prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] Your cat routinely brings home half-dead animals that you tend to and release once they are healed. Last week, it brought home a bat. Now, you've found yourself nursing back to health a badly-wounded vampire that is not very happy with the situation. | Mice. Rabbits. Squirrels. I’d seen it all. Tom dragged in all sorts for me, gifts in the only way he knew how. Sometimes they’d be dead, and I’d have to throw them out, but often they’d be clinging on. I hated to let them die, and so I’d nurse them back to health and let them go.
This particular creature though, was beyond my expertise.
‘He mauled me!’
‘It’s just a scratch, now hold still!’
‘A scratch? My arms off!’
‘In his defence, he thought you were a bat.’
‘I was a bat!’
‘Exactly.’
We chatted as I worked, stitching and sewing at his many wounds. Tom wouldn’t have been able to inflict wounds of such a size if he’d been in this form of course, but the silly sod had to go and get himself caught while… well while he was a bat.
‘So… you’re a vampire..?’
‘I don’t see why you haven’t grasped this. Yes I’m a bloody vampire!’
‘Literally, I suppose…’
He glared at me, with his beady vampiric eyes.
‘That’s not funny! I’ve just lost an arm and I’m bleeding severely!’
‘You’ll be fine, it’s just a flesh wound. Besides, I’m a vet!’
‘You don’t seem to be doing very well so far! I’ve lost an awful lot of blood! Quick, fetch me a peasant boy so I can replenish myself, I’m awfully thirsty!’
‘Sorry, did you just ask me to fetch you a peasant boy?’
He gave me an unimpressed look, as though I’d just asked him what colour the sky was.
‘I’m sorry but I don’t have any peasant boys to hand…’
‘Call yourself a vet… well I’m going to need somebodies blood quite soon…’
He gave me an apologetic look. I yanked his stitching and it unpicked several minutes of work with a wet twanging. He screeched, not unlike some of the other animals Tom had brought in.
‘See. That’s what you get for threatening to kill me. Now sit still, we’re almost done, and then you can go and search for peasant boys or whatever it is you like to do. ‘
He remained in silence, not unlike a rich child who isn’t getting his way.
I finished not long after, and escorted him to the door, ensuring to keep him away from Tom.
‘Well… uhh safe travels. I’m sorry about your arm but… well you can fly and Tom can’t so I think you just need to be a bit more careful.’
The vampire glared at me, and took off into the night.
I returned to the kitchen shaking my head and wiping the blood from my trousers. I let out an audible groan as I saw what Tom had left on the table.
A twitching, not- quite dead mouse.
‘No. I’m not going to find out.’
I hurled the mouse out of the window into the undergrowth, and went to bed. | I found a bat lying on my carpet this morning, Smokey Cat must have brought him in during the night, but he was still and felt cold..oh no..this one is dead..I poke at it a few times and see the creature is moving and large cut on his side.. I decided to nurse the poor thing back to health. I cleaned the wound smear on some homemade ointment and dressed the wound with a bandage. I lay the creature down in a shoe box and let him sleep. I care for him for about 3 days until I see the bat is no longer in the box, I look around the house until I get to the bathroom and see man standing looking at a cut on his side...our eyes meet and I'm lost for words.." I guess the bats out of the bag.." he says in a deep voice." Where am I??" He asks, slightly annoyed..in shock I mumble..." You are in my house...i nursed you back to health...I thought you were just an injured bat...but you are a...a...a..." " a vampire" he finishes my sentence for me," and I need to get out of here" | 2022-12-27T15:50:07 | 2022-12-27T12:25:11 | 393 | 47 |
[WP] Write an essay BSing your way through a topic you have no clue about. | The mendula oblangota is the key to any and all open brain surgery. All conscious thought goes through it, and if it is cut out, the patient will be rendered a vegetable for the rest of their life.
To start out a successful open brain surgery, several tools are needed: A die-grinder, pliers, a scalpel, a hacksaw, a flashlight, a staple gun, some jumper cables and an old 1999 Jeep Wrangler.
Begin by grinding the top of the patient's skull off. Don't hold back, just go full apache on them, you'll need room to work. Don't worry if you get some of the ears, you can always sew them back on later.
Now that the skull cap is clearly separated, slowly lift it off of the patient's head. Now, the brain is like a hard drive, but made of meat. Every time you touch the bare brain, someone loses a memory. Of course, they won't care, because they won't remember it, but out of ethical responsibility, brain surgery is like a game of golf. The least amount of moves you have to go through to accomplish what you need, the better.
