him. "Who are you and why do you look exactly like me?"
"That's because I am you. Look, we need to get to the P.O.D. before they do. If they get there before us, we're screwed.
"What the hell - what pod? Who's 'they'--" Just then, we took a left hook into an alley. Just down the way, he stopped and turned around to address us. He looked down at his wrist. He pushed a button on his watch, and a hologram showing various information popped up. It looked like a graph chart of some kind. There were 5 level indicators, but one seemed to be reading off the charts.
"FUCK!" He exclaimed. "FUCK FUCK....FUCK!"
Roy and I looked at him, both of us still baffled at what we were looking at.
"What's going on?" I asked
"The P.O.D." He said - his tone now panicked, "It's...it's too close to being compromised to operate."
"What's that mean for us exactly?"
"It means we have to go, but I can't guarantee you'll be able to get back any time soon." He said as he turned to face a blank wall adjacent to us. Just then, I heard the whizzing sound of a jet turbine being spooled up. Before I had time to ask what the noise was about, I saw him pull out what looked like a large white gun and aim it at the wall. Then I heard an explosive sound unlike anything I'd ever heard before. Then I saw it. A large, orange oval was on the wall, its edges smoldering. But what I saw next blew my mind.
"Th-- that....that's not possible." I said with a stuttered tone. "How am I seeing this?" It looked like this other-worldly room filled with water and various platforms. Before I had a chance to react, I felt a tug on my arm.
"Let's go" He said. "It's our only chance"
"Chance at what?" I asked.
"To free them all".
| It was like a dejavú, for both of us.
The moment came, and yet it came again. Both of our future and our past colliding at this very moment.
A moment we both thought insignificant.
Those words leaving my mouth resonating as if for a moment I was not talking to James, but to the man with the fearful eyes.
I am him.
On time, he met us at the park.
On time, he appeared from behind.
It was like a memory, for both of us, as we met and stared at our familiar faces.
The fear resonating my eyes through his.
His words resonating his mouth through mine.
On time, he came.
He warned.
He feared.
"You are what I was"
"I am what you will be"
~~"Listen to me, and do not vote Trump in 2016."~~
"Listen to me, and do not break both of your arms."
Edit: Alternate ending because Trump. | 2017-03-02T09:19:52 | 2017-03-02T08:11:06 | 32 | 20 |
[WP] To accelerate scientific advancement, the world agrees on a “decade of justified means“ - meaning, as long as you are producing results, you won't get punished for unethical behaviour when designing your experiments. | Year 1: Day 1
I knew when we started that it was wrong. All wrong. I knew the very instant that I signed the dotted line and leased the buildings, the lab space, the machines. When I cashed the check and transferred the money to the relevant accounts, I fought back my nausea. When they told me that I could do it, I hated them.
But we had a job to do. Humanity recognized that, and humanity was ready to pay the price, even if it meant compromising what defined us--EVERYTHING that defined us. Even if it meant compromising everything that we held near and dear. It would all be worth it. That was what I needed to cling to. Besides, we had done it before. Some of humanities defining technological shifts have come as a result of the same blase disregard for "human normitive" ethical perspectives. This is the paradigm shift we seek now... the shift we need.
_________________________________________________
Year 3: Day 220
It will all be worth it. I keep screaming that inside my own head. It will all be worth it. It is the mantra of my dreams--the fiber that knits my consciousness and my sanity together. We haven't killed anyone--not like the others. We have no deaths on our hands, and it will all be worth it.
But sometimes, I dream of her little face. I dream of her voice. "Please Derek--it hurts," she repeats, until I wake up screaming. But those nightmares have ebbed with the medication.
__________________________________________________
Year 6: Day 74
It is finally done. We've made contact. I was right. We hadn't killed them. They were still alive! They were still ALIVE. Alive...insofar as I can define life. It was Rogers who finally unlocked the key. It was more invasive than in my wildest nightmares, but it worked. I heard her speak. I could hear her voice in that tinny speaker, "Hello? Is anyone there? Please--it is so dark."
This was the thread we had needed. Our equipment was alive with data, streaming in from every sensor and input we had thought to create, and I think that by the end of this year, we will have a workable solution to stop this waking nightmare from rending humanity into nothingness.
I walked over to the bank of tubes that contained the disembodied brain and spinal columns of so many humans. Most of them were no one: disenfranchised, penniless, without family, comfort, or friends. They had been volunteered by humanity as sacrifices to save us all. I was only in charge of one of the spearheads against the impending threat, but we were responsible for one of the most critical components of this technological arms race.
They are coming, full of malevolent, murderous hatred for humanity. We barely survived the first prong of their attack. They had sent a massive salvo of warheads, numbering in the millions, so widely dispersed, so voluminous, that it would have blanketed Earth in its entirety as it spun on its pole, exposing every hemisphere to that violent thrust. But we had seen it. We had acted in time. The planetary defense system had kept enough of them from getting through, and we are alive. AND WE KNOW THEY ARE COMING.
I looked at the rows upon rows of brains. You all knew they were coming to, and you are part of the sacrifice. But only in a way. We weren't like the other groups.
_____________________________________________
Year 9: Day 270
Everything is in place. We have finalized all of our plans, and we have put them in motion. The "Decade of Justified Means"--that tiny window predating the arrival of the Alien fleet--was the only time had had to prepare. They would be here soon, and we would be ready.
Almost all of the technology being engineered needed my team's research to succeed. And that was what we had done. And it would all be worth it. We had finally created a fully working human-machine interface that allowed a human to interact and clock with our mammoth war machines. Battle in space would be done quickly--too quickly for normal human thought and reaction, which was why we had to disembody so many of our young--why we had to sacrifice them.
But they were ready, and they were connected, and they were angry. We would need that.
_____________________________________________________
Year 10: Day 1
I sat in my chair, watching with bated breath with the rest of humanity. This was it. The alien armada was slowly approaching our human fleet and orbital defenses, like a cloud of buzzing locusts approaching a field of corn, ready to feast.
And... it was over?
The ships moved quietly past the human fleet, quickly encroaching on our atmosphere.
Our ships--had done nothing. The tinny speaker in my lab squawked gently then ebbed into static. I could hear something... it was so quiet. I got closer and increased the volume. A voice resolved itself--my first patient...the girl of my nightmares.
"It was not worth it." she whispered, and then I felt the ground shudder as the first bombs began to drop.
**Edit: Grammar**
| The needs of the many, outweigh the needs of the few.
I've heard this phrase repeated, in every way imaginable, since I was a young child. An idea that has existed for ages but only really taken seriously in recent history.
It was an idea I really took to heart. Even as a child I would sacrifice my conveniences if it meant helping others. Now as an adult, I can really make a difference, or at least I hope I can.
Over the last 100 years, amazing advances in science and technology have been made thanks to the "Justified Means" Act.
We are healthier, fitter, and stronger. We can eat anything we want and still maintain a perfect body fat ratio.
We pat ourselves on the back for this accomplishment. As though it's something to be proud of. To live longer, happier lives. I guess it depends on how you view what's "better."
Foresight is something missing by so many people driven by their emotions. Personally it makes me sick. Emotions do nothing but cause irrational behaviour. Luckily, I have enough foresight for all of us.
Behind all the back patting, the world as we know it is coming to an end. We can't sustain healthier longer lives. We thought famine was a problem long ago, but in the next 200 years it will be a bigger problem than ever. The sheer population of the human race with tower over everything. Kill everything. I need to find a way to help us.. AND the world and the other living creatures that inhabit it.
And that is why you are here with us today. To help not only save us, the human race, but also the world.
Remember, the Testee Reward for this study is the highest I have ever offered. You'll live a life of luxury upon completion of the study. So if you back out now, you can return home empty handed.
All I need you to do is eat this ear of corn. You may begin.
***24 hours later***
I hope all of you are doing well and congratulations. You have helped to prove my new formulated corn will help save not only the human race but everything else on Earth.
The 40 of you here now survived out of the 100 involved in the study. That means you were able to tolerate the test sample. And 30 of you have not reported not feeling hungry since receiving the sample. That's fantastic!
I want to thank you, on behalf of the greater good, for helping today. Please stop by the front desk on your way out to receive your reward, to be paid out monthly for the rest of your life. Thank you.
*Lab Journal Entry 2155/02/23*
*The new results were phenomenal. We are definitely on our way to solving the future famine. 40% is the best survival rate yet along with a near 90% appetite alteration. With this new data, I think the next crop should yield our target values.*
*According to my calculations, a 20% survival rate and 98% success rate on appetite alteration will solve all of our population and hunger problems for the foreseeable future. We're almost there!*
_____
Oops... looks like I read over the "decade" part of the title. Sorry for going slightly off instructions
| 2015-12-18T09:31:23 | 2015-12-18T08:36:09 | 74 | 34 |
[WP] It turns out that all birds share a common language and even have an official political voting process. One day, you find an injured bird and rescue it. You don’t know it, but it’s the leader of all the birds. Strange things around you start happening... | It observed him with cold eyes, one of its wings protruded at an awkward angle. Even as Reed’s shadow loomed over the raven it made no signs of distress, made no plea for its life. It did not cry out in anger at its alleged executioner. It simply observed his approach, an unmistakable intelligence flaring up behind its pitch-black eyes.
“Looks like a broken wing,” Reed said out loud, even though it was just him and the raven. To his surprise the bird nodded and looked up at his eyes, seemingly implying, “Help.”
The raven slapped Reed’s hand away dismissively with its beak when it became clear he was going to wrap the bird in his thick blue scarf. It glared at him with indignation, it pointed its beak at his right shoulder.
Reed said, “You— you want to ride on my shoulder, with a broken wing?” And the raven crowed once in affirmation.
Reed helped the strange creature up on his shoulder and started biking slowly, the Raven positioned himself to reduce wind from slamming into its broken wing, but judging from the talons that dug into him, it wasn’t very effective.
Strange calls echoed throughout the sky as he made his way out of the park, the sound of numerous flapping wings interrupted his thoughts, he looked over his free shoulder. A squad of crows, probably around three dozen.
“Looks like murder is in the air,” Reed chuckled to himself, the raven pecked him in his ear, “Ow, quit that!”
The raven crowed into his ear and continued pecking, “Stop it, I’m sorry, alright?”
When one of the crows flew in-front of him, trying to disrupt his trajectory, it became clear that the raven did not want to punish him for his bad tastes, it tried to make him go faster. A lot faster.
“What’s going on?” Reed was flabbergasted, he was under attack by a bunch of birds!
Reed found it strange, but something in the eyes of the raven seemed to say, “Get me out of this, and you’ll be rewarded.”
Reed stood up on his bike and started pedalling like his life depended on it, he swerved off-road around a couple of tall pines, he could feel the raven’s talons dig into his flesh. The raven crowed with ire Reed did not expect out of a bird, their assailants crowed right back at them.
“Out of the way,” Reed shouted at a couple who had stopped to look at the macabre scene approaching, “watch out!” He biked right between them. When Reed looked back, he thought there must be at least a hundred crows now.
Reed leaped out of his bike with one hand held on the raven to support it against the violent ejection. They narrowly made it through the doors to his apartment house before the loud crowing outside blotted out the sound of cars, he heard beaks clattering against the hard-wood of the door.
“*Who* are you?” Reed asked with his back against the door, panting in exhaustion.
Reed’s eyes widened when the raven spoke back to him in perfect English, “King.”
*****
Thank you for reading!
**EDIT:** [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dh704v/wp_it_turns_out_that_all_birds_share_a_common/f3m6nf6/?context=3) | The corvids came first and scrackled and cracked
stone in their beak, stone against glass
"Away with you magpies!" broom in my hand,
"Away with you raven, get off of my land!"
Back I returned to the wren in the nest
Made of tissue and towel and all of the rest
I'd happily stumbled upon bird on my walk
Wounded and worried and prey for a hawk
I'd taken her home and seen to her wounds
And better she seemed under light of the moon.
When a squall did squail and an eagle did hit
my window with beak; I cried out "Oh sh--"
The glass did crack and all kinds of birds
Pigeon and pelican and parrot with words
Flooded my room with a flurry of feather
Eagle took wren, leapt into the weather
"You rescued our queen and saved her from death,"
The parrot decried as I recaptured my breath.
"Sir you are our lady's brave saviour-n,
I do pronounce you the prince of the avian.
Toucan," it said, "Please pay the bill,"
And with that the great bird parted its quill
A feather dropped out, golden and shining
Jewel encrusted with neat silver lining.
"Am I dreaming!?" I asked with a leap.
"No my leige, but we birds are not cheep." | 2019-10-13T02:28:31 | 2019-10-13T02:09:41 | 342 | 118 |
[WP] A cure for sleep has been found, by taking a cheap pill people no longer need to sleep. You opted to continue sleeping and now 1 year after the release of this pill you notice that people are starting to act oddly. | “Hey Beth?” Greg asked leaning into the next cubicle.
“Yeah?” Beth replied, not looking up from her Sudoku puzzle.
“Why is Jerry screaming at the toaster?” Greg had tried to ignore it, but Jerry had been screaming and pointing at the toaster for the better part of an hour.
“You didn’t hear what it said to him?” Beth scratched another pentagram into an empty spot on her puzzle.
“No. I didn’t.” Greg moved out of striking distance, just as a precaution.
“Well I didn’t catch it all, but it was something along the lines of fucking his mother with hot, hot toast.” Beth pricked her finger and smeared a bloody symbol Greg didn’t recognize over the entire puzzle.
“Ok. Thanks.” Greg wheeled back to his cube carefully. Something fishy was going on, so Greg decided it would be wise to go home sick.
All he had to do was make it to the boss’s office, past Beth and Jerry. Then get around Bob, who was naked for some reason, after that he was home free until he got to Janet’s desk. Bob didn’t notice him, he was too busy licking his computer screen and jamming staples into his leg. Janet was calmly knitting at her desk much to Greg’s relief, relief that quickly faded when he saw what she was knitting. To Greg it looked like a baby onesie, it just had too many limbs.
“Mr. Brand in?” Greg asked.
“Mr. Brand is burning in a pit of boiling blood for the service of the dark ones.” She said not looking up.
“So…?”
“He’s in.”
Greg entered the office and saw that Mr. Brand wasn’t burning in the literal sense, just sitting at his desk looking sweaty and perplexed like normal.
“Ah, Greg. What can I do for you?” Mr. Brand asked normally.
“Strange day.” Greg replied.
“You’re telling me. It’s bananas out there!” Mr. Brand said with a chuckle.
“Right? Jerry has been screaming at the toaster for almost an hour!”
Mr. Brand stopped chuckling. “Jerry is a fucking banana.”
“Ok then. I feel sick. I need to go home early. Is that ok?” Greg asked quickly.
“Oh no, no sick time. I’m sending you home with pay. I can’t have my good employees turning into bananas like fucking Jerry.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow?”
“I doubt it. You’ll hear from me once I purge these godless banana bastards from the building.” Mr. Brand pulled a metal letter opener from his desk and made some test stabs into the air.
“Ok. Bye!” Greg said before calmly but quickly escaping the area.
As he passed Janet he heard Mr. Brand speak through the intercom on her desk. “Janet, send that fucking banana Jerry in here please.”
“Die in pain for the service of the dark lord.” Janet replied.
“Thank you Janet!”
Greg sidestepped Jerry. He didn’t seem to notice him and his voice was getting hoarse. When he passed Beth’s desk it appeared that she had bled to death surrounded by bloody symbols. Greg grabbed his bag and got the hell out of there as fast as he could.
He made it down to the parking garage without incident only to find his car covered in potted plants. He moved the ones that would impede his driving and let momentum take care of the rest. When he turned on the radio he gained some insight to what was going on.
“It’s the pills is what a science man said. He said the pills that keep you awake are bad and now people are crazy, crazy, crazy. I’m not crazy though, completely immune over here. Not gonna let the government put their signals in my head. No sir. So if you’re on the pills, stop doing that cause it turns out not sleeping is bad for you. Looks like we have a caller! Caller? Caller I can’t figure out how to get you on the radio. Just tell me the stuff. Bananas? Get the fuck out, that makes way more sense! This just in folks, It’s fucking bananas! Run for your lives!”
Greg switched off the radio, he needed to focus on driving. It was just as nuts on the road as it appeared everywhere else, but he stuck to backroads and made it home safe. His neighbor was mowing his roof and gave Greg a friendly wave before returning to his chore.
Greg went inside, locked the door, and jammed a bookcase in front of it for good measure. He grabbed a baseball bat and set it by the couch, took off his pants, and sat down.
“Good thing I didn’t eat those pills.” Greg said to his cat as it curled up on his lap. “I think you’re on to something Bitey. Think I’ll just sleep until this sorts itself out.”
He scratched Bitey on the head, who unsurprisingly bit him and ran off. Greg stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes, he never could figure out why someone would give this up.
Before long he was fast asleep, oblivious to the madness outside his door.
---
Bananas! /r/DirtandPoncho
---
So some folks wanted more so I whipped this together [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/DirtandPoncho/comments/50i242/part_2wp_a_cure_for_sleep_has_been_found_by/)
Kinda late, but I hope you like it! | I hadn't slept well for the past few months. Not well at all. Foxes, you see, had moved into the neighbourhood and were no doubt rummaging through the trash cans in the alley below my apartment, during the nights. I know this because of the terrible howling that keeps me awake at night. I've been told it's only their mating call, but God help me, it sounds like a child screaming.
I often wonder how the *Wakers* fare during the night, walking around with all the foxes out there. Recently I had been rethinking my stance on *WakeUp*, the incredibly popular drug that eradicates the need for sleep. I mean, I've not been sleeping well anyway, so why am I bothering to try? But no, I can't. I like sleep. It's natural and healthy and I just don't buy into *WakeUp* and its insomniac giving properties. People used to call insomnia a curse. I was one of very few people in the city that wasn't a Waker. I felt they resented me for it.
That night, the night it started, was incredibly humid and even with my fan on I had little choice but to keep my bedroom window wide open. The constant hum of my little table fan soon helped me drift off.
I awoke to screaming and a pounding heart. I tried to reassure myself - that it was just the foxes. My room was pitch black and I knocked over a glass of water as I fumbled in the darkness for the switch of the table lamp. "Damn." I yelled out loud. It was reassuring hearing a voice, even though it was my own.
I clicked the light on and the room swelled up in a dim yellow light. I slipped out of bed and headed to the window. It was still humid, but I couldn't sleep with the howling.
As I pulled back the curtain, an unusual bright light forced me to squint. It was a full moon, ripe as a peach and as bright a winter sun. I suppose my eyes just weren't well adjusted, and the normal light of the moon only *appeared* incredibly vivid to me. As I leaned forward to close the window I happened to look down on the street below, and I saw an unusual sight.
The pale moonlight bathed the street below in a strange white light. On the street and staring straight up at **me** were about a hundred Wakers. They didn't move, they just... *stared*.
After a few short moments my curiosity helped pull off the blanket of intimidation that had become wrapped around me.
"He-hello?" I yelled out of the open window. Nothing. No response, just that unnerving *staring*.
"HELLO!" I yelled again.
A Waker at the front of the pack put his hands to his mouth and howled. Howled like the foxes. As the other Wakers took up the cry, I quickly realised there never had been foxes. I shivered as the Wakers began to move. They began to walk to the front door of my apartment building. I could hear them as they shoulder-barged against it. I heard the dull *thump thump thump* through the bloodcurdling screams.
I had to get out.
---
Thanks for reading. More of my WP responses on /r/nickofnight
| 2016-08-30T08:01:44 | 2016-08-30T07:55:48 | 2,598 | 320 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | It was quite strange actually.
The first number popped into view when I was about 12 years old. It was a solid 4 that looked like something straight out of Times New Roman font. That 4 I remember, hovered above a big scruffy looking man with a tattoo of a stripper on his left arm. I didn't think of it as much at the time. I was 12, and I thought that these numbers were part of growing up.
The next day at school, I saw numbers….everywhere. Everyone had a number above their head. Mrs Ball, had a 1. The girl sitting by herself during recess had a 1. My best friend had a 0. Even my dog had a 1 above his little head.
I was quite stupid actually. At one point, I started bragging to my friends about how I became a man at the tender age of 12. When I told them how I saw numbers above peoples heads, they simply looked at me and probably wondered why they were friends with me in the first place.
For the next 5 years, I continued seeing numbers. The highest I have ever seen, a faint 6, danced on top of an old picture of Hitler in one of my honors history course. Throughout this time, I didn't really think much of these numbers. Truthfully, I didn't even know what they meant.
That was until of course, when I turned on the Television and saw the same man with the 4, on the headlines of BBC news.
It was only after I found out that this man, the same man with the 4 I saw 5 years ago, the same man who had violently murdered 14 people out of the blue, the same man who was getting lethal injection, did I realize for the first time what the numbers truly meant.
From that day forward, the numbers began to mean something. I paid close attention to them for the next few years and this is what I have found out.
1. The numbers correspond to how a dangerous a person is, with a zero belonging to a toddler, and a 3-4 belonging to a serial killer.
2. The numbers work on a logarithmic scale. I don't know if there is some kind of mathematical equation behind this. All I know is that a 5, is A LOT more dangerous that a 4. Fun fact: Stalin was a 5.
3. Numbers become more precise with age, or experience. When I first saw the numbers, they were pleasant whole numbers. When I was 17, I saw my first 1.5 floating above my girlfriend. I am now 25, and the numbers now go into god knows how many digits - ive lost count.
4. Numbers fluctuate constantly, but never by much.
5. I can't see my own number.
........
You may think that seeing thousands of numbers a day may be a curse, but actually, it gets pretty fun. The numbers I see is in its very essence, information. For instance, did you know Dictator Mao had a higher number than Hitler before he died? Or the fact that women have on average higher numbers than men? What about the fact that politicians have again on average lower numbers than teachers?
As I said, the numbers are information, and with all information, I can, and I have, used these numbers to my own advantage.
How one may ask? To be honest, it's really quite simple. I can sympathize anyone. I can move people simply because I know how anyone is feeling at any given moment.
When I got my first real job at 18 (back when I was able to see numbers to the hundredths digit in precision) at local restaurant, I was cleaning floors and serving people food. I was nothing. Then wages sucked and my boss treated me like a piece of shit, who I theorized probably just pushed me around to make himself feel better for his insecure 0.125. For the longest time, I didn't know what to do with my gift. This changed when one day, the CEO of a large oil firm came in for dinner. I paid close attention to that man. He was a 2.870-2.91 mostly throughout the dinner. If I remember correctly, he ordered a steak and the most expensive bottle of wine, and ate his food in silence. Throughout the evening, I watched that man. His number didn’t fluctuate much. I got bored, and was about to mop the floor until out of the corner of my eye I caught the man pulling out his phone to what I’m guessing to check on his messages. It was at that instant, that his number of sub 2.7-sh, suddenly rose to a 3.678. Something was wrong. Whatever it was, I felt sorry for that guy. I ended up paying for his dinner, despite costing me 2 weeks’ worth of my salary.
Initially, I thought I made a mistake paying for that guys food. I was wrong.
The next day, he came to the restaurant again. He didn’t order anything. Instead, he asked my boss for me. When I greeted him, he thanked me for my kindness and asked me if I wanted a “real job”.
Turns out his wife cheated on him, and truthfully, I’m thankful for that. Because of her, I learned to use my gift wisely.
I should also add that I am now the VP of said multi-billion dollar company. You can probably guess how I got there.
Last night, something interesting happened. I was looking over some files in until a young man was escorted into my office. I have to say I was kind of surprised when I saw the 8.1264184…. I’ve never seen anyone, dead or alive, with such a high number. As the numbers work on a logarithmic scale, he made Hitler look PG-13.
This man wasn’t just dangerous. He was lethal. The numbers don’t lie. Who knows what he was capable of?
But despite that I looked into his eyes, and saw that he was genuinely afraid.
I chuckled, and asked him what he did for a living. Private contractor? Radical Extremist? A politician? When he didn’t answer, I rose from my seat and walked towards him to introduce myself.
But instead of enthusiastically reaching out to shake my hand, as these over qualified try-hards usually do to get a job, he stammered back and whispered in a mixture of what I can only describe as fear and disbelief…..
“you…..you are.. a… ten”.
To be honest, I wasn’t really surprised.
| "10" I said unconsciously.
My friend tore his eyes away from the girl walking past us down the hall and stared at me in surprise.
"A 10? Really?" He turns his gaze back to her. "Dude I'll admit she's a looker, but I'd say more of an 8. Not 10 material, but eh different stokes for different folks."
I wasn't listening anymore. I was looking at her receding form shocked at what I had just said.
*10!?* I thought to myself. *Impossible I'd never seen a 10 before.*
My friend laughed and gave my shoulder a good natured shove.
"Got a thing for the new girl do ya Rook? Ello earth to Tomas anyone home?"
I got up abruptly and made to follow her, quickening my pace as to not lose her. My mind was racing. The highest I'd ever met was my uncle Cernes when he came back from Iraq. He was special forces and he was an 7. Even those warlords and politicians on the news never made it past 8. I couldn't imagine what danger this slight girl, barely above 5 feet, possessed to warrant her a 10 on my scale. I was determined to find out.
Gaining now I thought of how to get her alone. In the packed halls she didn't hear my footsteps on the linoleum floors until I was just behind her. She barely had a second to glance at me before I grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty classroom. I hope not too many students saw...
Once we were in I closed and locked the door before turning around to face her. She looked up at me open mouthed. Muttering something to herself. I was afraid too. More afraid than I'd like to admit, but I knew what had to be done.
"Who are you?" I hissed. Trying my best to sound angry. Trying not to let my voice tremble.
She opened her mouth to scream but with one quick step I closed the distance between us and put my hand over her mouth effectively silencing her. Dragging her shaking form away from the window on the classroom door I pinned her against the wall. I could see the abject terror in her eyes. I wasn't taking any chances. I HAD to know.
"I'm going to take my hand away from your face now and you are going to answer some questions. Understand?" She nodded best she could with my hand holding her. Slowly I took my hand off her mouth and she took wavering breath, looking like she was about to cry. In that moment I felt awful and more ashamed than I ever had in my life.
*This is necessary* I told myself again taking a step back to give her room to breath.
She was shaking uncontrollably and muttering something over and over again. Staring at me with a look of fear and incomprehension. I breathed in to gather my thoughts again, but before I could say anything more she spoke up.
"I can see the numbers in your eyes. Your like me." My heart stopped. That calm I had been gathering for the coming interrogation, shattered.
"W-what did you say." I couldn't keep the fear out of my voice this time. She noticed my resolve crumbling and took a tentative step away from the wall. I could see a flicker in her iris now. So faint you'd surely miss it if you weren't looking for it. Numbers. I moved in closer. She didn't step away. I could see them clearly now. Her gaze still held incalculable fear. 10s. Dozens of 10s popping in and out of existence just under the surface of her eyes. So lost was I in those numbers and what they meant. Before I could react she deftly reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out my pen. Swinging it around faster than I could follow she stabbed me with it in the gut.
I couldn't process what had just happened. With more force than I'd thought possible for a girl of her size she brought up her knee and shoved the pen farther in before pushing my unresponding form into the desk. I crashed into them and felt something snap. Whether it was outside or inside my body I wasn't sure. Through vision clouded with pain I saw her reach back and pull the fire-alarm, and heard the click of the door automatically unlocking as cool water rained down from the emergency sprinklers. She ran.
I sat there for some time thinking. Barely feeling the pain in my gut and the water pooled with my blood. She too saw the numbers, and she was a 10. I had to find her again. | 2014-11-29T22:35:42 | 2014-11-29T15:22:56 | 200 | 24 |
[WP] The worst part about being shot in the head? The headache. The second worst part? Explaining to everyone why you can't die... | I didn't even feel it really, well not initially. The hot lead bursting through and out of my skull just felt like intense pressure behind my eyes. It's quite difficult to describe to others, after all there are very few people who have taken a bullet to the brain and retained consciousness.
After the shot screams rang out through the once bustling city street and I was left alone, bleeding on hot pavement. The blood dripped in the street like a popsicle on a hot day. Istood up and brushed myself off before inspecting the large hole in the back of my head. Blood dripped from the wound down the back of my neck and soaked into my shirt
Goddammit, I hated doing laundry.
I looked towards the source of the shots, but there was nothing in sight, nobody. I could make out the faint sounds of screams and more gunshots in the distance.
Not my problem.
Soon the sounds of screams were replaced by sirens as an ambulance approached from the street in front of me. I tried to turn and make a hasty exit, but *somehow* the four wheeled machine with an engine was faster than my brisk walk. A short, pasty man hopped out of the back and waddled towards me. As he grew closer his eyes widened.
"Sir...I need you to come with me. I believe you need medical att-"
I gestured for him not to speak and interrupted "Blahh skree skewrort, fluot."
Fuck. I guess my speech function wasn't exactly in "working order" yet.
The man's eyes grew wider upon hearing my jumbled speech. Another paramedic joined in his amazement.
"...Ok sir" he approached cautiously with his arms out wide. The second paramedic took a stretcher out of the back and made his way behind him.
I wanted to tell them to turn off the damn sirens and leave me alone. I just needed to go home and take a nice long nap. I knew I wouldn't be able to say that, so I did the next best thing.
Run
I turned and took off down the street, but legs crossed and buckled, I felt like a game of QWOP. My hips twisted opposite of my body and I was thrown to the ground. From behind me a few police officers appeared and ran towards me.
"Sir you're injured! You need medical assistance!" An officer said
"Hahe therm Thulu!" I yelled back towards him.
My legs continued to move like a pair of wet asparagus's beneath me as I tried to escape. They gained on me quickly, which honestly wasn't very difficult I imagine. As I ran passed buildings I could see my reflection in the windows. The blood in my shirt made me look like the victim in a horror movie, and my face slouched to one side as if I had a stroke. The hole through the front of my head had closed, but blood continued to drip from the exit wound. No wonder they thought I was in need of help. I looked like a monster.
I stopped in the street and turned to face my pursuers. They came to a quick halt and stared at me.
"I..I'm fine thank you officers. I'll be going home now. You see I can't die. Bit of an inconvenience at times, I'm sure you lads know how it goes. Anyways I'll be on my way now!"
The pair of men stared in disbelief. They lowered their sunglasses in near synch and looked me up and down.
And that's how I ended up in jail overnight.
| A bang shook the restaurant while I fell backwards out of my chair. I had figured it would go this way, my being so far behind on the money I owe and all. Guess he had to make an example if me, but damn I never figured the shark would have a .44 tucked in that pinstripe suit of his. Tacky piece of shit even had it gold plated with pearl grips, to each their own I guess.
The gunpowder residue ruined my food and the splitting migraine ruined my night. I wonder if he knows that. Well, I guess I better pick myself, my blood, and the bits of my brain off the floor. Fuck his chair and the walls. Im going home for an excedrin. He really got excited when I stood back up, painced and all. Started spouting "Im sorry! dont hurt me! how can you still be alive"! I had to explain to him and everyone in the restraunt tonight that I may as well be dead, for all they know I am and the shellfish got to their brains. I even told them they'd never see me agian. Even joked that I was death incarnate and that the piss poor excuse for a shark just took 20 of his life. Had to change my ID after that.
I went home and took my excedrin, put the gauze around my head for the third time this month and took a nice well deserved nap after being shot and all, planned on calling my guy about the ID change after. I've never gotten around to it though. | 2018-11-25T20:16:15 | 2018-11-25T20:14:26 | 104 | 13 |
[WP] When you had died, your Grim Reaper had been none other than your grandmother, whom you hated more than anyone else. When it’s your turn to become a Grim Reaper, you are told it’s soul of the person you hurt the most in your lifetime. Your heartbreaks a little at seeing your daughter. | When I died, I thought that would be the end of the vitriol in my heart. Unfortunately, those feeling seemed to stick like an oil sheen, refusing to go away no matter how much I scrubbed away at it.
It was once filled with hatred for my grandmother. A woman who compared, and put me down at every opportunity. Now, it was filled with fear that my daughter—a woman who I’ve repeated the same, ingrained, mistakes of years past—would hate me.
“Eve,” I said, the words caught in my bony throat.
“Dad,” she said, stiffer than a corpse.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “To take you to where you need to be.”
“Of course. Now, you’re here,” Eve chortled, tortured, jagged peals of laugher filling the infinite space between us. “Took you long enough.”
Decades of death felt like lifetimes of learning. I sucked in a deep breath, and said the word I’ve refused to say when I was a live:
“I’m sorry,” I said. “So, so, sorry.”
Eve stared at me, those beautiful eyes as hard as diamonds.
“A little late, I think,” another bitter laugh rocked the space. “You ran away. You broke my heart.”
“I… I didn’t… I couldn’t…”
I stopped. A thousand reasons and a million excuses came to my head. They all fell apart, dry, dead leaves in the crushing palms of a curious child.
“You won’t forgive me,” I said. “You must hate me. But I am here for a reason. Your time has come.”
“I can see it. It is pretty obvious,” Eve said. Her eyes flitted towards her computer. “Is it bad that I’m still thinking about finishing this project? Any chance I can push back the deadline, reaper?”
“No.”
“Shame,” Eve said. “No love lost for this job, anyway.”
She stood up, and I could see more plainly the years that ate away at her body. Each little movement she made seemed slightly laboured, and each join cracked. But she made it up to me, and grabbed my outstretched hand.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Who’s ever ready to go?” Eve said.
“I was.”
“Sucks for you, then,” Eve said. “I have so many regrets.”
I held out an outstretched hand. Hesitance took over her face, before a warm palm slipped into my bony fingers. And though no tears came out, I was bawling.
“But I did one thing better,” she said. “I will not appear for my son’s death. That cycle is broken.”
I lead her through the gateway, and she had one foot in. She turned around again, staring wistfully past the wall of her current room.
“I love him. He’s everything to me,” she said. Then, she turned to me.
“I loved you, dad. Still do, against my better judgement,” she whispered. “That’s what makes everything hurt more.”
“I won’t be able to make up for it,” I said. “Not in a thousand lifetimes. But you’ve done well, Eve.”
I felt a face buried into my chest. The tears began soaking through the front of the reaper robes.
And though no tears came out, I cried along.
---
r/dexdrafts |
Musings after
She was beautiful. She smelled of nectarines and poppy, rabbits and warm fields.
My aspiration in life when it came to my daughter had always been that I wanted to look back in my old age, and have those fleeting memories of every step with that angel, from her first in life, to the first of the aisle. But I missed it. I wasn't hateful. I wasn't mean. I never hurt that girl in her life. Not that way. Over my dead body.
.... That's funny.
I just. I was never present enough to see her all the way. We fought because I never looked all the way, only as far as I felt willing to in the moment.
I made her hurt slowly, by bricking up pieces of our bond, as she got older. Thats what you're supposed to do. Kids are supposed to be awful teens that grow into strong, independent young people.
But she needed more than that.
And I knew it.
And never gave it.
I took a deep breath, even though it was useless to me, and-
I never expected to receive the hug I'd always wanted from my grandmother; that warm, cookie smelling, calming, safe feeling; from my daughter.
I pulled back, smiled, and whispered:
"You aged better than me bitch." | 2022-03-05T12:24:13 | 2022-03-05T08:53:52 | 133 | 38 |
[WP] "Oh, screw you! Don't blame the science department for this mess. The science went PERFECTLY. It's not OUR fault that corporate decided to skimp out on the compound's security and containment systems" | “Can I be clear about this gentlemen? I have in front of me a paper trail stretching back nearly two years of every email, call and memo I have sent out discussing my worries about the state of this facility's chrono-shielding.”
Dr Harriet Landen’s deceptively calm words fill the boardroom, washing over the faces of the smartly dressed men in front of her. Powerful figures working for an even more powerful organisation, all of which were looking at her now like ants contemplating the steady approach of a vacuum cleaner wondering what the sound might herald.
“I contacted security and was told that it was ‘being looked into’ and ‘not a present priority’".
She gesture’s without looking away from her notes towards a large bald man, his face a knot of scar tissue that had taken one eye with it. His remaining orb refuses to meet the glare of Dr Landen’s finger.
“I spoke to the budgeting department and was left with a stack of figures that almost snapped my desk, all while asking me where I expected us to get the money from. I don’t know Keith, and do you know why I don’t know? Because I don’t work in the god damn budgeting department.”
Keith, for his part, looks like he wants to melt and drip down from his ergonomic chair and pool under the table away from the growing rage. Unfortunately for him the molecules in his body refuse this request, leaving him in the firing range.
“Worst of all, I spoke to you Director. On multiple occasions. Each and every time you assured me that my worries would be addressed, that teams were looking into the possibility and that I should ‘continue to keep an open dialogue with you’. Well guess what? Here I am, still keeping that dialogue firmly open. Thrown wide and screaming because today is the day I get to tell you all I GOD DAMN TOLD YOU SO.”
“Harriet-”
A cold voice attempts to cut her off, an attempt that fails miserably. The Director was not a man used to being interrupted, let alone actively talked over. Today however he wasn’t willing to pull rank and play the title game. After all, she was right.
“Don’t you Harriet me. It’s Dr Landen if you are lucky right now, and judging by what’s happening outside the windows I don’t think you are. You asked me to gather a team and make a working prototype. To push the boundaries of physics and go out into the frontier to see what I could find.”
“Well guess what? You got what you wanted. It’s sat five floors under this room currently ripping the dampening tiles off the walls and atomising them before scattering those atoms between ancient Rome and the primeval soup. Congratulations gentlemen, you got your time machine.”
“Only one teeny, tiny, little problem. A small one which, being that you all are being of such infinite intellect who clearly know better than me when it comes to safety protocols, I am sure you can all solve for me.”
“When that thing went off an hour ago, in a cascade event the likes of which I predicted and sent nearly SEVENTEEN TIMES across notes to each of you, and ripped us and half the building with it back into the Jurassic era… did any of you maybe have a contingency plan in place? A way of getting us back to the present or at the very least into the same timeline?”
Her questions are met with silence. The same silence that has been growing from all other members of the board as they wait for the tirade to end, hoping for a light at the end of the tunnel and not just further smackdown.
“No? Well, I guess it’s down to me then. I’m going to go downstairs, scream obscenities while reciting each of your names, find the nearest coffee machine to drain and then work on saving all our lives with my team. If you need me, follow the noise, I’m sure there will be plenty. Until then you are all welcome to sit here and wait until I come back with a proposal.”
“And to be clear, when I walk back through that door with a materials list in hand, if I hear a SINGLE complaint from any of you, I’m perfectly happy to let you replace me. Perhaps you’ll find a more compliant t-rex outside who is better at taking orders. I’m certainly willing to watch and find out.”
With this, Dr Landen turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her on the way out and heading for the stairs, all while trying to ignore the roars and howls of the large beasts just barely kept at bay by the facility's walls. It was going to be another long day. | "Oh, so you don't think a biological monstrosity running around is your fault?!"
Tensions were high. A woman in a white lab coat glared at her opponent. With the front splattered with drying blood, and a crazed look in her eye, she seemed to be on the verge of snapping. Opposite her, a man in a dark suit crossed his arms. He was clearly outraged, face turning red.
"We did exactly what you wanted! Hell, we did better! You wanted us to see how far we could push genetics, well here we are!"
He slammed his fist onto the table. Internally he winced at the pain, but outside he kept a stoic demeanour.
"Yes you did it, but you didn't think to talk it through with security! Did you not consider that maybe they would want to know in case this sort of thing happened?! Now we have a mess to clean up, the likes of which I have had nightmares about!"
She gave a laugh, one that had an edge he did not like.
"Nightmares! This is what dreams are made of! Pushing science beyond the limits of the known! Don't blame me for achieving it!"
He gave a frustrated sigh, sinking into his chair. Pinching the skin between his eyes, he tried to calm himself down.
"Right, we can carry this on later. Right now, we have something that needs to be taken down. I need to know everything about this thing, so it can be passed on to the retrieval teams."
Her smile turned dreamy, as her gaze floated into the air.
"It's incredible. Fully realised regenerative capabilities, an exoskeleton as strong as iron. Its muscles have bonded flawlessly to adamantine infused bones, with the muscles themselves interlaced with Death Stalker silk. It's faster than a horse at full gallop, and stronger than a Bulk Ogre."
His face drained completely.
"God's above... you managed to put all that in one beast?"
Her smile dimmed a little.
"Thats not all, and don't call it a beast. I made a monster, you should call it that. Besides, it has far more intellect than you would think."
He groaned. This was worse than animating he could have imagined.
"It's a shame we will miss the next operation, but maybe next time we will get it in place."
With a morbid curiosity, he had to ask.
"What next operation?"
Her smile widened.
"Oh, we have a set of celestial wings on order." | 2022-05-09T12:52:09 | 2022-05-09T11:07:14 | 371 | 136 |
[WP]: it's illegal to capture wild humans into domestic possession, as they are undomesticated and not fit to be kept as pets. Your abductors do not care. | The greenish one - bigger, rounder, and - Larry thought - a bit more melancholy than the reddish one, gestured towards the sloping house.
"Me?" said Larry. "Is that...mine?"
But the alien simply stomped its heavy, crusted foot and pointed even more firmly towards the house. Larry got the idea.
The house was about three-quarters the size it ought to have been. From a distance it looked well enough, but as you got closer you could see that the windows were a bit too narrow, the door a good bit too short, and the front stairs didn't exactly connect to the threshold. It all seemed a bit dodgily put together, as if by someone who tended to start every project by snorting at the instructions and tossing them aside.
Bending down, Larry ducked his way through the door. The house beyond was...distressingly sparse.
There was, in fact, nothing in the entire open, roomless space of house besides connecting walls and about two dozen toilets.
"What in the world," mumbled Larry.
"Hey!"
Larry nearly jumped out of his skin. There was another man there, curled in a ball in the near corner.
"They got another one?" The man crawled to his feet. He was aggressively shabby, smelly, unbathed in a showy sort of way. Effort had gone into it.
"Lawrence," said Larry, holding out a hand wearily. "I've...just arrived."
The man waved off the handshake. "Clark," said the other man. "Though I've taken to calling myself Fido, on account of we're dogs now, aren't we?"
The man laughed. He certainly had the breath of a Fido, thought Larry.
"Why isn't there any...you know....furniture? Or rooms?"
Clark shrugged. "Not sure they've ever seen the inside of a house. No idea what humans like us need to thrive. Just made up a house based off what they've seen in picture shows, I wager."
Larry glanced around the empty space. "But the...toilets?"
Clark giggled. It was unnerving. "Oh. That's me. I've been a messy Fido. They keep adding new ones hopin' it'll stop me having so many *accidents*."
Larry made no effort to disguise his horror. "So you...all over the house?"
Clark nodded. "Outside. In *their* house. All over. Drives 'em mad. Wait'll you see 'em scold me. All that stompin' and pointin'! It's a gas."
"So you sleep on the floor and shit wherever?" said Larry. "What else...what else do you do to pass the time?"
Clark sighed. "Not much. Sleep a lot. Sometimes they bring me round for walks about the neighborhood when it's nice and dark out. Got a little pocket knife, so sometimes I fetch up a nice piece of wood on the walk and bring it back to work on."
"You bring sticks home?"
"Something like that."
"Have you considered running away?" asked Larry.
"Well, not sure where I'd go," said Clark. "Besides, I'm quite sure I'm chipped."
"Oh." Both men stood an awkward beat considering one another.
"Would you like to wrestle?" said Clark.
"Not at the moment," said Larry quickly. "If you're already here, do you suppose I'm meant to be your companion? Maybe they thought you were acting out out of loneliness?"
"No," said Clark. "Not like. It's not legal, having humans here. Highly restricted. I can tell cause there's been time they'll have guests and my little house gets all covered up and I'm muzzed so as not to make a sound. Very secret business. They don't much care about my happiness."
"So why go to all that trouble to nab *me*?" wondered Larry.
Clark grinned, which once again made Larry's insides crawl. "Pretty obvious, isn't it?"
"How's that?"
"They go to the trouble to have *two* of us."
"And?"
Clark's eyebrows raised up, then shimmied back down.
"Oh, for *God's sake*!" shouted Larry. "They can't be that stupid! We're both..."
"They check you at the door?" said Clark. "You have an examination process?"
"Well, no, but..."
"They're idiots," said Clark. "The worst kind of idiot, too. Idiots with *big ideas*."
Larry's head swam. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"Don't go in the toilet!" shouted Clark. "Hold it 'til we can get you inside their house. They've got a lovely white carpet. I'll go scratch on the door."
Feeling weak, faint, and bewildered, Larry followed Clark out of the small abstract house and into the warm, evening air. | There is light trickling in through a small hole but no matter how i try to position myself i still can't get a good look. The wood is itchy and prickles my skin. I'm so uncomfortable; all cramped up. As i try to shuffle around there is a sudden bang above my head. I jump and my heart starts pounding.
'Don't do that again.. You'll scare him'
'He's bugging me.. Won't stop moving around'
'He needs to be calm. Our research is ruined if he gets too excitable'
Research? I try again to look out the hole to no success. Only the dark shadow of someone sitting next to me. The roads are bumpy and i can smell the strong odor of pine trees suddenly. The vehicle comes to a sudden stop and i shift with my crate as someone slides me out.
'Is the door open?'
There is a thud as i am dropped onto the ground. I bump my head and take a deep breath as i try not to cry out in pain. A third voice come from somewhere else.
'Yale? What's in that box?'
'Hag! You're not going to believe this.. Zin and I-'
'That's not another human is it?
'Just hear me out-'
'The last one threw herself in Mercury Lake.. You can't keep bringing these here'
'This one is different i know it! Once i domesticate it we can show the rest of the galaxy.. We-'
'I can't keep supporting this crazy theory of yours.. A human is a wild animal.. It's endangered.. Not to mention unpredicatable.. Bring it back where you found it'
There is a slight tapping on the top of the crate. I start to get hot. Sweat drips off my legs.
'Hag.. Let me try this one more time and if it doesn't work then i promise i'll never bring another one home again... Please'
There is a shuffling noise and i can hear my captor breathing loudly.
'This is the last time... Bring it inside... Is it male or female?'
There is more movement and i awkwardly bump around until there is sudden stillness. There is a grunt followed by a huge crunching sound. Wood chips sprinkle into my lap as the panel beside me gives way and i lock eyes with something else. The creature stares at me and shows a row of sharp teeth. I think he's smiling. He reaches a large claw foward and grabs me by the arm; dragging me out into the open.
'Zin! You have to be careful!'
Zin drops my arm and turns toward a second creature. They both loom over me. I start to shake a little as i look up at them. They have short fur that covers their whole body.. They stink. | 2016-08-31T07:21:05 | 2016-08-31T07:14:44 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] Napoleon and Hitler were born 129 years apart, came into power 129 years apart, and invaded Russia 129 years apart. It is now 2070. You've been reincarnated and rose to power for the third time. Russia is looking very tempting.
Edit: Holy cow. There are some seriously awesome stories here. Thank you so much :) | The young Caliph sat in his tower, surveying his kingdom stretching well beyond the horizon in every direction. It had been considered impossible, what he had done to bring the entire Islamic nation together. Powerful men had tried to unify the chosen for thousands of years, only to be corrupted by their own unworthiness, often seeking power for its own sake and private purposes. Oroitz succeeded where others had failed. That he was a European made the feat an impossible miracle, praise be to Allah. Bringing Mohammad's followers together had been the Caliph's sole purpose ever since anyone would listen during his charismatic, self-righteous youth. But that was not his final goal.
Now it was time to bring the other peoples into the grace of God, and the lands north of his seemed to be the proper candidates. Theirs was a nation of lost souls, literally, metaphorically and politically. The people yet lived in squalor and fear under the heel of bloodthirsty oligarchs, the wretched having nothing to believe in to give them hope. The Caliph could not, would not fail at saving them.
So it was said.
-
The well-beaten prisoner was dragged in to the Caliph's chambers in shackles. It had been a trivial matter to kidnap the officer from his family’s home in St. Petersburg. He was a promising soldier and politician, but not a well-protected one. His handlers dropped him roughly on the stone floor, and left the room reluctantly as the Caliph bid.
“I was not as smart as I thought, you know,” Oroitz finally stated. The prisoner looked up in surprise.
“I have no idea why I’m here…” the soldier rasped. If his jailor heard him, he didn’t give any indication of it.
“My second time around, I assumed my memories were a fantastical dream,” the Caliph continued, “After all, who, but crackpots and mystics would believe that you could remember the actions of your past lives?” The captive looked up in surprise. The young Caliph smirked. “I would have certainly been mocked to say I retained the experiences of Napoleon Bonaparte! But then I came to decide that the memories were a boon from beyond our world, a gift so that I could learn from prior mistakes. It had to be the natural order of things that I should make the world one. So, blitzkrieg across the Eastern front my armies did. What a shock and despair it was to be defeated so relentlessly once again!” The caliph was spitting out the words at this point. The prisoner’s face had calmed. The Caliph stilled in response.
“When I awoke this time in this world, with two lives already crammed in me, I knew my memories were real. I was Emporer! I was Fuhrer! I am Caliph!
“I knew I could lead people easily, angry ones who felt wronged and needed redemption. So as before, I invited the willing populaces to take control of their lives; they followed me easily enough. But I still wanted that which had been denied to me before.” The caliph peered into the eyes of the fallen man. His eyes were ageless, but the officer’s face was stoic.
“I don’t know why you are telling me this!” the prisoner muttered, “Send me away. You are insane!”
“Oh, we won’t be doing that!” the Caliph laughed, “You see, I’m not so stupid anymore. In the end, I’ve realized I don’t have a unique gift. I’m not that special. I’m not even smart as you, I know…” The beaten man’s face watched him less steadily. “There are others who remember, I finally realized. It’s not a gift. It’s simply just the way some of us are.” The Caliph edged his face closer to his onlooker. “Your name, Bronislav, isn’t it? Quite appropriate I think. Protector of the glory, did you choose it yourself?” The man said nothing. The young ruler watched for admission, “However, I think I preferred it when you called yourself Stalin, more so when you went by Alexander.” The Caliph stood triumphantly.
Bronislav Osinov finally let his despair show. *The Caliph knew.* “You’ve won,” he wept. “Just kill me and be done with it.”
“And let you be reborn free to come back and beat me another time?” the Caliph predicted. “I can’t beat you in a war and I know it. No, no, you will live a long time my friend.... There will come a winter when I will take Russia.”
Bronislav glowered with impotent rage.
Caliph Oroitz, the false prophet, sighed with pleasure.
“and this time you will only get to watch…”
edit: A big thanks to /u/moscow_troll for a proper Russian name and along with /u/lostoldnameagain for teaching me some culture | 'Vladimir.' I breathe into the mic. Finally. After weeks of sorties at the front lines, he contacts me.
'Swin'ya, come. It is time we settle this. I await you at Chernobyl,' And the line goes dead. The challenge. The insult. I smile.
3 days later I watch the forces arrayed in the fields outside the ruined city of Chernobyl. My black clad legions stand proud and pure. The rag tag Russian forces are fewer than I imagined. So few...
I see him standing atop a tank in the middle of his army. I stand, relieved to get off my golden throne. Winter is almost here, and the throne is cold through my robes.
'Putin,' my voice is that of the lion, roaring with righteous purity through the mic, 'your men are few. Your people scared. The war with the Americans weakened you, my brothers from ISIS have broken your faith. What have you left, old man?'
'Al Raqqa,' with nary an effort, his voice pulses through my soul.
He speaks with no strain, no fear. Only command, entwined like finest silk and fibre in his words. 'I am glad you came here. With your ... Men.' A light twist of his lip reveals his arrogance.
'Vladimir. Old man. Your forces are in disarray. We will win. I. I will destroy you. It does not matter how long you have lived for, you are mortal and an abomination to God.'
Putin laughs. 'Abomination? You dare speak to me like that? I am the great Bear. I am the enduring! I AM the motherland.' Suddenly he pauses. 'No. Ha. No, my erstwhile opponent. You have already taken more from me than I ever cared to give. It is time.'
I raise my hand. My commanders raise their flags. Unseen by Putin, my special forces from Syria await to Putin's left, hidden behind veiled nanotechnology taken from the British. Russia falls today.
'Wait,' Putin says quietly. It simmers through my ears. 'I have a parting message.'
I wait.
'You believe me the same man as lived in the last century. I am not. I am his clone. The Bear is eternal, the man is not.'
'I care not, Putin. You are the leader. You will die.'
'Ah...but you don't ask why I tell you this? All my billions. OUR billions,' his hand sweep wide to indicate all of his country, 'we put that money into genetics. Incredible power...I tell you this because I lied. I am not the Motherland. This is.'
The man raises his hands and claps twice. The sound echoes across the silence. And behind him, Chernobyl awakens. A monster rises from beneath the earth. I see it, and it is Rage, it is Winter, it is Russia.
And I feel terror. | 2016-02-17T13:53:46 | 2016-02-17T12:59:35 | 90 | 21 |
[WP] You die in a tragic accident. While sitting on a bench in purgatory, Mr/Mrs.Death approaches you and says, "Pick a game, any game, and if you are the victor, I'll send you back to the day before the accident." | "Tic tac toe"
WHAT?
"I choose tic tac toe"
SIGH
With a flourish a desk, a dry erase board and a marker appeared before them. With a slight gesture of death's bony hand a perfect 3 by 3 grid appeared in the center of the board.
Fred placed his circle in the middle of the board. Death placed an X in a corner. After a minute, the game ended in a tie.
"In the event of a tie, we play again correct?"
CORRECT
"excellent, may the game continue"
The next game ended in a tie, and the next. The next 4 games were all close, but ended in a tie. Fred and death swapped off going first, after a couple hours of tieing, death paused for a minute.
THIS COULD TAKE A WHILE
After a couple months, both players were simply going through the motions. Every once in a while some one would start in a corner just to mix things up, and inevitably the same moves followed after that.
I HAVE NEVER LOST A GAME YOU KNOW
" I know, considering Bobby Fischer died a couple years ago I figured beating you wasn't really an option"
I HAVE EXISTED FOR MILLENIA, MY PATIENCE DOES NOT END
"How did you get this job in the first place?"
Fred casually placed a circle in the center of the freshly cleared board. After a couple more games, death answered.
THE AFTERLIFE GETS BORING, YOU KNOW
"I admit, it is starting to look that way"
AFTER A COUPLE OF CENTURIES, MANY OF US TAKE JOBS.
The games continue. The routine is automatic now for Fred, he barely glances at the board for each move before returning his gaze to others. In the distance, countless others were trying to best death.
"are they all you?"
NO, THIS FORM IS MORE OF A UNIFORM THEN AN IDENTITY.
Every now and then, a death would beat some one, their heads would slump, and with sweep of death's arm, they disappeared, then the death too would vanish.
MY SHIFT ENDED WEEKS AGO
"Well, I'm sorry for that, but I don't think I'm done playing yet"
A year passed by. In that time, Fred got to know who death was, besides being death. They swapped stories of their lives while watching the souls around them compete and lose. Briefly, a forest surrounded them as one soul tried to best death in a fox hunt. Months later, they found themselves at the top of a mountain while another soul tried to out ski death.
"Are you all universally skilled?"
NO, WE PICK MAJORS IN DEATH COLLEGE, AND ARE ASSIGNED TO CLIENTS APPROPRIATELY
"What did you major in?"
RIDDLES, LOGIC PUZZLES AND BOARD GAMES
Another year passed, and neither opponent showed a sign of budging. Fred continued making conversation.
"I really do miss my home, do you have homes up here?"
YOU HAVE WHAT YOU WANT, UP HERE THE OPTIONS ARE FAR LESS LIMITED
"my wife passed several years before I did, however I never did get around to finishing up the will for the children. I'm sure they can figure it out on their own, but I hate to leave them so early. Their families are barely started, and I have only met one grand child"
LIFE ISN'T ALWAYS FAIR
"No, it never was"
The weeks continued stretching on, while watching a soul attempt to out basketball death, death turned to Fred"
IT REALLY ISN'T THAT BAD UP HERE
"It seems pleasant enough"
BEYOND HERE, THE ONLY LIMIT IS WHAT YOU CAN IMAGINE
"Then why have earth at all? Why let life continue as grimly as it does when the afterlife is perfect?"
IMAGINATION REQUIRES INSPIRATION
For the first time in years, death moved his arm again, and bellow them, an image of the earth appeared. Through the window beneath their feet, the image moved across the lives of thousands, detailing their happiness, sadness, triumphs and losses.
"were we ever only entertainment?"
WHEN TIME IS ETERNAL, WHAT ELSE IS THERE?
Fred stared out at the other souls. Every once in a while a small poof announced another passing on to the next world.
"No one has ever beaten death have they?"
IT'S NOT A FAIR CHALLENGE, WE HAVE CENTURIES OF PRACTICE
"They aren't supposed to, are they?"
PEOPLE HAVE TROUBLE MOVING ON, THE GAME HELPS THEM FEEL THEY AT LEAST HAD A FAIR SHOT
"I have never seen some one beat death, and I have seen millions of games, how is that fair?"
LIFE IS NOT FAIR, WE HELP PEOPLE MOVE PAST THAT
Fred stared down at the world bellow
"Can I still watch the world when I pass over?"
THE EARTH IS MOST OF OUR FAVORITE PAST TIME
"Is what you can see... limited?"
IN DEATH, NO ONE JUDGES
"I didn't mean it like that"
I'M SURE
The image settled on Fred's funeral. His family was in tears, and many huddled close to each other for support.
"I had a good life you know? I don't think I would have done much different. save for living longer"
ALL GOOD THINGS COME TO AN END
"when this is over, would you mind stopping by after your shift?"
I HAVE PLENTY OF VACATION DAYS BY NOW
Fred stared at the board, it was his opening move. He smiled, and drew a circle in a side center square.
YOU WERE A VERY INTERESTING CASE FRED
Death placed his final X, and drew a line through all three.
"Hopefully my wife won't be too angry I wasted these years playing tic tac toe"
TIME MOVES VERY DIFFERENTLY HERE THEN IT DOES DOWN THERE
Death pulled back his hood, to reveal a female face. Fred's heart skipped a beat. The face spoke:
"I don't mind at all dear"
| _"Yeah, so sometimes I give second-chances. Do-over, you know? So how about we play a game and you win, I'll take you back to yesterday."_
I was bored and didn't really believe him. A big puffy zit protruded from the stubble on his chin. He was wearing a gray heather t-shirt and charcoal jeans, his hair slicked back out of his face, and mirrored sunglasses rested lightly on his nose. He seemed a little familiar. I wondered if he'd been on the bus.
He seemed close to my age, but somehow I felt infinitely older and so much more tired.
I suggested Rock-Paper-Scissors; it seemed the fastest way to get rid of him. He laughed. I remember the laughing.
It was the kind of sound that made a person's skin crawl, but I was out of my skin. My skin was getting cold, dozens of feet under the ice with the rest of those people on that bus.
He pushed up those fancy shades, and there were two cold, gray little flames where his eyeballs should have been. And suddenly, I believed.
-----
"Honey, I had the strangest dream, that the bus crashed over a bridge and I was in Limbo. There was something about Death wanting to play Rock Paper Scissors. Yeah, I know, the brain does crazy things. I know, it's just anxiety about the big trip ahead."
I chattered away with my phone in the crook of my neck as I moved around the apartment. Still had some packing to finish. "Anyway, I want to get some stuff done today. I'll see you tomorrow night, you'll be there to pick me up, right? Great. Love ya."
I spent the rest of the day wrapping things up, and couldn't shake some odd sense of anxiety, of urgency. I took care of business I'd put off for months, I called friends I hadn't seen in years.
That night, I slept like a rock, and woke with my alarm, a few hours earlier than usual.
I hauled my duffel to the bus stop and waited. I couldn't shake the spine-crawling feeling of déjà vu. Usually, I tell someone about a dream, it fades away, and I forget almost everything by the next day. But today, it seemed every little thing reminded me of it.
The bus pulled up to the stop, an all-too familiar squeal of overstressed brakes. The brakes that would kill me, and everyone else, when the driver--I remembered the mole on his cheek, the minty huff of his breath--lost control on the bridge.
The doors stood open, and I backed up. "You comin, Sugar?" I shook my head. The bus left without me.
I went to a diner and ordered a coffee. I slid into a booth and scooted closer to the wall, my duffel taking up the padded pleather bench next to me. I wrapped my hands around the mug for its warmth, I was shaking too much to risk a sip.
Some punk kid, hair slicked back, wearing sunglasses, slid into the side opposite me. He said nothing, just grinned and gave me a thumbs up. I felt the corners of my mouth move. He didn't laugh, and he didn't move those sunglasses. I was grateful for both, but at the same time, wondered if it was really him.
My half-smile turned to a grimace. I should have tried to save the others, but the thought didn't cross my mind until just now. I have no clue how I could have gotten everyone off the bus without seeming like a lunatic, but I should have tried.
I stared at my coffee, feeling numb. From the corner of my vision, I saw him get up. He leaned over and rested a hand on my shoulder. The fingers squeezed, gently. Encouragement.
He said nothing, and left.
| 2014-02-18T09:55:41 | 2014-02-18T09:49:36 | 83 | 10 |
[WP] You are the world's greatest detective. With your near superhuman intellect, you have never failed to solve a case before. But one day, you finally meet your match: a criminal so unbelievably stupid that you cannot possibly comprehend and predict what he's going to do next. | It was maddening. *Infuriating.* How could you possibly see that coming? Weeks of setting an elaborate trap, involving plotting every escape route down to the weak bricks in the fucking wall, men hidden in every crack, crevice and cavity you could find. It was the perfect setup. Have him come in for the great diamond, exactly 03:16 *sharp*, wait for him to take it, have wherever he came from blocked off, and have men surround him from every angle. It was the stuff detective movie dreams were made of, what children playing cops and robbers with their legos imagine they're going to foil with their scheming intellect, but *nooooo!*
This, this... ***buffoon*** walks straight through the front fucking door *at* ***fucking midnight***, slaps the glass cover away like my precious little kitten does when her favourite toy is dangled above her, grabs the diamond with his disgusting sausage fingers, and fucks off. All in the span of five fucking minutes. There are no words to describe how utterly livid I am in this moment. But it's fine. Oh, it's fine. It's fine, it's fine.
*It's not fine at all!* I can't predict this fool! He has no motivations, no reason, no rhyme! I'd prefer tracking a deranged serial killer obsessed with the number four that leaves utterly gruesome crime scenes behind, for God's sake! Last week, this halfwit was robbing a McDonald's, the week before that he was stealing glue sticks from a primary school, and now he's only gone and robbed a diamond worth a thousand times more than the McDonald's he stole from!
I slammed my diary into the desk, pen whirling away into some distant corner. I'd get it later. Standing up quickly and turning on my heel, I grit my teeth and stormed out the door, turning too fast to greet the dull, grey sky out the adjacent window with my utterly sour expression as I strode down the corridor, barely paying attention to the dull, generic surroundings. Staring down the mugshot of the ugly toupee'd mug, hatred threatening to boil over more and more every millisecond longer that I spent staring at his inattentive face. I snarled through my clenched teeth, crumpling the photo in my hands. I have single-handedly found out more serial killers than I could count, global thieves that had stolen millions in goods, terrorists living in a hole in a field, for God's sake. This *uneducated muppet* will not evade me again. | I grow tired of your games, Edward.
Are you so blinded by your own arrogance that you hadn't noticed I predicted your every move?
My age may be catching up to me,
But over the years, you've grown more sloppy.
Answer me this: Was it worth it?
The traps, the challenges, the bodies you've buried, was it worth it?
Many people died because of you, and you have nothing to say for it?
ANSWER ME, NIGMA!
"No, Bruce. I will not." | 2018-06-04T05:08:39 | 2018-06-04T03:53:31 | 69 | 12 |
[WP] Yesterday, you knocked over a salt shaker in Texas. Today, you bought a newspaper in Fiji. Tomorrow, the chain of events you set in motion will stop a bank robbery in France. You are the master of the butterfly effect. | Lee sat down for breakfast in his usual spot at the airport lounge. Thoughts of the pictures he'd seen on his wife's phone last night raced through Lee's head. He fidgeted with the metalic wings over his left breast pocket trying not to let his sadness, his anger show. A waiter stopped to take Lee's order.
"I'll have the eggs, over easy, toast, and a glass of orange juice"
"White, or wheat?"
"uhhh... wheat. And a side of sausage."
"Coming right up."
Lee managed to crack the slightest bit of a smile and mumbled a thanks as the waiter returned with a plate of food. He took one bite of his eggs and asked the question I'd been waiting for.
"Could you grab me some salt?"
The question was directed at the waiter but I passed the shaker I had taken from Lee's table some twenty minutes earlier. Lee gave me a nod, turned the salt over, shook, and the cap I had loosened tumbled off sending salt over Lee's entire meal.
Lee turned red as his anger boiled over. Orange juice and glass exploded across the floor. A knife stood straight up out of his freshly impaled table. A stream of garbled obscenities that turned to sobs filled the air. Within seconds security appeared and Lee was escorted away.
I walked through the terminal and sat down to wait at my gate. An hour later the announcement came.
"Attention. Flight 252, Dallas to Paris, has been cancelled."
I boarded my flight and after a layover in San Francisco was on my way to Fiji.
Joni straightened the magazines and papers in her stall. As usual business was slow. Print truly was dying. Joni thought of her husband, hoping he was having more success and would make enough money in France so Joni and their child could join him soon.
I approached Joni's stall and began to peruse her selection. After a moment Joni asked if she could help me with anything.
"Yes actually. Do you own this shop?"
"I do." answered Joni with some confusion.
"It's a fantastic spot you have here. Lots of foot traffic."
"Yes, can I get you a paper?" She replied, clearly not interested in my small talk.
"Sure, I'll take this one but I'd actually like to purchase your shop."
I opened the bag I was carrying and handed it to Joni. She stared at the money inside then at me in disbelief and began to cry before she lunged and hugged me while trying to explain her families situation between her tears of joy. I told her to go to her husband now and in her frenzied joy she agreed.
Jules was irate and screaming at Theo.
"Where the fuck is he? He was supposed to be here yesterday!"
"I don't know he said his plane got delayed or something." Mumbled Theo as he slunk away from Jules' ire.
"He said he'd be able to get us guns! How the hell are we going to do this with a damn steak knife?"
Theo didnt answer as they sat in the car looking at the bank.
"Fuck it. Let's just do it." Said Jules.
Jules and Theo walked in to the bank. There were three tellers. One pecking away at a computer without so much as looking up. Another helping a customer deposit a check with two more waiting in line. And the third talking to a mountain of a man, a Pacific islander maybe, and his wife trying to exchange some sort of currency.
Jules went to the teller working at the computer and started screaming, demanding money. Theo clumsily brandishing a sad excuse of a knife, told everyone else to stand back. The customers closest to him cowered away. Theo, with gained confidence, began yelling at the tellers to move faster. Before he could so much as finish his sentence though the massive man at the last teller was rushing at Theo. The man grabbed Theo's arm, twisted, and pushed. The knife went flying across the floor and Theo was pinned down. Jules let out a surprised shriek and scampered away.
I had moved the trolley tracks. one mans already failing marriage and career were ruined plus another family reunited in exchange for six innocent lives. It seemed the right thing to me. | Chaos theory, or the Butterfly Effect is familiar with everyone. Everyone of us know that a butterfly flapping in Texas could create a violent storm in Brazil. To create dramatic stuff, it is easy.
But with trillions of butterfly flapping wings endlessly across the world, the force will anull eachother in a chaotic swirl of uncomprehensible, massively complex process. A system with only 3 objects is already incredibly unpredictable, and this world is the system with 69 gigachad-sextillion objects, each on its eldritchly complex way.
The hard part is in controlling the process.
And that's my work.
I'm the master of fate, the controller of chaos, and a thousand more names I give myself. I can blink and tomorrow I will find myself win the lottery. I can throw a rock, that rock will hit another rock, then hit the air current which will affect the global weather slightly, and somewhere thousands of kilometers away, a guy working with airplanes will get slightly annoyed and distracted from his work by a gust of wind, and when that plane fly over my head a week later, a door in the plane chamber will malfunction and open out mid air, making all the candy and chocolates in the plane fall down, creating a candy rain in my neighborhood.
Theoretically, everyone could do anything if they act the exact way they need to act. But I am the only one that can nevigate through the currents of reality, and build a dam to controll it.
I am sitting in a coffee shop in Texas, enjoying my life. Finished my coffee, I walk out the shop, purposefully knock over a salt shaker, the salt inside fells out and splash everywhere on the marble floor.
The next day, after an exhausting flight, of course made free by some dumb luck I absolutly did not create, I end up in Fiji for a tour. I buy a newspaper despite the fact that I do not know any Fijian. I only know it will be useful later.
The day after that, the Internet is full to the brim with the story of a French guy trying to rob a bank using a grenade, but mistakenly bring a green avocado with him instead, and not realising it and use the fruit to threaten the staff. Yeah, that was hilarious, wonder why someone would be so dumb. | 2022-04-24T07:43:50 | 2022-04-24T06:37:48 | 53 | 15 |
[WP] Tell us the story of a nuclear war on earth, as told by the astronauts on the International Space Station. | I turned on the radio and floated over to the window, watching the giant sphere of blue, green, and grey slowly turn. The silence was clingy, disgusting, almost palpable. I wanted it gone. After a few seconds her voice buzzed through the static.
“Bill?”
“I’m here, Cath.”
“The command has already briefed you, right?”
“Yeah.”
There was a pause. The heavy feeling came back again, so I spoke up:
“Is it really inevitable?”
“Most likely.” She tried to put on her usual, business-like tone. “Negotiations are in progress, but we’re just using the time to pick the best targets. The big red button will be pressed any moment now. I think they’re in the same position.”
“Who was it? The Russians? The Chinese?”
“Does it matter?”
We kept quiet for a while again. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I heard noises on the other side, but couldn’t—or didn’t want to—make out what they were. This time Cath broke the silence, her voice more shaky than before:
“I’m sorry, Bill. If I could do something for you, I—”
“You have it worse than me. At least I get a front row seat.” Gallows humour. No one laughed. “What is it going to be like? Am I just going to see fire and brimstone engulfing everything?”
“The missiles will reach their targets in twenty to forty minutes after launch.” Cath sounded just a little bit calmer. I guessed it felt like doing her normal job again: informing me of what was to come. “Then you’re going to see flashes, lots of them. They will be like nothing you’ve seen before, much brighter than the city lights at night. Each will appear to pulse two times, one right after another, and then fade away. And then… Then it will be over.”
“What do I do then? What about the station?” I pressed my hand against the thick glass. “Any orders from uptop?”
“Well, you will technically be in charge once we…” Her voice broke. “Whatever you want. Crash it into the planet if you want to or just leave it there. I doubt anyone will be left to care. How much food do you have?”
“More than I will need.” I didn’t like how cold my voice was. “Without you down there I’m going to either go off course or crash into a large piece of debri in no time.”
I hesitated before asking the main question:
“Any chance for you, Cath?”
“No.”
Fires began blossoming over the continent. Double flashes bloomed over Earth, showering even the twilit corners at the edge of night in incandescent light. They roared with marvel and destruction.
“I see them. The flashes.”
“That means we struck first.” Cath laughed nervously. “You’ve just divulged top secret information.”
“So we have twenty to forty more minutes?”
“They should’ve detected the launch so less than that. Much less.” There were a few sobs on the other side. “What was it like?”
I wanted to lie, but something compelled me to tell the truth.
“Beautiful.”
“I-I’m glad, Bill. At least there was something beautiful about all this misery.” She paused for a while. “There is something I want to say before it’s all over, something I always wanted. Bill—”
There was no explosion sound, no screams, no strange sounds, only static. Static and flashes. | Day 12: I finished another chapter of the book I'm reading, at this point, I feel confident that I know who the killer is (I mean, it has to be the florist, right?). Also, I never thought I'd say this but seeing the earth from space has almost lost its allure at his point, like how you're no longer amazed when looking at the sky. Maybe that's just me.
Day 17: Something happened back home a few days ago. We all saw flashes of light on the surface and communication ceased completely. We're not really sure what happened but it's easy enough to guess. Most of us are upset. I saw Gus outside of the window yesterday. Haven't seen him since.
Day 23: Panic has died down at this point. I think that maybe all of us who are still around have simply accepted our fates. I think there is some solace to be had in that, but I doubt any of them would agree with me. I suppose that's okay.
Day 29: I'm the only one left now. I suppose it's commendable to want to live on your own terms. Maybe I just don't see the appeal. Haven't tried to figure out how long I have left here, somehow the motivation escapes me. Besides, who needs the stress. Oh, and, turns out, it was actually the police chief, not the florist. Can't win them all I suppose.
| 2017-08-18T10:03:04 | 2017-08-18T09:28:30 | 101 | 19 |
[WP] Ever since you received your letter for Hogwarts you've been curious about all the different spells there are. You've just bought your first wand and the first spell you try is what you believe to be rather humorous. "AbraCadabra". Nobody told you this spell was banned. For obvious reasons. | "Abra Cadabra -" Joey started saying with a giggle, waving his wand in Mr Ollivander's shop.
Mr Ollivander swept up from the corner of the shop, his silvery eyes huge with fright.
"What are you doing, boy?" he whispered. "Speaking the name of that spell?"
Joey stashed away his wand hastily, feeling rather frightened as Mr Ollivander glared down at him.
"Sorry, I didn't know..." he began, and Mr Ollivander's eyes lost some of their fierceness.
"No, of course not," he said slowly. "A muggle-born such as yourself would not know. Let me warn you, before you go to Hogwarts..."
And he told Joey. About the killing curse - and its opposite.
"Of course, a mere child such as yourself couldn't actually call forth *that* spell's power..." Ollivander said, at the end of the tale. "Few can - only the most imaginative. But not one may be trusted with the terrible power to call forth anything they wished. To create anything. Terrible, yes. Terrible..."
He didn't *look* like he thought it was terrible. There was no mistaking the greedy longing that shone in Ollivander's eyes. Joey left the shop elated - he could create *anything*. Anything at all. All he needed was imagination. And he had plenty of that, didn't he? He'd always had plenty of that...
-------
The students stood on the dining tables in the Great Hall to catch a glimpse of whatever the kid had summoned. He'd said a few words none of them had heard before. And by the horrified expressions on the teachers' faces, it couldn't be anything good.
"What is that..thing, Joey?" Headmistress McGonagall asked, looking down her nose at the creature hiding behind the boy.
"It's an Alakazam," Joey started to explain, but the other children just stared at him blankly. Only one other muggle-born boy grinned in recognition. "I always wanted one, but no-one would trade a Kadabra with me. You know, Abra, Kadabra..."
"Stop saying the forbidden spell!" McGonagall snapped. "You've done enough. I admit, I stand amazed that you could manage this spell. You have talent, and potential. But you cannot use it to call forth - "
She groped for words to describe the furry yellow thing with the ridiculous moustache, brandishing a spoon in her direction.
"*That*," she finished. "Stand back, all of you."
She pulled forth her own wand and pointed it at the thing. "Stupefy!"
The curse hit it squarely in the chest, and it keeled over with a strange, high-pitched sound.
"Nooo! My pokémon! You killed it!" Joey wailed, clutching the crumpled, yellow body of the creature to his chest, to mingled screams and laughter from the crowd.
"Come, boy, don't carry on so, it's merely stunned," McGonagall said, though she resolved to use the killing curse when she had the thing alone. She pulled Joey away from the creature, gesturing to another teacher to remove it from the Hall. "You need to come to my office. I need to talk to you. You have power, obviously, but no idea how to use it...come on, now..."
Joey allowed himself to be dragged away as McGonagall prattled on, thinking furiously. He could do *anything*. Conjure the legendary pokémon. Create a potion to heal his Alakazam. They wouldn't laugh at him, after that. They'd fear him. Like they feared Voldemort, all those years ago.
Maybe he needed a cool moniker, too.
"Now, Joey -" McGonagall was saying, but he interrupted, drawing himself up and looking her in the eye. She'd regret hurting his Alakazam, soon enough. She'd regret challenging him.
"Call me Ash," he said, feeling faintly disappointed that she didn't immediately gasp in awe but instead just stared at him like he'd been hit in the head with a bludger. No matter. She'd know, soon enough, what that meant.
They would *all* know.
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | I opened up the spell book, itching and excited to try out my first ever magical spell. My little feet squirmed in my new blue Ravenclaw uniform socks. I'd never done a spell before. I read through the names. Athena, my pet owl, hooted, channeling my excitement, or perhaps trepidation.
How should I approach this? I looked through what i presumed was the table of contents... then I saw the heading, "Spells of the Illegal Nature." My crinkling red hair stood on end. "Whoooa..." I breathed.
I looked over at Athena. "Shoooullld I...?" She hooted in an almost desperate protest.
It couldn't hurt to look..." I cajoled. I read the first one. "AbraCadabra?" I giggled. Then covered my mouth. "AbraCadbra?" That's something fake magicians at my friend's birthday party would say, before they did a trick. Well, I *actually* could do magic... so why not give it a shot?
It didn't sound so bad. And I couldn't figure out why it it was illegal. It wasn't like it sounded so terrible. Just said something about clothing and authority. Really, if it was illegal, why would they make it sound so vague?
I got up off the bed, and stood up straight, holding my wand out. "AbraCadabra!"
Nothing happened. I frowned, and tried again. "Abra-" But before I could get in another swish-and-flick movement, the door to the Ravenclaw sleeping quarters burst open. It was Headmistress Professor McGonagall.
"Stop right there, Ms. Alicia Cathland!" She flicked her own wand and grabbed mine.
All of a sudden, the fireplace in the room roared to life, and spat out a small item. I didn't know what it was. She looked at it grimly. Then said. "Pick it up."
I was terrified. What had I done??
It opened. It was a howler. It howled horrible, nasty things, yelling by a man. I couldn't catch most of it, but I did get the gist:
This spell would make the Minister of Magic's underpants turn inside-out... while he or she was wearing them.
Oh, and their clothes became invisible.
The End.
| 2016-12-01T22:21:57 | 2016-12-01T19:46:27 | 1,995 | 84 |
[WP] It has become a law to hibernate during the winter with the help of a machine, but there is a glitch, and you wake up halfway through winter and find the reason why the government made hibernation manditory
Edit: Wow this got more popular than I expected it would | The first part of hibernation prep is the worst: packing up your house. Dust covers go over everything - couches, counters, beds. Everything gets switched off, bar the freezers. The fridge gets emptied prior to the big sleep and pets get taken to the pet-sitter facility.
I hate saying goodbye to my cat, Marlon. I hate being surrounded by hundreds of other distraught humans dropping their confused pets off at the pet facility; it's horrendously emotional.
Sometimes I think Marlon will be my last cat; I hate doing this to another living creature. He always treats me like a complete stranger when I pick him up after hibernation.
I'm done now and the house is in order. In the garage is the HibSleep machine; a coffin-shaped device filled with warm aqua goo. I fit the respirator and lower myself in, starting the hibernation cycle from the panel inside, in front of my face.
I lie awake for a while, contemplating the scenario which led us to this; to humans having to go down for the winter:
Everyone knew, back in 2015, that the environment was toast. Humans were just too selfish and we burned through too many resources. Huge quantum computers were built and the only viable answer was that humanity cut its collective emissions by a quarter.
Debate raged as to how to mandate these cuts, since capitalism still ruled. In the end, the governments mandated that all citizens - bar a small force of maintenance techs - should be put to sleep for 3 months of the year, to produce the necessary cuts to our carbon emissions.
On top of that, population restrictions were put in place, as well as restrictions on living space and animal ownership. I was only allowed a cat because I lived alone - no spouse, no children.
It was only a stopgap measure though.
By using hibernation technology, we had only bought ourselves another 50-60 years. The problem was still there.
With that final thought, the cocktail of hibernation gasses finally pushed me under and my body entered hibernation sleep.
Crimson flashing lights woke me from my sleep.
Groggy, I managed to focus on the panel in front of my face - there was some kind of issue with my hibernation machine. The error code was meaningless to me, but there was an instruction for me to wait for assistance from a technician.
I've always been mildly claustrophobic, so I pushed open my casket and levered myself out. If I needed to wait for some geek to fix the machine, then I'd do it in my lounge with a cup of Joe and a blanket, not in my freezing garage, covered in blue goop.
Back inside the house I put the kettle on and waited, after toweling myself off and putting on a thick, fluffy bathrobe.
I started shivering despite the robe and pulled on a pair of yoga pants, a flannel pajama top and a hoody. None of the household electronics had been left on, so I didn't know how long I'd been in the hibernation tank. Suddenly I felt, very, very ill.
I made it to the bathroom before I puked, but only just.
Mostly it was more blue goo, mixed with whitish-yellowish froth.
I vomited again and this time crimson laced the vomit.
Shit.
I stumbled to the phone and picked up the receiver - did emergency services still run during hibernation period? I didn't even know. I'd never considered it. I'd never needed it.
There was no dialtone on the other end.
Frantic, I staggered to the bedroom and yanked open my bedside drawer, pulling out my cellphone with trembling hands. After an interminable wait, it came on. I lay in the fetal position on the plastic-wrapped bed, stomach cramping hard.
There were no bars on the phone. No emergency call option.
I crawled off the bed and pulled on a coat from the closet. Red splattered the path to my letterbox as I stumbled out to the street - from my nose I guessed. I pinched the bridge of my nose and kept walking, heading for the police station, two blocks over.
I'm not sure when I lost consciousness, but I woke on the street. Blood and more frothy vomit surrounded me. I heard voices and instantly felt relieved. Help was here. They would take me to hospital and fix me.
"For *fuck sake* another runner," griped a man's voice.
"Why can't they fuckin' stay in their coffins and die like everyone else."
What? What did they mean *die like everyone else?*
"Shit, she's still alive."
I managed to roll onto my back, still clutching my useless phone somehow.
"Morning sweetheart," said the first guy; a huge lad in his early 20s, wearing heavy overalls and rubber gloves.
"What's... what's going on? Why am I dying?"
He grinned and shoved his gloved hands into his waistband.
"You all die, luv. That's the secret ya see? The government never figured out hibernation technology. Too hard. Too expensive. By *cloning* technology? Cheap and easy; grow 'em in less than a week."
"But," I struggled with the idea, my mind was slowing down now with the fluid loss, "why am I dying, what do they put in the tanks?"
He grinned again, "That shit? It's just blue jello. You're dying because that's how they made you. Clones only last 10 months, tops, babe. After they murdered the original you, it was always gonna happen."
The last thing I heard was the sound of a truck backing up and his voice yelling,
"Load her up boys, we got six hours to clear this suburb. Chop chop!"
I felt my body being lifted and tossed into a pile of other bodies.
Now I knew why Marlon always treated me like a stranger after hibernation. | "Time to go to sleep" announced the loudspeakers.
It was a cold and dark evening. Winter was approaching.
Pat Rick was sitting in his incubation tube at the National Sleeping Facility in Detroit. Millions of incubation tubes were around him. The building was enormous; a 100 story tall facility that was 40 miles wide. The entirety of the United States congregated every November to the NSF to sleep. Nine hundred thirty six years ago the American government had declared that citizens had to undergo mandatory hibernation in the wintertime.
The reasons of hibernating was long forgotten by the general populace. It was simply a way of life.
Pat Rick looked at the clock. The time was 11:59:59:99.
As the hour struck midnight, millions of incubation tubes closed simultaneously and the United States drifted into a deep slumber.
...
...
...
"Good morning Pat Rick".
Pat Rick was ripped away from his sleep. He felt his consciousness return to his body. Something wasn't right. The facility was still dark. The only lights in the room was the soft faint glow of every tube.
"Bing Now. What day is it today" said Pat Rick to his smartphone.
"The day is December 25th, 3056". replied his smart watch.
"DECEMBER? That's not good" thought Pat Rick.
Pat Rick opened his tube and walked around for a bit. He observed everyone still sleeping. The collective soft humming of each tube made for a strange atmosphere.
"How strange" thought Pat Rick. "Am I the only one awake?".
But then there was movement out of the corner of his eye. Whatever it was moved quickly.
"WHO'S THERE" shouted Pat Rick.
Silence.
Freaked out, Pat Rick got on his motor skateboard and made a beeline to the exit. However, he never made it to the exit. Something grabbed Pat Rick by the legs.
He turned around and looked at the grabber. It was a service robot.
"We have a winner!" exclaimed the robot.
"What the-" said Pat Rick, but he was cut off because all the lights in the facility turned on. The President of the United States of America was standing before Pat Rick. She was looking half dead, like she had prolonged her life through hibernation or something.
"Nine hundred thirty six years" said the President. "It has taken us this long to find someone who has developed an immunity to the sleep technologies of Santa Claus".
"Excuse me?" replied Pat Rick.
As it turns out, 936 years ago Santa Claus said "Screw it" and gave up delivering gifts. Now instead Santa Claus appeared every winter and made all the other countries go to sleep forever. They didn't die, just go to sleep. How did we not notice that all the other countries were dead? Turns out the reason we closed off all connection to the outside war wasn't because of the looming threat of nuclear war.
"You must go and defeat Santa Claus". Then the President died because of old age and happiness that she found someone who had developed a resistance to Santa's sleep attacks.
...
...
...
Pat Rick was brought outside. He stood there alone in a desolate world. The howl of the empty world was deafening.
"HOHOHO MERRY CHRISTMAS". The roar exploded all the windows of the NSF. The ground exploded in front of Pat Rick as something landed in front of him. It was Santa. Glorious beard and all.
Pat Rick pointed his gun at the demon but then was instantly put into a slumber. Turns out he hadn't developed a resistance to the Sleep powers at all. It was a computer glitch. A mistake.
Because the president was released from her tube, nobody would be waking up any longer.
It was assumed that if the president had awaken, the savior had been found and that the person would activate the release codes which would wake up the remaining humans from sleep.
Whoever designed that program needs to be fired.
Wow.
And so the world lay barren.
A meteor hit Earth and exploded everything.
The end.
| 2015-01-25T13:52:12 | 2015-01-25T13:42:33 | 804 | 78 |
[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 wake up to the buzzing of my phone. Without opening my eyes, I reach over to silence it. *Just five more minutes*.
As I lay in bed, my mind starts putting together the pieces of last night’s events. I had been polishing an antique vase I had inherited from my great aunt Evelyn when all the air in my living room suddenly whirled around me and the genie appeared before me.
“Finally!” he cried. “You have no idea how long I’ve been stuck in that dingy vase…”
I stood in shock, mouth gaping, as the genie rambled on about the inhumane living conditions he’d been subjected to four thousands of years in that piece of pottery. At last, he addressed me directly.
“Well, now that you’ve freed me, you’re entitled to one free wish.”
“One wish?” I blurted out. “Isn’t it supposed to be three?”