Now, take the scalpel and the pliers and begin cutting away at the cerebral cortex. You'll have to move the optic nerve out of the way first, but that's what the staple gun is for. Once the cerebral cortex is removed, you can now access the "core brain", that is, the brain inside of the brain that stores all of the important software. Shine the flashlight on it. The photons will react with the neurons in the core brain and result in the pituitary gland growing by 200%. If the patient suffers from any mental disorder, you can remove a teaspoon of core brain before putting the cerebral cortex back free of charge, that will usually cause the brain to 'reboot', solving most psychological issues.
Once the cerebral cortex is back in place and the optic nerve is unstapled, you are going to need to weld the patient's skull cap back into place. Have your nurse or assistant start the Jeep. Use the scalpel and pliers as makeshift welding rods by attaching them to the jumper cables, and begin welding away. The human skull is 95% Calcium, which is a metal, and can be melted and forged like any other metal on the periodic table.
Congratulations! The patient should now make a full recovery. If you happen to find that, during the operation, your patient has died, whether from loss of blood or suffocation from the fumes of the Jeep, you can use the jumper cables to jolt them back to the land of the living. Should that fail, punch 'em around a bit, and that'll usually wake 'em up in no time. | **11:59 AM.**
Wait. Like noon? Why would it be due in the middle of the day? I thought I had until midnight!
Okay okay don't panic. We got this. Flagella? I think that sounds familiar. Ahem.
---
It is my great privilege to champion the cause of such a key and misunderstood issue as the global flagella crisis. Although often neglected by mainstream media outlets which focus on more sensationalist news, the flagella represent an essential - dare I say - paramount phenomenon of unequivocal importance. From the early days of their discovery to the apex of their -
---
Wait, 11:59 AM **tomorrow**? Well screw this. I'm sure by tomorrow I'll have figured out what a flagella is. | 2017-06-19T18:44:02 | 2017-06-19T17:39:42 | 327 | 155 |
[WP] Time travelers have become such a nuisance that governments have begun recording fake historical events that lead time travelers to areas where they can be arrested. You're a bartender at one of these artificial towns, trying to determine if the customer in front of you is from the future. | Something was up with that guy. Marian knew it.
“So, like, is it usually this busy at this time?” he said, looking around, nervous.
“Pretty much,” she replied, as she dried the glasses like a bartender in a 1940s film noir. She was not a
great actor.
He took another scan around. On the edge. Nervous. “Anything… interesting going on lately in town?”
*There it is*, she thought. He was a time traveler. Now she was sure. It was just a matter of getting him to spill the beans so she could make the arrest.
He was being so obvious, too. Hoodie obscuring most of his face, gigantic sunglasses, shirt collar
flapped up, avoiding her stare… he was obviously trying to hide his identity so he wouldn’t be
recognized in case he had to make a run for it.
 
She had been hired by the Time Bureau to work the day shift at the 2021 Great Battle of Oceano
Island.
Now, the 2021 Great Battle of Oceano Island never happened. It was a fake historical event the Time
Bureau invented to catch illegal time travelers. How it worked is they sent a couple of agents like Marian to the time and place and they worked commercial hours trying to get travelers to confess to what they were doing before they realized there was no battle to stop anyway. It wasn’t entrapment. It really wasn’t.
Okay it kind of was. So?
She went back to her own time of 2035 every day after her shift. Back to her apartment in San
Francisco and her dog and Dylan. She took this particular shift because of Dylan, in fact. It was here at
Oceano Island, right at this day, at the square right across the street from the bar, that she had met
him. They both stopped to look at a missing dog flyer at the same time, and when he told her he always
stops to look at missing pet flyers because he secretly hopes the pet will literally be right next to him
and he’ll get to return it and be a hero she knew she’d marry him one day – because she always had that exact fantasy.
And marry him she did, on her twenty-first birthday. And they’d been together now for fourteen years
(well, in the real timeline she came back to after her shift that is, here in 2021 they were a few minutes away from actually meeting). She couldn't see the place where they met from the bar, but just being here at this time and place gave her an enormous sense of peace. Like she got to relive the most important day of her life again and again. The day she met the love of her life. The day she --
 
“Lady?” the concealed time traveler said. “You’ve been staring off into space for a long time.”
She turned back to the man. “Sorry,” she said. “What did you say?”
“I asked if there’s anything interesting going on around town today.”
She smiled. “Not right now, but in a couple of minutes a girl will meet a boy just across the street at the
square by the beach. And they’ll find out this very day they are each other’s soul mates.” She smiled.