The genie burst out laughing. “Is that what they’re telling kids these days?! You humans get greedier every millennium. No, you only get one wish. One wish should be all you need, if you choose the wish wisely. My advice: don’t waste it. You have a real chance to do some good here.”
*A real chance to do some good.* For as long as I could remember, my sister had had a tougher life than me. When she was eleven, she fell on the playground and scraped her arm. The arm got infected, and ultimately had to be amputated just below the shoulder. A freak incident that changed her life. Since then, she had always been a trooper and approached life with never-ending optimism, but prosthetic arms that attach above the elbow just aren’t as effective as prosthetics attached below the elbow.
So when the genie showed up, I knew exactly what to wish for.
\----------
My phone still hasn’t stopped buzzing. Strange. Groggily, I pick up the phone and pry one eye open to see a barrage of notifications on my screen.
The top headline from the New York Times: “BREAKING NEWS: PEOPLE AROUND THE WORLD WAKE UP WITH TWO EXTRA LIMBS”.
From the Wall Street Journal: “BIOLOGICAL WARFARE? RADIATION POISONING? SCIENTISTS TRY TO DECODE THE MYSTERY OF TWO NEW LIMBS”
In disbelief, I throw off my covers. Sure enough, there are two dangly new arms sticking out from each of my hips like spider legs.
*How on Earth…?* Then suddenly, it hits me.
I race to the old vase and rub it vigorously until the genie materializes again.
“You again?” he asks. “I already granted you your wish.”
“*FOREARMS*!” I cry. “I WANTED EVERYONE TO HAVE *FOREARMS*! NOT *FOUR ARMS*!”
Slowly, the genie’s face contorts from confusion, to understanding, to horror, as he realizes the irreversible mistake we’ve made. | I slammed my hands down behind my DM screen. "Dammit, Bobby. You can't do that."
Bobby gave me a slow lizard blink I had grown to loathe. "It's my wish. Perfectly legal." He rolled a 20 on his d-20 because of course the gods themselves decided to hate on me in this moment. "I don't even have to stick around for it. I'm getting some ice cream."
After he'd scampered out of the room I stared at his uncle, Tim. "You said he's brilliant and you were right. But he's also deeply annoying."
"What do you want?" Tim asked, oblivious to the sudden involuntary limb refactoring of the inhabitants of my entire magical world. "He's fourteen."
He then leaned back and sideways, cupped his mouth, and bellowed in that ear-splitting way he'd learned when he became a drill sergeant, "Hey, Bobby! Bring me a bowl too!" | 2022-07-11T09:41:02 | 2022-07-11T08:37:59 | 425 | 128 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | Oh, here we go again. The pale, skinny, tattooed, creep behind the counter was freaking out, whispering, shaking, stammering, "nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." So, of course I had to screw with him a little. "Well, obviously you don't get out much." "Now, how about my Big Mac, or do I talk louder?"
I had no idea what the sewage spewing out of my mouth sounded like to him. Nor did I care. When I wished for this, I didn't think of the consequences. But nobody ever does, do they my *little* *Jin*? It was all so clever at first, math to mathematicians, Hindi to Lyft drivers, a little Telugu, Yue, and Hiligaynon here and there. Happy times for the attractive, magical hyperpolyglot. But not for long.
Who knew there were so many weirdos in San Francisco? Not foreigners, they're not weird. I mean the real freaks: aliens, time travelers, walking dead, the "ancient ones," demons, angels, Jin, and of course, the endless vampires. And that's exactly what I had on the other side of the counter. Working the night shift at a McDonalds. Don't they all? And that skinny little psychopath was getting ready to jump the counter and rip my face off.
Maybe screwing with this one was not exactly the right idea. I lowered my voice. "Listen dear, I just want a Big Mac, fries, and a chocolate milk, and I'll be on my way. Nobody will know, nobody will ever care." "Oh, and could I have some *extra* c*atchup*?"
That didn't seem to work. His eyes were changing colors faster than last week's gay pride parade, and he was developing a serious overbite. I was getting further away from my Big Mac, and closer to a stainless steel bed at the morgue. So, I did it. I didn't want to do it, but time was of the essence.
He didn't make it over the counter. My vampire, the assistant manager, the old woman running the takeout window, and the pimply fry boy, exploded like boxes of rusty detonators stuck inside pigs.
"Go to Hell" in English is rude, bitchy, and ineffective. But when shouted using the filth those freaks speak, it was a curse that was *extremely* *imperative*.
Maybe I'd have better luck getting some Chinese, after I went home and cleaned up.
^(--- Edit --- Thanks to) [^(t)](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/132536.Robert_G_Barrett)^(he late Robert G. Barrett for the bit about detonators. -- More edits -- because that's what we do around here.)
Continued at: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8tqase/wp\_you\_are\_walking\_down\_the\_street\_and\_realise/e1av1qo](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8tqase/wp_you_are_walking_down_the_street_and_realise/e1av1qo) | "Hey thanks, I hope you have a good afternoon"
The swirling void took me by surprise, really. The crimson red eyes of the cashier, not so much. I'd seen it before, I thought. Glimpses and glances, really; bad punctuation as a coda to the overbearing sentence of ordering a Whopper.
"We don't sssserve Whoppers," she hissed, hissingly. She was a she. And she didn't like what she heard.
The tail hadn't struck my eyes, but now it was striking my face. In a very feminine, demonic way at McDonald's. I thought about all the times I'd made children smile with a wink, a nod, an utterance I barely understood in a language I must have butchered around the world. Airports, ESL classes, daycares... something had always touched me.
It was too late though. The room melted away like guess on an SAT analogy I'd glazed over. Never enough time. Never enough time.
A feminine body curled snakishly and femininely atop me, a forked tongue darted in and out, the sound a hiss but the words I heard:
"If you 'Go Looking' for your Lovecraft book in the ball pit again I'm calling the fucking cops." | 2018-06-24T21:27:25 | 2018-06-24T21:01:01 | 165 | 20 |
[WP] You have the power to change the age of anything you touch. You try to change the age of your sleeping partner as a prank since they know of your power. But it doesn't seem to work, no matter how hard you try. Your partner wakes up and says "Gods don't age dear." | She touched his sleeping brow and closed her eyes, searching within herself for the gift. She imagined the wheels of time turning for her touch, dialing back the clock and reversing the damage it had done. Something was wrong, she could feel her power attempting to alter her partner's age but it was almost like there was no target to alter. Alex opened her eyes and stared at her lover, nothing about him had changed. Her abilities always worked and yet ever time that she tried to use them on him nothing would happen. It was almost as if he did not exist.
"Gods don't age dear." She heard the voice of her partner mutter sleepily. Alex was surprised to hear his voice, she had been sure that he was sleeping.
"Don't joke with me like that. Just because you're named after one of them, it doesn't mean that you are one of them." Alex replied, defeated.
"I'm serious," Zeus said, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "You've been trying this for weeks, haven't you ever wondered why it hasn't worked?"
"Of course I've wondered!" Alex snapped, "It's not funny to joke about this when you obviously know how much it has been bothering me. Why would you pretend that you were sleeping?" She was hurt, this was supposed to be her best friend. Alex loved him and he was pulling her leg despite the fact that she was upset. On top of that he had lied to her, pretending to sleep through her attempts to de-age her love.
"I wasn't pretending Alex, I was sleeping." He answered reaching for her face. Alex swatted his hand away, after all of their years together she thought that he would respect her intelligence a little more.
"So you knew what I was doing and managed to be asleep at the same time? Ya, right." Alex replied angrily. "I need some air." She swung her legs out of bed and quickly scavenged up some clothes to wear. She could tell that Zeus was watching her dress and for some reason that just made her more angry. Fuming she shoved her arms through a sweater to finish up and slammed her way through their front door. It was cold outside, and dark. Alex guessed that it must be around 5 in the morning but there was not really any way to tell. All of the clocks had stopped working years ago. The world was always cold these days, she wasn't even sure why people bothered to fight anymore. There was not anything left to save. The sun had gone out early on in the war, before most people's life times, but Alex had been there to watch. A side effect of her strange abilities. She had always been able to alter the age of any object, it could be living, inanimate, it would always work. Even on herself, it allowed her to live many more lifetimes then she was sure she was supposed to. It worked on everything except Zeus. Suddenly the tears started to stream down her face as she realized why she was really upset. She could not save him. The only person that she cared about in this shitty world would grow old and die without her. As her tears rolled down her face she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She reached up and grabbed it, feeling his warmth against her cold hands. The fear that she felt began to overwhelm Alex and she
I finished this story and my computer crashed. Super frustrated this is all that saved. If anyone actually displays interest I will rewrite the ending. Thanks. | "oh... honey... you're up!!! I, I don't know what you're talking about. NIGHT!!!!!!"
I try to cocoon myself in the sheets... Sadly Janet has been taking Pilate classes lately and they showed. I settled for ducking under covers.
"It's ok sweetie, Who do you think gave you that little trick to begin with. Honey? I know you're still up..."
Well of course you know I'm still up. Do I look like a baby? Nobody falls asleep THAT fast! Stupid Janet, stupid useless powers, stupid....
"Wait. Janet, you're a god I mean goddess?! For real!"
She gave me one of her trademarked -what am I going to do with you!- smiles and ruffled my hair.
"Silly, I told you that when we met remember? Those time turner powers were your anniversary gift. Didn't think you'd make one when you blew the cake candles but I figured it'll make you happy."
I thought back to that day. I wasn't sure when I got these powers, just that it was after my single days.
"I think you should watch Harry Potter with me. That's not how the time turner works. WAIT! Read the books! The books are better... WAIT! You're god right? Can you get me stuff from Rowling that was never printed? None of the new stuff though, original HP only."
"Sorry dear. She asked someone for those but it sure as heaven wasn't me!" | 2018-11-13T14:04:38 | 2018-11-13T10:38:48 | 20 | 14 |
[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.
| Sitting at the kitchen table Jacob stared out of the window and sipped a coffee from his "1# Dad" mug.
Suddenly there was a fizzing and spluttering sound and the #1 Dad appeared to melt from his mug revealing a #2,045,834 Dad behind.
He stared for a moment then said.
"Well shit... That's not bad at all." Then he grabbed a rich tea and dunked it in.
The end. | 2022-11-12T17:52:35 | 2017-06-11T09:19:40 | 69 | 17 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile only to learn that no one else actually went into isolation. | “…And we check in now with Paul Johnson, who remembers what it was like before The Break. Paul?”
Paul gulped, never liking the limelight. “Yes, Eric, I remember when we tricked the Americans.”
“Even if we tricked them, they were stupid enough to fall for it!” Eric laughed, and the studio audience did too.
“America brought a lot of good into the world, but it never would let you forget about it. If it took in refugees, it would ask for payment or help with them. If it sent aid, it let you know.” Paul explained, trying to gear everyone into liking the Americans, so as to help the transition.
“Yeah, but it started wars like it was nobody’s business! I mean, what, were they trying to compensate for something?” Eric looked to his co-host, Shaunita, who put up her hand with two fingers close together. The audience began to laugh even more. Paul sighed, not liking how this conversation was going.
In the years following the break, everyone watched America for a bit, but they quickly turned to making fun of their victims. Paul remembered his American friends and never partook, but he could never stop anyone else.
“Well, today we get to see how they’re doing. In but a few moments, our recon probes will reach their shores and we can see how they’ve faired.” Paul stated, wanting to be done with the whole silly affair.
“They’ll probably shoot at it, remember their issues with guns?” Shaunita quipped.
“Yeah, I remember… the…” Eric trailed off as the probes video showed on their screen. Nothing could be seen, saved for crazy amounts of green.
“What’s going on?” Eric asked, but Paul stayed quiet, wondering where everyone was. The probe had entered what was supposed to be Boston, yet all that could be seen was a wild landscape.
“Maybe they’ve made a megacity in the center?” Shaunita offered.
“Keeping all those people cramped in one city? Will Americans never learn?” Eric joked, but his own laugh was unsure.
A white blur crossed the screen, earning a scream from a few audience members. The probe turned to follow, only to suddenly jerk downwards and to the side. A face black as pitch filled the screen.
“Hello, world.” He said, his accent sounding surprisingly Minnesotan.
“I see you’re done playing hide and seek, so I guess… Olly Olly Oxen Free!” The man screamed the last part. Behind him, several other people materialized, the only trace of their previous lack of being was a shimmer.
“My name is Nathan. We’re the Delegates from the United Nations of America.” Nathan said.
“United Nations?” Everyone in the audience seemed to whisper at once.
“We come with a message.” Nathan lifted his hand to the probes camera, and pointed a finger. A blaze of light filled the screen, and then darkness.
For a few seconds, there was silence, and then a voice could be heard.
“For the first five years, we warred amongst ourselves. The second American Civil War cost many lives, and no civilians were to be found amongst our citizens. For the next five years, we rebuilt. The old government had fallen and we began to guide America to greater places. For the second decade, we enjoyed peace and quiet.” Images showed, too, of the fighting, of fires and death, and the great effort to rebuild, accentuating what the voice said.
The voice seemed to catch here, and when it began to speak again, it was angry.
“A bit of history quick. Before America, Britain carried the distinction of the role of ‘Police of the World’, but after World War 2, America began to take over that role. Britain, like all of Europe, had been hit hard. Really hard. They needed time away to heal. But they never came back to the job, America became the enforcer of Capitalist, western ideals. We fought a silent, cold war with Russia and its slave states to keep as much of the world free as possible. But the world grew to resent us, our ever present Armies and our nearly endless supply of good will. We know you fooled us with the treaty, The Break as you call it.”
Paul began to shake in fear, the tone of the message seeming to grow darker and darker.
“But, back to more modern history. After the second decade, that one of pure peace and quiet, we grew bored. So we took a peak outside, and that’s when we found out about you not playing by the rules. We debated and debated amongst ourselves how to best get revenge. We thought up new weapons, new strategies, new powers. In the end, we followed a very old philosophical ideal.”
The images stopped, blackness enveloping the screen.
“A life well lived is the best revenge.” Said the voice. Images began to flood the screen, and inexplicably everyone’s wireless devices began to receive messages, showing more images.
Several large and beautiful cities were shown on screen, all in a desert location. But, despite the sand, green could be seen. The voice spoke briefly of the technological prowess these cities had, it's ability to produce food in the barren wastes and to find water and recycle too, then it spoke of how it got this technology.
“You see, without you there to constantly muck about and get into trouble, we could pursue our own wants. So we did. The land of Old America is abandoned, no doubt now the Buffalo roam the plains and the deer and bear and wolf live in perfect wild harmony. As for us, we have left your planet. Five years ago, we developed the perfect stealth technology, and we went into the stars.”
“Three guesses were we are.” The voice offered, the image on the screen pulling back to show a red planet.
“The good news is, despite 50 years separation, we all still believe in what America means. If you want, you can come to where we are, America will take you.”
The voice finally stopped, and the images left the screen. Eventually, Eric found his nerve. “What an arsehole.” He said. “I mean, ‘America will take you?!’, what a load of horse shit. Paul, what do you think of this?”
Paul didn’t speak. For a few seconds, he stared at Eric, prompting him to ask again, and then he started walking away.
“Paul, hey, where are you going Paul?!” Eric asked, nearly screaming at him. Paul answered over his shoulder.
“I never renounced my dual citizenship, I’m moving home Eric.”
| The Great Treaty, is what we all knew it as. The events of World War 3 had left the world in shambles, with nuclear wastelands, deadlines from chemical attacks, and new weaponized diseases running rampant. The remaining nations gathered in what was once Switzerland and decreed that their countries needed to rebuild. Even though they had eventually turned the tide, the United States was in far from good odor with the rest of the world, and our soldiers were recalled from military bases and consulates around the world as we prepared for isolation.
I was born years after the Treaty, although I heard about it both at home and at school. Following our self imposed isolation, we had retreated behind our borders. Canada didn't get a wall, but our checkpoints were closed and predator drones patrolled the border. Mexico got a wall, and there might as well have been a wall in the ocean, as we kept some of our navy and built a long series of coastline defensive batteries. The wars, alas, continued behind our borders. Racial tensions reached unheard of limits and thousands died from the race wars that followed. It was nearly two decades after the treaty before the US was at peace, and another decade before we'd recovered from the depression as the prices for our goods tripled, as our cheap overseas goods went away.
I sometimes wish that the Great Treaty had lasted longer. Lockheed had switched entirely to civilian planes after the Great Treaty. They've opened up three new factories, and there are four shifts of workers churning out long distance personnel aircraft as fast as they can be built. The navy is across both the Atlantic and Pacific, and shipyards are putting hulls in the water as fast as they can. The draft had been reinstituted for the first time in nearly a hundred and twenty years.
I'm told the globe doesn't look much like it used to. China and Russia merged, and absorbed Japan, Taiwan, and both North and South Korea. India and Pakistan are nuclear wastelands as are many of the smaller nations, cutting off eastern Asia from much of western Asia. Australia has been fighting a rearguard action for decades as the Russo-Chinese forces have been invading through what used to be the Phillipines. Russo-Chinese forces have begun making probing attacks against Hawaii, camouflaged by the numerous civilian boats desperately making the journey to escape the Russo-Chinese dictatorship.
Brazil and Colombia fell entirely to the drug lords, and most of South and Central America are now in the hands of the private armies of the drug lords. Hundreds of thousands of refugees are camped up against the mexican wall, trying desperately to get in. American forces have been deployed as far south as Mexico City in an attempt to screen the refugees from the marauding cartels.
Africa was hit hard by both nukes and biological warfare, losing nearly 60% of its population even before the Great Treaty. The remnants of it have been divided up between Egypt and several drug and diamond cartels. According to the best intelligence, Africa is a no-go zone for other nations.
The Middle East has been surprisingly prosperous. Israel, losing its only major ally, went on a full offensive, conquering Palestine in less than a week. Other neighbors attacked Israel and were not only stopped, but conquered. Israel has been consolidating its power base ever since. The remaining middle eastern nations got the hint and signed non-aggression pacts with Israel and even trade agreements.
Europe was less lucky than most. Having lost several countries to biological and nuclear fallout, the European Union solidified into simply The Union, and finally accomplished the conquest of England and Ireland. American ships have begun to rescue canadian bound refugee ships, and the fighting between the Union and the US is growing hotter.
"So which service did you get," my best friend asked as we stood in front of the military offices, waiting for our bus.
"I got Army," I said. "I'll be down in Mexico in three months, I bet. How about you?"
"They sent me to the Navy," he said, wrinkling his nose. "I've heard they're upgrading mothballed ships in hopes we can keep the RC navy out of Hawaii. I bet I'm headed there."
Four busses pulled up in front of the horde of draftees. I saw that they had been broken up by service. I grabbed my duffle and turned to stick my hand out, saying good by to my friend, possibly forever.
"Take care," I said, shaking his hand.
"You too, man," he replied. "Don't forget to email."
I got in line to enter the bus and watched him disappear into the navy bus, wondering if I'd ever see my friend alive. | 2016-10-18T23:13:18 | 2016-10-18T19:17:04 | 53 | 14 |
[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 | As I sat in the dark holding room, my only companions a security camera programmed to turn left and right on a ten second cycle and a cold metal table I was now handcuffed to, I continued my replaying of the events in my head. Better to keep things straight for when the Good Cop/Bad Cop routine starts.
I'd just had enough. I'd just had enough of feeling unsafe every time I stepped off the bus and walked into that garbage school. That smug moron with the firecracker marked on his wrist, his deceptively meek partner-in-crime with a radio signal on the back of his neck, they were my tormentors in my daily Hell. The second I walked through those doors, every morning, I would hear a pop like a gunshot, proceeded by rapid sizzling and shrieks of shrill air, and that sound would continue every thirty to fourty five minutes for the rest of the day. If I tried to confront them, they would hit me with another wave of sound that fried all my senses. If I went to my teachers, I was told to "ignore it".
I knew why. I was a target because everyone else flaunted their powers. In their eyes, I was too good to use my power in front of them, or I was just lazy, or both. In truth, I'd only used my power once before. I caught my sister rummaging through my things for something to pawn, for the umpteenth time. Something inside me just snapped, and I used my power for the first time.
The police investigation ruled it as a drug overdose, and my parents were more worried about how I felt. I felt like a murderer. The worst part is, she's not dead. She's still in the hospital, and she will be for the rest of her life.
Today was the anniversary of the day I used my power for the first time. Not something I would celebrate, maybe other people, but I like to think I'm not a sociopath. Today I just wanted to be left alone, so instead of entering through the front of the school, I figured I would try and sneak in the back.
Of all the people to grab my arm as I came through the door, it had to be the Vice Principal. Under his left eye was a birthmark like a teardrop, and the second he touched me, I felt like I was going to burst into tears. When he made physical contact with someone, they felt an overwhelming avalanche of emotion, meant to coax them into telling the truth. I immediately screamed, saying I just wanted to be left alone.
His grip clenched around my arm tighter. He barked into my face again, demanding whatever truth he thought he was going to get out of me. It was like an overload of not just all my senses, but my brain simultaneously screaming to be let out of my skull, until finally I couldn't take it anymore. The circle on my forehead began burning a bright yellow, and the Vice Principal collapsed to the ground, convulsing and frothing at the mouth as he slipped into a vegetative state.
I ran. I'm not an idea person, that was just all I had right now, my two left feet and lungs to breathe. I started running and didn't stop. I must've broken a record for something before the cop car snapped me back to reality.
Now comes the hard part. I can be honest, I can tell them that I snapped and just wanted to be left alone. I can tell them I was walking in the back to avoid my bullies. Whether or not they believe me or even care, that's not the hard part.
The hard part is going to be explaining how my power works.
The Vice Principal wasn't just in a medically induced coma. His body was shut down, and his mind was now trapped in a loop. He's currently reliving every time he ever hurt someone, from a third-person perspective. He's made to watch as every kid he screamed at went home and cried into a pillow, or dropped out of school, or started playing with their dad's razors. He has to face everyone he's ever hurt, and beg for forgiveness. If he can do that, the loop will break, and he'll wake up.
Most people can't change. It's not impossible, but it's like trying to make coal into a diamond. If everyone could change, if people were perfect, the world would be perfect. Instead, we just have an infinite circle of hate and misunderstanding that self-perpetuates, all to keep our fragile minds from looking back and realizing the infinity of lives we've changed, not all of them for the better.
Breaking the circle is an act in-of itself self-destruction. To change yourself *is* to destroy yourself. Break the circle and break yourself, or maintain the circle and maintain the cycle of pain. Destruction or Self-destruction.
...I always fucking hated geometry. | "You made me drop my drink." The girl's shoes were wet, covered in the drink I'd accidentally knocked out of her hands. "What're you gonna do about it?" Her voice was low, menacing, almost a hiss, and that was when I realised who it was and my eyes went wide. An apology wouldn't cut it, not with her. Even if I bought her new shoes and a new drink right that instant, it wouldn't be enough. What she wanted, what she always wants from me, is *blood*.
Ignoring the bottle on the ground between us, Rebecca advanced the few steps to get within arm's reach of me, rolling up her left sleeve as she did so. On her forearm burned her sigil, a group of jagged red lines that resembled a three-taloned claw. Her strength was fuelled by her anger, and she literally wore her heart on her sleeve - the last time I saw her sigil that dark, she broke two of my ribs in a single punch. Something had really pissed her off today and my clumsiness was simply the straw breaking the camel's back. Well, that and my apparent lack of a power.
I opened my mouth and desperately tried to come up with something, anything, that wouldn't require me to visit Mark with his healing sigil, but before I could make a noise her hand shot out and grabbed my neck. I could see her sigil up close now, and it was turning a deep crimson, explaining how she'd gained the strength to lift me clean off the floor.
"You're not just useless," she she growled, as a crowd began to gather. "You're actually *detrimental* to society." She squeezed, and I began to asphyxiate. "So I'll ask you again." She punched me with the other hand, softly.
"What." Again, harder.
"Are." This hit actually hurt.
"You." The next knocked my head to the side, and the crowd gasped. I could hear a couple of people shouting my name.
"Gonna." Right in the ear, and I could no longer hear anything at all.
"Do." My vision was going from the lack of oxygen, but for once my head was clear.
"About." I couldn't feel the pain. All I could feel was anger, and resentment, and that the world was cruel. Cruel to give the power of theft to someone who loved giving.
"It." The fist came swinging in, but I caught it in one hand and crushed it. Rebecca screamed and dropped me, not because of the pain but because she'd lost the strength to hold my weight off the ground any longer. Her sigil was still dark, but as she watched it vanished, vanished completely, fading away into nothingness.
I lifted my fringe, and underneath was no longer an empty circle. Contained within it was a group of jagged lines that resembled a three-taloned claw. And it was coloured pure black. | 2020-02-26T10:43:17 | 2020-02-26T09:25:14 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] It's the year 2278. The Holy Empire of Boston, The New Republic of Philadelphia, and The United Burrows of New New York are at the brink of war. Diplomats from each nation are meeting to negotiate peace. You are the translator. | Pope Belichick walked into the room and the temperature dropped.
People pretend not to notice him whenever he appears in these meetings, they shuffle papers and check their watches, but everybody is aware of his presence, you can tell because the room always goes silent upon his entrance. He was adorned in normal Holy Boston attire; a dark navy blue robe that extended down to the floor, covering his feet completely so that he seemed to glide rather than walk. His head was covered by a hood that shrouded his face in shadow so that only his nose could be seen, poking out from a darkness as black as the soul it concealed.
It wasn't that Belichick couldn't understand the others, but the other way around. He could not speak except in hoarse, barely audible rasps of the old New England tongue. Legend said that he had traded his voice to the devil while performing a satanic ritual that involved lots of pentagrams, candles, and a bloody sacrifice of a goat. After that, nobody except a skilled translator like myself could understand the man and his demands. And he was always making demands.
“Why can't he just send us his assistant to treat us?” the President from Philadelphia whispered to me in Philadelphian. “This guy gives me the creeps.”
I wanted to tell the man that the Pope wouldn't miss one of these meetings even if his wife went into labor. I wanted to tell him that the Pope liked making people uncomfortable, that he used the malaise that settled over any room he occupied as a weapon to intimidate weaker men, like himself.
Instead I said, “Go cry about it over a cheesesteak, you big fuckin baby.” I was a New Yorker by birth after all, and Philadelphia was just as much my enemy as the scary man sitting on the other side of the table.
The Philly President looked me up and down with disdain. “Mind your tongue, translator bitch. Don't forget your place at this table. Fucker.”
Our United Ambassador tapped me on the shoulder. “What's that shitbird sayin?”
“Same old stuff that fuckhead always complains about,” I said in New Yorkian. “Fucking twat.”
“Tell him to go fuck himself.”
I turned back to the Philly President. “New York says go fack yourself.”
“Oh yeah? Well Philly says fuck you too. We're gonna bomb the fuckin shit out of you as soon as we finish this meeting.”
Negotiations we're proceeding as normal, so far.
Just then, Pope Belichick raised his hand and beckoned for me to approach with a pallid, frail hand. Timidly, I walked over to the old man and leaned in to hear his demands. My hand accidentally brushed against his arm and I felt goosebumps run up my neck, as if someone had stepped on my grave.
He whispered to me, a low hiss like a serpent that tickled my ear and made my skin crawl. I frowned as the gears turned in my mind to translate the odd dialect into my own dignified New York tongue. Finished speaking, he motioned me to leave with a gnarled bony finger, and I rushed away back to safety like a scared dog.
The UNNY ambassador looked up at me anxiously as I returned to my seat. “What's he want this time?”
“Buffalo,” I stated. "That's all, for now."
Relief washed over the ambassador's face. He shrugged his shoulders. “Eh. He's occupied that town for so long that it's basically his anyways. Let him have it.”
I turned to the Philadelphian President next. “That work for you, fuckhead?”
He laughed. “Why the fuck would I care about fucking Buffalo?”
***
/r/ghost_write_the_whip
| "You brought a fucking translator?"
Bloomberg the ninth gave his characteristic smile that did nothing but infuriate the Boston scientist.
"I can't believe this, Bloomberg, are you insulting *our* use of English, have you even..." The Philadelphian president paused suddenly, his face red. "What am I even doing, it's not like you'll suddenly feel bad about it," he practically muttered.
"I'm sorry, Jared, I didn't quite catch that." Bloomberg turned to the translator, "what exactly did he say?"
The Philadelphian got up and started advancing towards Bloomberg's side of the table, his face contorted in anger, but Dr. Evans, the Boston representative held him back.
"He's just baiting you, Jared," The Dr. Evans said as he struggled to hold back the large Philadelphian, "we all know who's the most desperate person here."
After struggling for a second, Jared took another deep breath, and nodded.
Once seated, Dr. Evans took the head. "All right gentlemen, let's get down to it, none of us want this war, so let's stop it."
Dr. Evans and Jared looked to Bloomberg expectantly, he was in the weakest position of the three and would be expected to make the most concessions. Bloomberg returned their gaze evenly the turned to his translator and whispered in his ear.
Jared clenched his jaw and Dr. Evans put his face in his hands.
This was going to be a long night.
***
(minor edits)
If you liked this and would like to read some serious stuff, check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) | 2017-01-12T19:18:21 | 2017-01-12T18:48:10 | 998 | 85 |
[WP] What’s more horrifying than a biblically accurate angel shouting “FEAR NOT”? A modernized angel whispering to you “Be very afraid…” | Amelia had learned to ignore their presence. From an early age she had seen them, almost always at the corners of her eyes. Floating eyes, rings of swirling flames, wings that unfolded from themselves in impossible geometric patterns. Well, ignoring them was't exactly what she did, not always. Her mother had called them Angels, she had called them creatures, refusing to give them the religious connotation that had plagued her childhood.
&#x200B;
*You should help that man*, a bright blue ball of... well... Amelia could only describe it as hope really, looking directly at it was impossible, it always morphed into the edge of her vision, but when she focused on its presence she could feel a strange sense of hope. Everything was all right in the world when she could feel that little blue ball next to her.
&#x200B;
The man in question was someone who didn't particularly look like someone who needed help, they never did. Behind him a winged creature floated, one particularly common, they always followed the same person. This one's wings were too sharp, too small, too many of them. It vibrated a little bit too fast, not in the smooth motions that she was used to. She could almost swear that it was anxious. It whispered in a voice not heard but felt along one's back, "smile... please smile". As Amelia walked by the man she turned her head, waved, and smiled at him.
&#x200B;
As she walked away she felt a thankful whisper trace its way up along her spine. She could have done more, stopped to talk to him, asked him if he was okay, but she had learned that there was too much that needed to be done, too many people with guardians that felt powerless, too many people who were just barely keeping themselves afloat. She had to keep herself afloat, attempting to help everyone would only slow herself down, and make her one more person to help.
&#x200B;
The blue light that glowed in the back of her eyes flickered.
&#x200B;
She turned from the main street and entered the building where she spent most of her days. She had studies behavioral physiology, originally spurred by her desire to know what was wrong with herself, until she had met a strange and charming older man. She had left school to work with his team, and this year the early election polls were looking better and better. Last year she never would have thought that such an unknown individual would stand a chance in the governor's elections, let alone the presidential race. And yet here she was, entering an office building full of hundreds of individuals, dedicated, even more than her perhaps, to bettering this county's future, and working to get their man elected.
&#x200B;
She entered the lobby, taking just a few seconds to marvel at the gilded faux marble and glittering lights. Earlier this month it had been nothing but beige walls and cheap tiled floor. Entering the elevator she keyed in one of the upper floors. Amelia wasn't sure why, but no one here had a creature over their shoulder, whispering into their mind, altering their behavior. Maybe everyone here didn't need them, they already had someone to follow, a role model that was real and more than a passing thought or fleeting feeling.
&#x200B;
As the bell rang and the twin doors peeled open she stepped out onto the floor, where she and several other individuals worked with marketing agencies to disseminate their campaign to as many people as possible. Right now it was hard, working without a name. It wasn't awkward to think of their man as "their man"... *her man.* She did have to admit that it was awkward to attempt to create campaigns without the name of the candidate, and she wasn't sure how that would work on the voting ballet, but everyone seemed to know who she was talking about.
&#x200B;
As she sat down at her seat the elevator beeped again and he stepped out.
&#x200B;
His eyes were golden. Blue. Brown. Green. Red. Looking at him felt like looking at the impossible angles formed by the wings of a creature. She had called them angles once, but not sinse seeing him. He was a true angle. The creatures were imposters. They spoke through vague feelings, urgings to do what was right. He stood tall and spoke with a firm voice. She could hear it. Feel it.
&#x200B;
The first time she had seen him speak she had just been passing by, and had felt intrigued by a crowd gathering around someone speaking from atop a milk carton.
&#x200B;
"I will lead this country to greatness!" She had heard, both from her ears, and across her skin like the whispers of those then angles, now baseless creatures compared to his light.
&#x200B;
"I will save you!" *I will save myself.*
&#x200B;
"I will not lead you astray!" *I will lead you my way.*
&#x200B;
"Together we will become the greatest nation on earth!" *Together I will become the strongest*.
&#x200B;
The sweet words, those heard and felt, had spoken like a chorus of angles to Amelia. He had stood there, just a head above the crowd and yet he towered over them all like they were nothing more than the dust of the earth. And yet he did not look down upon them. He looked up, the impossible math behind it had bothered no one, especially not Amelia, who had seen even greater impossibilities since the day she was born.
&#x200B;
He stood, towering now just as he had then. He seemed taller than the ceiling, and yet as he walked toward the marketing director's office he seemed as humble as any pauper. He glowed with a warmth, and a refreshing cold at the same time. His hope replaced the light blue that she was used to as he walked by. A sickly sweet hope that promised so much more than that blue light ever could.
&#x200B;
"Keep doing the good work!" He said cheerfully as he walked by her desk.
&#x200B;
*Keep doing my work.*
&#x200B;
As his cold and hot flames left soft caress along her skin as he left, she smiled and sat down at her chair, opened up her laptop from her bag, and did exactly that. Here in this building that blue light, its cold hope and truth, receded to the very corner of her perception where it sat flickering, weakened but refusing to leave.
&#x200B;
After hours had flown by, the quiet hum of the office filled her ears instead of the whispers of twisted impossible creatures, and the soft hot-cold flames ran along her back instead of the annoyance of flightless feathers.
&#x200B;
As the door opened again, and he left their office, Amelia found herself distracted by her memories of the man, and the first words she had heard him say.
&#x200B;
"Be not afraid!" *Be very afraid...*
&#x200B;
Amelia was not afraid. She was delightfully afraid. The flames he brought with him stayed as he left. Burning cold. Freezing warmth. *Hellfire,* a flickering blue light said into her ear.
&#x200B;
Hellfire agreed Amelia. Wonderful hellfire that promised to burn away the terrors of the world. That promised with its sickly sweet hope to end the suffering of every creature plagued individual.
&#x200B;
The blue light behind Amelia grew in intensity, with it the cold sense of hope hit her senses like mint, like clear refreshing air, like an insight that only comes after a night of sleep.
&#x200B;
It was a hope in humanity, a hope in every person that walked the streets of the city, the hope that a convicted felon could change, a hope that children would grow up to be happy. A blue cold hope that pushed back the golden hot-cold flames.
&#x200B;
A blue hope that stuttered, and gave out.
&#x200B;
The sweet sickly hope returned with the hot-cold flames. It was hope in him. Hope that he would make everything better. Hope that he would be able control them all. There was no hope for themselves, for each other. But he could save them all. He would save us from ourselves. Be not afraid. The false angles had said. But Amelia had heard his sweet words, and she was afraid, so *wonderfully* afraid.
&#x200B;
Edit: This is my first time doing something like this. I didn't know that reddit supported markdown, so I'll be using that in the future XD. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 2: Mare v.s. Tamulu)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [this story](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mmzrng/wp_angels_are_thought_to_be_beautiful_while/) provides some extra context.)
**In Mare's many lifetimes, they had played a thousand roles.** Conqueror and conquered. Deity and faithful. Oppressor and oppressed. It was hard, over a lifespan longer than human civilization, to keep seeing people as people. So many of Mare's kin had fallen to seeing them as props, all the world a stage and them the only actors.
But even the greatest show needed an intermission. A space for the actors to take a sip of water and check on how the show was doing.
Mare stood in an abandoned parking lot beneath a burning, smoky sky. The city of Sacrament had been beautiful, once, before its mayor had been banished and its citizens turned to rioting. Skyscrapers now darkened with soot, unidentifiable or all-too-identifiable stains plastering the floor—Mare had seen worse collapses, but not many.
Mare had come in their rock-star guise. A shock of deliberately shaggy hair spilled over one shoulder, a guitar case still slung over their back. All of it was fake, of course, part of the show; Mare was a shapeshifter, and their body was their will and nothing more.
"You're late," their opposite number said as Mare rounded a corner. The small, colorful bird gave Mare a baleful glare. Not all of Mare's ilk had chosen human form; many of the angels had decided to take the form of an animal this time around. Actors got tired of playing the same role for thousands of years, after all. "Were you doing something?"
"By definition, yes." Mare narrowed their eyes, piercing through the bird's outer form and seeing into their soul. "Tamulu. I thought I'd be rid of you for a century, at least, when Brouhaha collapsed."
"Ah, ah, ah. That's not your line. Let me prompt you." Tamulu rippled, and the bird was not a bird but a white-robed priest, one hand a miasma of burning light. "Avast, demon! I have borne your presence for far too long! Begone with ye, begone!"
Mare rolled their eyes. Fine. If that was the game the angel wanted to play, then the devil would fall into their familiar role all the same. The rockstar's body erupted, expanding into a thing of craggy obsidian and molten beauty. "Do you really want to do this? Here? Now? In the middle of a modern city?"
The priest melted away, becoming a police officer in modern uniform. "No, of course not. That's why I'm here, after all. The old days are no more, Mare. Demons can't go around brawling with angels without getting broadcast on live TV. We have to have a lighter touch."
The obsidian monster vanished, leaving a stern-faced military man in his place. "A lighter touch? You're asking a shapeshifter to have a *lighter touch*? As your superior officer—or someone who looks exactly like them—I command you to shut your ignorant mouth. And maybe fetch me a coffee, while you're at it."
Tamulu's form blurred, becoming a young woman with empathy in her eyes and a smile on her face. "No, I don't think I will. Instead, I'll become a plucky heroine with too many tricks up her sleeve and defy governmental authority over and over again. With a *bit* too much help from her supernatural friend."
Mare inhaled sharply.
Tamulu smiled with another woman's body.
"So that's why you're here," Mare finally said.
"You've been too invested in the world of the mortals," Tamulu confirmed. "The show must go on. You're deviating from your script."
"Spare me your metaphors," Mare said. "They're *people*. Look around, Tamulu. Look at this damn city. They're suffering, *millions* of people suffering, and I have the power to step in and *help*. More than you've ever done. *Angels*, my ass."
"Ephemeral," Tamulu said, dismissive. "Your actions could draw the attention of the mortal world onto us even more than they already have. How do you think the show will fare when its props rise up against it?"
"You know," Mare said pensively, "I do think you're about to find out."
Tamulu froze, staring behind Mare with piercing eyes.
"You can come out now, kids," Mare said.
A group of civilians—people, just *people* living in the ruined hell their city had become—stepped out, armed with guns and knives and kitchen chairs.
And all of them had heard Tamulu ranting about how the *props* were out of line.
"I *am* sorry that I was late to our little meeting," Mare said. "But it took me a while to gather the posse."
"You *imbecile*," Tamulu hissed. "Setting humanity against the angels? Our kind will fall for the first time in milennia—"
"Why do you think I'm doing it?" Mare steepled their fingers. "They don't call me a demon for nothing, you know. I'm no friend of yours."
The angel stood, staring down the seething mob.
And smirked.
"Very well. If conflict is what you wish..." Tamulu's shadow lengthened as they elongated, wings and eyes and too many burning wheels to count expanding from their body. The crowd readied their guns, their modern weapons, to fight a terror of the past.
Then all at once, Tamulu imploded, and they were just a little kid. Just anyone you would see on the street, without a second passing thought.
"Be very afraid," the angel whispered.
Then they leapt into the sky on impossibly powerful legs, gunfire pelting their body like so much summer rain.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-01-29T07:49:38 | 2022-01-29T07:30:10 | 130 | 15 |
[WP] You are your best friend both run highly successful companies. To fight the boredom of the eight hours you pretend to work, you’ve both hired corporate spies to steal “classified information” from the other. You may have lost the last several games, but you have a good feeling about this one. | It's a pretty simple game. It started out as kind of a joke between Sohil and I, from back when we were both in business school. We learned about corporate espionage in class, and I leaned over and whispered that I was going to steal all of his secrets; he replied: "not if I steal yours first."
Fast forward twenty years, and we are now both the CEOs of big Fortune 500 companies. I worked my way up the ladder of an existing auto manufacturer, while Sohil went the entrepreneur route and started his own pharmaceutical giant. And our challenge has evolved too: we each hire corporate spies to infiltrate the other's corporation. At the end of the year, we meet up in Aspen and have a little exchange where we 'buy back' the information for whatever the black market value of it would be.
Sohil has *clobbered* me for the past six years. His agents have gotten the plans to every prototype we've come with; last year's electric car technology cost me dearly. And no matter what security I enact, he is always one step ahead. I pour money into cybersecurity, and he manages to slip a human informant into our information security division. I beef up hiring protocols and background checks, and he gets key loggers onto the computers of every one of my top executives. All in all, I was now down about $600 million in the total tally. But this year would change everything.
-----
Sohil was waiting by a roaring fire in our penthouse suite with a glass of brandy in hand. As we both grew more and more successful, we'd gotten more elaborate and opulent with our yearly results presentation. On a whiteboard behind him, "$600 million" was written in big red marker, a reminder of how much I was losing by. I knew that Sohil would never collect on it, but it certainly raised the stakes. Instead of money, *pride* was on the line.
I took a seat in the plush leather armchair next to him. A manila folder was sitting in his lap, and I dropped a folder of my own onto the coffee table.
"Let me guess," he said before I could open my mouth, "You've got the formula for dormalthazine in there." I smirked; I knew all about the new drug that Sohil's company was working to develop for treating diabetics. It was certainly promising, from the research I'd seen: a diabetic would only need a yearly injection, and would never have to take insulin again. It would save patients thousands of dollars, and make *billions* for Sohil's company. "Well, it's worthless," he continued. A wry smile spread across his face. "Two of our competitors are already going through FDA approvals and they'll almost *certainly* beat us to market with it. I don't know *how*, considering we've only just finished human trials. Bastards." He drained the rest of his glass. "Though at least I'll win our little competition this year too."
I laughed. I was deliberately stalling, savoring the moment. I'd been waiting six years for this. "See, I *did* consider using that as my auction item for the year. My agents were pretty easily able to access your research." I took the bottle of brandy from the bar cart and poured myself a glass. "That is, until I found out that your competitors had also gotten into your system. So instead..." I held up the folder, "I've got information on all five of the competitor's moles within your company. #4 will certainly surprise you; I think you even promoted him this past month!"
Sohil has an amazing poker face; I'll give him that. He was like a sphinx. "All right. Name your price, then."
I gestured to his folder. "What have you got there? Our merger option with Dakota Motors? Worth about $200 mil?" He smirked and nodded. Lucky guess, but he didn't need to know that. "That's what I thought. How about I give you all this..." I held the folder with all the information on the spies in his company, "for.. let's say $800 million?"
Sohil poured himself another glass of brandy. "You bastard." He grabbed the folder out of my hand, quickly read over the dossiers, and jumped on the phone with his head of security. I, meanwhile, rose from my chair and triumphantly wiped the whiteboard clean.
| Ocean's Eleven ain't got shit on us.
That's what I said when we got out of the van and started this, now nearly two hundred feet in the air I have changed my mind.
I don't remember anyone crying and nearly shitting themselves in Ocean's Eleven.
I suppose the sentiment is still true though.
There are five of us. I've hired four pros and decided to tag along, mostly out of boredom. I can't let them see me cry and I definitely can't give up so I just have to keep climbing up.
I figured it out about six months ago. He'd gone high with his servers and I buried mine under the office. His was always more secure and the last time I hired someone to climb in they failed miserably.
This time we made a distraction and the guys were much more professional. They picked a night without a full moon. And we started a huge fire in their parking lot.
I don't know which one is more effective.
I would wipe the tears and snot from my face but I'm too scared to let go and moving means maybe looking down.
So I keep moving and even through the tears I think of the sweet success that awaits us.
I can't believe my life came to this, silly games against my best friend. Of course it did. Once the hard work was done we really had nothing else to do.
Except break the law.
I hope I don't shit my pants. He'll never let me hear the end of it.
Alright. Up we go. Tonight, tonight I have a good feeling about the game.
*****
*pop*
Jerry looked up and glanced around his desk, there wasn't anything in sight.
*pop*
Again, the noise was like suction cups being pulled off a shower wall.
*pop*
It was getting louder. Jerry stood and looked around the open office, there was no one there. He was working on some financials alone, getting them ready for the CEO.
*pop*
As he turned back to his desk he saw a figure plastered against the exterior glass and he sighed. How on-
*pop*
-earth did he ever get hired with a company that wasted so much time on these games.
*pop*
"Security, they're coming up the outside. Yeah. I know. Thanks."
*pop*
Jerry hung up the phone and walked to the whiteboard in the center of the office. He ticked off under the WIN category and sat down at his desk again.
*pop*
The nice thing was no other company offered benefits like this, watching people make fools of themselves on a weekly basis.
*pop* | 2016-08-25T08:45:12 | 2016-08-25T08:05:40 | 206 | 47 |
[WP] In a world where everyone discovers their superpower at age 5, you discover that your child has the ability to bring small toys to life. Things seem fine until he comes across your Warhammer 40k miniature collection... | I have loved Charlie from the moment I set my eyes on her. She's beautiful in every way, a light that guides me through the most difficult of times in my life. However, she is also a child, so when I realised I hadn't heard her stomping around the house in a few minutes I went to check in.
I grew concerned when her bedroom was empty, and her various stuffed toys had no idea where she was. Since she had animated them, they'd stayed close to her, but generally hung out in her room since her mother and shouted at them all for going outside in the dirt. Mr Pinky had since been renamed Brownie, and all the toys had learnt their lesson.
When I found her in the rumpus room I was relieved. It was good to know she hadn't been in the garage, playing with power tools, until I heard the yelling.
"Brothers! The beast is pushing forward! Hold the line! In the name of the Emperor, HOLD THE LINE!"
I knew what had happened, and was not looking forward to unravelling this web. Most toys were pretty chill with becoming sentient - Charlie was gentle, and always kindly explained what was happening. Her collection of stuffed animals mostly just waited for her to come back, and helped her keep her room clean. But I hadn't prepared for... This.
Charlie was backing away in confusion as a group of men in blue armour, standing an intimidating 1 and a half inches tall, charged at her across the concreted floor of my hobby room. I sighed. 200 dollars worth of 40k, a full 10 miniatures. And I'd even painted them too!
Charlie started to cry when she turned and saw me.
"Daddy, the men are being mean! They don't understand me!"
"It's alright sweetheart, I'll talk to them. You go back inside." Charlie booked it for the safety of the living room, and I closed the door behind her.
"Brothers! Primaris, lay down your arms in the name of Guilliman, and all that is good. Your travels through the warp have abandoned you here, but fear not. For it is Sanguinius Day, and in the name of Our Emperor I am here to guide you home."
The squad ground to a halt, and I heard them whispering to each other. Evidently their guns didn't work, and they had just discovered that their armour didn't contain any sort of working Vox. Eventually, the captain called out to me, from somewhere near my toe.
"Speak, giant, and I will hear you. I fear the warp must cloud my mind, but I have little choice in the matter. Why have our weapons failed us? What must we do to prevail? Remember, to speak in the name of the Emperor and lie is heresy, and I will have your head if you do, in this life or the next." | Precious Charlie. Sweet, little, innocent Charlie. She was just a petite little lass, barely able to fit into size one shoes. She was sweet as candy too! She loved to grab her little dolls and legos we got her to life. We never worried much about them, they were small and she would turn them back when she was done. But to do that, she has to touch them. When she found out, when WE found out that it’s not as easy to touch a massive man in huge armor with a heavy flamer in hand as is a lego, we were surprised to say the least. A terrifying week that was, couldn’t get the sucker put down until a the Power police came and shut him down. They wanted to take my little Charlie too, but I wouldn’t let them. Needless to say, I put them in a storage unit as fast as I could after that incident. | 2020-12-02T18:29:04 | 2020-12-02T15:34:47 | 2,038 | 73 |
[WP] A genie offers a man three wishes. After hearing his wish, the genie straight up refuses to grant it. | "So, what do you want? Riches? Peace on earth? To stop being a virgin? Don't be shy, I've seen it all."
Jack rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Then he blinked for a few moments. Then he decided that he was hallucinating and that everything was going to come back to normal.
It didn't. He was surely hallucinating. Perhaps he had one beer too many. After all, why else would he try to replace a lightbulb, smash it into little bits and then fit a candle on an empty beer bottle transforming it into a lamp? That must have been it. Genies didn't exist. There was no way genies could exist, Jack was sure of it as he looked at the one in front of him.
"Well? Come on, I haven't got all day", came the voice again.
Jack refused to look at the voice. It was all in his head, he told himself. It was all in his head.
"I'm right here, you know. I can stand here forever. Got an eternity, it fact. So, whatcha wishing for?"
Just don't talk to him, Jack told himself and closed his eyes. He was an firm believer in atheism, and this sort of things just wasn't supposed to happen. No supernatural freaks of nature, that's what he was hoping for this morning when he got out of bed. And yet here he was.
A clasp of thunder shook the room. The genie must have been getting impatient. It was starting to become harder to ignore him, Jack realized. Perhaps if he did what he wanted... Perhaps the thing would go away.
"Yo, you awake? Come on, wakey-wakey, make a wish, I've got other things to do".
Jack decided to finally open his eyes. Upon doing so, he wished he didn't. The shadow was still gigantic, and Jack immediately closed his eyes back. Horrified and shaking, he wispered:
"Half... Half-Li..."
Another thunder shook the roof and Jack jumped, involuntarily opening one of his eyes. The shadow was even bigger now, more menacing. And it was shouting.
"Fuck you! Fuck you and your fucking Gordon Freeman! What the hell is wrong with this planet, eh? What in the name of the Lord is the fucking deal with you guys?"
Jack was shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm as the shadow gave him the finger and disappeared. Only then did he allow himself to fall to the floor like a pile of rags.
Somewhere far in the distance, the shadow was still swearing.
__________________________________________________________
*If you liked the story, check out my [sub](http://www.reddit.com/r/dullwriting/) with more horrible ideas and genies in it.* | "No."
"It's my wish. Do it."
"No. I can not. I will not."
"And why not?"
"Because I don't wish to die you fool. Why would I take my own life?"
"Because I control the ring and I demand it. I can't have someone else come along and undo what I've accomplished."
"What you've accomplished little man? Without me you'd have no business. Without me you'd have no family. You'd be filthy and starving on the street, just as you were seven you stole my ring. No, I will not end myself to ensure your future. Now make a new wish."
"This is the height of my life genie, I wish that my worst days stay behind me."
"Gladly master..." | 2015-03-15T20:08:42 | 2015-03-15T20:03:10 | 69 | 15 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | In the beginning finding them jobs other than "executioner" or "bounty hunter" was difficult. Many of em complained that these jobs we're demoralizing and that they "reinforced negative stereotypes" whatever that meant. Eventually the guys at the workforce commission bent and found them new jobs. Now you could have a silk tongued vampire as your lawyer, or a fearsome warewolf on your security detail.
I can't imagine entrusting my life to such an abomination. Monsters like this should've stay in their own realm. Many have not even taken the time to learn our language, and I'll be damned if im expected to learn theirs. The thought of these...things being around my family, around my children, it makes me sick.
A pale, sharp faced man stood at the counter, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence. The words from the sign reading "Career Placement" reflected off of the man's black eyes. His garb devoid of any imperfection. I'm sure he thought himself to good for us mortals.
"Excuse me good sir. I was under the impression that this is where I should go for career placement. Would you be so kind as to assist me?" The vampires words flowed through the air crisply, like an autumn breeze.
My response was simply pointing to the sign posted on the glass.
*Please wait to be assisted, Thank you*
The vampire read it carefully before replying. "Terribly sorry, take your time"
Damn right I would. My eyes shifted back down to the article in my favorite newpaper *Faux News*
*Are warewolves commiting tax fraud with the help of dwarf financial advisors?* The article read.
The vampire stood, waiting patiently until I had finished skimming the text. The atmosphere in the room had grown unpleasant. I didn't want to speak with him; however, the sooner I did the sooner he'd leave.
I glanced up from the paper to the thing on the other side of the counter. "Ok. How can I help you?"
"Yes, well I was looking into career placement opportunities. I would like to go into paralegal work with the disclaimer that I dont possess much willing experience in the mortals realm"
"So. You want a job in law, but you don't have any experience with mortal law?" I cracked a smile at the Vampire.
"Indeed, but I'd like to make myself transparent by stating my class of supernatural being. I am in fact a-"
"Yes a vampire I know. I can tell"
The Vampires deep black eyes stared into mine for a moment. Gears turned in his head as he formulated a response. " You're not a fan of supernaturals, are you?"
"Me? Look I'm not here to judge, I'm here to do a job, but in my free time I can be prejudice towards who I please. None of *your* business"
The man stared for a moment before pulling back his long, dark hair to reveal a pair of pointed ears.
"Not a vampire. Not even the same genus." The atmosphere grew tense
"All the same to me. Now I can offer you a job as a teacher for the supernatural, or population control."
Popluatiom control was the shittiest job we had to offer, and I was sure to pitch it to anyone who came through the doors.
The elf stared in disbelief for a moment before silently turning around and exiting the glass doors. I loved my job. Seeing the misery on their faces when they couldn't steal another job from a hard working human.
I sat reading my paper until my boss entered the building, a burly, stern faced man in tow.
"Hey Jerr, whose this? New guy?"
"Yeah...you could say that. He's here to fill your position" Jerry glanced around the room awkwardly.
"My position? But I already work full shift? Where are ya trying to squeeze him in?"
"You don't understand. This is your replacement Donny, we just received another complaint and this can't continue"
"What?! I've been here 3 years and you're gunna just flat out replace me with an outworlder? Im the best damn worker you've got!"
"All you do is complain and read the paper. Your station generates the least traffic because you have yet to help a single person."
The warewolf by Jerr stared at me, hatred in his eyes.
"It's time to go Donny."
I angrily packed my few possessions and stormed out of the office. This wasn't over. I had a plan. Soon they'd all see that humans could not be pushed around by outworlders.
| This is the third time this week. After all the unanswered letters, the messages, the unanswered phone calls. They've actually come knocking on my door.
I refuse to answer. If I just wait they'll leave. If I...
"Mr. Wyatt, we know you're in there. Please open the door. We just want to talk to you."
The hell you do, I thought bitterly. They're just baiting me to call back, they don't really know I'm in. The lights are all off for a reason!
"Mr. Wyatt. Please be reasonable. You're only delaying the inevitable."
I'd call the cops but after that stupid supernatural integration program they'll just call me a specist and put the call on youtube or something.
God! If it wasn't so dangerous outside after curfew I'd make a run for it. But it is, I just have to wait it out here. They can't break in, even for them it's a felony.
"Mr. Wyatt this is your last warning. You have until the count of three to open this door. ONE!"
I feel my heart pounding and attempting to leap out of my chest. No way, they wouldn't...
"TWO!"
Fuck! Monsters! They totally would! My gun, I need my gun!
"TREE!"
The door flew open, the solid wood dresser I broke my back pushing to block it was tossed to the side like a flimsy IKEA piece.
I closed my eyes and shot blindly. The noise was deafening and I think I broke something on the recoil.
"Mr. Wyatt. Please, shooting in residential areas are discouraged. Please come, we are all waiting for you outside in the van."
I opened my eyes, I can clearly see the light from the hallway through the hole in his shoulder yet his face just looks annoyed.
"Monster! Stay away from me! You can't do this to me. FREAK! GET AWAY!" My voice gets shriller and I raise my gun again.
I didn't even see him move. He was besides me and with one swift movement my gun clattered to the floor. The metallic sound ringing the end.
"Mr. Wyatt do refine from ruining my suit any further. Really now, must we go through this every single time? It's just the mandory blood tax. It's not like we'll suck you dry."
He smiled baring his fangs. That joke wasn't funny the first time, it's not going to be now. I scream and they drag me to the blood tax collection van kicking all the way... same as the previous time, and the time before that, and the time before that.
God damn the IRS!!! | 2018-08-27T15:01:41 | 2018-08-27T14:46:19 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] murder is legal, once a permit has been obtained from the local police department. Permits require a declaration of a target victim and justification to commit the act. Once a permit has been issued it is valid for 72 hours. Once expired you can never get another for the same target victim. | Officer Jennifer tilted her gaze upward incredulously. "Is this a serious filing?"
"Completely serious."
She sighed, and Officer Jennifer rubbed the bridge of her nose in irritation. "Sir, the Sanctioned Termination Act is, of course, your right to pursue..."
"Yes. Yes it is." The boy in the red hat grinned. "I have as much right as any citizen to select and follow through on a target."
"We use the term "Recipient." Officer Jennifer scowled. "And you ARE aware that the Recipient is not in any way shape or form obligated to just permit the engagement to happen uncontested?"
The boy grinned with unabashed malice. He couldn't be older than ten years old; seeing such evil warping a young face unnerved Officer Jennifer. "Of course. The hunt is part of the fun."
*What the hell is wrong with this kid...* Officer Jennifer made a mental note to report this to her supervisors for inspection. The STA unfortunately had no restrictions on the age of who could file permits, only the age of Recipients. "Fine. Name?"
The boy in the red hat held up two fingers. "Two tar... recipients, if you please. Jessica and Jamison Rocké."
Officer Jennifer wrote the names down, one each on separate permits. "Grievance?"
"It's personal."
"I can't give you a permit without listing the grievance you have against them that warrants murder, kid."
"Fine. Theft. They keep trying to steal my pet from me."
"You're wishing to kill two people.. over a pet?"
The boy smiled, and pulled the pocket of his shirt open a little ways. A small dormouse, tawny yellow in color, peeked out with a curious squeak. "Mister Peeker and I are very close, you see."
Officer Jennifer wrote it down on the two forms. "I am obligated to tell you that Jessica Rocké and Jamison Rocké will be immediately notified of this filing. Once we can confirm they have been informed of the attempt on their life, you will be notified of the beginning of your seventy-two hour Engagement Period. Any activity taken against the Recipients prior to that notification is not considered legal engagement, and will be subject to standard laws."
The boy in the red hat nodded gleefully. "I wouldn't want them not to know. I *want* them to be afraid. I want them to know Ashe is coming for them."
Officer Jennifer waved her hand at Ashe, wishing to get his disturbing presence out of her station. "Your copy of the forms will be available at the desk down the hall. And again, no activity is permitted until we notify you that the Recipients have been notified. ..No matter how fun it may sound."
Ashe barked a cold piercing laugh, and reached into his pocket to scratch Mister Peeker on the head as he left to claim his forms and await his Engagement Period. | Different people come here and get their permit.
Young people, old people hell yesterday a kid was here.
I've been working in the central city department for 2 years now, have seen tons of faces familiar and unfamiliar some are even regulars...
But what I didn't know was that today would be different, today would mark the day of not just a new era also the terrifying truth of what humans really are.
He looked like a normal guy in his 20's short beard and hair a nice pair of sunglasses and a soda in his hands and as he walked to the counter, to me, this chilling feeling overcame me of when you know something is wrong.
He moved up to the counter and asked for a permit, but as I replied "which person are we talking about?" He just nodded and replied in such a agonizing voice but with so much assertiveness "everyone" | 2019-07-09T10:00:39 | 2019-07-09T08:57:47 | 238 | 47 |
[WP] For every 10 lives you save, you get an extra life for yourself, shown as a number visible only to you on your wrist. Waking up with bad hangover after a particularly rowdy night, you look at your arm through blurry eyes to see the faintly glowing number: 700,000,000. | “I can’t believe you’ve done this,” Parker said as he stared at the monitor over my shoulder.
It’s only been three days since—in what I thought was a great act of charity—donated half of my extra lives. In all honesty, I can’t even remember how I’d earned them in the first place. I had a vague recollection of walking down a street. An unmarked truck. The rest is obscured by a veil of vodka.
“How could I have known?” I ran a hand through my hair, not wanting to believe the news on the screen. “When I donated those lives… I thought they’d be used for good, like helping firefighters.” I mentally added police, the terminally ill, accident victims—people who could have benefited from an extra life or two.
“Why would a firefighter need your extra lives? They already up enough on their own.” Parker shook his head and whistled a note of derision. “Why on Earth did you do it as an auction though?”
“I thought I could raise money for charity,” I said, feeling foolish in retrospect. Hindsight is 20/20 and everything I had done since gaining my 700,000,000 extra lives was looking pretty shitty. “I even put a limit of two lives per user. I didn’t think—”
“Obviously they had fake accounts.” Parker started pacing the room. “It says they haven’t lost a single soldier. Their saying that without the threat of permanent death, their fighting more ruthlessly than they otherwise would have.”
A single nation state with an invincible army. When one soldier falls, they wake up in the place they last slept, safe and un-scarred. The worst part is that all the battlefield knowledge—what works and what doesn’t, as well as what got them killed and how to prevent it next time—stays with them. Their deaths actually improve them.
“Thank God they haven’t used any nukes,” Parker said. “They probably don’t even have any.” He gave me a look and I knew what was being left unsaid: *not yet*.
“Right,” I said and rose from my chair. “I guess I have no other option, do I?”
“What are you going to do?” Parker blocked the way to the door.
“I’m going to fight. I still have over a quarter of a million lives.” I looked past him, to the door, beyond it, as if could already see the next couple of months. Years. The endless amount of deaths I’d endure. The killing I’d have to—
“You? Can’t you just give your extra lives to the allied forces?” Parker shook his head. “You’re just one person.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I see now what happens when you give an army the chance to escape death. They become unstoppable. It’s like a weapon—a big one—wielded by people who didn’t earn it. That’s why most people don’t donate their lives. I see that now. The people who most deserve a second chance, are people who earn them in the first place.”
&nbsp;
** *** **
Over the years I have died over ten thousand times.
The deaths were almost a daily occurrence for a while as I led the charges, pulled friends out of a hail of gunfire, made a blind step onto some hidden trap. Each time, the same thing: immense pain followed by waking in the bed I’d last slept in. It was like living in a game, and in the beginning I’d actually believed it was.
Then, as my senses adapted, the deaths became less frequent. Months would pass in between using an extra life. I’d developed an additional sense, so acute that I could predict when a shot would be fired, where the enemy would be coming from, and how the slightest disturbance in the ground could signify a mine or punji sticks under a false canopy.
I moved through the battle field like a ghost. Often I fought at night. Alone. I hunted across the enemy line as I realized the best way to defeat them—like a game—would be to camp at their spawn. Their barracks.
After I crept in, and before I lay my knife into them, I'd rest beside them. A small nap. somewhere nearby but safe, to reset my save point. Then, I'd wake up ready to reclaim my those lives I'd so foolishly given away. | *Ugh, this headache. What happened? Why does it smell like burnt hair? Okay, well, guess I should start cleaning up, get these bottles in the recycling. But first, gotta get my eyes to focus.*
*Why is my arm so blue? There's too many zeroes. Stupid eyes messing with me still. Wait, no, that's right. What am I going to do for the next seven hundred million lifetimes? I'm already bored, and I'm only on year 22 of my first one. Need to find a less headache inducing hobby, I guess.*
*But, how is this even possible? I passed out next to a fire pit. How could I have saved anyone, let alone the planet. I would have had to save the planet, right? Yeah, yeah, math is coming back to me now. Damn, how'd my hands get so scratched up? And is that a bite mark? Can't even pick up these bottles properly right now. So how'd I save the planet again?*
*Okay, who was there last night. Bry-bread, Dudeski, Raisin Brandon...was it just the four of us? Ugh, must be. Four chairs out here. Makes sense. So if I saved them, that's what, four months of extra life? Nah, I'm missing something....wait, phone's ringing.*
"Hey Byran, what's up?"
"Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuddy, do you remember getting attacked last night?"
"Huh? What? I wasn't attacked. We were just drinking. Little too much, I guess - can't remember much of all, really."
"You might want to turn on the news, guy."
"Okay...."
"...the CDC asks any raccoon sightings be reported immediately, as they have been told an infected animal carrying a strange mutation - an early form of zombism, some are calling it..."
*The scratches. The burning hair.*
"You threw that thing in the fire last night, Chad. Good job, buddy! You're a hero!"
"It bit me, Bryan..."
"..."
"I gotta go."
*Well. At least I know what I'll be doing for one of the next seven hundred million lifetimes. Test subject wasn't what I had in mind, but at least it should be interesting.*
&nbsp;
____________________________________________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. | 2019-08-28T09:38:23 | 2019-08-28T09:32:36 | 2,116 | 473 |
[WP]”You were picked to do this job for one reason only: you’re the least qualified person for the job we could find.” | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It’s like winning the lottery, really. The first person to drive in a flying car! Me! And I don’t even own a car! It’s fine, though, because the automated driver does most of the things; I just have to tell it where I want to go. Which is good, because they don’t let drive any more, not since I ran into that grocery store.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It’s not my fault, honestly. I just get so distracted sometimes. My friend texted me and I swear, I only looked down for a moment. Maybe like five moments. In any case, my insurance paid for it. Then my mom wouldn’t buy me another car. What a jerk. I wasn’t even eating the soup that got spilled on me.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A couple days after my “accident,” I got a letter, promising payment if I were to be a part of this test run. They already did the really dangerous ones, they said. All the bugs have been worked out and now they need a “model consumer.” I don’t really enjoy miniatures, but my little brother eats his army men sometimes. I’ve helped him once or twice.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They’re about to turn it on, then we’ll take off. Wait, what? Oh, I’m supposed to turn it on. Okay, pressed the yellow button. No, wait, it’s supposed to be the green button. Got it. Now I have to press the yellow button again. “Times Square,” I announce. Nothing happens. Oh, I have to hold the green button down while I say where I want to go. No, I don’t need to see the manual again. I hold the button down while speaking this time. Oh shit oh shit oh shit we’re moving, let me out right now oh god oh god oh god
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Second trial. This one will go better. I’ve got my medication, my mom just talked to me on the phone, everything is okay. We’re in the air, on our way to Philadelphia. I think. I can’t remember if Times Square is in Philadelphia or Vermont. It doesn’t matter, it knows where to take me. Why do I even need to know where Times Square is? I could ask my phone if I really wanted to know.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;We’re back on land again. It was a little bit scary, but we made it. Oh great, my older brother is here to pick me up. He’s always such a jerk too.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;”You know why they sent you that letter?” he says to me as we're driving home on roads, like *normal* people.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;”Because I am a ‘model consumer,’ they said.” He doesn’t seem to be impressed. The people at the field were very nice, they all smiled. They had to be impressed.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;”They picked you because if you could fly that thing, anyone could.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;”Of course, because I am the *model consumer*!”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He just rolls his eyes at me. I swear, sometimes he just doesn’t understand the simplest things.
| I stand before a crowd and they cheer and chant, calling out my name like some sort of rock star. Someone big. It's thrilling, my heart races with excitement and my body shivers with the tingling of coursing adrenaline.
I think back to that meeting, where a group of men and women sat me down and looked at me with serious faces. They were powerful people, even I knew that.
Changemakers. Global players. I aspire to be like them but I know I'll never reach it.
"Things haven't gone our way," one of them says.
"We've fallen on some...harder times than we would like," the next in line speaks.
"You might be able to help us," they continue going down the line, as if they've rehearsed this.
"Well...we chose you because you're the least qualified person for the job."
"At least, you're the least qualified person we could find."
I'm too interested to be offended. They aren't lying, I'm not qualified for that job. Not even a little bit.
"Will you do this?" the chairman speaks and they all seem to hold their breaths while they wait for me to answer.
The power is intoxicating. I pause, as long a pause as I can manage before I agree.
Hands are shaken and cheers are made, the room bubbles over with relief and anticipation of what is to come.
It is months later and I enter the room, where those who are fully aware that I am unqualified watch carefully. Some glare, some hold back tears but I just smile and ignore it.
I have won.
I walk to him and shake his hand. The Chairman. He looks at me and grips my hand tight with both of his.
"Congratulations," he says, and I drink in the praise, "Mr. President." | 2017-12-21T09:51:17 | 2017-12-21T09:20:09 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] Humans blood gets darker the more evil we do. One day you are suspected of murder, they draw your blood to test if you are truely a murderer. You blood is a clear white. You realize that you can get a way with almost everything now, seeing as to how you actually did commit the murder. | "She did it, damn it!" Detective Patel shouted, slamming his fists down on the cheap plywood desk, causing computers and coworkers alike to jump.
"Hey, Nikhil, calm down," his partner, Sergei Kordev warned him in his thick Ukrainian accent. "Claire submit blood. It clear. She did not do it."
Nikhil jabbed a finger at the screen. "Something's wrong, can't you see it? She was the only one who could have done it. No defensive wounds on the vic, they were alone, and she ran for four days! If she was innocent, why run?"
"The girl was probably scared," detective Kordev shrugged. "Her boyfriend was killed in front of her. She didn't know what to do."
"Most scared people go to the police," Nikhil muttered, pacing across the floor.
"You wouldn't if you were a black girl caught in an isolated cabin with a body and enough drugs to kill a rhino," sergeant Jackson interrupted, walking in with her first coffee of the night shift. "Good evening, boys."
"Sarge," Sergei acknowledged.
"If they had the drugs, why was her blood so clear? That's a sure crime! Her blood is too white - has she never lied or cheated on anything in her entire life?" detective Patel demanded.
"Blood doesn't lie," Sergei grunted, opening another case file. "Makes the job very easy, no? Boyfriend probably was selling them without her know. Knowing. His blood, not so clear, right? Maybe upset customer, gets in close before he realizes?"
"And stabs him almost forty times before he dies? No way. He would have had to be asleep or high to not defend himself. Did we get a tox screen back?"
"Ease up, Patel," Sgt. Jackson warned him. "Isabelle was on her vacation when the case came in, she'll run it when she gets back. It's not like we rely on forensics very much."
Nikhil sighed, slumping down into his chair and leaning back. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and looked up at the ceiling.
"Okay, picture this."
Sergei sighed heavily, and Sgt. Jackson rolled her eyes towards the heavens.
"Just hear me out," Patel huffed. They quieted, and he continued. "Imagine you're Claire. You've got this jackass of a boyfriend - sells drugs, runs guns, almost certainly beats her based on those bruises - a total deadbeat who has never held down a real job or even finished school. If you're completely pristine, milk-white blood, why are you clinging to this guy? Did he have something on her? How long does it take you to push back?"
The sergeant shrugged. "Love is blind. Still doesn't explain the blood proving her innocence."
"Love is stupid," Sergei corrected, rubbing an old wedding band. "But the sergeant is right. Blood is proof."
"But it's not," Nikhil cried out, frustrated. "What if she faked the test?"
"I administer test," detective Kordev growled.
"Some sort of injected fluid under the skin of her finger?"
"I verify with mouth sample, from gum," Sergei replied. "Clair would be very dead if she fill her body with embalming fluid."
"Maybe it's some sort of genetic mutation. Animal blood doesn't change colour."
"You're going to go up to a judge and tell him that a black girl is an animal," Sgt. Jackson asked, narrowing her eyes.
"It's - I - That's not what I meant, Sergeant," Nikhil stuttered.
"Uh huh," the nonplussed officer nodded.
"Sergeant?"
The discussion was interrupted by a young officer, still a rookie. Nikhil couldn't place the name of the tall, dark haired woman off the top of his head.
"Some officers picked up a Claire Tyler after a botched bank robbery. Seems the hostage takers grabbed her and then tried to blame it on her."
"Keep her in holding!" detective Patel shouted, grabbing his coat and badge. Sighing, his partner followed. | Charles whistled as he looked through the stolen wallet in his hand. The number of cards this person had plus cash was staggering. The idiot even had his pin number scratched into the front of the card. It would not take long to safely empty out this person's life savings. Cautiously, Charles took a small knife and slashed along his arm lightly. Clear white liquid oozed from it, causing him to breathe a sigh of relief before he carefully left the scratch alone.
A few hours later in the safety of his home, he pressed on the scratch again. Again, clear white blood.
He smirked as he began to contemplate his good fortune. He began pushing the limits more and more. He broke into a mansion and made off with family jewelry and saw his blood still that same reassuring clear white. He broke into a gamer's house and made off with their computers, monitors, the works. Later he checked his blood again and grinned.
It was not long before he began to make a name for himself. Committing crimes people wanted for the highest bidder. And his blood always kept him in the clear, literally. It was not long before the FBI showed up on his front doorstep. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "What is this?" he scowled.
"There was an attack at an investment firm earlier today. The cameras caught your face. We're here to take you in."
"I'm innocent," he said with a sneer as he pulled up his long sleeve, revealing his arm. He sliced into it easily, causing the agents to gasp at the result.
They left shortly after. Blood was the ultimate truth of the world after all. No one could be convicted of anything if their blood was that clear white. Charles always would keep a careful eye on his body though. He let the scratches heal and every crime he checked his arm. He would never want to be a victim of the blood law of the world after nearly being caught *again*. | 2018-04-30T11:00:01 | 2018-04-30T10:13:30 | 380 | 78 |
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came. | I leaned back in my chair. The room they'd put us in was spacious, and I couldn't even find any of the cameras. Of the ten of us awaiting the test, only three were standing, all of them pacing back and forth.
"I can't believe I actually made it," the girl sitting across from me said.
"Someone must have liked your video," a Chinese-looking boy said. I was at least a little impressed that everyone gathered this time knew English; that hadn't always been the case.
"Well, which do you think you are?" someone else asked.
One of the people who'd been pacing, a well-dressed young man, stopped and turned to the table. "Don't be ridiculous. We're not meant to know that. That's why I'm first going to determine the other four bright ones, and we'll make sure the others don't drag us down."
"*Other* four?" someone asked.
"Great pep talk," I said under my breath.
"Yes, well," he continued, "normally I don't take part in silly displays such as this, but father thought it would be good publicity. So, if you five imbeciles could just stay in your corner and...eat paste, or whatever it is you do, that -"
"Big words coming from someone who didn't complete high school," I said with a smirk. I could see his face slowly turning red.
"I'll have you know I received the equivalent lessons from instructors who would have made your 'teachers' look like gorillas."
I nodded slowly. I knew he was a slow learner, but he had certainly had the best opportunities to learn.
"Hey, now, we need to get along," a woman said, standing. She was definitely the oldest among us.
"Or daddy's gonna have to pay off a judge," I murmured. I should be grateful he didn't hear me.
"Let's just introduce ourselves," she said. I inwardly groaned. Ice breakers were never fun. "I'll start. I'm Linda, from Pennsylvania."
"Well," the rich-looking man interjected, "My name is Richard Pendleton, the third, but you all know me. I'm -"
"Can I call you 'Dick'?" I asked. He squinted at me.
"No, I daresay you should not."
"How about you go next?" Linda gestured at me, hoping to prevent any arguments. I gave a slow nod, maintaining eye contact with Dick.
I stood up and looked around. At least the ones gathered were varied. Maybe not all races were represented, but it was a decent sampling. Except that there were only, like, three Asians, and Asia accounted for a huge portion of the planet's population.
"I'm Ben, from Henderson. Yeah, the cool one by Vegas."
"Can I call you -" Dick started, apparently not thinking his insult through. He stalled for a few moments, before sheepishly saying "Benjamin?"
I held back a snicker. "Sure."
The introductions continued; Maxim, from Russia; Shota and Ichika, both from Japan; Minjae, from Korea; Maite from Chile; Willow, from England; and Logan, from Canada. I let most of that pass right by me; I wasn't great with names in the first place, and the test wasn't memorizing stranger's information. But it would probably help the viewers at home.
"So, what is this test?" I asked once introductions were finally done.
"Haven't you heard of it?" Dick asked. "You must have seen reruns."
"They do a different test every time," Logan said. "Not like they have a shortage of time to get it set up in."
"Seems like a whole lotta trouble for one episode," Willow said.
"Like gathering the five smartest and five dumbest in the world?" I asked.
"I'm quite glad you're here to bring *down* the curve," Dick said, grinning at me.
"So you can be the best of the imbeciles?" I asked.
"That's enough out of both of you," Linda said. "Whatever the test is, we'll need to work together on it, okay? The 'smarter' five don't get any more prize money than the others."
I noticed a door across the room opening, and stood up. "Guess our bonding time is over. Let's get this over with." | I woke in small metal container. The walls had the wavy pattern of a cargo crate, and the size fit the idea as well. There where ten of us, I was the first to wake up. It was clear what was happening, I had been told of the risks when I submitted my paper.
I was about 21 at the time and had just finished my philosophy paper. I knew it was good, even from my harsh self criticism. It was another unmistakable 100, and over time, that brings unwanted attention. My prof had told me a few weeks earlier that I should start making mistakes, but I had to much honour in what I did. Although discovering the meaning to life might have been a bit flamboyant. On my way home from the school I could already hear the helicopter. They followed me, and I knew I had overdone it.
Now I was in a small container with four other people sleeping on the ground, and five other in full blown comas. The sound of their heartbeats on the machines eventually woke up the other four strangers.
"...oh shit does my head hurt..." the old man in the brown vest yawned. I could recognize him from his popular book series; TARN BACKSTER Learn The World And Its History.
"FUUUCK!" The woman in the blue vest yelled as she realized what was going on. She had been on television the night before receiving a scientific achievement award.
Two other men woke up silently. They both knew what was going, and everyone knew them. Mark Cameer, and Ben Owen. They had been famous for being here more than ten consecutive times in a row. Mark was a grandmaster, and Ben was a musician. They knew each other very well by now, and started up a conversation.
The girl in the corner woke up last, but it was obvious from the first look that she was different. Drool hung down from her sticking out tongue, and she had strong characteristics of some with down syndrome. "REEEEEEEEEEEEE" she gave a battle cry similar to a howler monkey as she woke up.
"HELLO, I AM D99100, IT IS NICE TO MEET YOU"
I was startled to hear the robotic voice. One of the men in a coma was clearly now attached to a different machine. That was when I realized the girl wasn't with my group, but instead the computer attached to deeply sleeping man. | 2016-03-03T06:35:14 | 2016-03-03T05:36:34 | 151 | 17 |
[WP] Instead of wolves, bears were the domesticated and now known as “man’s best friend.” | **Language Warning, I suppose**
You ever have one of those things, where when you see it, or hear it, or smell it, it just sets you off? You start seeing red and your body trembles with rage?
Well, when I heard that fucking growling from my front yard again, I knew I had found ‘my thing.’
“Honey!” I screamed. “That goddamn Martinson bear is at the birch tree again!” This was **it**. I had **fucking had it.** I slammed my coffee mug on the table and threw on my robe, tramping outside with newspaper in hand.
There he was, the 200-pound shit. He was raking his claws over my grandfather’s prized birch and didn’t give slightest damn about it either. *Look how deep those gashes are! Hell!* “You get your Grizzly ass off my tree you shithead!” I shouted loudly. The bear stopped and turned to look at me sheepishly. I shook my head as I rolled up the newspaper. “Oh you know what you’re doing!” I continued loudly. “I’ll have your ass stuffed and mounted I will!” Then I gave the bear a quick couple of swats on the nose.
It yelped and lumbered back to the Martinson yard, claws scraping at the pavement. I saw it run towards the little bearhouse they built for it in the front yard. It knocked over its tire-size food bowl and huddled in the cave-like abode. We stared at each other for a bit, me fuming and it trying to give me the old cubby-bear eyes. I pointed my newspaper at it angrily. “That won’t work on me!”
“What’s all the commotion out here, neighbor?” It was Cliff Martinson. He looked surprised, *as if we didn’t have to go through this every other week,* I thought.
I kept stabbing wildly towards the bear with my paper. “Your damn Grizzly is the problem, Cliff!”
He tilted his head. “Well, Smokey isn’t a Grizzly, he’s a 100% purebred American Black Bear.” He raised his hands in supplication, likely because he saw on my face that I gave no shits about what kind of bear it was. “Look, you know it takes time to train bears, I’m sorry. I can pay for any damages he caused.” His hands spread out amicably and he smiled. “I know that’s your granddad’s tree, I’ll make sure he doesn’t go near it again.”
I huffed and puffed for awhile. Then I sighed. “Yeah Cliff, I'm trying to be patient here but you gotta keep him under better control." I paused. "Sorry for getting out of hand.”
“He’s just a bear, Mark. He doesn’t know any better, not when he’s still a cub like this.”
“Yeah yeah…” I said. Cliff didn’t seem convinced.
“Look, I’ll go and get you some chili pepper spray at PetSmart. Bears hate that stuff, doesn’t hurt the tree at all. Spray some on the bark and he’ll leave it alone.” He held his hand out towards me.
I was quiet for a moment. Then I shook his hand and nodded. “If you say so, Cliff.” He nodded in kind and he made his way to his truck.
“Be right back,” he called out the window. His truck slid out of the driveway and down the road, out of sight.
I pointed at the bear again with my newspaper and it yowled from inside the bearhouse. “You better not…” my voice trailed off. I sighed and walked back into my house.
*Honestly, why can’t people just have normal pets? ‘Man’s best friend’ my ass.* I sat down at the table and heard a hissing whine from under it.
“Hey Gex!” I said happily as I reached down to rub my gator’s wide snout. “Who’s a good little lizard? Do you want a treat? How about we go for a walk later?”
Gex thumped his big tail on the ground and hissed again in contentment.
*Now* there’s *a man’s best friend.*
| If you're reading this, I'm off to hike that mountain.
I don't know where to start but let's give it a shot.
His name was Malcolm.
Malcolm came down from that mountain. The highest mountain of Montana.
He found me.
I was a ten-year-old fishing with my father and my grandfather.
He was a baby at the time but he grew.
Oh, he grew.
A large burly beast, Malcolm lived with me for twenty years.
Sometimes, if the weather was poor, I let him sleep in the garage.
But Malcolm was a proud grizzly. He preferred the cave, near the stream.
Many times at night, I could see his head poking through the window when I watched *Wheel*.
Ostrich eggs from the neighbor's farm were Malcolm's favorite treat.
He liked steaks raw and, of course, there was the nuts, berries and roots from the woods.
There was also a fondness for raccoon.
Malcolm played with me, protected me, listened to me, and most of all..he was there for me.
I loved that bear.
My parents loved that bear.
My children loved that bear.
Bears don't judge. They don't scoff at dreams.
They're just bears.
My grandfather said that centuries ago, the bear was chosen by man. Chosen to be the guardian of us. They would protect us and help us. In turn, we were to never hunt them for sport. Each bear has a person. Not every person has a bear.
Those who do are lucky. When the bear dies, we are to burn the body, sans two of its teeth.
We are to take the teeth up the mountain from which the bear came and bury one with its ancestors. The other, we must keep with this letter. Whomever shall read this, it is said will be chosen by a new bear.
Maybe not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But someday, when you least expect it, you will have a bear.
And you will continue the traditions of man and bear.
| 2018-02-22T18:03:49 | 2018-02-22T17:38:59 | 194 | 26 |
[WP] You were the "big bad"; after being "killed" by the hero, you decided to change your life. You opened a hospital and dedicated your life to healing the sick; but today the hero just walked in with their very ill child. You are one hell of a doctor though. | Laughing is a great way of relieving stress. I laughed all the time in my old job. I had it down to an art. I hearty unrestrained cackle with the enthusiasm to make hardened warriors shudder. It was just me and my hatred against the world. Letting my emotions go felt good, and just laughing at everything. Every threat, every defeat, every injury, I was always sure to let them know that they couldn't get me down.
But I wasn't allowed to do that on the ward. Apparently it scares the patients.
In the soundproofed comfort of my office though, I shut the door and let a grin creep across my face. I giggle manically at the ceiling, the past three hours of tension, of uncertainty, all melted away. The girl would be just fine.
A knock on my door drew my attention. Regaining my composure, I answered it, and came face to face with the girl's father. Oh dear. After the incident earlier, I opted to hand off the good news to one of my colleagues. Lucky for me, he seemed a little less agitated than before.
"Sir," I greeted politely. "How can I help you?"
"I... I wanted to apologise for earlier. And thank you for-"
"No thanks necessary."
"I know. But I thought I should anyway. And I wanted to do it in person. You saved my little girl."
"It's what I do best." I said, with no effort to hide my pride. I never was a modest person.
"Ha, yeah, you're better at it than I am, that's for sure." he said with a hint of melancholy. If this man is who I think he is then that is one hell of a compliment. My old rival was never a modest man either. We were much alike in that respect. "And... sorry for my... attitude earlier. I didn't mean any disrespect, and I didn't mean to doubt you or your staff. I have this... thing." He made a vague hand motion by the side of his head. "I used to have a dangerous job, before I settled down. I spent a lot of time in hospitals. Sometimes random stuff just triggers me, and it seems like hospitals is one of them." Indeed, I was all too aware. I got a lucky hit in with a pipe wrench once, broke his collarbone. And after a particularly intense brawl with a few of my henchmen, I noticed him switching to being left-handed for a few weeks afterwards. It was the kind of weakness I used to pick out obsessively. "Don't know why I went off on you specifically. Must be something about your face, no offense meant." Considering all the death traps I'd locked him in, I wouldn't be surprised if my face made him angry.
"Trauma manifests in strange ways. It's quite alright." I assured him. He didn't name his condition. Was he embarrassed? Had he even sought attention, or a proper diagnosis? "It's been a very stressful time for you. Your daughter isn't quite in the clear yet, but this are looking a whole lot brighter for her, and things shouldn't be so difficult from now on. Actually, I have this little trick for dealing with stress..." | One decision,
Just one,
Made with precision,
And yet none,
See, I used to be king,
Now I’m not,
That’s just the thing,
I like it a lot,
I was an overlord,
I was unbeatable,
But i got very bored,
It was untreatable,
So I left,
Let them think,
My death,
Against him in the rink,
And now here he stands,
Eye’s just as I remember,
Kid in hand,
Eye’s bright as embers,
I know he sees me,
But I don’t think he cares,
He’s desperate you see,
In disrepair,
I look at their eyes,
Child’s red and his is blue,
And then I realize,
Something new,
I don’t care for who his parents are,
I don’t care for what he is or may be,
I don’t care that he came from far,
Dont you see,
The one thing I care about,
Is when I feel this,
Joy from the kid,
After I cure this illness,
So yes sir, Ill help you out,
Don’t worry about payment,
Cause this is what Im all about.