The guy grunted, uninterested. Not what he was hoping for, she thought. What he was hoping for is ‘there’s been talks of a revolution and of a bomb' and all the other fake historical stuff about the Great Battle of Oceano Island.
“Why?” she asked. “Do you expect something to happen today?”
He just kept looking at her. Deep into her eyes. Something about his look had an intensity to it she didn’t quite comprehend, even though she could barely see his face behind the layers and the giant sunglasses.
He just kept looking at her.
“Can I help you?”
“No, thanks,” he said, and he stepped out.
*Damn,* she thought. She needed to improve her acting skills. She always gave herself away and
scared off the potential illegal travelers.
*
Dylan stepped out of the bar and with difficulty made his way across the street toward the square. It
was lucky that the pole was out of the bar’s sight. What he was doing was *very* illegal, but he was
counting on Marian and all the other agents being focused on the houses on the hill, because that’s
where the fake battle had 'begun'.
*And so maybe then he can change the thing that really matters.*
He removed the hoodie and the glasses and stared at the missing dog flyer. His mind went back to the awful hospital visit. The crestfallen look on the doctor's face. The tightening on his chest when he heard the news.
The doctor had given him another year with chemo. Maybe a little more. Maybe a little less. But there was no avoiding it. It was terminal.
He did not tell Marian. And he was not going to.
She was 34 still. Young enough to meet someone new once he was gone. Sure. But his
disease would break her. She took care of her father when he had cancer, and she almost never spoke of that
period of her life. She was in her teens, and for the longest time the shadow of that year watching her
father wither away ate at her. Anti-depressants, booze, pills, suicidal thoughts… she went on a downward spiral after he died and it was only shortly before she met Dylan that she finally had found her bearings and gotten over it.
And now he was going to do the same thing to her? All over again? No.
No he wasn’t. He'd face this alone. He wouldn't drag her life down with his.
“There!” he heard in the distance. He turned. A group of time travelers were running up the hill,
storming the house were the alleged ‘revolution’ had started. Agents followed, Marian among them,
ready to make the arrest.
Good. He had the place to himself now.
In the distance he saw his 20-year-old self approaching the square. On the opposite end, 20-year-old
Marian. About to meet.
He took a deep breath. Then he ripped the flyer from the pole and crumbled it and he walked away and
then he turned back just in time to see two strangers passing one another by and going on with their
lives, their future now forever diverging from the one he knew they could have had.
“Sorry,” he said, as he watched her go. And he smiled. And then he turned away and he was gone.
 
/r/psycho_alpaca | See, if they'd been *smart* about this, they would have *waited*.
Yes, it's a lot harder to fake something like this after the fact. I get that. But if you make the evidence you need, and then, say, wait a decade or two to release it, and only make it part of history *retroactively*, then you don't have to worry about regular tourists. If they're here at all, they're automatically suspicious as hell- you still get a few people turning up because they're passing through and need gas, and there's always gonna be some madman who turns up, decides he likes it here, and moves in, but...
Well, this whole thing could have been a lot simpler, no doubt about it.
Take this fellow in front of me. Was he strange as all hell? Yes, yes he was. Oddly fascinated by everything, looking around all suspicious-like. But that doesn't mean as much as you think it does- might just be some Florida man on vacation. There's plenty of run-of-the-mill weirdos wandering around, no two ways about it.
His clothes are new, which is suspicious. You don't want to be conspicuous, so you buy the local fashions. 'Local', in this case, in the time sense. But you can't arrest someone just for wearing new clothes, especially if they might just be on vacation.
Gotta dig a little deeper. Generally, that means conversation.
"Heck of a storm supposed to be coming in, in a week or so. They're saying they might have to evacuate people. Don't know where the heck they'd have to put everybody up, it'd probably be a whole nightmare. I sure wouldn't want to be in charge of that."
That alone gets them, sometimes. They usually don't outright *say* 'the time travel guide didn't say anything about a big storm', but if they just flat-out say 'nah, that won't happen' then we've got ourselves a bit of a stupid time traveler. Mostly, though, they're smart enough to realize that they shouldn't do anything that looks like they can see the future. They act worried, and ask if they think that'll affect their travel time, if maybe they should cut their time here short, just in case.
Which is just what the gentleman in front of me did. Time for step two.
I started talking politics. I engaged the man a bit, got him to show off a bit of his knowledge. He'd done his research, if he was a time traveler. That wasn't uncommon, but it did mean that he couldn't now claim to not be following things.
So I asked him about something smaller, a local political scandal that was absolutely dominating the news at the moment, and which wouldn't even merit a footnote in the history books.