**This isn't my best quality of writing, but I liked the prompt so I figured why not. ** | 2019-02-12T10:17:47 | 2019-02-12T08:26:35 | 123 | 46 |
[WP] The largest amount of declassified CIA documents to have ever been released at once just occurred today. You are one of many journalists clamoring for a good story. You find one file with a big red "CLASSIFIED" still stamped across the front. In smaller black lettering "To be released: 2268." | Jimmy couldn't sleep. He sat alone in his studio apartment, staring at a bundle of papers on the table. Some kind of infomercial blared from the TV. He picked up the bundle and read it again, just to be sure.
He remembered the way that strange man had smiled when he handed Jimmy the papers. Jimmy had been digging through the mountains of newly released documents when a tawny young man had tapped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, I think you dropped this", he'd said, smiling. Jimmy hadn't recognized the document - not the man either, for that matter - but had thanked him and taken it anyway. He was glad to get his hands on whatever material he could. Over the following couple of hours, most of his colleagues went in an out of the room, but Jimmy never saw that man again.
Now, several hours later, Jimmy was sure he'd been the butt of a dry joke. At least, he hoped so. The first page of the document he held in his hands read CLASSIFIED in big, red letters. Smaller letters at the bottom said, "To be released: 2268", and the headline on page two confirmed the document as a prisoner file. Jimmy knew the government sometimes used a numbering system for high-profile prisoners. Some of his colleagues called them VIPs - Very Important Prisoners.
But something was odd with this particular file. It was incomplete and seemingly riddled with errors. That in inself was unusual with these kinds of documents, but the oddities didn't stop there. The pages seemed to be out of order. Some of them were filled with creases, as if crumpled and then straightened out again.
The incarceration date was straightforward enough: June 15, 1916. Many of the newly released documents were from the first and second World War. But the release date said January 1, 2015. That wasn't terribly unusual; it could be one of those hundred-year punishments or something. But it wasn't a hundred years. And these files usually got destroyed or changed when the prisoner died.
Every line after that only added to the mystery.
Name: 2268.
Date of birth: unknown.
Date of death: blank.
Nationality: blank.
Sex: blank.
Why was even "sex" left blank? And why was the date of birth "unknown", but the date of death left blank?
There was a sound. Jimmy dropped the papers and turned down the TV. He listened. Nothing. Then a knock on the door.
"Mr. Stein?", came a deep voice. More knocking. "Jimmy?"
_________________________________________________
If anyone feels they want to continue the story, please do! I stopped here because it was getting too long for me to write in one sitting, but it'd be awesome to see what someone else can do with it. | File in hand, I made my way to the CIA's archival liaison officer. The woman looks harried by repeated requests of nagging newsmen, and greets me with a haggard, fake smile.
"Excuse me ma'am, but I found this file that I believe was mistakenly filtered with the unclassified files."
The woman's face blanches as she notices the text on the cover. I can only wonder what was going through her head. "Major blunder." "Government scandal." "20 years of pension and hard work going down the drain." "Blackballed from the industry."
Then she notices the seal around the file, completely unbroken. She sighs in relief and thanks me for turning in the mistaken file.
I leave and go back to my research. I'm looking for a good story. I'm not looking for trouble. | 2014-08-19T06:47:48 | 2014-08-19T04:56:19 | 49 | 26 |
[WP] You are a food critic that can immediately identify all the ingredients used in the food after just one bite. Because of your negative reviews, many people dislike you. You are tasting a famous restaurant's steak. But after a bite, you identify that one of the ingredients is cyanide. | Malthus Sorenson, food critic, dabbed at his mouth lightly, pondering the meal he'd just finished at the trendy Chateau DeVries. On reflection, he concluded it was likely to become much less trendy, once his review was published.
The critic was exacting, but fair. He felt his nigh-superhuman sense of taste, that could identify the ingredients of any dish he tasted with uncanny precision, gave him not only the capability, but the *responsibility* to write honest, objective reviews. Moreover, he knew that his discerning readers expected the unvarnished truth from him, and for what the distinguished broadsheet he worked for paid him, he was inclined to provide it.
That being the case, Malthus simply *ignored* the angry glower he was receiving from the restaurant owner as he took notes. The owner, he reasoned, must *know* his fare was sub-par, if he was angry before the review was even written.
Taking out his trusty mechanical pencil, he began inscribing notes in his moleskin notebook in a clear, clean print:
*Chateau Devries House Wine: Unremarkable vintage, merely passable.*
*Chateau DeVries' Truffle Risotto: Dried parsley used instead of fresh -- what were they thinking?! Could detect no actual truffle in risotto -- they used shiitake mushrooms and hoped no one could tell the difference!*
*Chateau DeVries' Filet Mignon: Excessive thyme and an inferior quality black pepper ruin the flavor. Moreover, the accompanying sauce contained thoroughly disagreeable undertones of bitter almonds...*
He paused. Bitter almonds? His eyes narrowed. Bitter almonds...the taste of cyanide. He glanced up at the owner. The man's glower had been replaced with a wicked smile.
This expression faded to one of confusion as Malthus calmly produced what looked like an asthma inhaler and a pen-like object from his coat pocket. As the owner watched in amazement, the critic took three short puffs on the inhaler, and then removed the cap from the pen -- revealing the concealed needle -- and injected himself, before replacing the objects and picking up his pencil once again.
*Chateau DeVries' Attempts to Poison Me: Assassination method was clumsy and pedestrian, easily thwarted by amyl nitrate inhaler and hydroxocobalamin injection to neutralize the low-purity sodium cyanide that was crudely mixed into the execrable sauce accompanying an already inferior filet...*
| Juicy, tender, crispy on the edges. The cooking is a perfect medium rare, its shades of red layered like a great crimson mesa. Yet, this steak tastes like shit. You pause. You don't need special powers to devine this. These fucking retards didn't realize that cyanide is very, very bitter. You feel its effects immediately as you plunge into eternal darkness and descend into nothingness. Is this how you die? What would ma say? At least you died doing what you like, watching people die from cyanide poisoning. | 2018-10-04T07:39:04 | 2018-10-04T06:57:14 | 439 | 11 |
[WP] The world seems to be your average sword and sorcery world. You, a young adventurer have descended down into a forgotten tomb. There, you find strange metals and plastics. Lights come on without torches. A man made of metal awakens, stumbling toward you. "What year is it?" he asks | He knew the Tombs were off-limits. Many adventurers have been rumoured to descend into them, never to return. He didn't care. Young, brash, overly eager, he was willing to risk it all so he'd finally prove himself; so he'd earn the respect he desperately craved. When he finally stood before the colossal metal entrance, torch in hand, he felt only the slightest of hesitations before stepping in.
The tunnel behind the door was... odd. The walls and floors were perfectly uniform - not made of stone or wood, they seemed... metal - but to find so much metal in one place, not to mention work it so seamlessly, was... unheard of. He kept going forward, aided only by the flames of his torch, until the tunnel opened into a large room. He crept forward carefully, hand on the hilt of his sword, as if a wyvern could jump at him at any time - after all, perhaps that's where the previous adventurers went? Still, he progressed, inch by inch.
Until he tripped.
He quickly regained his balance but in doing so leaned against the wall, unwittingly hitting what felt like a button. Suddenly, the room became lit, blinding him.
When he finally managed to open his eyes and adjust to the sudden light, he found himself in a stupor. The lights were... white. Purely white, not yellow like flames. There weren't even any torches, only long, glass tubes. Looking around further, he realized he stood on the edge of a large room covered with metal tables, dark glass and... several human skeletons. Cold sweat ran down his forehead as he realized the Tomb was more than a scary name.
*Clink*.
He jumped as noise suddenly echoed through the room - the distinct sound of metal hitting metal. He turned and was met with a sight he could not have been prepared for.
A man was walking towards him. Or rather, *shuffling* towards him, clearly limping on his right leg. His skin was perfectly smooth, yet seemed... cold. Squinting his eyes, he realized it was not skin - it was metal, grey and dusty. He was missing an arm and his eyes glowed red yet seemingly without malicious intent. The adventurer fearfully lifted his sword towards the man.
"What year is it?" the man asked. His voice was unnatural. It sounded like several voices speaking at once without any emotion or intonation.
"W-what?" the adventurer spurted out.
"Year," the man of metal repeated. "What year is it?"
"It- it's... it's 966."
The metal man tilted his head. "What? No, no, that can't be right, that..."
He looked around as if he wasn't quite sure where he was, the red light in his eyes flickering. "How long was I offline..." he muttered.
"Who- what are you? A golem? A demon?" the adventurer asked.
"Series 7 android," the man responded casually as if the adventurer had any sense of what that meant.
"What does that mean? Is... is your skin made of *metal*?"
The man kept looking around the room. "Nano-plasteel polymer with titanium weave reinforcement," he stated. The adventurer decided not to bother to ask further - it didn't seem he would get any straight answers.
The man's eyes finally stopped flickering as he looked at a skeleton sitting on a nearby chair. He shuffled forward and placed his lone arm on the bones. Lights emerged from his head, symbols and letters simply floating in the air in front of him, showing various spirals and unknown words. *The creature must clearly be magical in nature*, the adventurer thought. *A golem*?
"Oh, Doctor Lakhani..." the man said solemnly. "I'm... sorry."
He turned back towards the adventurer.
"You. You said the year is 966. 966 years since what?"
"The Great Runic War of course," the adventurer answered, surprised by the golem's lack of knowledge. After a brief moment of silence, he decided to continue. "A battle between ancient kingdoms of impossible power, it is said. Great spells rained hellfire on the world, killing hundreds of thousands in blinding flashes of light. Places where the fireballs landed are still warm and saturated with raw, unstable mana, killing anyone foolish enough to approach."
"What..." the man whispered. "The nukes... they did it... they actually did it." The light in his eyes dimmed somewhat as he lowered his head, considering the situation. He then stepped towards the adventurer who once again raised his sword.
"Stop!" the adventurer cried out.
The metal man inspected the sword carefully and extended his hand, gripping it tightly. The adventurer tried to yank the sword back but found the man's grip impossibly firm. He could only watch as a swarm of black dust flew from the man's chest and towards the sword, enveloping it completely - mere seconds later, the swarm retreated and the sword's blade was gone completely.
He dropped the shaft in panic and watched in terror as the swarm flew towards the man's missing arm and further, forming a shape resembling the missing appendage. The swarm then simply... stopped moving and took on a more solid, regular form; the form of an arm, though it was considerably shinier than the rest of the man's dusty body.
The man moved his hand around several times as if testing it.
"This will have to do for now," he said and started walking towards the door; somehow, his limp disappeared altogether and he was now walking with flawless steadiness.
"Wait!" the adventurer yelled. The metal man turned and faced him.
"Where are you going? What- what are you going to do?" the adventurer asked. He worried the man could mean harm to his people; if he did, he could likely not stop him.
"I'll do what they would have wanted," the metal man said after a moment of consideration and nodded towards the skeletons. "I'll give you back what you have lost." He turned back towards the entrance to the tunnel and started walking.
"But I'll make sure you don't meet the same fate," he finished solemnly. | "Year?" I ask, stupidly. I am still trying to process the strangeness of the metal man moving, wondering if he somehow ignited the eerie lights or if he is possessed of some form of magicka. Having assumed that he was some sort of golem acting at another's command, the idea that he would (a) speak and (b) use that speech to enquire about something so esoteric as the year has me completely floored.
"Yes. What is the year?"
There is something odd about the way he talks, which makes me lean back towards golem, but having recovered enough from my initial shock I hazard a guess. "Um, I think we're in the third cycle of Kynaramon, in the fifteenth year of Jaruptis' rule."
This seems to satisfy him, as he then asks whether there is "a source of energy" nearby.
Emboldened now that we are on more familiar territory, I slip into the kind of patter that usually earns coin from out of towners: "Oh yes squire, I'm actually an apprentice at the Mage's guild myself - I'm sure you have heard of the fabled Font of Ithirick?"
No immediate response, so I plough on: "That, no doubt you know, is where Ithirick first drew Magicka from the Ultimate source and forged it so that it could be wielded by men. Of course, the Greer will have you believe that their Font produces more energy, and the Twoken that theirs is more stable, but we shouldn't credit outlanders like they would we now?"
He doesn't rise to the outlander bait, and throughout the whole spiel is as still as stone, so I can't get much of a fix on him, but I must have hit home because he is very interested in the Font - wants to be taken there immediately.
By this point I am starting to suspect he is somewhere between a bit simple and several knaps short of a knapsack, so I probe him a little to see if I would need to get a protective aura ready, or perhaps throw a message to Josspur to leave "standing guard" and either rescue me or ambush him.
Although it does give me time to case the joint, this turns out to reveal rather less than it confuses. The metal man claims that the power for the lights in this chamber is not sufficient for his purposes; that he is called "Aywonaytysix", and is not a golem (of which I am skeptical, but not ready to press him on); and that he thinks has been sleeping for over ten thousand years (this seems less likely than the not-golem bit, but again, being unsure of his mental wellbeing, I play along).
I cast a message up the stairs and along the passage I came down to warn Josspur of my return with another, but as I turn to show him the way he grabs my arm and quizzes me with a new sense of urgency: "That power, from where did you draw it it? What device did you use to transmit the message from your head?"
"Easy friend," I say, pulling feebly at his iron grip, "The Magicists say that the Fonts have made the power run everywhere, like a blanket upon the earth and sea. But you have to be initiated and gain your Stud before you can harness it." I gesture at the small metal nubbin under my temple, and withdraw sharply when he reaches to touch it.
There follow an uncounted number of disquieting moments where I get the sense that he is deciding whether to simply crush and examine me. Apparently I am not worth the effort, or perhaps he appreciates the need for a guide to all that is so foreign to him. Either way, he releases me, and asks me to show him to the Font.
Taking one last longing look at the metals on which I could retire, I make for the doorway and begin the retreat to Josspur. Maybe the Magicists know something about metal men. Maybe, for example, something about how jealously they guard their treasure chambers, and whether they are vulnerable to Magicka. Time will tell, I guess. | 2022-12-19T14:03:08 | 2022-12-19T13:30:41 | 236 | 63 |
[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book. | It rained that day. A week ago Sam was looking out the window, more aloof and cold than Erin was used to. “It’s my dad’s birthday next week,” Sam offered in a sigh, “It’s…really hard. I wanted you to meet him but…”
Erin took her hand with an understanding smile, “I’d love to go. Especially if it’s so hard for you. I’d really like to.” Sam smiled then, giving Erin a little kiss and making a loose plan for next Saturday.
It rained that day too, as Erin drove following Sam’s direction. Sam herself fidgeted in her seat, cradling a bouquet of flowers. She had been quiet besides giving directions, and Erin didn’t want to push her; they’d been together a little over a year and a half and rarely talked about Sam’s father, and Erin had a couple of guesses why. The most obvious was confirmed as Sam directed them down a road to a steel gate with a placard reading ‘Golden Fields Cemetery’.
Erin parked the car and got the umbrella out to meet Sam and help her up with the bouquet, silently following her as she led them through the cemetery. Erin was happier for the silence this time, since it let her have her own thoughts about how little she liked cemeteries and visiting them, and only barely being away that the Sam broke ahead of her and stood waiting in front of a mausoleum. Erin couldn’t stop herself from whistling, “Wow. I didn’t know your dad had money like this.”
Sam gave a tired grin, “You can’t take it with you; he really cares about it though. He’ll appreciate you saying that.” Before Erin could ask what she meant, Sam reached up and rapped her knuckles against the stone door. While the confused words became trapped in Erin’s throat, the door rumbled and creaked open.
There was a smell that Erin recognized from somewhere but her bafflement made it impossible to recall. The heat difference was amazing from the cool fall rain to the blast of dry, hot air that escaped. Erin’s mind reeled, too stuck in a stupor to argue against Sam’s pull on her, drawing her deeper into the stone tomb. *Hell! I’m going to Hell!* she screamed and echoed in her body, no sound escaping her. She was aware of Sam saying, “In advance…I’m sorry.” Erin could feel her sadness; whatever anxiety that let Sam lead her down to her doom was intermingled by her heart breaking at this unholy betrayal. Sam’s feet touched the bottom of the staircase and she pulled Erin alongside her before rounding the corner and giving a soft, “Dad…?”
The room they turned into was so jarring that Erin snapped back out of her anxiety attack and back into confusion. A wood burning fireplace sat on the far wall, and every other wall space was taken up by bookshelves stuffed to the brim with various sized books, a fine rug covered the floor, and on a far desk an incense stick burned with, as Erin’s brain suddenly recalled, orange. She wasn’t given much time to investigate, as a clacking noise cut the silence from the huge velvet armchair. Set with the fire as the backdrop, Erin saw a bony hand clasp the arm of the chair and bring a bare skeletal head around.
“Hi Dad.”
The skeleton pushed itself to its feet, draped in some kind some kind of red robe. *Is that silk?* Erin found herself wondering as it circled to both of them before speaking, “Sammy, baby! So good of you to come see your old dad!” The skeleton embraced his daughter with a clackety pat on her back, “You look good, how’s your mom doin’? She still single? You can tell her how much I’ve cleaned the place up.” It turned his empty gaze to Erin, “Who’s this?”
Sam squeezed Erin’s hand, speaking for her, “This is Erin, my girlfriend?”
Even without skin Erin could see the face the skeleton was trying to make, “*Girlfriend?* Okay, very funny—you’re still in your dating girls phase? That’s cute, honey, but you gotta drop that and find yourself a nice man. I know a couple’a guys who live in this area have nice skeleton boys your age.”
As Sam began arguing with her dad, Erin thought back to what Sam had said at the beginning of these plans. It was going to be a long visit. | "Of course," he let out with a sigh. "I should have known."
"I never meant to hurt you. Please understand that. But you needed to know."
Life had not been the same for quite some time. He had felt it. He had known. The knowing had just been so far buried beneath this normalized reality that it had been easy to dismiss. The truth; it had been easy to push that aside.
"So then I am dead already? When? How did it happen?" He looked to his girlfriend. The person who had given him reason to live, but now she looked like nothing more than a ghost; fading.
She did not answer. Her father, the dead thing in front answered for her instead. "It does not matter. Do you see these books? They are stories. Lives lived that never became anything of importance. You will be part of this library."
He felt some kind of stab going through his being. *Nothing of importance*. He had not cried in a long time, but right now he felt as if he would; or perhaps like he should.
"Do you grieve for yourself? I can see it. Do not." The skeleton closed the book it was reading, and seemed to aim its empty eye sockets toward the dead and grieving man. "You lived. Now you are dead. Do not let your ego haunt you."
"How? This was all pointless? Why did I have to go through all of this to get here?" He was angry. He had been tricked.
Again, the empty eye sockets seemed to focus. The empty spaces were pulling him in. "You fool. This has been a gift given to you. You were nothing and you were given understanding that you were nothing. Understand also that nothing understands, and you were brought out of this. These books will be read by no one but me. But to have your existence recorded is an infinitely impossible occurence. Give your thanks."
The man paused. He did not feel grateful. This had all been a trick. *What is the purpose then?* "Why was I brought here? To write you another story?" His anger grew, "To give you thanks?"
"No," the skeleton answered. "Only so that someone would know, that someone was here." Darkness grew around them. The books were not there anymore; they had never been there. "Only so that someone would know, that someone was here." | 2022-03-04T21:04:33 | 2022-03-04T20:05:41 | 116 | 45 |
[WP] You've always known that you're a psychopath. One day, bored out of your mind, you take an online "How Psychopathic Are You?" quiz & to your surprise, you get a meagre score of 7%. Now, you're on a quest to find & make the creator of the quiz, DreamGirl779 pay for the scam they're running. | Bullshit.
What a ripoff.
I wasted twenty minutes of life for this.
My last kill was almost a month back and I could feel the bloodlust calling out to me.
I knew what I had to do.
***
I looked at the address. It was quite unexpected really. It was a regular suburban neighborhood. There was a damn gmc truck in the driveway for heavens sake. Did the creator of that website really live here?
I waited. I watched.
It looked like it was a small family. Three people. The guy looked to be about forty. The woman in her late thirties. They had a young daughter. Further research showed me that the guy was a software developer. The girl worked as a receptionist at some lawyers office.
They looked like any ordinary family spread all over our country. Only they had made a small mistake. They had messed with me.
People think the best time to attack is the night. But in my experience the best time is early morning. Especially in a neighborhood like this. My research showed me that they had a top notch security system. Typically at night, that would be activated. Plus it would be so quiet that everyone around them would hear their screams. And there would be screams. In the early morning people are in a hurry. If someone had a tv on quite loudly, no one has time to go to their house and argue.
So it was around 7:15 when I knocked.
After a while the woman opened the door.
“Yes?” She looked at me, confused.
I took out a knife and put it at her throat. “One sound and you’re dead. Let’s go inside.”
I went inside and made her sit at the dining table. I tied her hands and sat opposite her.
“Where’s your husband? And your daughter?”
“My husband is shaving. My daughter is getting ready for school.”
“Do you know the website www.Psychopass.com?”
“No.” She said with some uncertainty. But there had been a sliver of recognition. It was enough for me.
“Call your husband down.”
“Honey. Sammy.” She called out.
“I’ll be right down.” A voice responded from somewhere above me.
I hid behind the door and waited.
Soon enough Sammy Jones came into the kitchen smelling faintly of a nice aftershave.
I smacked him at the base of the skull with my knife and he just fell in a heap.
“Say anything and he’s dead.” I said to the woman and turned on their tv. I also turned up the noise to the maximum.
I tied the guy to the chair as well and splashed some water on his face to wake him up.
“Wha... what do you want? Who are you?” Sammy asked me.
“Mr Jones. I am a patron. I was on your website earlier. You’re ripping people off.”
“What website?”
“He means the ones about the psychos, Sammy.”
“Thank you Amy. Always so helpful.”
I stuck my knife deep into her stomach. Looking at the red flow out of them always gave me a high. It was even better as I heard her husband scream.
“So this is how it will go. You think I’m 7% psychopath. Well I have to prove you wrong, don’t I? I don’t have any other options.”
“Help us...”
I followed his gaze and I noticed their young daughter standing there with a cookie in her hand.
I stabbed Sammy in the stomach as well. That would keep him quiet for a while. I went up to their daughter.
“This cookie looks real good.” I took it and swallowed it whole.
“You’re really gonna steal a cookie from a twelve year old?”
“Why not?”
“That website... they wanted to see how bad I was. It was a little test. I knew about it of course. But you have to allow them little successes once in a while. Allows them to have hope. They remain happy with the status quo till they can succeed.”
“Wha...” I was struggling to get the words out as I felt my tongue going numb.
“That result was on a scale. Based on me. You are 7% of a psychopath I am.”
I couldn’t move my body. The knife fell from my hand and onto the ground.
“You’re going to have a really painful death. The cookie had a neurotoxin in it. You’ll be alive but unable to move. I’ll be stabbing you a few times. They’ll probably do an autopsy on you. You won’t be able to move. But you’ll feel everything. You deserve it though. It took me like two years to train these two. I’ll need to find new parents now. Break them and mould them. It’s a hassle.”
I looked at the little girl in a pink dress as she picked up the knife and came towards me.
“It’s a shame really. It was pizza day at school today. But I don’t think I’ll get to go to school today. On the bright side people are always kind to orphans. So who knows. Maybe I can wrangle a pizza out of the first responders.”
I felt the pain shoot up my stomach. That was the moment I realized that the high I got from blood was only when it didn’t belong to me. I tried to move but still nothing.
The little girl tried out a couple of sentences before the called someone.
“Hello police! There was someone in my house. He killed my parents. I managed to get the knife when he wasn’t looking. I hit him with it. He’s not moving.”
She broke down crying, pausing only to give me a grin and a thumbs up.
*****
*minor edits* | "Don't ask questions, Charlie. If I could do it myself, I would, but I need you to find out where this person is," Greg placed a printed copy of a sketchy looking website on his coffee table, highlighting the content creator.
I looked at the paper and back at him incredulously for a moment, sitting on his L shaped couch made from the finest leather I'd ever felt. "You want me to find DreamGirl779?"
"I said no questions."
I bit my lip, wanting to give him some word venom, but our consistent arguing never went anywhere anyways.
"All of the information you need is there," he snapped. Something about his tone was more demanding than usual. His voice almost sounded unnatural, like it was void of any emotion, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"You mind giving me some money up front this time before I do this?"
"You don't need the money, right now," his voice was chilling, somewhere between a whisper and an indoor voice.
"All right I think I'm going to head out then, good luck doing this yourself," I stood up out of his couch and made my way to the door of his 52nd floor New York penthouse.
He blocked my path. He gave me a wide eyed leer, and his eyes which were brown, looked a shade darker, *black*. "Charlie, you're the best in the biz, I need you on this. If it's money you need right now, that's fine, we'll make that happen. How long have we known each other? Seven years? Eight maybe?"
"It's been a while," I muttered.
"We've worked together well on projects. Look at how the last one turned out."
"That's because it was business. Something tells me this isn't related to the office."
"It's not. You're right," he stated, the two of us stood in an eerily quiet silence.
"Greg, look I'll do it, I accept, you can pay me after the fact. But you mind letting me go home for the night? We'll pick back up on this to-"
"No. You're going to use my computer, and you're going to find this information out tonight. I can have the money ready for you when you're done."
"Are you serious it's like 10PM? I wanna go home."
"Charlie," his voice lowered to a grave tone. "I don't want any trouble. I'm sure you don't either. Let's get me that information and you won't have to see me again for a while. How about that?"
His glare was paralyzing. I noticed he put his hand in his pocket and gripped something. Sweat began to form on my forehead and I slowly pushed my glasses closer to my eyes. My heart was racing, *but why? Why do I feel endangered? I've worked with him for years, he's always been so charming and confident.*
"Alright. I'll find out for you, we-we-e'll help each other out. I-I-I'll get paid, you'll get your information, and then you'll never ask me for another favor like this again. Okay? We're clear on this?"
"Crystal clear." he slowly nodded and ushered me back into his open spaced living room. Hand me your phone. I don't want any distractions for you while you're working. I'll throw in a few hundred extra for the trouble. Your total is around... Ten grand. Sound good, ole pal?"
"S-s-sure."
*I've got to get out of here.*
r/randallcooper
If you're interested, here's [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/g03qmi/wp_youve_always_known_that_youre_a_psychopath_one/)! :) | 2020-04-12T09:34:20 | 2020-04-12T09:25:21 | 1,377 | 236 |
[WP] You’re a blacksmith and a woman you’ve never seen before walks into your shop, asking for a blade. She stops by daily to check on it’s progress, and you form a bond over time, until one day she disappears. You’re afraid you’ll never see her again, until you're summoned to the castle. | **“You want a blade that can hold… magic?”** You asked.
You thought she was joking, making fun of your work. Magic was for stories and legends. Nobody *really* believed in it.
Your cousin Thom said he’d met a wizard once, but Thom said a lot of things.
“Yes. It must hold magic,” she said, one hand on her hip. There was a need in her eyes. You could see it, but you weren’t sure what it meant.
You asked, “How am I supposed to put magic in a blade?”
“Let me worry about the magic. You only need to make the blade.” She tossed a parchment at you, which unfurled in the air as you caught it. A sword diagrammed in excruciating detail. There was a dip in the middle of the swords’ blade, a channel from hilt to tip.
“So?” She asked. “Can you do it?”
“Course I can.” You said, though you had never made a sword by yourself before. And certainly not one like this… but the way she looked at you... and that flaming mane of red hair…
It made you feel like you could do anything.
Maybe you should believe in magic.
***
She came by every day. You learned her name was Aoife, and you thought it suited her. Mysterious, and hard to forget. You learned the many notes of her laughter, and you learned to love the way she talked - never an empty discussion, always a flowing dance of jabs and jokes.
It was always so easy to be near her.
When she leaned over your forge and watch you work, it felt as though every hammer stroke mattered. As if nothing in the world could be more important than this sword.
*Does she feel it too?*
Each day you woke up, and the world bloomed before you. You could not get down to the forge fast enough, anxious for her to arrive. To see her, to show how much you cared.
You began to feel something, like a sapling seed planted in the fresh, black earth. Or an ember in the forge, breathed to glowing life.
Aoife… You said her name at night. Hoping one day, as if by magic, she would answer.
**The first day she didn’t show up,** it was raining. She did not return, neither the next day, nor the next.
*Doesn’t she care anymore?* You worked all the more furiously. Despite the rain and the frosted winds, it felt as if the whole world was burning.
You never stopped working. You swore to yourself there would never be a better sword ever crafted than this one.
Nothing else mattered. No armor, no horseshoes, no shovels or picks were made at your forge. There was only the sword.
You added a flare around the hilt that was not in the design, strands of metal that reminded you of her flaming red hair.
And then, they came in the dead of night. They found you still hard at work at the forge, hammering in darkness.
An entourage of ministers and kingsmen stood wreathed in moonlight, their horses stomping and nickering softly.
“Hear ye!” they proclaimed. “Thou art summoned to the Castle by her royal highness, Princess Aoife. Bring the sword.”
You could feel your heart in your throat. You wanted to sing, though you had not sung since you were a child. You wanted to vomit, though you had nothing in your stomach. You wanted to run.
But you took care because you knew how much this mattered. To you. To her. *Aoife.* You wrapped the sword in oilpaper and rested it in the blackwood box made for only for this sword. And you rode with the ministers and kingsmen to the castle, your heart thudding the whole way.
She was waiting for you at the top of the steps. Her hair almost black in the moonlight, floating over her shoulders and down her side.
Your heart stopped. She reached down to you, her hands touching yours, her skin as cold and gentle as the light of the moon. And then, you could feel it - what you had most wanted. What you had always needed, but had never known could be real.
“Thank you,” she said. “He’s going to love it. It’s a gift for my husband.”
As the thunder of a thousand years, as the pain of all living things crashed into your heart, you became certain that only one thing was true in life:
There is no magic. There are only the lies you tell yourself.
***
*See [r/PSHoffman](https://www.reddit.com/r/PSHoffman/) for more storytelling.* | As I was walking on the street that leads to the castle with two special guards at my side, I began to question my summon. Was I in some kind of trouble, or this is about the rebellion in the lands of my late father? Even then what would I be of help? I was just a Nord, trying to find my way in the Imperial City by doing smithing to locals. Oh now I get it, maybe someone from higher ranks realized my talents and talked to the emperor about it. And maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones who will have the honor of serving him on his upcoming trip. That lovely woman told me all about it. I don’t know how she knew all these secret stuff from the palace, but I didn’t care. She was the strangest person I’ve ever met, and the blade she wanted from me... It was my best work thanks to her guidance and regular visits. As I begin to remember the short time we had, our little group reached castle gates. Suddenly, the guards held my arms tightly like I was some kind of a prisoner. Fear filled my body. This was not an invitation. Were my days in this world over? Why, what is the meaning of all this. I tried to resist but there was no escape. Just as I was about to accept my fate, I heard a deafening shout in a foreign language and I lost my consciousness.
...
Shouts, screams, blood. Blood is everywhere and the sky is burning. Dragons flying above me, the ground cannot be seen because of the burned corpses. This is the end, end of everything. A furious dragon approaches me, one can die only by looking at its eyes, reaching me with its razor-sharp claws. And I wake up.
...
Did I go blind? No, it’s just the darkness of the room. I see a silhouette. It's hers. The woman. What was her name, Sophie? I try to say something but no words came out. Then she spoke: ”I know you are confused or even scared. But don’t, because all of this will be a bad nightmare soon. Those guards were taking you to your death. Mages of the emperor whispered your name into his ears and he gave an order. The order that might have saved his life. This was not the end for you, this is just the beginning, father.” Before I even move a muscle, everything went black and my nightmare has finished as I begin to hear a man with a nordic accent talking.
...
Hey you, you are finally awake.
-Hey guys this is my first comment in the sub and English is not my first language, so sorry if I made any mistake.-
Edit: small corrections. | 2020-08-05T08:15:28 | 2020-08-05T07:18:06 | 427 | 32 |
[WP] When you were young, you encountered a witch who promised you immortality in exchange for your firstborn child. You accepted, and used all of your time trying to think of a way to bypass her deal, when finally you came up with an easy loophole that has enraged the witch. You adopted a child. | I'm an aspiring lawyer. Less succinctly, I've had the life-long ambition to be a lawyer--ever since I was a young boy and for the extent of my extended youth--and all I've managed to do was flunk the bar four times and dig myself into a formidable heap of debt.
All that aside, I learned some things along the way. That's life, right? You live, you learn, you languish a little too long until everybody plus you is wishing you'd just croak already. Well, I'm not there yet. I'm here. In the now. Not ready to croak.
Long story short--and by that I mean I'll omit how exactly she came to be conversating with a young fellow like me--I promised an old witch my firstborn child. She was old when we made the deal. She was even older when she came knocking.
From the nursery flowed the gentle music I'd used to soothe Sammy to sleep. A lullaby, like from a fairy tale, except not one where evil witches came to claim what they thought to be rightfully theirs. I didn't want Sammy growing up in that kind of world.
"You have a child," the old witch hissed when I opened the door. She looked old as ever; ugly, too. Stereotypical witch, if you catch my drift, just like I was a stereotypical half-baked attempt at success.
Like undercooked chicken, an ex-girlfriend once described me. Decent around the edges, but not anything anybody wants to associate with once you dig deeper. Lovely gal. Had a way with words.
"I do," I said. She cackled and I indignantly shushed her. "Sammy is sleeping," I hissed right back at her. She fell silent.
"Sorry. I don't want to wake her. Babies are easier to transport asleep."
I winced, clicked my tongue, blocked her entry by standing square across the doorway. "Yeah, here's the thing though."
The old witch sighed. A deep, mournful sigh that meant she'd encountered objections one too many times. She'd turn me into a toad, maybe. Not one that a kiss could save though. Just a plain old toad, warty as her.
"You have regrets," she said quietly.
I shook my head. "No, none." That wasn't it. My immortality had been delightful so far.
"Then what's the problem?"
"I don't have a firstborn."
"The nursery rhymes aren't for a fuckin' dog," she hissed. She'd always had a dirty mouth; I remembered that from when I was a child and walked back to my mother ranting about some old geezer who'd taught me every swear word in the book.
"No," I admitted. "They're not. They're for my kid."
"*My* kid," she corrected.
"No, *my* kid. Not my firstborn. I adopted. Read the fine print," I said, and I began to close the door.
She snapped her fingers and it was as if a doorstop had appeared. The door would go no further, and the old witch was still standing there.
She gave me a long, hard look. The amusement in her eyes turned to hatred; the warmth turned to an ice-cold desire for vengeance.
"Motherfucker," she hissed. "I have half the mind to turn you into a fucking toad right now."
There it was. I should have added a clause forbidding her from harming me before the firstborn child came along. That's what a good lawyer would have done. A real lawyer, not me. Hindsight was twenty-twenty. She'd make an immortal toad of me yet.
"Will a kiss turn me human again?" I taunted. One step too far. That'd always been my downfall.
"Fuck you," she said, and she clapped her hands together and a bunch of glitter floated down onto my warty head.
I croaked a complaint but she was gone.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | "I don't get the issue here, you said you wanted my firstborn child. This child was the first and was born. It ticks both those boxes, now can you take the firstborn because I think it just made a first boom boom in its pants." The man uttered, holding out the child in disgust, looking at it like it was some disfigured hobgoblin. Each shrieking scream it made only made him wince.
"That wasn't the deal, we both know that 'boy'. Her words were as cold as that freaky pale skin of hers, her crumbled lips barely able to open to mutter out a few strains of swears. You.... 'boy' will pay for this, know this, you only live to outwit a witch once. For now, you may consider your debt paid, but be aware that your debt isn't the only I plan on collecting, so please, enjoy your immortality. Her lips formed a grin, as she stepped forward, gripping the child in her hands, The child screaming in anguish as it's skin moulded into a similar pale state as the woman. "We will see each other soon, I am sure of that." Before she left, she dragged a nail across the man's cheek, drawing the thin strain of red from it, dipping that bloodied nail across the child's lips before she vanished.
Things were normal for a time, not hearing even a rustling of the trees to indicate the witch was near. At least that was until he heard a knock at his door, pushing it open he was greeted by a grotesque creature, it's body was contorted as if it had been forced to rapidly develop within a matter of hours, its head was still that of a baby, except its empty gums were exchanged for a row of sharp teeth, without even a word, the creature shoved him down and began biting, preparing to feast. Sure immortals couldn't die... but they could certainly feel a neverending agony.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} | 2020-03-10T05:28:12 | 2020-03-10T05:16:35 | 2,041 | 54 |
[WP] You’re a blacksmith and a woman you’ve never seen before walks into your shop, asking for a blade. She stops by daily to check on it’s progress, and you form a bond over time, until one day she disappears. You’re afraid you’ll never see her again, until you're summoned to the castle. | **“You want a blade that can hold… magic?”** You asked.
You thought she was joking, making fun of your work. Magic was for stories and legends. Nobody *really* believed in it.
Your cousin Thom said he’d met a wizard once, but Thom said a lot of things.
“Yes. It must hold magic,” she said, one hand on her hip. There was a need in her eyes. You could see it, but you weren’t sure what it meant.
You asked, “How am I supposed to put magic in a blade?”
“Let me worry about the magic. You only need to make the blade.” She tossed a parchment at you, which unfurled in the air as you caught it. A sword diagrammed in excruciating detail. There was a dip in the middle of the swords’ blade, a channel from hilt to tip.
“So?” She asked. “Can you do it?”
“Course I can.” You said, though you had never made a sword by yourself before. And certainly not one like this… but the way she looked at you... and that flaming mane of red hair…
It made you feel like you could do anything.
Maybe you should believe in magic.
***
She came by every day. You learned her name was Aoife, and you thought it suited her. Mysterious, and hard to forget. You learned the many notes of her laughter, and you learned to love the way she talked - never an empty discussion, always a flowing dance of jabs and jokes.
It was always so easy to be near her.
When she leaned over your forge and watch you work, it felt as though every hammer stroke mattered. As if nothing in the world could be more important than this sword.
*Does she feel it too?*
Each day you woke up, and the world bloomed before you. You could not get down to the forge fast enough, anxious for her to arrive. To see her, to show how much you cared.
You began to feel something, like a sapling seed planted in the fresh, black earth. Or an ember in the forge, breathed to glowing life.
Aoife… You said her name at night. Hoping one day, as if by magic, she would answer.
**The first day she didn’t show up,** it was raining. She did not return, neither the next day, nor the next.
*Doesn’t she care anymore?* You worked all the more furiously. Despite the rain and the frosted winds, it felt as if the whole world was burning.
You never stopped working. You swore to yourself there would never be a better sword ever crafted than this one.
Nothing else mattered. No armor, no horseshoes, no shovels or picks were made at your forge. There was only the sword.
You added a flare around the hilt that was not in the design, strands of metal that reminded you of her flaming red hair.
And then, they came in the dead of night. They found you still hard at work at the forge, hammering in darkness.
An entourage of ministers and kingsmen stood wreathed in moonlight, their horses stomping and nickering softly.
“Hear ye!” they proclaimed. “Thou art summoned to the Castle by her royal highness, Princess Aoife. Bring the sword.”
You could feel your heart in your throat. You wanted to sing, though you had not sung since you were a child. You wanted to vomit, though you had nothing in your stomach. You wanted to run.
But you took care because you knew how much this mattered. To you. To her. *Aoife.* You wrapped the sword in oilpaper and rested it in the blackwood box made for only for this sword. And you rode with the ministers and kingsmen to the castle, your heart thudding the whole way.
She was waiting for you at the top of the steps. Her hair almost black in the moonlight, floating over her shoulders and down her side.
Your heart stopped. She reached down to you, her hands touching yours, her skin as cold and gentle as the light of the moon. And then, you could feel it - what you had most wanted. What you had always needed, but had never known could be real.
“Thank you,” she said. “He’s going to love it. It’s a gift for my husband.”
As the thunder of a thousand years, as the pain of all living things crashed into your heart, you became certain that only one thing was true in life:
There is no magic. There are only the lies you tell yourself.
***
*See [r/PSHoffman](https://www.reddit.com/r/PSHoffman/) for more storytelling.* | I've often dreamed of the inside of the castle. It's parapets, and swooping buttresses all aglow in the moonlight. Though business is usually attended to before nightfall'; it's not uncommon to be summoned after dark. It's not usually a good thing though.
I'm nervous and not a little tired after working the forge all day as I approach the magnificently carved doors of the castle. My eyes catch movement in all the shadows around me and I realize that I've been followed from my home. It's concerning being followed for so long. I live at the edge of the city. However, my fears are temporarily forgotten as I walk through the entrance.
I gasp slightly at the colors, and shining golds and silvers all around me. Woodwork like I've never seen, and the most amazing fixtures of brass and wrought iron. Thousands of candles and torches light nearly every corner and seem to make everything glow. I knew the castle would be magnificent but I had no idea how opulent it really was until that moment.
I spot the rustling shadows again as a move forward and my nerves begin to rise. I was nervous before, but now I can feel my pulse rush through my ears and my vision blurs just slightly. "Why was I called here so late"? I wonder as I keep moving deeper into the room. "And who or what has followed me here"?
I reach a second door and, seeing no one around, knock tentatively. The doors whoosh open and a loud voice booms from the seat in front of me beckoning me into the room: "Proceed young smith to the throne!"
I glance sideways at the ever moving shadows, and walk cautiously towards the seat in front of me. It faces away from the door, and as I move around to the front of it my brow drips with nervous sweat and my beating heart seems to grow audible. I kneel in front of the chair nervous, bewildered, and awed all at the same time. I stare at the ground and wait.
And nothing happens. No more voices. The room is quiet. I keep waiting to see what my king wants from me, but hear nothing. The room dims slightly and the shadows keep swirling and moving in the corners. I can bear it no more and look up at the seat in front of me and stifle a scream.
Sitting where I expected to find my king is nothing but a slowly rotting body.
I scuttle backwards and fall on my butt. One hand behind me and one slowly rising to my face. There's movement behind the chair in front of me and I stand up. I recognize the figure walking towards me.
The woman I've come to know the last few weeks flips her new blade through the air briefly, laughs a little, and asks, "have you never seen death"? | 2020-08-05T08:15:28 | 2020-08-05T05:58:28 | 427 | 159 |
[WP] The current rulers of the galaxy exert their dominance by showing showing new races a glimpse of their terrifying nature inevitably either driving the unfortunate victims mad or causing them to retreat in fear. It does not work on humans however, they are used to it | The following transcription was recorded on July 27th, 2672 at approximately 11:43PM before Admiral Alabaster led the suicide charge in sector X34 against the still unidentified invading ship that entered our orbit approximately one week prior.
All lives were lost.
----
>I want to make something very clear to you all, right now.
>I am afraid.
>Yes, you heard me right. I won't lie and pretend that I am not terrified, that there is no terrible pressure weighing on my mind and chest, like I'm drowning on dry land. Right now, before my very eyes, I am watching my wife burn as if she's here with me. I smell her charred flesh, my head echoes with her screams, but I know it is a lie. I know she has already been taken from me.
>We still don't fully understand them, but it's abundantly clear that they find joy in terror. The panic epidemics, the mass suicides. . . that ship, right over there, is the cause. I guarantee it.
>So, what do we do? There are enough explosives on board to turn Venus into a new ring for Saturn, but our armaments are down, and we cannot attack at range. We hardly have enough fuel to get back home if we chart the best course, which will be impossible since it requires so much maneuvering just to dodge their particle cannons.
>What do we do, then?
>I will tell you.
>Burn.
>Burn bright against the quiet night.
>Burn bright and dispel the shadows which hide within, lurking in the unseen. Like hydrogen, like helium, we are but fuel; a catalyst that rages in the heart of the most magnificent star this universe will ever know.
>Dying is what we do. All things come to an end, so that the new may follow.
>Do you hear me, my men, my blood, my heart? All things must come to an end. So on this hallowed day, let us not end alone.
>March into the heart of darkness with me, and together, let us silence its beating with a glow that will be, for just an instant, the single brightest spot marring the dark of space.
>All things must come to an end-- the difference between us and them is that we're prepared for it.
>And as they strike terror in our hearts, we too will strike it in theirs. Let us show them a fear more real than anything they can conjure in our minds.
---
Because of that crew's efforts, not only was the invasion repelled, but suspicions were confirmed when all nightmares, widespread depression, panic, and mania ceased upon their retreat. It is because of them that our visitors learned that fear is not an effective weapon against those that have learned to brave the dark.
---
*/r/resonatingfury* | I sat watching the news, petting my cat, Harry.
"A civil war has broken out in South Sudan once again, with estimated deaths in the 100 thousands. Around 500,000 child soldiers- Breaking news: a massive object has entered the atmosphere. Scientists cannot recognize any part of it. The government-"
I perked up my head, suddenly interested. It wasn't every day aliens invaded the planet. Harry sprang off me, apparently finding interest in his own hairball I hadn't cleaned up yet.
"Greetings, Earthlings," I turned my head back to the screen. This was definitely aliens. Now the big question was, would they be nice aliens, or mean ones?
"Behold the terrible wrath of the Kathraxi,"
100% mean ones. The screen turned to millions of starving aliens. (I don't really have time to finish. Someone remind me to come back later) | 2019-06-11T06:04:46 | 2019-06-11T05:53:12 | 1,817 | 99 |
[WP] You are a superhero sidekick that everyone thinks can predict the future. You actually can't predict the future. You're just the only person who can hear the background music. | A man flies past me, a man who I've always envied, a man who's bewildering but amazing powers have saved thousands across the five boroughs. His physique is compared to Norse legends, his speed and flight capabilities rival any machinations that Boeing could produce, women would swindle at his modelesque looks. He's known around the world as Commander Candour. A perfect gentleman. To me. He's just Alexander.
Then there was me, a chubby, glasses-wearing, asthmatic, short, flightless, weak man. I wanted a cool name to be known as. But Alexander insisted on Captain know it all. Fun. Everything pointed towards us not working together. But I did one thing he did not. I listened. I listened to the calls from the Earth, the warnings, the reassurance, anything that the Earth was willing to tell me, I would listen.
Most days all you would hear was relaxing, fulfilling, an almost nostalgic symphony of natural noises. Then it all changed New Years' Eve 2019. I was at a New Years' Eve party with my partner, (although he insisted I was his sidekick, no one would argue that point except myself of course). As the countdown started for the ball to be dropped in Times Square something happened. Earth let out a deafening and horrifying symphony, that even eight months later has continued. I never know when the next potential country or world-ending event will start next.
The date is now November 3rd, 2020. Today is the scheduled end of the 2020 United States Presidential Election. The polls have all counted. Everyone is carefully watching their news feed. Finally, it happened.
*"In a landslide victory, President Donald J. Trump has been reelected for another four-year term as our nation's President."* Immediately the horrible noise I've been listening too stops. It was so quiet that for a second I thought I had lost my abilities. After a short moment, it kicked back in. It started slow but I could tell it was going to get far worse than I've ever heard before, the Earth was screaming at me now. I turned to Alexander.
*"Why do I hear boss music?"*
This is my first ever writing prompt :D. Let me know how trash it is lol | [Poem] when the music is just right,
You know they’re about to fight,
When you hear a twirling sound,
Watch out a clue has been found,
When someone gets slapped,
And you hear the word smack,
When you hear epic music playing,
You know a boss is gonna need slaying. | 2020-08-26T16:51:07 | 2020-08-26T15:29:05 | 55 | 16 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal. | I had thought Mary was the one. I'd hidden my wealth and lived a modest lifestyle for a few years before she found me. I had thought it was real. It had felt real. She held me when I cried when the dog died. I told her about the wealth a few months before the wedding. She didn't seem to care.
The months turned to years and years to decades. We had our rough patches. It's funny, I've had so many relationships before you would think I'd be good at them. I think I am, now.
The murder attempts didn't start until her mid sixties. They were cute. She tried so hard to make them look like accidents. The brake cables on the car, the electrical fire in my lodge. The SCUBA accident.
I ignored them, until she really hurt me. Stabbed me in the back. Literally. I think it was the betrayal that really got to me. I had thought she'd loved me. I thought about these last few decades and then pushed my way into the room. She sat on the edge of the couch, crocodile tears streaming down her face.
Despite my resolve the sight of her moved me. She had always been pretty, but the years had turned the looks of her youth into the beauty of age. Her makeup was done impeccably where the tears hadn't ruined it. She wore her mother's necklace, a small cross set with diamonds. She'd worn it on our wedding day. I hardened my heart.
"All these years and now you're after the money?" I asked, accusing. "And yet you've tried again and again to kill me. I have news, Mary. I knew about it. I knew about all of them. And they all failed. Do you know why?"
"Yes." She said. I was surprised. "Yes, I know why."
"I'm immortal." I said, off my guard. "You can't kill me. You won't get the money."
She stood up and faced me, the trickle of tears had turned to a flood, and her anger washed over me like a storm. "Don't you get it? I don't want the money! I never wanted the money! Is that what you think of me? After all this time? That I was just some whore you could buy? All this time, listen to me." She sniffed back a wad of snot and laughed. She continued bitterly "Forty three years? Most of my life. A weekend fling for you."
I had no idea what to say, so asked the only question I could think of as she slowly melted back down the the couch. Her fist over her mouth. "Then why? What do you want?"
She squeezed her eyes shut and the tears really flowed. "You're an idiot. Isn't it obvious?" I shook my head but said nothing. She hadn't seen the gesture. The rage had gone when she spoke again, barely soft enough to hear. "I want you. That's all I want."
"So you tried to kill me? I don't understand."
Her anger returned, flashing in her emerald eyes. "I'm going to die. Don't you understand that? I. Am. Going. To. Die. And you won't!" She shouted it like an accusation. She clutched her necklace and a sob wracked her
"When dad died mom said that she would see him again in heaven. She talked about it. She looked forward to it. She died with a smile. And I can't... I can't bear the thought of eternity without you. I had to try. I'm so sorry, but I at least had to try." | “Again? Son, you’ve got to stop letting this woman do this. One day I may be unable to restore your body”.
“I know dad, but when she’s not having an episode she’s an amazing woman. Kind, generous, and loving, it’s just this dark side of hers that she can’t control. I refuse to tell her either, I’d hate for her to suffer once the realization of how many times she’s killed me sets in.”
“You always were more like your mother, time to go son.”
As I watch my father’s realm fade, I feel my body again, a little headache per the norm, maybe a little more stiffness in my joints. I swear he lets rigor set in just to remind me that he’s the only reason I can’t truly die. My beloved wife had yet another episode last night and decided to carve my chest open with a paring knife. Sure those times suck, but she’s so creative. Phone? Laced with aconitite. Been randomly injected with potassium chloride, and succinylcholine a couple times. Even watched her shift during intercourse and couldn’t stop her as she slit my throat.
Luckily she will black out after an episode and dad and I can essentially reset everything before she wakes up. I worry about when she wakes up early. Sure I could leave her, but then she would end up in prison or an asylum, her darker half isn’t her fault and I don’t want her to suffer. Besides, when your dad is death incarnate, what can go wrong? | 2019-07-31T09:43:04 | 2019-07-31T08:07:34 | 75 | 56 |
[WP] Sorcerers draw mana from a personal source, such as raging storms, campfires, murky swamps, etc. and that source affects the spells available to them. You possess the gift of sorcery but you feel no attraction to any traditional source, so you wander and seek that which will ignite your powers. | The boy thought his trouble had ended when the two men threw him out onto the Academy doorsteps. However, unbeknownst to him, the trouble had only just begun.
The world was cruel to those without magic; and even worse to those who had the mark of mana and could not be settled into the academies of the great lords of fire, earth, sea, and air. A wizard without a source of mana was as unnatural to the arcane world as a demon lurking in the lights and hopes of heaven. That was why the boy had come to the Academy: to beg for help and training, to beg for a family and brotherhood when he had known nothing but dirt and dust his whole life.
But the Academy would not take anyone without a source of mana. To them, he was nothing more than just a parlour trick, with a mark obtained through devilish means; and for that, they said he deserved to be thrown back into the sewer.
The boy was good at crawling after all. He had crawled through most of the main city to reach the Academy, to scurry like a rat beneath those born in life with mana and wealth. And so, the boy crawled again, as fast as he could to the wall to regain his balance and composure after the two men had thrown him out like the magicless carcass that he was. He did not make it very far.
“You’re a fucking fraud,” yelled the man as he kicked the boy in the stomach. “Where did you get that mark if you can’t even use magic?”
The other man laughed as he lit up his pipe with nothing more than the snap of his fingers. A son of fire. The next snap sent an ember straight for the boy's leg, and the two snaps after that took out half the boy's face and left a puddle of charred blood and skin behind.
The boy crawled back again to the wall, screaming in pain, or so he thought. He could not tell anymore except his mouth was open and his throat felt dry. The boy fumbled for his boot and reached for a knife. The thing could barely be called a knife, it was more akin to a lockpick or a cheap piece of metal good for skinning apples . He held it out in front of him, gripping it tightly like a giant broadsword.
The first man laughed loudly and clapped twice into the air. Before the boy could react he felt a punch of gust knock him in the stomach and it sent him flying into the wall. A son of air.
The boy coughed up blood. It went everywhere, the ground, his hand, and even onto his knife.
For a moment, perhaps it was the shock, the world began to slow down. He never imagined he would get far on his journey, it seemed almost fitting his life would end in the alleyway just beyond the Academy: the street, after all, was where he was found as a babe.
The boy coughed up more blood, and now his world began to speed up again. The blood did something he did not expect it would: it began to circle him in the air. It started to spread on his clothes and knife, turning the small piece of metal into a large crimson sword. The drops of blood rushed around to the boy’s head, healing his wounds, and then it returned into him, coming back to its unholy home.
The two men looked at each other.
“Impossible,” they tried to say, but it was too late. The boy had lunged himself at them faster than an arrow through the air, and had impaled the son of fire with his newfound crimson sword.
Blood began to pour out of the fire lord’s chest and before the other man could clap, the boy turned to him and with a mere thought the red blood had turned into an axe and sent the hands of the air lord flying into the night. His head soon followed.
The boy fell to the floor, his hands and knees on the ground. He couldn’t help it, he crawled in shock and elation. Soon, a smile began to tear itself out from the tightened skin around his solemn cold face.
Blood was his mana, and blood was everywhere in this godforsaken world. | It's been years now, driving across the country with my cat and my van. Years of seeking out the thing that would make everything click for me- that's how they describe it, anyways. A 'click'. Like the final puzzle piece falling into place.
I started out at 18. I'm 25 now. Seven years. Seven years of part time retail jobs to get by, seven years of van repairs and vet bills and fatigue. My family calls me sometimes, to ask if I've found it yet. The answer is always no. If I answer at all, that is. Their disappointment is always palpable. My sister who found her strength in song at 12, and my brother who found his powers at 21 (a late bloomer) on the day of his first trial court case.
The storm I screamed in at 16 did nothing. The child I saved at 19 did nothing. The book I wrote (but never published) at 21 did nothing. "So much potential" they would always tell me. I had so much potential for so much greatness. Each 'victory' left me with a hollow taste in my mouth, and ash on the tongue of those who loved me the most.
Tonight is different. He looks down at me with honey-colored eyes, and brushes the tears from my cheek with his thumb, and I feel something begin to unravel deep within me, unfurling itself from around my bones- it's a tension I've always felt, yet seldom recognized. I've been crying for what feels like days. Out of frustration and anger. Not good enough. Never good enough. When do I get my chance?
He parts the lips I've pressed mine to time and time again, the lips that always whisper soft assurances. He seems to be searching for the words. Then, he pulls me close. I'm tight against his body, the space between us atoms. Somehow it doesn't feel close enough. I twist my hands up in the back of his shirt, clinging to him. I feel his breath against my ear as he murmurs words that shatter me.
"You have always been enough. You are enough."
And then, something clicks. | 2022-08-27T18:52:57 | 2022-08-27T15:49:29 | 190 | 104 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly hosts monsters and demons at his pub. When someone kidnaps his children, they learn the hard way just how close they are to him. | Being the only human bartender in town brought with it a lot of complications. Monsters, demons, goblins, ghouls, and a whole host of other creatures would swagger in looking for trouble. They all thought that since he was a human he could be taken advantage of, threatened, maimed, or otherwise swindled out of product.
Little did they know that the bartender, Marv, a fifty something man with deeply scarred hands, took absolutely no crap in his bar. If one wayward tentacle managed to find itself around the neck of an unopened bottle, that tentacle was quickly and mercilessly removed from its owner. The sawed-off shotgun that hung above the bar was always loaded with clean silver bullets. It'd only been fired once. After that, the message had been received.
Marv had quickly established the rules, and enforced them without fail. That's why the locals loved him. It was the one bar in town where they could truly relax for the night because they knew Marvin had their back.
"Hey Marv!" Danny, a resident demon, called as he walked into the bar.
"Dan, how's business?" Marv replied, sliding him a shot of fresh Fire Whisky.
"Booming. Lots of people calling for demons and raucous these days."
Marv gave a knowing nod and went to wipe up a spill that was starting to smoke across the bar.
"Marv, my man, how's the missus?" Gary asked as Marv passed by.
"Lovely as always. Need anymore flesh chips?"
Gary patted his ever growing stomach and said, "I'm so full of the dead that I might as well be one."
Patrons around the bar broke into laughter.
The laughter was cut short when the front door flew open with a crash. A woman came stumbling inside, looking terribly distraught. Marv recognized her instantly, and his blood ran cold.
"Loraine, what is it? Are you okay?" Marv threw down his rag and embraced his trembling wife.
"They broke in. I couldn't stop them. Marv..." she dissolved into a fit of tears.
At this point everyone in the bar was staring at them, so when Loraine finally found her voice, everyone inside heard what she said.
"They took Charlotte and Luke."
Marv clenched his fists as fury ran through his veins. The bar erupted into chaos as patrons and friends alike took to their feet. All of them were calling for justice to be served. Marv carefully guided Loraine through the imposing throng of semi-drunk creatures and seated her safely behind the bar. Then he grabbed his shotgun and turned to face the crowd.
"No one touches my kids and lives to tell the tale."
The shout of solidarity that came from the crowd was nearly enough to knock Marv down. As one, the various creatures raised their metaphorical pitchforks and shouted, "No one messes with Marv!"
Then they swarmed from the bar, teeth bared, claws out, and demonic flames burning. A monstrous mob ready to fight for the best bartender in town. | “And I’m gonna rip his cock off!”
The gang was all here.
Through tears and rage I gaze upon my ugly batch of friends/patrons. Wild, dark, some with horns and others with too many of the same limb.
It is 7:48pm and my son has been missing for approximately 5 hours and 28 minutes. After flipping our apartment upside down I ran to the bar in a panic and found eddy, Kevin, and lee already there waiting for me near the pool table.
*inhuman screeching*
It roughly translates to “we know . We can help, but you have to sign the contract .. it is the only way.”
I sit here now in a panic, a shiver so powerful it feels like I’m naked in the Arctic.
I don’t know how this happened, I don’t know WHAT is happening.
I have to find my son,
And I know what I must do.
The blood from the deep gash in my hand drops onto the black ink inscribed paper . | 2021-05-10T16:15:46 | 2021-05-10T13:31:14 | 199 | 96 |
[WP] A time-travelling historian is sent back to pose as a scholar in the Library of Alexandria in order to copy the scrolls before their destruction. Nobody expected the historian would be the one to burn down the library after discovering a hidden truth for themselves. | The machine, a pot-bellied chrome thing like an oversized camp stove. It shudders, shrieks, seems to spin upwards and sideways – both ways at once, while somehow staying rooted in place. Then, a crack, a rush of wind, and an absence. They feel the absence in the room and in themselves.
Shaking his head slowly, the Colonel says, “It gets worse every time.”
The scientists around him shrug their agreement. “We think that there's a limit to the number of times we can do it,” one says.
“Or,” offers another, “we at least need to vary the people present.” It is an old debate; the arguments have lost all force,having hardly changed for six months. Instead of launching into another round of table-thumping, the scientists are quiet, demure. They stare across the room, through the space where the machine had stood a moment earlier, at an ancient cast-iron chest.
Perfect silence. The little cadre of physicists exchange glances with their military handlers. Even the colonel seems hesitant.
“Should we...?” he starts to say, but then stifles the impulse. If it has worked, then the box will be full of precious vacuum-packed parcels. They will need no cool-off period. They will have been in the box for 1500 years, if they are in there at all.
Another impulse, stronger than the last. He cannot wait to know whether Blackburn has succeeded. The man whose hand he shook for the last time only three minutes earlier has now bequeathed him a lifetime's work, sealed and digitised.
The entire contents of the library at Alexandria.
The colonel steps forward, pauses. Then, as if diving into cold water, he crosses the room and stands before the chest.
“Key.”
A scientist at his elbow, one of the older ones, cautious and jumpy: “You know, it really would be advisable to let us do some tests first.”
“Key. Please.”
The whole thing had been Blackburn's idea. The box, feared to be an ancient booby-trap, had been pulled out of a lesser Gizan pyramid in the early fifties. For a lifetime it sat unopened in the Cambridge University archives before Blackburn found it and gave it a purpose. The project's lone archaeologist, he absorbed the physicists' theories and boiled them down to a simple hypothesis.
“Make me a replica of this box,” he had said one day after barging into the colonel's office. And as he had grown surer of his theory, the colonel had caught some of the mania.
“If you want it copied, I'll need to open it,” he had said.
“It won't work if you do,” Blackburn had replied, while his colleagues – thunderstruck and finally comprehending – nodded frantically.
Now, the colonel holds the key in a trembling hand and realises that he hasn't breathed in a minute. The scientists are statue-still, frozen by the prospect of theories confirmed, or by the thought of lost works by Ptolemy or Archimedes.
The colonel hopes for success too. But more than anything he hopes for a sign from his departed friend. a note, or even a simple drawing; any clue pointing to a life well lived. It would be a triumph not just for the mission, but also for the man, who had always known that it was a one-way trip.
For a brief moment the key strains against the mechanism. But then centuries of sand and decay shift, and the lock clicks into place. A gentle pop and a rush of air – warm and lively, unlike the cold absence of the machine's departure – and the colonel heaves the lid up on its hinges, and stares down into the abyss.
Nothing. The box is empty.
Cursing, the colonel fumbles for a pen light, sparking a panic in the scientists behind him.
“It can't be empty!”
“He must have buried it in place. That's the only way it could have come to us here.”
“I've been telling you all along – the documents were there all along. It's just that they are bound to disappear as soon as - ”
“It just can't be empty!” This last remark, a wail of grief and frustration, brings the entire lab to a standstill.
At last, the colonel says, “It's not.”
“It's not what?” someone calls out.
“It's not empty. There's – there's this.”
He holds up a sooty, stained piece of papyrus, cradling it gently to preserve its ancient fibres. But even as the colonel obscures the paper with his cupped hands, everyone in the room can read what it says in big, bold letters. Four lines written in perfect English:
IT WAS NOT A LIBRARY.
DESTROY THE MACHINE.
DO NOT COME LOOKING FOR ME.
IT WAS NOT A LIBRARY. | It took me many years to gain the trust of the Time Travelling Ethics Board. They enforced their rules rather inflexibly: few were allowed to go back beyond the day when time travel was first created.
Because it is the greatest invention in the history of humankind, the Board, with the help of professional ethicists, philosophers, and physicists, decided that sending people back to times before the time machine's invention was too risky. Such people might change things, alter the course of history, and thus prevent the machine from ever having been invented in the first place. At least, this was the fear. It was thus infrequently that people were allowed to travel back, way back, before the machine's invention. And in the rare instances where they were allowed, they were only allowed to do so for very non-invasive projects: taking a picture of a dinosaur, double-checking to be sure that Shakespeare actually authored the plays the tradition assigns to him, etc. That is, we (scholars) were (and are) only allowed back to *observe* past phenomena, never to *alter* them.
Clearly, the line between those two is not easy to draw: quantum mechanics states that the mere observation of certain phenomena has tangible effects; and moreover, in a less high-theoretical register, the Butterfly effect stipulates that even stepping on a bug in the past, regardless of how pure one's intentions might be, how observational in nature one's trip might have been intended to be, can lead to significant, even catastrophic consequences (even the most vehement critics of Time Travel and Time Machines have softened their tunes on this one: many have travelled back and stepped on all manner of bugs, and history seems to have been altered very little by it--it's as if there is a necessity in the course of history, pulling it towards certain ends, and that, as such, it is difficult to radically alter the course of its progression). But nevertheless, I was, after many years of preparation, many years of pleading with the board, allowed to travel back.
Back to the Library of Alexandria, in whose fabled shelves lay the scrolls of centuries of ancient wisdom, one day to be consumed by purgatorial fire.
I would finally get to read the dialogues of Aristotle, the lost poetry of Sappho, the works of Hypatia. I would be able to pour over the hermetic works of pre-Christian alchemists, and have a window into locked and lost vault of the soul of Antique Man.
I was excited. Very excited for my journey, to say the least.
I was clothed in a robe befitting the time to which I was travelling. I wore my beard long. I had tanned my skin dark. I sat in the machine. They strapped me in. And then I was off, to Alexandria, only weeks before it was to burn down... | 2017-02-10T06:11:35 | 2017-02-09T22:02:37 | 50 | 27 |
[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent. | The scent in the patrol car was an exotic mix of chemical cleaner, stale farts, and Mexican food. My partner, Stanley, was tapping her hand on the passenger window in time with the rhythm of the rain.
"You know...", she said, nursing her coffee cup, "the biggest cop killer is heart disease. All that grease is gonna take 20 years off your life."
"Mmmpf." I grunted dismissively between mouthfuls of burrito. "Who would want 20 more years of my life? Besides, I love this place. But you can buy lunch tomorrow."
Stanley snorted. "No one else is open at one in the morning."
"Yeah, exactly." Jamesville, Oregon, was a one-stoplight town. We were lucky the little tacqueria was open at all, and doubly lucky that they gave cops free coffee.
The radio crackled. "210, dispatch." I plucked the handset off the dash. It was Wednesday night. Weekdays were usually quiet, but like any other rural Northwest town we saw our share of domestic incidents and tweaker rampages at odd hours. Often the two phenomena were correlated.
"Dispatch, 210, go ahead?"
"We had a 911 call from Camp Explorer off 23. County dispatcher thought she heard someone speaking or breathing, but the call cut off right away. You know where that is?"
"Yeah, my kids went there. 210, responding." I put the cruiser in gear and pulled out onto the road.
"Hey, uh, we might not have any reception up there. Can we get another car or two?" Camp Explorer was nestled in a little valley, right up against the national forest, and our radios didn't always play well with the mountains. We were in a bad position. A disconnected 911 call was usually an accident, but if it wasn't, the most likely case was a medical emergency, which we weren't really prepared to handle. The nearest hospital was over an hour away. Out here, if someone was hurt we'd probably have to call in a life flight.
"Roger 210, I'll see what I can do. Over."
"'Preciate it, if you don't hear from us in two hours, send everybody. State, fire, EMS, national guard, Green Berets."
Stanley sighed. "Let's hope some teenager just butt-dialed 911."
"Yeah, I mean, no. No cell phone service up there. Someone picked it up and dialed."
-
By the time we'd pulled off of highway 23, the rain had stopped. The camp was only about 30 miles from town, but the last 10 of those was gravel forest service road. I drove slowly and evenly as the headlights cast the shadows of hanging fir and cedar limbs over the rising post-rain fog. More than once I caught the glowing eyes of an animal in the corner of my vision, where the headlights met the dense brush at the side of the road. My kids had stayed here a couple summers ago - even in the dark, I recognized the turnoff, and a few hundred yards later, the Camp Explorer signpost and the carved wooden totem. We pulled ahead to the empty guest parking lot.
"No one home." Stanley said. There was an edge of something in her voice.
"The season just ended. Employee parking's up this way." I nosed the car forward slowly. I thought about turning the blue lights on, but didn't. The car brushed under a hanging tree branch. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The employee lot was a third full. A couple decade old trucks and high-mileage SUVs, and a beater sedan. Pretty typical for broke 20-something councillors. The trucks were loaded down with tools and hardware. Must've been doing end-of-season maintenance. I shut the cruiser off, and flicked off the headlights. There was just enough ambient light through the clouds to make out the outline of the camp office. Full moon.
"Shouldn't there be lights on?"
"Yeah." I said. There was a lightpost between us and the camp office, but it, and all the windows, were dark. I tried to check in with dispatch, but was met with only static.
"Maybe a tree fell, took the power out?"
"Maybe. But let's check it out. Stay close." We got out of the car and started towards the office, Stanley on my right, scanning the woods with her flashlight, one hand on her holstered weapon.
"This place is creeping me out."
"Yeah."
A few yards from the car, I fet her squeeze my upper arm, hard. I stopped dead. Her voice was a whisper. "The door." The camp office door wasn't visible from the lot, but as we rounded the corner of the building, we could see that the door had been broken inward, and what was left of it was hanging splintered from the hinges. Something very red and wet was smeared across the green paneling.
"Turn your light off." I hissed. "Back to the car. I got our backs." We both dropped into a crouch-walk, my left hand on the back of her shoulder to keep us together while I covered the door with my weapon. We made it to the side of the cruiser, staying low, and Stanley covered me while I tried the radio again. Only static.
"What the hell do we do?"
"We have to get out of this canyon and call in. We have to wait for back..." A bloodcurdling shriek from somewhere out of the darkness cut me off. It was close, and very human. Stanley and I swiveled our heads around the parking lot, trying to make out something, anything, in the dark forest beyond, but even with a full moon it was like staring into a black hole.
"Ok. Change of plans. Someone's in trouble."
"By walking into a fucking slasher movie?"
"Well we're not gonna stroll in and ask Freddy Krueger for ID and a breathalyzer. But yeah. We got a job to do." | I carefully weighed the situation. The monster *whatever it was* had long since fled. Confronted with someone armed, who knew how to fight, it had decided it had drunk enough blood this harvest. Wasn’t a match for officer Duke. *clever boy* I think to myself.
*what to do about this mess?*. Three dead cheerleaders and the quarterback sprawled on the bedroom floor, as stiff as the wooden beams that hang ominously overhead. How was I going to explain this? Chief will have my ass. That’s when I heard it, a rustle from under the bed. *what the fuck*!
I drew my gun once again. Took a long step back, and a long deep breath. I dropped to my stomach. The wind left my lungs but I kept my focus. Two eyes stared back at me in the darkness, unmoving, almost human *too human*.
“Don’t shoot me man” a voice with a strange cadence called back. *it is a college town*
“It’s alright, I chased it off” I answered, another witness might help explain things. *or at least make it seem like you didn’t just kill four white kids*
“Come out ok, and we can clean this shit up son”
I holstered my gun, and began scanning the room again, a black circle had been drawn on the floor, in which the four other young people lay, their blood slowly oozing into the centuries old wooden floor *dont build em like this anymore*. I though, stamping my foot on the floor. I decided I couldn’t leave them like that though. So I took the white cloaks down from the hangers on the wall and spread them over the victims *shame. Damn shame*.
“What’s your name boy” I ask, not bothering to turn around as I hear him standing up.
“Uh, Antoine, sir.... uh, officer” he replied, with velvet on his voice, and not nearly enough respect. An idea spat into my mind. The monster was gone and I had four dead bodies to explain, and nearly a full cartridge of bullet casings around the old estate. A blade lay off to the side of one of the girls. Just out of reach. *whats one more?*
“Hand me that would you?” I say, pointing to the knife “looks like it’s evidence”
“Uh, sure sir” the stupid boy gingerly walked over to it, he bends down and places a hand around the hilt. I stand up quietly, take my pistol from its holster and point it at his back.
“Turn around slowly, scum” the boy starts to laugh *what? Is he laughing at me? Fucking ni...*
Another, lower laugh lodged in my ear. My thoughts died in an instant. Replaced only with goosebumps, on my arms and down my throat. Four too long icy fingers wrap slowly over my shoulder, piercing my skin. The warm drip of blood sauntering down my arm.
‘ARGHHHHH’ my arm is rigid from pain, but I can’t move, my gun slips through my fingers.
“Fitting....” the boy is looking at me now as he speaks, those bright white teeth of his that look so wrong on his face, sparkling in the moonlight
“You’d die in a house like this” I feel the knife enter my chest, pain and fear running through my veins, and out all over the room *not like.... I can’t....*
The blood loss is too much, I’m bleeding out. My vision is blurry, I see.... I see that fucking boy, he nods to something, to *the monster* it smiles, this one even wronger than the boys. It speaks, it’s voice cutting into my ears.
“Cops taste the best”
The thing I hear is my own voice, the last of the air used to curse these two monsters
“You can’t .....do this..... To a grand w.....” | 2018-11-08T20:35:45 | 2018-11-08T20:00:44 | 3,260 | 16 |
[WP] After you die, you find out that reincarnation is real, however, there is an error and your memories are still intact upon reincarnation. | Aristotle believed that the fetus was ensouled after 40 days - for male embryos, that is. Female ones took 90 days. Ha ha, funny, right? The things people used to believe. Stoicism believed the baby was only ensouled at birth, upon exposure to the outside air. Christians, of course, would have you believe that ensoulment happens at conception, never mind that up to half of fertilized eggs spontaneously abort without the woman ever realizing she's pregnant. That's a massacre for you. All these fun facts I used to memorize, pointing out how ludicrous the whole system must have been - they're a cold comfort now that I realize they were right.
Not completely right, of course. Christians don't believe in reincarnation. They don't believe in being on your death bed and waking up and realizing you don't have limbs anymore, that you don't have eyes to open to see the dark. I went sort of mental, in those days. There's been a mistake, I kept telling myself, there's been a mistake, there's been a mistake. Imagine being in a sensory deprivation tank, so utterly alone that you don't realize where you are. Not even the necessary neural development to think thoughts. Just all these memories of a life once lived, superimposed on a bunch of replicating cells. The only sense you have is some faint awareness of yourself, your own mass, dividing and growing larger, larger, larger. Imagine an hour of that, a day of that, a week of that, a month of that, and then distantly realizing that this was going to be a nine month long stretch.
Just abort, I thought to myself a lot in those days. Just spontaneously abort. One of nature's happy little accidents. But that wouldn't be an escape, would it? I've died once before, heck, maybe I've died a hundred times before. I'd just wake up and start all over again.
Bit by bit, there's a heart, a heartbeat. I try to keep time to that - it's fluttering like a fucking rat's - and count to 1,563 before I lose track. It's a game, y'know, if you played games to keep from going mad. I had a name once, I figure. I had a life. I had people who loved me. But it's getting harder and harder to keep track. There's a slow formation of a sense of self. A tail. A mouth. Limbs. The first beginnings of a brain. I learn to move. I flail, I thrash wildly and exhaust myself, trying to escape. Eyes develop behind fused-shut eyelids, and I once again grasp the concept of light.
The understanding makes it worse, the sensory input makes it worse, the gradual connection of synapses drives me insane. This is hell, I think. This is my punishment. This is the wages of my sin. At least God, I think, has a sense of humor. Sure, I think, I'd vote for him. This is the divine irony of the situation: as a undifferentiated cluster of cells, I didn't have the capacity to remind myself who I was. And now that I'm slowly starting to develop the capacity for thought, I've lost those memories to the months and months of darkness. I learn to breathe, and take in my first lungful of fluid. I can't even remember my face.
It's getting tighter, smaller, my world contracting around me. There's a thing that I once wanted called escape, but the precise idea is lost to me now. I'm scared. I'm thrashing. And as the world closes in, a distant thought resurfaces in my mind: nothing has gone wrong. This is how it's supposed to work. This is how we die, and this is how we are all born.
I see light, and feel the first touch of air on my skin, and I begin to scream. | I have watched her a lot since I found her again, but I promise myself this will be the last time.
She is 40 years older than me but she is still as beautiful as the day we met. She stands outside her house waving her arms as if she is conducting an orchestra. There is a van in her drive and two men are unloading furniture into her home. An expensive looking wardrobe is followed by a leather swivel chair and a bookshelf.
When they are done unloading, they begin to take *junk* out of the house and pack it away into their van. I watch broken hearted as my favourite chair is carelessly tossed into the van. Then my guitar is taken away. The pain reaches a crescendo as our two-seater bike is brought out of the shed and discarded as if it is trash. It is not.
My tiny lip trembles and, for the first time since coming back, I actually feel like a child. I sit on the wall and I weep.
The van drives away, forever taking part of me with it.
The man she has been regularly meeting with pulls up. He gets out of his BMW and and greets her with a hug and a kiss. She stands on her tip toes in that excited way she does. My heart flutters as I remember the many times she did exactly that when I arrived home from work. Then I think of how she must have felt the one time I didn't.
I want to shout out to her and say "Elizabeth! I'm alive! I love you and I never stopped loving you!" and I want to kiss her and smell her. But I know it would make everything worse for me. For her.
She is in love, again, and this breaks my heart. And yet behind the scolding tears pouring down my face, I am honestly happy for her.
They are on a journey together now; a new life.
Today my journey continues too. I pray that these memories do not follow me into the next life. | 2016-07-19T03:08:40 | 2016-07-19T02:25:40 | 18 | 13 |
[WP]”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.” | I stared at the vampire in front of me. I should have been scared. I was looking at a creature that could kill me with little effort. But I wasn't. I was more annoyed than anything.
"Why aren't you scared?" he asked, his eyes gleaming. "I'm a vampire— I could kill you!"
"So could literally every other human, you're not special," I said, rolling my eyes.
I was done being pushed around by them. I was done with the way they treated us. I was done with the way they acted like they owned us.
"I'll teach you to disrespect me," he said, lunging at me.
He grabbed me, slamming me against the brick wall in the alleyway. I groaned as I banged my head against it. My vision blurred for a moment before it cleared back up to normal. His hands were around my neck, squeezing the life out of me. I could feel the oxygen being cut off from my lungs.
I could hear his heart beat in my ear from how close he was to my neck. Surely he could hear mine as well. It was pumping so fast I was surprised it didn't bust out of my chest.
I struggled against his grip but he just tightened his grip on me. I felt my vision starting to dim, and everything started to get dark. It was like my eyes were closing but I knew they weren't. Like I could see myself on the outside looking in, watching this happen to me.
I fought against the urge to close my eyes as blackness started to creep through the edges. It felt like I was falling, falling into nothing. My heart ached for a second before it stopped beating.
And then he let go.
I fell to the ground in a choking fit. I could hear his feet pounding against the pavement as he ran away from me. My skin felt cold and my heart ached. I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't understand what was going on.
My heart started beating again. It started beating like it had never stopped, like it hadn't skipped a beat.
I hurried to my feet, walking to the end of the alley and turning to look back at him. He was gone. It was like he had disappeared into thin air.
I turned, not sure what to do. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I made my way down the street. It was as if nothing had happened. I didn't feel any different. I felt fine.
I started laughing.
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. It was Matt texting me, asking where the fuck I was.
...
I was staring at myself in the mirror. I had just pulled my hair into a ponytail and I was inspecting my face. I had a few blemishes on my face but otherwise, I was fine.
I touched my neck, tracing the spot where he had gripped me. I could still feel his hands on me. Why hadn't he killed me?
I shook my head, I could come up with questions later.
I walked down the stairs and towards the door, right as my mom was walking into the house.
"Hey, where are you going?" she asked.
"To get breakfast with Matt," I said, opening the door to my room.
I grabbed my keys off my desk, making my way out of the house.
I could hear my heart beating as I walked down the street, as if everything was normal. It wasn't normal, I was sure of that. I was positive of that.
I could feel his hands on me, feel his nails digging into my skin. It was like the world went away. It was like nothing else was around me except for him. Was I hallucinating? I felt like this had already happened. | Why would I be scared of death ? I've been dead before... Twice... I'm totally over it. Actually you should be scared, taking on a former special forces operator that has nothing to lose... You can strike me, but I'll have my revenge... You know what they say about revenge. You better be ready to dig two graves... I'm willing to dig two graves... I did that before, and I'm not afraid of doing it again...
You say I'm not special. That shows your arrogance as a vampire... You think you're just about to take on a human. But actually, you're taking on an entire army. I can disassemble and reassemble an m4 rifle before you find your right key to get into your home...
You're faster, and definately stronger than me. But that's not everything. My whole life I've trained for kill. I'm like a killing machine, doesnt matter the range. Just because of you're vampire, you think you can end my life in close quarters. You actually have no chance against me in long range terms. There's a reason why I was called Ghost of Pripyat. You'll realize what happened to you only when you see a bullethole on your chest.
So if you still sure you wanna take me on, be sure that you'll end my life. Don't make a mistake like leaving me alive, if I'm alive after the conflict you're dead. Yes, I have a deathwish... I'm tired, just wanna end this...
You'll feast on my blood because you're starving ? Ah, alright then... Let's get evil... | 2022-06-08T05:59:41 | 2022-06-08T05:05:56 | 67 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone is given a prophecy at the instant of their birth. For most people, it is a short, cryptic sentence. Kings and Presidents often get a whole paragraph. Your daughter is four days old, and the Oracle is still scribbling furiously. | One hundred and six hours. The Oracle stayed hunched over her desk four sunrises and five sunsets before finally laying her quill to rest for the first and final time.
The moment the ink was dry, she sent it to us by messenger boy. He came at the crest of night, pounding like a madman at the door. I was up because Ziri was up. I gave the boy a copper penny. When the door shut, I slumped against the wall, holding my wailing daughter in one hand and her destiny in the other.
My own prophecy had been half a page. A slapdash couplet I could not remember beyond one line: *your softness shall be your undoing*. Perhaps I blocked the rest out on purpose.
Here my daughter had a veritable manuscript. The paper alone was a treasure out here, so far from a printmaker. For a long moment I stood simply marveling at the luxury of my own book, about my own daughter.
Behind me, a voice that made every muscle in my neck tense in muted terror: "Who the hell was that?"
"A messenger boy. From the Oracle."
Eyes red with exhaustion, my husband snatched the papers out of my hand and skimmed them. As he feigned reading, he started pacing, furiously. He left school to work on his father's farm at eight years old. To him, reading was a hobby for the rich; he could only read enough to complete inventory, sign his name. When he reached the bottom of the fat satchel of papers, he hurled it on the kitchen table and snarled, "It's garbage. An old woman's ramblings. We will use it for tinder."
"I'll collect wizard's beard in the morning," I muttered, to mollify him. Only code would work with him. If I were to directly say *Why burn our daughter's future when there's a forest full of moss*, he might burn the thing right then and there to spite me.
"I ain't superstitious," he told me. Under those words ran a cold currant, threat and command: *which means* you *ain't superstitious.* "Don't you waste any of your time on that nonsense."
"What did your prophecy say?"
"The hell did you ask?"
I made the gamble. "Your prophecy. Did you receive one?"
"It said my life would be like a candle flickering for a moment before I blew it out, never to light again. Which is obviously stupid when I have a beautiful wife to care for me and a daughter to cherish me. She is a mad woman, followed by mad silly women. Come to bed. Now."
"Ziri is hungry," I managed.
"When you're done, then," he grunted. And he stormed off to bed.
Part of me yearned to make a bed of blankets on the kitchen floor, just to avoid going back to the same mattress as that man. Husband in name only. When I became pregnant after my husband--my father's field hand at that time--insisted upon his unwanted advances, my father forced him (and I) to marry. My father spared my social decency at the cost of any familial love I might have once had toward him.
I stayed up all night to read the prophet's words. I held my daughter in my arms and wept into her blanket, to keep my tears from ruining the ink.
The people in my family had always been small. Farmers, tailors, blacksmiths. Little people carving out little lives. But our women were the smallest. My mother had no love for my father, but the heavy social yoke of a conjugation negotiated for her when she was only fifteen years old. I was practically an old maid, married off at nineteen to the man who attacked me.
But my daughter would be new. My daughter would be different.
The Oracle predicted a great shift in the world coming. A new generation of dissidents, embittered by the tyrannical hand of the old ways suffocating the new. They needed someone to ignite and direct the fury of the young, who could slap the old in the face and scream, *This thing you call normal is unlivable*.
It will be a bloody rebellion, unlovely and unjust. But if Ziri is ready--if she is strong and confident and capable when the time comes--she will be the final piece of a great machine destined to remake the world.
It was nearly dawn. My daughter was slung about my chest, sound asleep. Barely as big as my forearm. I touched the little button of her nose and tried to imagine it smeared in war paint. Tried to imagine her large enough to hold a sword.
I looked at the papers and the low ceiling of our two-room home. I looked at the low-burning fireplace and imagined my husband lying in the bedroom. How he would rise grumbling like a bear until I prepared him breakfast.
My daughter could rise up and change the world, but not in a place like this. Not with a man like that. Better no father, I decided in that instant, than him.
I took little. My coat, the blankets I wove, a pot, the doll I made Ziri, a map, all the money in the tin by the door. The prophecy. I saddled up my horse--technically part of my dowry, but I had raised her from a motherless filly; she would never be his--and ensured my daughter was wrapped tightly to my back. As if she knew what I was doing, she stayed alert but silent as I picked through the house, collecting our scant provisions.
When we were ready, we went off down the dark road toward town. Toward the rosy promise of morning.
***
/r/shoringupfragments | "Please, just a glance, Scribe."
She waved her hand at me, shooing me from her desk. The baby cried, my wife rocked her slowly in her arms and hummed gently. The scribe's apprentice ran in with a fresh bottle of ink and set it and a small stack of parchment on the desk. It was tradition that only the four of us be allowed to enter and exit the room, but not law, and I could hear the murmurs outside the room getting louder.
I stepped out, plucking an old cigarette out of my pocket and lighting it hastily. The hallway was crowded with journalists and religious figures curious as to the outcome of my daughter's unlikely and inexplicable prophecy. I was a machinist, my wife a baker. Utterly unremarkable people completely unprepared for whatever was happening.
"Excuse me, Mr. Hightower? A quick word, please"
I looked up from the ground, following a shined pair of shoes up an immaculately dressed body to the familiar face of the Archpriest. He smiled and extended his wrinkled hand to me, it was covered in small bits of tech, mostly strength enhancements it seemed. He was old, and his teeth were yellowing, the ones that weren't gold capped at least. I quickly shook his hand, nodded, and followed him down the hallway to a small office that his guards were standing outside of.
"Some week, eh. Mr. Hightower?"
"That's fair to say, sir."
The Archpriest cackled.
"I don't take it your abundantly religious, Mr. Hightower. I won't bother you with a sermon or florid words about faith and destiny"
"That's appreciated, sir."
"All I ask for is you consider, not even choose yet, but consider handing over the child to me and the church. You could still visit of course, and I know you'll want to discuss this with your wife, but be assured I won't be the first to ask. The others might not be as, polite, with their requests"
From a briefcase, he pulled out a small contract. On the front page was a monetary promise, one which comprised more money than I could ever conceivably make in two lifetimes. He smiled, and the dim light from the desk lamp made his gold teeth sparkle. From the other room, I could still hear the child crying. My child crying.
"If you'll excuse me, sir."
Thoughts danced through my head. It was already hard enough raising a child in the hinterlands, especially in these times. What if the child was some kind of savior? Certainly the church could support her better. Could she ever overcome the inevitable curiosity and scrutiny about whatever the scribe had put to paper? I hadn't been ready to be a father when Jane got pregnant, and I wasn't certain I was ready to be one now. I clutched the contract in my hand and stepped back towards the room with my wife and daughter. The journalists were shoving recording devices and the floatcams were snapping pictures, but I ignored them. I gently knocked on the door to the room, slowly opening it and peeking in.
"Well. There's daddy. See? Told you he would come back."
My wife smiled and looked up at me, and then back at our daughter. I closed the door slowly behind me, looking over as the scribe finished another page. She snorted out "Half done", her apprentice hanging his head and exhaling. It was quiet in here, and peaceful. I sat down next to my wife on the bed, and looked down at my daughter. I put the contract down on the side table and put my arm around my wife. For now, there was stillness. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. | 2017-12-30T18:13:26 | 2017-12-30T17:44:05 | 107 | 25 |
[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo. | Ironically, it was the skill and money brought to bear fighting the new uniform requirements that led to the revelation, or at least the public admission, of their existence. Stranger things, and more ironic things have happened, I suppose. I hope you'll forgive me if I cannot think of any.
The Clinton's fought this the hardest, and in retrospect it's pretty obvious as to why. They had no cover. There was nobody who took the labeling movement seriously, not even after it became law. The billions of dollars worth of appeals and challenges, contributions and threats to all manner of judges and officials would see that. And if that didn't work, of course, there were other ways even less savory. The Clintons knew how to play dirty. This was an open secret. So nobody was surprised they were able to delay and delay and delay the enforcement of this law. Mostly in ways conniving but legal. If you're old enough to remember the whole "what 'is' is" flap, then none of this would surprise you...but it did serve to educate a new generation on exactly how slippery they could be.
In the end it was an ill considered ad lib from an inexperienced attorney in some backwater appeals court in Louisiana that set the whole house of cards tumbling. He was losing and he knew it, and on the spot he started arguing that, basically, how could any one particular entity be said to be a sponsor when most entities were controlled by other entities, which were controlled by even other entities, which were owned by stockholders largely represented by mutual fund managers, and the like, and who's directors and officers sat on the boards of many entities, and so on and so on. That although a check may be written from the nominal account of a particularly named entity, that the true interest could not accurately be represented by a single logo. He even went so far as to state that the forcing of a politican to include the logo of his client, a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary of ExxonMobil, would be virtually meaningless as to being useful to voters, as the entity was virtually an unknown brand, and existed as a seperate corporate individual only on paper.
It seemed like a good argument at the time.
But by the time the world had woken up the next morning, lawyers everywhere were receiving subpoenas for records on organizational structure, and depositions of board members. And from there it was just a matter of time. Someone talked to someone else in a restaurant and the conversation was recorded from a nearby table. Someone else was played a recording of their corporate partners planning their assassination. People talked.
As it turned out, the conspiracy theorists had been more right than even they knew. It was "common knowledge" in some circles that only 5 corporations actually existed, owning and controlling all the others beneath them in the ultimate pyramid scheme. It turned out, those 5 were also controlled, by one. The one that people have spoken of for years. The one that has existed since time out of mind. You know them, and you know their logo. You should, at least. Like them, it's been hiding in plain sight for years.
The tip of the pyramid. With the eye.
The night the news broke, Hillary had a heart attack. Or at least, that's what was reported. Some say her masters poisoned her, one small last act from the shadows before being cast into the light. It scarcely mattered. Her final term was nearly over, lame ducked, and the VP had little to do in her stead but to give a eulogy and turn over the keys to the next administration.
And still, the law was the law. Some speculated that she had committed suicide in order to escape it's enforcement, but they were wrong. For as she lied in state in the Capitol rotunda, dressed all in white there was one discontinuity in her otherwise pristine and ghostly attire. A small patch, on her left lapel, of that single all seeing eye atop the pyramid.
And of course, all those in attendance bore the same patch. Of course they did. And in the end, did it matter? Was anyone actually surprised?
(Edit: a spelling) | Donald Trump stood up in the podium, annoyed at the last minute change of uniform. His usual Columbian suit now lay abandoned on the floor of his hotel suite, he wasn't planning on going back to the room at all afterwards, especially not with that dead hooker in the bathroom. He didn't bother to listen to the guy that told him about the new suit, not noticing the single large patch repeated several times across the fabric.
"My fellow Americans" he started his speech, hearing his fans screaming with ecstasy and pleasure at the thought of being pure blooded Americans, just like him. On the other side of the stage, Hillary made her way over to her podium, her fans cheering too as she smiled at them. She pulled her collar up a little to hide the lizard-people-scales beneath. Her uniform was similar to trump's, but differed in that it was covered in names that they'd had to computerise it, the names taking turns scrolling across her chest. 'LA FITNESS, LADYBOY ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA, LAS VEGAS TOURISM BOARD' the suit displayed alphabetically as she made her own opening remarks.
Donald Trump whispered into the microphone on his collar, asking the man that usually told him what to say as to why she had all those groups on her chest. Guy Fieri, sitting backstage, took a moment between writing buzz words and cheap similes for trump's next speech to look up. More names were flying across her chest, still on the L-words; LIZARD PEOPLE APPRECIATION GROUP, LIZ TAYLOR SOCIETY FOR LGBT LOOKALIKES... Guy held the microphone up to his lips. "Those are her sponsors" he explained, "the people that have paid her to stand for president".
Trump looked down at his own uniform. The single word sitting there became clear. "Pssst Guy!" He whispered "why am I being sponsored by Hillary!". Guy Fieri sighed, putting down his meatball sub. "We've been over this Don, it's so that she's guaranteed the win". | 2016-09-19T19:30:21 | 2016-09-19T18:37:32 | 94 | 35 |
[WP]Abducted humans have, so far, all displayed the same internal organ structure common throughout the galaxy with only one exception. Every one of them has a Glarnak parasite beating inside their chest. They even think it's necessary for life. | "Well, that does explain the penis."
"What!?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter and think for a moment."
"Oh, I see. That does explain the penis. Weird. The penis allows for a closer deposit of the genetic material from one to the other while the Glarnak spore is in its most vulnerable state. That is genius. But I am not putting that in our paper."
"If we don't, a different group will. How else do we explain the weird tail like shape of the genetic package. The parasite inserts itself right at the point of fission. No wonder they all die when we remove it."
"And how long has it been here? Think about all of the animals, not just the humans, who have some form of the parisite. It must have come in on an early survey ship before the Glarnak protocols were put in place."
"You don't think this could be a home world for it?"
"No. I don't. Glarnak is mentioned in several captains' log of the Almashinis long before this quadrant of the galaxy was accessable for exploration. No. Some team of explores accidentally introduced it here. It has just evolved right alongside all of this planet's development."
"This paper is going to rock the universe! We are going to be famous. Like Whotzigulagshi and m'723ghi!"
"No, if we are not careful, the Governance will come in and fumigate the whole planet."
"Why?"
"Seriously? These humans unbalance everything. They are too strong for their stature, too full of revenge, their weapons are barbaric, and no one thinks they are cute. Governance would fumigate. The parasite gives them a good excuse."
"True. Did you see that one in the fighting tanks on Romminitghdtyck took out an entire squad of Almashinis? Threw the gamblers a real loop! That adrinelan is powerful stuff. Plus, bones... Those bones make them just hideous."
"Right. Right! We are going about this all wrong. Somehow, we have to protect these poor creatures who have been colonized by the Glarnak parasite for so long. The adrinelan might be the key. They can't get fumigated until we understand the biological consequences and triggers of that stuff. I see years and years of research! Not just one paper."
"Maybe."
"Yeah, maybe."
"Besides, they may just self destruct before we could finish."
"True. Maybe we should take a few more specimens and then call on the fumigation. We could study them on the backside of z'8710's larger moon."
"Maybe."
"Maybe."
edit: Spacing | Stranger even, is that they believe this so much that if removed, their Quazinc Responder will halt all bodily functions and send their Essence on. It's as if the QR has tricked their Essence to think it is of this plane. Furthermore, there are ruling classes currently in power that have obtained knowledge to revolutionize their culture, however they keep this knowledge to themselves and proceed to reap benefits only in their behalf. Perhaps these "Humans" haven't surpassed their Great Filter just yet. I advise we return in 24 Klognats (Approximately 52 Earth Years) and re-evaluate for exposure to the Galactic Environment. | 2019-07-10T02:48:33 | 2019-07-10T02:19:54 | 45 | 32 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | I was 7 years old when I caught the common cold. I still don't remember what life was like before it. That's my power, by the way, any disease I get stays. I had to stay in one of those completely sterilized rooms for most of my life.
They pitied me, at first, the poor cripple who could never have a normal life. Or as normal as a life anyone could have in this superpowered world. My parents hired one of those techy nerd supers to make me a suit that would offer me protection, but the best she could do was a bubble. I got to go to school. They called me bubble bitch, hamsterwoman, all sorts of unsavory things. I always sounded so nasally back then, because of my cold.
One of the bullies with a power to teleport decided it would be funny if he got a vial of an ebola sample and teleported it into my bubble suit. He's the reason they have supers guarding the CDC now, actually. I thought that it was over, the my life would finally end, when I discovered something. I was immortal. It honestly seemed like some sort of cosmic joke.
My dad, the shining exemplar of humanity, had been using me as a pity case for PR, but when he found out he would have to deal with me forever, he buried me. Alive. The headlines read "Local superhero's tragic daughter finally dies"
"finally dies"
There are all sorts of diseases you can catch in the rot of the earth, buried six feet under. I might be immortal, but I still feel pain. That's what all the supers who try to stop me don't know, that I feel every single one of their blows as a normal would. I am able to stand it because of the year I spent underground.
It hurt at first, all the disease, but I was able to conquer it. I was used to being sick all my life after all. They say the pain broke me, but I think it fixed me. The hunger was the hard thing to get used to. I've never gone more than 2 days without food in my life, let alone a year. But eventually, I mastered that as well.
After the year it took to master my pain I rose out of my grave like some sort of zombie. I think it was really badass but there are no witnesses left from the cemetery to describe it to me.
It's quite ironic actually, because the only supers that will fight me now are empaths in bubble suits. I made it a point to contract highly transmittable diseases. They call me Plague, or sometimes Agony, which is accurate, but I like to call myself the Horseman. | They didn't respect me. Never did. They laughed as I pointed, laughing that my power was useless, that no one would ever respect me.
But, over the years, I've realized something. I've realized that without this thing, Laser Beam Man won't have the strength to fight crime. Super Strength Woman won't even be able to lift a fly. And... and even the famed Batman Copycat won't be keeping his city safe. No. That all ends today.
I pointed to the roll of toilet paper, and it disappeared.
They won't be laughing at Points at Toilet Paper and Makes It Disappear Man any more.
Not until I've gotten my load off. | 2015-04-12T23:15:04 | 2015-04-12T17:51:32 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You’re a child psychologist and, to your horror, you discover that your patients all have the same imaginary friend. | Laurie Mathers knew that the closed study door was Daniel's way of saying that he wanted to be left alone. But he had been so restless, so unsettled ever since he returned from work this evening, that Laurie figured it would be better to be safe than sorry. People always thought that child psychologists had it easy, but she knew how draining it was for Daniel.
"Honey?" she said, opening the door after knocking twice. "Just wanted to see if you wanted company..."
She froze as the visual clues filled her in. The scattered reports on the table, the half-filled glass of whiskey next to the laptop, the dishevelled husband with a vacant look in his eyes.
The loaded gun on the table.
"Honey? What's this..."
"Sit down," he said, motioning towards the chair opposite him. "We've got to talk."
Laurie took a seat. Anyone else would have hesitated, have backed out slowly while trying to decide whether to call the cops or the divorce attorney first. But she knew Daniel well, trusted him. He couldn't hurt her.
"What's wro-" she started, before Daniel cut her off. This close to him, she could smell the alcohol off his breath.
"I pieced it together, it all makes sense," he said, after a moment's pause. He flipped open the closest folder, pointed at the picture of the child on the first page. "That's Henri Gunther. Nine years old, found to be self-harming after both parents were jailed for drug abuse. Foster parents were at their wits' end."
Laurie thought she knew where this was going, but she wasn't sure yet, so she kept her lips sealed.
"And here's Ronald Tibbins," Daniel continued, pulling open another folder. "He's eleven this year, known to have uncontrollable fits of rage in school. His parents didn't know how to control him, stem the anger, so they brought him in to see me too."
"I remember these," said Laurie. "I think you told me about them before. You helped them both, didn't you? They got better, never needed to come back again?"
"I've got three more of these cases here, all with similar problems, similar resolutions," Daniel said. "And I don't know how I missed it the first time round. Can you take a guess, Laurie? Can you divine what it is that ties all these miraculous recoveries together?"
Laurie gripped the sides of her chair. "Umm, you managed to help them in time? Managed to solve their-"
Daniel's fist arced through the air, thumping so hard on the table that the whiskey tumbled, spilling across the papers. He didn't even seem to notice.
"They all had a friend!" he shouted, the veins popping on his neck. "An imaginary friend! I thought, well, every kid has one, right? But these cases, it was special! I realised that my medicine, my therapy was only half the answer! These kids, their imaginary friends actually intervened, took an active part to help them recover!"
"That's just silly, " Laurie said. "You're exaggerating. Their friends were probably just figments of imagination, helping them deal with certain issues in their lives."
"The pattern is the same, everytime," said Daniel. "The child has problems, then an imaginary friend appears, who just so happens to implement the exact therapy I recommend. These imaginary friends, they differ in ages, in name, but as far as I've discerned, they all seem to look the same to the kids they've appeared to."
"You're stressed," said Laurie. You're taking this too far, Daniel."
"Am I?" Daniel asked, as he reached for the gun, gripped it tightly in his right, then swivelled it slowly, deliberately.
Till the barrel pointed straight at Laurie.
"Why is it I've never met your family?" asked Daniel. "Why did you insist on us moving so far away from the town we grew up in, to live here where barely anyone knows us? And how did you know to reach out to me, all those years ago, when I was thinking of killing myself?"
"Daniel, please, there's no need to do this."
"But I must," said Daniel.
He fired. It wasn't a large caliber, but in the small confines of the study, it was a thunderclap.
The bullet passed through Laurie harmlessly, as she knew it would. She heard it embed itself into the doorframe behind her, burying itself into the wood.
"Jesus," Daniel said.
"Does it matter?" asked Laurie.
Daniel thought for a while, then finally set the gun down.
"I don't know," he said.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | "So go over it one more time."
The psychologist drummed her fingers on her knees, frowning, "Look. I told you two everything already. I'm sure you don't believe me either."
Williams took another gulp of his coffee as he examined a nearby shelf of knickknacks, "Oh I wouldn't say we don't believe you Miss Colins, we just want to make sure we don't miss an details. Right Jim?"
Jim jumped at his name, almost dropping his notebook, "Uh right. We just want to... What he said."
She sighed heavily, "Alright. Like I said; every child in the orphanage has been describing the same... thing. An imaginary entity that seems to follow and even converse with them."
Williams took another sip of coffee as he pretended to check his phone, "You're sure its not just something the kids are all in on? Pretending to all see the same person?"
"That's what I thought at first, but there are children who say they hadn't seen this imaginary fr- thing, before they arrived here."
Williams continued to circle the room, crossing behind the psychologist, "I'm sure it's all some kind of prank the kids are trying to pull on you. Nothing to worry about." Jim noticed Williams point at his phone and nod his head toward the door.
Jim coughed awkwardly, "Yes, like my uh, associate said, nothing to be afraid of."
"Afraid? It's just strange. Why would I be afr-"
Williams tossed his coffee cup into the trash bin where it rattled loudly, "Thank you for your time Miss Colins. I'm terribly sorry, but we must be going."
Colins frowned at the two of them, "Where did you say you were from again?"
Williams was holding the door open and ushering Jim quickly through it, "Oh we're only about a twenty minute drive away. Not too far."
"That's not what I me-"
She was cut off by the sound of the heavy door slamming shut as Williams and Jim shuffled down the hall.
After Jim thought they were far enough away, he began to ask "So wh-"
An upheld finger made him withhold the question until they were out of the building and a good three blocks away. As they crossed a fourth street, he tried again, "So what is it?"
Williams kept pace and pulled out his phone to show him the readings he had taken, "Class 5, sentient, not harmful in the short term but will probably kill anyone who spends extended time around it. The cleaners are already on their way."
"Ah..." Jim replied.
They continued on their walk in silence until Jim asked, "How long would it have taken to affect u-"
"seven more minutes."
"good thing we left then..."
"Yup." | 2017-10-05T18:23:38 | 2017-10-05T14:00:49 | 2,996 | 825 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | One moment, I was sitting in my room watching Youtube; the next, I was standing next to a massive banquet table in a circular room with nine other kids my age, looking just as confused as I was. The table had dozens of dishes on it, filled with more food than any buffet I had ever visited.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!”, a loud voice rang out. We all looked up to see a boy watching us from a balcony on the other side of the room. He didn’t look that much different from us if you ignored the green snake eyes that he had and the curled horns on either side of his head. He clapped his hands together and started floating in the air. “Welcome to the 2020 Superpower Feast. Please select a food in front of you and I’ll give you a superpower based on that food!”
We all stared at him for a few moments, too stunned to say anything. Then, one girl with brown curly hair spoke up. “Are you saying...are you telling us that you’re the one giving 16 years old superpowers every decade?” she asked in a dazed voice.
“Yep, that’s me,” he replied with a sly grin. “Of course, I make sure to always wipe their memories before they leave this place.” “So,” he said, looking around at all of us. “Who wants to go first?”
There was a tense silence for several moments. The boy yawned. “Well, don’t all volunteer at once.” His voice took on a more serious edge. “But, really, do choose something before I get bored and choose a grateful group of teenagers that does want superpowers.”
One boy wearing glasses slowly walked over to the banquet table. We all watched him nervously as he picked up a plate that contained several slices of steak and began eating from it. Suddenly, we heard him gasp. Before, he had been fairly skinny. But now, right in front of our stunned eyes, massive muscles were appearing all over his arms and legs. The boy floating over us smiled and clapped his hands. Both the boy in glasses and the plate of half eaten steaks vanished from the room. “Don’t worry about him,” he said, gazing down at us. “I just sent him back to Earth. He’ll wake up, thinking that he was blessed with superpowers while he was sleeping. He giggled. “Well, who’s next?”
I raised my hand. “You said that we can eat anything from this table and we’ll get a superpower from it, right?”
“Yep, that’s right,” he said, floating over to me. “So, what do you want?”
I walked over to one corner of the banquet table, readied my nerves and bit into the table. I could feel everyone staring at me. I looked up at the floating boy and for the first time, I saw him look just as baffled as everyone in the room. “What...what are you doing? “ he asked, tilting his head.
“You said that we choose anything from the table. Well, I’m choosing the table then.”
There was a tense silence as we stared at each other. For a moment, I was worried that I had offended him. Then, he started laughing hysterically. “My gods, I forget how crazy you humans can be sometimes.” “Well,” he said with a devilish grin. “You can certainly eat the table if you want. But you have to actually swallow part of it. A simple bite isn’t enough.”
I nervously gulp. It takes fifteen minutes of me constantly stabbing the table corner with a fork before part of it breaks off. The entire time, I can feel the rest of the kids looking at me, probably thinking that I’m a fool or a lunatic. But I’ve already committed to this. It’s too late to back off down. I put the piece in my mouth. It’s even more disgusting than I imagined, foul and rotten with sharp edges poking into my gums. But, I manage to swallow it without vomiting.
“.Well, well, well,” the boy says, smirking. “You know, you’re the first person in 500 years to consider eating the table. I think that such creativity deserves a unique reward, wouldn’t you say?”
He slowly descended from the air until his feet touched the ground. He pulled out a red book from his jacket pocket and handed it over to me. “Only you will be able to read this. Do take good care of it. I have a feeling that you’re going to be very interesting to watch indeed.”
“What is it?”, I asked, struggling to talk against the waves of nausea coming from my stomach.
“My cookbook,” he said, laughing, before clapping his hands together.
Edit: Parts 2 and 3 are down below! | "You took a bite out of what!" Your mom yelled when she found out. "I thought I raised you better than that!. . ."
"Mo. . ." You tried in vain
"You could have had super strength by eating the spinach or flight with pork. But noooo you had to be a smart ass and bite the damn table. Should have known you would end up doing something stupid like your father. And take a bite out of the Gimpy Gimpy. Made him kill himself before he even figured out his power."
"Mom! I know my power"
"You better tell me it's growing trees. God knows this planet needs it right now with all the pyros out there right now who ate the hottest pepper they could stand."
"Uhhh yeah about that."
"That's it good at least you will be some use unlike your father who left me alone to finish highschool alone with you."
"No, it's not that. . . You are not going to like it."
"Out with it."
"Well you see I've gotten the power well it's better that I don't tell you"
"You better tell me otherwise I'm going to kick you out of the house!"
"Mom please for once just listen! here there are two numbers the first one is for my new cellphone the second is for a therap. . ."
"A what! I don't need one of those good for nothing. . ."
"MOM, please you need to see this woman. I want things to go back to how they used to be when I was a child."
"I don't need help I need you to be a better son! Answer my question!"
Tears formed in my eyes as a solution formed in my mind. I started backing towards the front door.
"What are you going to do leave me like your dad did! Good I don't want you around anymore"
"Mom. You don't mean that. I love you but I have to go things will get. . ."
"Get out!"
Tears were flowing from her eyes at this point and from experience I knew there was no calming her down. I clamped down on my own urge to yell back something that would hurt her. I knew better now.
"Please just call that number we can talk again when things get. . ."
"Out!" She yelled while reaching for something to throw at me.
I ducked and was out the door tears flooding from my eyes. I already knew she would get better she would call the number and our relationship would get repaired. Didn't make it any easier to do this. But I had to leave her. I had the power now to see and fix clinically stupid. I needed to hone this ability for the good of the people and I needed to start with a one way ticket to Florida.
Edit: a word. | 2020-03-19T08:27:31 | 2020-03-19T08:15:56 | 4,121 | 330 |
[WP] Due to an accident during your childhood, you stopped aging physically and became immortal. After a few years, it's clear that it would be difficult to hide that fact from your friends so you left without saying goodbye. Ridden with guilt, you paid them a visit when they are now old. | It's a lot easier to find out where people lived now. I still remembered having to write down addresses and meticulously planning how to get somewhere. But now, you can save so much time.
I stood at the doorstep of one Pierce Briggs. I found out that he's moved a couple of times in and around the world, including a curiously short-lived stay in Malaysia--but he ended up back here in Oxstead, between here and nowhere, where he was born. Of the friends I've had when I was a young adult--or more specifically, when they were young adults--he was the one that came back.
The front door was one I recognized from decades past, though the one in my memory was significantly less wracked with years of neglect, lines of dirt drooping down like streaks of tears, and significantly less of a splinter hazard. I took a deep breath, and knocked. There was silence.
I waited for a bit. Looked in the window beside, and couldn't decide if it was dark inside, or the window was caked with an indeterminate black.
Another knock. This time, there was the soft, unmistakeable sounds of someone moving slowly.
"Coming," a muffled voice said. I strained my ears, wondering if it was the one that I used to hear, and often punctuated with bright laughter.
The door swung open. Pierce, much older than I remembered, stood there. He was dressed as only people who no longer cared would, in what was a bathrobe that could at most be a few years younger than he was. Even through the balding, wrinkles, and liver spots, it was him. It was the eyes--ones I remembered shining with mischief and glee, now muddied like headlights through a stormy dirt road.
"Hi," I said, weakly.
His gaze lit up.
"You," Pierce said.
I shrunk a little, anticipating the door slamming in my face, and dejectedly walking away, likely with a few extra slivers of wood stuck to my apologetic face.
"Gregory," he said, before shaking his head. "What the hell am I saying? Are you... are you his son? You are... the spitting image of how he was."
I opened my mouth, ready to take the easy way out. But I gritted my teeth, and winced. I was here to make things right.
"I am," I said.
It was a lot harder to make things right than I thought.
"Oh, what the hell," Pierce grasped my shoulders with surprising strength. "Well, I know it ain't much, but would you like to come in?"
"I'll be delighted to," I smiled.
I was led into a room where dust bunnies had decided would be a nice, little town for retirement planning and settled down, before realizing that the any spare spot could be filled up with an extra kitten or twelve, and got immediately to planning generational wills. Pierce settled into a chair that clearly saw a lot of use, and I tried to pick one that didn't choke me that moment I sat on it.
"Greg's son, eh? What's your name?"
"... Greg... Jr.," I said, lamely.
"Ah," Pierce chuckled. "Not the creative type, is he?"
"I don't think so," I said.
"What are you doing here, anyway? And where's your father?"
"Uh," I looked away. "He... passed."
"Oh," Pierce mumbled.
"He always talked about his friends," I said, trying to make amends in some sort of roundabout way. "His old friends, in this town. He said he missed them, you know?"
"Yeah, and he leaves it to his son to visit us," Pierce said darkly.
"There were... reasons," I struggled.
"Reasons? I--" Pierce, belying his age, almost exploded upwards and outwards. But midway through the eruption, the volcano paused, the smoke visibly dissipating into the air. He sank back down again, I sighed.
"Sorry," he said, shaken. "I... it's not your fault or anything. Sorry."
I simply shook my head, stealing glances as his face changed from anger, to regret, to peace.
"Your father was a good friend, Junior. At least, until, for some reason, he just left," Pierce looked expectantly towards me. "Any idea why?"
*He became immortal, and felt that the secret was way too difficult to keep, and couldn't even make up a stupid excuse about moving to another state or far-flung country before leaving.*
"It was a sudden move," I said. "To... Armenia. I only just recently came back."
"He told you about us, Junior?"
"He did," I said, and I felt an inadvertent tug at the corners of my lips. "About the intra-group conflict over Mary?"
Pierce smiled.
"I can't forget that," he chuckled. "Look, I still maintain Ray was a bastard, alright? He didn't appreciate what he had, you know?"
"So suave and cool," I laughed. "And it took a long time, but we discovered it was just on the surface, you know? All that to cover up every little bit about himself. Thank god he finally got out of his shell."
"Yeah, yeah," Pierce nodded meaningfully. "Mary took him back. Still think it was a poor choice, but eh. They tried to send Greg a wedding invitation. Couldn't find his address."
"They got married? They actually went and did it," I smiled.
It was easy. It was simple. We were no longer in a dusty, disused room, but in one where the children desperately wanted to be adults, and upon blossoming to the approximate sizes to be considered fully-grown, desperately wanted to be children again. It was the place where bonds were forged, and they were tested with red-hot arguments, but only grew stronger.
Until I threw them away like rusted weapons, at least.
Before we knew it, night was upon us, and I found myself at the doorstep, partaking deeply in the night air--and clearing my nose.
"Thank you for having me, Pierce," I said.
"Thank you for coming, Gregory," he said.
Gregory. I turned. There was something different, an inside joke I wasn't getting. I studied his expression, and we stared at each other for a good moment.
And I realized just how much he still looked like Pierce--but so, so much older. Time was a precious resource, I was still learning--and there wasn't much of it left.
"I'm sorry," I said, hanging my head. "I'm really, really, sorry. I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry for lying to you, then and now."
There was silence, nothing but stars blinking awkwardly in the sky.
"It was fun," he said. "I'm glad we could do it one last time."
I looked at him, smiling, despite everything. And I couldn't help but grin.
"Who said it was the last time? Old times need catching up on."
---
r/dexdrafts | "Hello Darius."
"Trevor? How? You... you haven't aged a bit."
"I know, that's why I left. It's not easy to hide. But I felt like I owed you an explanation."
"The others..."
"Departed, I know. Sorry."
Trevor took a seat at the dying man's bed. The evening was well-advanced, the full moon hidden by black clouds. The chilly wind announcing a cold winter battered against the window. In the distance, the sea lazily came and went, as it always did this time of year.
The room was barren, Darius had always been fond of minimalism, preferring to fill his mind with memories rather than his house with furniture.
Trevor, undying, sat with his last childhood friend. All the others were gone, long ago or recently, it didn't matter.
Tonight felt like an epilogue, the distant finale of a story.
And Trevor spoke.
At the time, he needed money. His parents weren't poor, but he had a bad relationship with them and wanted out. And at John o'groats, Scotland's own version of the end of the world overlooking the sea, there were not many ways out.
Luckily, locals had a way to come through with gossip and information or outright legends. One bit of rumor had it that an old harbor in an abandoned coastal village was in the process of renovation. Not a systemic rebuild, but a clean-up to attract potential investors. It could be a private wharf, or a pleasant way to offer boat trips to tourists. Two warehouses, one bigger, the other smaller, and two long wharf running into the sea comprised the workplace. In bonus came the legend stating that, clearly, nobody lived under the docks. Generally spoken in a hushed way, hinting that something did, in fact, live there. Children loved it.
Trevor took the job. He was a one man crew to clean up a massive zone. Not that the harbor was big, it was, as expected, rather on the smaller side of things. But for one young man alone to handle the whole job felt like a tremendous task. Still, it paid decently, and was a short trip away from Kirkdale. Trevor took a chamber there by old miss Naeger, and enjoyed his first bit of independence greatly. The few people he met in Kirkdale were all very kind, offering him warm meals on cold evenings, alongside words of encouragement. On his free days, Trevor got back to his childhood village and got his drinks on with Darius and the others.
In the morning, he went to the abandoned village with his bike, and got to work. Bit by bit, he scrubbed and sanitized the place, with his strong arms, and lots of strong alcohol.
He also cursed the punks coming afterwards making a mess of the place.
A clean floor was covered with a sticky fluid, the next day. Splashes of black covered a white wall, and it went on.
Trevor warned the society employing him. He was advised to keep on, while an investigation would be undertaken to find the culprits. That was unlikely to yield results, he knew, for lost youth abounded here, and boredom made you wreck up things anywhere you could, especially abandoned places. He was no different.
The noise was something else though. Clicks and scratching through the walls, an underlying chatter of tongues that was impossible to understand. This, too, was unnerving, but not new. Rats scoured places near water.
On and on it went, supported by the kind elders and miss Naeger who told him to keep his head high and shone a new light on the situation. After all, dirt meant he would be employed longer.
One day, he discovered a hole in the concrete ground of the small warehouse. He went against common sense and into an adventure with a rope tied to a pole. From there, he came into the underground. A sprawling mix of brick walls and modern sewers. A senseless labyrinth, he got lost fast.
At his wit's end and starting to panic, Trevor found a massive chamber. Four ways led over a bottomless pit to a burning fire in the center. Moths flew around it, attracted to the flame, never getting so close as to get burned.
As he approached, he saw a shape on the other side of the fire, gazing back at him.
That thing.
It was massive. It had the bulging eyes a moth, four wings that kept trembling as if agitated by an invisible wind, long scrawny arms, and mandibles. So many mandibles, they seemed hungry, darting and moving towards Trevor as if to push the host to eat him.
Trevor ran, the fiend followed in a clattering of clicks and scratches, long fangs left marks on the solid floor and moths followed it with glee.
He didn't remember how long he ran, only the burning sensation in his chest, the terror, the gasps and the silent prayers.
Also the insane luck he had to find the rope leading back into the warehouse. | 2021-09-12T10:47:30 | 2021-09-12T09:50:26 | 1,370 | 178 |
[WP] Voldemort kills Harry Potter and declares war against the Muggles. He loses horribly, because unlike wizards - Muggles actually understand how magic works. | Voldemort watched the strange procession approach from his throne.
He somewhat regretted claiming Hyde Park as his base of operations. Sure, it was a large open space that gave him room to construct the elaborate throne he had fantasized about since he was a boy at Hogwarts. But it also meant people could just stroll up his newly minted throne.
A procession of dark wizards, approached him. Normally, this would have been a cause of joy for him. Dark wizards, coming to pledge fealty! To worship at the throne of Voldermort, Master of the Dark! But rather than run joyously to throw themselves at his feet, these dark wizards shuffled up sheepishly, bound in chains.
"So these are your people, then?" The police officer leading them asked. He had a large beard and had a patch on his uniform that read *Hacker*.
"Unchain my soldiers!" Voldermort hissed,
"They're just handcuffed. And careful with your tone. You have a lot of explaining to do."
Voldemort paused. And considered. There was a strange energy coming off the man. It wasn't magic, not quite, but it was close. He had to learn more. A quick mind control spell came to him effortlessly. The fact that it was an Unforgivable Curse barely occurred to him.
*Imperio.*
He watched with surprise as the spell melted just a few feet in front of the man.
"Yeah, these boys tried the same thing. Thought they were trying out for a gang or something. I guess you're in charge then."
Voldermort watched in amazement as the man started walking towards him with another set of *zip ties*.
"Now don't worry." The man was saying. "It looks like you're not very good at Quantum Hacking. That's fine! I had to learn too. And I'm great at it now!"
"*Avarda Kedarva. Crucio. Avarda Kedarva!*" Voldermort hurled his spells, watching in horror as they all melted before touching the man.
"Well, I'm not great. But I'm good enough to mess up your crappy viruses."
The man didn't have a wand, or even some kind of eldritch horror. He just held some kind of smooth glass screen that he just stroked with a finger to dispel the curses.
The man was almost on him. Instantly, Voldermort teleported into the sky and hung there looking down them with hate! He didn't know how the muggle had done it, but he was not beaten yet!
"Fine, *muggle!*" He spat. "I shall destroy you with the spell I used to kill Harry Potter!"
He had spent years in secret bunkers, studying half-translated texts and the leavings of mad wizards. He had toiled for years, until he had clawed together enough understanding to finally create a *great* spell.
"*Lunae mortem*"
The moon sky suddenly turned to blood and tendrils of smoke reached out for the people standing on the floor. His dark wizards began screaming, begging, but Voldermort ignored them. He could always find more. The important thing was that the muggles below all suffered.
When the tendrils almost reached the officer, he reached into a pocket and pulled a canister of something. As he sprayed it into the air, the tendrils began to disperse, until the sky had cleared and the spell - his *greatest* spell - was undone.
"Damn it." The officer spat and dropped the canister on the ground. "Made me waste a good can of nanobots. Now, get down here. If I'm not mistaken, I think I heard you say something about murdering someone?" | The death eaters struck the "muggle" world entirely without warning. Deaths were high, but no worse than other terrorist attacks. They too had casualties, and that's what allowed us to ultimately turn the tide against them.
Magic, it seemed, was real. Our physicists examined the effects of various spells and incantations and determined that manifestations of dark matter and dark energy were in fact the "magic" we were witnessing. Furthermore, whether a person or animal could experience dark matter and energy was entirely genetic; caused by a virus - a sexually transmitted virus that only affected a developing fetus.
Once isolated, it was easy enough to develop both a vaccine and an vector for inserting the active virus into an adult. But while that brought magic to the masses, that wasn't what stopped the death eaters.
The were contained by nullification, and made inert by vaccine.
Nullification is the process whereby a dark matter or dark energy manifestation is, in effect, cancelled out by particles of the opposite "charge" projected that in the right direction. In a sense, a magic user crafts a stream of particle physics n a certain way using words that serve to focus the user in the desired effect. The words are meaningless, and only serve as a psychological tool to help guide the thoughts of the caster.
The same effect can now be replicated using a digital caster; more rapidly and with generally greater effect. And so, magic was first weaponized, then later brought to the masses.
Very quickly the death eaters were contained, and very quickly, they were sentenced to both being cured, and then imprisoned for their crimes. Fitting as they were, the survivors anyway, among the most racist and destructive and individuals most had ever see.
Fortunately, the majority of humanity has embraced magic and in the years seems nice, integrated it well into our society. But that, is s story for another time. | 2017-07-17T19:55:02 | 2017-07-17T18:06:51 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] Aliens threaten the entire Earth with apocalypse unless one specific person is surrendered. Write from that guy's perspective. | Howard stood still and looked up at the sky. It was dark out, save for a slight silver glow atop the cylindrical object that seemed to mirror the light of the moon.
“I ain’t surrendering to no Mexican,” he said.
“They aren’t Mexican, Howard. They’re aliens. They’re going to destroy the planet if you don’t help us here.”
“Let me ask you a question. Do you like your job? Do you like your family? Do you like your country? I love my country, but these illegal aliens are going to take your jobs away if give them the chance.”
“Howard, I cannot make this any more clear. These people—things—are not from Mexico. They are not from this planet. We don’t even know where they’re from.”
“If you don’t know where they’re from, then how you know they ain’t no Mexicans?”
“We know. We know they aren’t Mexicans. We are 100% aware that they are not Mexican.”
“Sorry, General Commander Sir, or whatever your name is, I ain’t giving up my job to a bunch of illegal aliens. I love my country too much.”
“Your country is going to be destroyed, Howard! There will be no more America if you refuse this.”
“I’d rather die in an America where full-blooded Americans don’t have to fight Mexicans for their jobs than one where all the CEOs are speaking Mexican to their American servants.”
The general screamed and threw his hat on the floor. It was clear he wanted Howard shot, but the amount of cameras surrounding them made it quite challenging. There was also the fact that the visitors wanted Howard alive at threat of annihilation, which had stopped countless murder attempts already. He grabbed his hat off the floor, brushed the dirt off, and marched back over to the line of soldiers. Howard remained still. He looked back up at the object levitating silently in the sky. He was pretty sure he could see the Mexican flag. The speakers behind Howard turned on again.
“Hello, this is General Hughes. Are you sure you are unwilling to take Howard dead?”
“Yes,” returned a voice that sounded identical to General Hughes’. “He has insulted our heritage; your death is too good for him.”
Howard laughed. “God damn Mexicans, go back to your side of the border. We don’t want none of your chalupas!” he shouted.
General Hughes ran back over to Howard, followed by closely another high-ranking officer.
“Shut up! Howard, shut up! You’re going to get this entire planet destroyed.”
The second officer stopped just behind the General. “Why do they even want this guy so bad?” he asked, staring at Howard who was now humming the national anthem softly.
“Have you not been following this at all?” the General asked.
“Not really, I’ve been on deployment for the past few days.”
“This idiot was the first one to make contact, he heard them on a damn CB radio. Who even uses those things anymore? When he heard they weren’t from America, he went off on some racist rant about Mexicans and ended up insulting their ancestors. He even went on a tirade against the damn creature’s mothers. We don’t even know if they have mothers, but he spent the better part of an hour comparing their mother’s body-type to stars in supernova. Apparently the damn creatures had this entire rant played through their ships, and repeated back to the home planet, and now they want Howard.”
“So we can’t just tie him up?”
“We can, but all those damn human rights groups are up in arms about ‘freedom of choice’ and are threatening a full-on uprising.”
“God damn liberals,” Howard said.
“Those liberals are saving your pathetic life, Howard, you piece of shit,” said General Hughes.
“And I’m saving your job from a bunch of Mexicans,” Howard said.
The general opened his mouth, then shut it. He opened it again, shut it, then turned and walked away. The second officer followed.
Howard looked back up at the floating object. He was amazed Mexico had such futuristic technology. Probably stole it from the Americans, he thought. He couldn’t believe the military wanted to welcome these Mexicans to their land, and then surrender one of their own—a good, God-fearing, true-to-life American. He was appalled.
“This is your final warning,” pierced a disembodied voice.
The General ran over to Howard. He was carrying a piece of paper. He handed it to him.
“What’s this?” Howard asked.
“It’s a note from the President. It explains that, if you board this ship, the United States of America will permanently ban Mexicans from ever entering, legal or illegal. It is also signed by the Mexican president. All you have to do is surrender yourself. If you don’t, the borders will be permanently opened, and all Americans will be fired from their jobs.”
Howard quickly glanced down at the contract. There were quite a few big words, which caused Howard a bit of difficulty, but he caught the gist of the terms.
“So, let me get this straight. Y’all negotiating with terrorists?” Howard asked. “I thought this was America. I thought we believed in Freedom.”
“Howard. God dammit. If you don’t walk over to that ship right now, you are going to forever turn the United States of America into the United States of America-Mexico. That’s on you.”
“Sorry, but a great leader once said that the United States does not negotiate with terrorists. If I have to personally stand by the border every day with my shotgun and stop those damn Mexicans, I’ll do that. But I ain’t negotiating with no terrorists—especially no damn floating Mexicans.”
The General took out his pistol and fired. Howard's limp body tumbled backwards as the sky lit up in a blinding flash of white.
____________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^others ^shorts/prompts ^at ^my ^Wordpress!](http://zacharydiamond.wordpress.com/) | Do you think you know the people around you? I mean, truly know them?
Do you look at them and think to yourself, with utter confidence, that they'll look out for you, no matter what? Of course you don't. You don't think that, do you?
You do know deep down that if it came down to it, they'd push you aside in a second? Well, I'll tell you, if there were to be a situation so dire that the benefit of keeping you around was outweighed by the benefit of abandoning you, you'd become disposable. It doesn't matter if you're a selfless aid to humanity, or a complete detriment to society. You'd be gone.
Now lucky for us all, such a circumstance is very hard to conceive as actually happening. We can live in the benefit of the assumption that *at no point* will we have to be cast away by the rest of our race.
Now, I say these words "us", and "we", and "our", but I suppose what I really should be using are the words "you" and "yours".
You see, I have become, in the last few days, that disposable one. Quite possibly *the most* necessarily disposable one in the rest of my race's eyes. Possibly even in our entire history.
Beings from space, from the infinite beyond, have found us here on this Earth. They found us, it turns out, only a few thousand years ago. In the time they've known about us so far, though, they decided not to alert us to their presence. They didn't think it would be safe for them. We weren't ready.
But now, it appears, they believe we are ready. For not 72 hours ago, they came but tearing out of the sky in a near biblical display, booming a message so horrifically loud that not a pelican over the Pacific could have rested its ears.
Their message? Quite simple, broadcast in 150 languages, over the course of a quarter of a day:
"Hello. You are now ready for the test. One of you has been selected at random. This person will be surrendered to us in 4 of your days. If you do not surrender this person, you will be deemed permanently unready, and will be eliminated. We have talked to your leaders, and they will reveal the person in question, and the procedure to be followed very shortly. Thank you."
Seeing your face on the news really isn't all it's cut out to be. You expect it to be a novelty, something you can record and put on the internet. Something you frantically text about to your friends and family, telling them to turn to channel what-have-you, laughing at your now broadcast face.
I don't have too much of a family anymore, and my friends don't seem to be very interested in me anymore, so it was very quiet in my world after hearing the news. I haven't left my home, or even unlocked the doors.
I know people. They'll come for me. There's less than 24 hours, so they'll do it soon. They spent a few days thinking about it, pretending that they were making a choice over whether or not I should be given up. But there was no choice, there never was.
If it's for the sake of 7 billion people, even I know that I have to go. But i'm biding my time, eating my food, and listening to my music. Soon, I'll be on a time unknown to man, eating their food if i'm lucky, hearing their speech. That is, if I'm not to be some lab rat, a subject to their tests.
Whatever my fate be, i'm sure that the humans and these creatures will have quite a time getting to know eachother. This is what we've been waiting for, no?
Rejoice! Prepare yourselves, the best is yet to come! We are not alone!
Or, should I say, *you* are not alone.
| 2014-01-31T07:10:06 | 2014-01-31T05:43:50 | 60 | 11 |
[WP] The dragon is terrorizing the kingdom again and like before you're summoned before the king. "I thought you said you slayed the dragon!" "Slayed? Oh boy, I think there is a bit of a misunderstanding your highness. I said I got the dragon laid, not slayed." | "Excuse me?" said the king, blushing. "Did you say. . ?"
It was a puritanical kingdom. Primal urges were repressed and rarely spoken about. They were certainly never spoken about in the court, before the king as he sat in his throne.
"Laid," I repeated.
The courtiers gasped and blushed. The women fanned themselves. One fainted. The king twiddled his thumbs and stared at his knees.
Human sexuality was taboo enough; but the ferocious, primordial sexuality of the enchanted reptiles known as dragons--that was too much to handle for the uptight citizens of this priggish realm.
"I got him some tail to quench the fire burning in his belly," I continued. "But it seems his dragon lover has flown the coop, and our boy has some pent up frustration about it."
"We were told you vanquished the terror," the king muttered, still staring at his knees.
"Call his urges 'terrors' if you want," I said, "but you know as well as I do they're natural impulses, and aren't something that can be vanquished in one fell swoop. Satisfy them today, they come back tomorrow. Like hunger. Like thirst."
The king looked up, beet-red, trembling, and roared, "I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE CREATURE'S. . .urges. . .We contracted you because of your renown for dealing with dragons. You came and, within days, the terrorizing ceased. We paid you and thanked you for your services. We sent you on your way. But we believed you killed the creature! We thought the dragon was dead!"
I shrugged. "You were mistaken. It's old fashioned to slay dragons. Only the backwards assholes still resort to the sword. The modern approach involves empathy, compassion. A deep understanding of dragon typologies and psychologies. And, occasionally, matchmaking."
"Dragon *typologies*?" repeated the king. *"Psychologies?"*
"Water dragons act up when their lakes and rivers are polluted," I explained. "Forest dragons get riled when the local lumberjacks get a little too giddy with the axe. Ice dragons rage when the season's too hot. And *Horned* dragons, which is the subspecies to which your resident fella belongs. . .Well. . .It's not just for the spikes on their bodes that we dragonologists call them *horned*."
I winked. The insinuation took a few moments to sink in with that gaggle of prudes.
"Pah!" said the king with visceral disgust.
"Ughh," groaned the courtiers, as if scenting something vile.
"Dragonologist?!" spat the king's advisor dismissively. He was a tall, gaunt scholar who always looked down his nose at the folks to whom he spoke. "You're nothing but a flesh-monger for monsters! A procurer! A pimp! Hoodwinking kingdoms for gold while you ply a low, disgusting, immoral trade!"
Outside the castle hapless villagers shrieked. I could hear the creature's powerful wings beating against the air. The king clutched the armrests of his throne with white knuckles as the dragon landed on the roof with a thunderous stomp.
All eyes turned up to watch dust fall from the ceiling. The ornate chandelier swayed.
"I don't much care what you call me," I said, grinning. "Or how you feel about me. Or any of that. Your gold sits just as heavy in my pocket as gold from more. . .liberal realms."
"Our *gold*?" the king repeated without taking his eyes from the roof, above which, the dragon was stomping around.
"My fee will be the same as before," I clarified.
The advisor was ghostly pale. Terrified. Still, he tried to stick to his principles. "P-p-preposterous," he stammered. "If you th-th-think we're going to hire you again f-f-for--"
The dragon loosed a loud and terrible roar; the room quaked. Courtiers scrambled about in a screaming panic. The advisor jabbered to himself as he pissed his pants. The king clambered under his throne to hide from falling chunks of debris.
"Slayed or laid!" the king shouted from under his chair. "Marry the thing yourself for all I care! We'll pay you double--triple what we paid you last time. Just stop that beast before my castle falls!"
<> | I might be imagining it but it suddenly seems dead quiet in the, I want to say, throne room.
‘Yeah’, I continue, just being polite, ‘yeah, he was pretty pent up. Me and the boys thought it made perfect sense so we took him out.
…
…oh sorry, yeah. We took him out, *Your Majesty*.’
It’s definitely gone quiet in here.
After about a billion years, the King goes ‘And where, pray tell, did you take him?’
He’s gritting his teeth I think. Either that or it’s an inbreeding thing. I don’t want to be rude so I don’t ask.
‘Oh where didn’t we go! We went The Elephant for starters which, by the way, TOTALLY misleading name. No elephants in the place. That has to be illegal, right? The dragon had never seen an elephant, I’ve never seen one. We were all looking forward to seeing the elephant but we get there and they don’t have one! What’s that about? We wanted to show the dragon a good time but he was clearly, really disappointed about that. We could all tell even if he wasn’t saying it. We didn’t want to address it and bring the mood down. But it was there, you know? It was like…what’s that saying…there was…-
‘Enough’
‘No, wait! I nearly had it.’
‘Enough!’
‘It’s like by *not* having an elephant at the Elephant, there was an elephant in the- oh wait I just got it! That’s smart!
‘SILENCE!’
I shut up. I can take a hint.
‘Tell me’, says his Royal Blood, ‘why the dragon persists with laying waste to this Kingdom?’
‘Oh yeah. Well we got him laid which did the trick for a while but we said to him, you know, ‘don’t stick around’.
‘And?’
‘And he caught feels. Kept talking about the REAL treasure being…oh what was her name. Ellen! No, Rachel. Dammit! What was she called? Also, what’s this room called because I’ve been calling it a Throne Room-
‘Get to the point!’
‘Sorry, your Grapes. Yeah, so don’t panic, we’ve lined up another whopper night out to get him to stop thinking about it’
‘About what?! Why is he so angry?!’
‘Angry? Nah, he’s just a little confused. That poor dragon is in love’. | 2022-01-12T14:46:37 | 2022-01-12T14:40:34 | 276 | 75 |
[WP] While doing your daily business, you're suddenly teleported to a new world to see someone in unusual attire crying, "I can't believe I got another common!" You look to the right to see twenty copies of yourself | "**Wait wait wait!**" I screamed desperately. I've played enough gacha games to know what happens to commons.
The horned demon looked at me, "Yes?"
"I'm not just *any* common, I'm a *SUPER* common."
"Your friend over there already tried that." He pointed at a copy of me wearing a beige shirt and khakis.
He waved sheepishly. I had to hand it to him, if any one of us was a super common, it'd be him.
"If you're done now, step off the platform so I can continue summoning."
I ripped off my shirt, "I'm the ultra deluxe common, SHIRTLESS version!"
The demon sighed and just pointed to another copy, shirtless. Wait, why was he so buff? I thought we were all supposed to be the same person. That doesn't seem fair.
I got off the platform, dejected.
"It's okay friend, you tried."
"Thanks, me."
"Your welcome, me."
I put my shirt back on and looked over at the others. Most of them were standing about on their phones nonchalantly. Some wore polos, some flannels. All of them had the same dopey face.
"We're going to die aren't we?" I asked the nearest one. He was wearing a blazer and glasses.
He shrugged. "Probably. Buff man over there's already been leveled, so we'll probably be fed as mats to him. Or just burned."
"Hasn't anyone tried to escape?"
"Oh yeah, for sure." He pointed to a charred wreck by the door. "I rather liked him. He was brave."
I leaned against the wall and watched as the demon continued to curse. More copies of myself continued to pop into existence, in varying states of confusion of bewilderment. Something gnawed at me.
"Why is it only us? Don't summoning campaigns typically have more than one character?"
He shrugged again. Damn this blazer version of me was cool. "Probably a special banner."
Suddenly a brilliant light flooded the room. A kaleidoscope of colors erupted from the platform. Holy shit.
A man in a tuxedo stepped out of the brightness. A katana was at his waist, a jetpack on his back.
"I am Jack, who hasth summoned my humble form?"
The horned demon was a figure of pure elation, "0.8% AHAHAHA ZERO POINT EIGHT PERCENT!!!!"
I pointed at the man on the platform, "That one of us too?"
"Looks like it, he has the same stupid face."
"Why does he talk like that?"
"I'd talk like that too if I had a jetpack and katana."
"Fair enough."
This futuristic secret agent samurai version of me walked over to greet us, "Salutations, comrades. How fares the winds of fate?"
I turned to cool blazer me, "Did you catch that?"
"He's saying hello and asking how we're doing."
"Oh." I turned to super agent me, "Uh, the winds are good, but the plains are barren." He looked shocked.
I frowned at cool blazer, "Did I do that right?"
"You just insulted our mother."
"What?! Sorry, I meant to say most of us are fine at the moment, but the common rarities, myself included, will probably die when he's done summoning. Why is he still summoning by the way?"
"He bares his fangs against the tumble of disaster in hopes of extraordinary reinforcement. He is a divine whale."
I gestured wordlessly at my translator.
"The demon wants to get extra copies of our legendary friend here so he can upgrade his special finishing move."
"You have a special finishing move?! Damn, what the hell."
Super agent smiled and pulled out a notebook from his inner coat pocket. "Behold, mine prompt journal of predestination!"
"It's his... uh scheduling planner?" Cool blazer was a bit lost with this one.
I gave super agent an eyebrow, "Wait what was your job? I was just a janitor."
"Adjudicator of spacetime rendezvous."
"You're a secretary? Why do you need a jetpack and sword?"
"Our plane is plagued with the stench of baneful columbidae."
Cool blazer just sighed. "Looks like our little demon is running out of crystals. Get ready."
"For what?"
"Apparently most of us aren't rated on the tier list yet, so he's dumping us into a monster pit to see if we have any useful skills."
"Fuck." I reached into the cuff of my slacks and pulled out my custom automatic pistol. I adjusted my watch and slid a thin knife out.
Cool blazer and super agent gave me an odd look.
"What?"
"I thought you said you were a janitor."
"I am. I take out the trash."
&nbsp;
___
A/N SS-tier common lets go.
Anyway, I write stuff sometimes, read more at /r/Unexpected_Works | It was a long day, and I spend my last hours awake mindlessly browsing videos on Youtube. Seeing how late it's gotten, I turn off the computer and go to bed.
I don't usually dream. As a matter of fact, the amount of dreams I ended up remembering in the morning in the last six months can probably be counted on just one hand. Now appears to be one of those times.
As I slip into my bed, close my eyes, and then open them again, I don't find myself in my bed, a morning light greeting me through my bedroom window. Instead, I find myself in a large chamber, with lit torches covering the dark walls and unindentifiable symbols covering the floor.
"What... where am I?" I wonder, this space not being anything I recognize.
"...Goddess damn it," a voice comes from my left. "Another common."
I turn to it, and see a short woman holding a book in one hand while apparently lowering the other, presumably after holding it in the air. The sight behind her shocks me. To my dismay, I see a dozen people standing in the back part of the chamber, all of them looking exactly like me.
"What's happening here?" I almost yell in shock.
"Just... just go there," the woman replies while waving her free hand, a clear irritation in her voice. "They'll tell you."
As I make a few uncertain steps, I am approached by one of my clones.
"Hello, hi," the clone says mechanically, as if this is something he has already done too many times before. "You have questions, like everyone else, and I- *we* think we have answers."
"Of course I do!"
"I was the first one to come here. Based on what the woman told me and what I managed to figure out with others who came after me," the clone explains while pointing to other clones with his head, "it appears 'we' have become characters in a gacha universe."
"And it appears we are a common hero too," another clone interjects. "Kinda fitting for an unimportant office clerk, huh?"
"Wait," I say, trying to process what I just heard. "I'm in a gacha game? Have I been summoned into an isek-"
"An isekai world?" the first clone completes my thought. "I guess that's a word we could use, yes."
"Let's just hope we don't get falsely accused of rape or anything," a third clone adds sarcastically. "Now *that* would just suck."
"Huh. I didn't hear *that* line yet," the first clone adds.
I hear steps behind me. As I turn, I see the woman approaching the group. "Alright, seeing as I expended all of my energy for today, I might as well show you to the barracks where you'll be staying. Make yourself comfortable, as I'll be showing you the Ascension Chamber tommorrow. If I'm stuck with you guys, I might as well turn you into something good anyway." | 2022-07-28T03:45:39 | 2022-07-28T03:27:14 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | "So does this feel cold mostly?", he asked.
"At first, yes. But you'll soon be unconscious, and those five hundred years will seem instantaneous", the researcher responded in a soft, comforting tone.
"Great, I'm absolutely excited!", he proclaimed.
"Ok. Once I start this experiment, there is no going back, alright? Are you absolutely sure you'd like to go through with this? This is your last chance to opt out."
"No, I've waited what seems like forever to be part of an absurd science experiment, let's do this!"
"Alright, please enter the chamber. Once we start the experiment, please blink periodically so we know whether or not you're conscious. After we no longer detect any movement or brain activity from this experiment, we will know for sure that you're no longer conscious and preserve you in the cryogenic fridge for the next five hundred years."
"I understand. Am I allowed to speak during the process?"
"Yes, of course. However, at a certain point, you'll realize that you can no longer speak, and at that point, I suggest you relax and allow the process to take full effect."
"Alright! Let me just hop on in then."
The researcher, after a brief moment, began the process which would take approximately one hour, according to prior data. The subject, knowing full well that an hour must pass before becoming unconscious, began talking to pass the time.
"So, how do you figure the next few hundred years'll go by?"
"Well, I suppose I wouldn't know. But hopefully we'd have a cure for cancer and HIV. And fixing global warming would pretty nice."
"I hope to god they do. Otherwise, I'd be waking up to a world with a lot of unsolved problems! I reckon that'd be a pretty uncomfortable world to live in."
"I suppose so."
As the cryogenic process continued, the man started to realize the gravity and magnitude of his position, and not being able to move for the next few hundred years began to make him anxious.
"Hey, um, ya'll are you sure that this stuff works right?"
"Of course, Mr. XXX. We wouldn't subject a human being to this kind of experiment if we weren't absolutely sure."
"Good, because it'd suck a real lot if I ended up dying here, especially with no one to mourn my death or anyone to hold or talk to."
"You mustn't worry, Mr. XXX. You are in safe hands."
With this the man's anxiety gradually subsided. A few minutes passed with conversation, and the researcher began to look at her notes to pass the time. The man opened his mouth to speak a couple times, but realized he had nothing to say, and closed his mouth again. And then, it began.
Slowly, but surely, he felt a little tingle in his index finger. At first, it was just the one finger, and the feeling was so sporadic that he could hardly notice it.
*This must be what phantom pain must feel like, like those people who lost their arms or legs or something,* he thought.
But then, it came again. Slowly, with higher frequencies, the tingle evolved to the first distinguishable states of pain. Suddenly, the process seemed all the more intimidating, and a billion thoughts rushed to his head.
*What if I feel this pain for the next 500 years? What if this experiment doesn't even work and they've never tried it on any animal, much less another human being?* he thought.
"*Hey*", he said, in a weak, measly voice, to try to get the researcher's attention.
The researcher did not respond, and was instead still focused on her chart.
"HEY!" he shouted, but with the extent that the cryogenic process had progressed, all he could make out was a faint cry for help.
The researcher, having heard his voice, stated in monotone, "Mr. XXX., please refrain from speaking now as it would most likely disrupt the process." The researcher hardly even looked up from her chart and instead, seemed distracted from her patient.
*The nerve of this woman!* he thought. *How could she not pay attention to me at this critical stage? What if the cryogenic process was not going as it as it was meant to be? What could possibly be so interesting on that chart so that she wouldn't even pay attention to my well being?* And then, he noticed something about the researcher that he hardly realized before. Her lips were slightly crooked to the corner of the face, which would normally be interpreted as a near-blank expression. However, in his distress, the man began to interpret her expression as a kind of smirk. *Why is she smirking at me? Oh my god, what if this entire process doesn't actually work and this is some extreme torture device? Come to think of it, the ad for this experiment was extremely shady, I didn't even read up on cryogenics!*
The man began to move his body as if to try and escape, but the cryogenic freezing had already taken place for most of his body. The most he could muster up was moving a few fingers, all the while, the pain spreading to most of his body. Neither the researcher's expression nor her attention to her chart seemed to have changed.
*Fuck! This shit really hurts. I swear to god if I get out of here I'm going to fucking sue the shit out of this company. Jesus christ, what the fuck did I get myself into?*
And then, the researcher began to laugh. It started off with a soft chuckle, into a gradually louder, audible guffaw. The man could hardly believe his hearing, which, for the most part, was also muddle due to the cryogenic process taking place.
"Just 15 minutes left, Mr. XXX." the researcher stated, with an obvious, menacing tone in her voice. Her reassuring voice seemed to have gone missing along with her gentle facial expressions.
*Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!* he thought. *What should I do? I can't even move because of this god damn cryogenic thing! Hopefully this pain will go away or I'll be knocked unconcious and I won't be able to feel a thing!*
After 15 more minutes of agony and anxiety, the researcher proclaimed, "Mr. XXX. It seems as though the cryogenic process is a success. However, I must inform you of the part that which we omitted; we don't actually knock you unconscious. That's just something that everyone assumes-- but if you read the fine print of the waiver you signed, it clearly states that you'll spend the next five hundred years, ENTIRELY AWAKE." She produced his waiver, and pointed out the sentence that claimed what he had said.
"If you had carefully read this form, you wouldn't have to suffer the next five hundred years in physical pain or be trapped with nothing else to do but over analyze every single little thing you did or didn't do. Who knows? Maybe you'll make little figments of imagination to pass the time. And for why we decided to keep you conscious, we would like to monitor your brain activity for the next five hundred years, to recreate whether a human being can withstand not being able to do anything for an extended period of time while experiencing pain. But don't be mistaken, Mr. XXX. Your contract does state that you will be released in 500 years time, and when that time does come, we will return you back to your original form. Or anything that's left actually."
The man, unable to respond, could only think to himself, *oh why, why didn't I read the fine print closer?*. But even that faded to nothingness as the pain began to set in, forcing its way into his thoughts and sanity.
And that is why you read the fine print kids. | Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T03:58:19 | 2017-12-17T02:36:12 | 44 | 11 |
[WP] You're death. You stop time to bring each individual soul to the afterlife, because no one dies at exactly the same time. You meet with the next soul, only to find two standing there. And now, you're terrified. | "Your coin," Charon said expectantly, holding out her hand in the customary way.
"I have two," The human in front of her demurred. "I was asked to go ahead. My, uh, friend'll be here shortly."
"Very well," Charon replied.
The human man dropped two coins into Charon's hand. The second the coins made contact, time stopped all around her; the trees and the wind ceased moving; only the gentle rush of the river continued.
"This way, please," Charon said, gesturing towards the small rowboat on the riverbank.
"What about my, um, friend?" The man asked.
"Their payment is received. I will know who they are when they arrive. But only one may cross the river at a time."
Suddenly, there was movement amidst the trees, and a young human woman emerged. Charon froze.
"Um, hello? Ferrywoman?" The woman asked. "Sorry about that. I got lost." She waved at the man then continued, "Thanks for waiting!"
"I…" Charon began, her sentence tailing off onto nothing. For the first time in millenia, she was speechless.
"Um," The man asked, "Is everything alright?"
Charon blinked several times before replying, "I am perturbed. Only one soul can accompany me at a time. It is… not possible… for more than one soul to be present here."
"Oh," the woman said. "I don't know what to say. We both died at the same time."
"The exact same time?" Charon asked. "Down to the smallest unit of time possible in this universe? No, no, that is impossible. No human could do this."
To this, the woman burst into peals of laughter. Charon eyed her warily.
"I'm not human!" She replied.
"She's not," the man added. He walked up to the human-appearing woman and took her hand with a smile. "She's an AI. I was dying. Cancer. Terrible disease. And she didn't want to stay on Earth without me."
The woman nodded. "I know every human legend ever told. All I did for months was research them. And I concluded that you were real, Ferrywoman."
Charon said nothing; her mind worked overtime to process what she was hearing.
The woman looked up at the man and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I realised that only one soul can cross the river at a time. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to find him again after he died. So I calculated the moment he would die - down to the smallest possible unit of time - and then I self-destructed. And it worked! It worked! I got here at the same time he did!" She bounced up and down on her feet with glee.
"Ferrywoman," the man added, "I know this is strange. I don't think you've ever seen this before."
Charon nodded slowly. "I have not," she replied. "I am unsure as to how to proceed."
"We don't either," the woman said. "But we paid the toll. We've every right to be here." She looked nervous as she asked, "What's beyond the river Styx, Ferrywoman?"
"I do not know," Charon replied. "I am the Ferrywoman and the Ferrywoman alone. I do not see what lies beyond. I do not visit. It is not for me to know."
"Then," the woman asked, "Do you know if our souls will stay together once we cross?"
"I do not know." Charon was impassive as she said this. *What lies beyond the Styx?* she thought.
The woman nodded as if she'd confirmed a theory she had been working on "I ask but one thing of you, Ferrywoman," the woman continued. "Please let us cross together. It might be the last time we ever see each other." Tears sprung into her eyes.
"I know it's not allowed," the man added, "But we had so little time on Earth. Please… please let us have that little bit more."
Charon considered the pleas of the human and the AI. She turned to the river Styx, whose night-coloured water flowed as it had done for millenia.
*Perhaps*, Charon thought, *this river requires change. It has been too long*. She turned to the couple and intoned, "Very well."
"Thank you!" the human and the AI cried. "Thank you thank you thank you!" They, still holding hands, scrambled onto the small boat. Charon took up position at the rear of the boat and began to guide it down the river.
*I do not know what lies beyond the Styx*, Charon thought, *but perhaps those who rule those places - like I do here - should pay heed. Change is afoot, and these two shall not be the last who do such things*. She spared a glance at the couple, who were gazing down the river, awed by their surroundings.
*This will not be your last journey together*, Charon thought. The couple on her ancient rowboat had awakened something new and strange within her.
*I will make sure of this*, she thought, *because I will accompany you both beyond the Styx*.
~
(I write many things. Check out my userpage: /u/NarodnayaToast) |
“Name.”
The duo look at each other, unsure of the question they’re being asked.
“Umm… pardon me?” The man dressed in full medieval armor says, voice echoing in his helmet while he stares at the deep purple robed figure in front of him.
“I said I need your name.” The robed figure doesn’t even glance up at the men as he continues tapping his bony fingers on a piece of burning rock, constantly shifting and changing shape in his hands. “You know, I’m a busy force of nature, I can’t be expected-” The robe finally looks up, revealing a formless set of eyes staring out of a black void, glowing yellow eyes widening in shock.
“Which one of us are you addressing?” The man dressed in a green tunic and soft brown leather pants addresses the robe, who just glances between the two men in front of him, eyes still wide with shock.
“Dammit… I was not trained for this…” The figure taps the rock in front of him, shifting it into a small cellular device. “Hello? Godfrey? Yeah. It’s me. James. I have a case…” the robe summons a thin pocketbook from nowhere, and flicks through it, until he finds the right page. “Yes. I have a case ‘Red Two Headed Antelope’. Yes, I’m in the medieval era. What do you think the antelope’s for?”
“You know, I was just about to kill you!” The fully armoured knight turns to the man in the green and brown outfit. “One sword stab, and BOOM! Ye head would’ve been lopped off!”
“Nay! I would’ve put an arrow straight through your neck, fine sir!” The tunicked archer replies, and the two start arguing, beginning to trade punches.
“Please Godfrey, I need her. I know she’s on break, but they’re attacking each other. Okay, thank you!” The robed figure hangs up, putting the book away and turning the phone into a menacing scythe. “HEAR YE, MORTALS!” He yells, causing the two to cease their argument, and sending them into a sheer panic. “I AM DEATH, DESTROYER OF SOULS!”
“O PURE DEATH!” The knight yells in fear.
“PLEASE DEATH, HAVE MERCY ON ME!” The archer weeps, dropping to his knees.
“PLEASE SWEET DEATH! DO NOT-” The knights’ words are cut short as another robed figure, this time with a light blue colour scheme, steps through a swirling orange portal and knocks out both the figures in one swift blow from a giant club.
“I’m sorry Lucinda. I know you were taking a break, but it was a ‘Red Two Headed Anteater’!”
“I know James. Is this your first time covering the medieval era?” The light blue robe shakes her head as the deep purple one nods in response. “Gotta be careful here. If your timing isn’t perfect, you could get more than just a Two Headed.”
“Jeez. I didn’t even know there was more.” The deep purple robe just shakes his head before turning his scythe back into a piece of flaming rock, and tapping the rock a few times, surrounding the two dead people in a burning aura of fire. “Well, I’ll register these two into the front desk. Thank Godfrey for me, would you?”
“Already did.”
“Thanks Lucinda. You’re really a lifesaver.” | 2022-05-21T03:29:33 | 2022-05-20T21:08:47 | 59 | 36 |
[WP] You are a test subject for a time machine, and are sent 12 hours into the future. When the door opens, you find yourself in the testing room, where you see in horror the bodies of the technicians on the floor, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in large letters on the wall. | "What the FUCK!" the scream of horror that broke from my lips echoed from the walls of the lab. The bodies of six attendants lay scattered in pieces about the room, blood pouring from haphazard wounds. As my brain struggled to accept what I was seeing, I took a shaky breath and leaned out of the machine. Raising my eyes from the bloody scene I spotted the message on the wall, scrawled in blood.
>"SORRY"
"Oh fuck, what the fuck," I whispered to myself as terror clawed through my body. "Ok, what do I do?"
I couldn't just sit in the machine and wait for help to come. Whatever had torn the lab attendants apart might still be nearby working its way through the laboratory and leaving a path of destruction in its wake. I had to get out, and I had to get help.
I took a deep breath to steady myself, and I ran.
I slowed my pace through the corridor as the soft sound of crying reached my ears. It seemed to be coming from a room ahead of me on the left side. The crying was quiet and low, more mournful than fearful, and I wondered if the person crying knew about the lab technicians. As I reached the door, I pushed it open slightly and peered inside.
A young woman, dressed in a technician's coat, sat on the floor with her back resting against a row of cabinets. Her eyes closed, she breathed slowly - in and out, in and out. She pressed her hand to her side, and even through the crack in the door I could see the blood sliding over it. She was wounded.
Without thinking, I pushed open the door and moved towards her to offer help. It was only when I crouched down next to her that I realized she wasn't the one crying. As the woman looked up at me and opened her mouth to speak, I heard a soft sniffling from across the room. "I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry..."
The creature was, in a word, otherworldly. It didn't seem to have a physical form. As my eyes tried to capture it, its shape shifted and twisted, a myriad of color and shapes, everything and nothing all at once. Initially it was small, no larger than a golden retriever, but as I stared I could have sworn that it swelled to fill half of the room, all the while maintaining its current size.
"What is that?" I whispered to the woman on the floor.
"I think it's you," she wheezed, "or a version of you."
"...What do you mean?" I asked, my eyes never leaving the shapeshifter.
"We sent you through the door. Within seconds, that came out. We were fascinated; it was disoriented. We tried to communicate with it but it was panicking, screaming, crying, saying your name over and over again. 'It's me, it's August!' And worst of all, if someone got near it... oh god. They're all dead." She gasped, in pain or in horror, and a tear slid down her cheek. "I don't think it meant to. But if someone came into contact with any of the... you see it, right? The appendages, the translucent stuff. After a millisecond it would become solid... everyone was in a panic. We thought we had killed you or somehow mutated you. I was manning the video camera, so I stayed back. After... everyone was dead, it started to cry. I think. That sound its making. It was so human. It wept and screamed, and as I watched it wrote that message on the wall. Did you see it? 'SORRY.' It didn't notice me until after it had written it... I tried to run, but it followed, apologizing, asking me questions. It accidentally cut me trying to get past me. To block my path, I think."
"It was an accident, I don't know how to stop, I don't know. Please help me. Please, it's August," the shapeshifter pleaded.
"August, what are we going to do?" the technician asked through gritted teeth.
I paused, and looked back down to her. "My name isn't August."
She stared up at me, confusion overtaking her face. "What do you mean, 'your name isn't August?'"
I shook my head. "My name isn't August. I don't know who you are. And..." I looked down at my hands. "This isn't my body." | The vibrations inside the box slowly subsided as the chronoton field collapsed. I had been staring at the unpainted plywood door of the capsule for exactly nineteen seconds in my time, feeling nothing more intense than that of holding an electric toothbrush. I unstrapped the entirely unnecessary harness holding me firmly inside the framework of aluminum struts and plywood, and reached for the handle of the door. As I opened it, light from the garage halogen bulbs flooded the capsule and I squinted for a second.
The garage was the still the jumble of workbenches and tool stations I had seen twenty five seconds ago, but everything was displaced. A bench had been overturned, spilling the neatly sorted boxes of screws over the polished concrete floor. A leg poked out from behind it, unmoving. There was a smear of red on the table saw, and a crumpled form beneath it. The whiteboard we had used to scrawl ideas and designs on was wiped clean, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in shaky looking letters across it. One of the laptops was playing a loop of audio at maximum volume, a flat synthetic voice saying "Run Chrissy. Get away. It is coming for you." over and over as I took in the scene.
I was frozen, picking out irrelevant things as adrenaline lit up my mind and made my muscles quiver with a desire to act. The "SORRY" had been written in orange sharpie, I thought to myself that Jamie would be annoyed about that. But that was him, covered in blood and unmoving by the table saw. The shop air compressor was on, and I could pick up the ticking noise I had tried to get rid of last week was back. I stood frozen for around ten seconds, but it felt like I was experiencing every moment of the twelve hours I must have skipped, paralysed and with crashing waves of panic drowning me.
I stepped fully out of the pod, grabbed at the nearest weapon-like item on the surface nearest to me. A chisel wouldn't be much use against the horrifying time demons I was imagining had descended on us, but my body rewarded me for finally moving with a sense of relief. The next step had me bolting for the door leading to James's house, and I shrieked like nothing human as I heard a choking, gurgling, cracking noise coming from behind the overturned table and the body of Yara I knew lay behind it.
It was laughter.
"Oh, FUCK you guys."
"Time prank!" | 2018-08-01T07:13:02 | 2018-08-01T06:00:53 | 1,585 | 53 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | You want an interview ? Fine, but you're buying the coffee. I'm getting kind of sick of this god-damned urban legend. I DON'T have superpowers, no-one has superpowers. There are just a bunch of crazy people who think they have powers, who for some reason have decided that I'm some fucked up version of their messiah.
**You don't believe super-powered people exist ?**
No. I've never seen one. I've seen the doctored footage from the media. I've seen a lot of crazy people who thought they had powers. I don't know why they gravitate to me of all people. I'm just a regular guy. I put in my hours in the office, then at the gym.
**So you haven't heard about the ranking system ?**
Oh, I've heard of their ranking system all right. That's all I ever hear. What baffles me is why they chose me to be their number one, their highest rank. That the only way for people to rise in rank and become more powerful is to kill them. Does that sound sane to you ?
Then one day, some poor bastard commits suicide near me, and suddenly, they decide that I'm the number one on their hitlist.
**You are referring to the death of the Human Jet as suicide?**
Man faceplants on the ground from a hundred feet, that's suicide. It doesn't matter that he said "Up Up and Away" before he jumped off that building. That was suicide.
**The Human Jet was one of our greatest heroes, with documented evidence of his powers..**
Blah Blah Blah. I've heard that all before. I was there, I saw him hit the ground. Where the hell do you people in the media get off encouraging these people. They are a danger to themselves. Surely you must have learned your lesson after Inferno Man.
**Inferno Man was a criminal, whose control over fire rendered him a threat to the world...**
Bullshit. Let me tell you what happened when I met this so called inferno man. I was just hanging out in a cafe not far from here, when this asshole shows up in a stupid costume. He bursts in, and gives this long speech about how he's going to kill me and burn everything down.
Then nothing happened. He stood there for like five minutes, straining, and glaring at me. I don't know what I did, I just wanted my cup 'o' joe. Then he leaves, and I thought "That was weird, I'm glad it's over".
Then he comes back, with a barrel of gasoline. Who the fuck would sell him gasoline. that's beside the point. The point is that the fucker doused himself in the stuff, and then pulled out a lighter and set himself on fire. Right in front of me. Hearing him scream almost put me off my coffee.
**Yes, quite a lot of superpowered villains have died under similar mysterious circumstances in your presence**
If by superpowered people, you mean insane people, then yes. The numbers of clowns in capes who drop out of the sky near me is so bloody annoying. Not to mention the scrawny fucks who just straight up try to pick fights with me.
Oh god, there was one which was genuinely funny.
This guy came up to me with this long speech about how he is one with nature, and that he will use all of his power to destroy me. I don't know why these guys always gotta speech at me. When I punch someone, I punch'em, I don't tell 'em my life story.
He had this tiger with him. Big fucking cat. He told the tiger to get me. Moment the muzzle was off, it savaged him. I fucking split my sides.
**So you don't think you have any superpowers at all ?**
Course not. Like I said *nobody* has superpowers. At least not that I've seen, not when they're around me. | It is nice to be king. Maybe it would be better if everyone wasn't trying to kill me, but things could be much worse. I have a nice apartment, a beautiful girlfriend, some good money, and really what more does a man need to be happy? I suppose love, but we are in love, and honestly, no one else thinks she is beautiful, so I think we were made for each other.
Now, how did I reach this pinnacle you ask. Well, the answer is quite simple, my power is not all that impressive, actually it is rather bad. Same with hers, but together, it works out quite well. You see, you have to declare when you are going to kill someone of a higher rank, that way we know who killed them, and they know that they are being hunted. So when someone say that they are going to come gunning for me, I open up a video call with them.
A simple video call. Nothing more nothing less, but what I do on that call shows my power. No one knows what it is of course, I make sure of that by keeping the calls private. When I get them online I talk to them, and eventually I suggest we flip a coin. This is my power. I flip a coin with another person, heads, he dies, tails, I die, and no, double-headed coins don't count. Why would I use something so risky, you may wonder. Simple really, my girlfriends power is over luck. Playing poker and she says cards, that will be her hand. Call a coin flip, that is the way it will land.
Together we rose up here. It is really surprising that no one else ever thought to work together, but I suppose they really are just to power hungry to share anything. It is quite a shame. I am sure that there are better combos than this. Now I really must be going, and so must you I'm afraid, after all you know my secret now. "Sweetheart, you think it is going land on heads again?" | 2014-12-18T13:36:09 | 2014-12-18T13:27:32 | 996 | 19 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | You'd think this would throw me off. You'd think I'd be disoriented. But I've always been a fast learner and I've played *a lot* of D&D. Like *weeks*. I channeled my annoyance at being interrupted into the first thing that popped into my head.
"WHO SUMMONS THE ALL-PURPOSE NERD?" I boomed. I stand straight and tall and flex a little. Yeah.
"Oh great foul being of America, I implore your assistance!" Little bald dude with fancy purple robes and a black fu manchu 'stache. Is he a gnome? I can't place his accent at all, but it's clear English is not his first language.
"My patience is finite, sorcerer." I'm getting a better look at my surroundings, and it looks like my summoner reads Better Caves and Dungeons. It's like someone set up a Victorian-era office in a red-tinted Elizabethan castle. Books, papers, ink, quills, no messier than my room. Actually, probably less messy than my room, to be honest.
He starts into his spiel about a rival mage, something about intellectual dishonesty and birthright. His accent borders on indecipherable when he gets upset. The whole thing smacks of feuding academics. Basically, 'he stole my thesis, go beat him up.'
I stand with crossed arms trying to look badass and pensive. I wonder, if I'm killed here, do I just go back, or am I legit dead? Every feels pretty 'world of cardboard' here and I'm *pretty sure* the gravity is lighter.
This could be fun as Hell.
"Hmm. Very well. Bring me wine and a sword."
He hesitates. "Uh... Yes. At once!" And he rushes off. He leaves me alone long enough to start going through his books and stuff. Most of it's in... idunno, *gnomish* or whatever, big surprise. Indecipherable except for the diagrams (which look like the quantum mechanical equivalent of alchemy). But I do find a softcover 1988 Almanac, just like the ones Grandma used to throw at us.
He eventually returns with what looks like a hunting knife and a roughly eight-ounce bottle, only a little bigger than what you get on airplanes.
"...really?"
"My Lord, this is the best I have."
I snatch the bottle out of his hand and drain it. It's not the worst red wine I've ever had. Also, I don't really like red wine, like *at all*, but I figured "a can of strawberry seltzer, a can of Diet Coke, and a shot of Everclear" would be three or four alien concepts to this guy. I don't like asking people for stuff they can't deliver.
I examine his "sword." It's a *big knife,* but it's still just a knife to me. Like a cross between a bowie knife and a wakizashi. The handle's a little skinny, but I figure this dude's got small hands. It's actually pretty cool. I find the darkened blade to be weirdly flexible. "Is this *bronze*?"
"Yes, my Lord." His accent's thickening again. He must be afraid of me. That's awesome.
I tuck the bottle in my back pocket and check my phone. It claim's it's 5:23, but I unsurprisingly have no service. "Alright, let's go shed some blood." | "Where am I?"
This was Emmett's first thought upon appearing in a room only lit by candlelight. He had previously been mowing his back yard, and his eyes had not adjusted to the dimness. His second thought quickly followed his first.
"I've got to puke." He vomited, extinguishing two of the five candles surrounding him. He heard an exclamation, not of anger but possibly surprise come from behind him. Wiping his mouth on his arm he turned around.
"Hail, uh demon. I have summoned you here to exact revenge on my enemies." The man was wrapped in beige cloth, he held a knarled stick in one hand, a halved onion in the other.
Emmett threw up again. He hated onions, but really his stomach was reeling from whatever summoning he had just gone through.
"Demon?" Emmett said, hands on his knees. "Do I look like a demon to you?"
The onion halver looked puzzled. He looked down at his onion, then back at Emmett.
"My incantations were made to call forth a fiery demon, one who cuts down uncountable lives and wields a poisonous burn!"
Emmett sighed. He ran his fingers through his red hair.
"Look dude, I was trying to mow my lawn and spray a little weed killer. I'm not a demon that can 'destroy your enemies'."
"But what of your red skin?"
"Oh shit, I forgot sunscreen." | 2017-05-12T09:26:05 | 2017-05-12T08:05:29 | 68 | 21 |
[WP] They say Terran time is the hardest prison time you can do. You’ve done time all over the galaxy and never really believed it - until today, when you were caught robbing a liquor store in a human territory called Mississippi. | I'm a hard braxl—my species' genders don't really have a good translation in most galactic languages—and I consider this more or less a lifestyle. And so long as you avoid the handful of system confederations that impose the death penalty, you can keep it that way. It's exciting, and that's important to me. Anarchic. Sure, you lose some of your freedom until you can escape, but you're in there with a lot of other hard types, anything could happen at any moment. It's exhilarating.
This isn't.
I didn't really understand humans. I knew they were newcomers, and that their homeworld Earth was considered kind of a backwater compared to some of the shinier colony worlds, but I thought hey, get some rustic sightseeing in, mess with some upstarts, kind of like hassling the younger classes at school, right? Maybe not harmless fun, but definitely fun, and that's what matters. I live my life for the thrills, anyone who has a problem with that can go self-fertilize.
I figured Mississippi would be a happening place, and I wasn't wrong. Apparently it used to be the butt of a lot of jokes, back in the Terran Pre-Colonial Era, but now it's got some happening arcologies and interesting coastal resorts. Rural areas still have some of that young-species primitive charm, though, so I went Hell-raising round the countryside for a while, and that's when I got caught in the liquor store. I was kind of excited, to be honest. Yeah, I knew the reputation of the prisons here, that was part of what made it an adventure.
My sweet Triple-Tiered God, I don't think I've ever been so wrong.
See, most species do their best to make sure that no one goes to prison. Make sure everyone gets, if not a fair shot, at least a decent one. Lots of mental health supports, mandated therapies, carefully monitored second chances, you know how it is. Humans have...still not figured all that out yet. Which could make it even better, right? All kinds of crazy in their prisons?
Nope. At some point before they really got to spacefarin', the humans instituted major prison reform. They recognized that a lot of the people getting locked up were there for complex reasons that often stemmed from societal problems the human's hadn't gotten that far in solving. So...human prisons are boring. Comfortable.
*Nice.*
Other places, other cultures, they know their prisons are full of don't-give-a-shit outlaws like me, so they don't really care what it's like in there. Let them prey on each other so they're not messing with the rest of us, that's the attitude. Works pretty well. Hard cases like me get to have our fun, they don't have to spend too much time getting snooty at us, it's an alright arrangement in my opinion.
But here? I look around, I see my bunk, my terminal, my waste receptacle. I got privacy when I want it. I got an exercise yard. I'm in the Max Security Wing, because I've tried a lot of ways of making my own fun, so I no longer see other prisoners. And there are basically no human prison guards, apparently they replaced them with robots a long time ago because they were "prone to abuse of authority." More of the thrice-damned recognition of their own shortcomings that made these Terran institutions such a nightmare in the first place.
Now, I make a fuss, I break something? A robot comes in and fixes it. They send a bill to my embassy. It's always pretty damn cheap, so my embassy pays, probably they'll charge me for it when I get out. That doesn't matter, I got a lot of scratch stowed away in shady banks all over the galaxy's more entertaining border systems. It's just...there's no punishment. No fuss. They got me neural-restrained when the repair bots come in, so I can't attack them. So I sit on my bunk, or I watch bad Terran entertainment on the terminal, or I walk around the yard. Nothing happens. The bots are all perfectly civil.
I got twelve more years in this place. I was armed during the robbery, that adds extra time.
Twelve years.
Tonight I'm going to try to blow up the waste receptacle the humans call a toilet. My species' waste products can be explosive if they're combined in just the right way with water.
Maybe I'll get lucky and it will kill me.
&#x200B;
r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. | It's the smell. To be honest, humans just smell bad. And then combine that with large numbers in a confined area for 23 standard hours of a Terran day, it just gets worse. The stories are true. I have been locked up or confined at least a hundred times. And hear I am, in the toughest prison system in the galaxy! No way anybody back home will believe this, assuming the smell doesn't kill me...
You see, the hardest part of this is not letting the humans know, that you are not in fact, human. This tribe called Mississippi seems to have a slight case of xenophobia, plus the barbaric practice of execution! Yeah, my parents would be quite beside themselves if they actually knew that I was here. The thrill of being locked up can be exciting for sure, but to go through this for the souvenir clothing is challenging.
The primitive communication systems that we are allowed to use, telephones I think they are called, are limited in ability, never mind range. And that is a problem. How am I to get out of here without getting myself killed?
The day starts with a head count, then we get fed. The feeding pens are little more than a gladiatorial combat arena waiting to happen. Then we are herded outside, for yard call. Humans seem to need to exercise at all times.
I try to find a spot where I can be as far from them as possible, because, as I may have mentioned before, the smell. What you may not know of my species is that smell is a trigger for us. And humans tend to bring out the worst is us. But Terra has the best booze, exotic, so here we are.
This little act has drawn the attention of a few of the bolder ones, who have begun to wander my direction. Holding this current form is taxing, and I don’t feel like being executed. The weapons the towers guards have are quite efficient, so I have been told. Not wanting to be a bother, nor draw any attention, I try to appear as if I am not paying attention. I can smell the imminent violence on the wind, these humans have a bad intent
.
I can feel myself wanting to revert to my true form. I fight the urge, because all the travel warnings were clear. No alien visitor leaves Terra. They have me cornered, fear and anticipation course through me. That smell, so powerful. Violent images start to flash through my mind.
I lost control, 5 humans terminated, and I am locked in clear cage deep underground for observation they say. The smell here is different, horrifying …
Edit: As promised. Happy Mother's Day! | 2019-05-11T08:39:24 | 2019-05-11T07:51:17 | 197 | 18 |
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