He knew about it, offered opinions, ranted for a little bit about the corruption involved. He'd either *really* done his research, or, more likely, had been here for a while, following things and just generally experiencing life back now.
That'd make it hard to catch him at anything, if it were the case. I went over to flag his file- 'suspicious, but has definitely done his research or been here a while'- then went back over to get him cleaned up and ready to head out.
Part of this included a surreptitious search of his person. It wasn't much, and I didn't expect to find anything, since, if he *was* a time traveler, he clearly knew what he was doing. But it was the done thing. You just never know.
Indeed you don't. He had a small pin, celebrating a Cleaveland Heat NBA championship.
"Follow the Heat, do you?"
He seemed to realize that he was caught, but he tried to play it cool. "I sure do. It was a great season, with...LeBron James, and...Stephen Curry..."
"Uh huh. Explain it to the judge. Got you dead to rights."
"Look, I know you've had problems with people coming back, but I *swear* I haven't been playing the lotto!"
"Uh huh. I'll bet you haven't been doing any sports betting, either."
"Well..."
"Again- tell it to a judge." A couple of police officers showed up, and the man stiffened. He hadn't tried to run the whole time, which I mostly chalked up to this time periods notoriety for police brutality. Guess it has its advantages, after all.
"Take him away, boys!" | 2021-01-16T10:09:46 | 2021-01-16T08:44:10 | 3,201 | 300 |
[WP] You and a friend are getting robbed at gunpoint. Defiant, you refuse to give up your things, but your friend is all too willing to give his stuff away. Bewildered, you ask him why after the robber flees, and he replies with "Don't worry, he's gonna get hit by a car in like a minute, anyway."
​ | “Don’t worry, he’s gonna get hit by a car in like a minute, anyway.”
My eyes shifted to my friend. His confident, relaxed expression wasn’t moving an inch. Both of the robbers tightened their grip of their guns in an almost comical synchronization, knuckles turning white. Snapping out of it, the shorter thug, with George’s wallet still in his outstretched hand, jerked it back and rapidly stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He looked at George in disbelief, but then quickly recovered into a grimace of arrogant scorn. I held my breath - I didn’t know what to else do. I couldn’t think.
The other guy, taller of the two, angled his gun sideways and yelled straight in George’s face. “You lost your mind, pal? You fucking moron! Be glad I don’t waste you right now!”
He slapped the other robber in his back, signaling it was time for them to take off. However, the shorter thug kept staring at George. I looked back and forth between the barrel of their guns, still trained at us, and then to my friends’ unbelievably collected expression. He was *smiling.*
“What the hell are you doing.” I whispered between my teeth. I was terrified, but my eyes were blazing. “You’re playing with our *lives* here.
George turned his head back to me to say something, but as he did I could see a movement in the corner of my eye. Time seemed to slow down as the short thug’s eyes narrowed in a flare of rage. The tension in his throat, his jaw clenching, his trigger finger shaking with the anticipation for a tiny electrical impulse that would signal it to move. He was going to do it. The gun was going to go off.
And the robber had it pointed right at George’s head.
The flash of the gunpowder hit my retinas before my ears even registered the of sound the gun going off. At that moment, I didn’t have time to understand the tangled mass of twisted metal that emerged as the flare of the gun subsided. The robbers, George, the alley we were cornered in - it had all been replaced by a warping metallic monstrosity. I knew-
”Isn’t that a little over-dramatic?”
I snapped out of it. As I looked up at my smug little sister, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Look, okay, I was a little dug in. It was a weird experience to have, cut me some slack here! Asshole.”
She tossed her blond braid back and forth in her hands as she always does when she’s teasing me. I returned her disdain by making a face like our grumpy dad used to do.
“Stop looking like a damn ape get the hell up. I’m leaving, idiot.
She smiled at me and got up from the side of the hospital bed. With a quick skip she was out the door. Her visits always lightened my mood. I groaned, feeling my muscles ache as a dragged myself up a few inches out of the covers.
It had been four days since the robbery, and while the sports car had been driven at a ludicrous speed, miraculously, no one excerpt the drunk behind the wheels of it had been seriously injured. As far as anyone knew, anyway.
No one would see George again after that day except me. I only met my dear friend one more time before it was time for me to leave this Earth. He saw it very differently.
From his perspective, would never leave my side again.
| "Your money or your soul. Now."
I hesitated. I am sure I need my belongings. But to trade them for my life?....
"Scared aren't you? Your first time?" Said Jake confidently.
"What are you saying! Just give me the your damned belongings!"
"Easy bro. Here,My wallet. Meet me at the golden bank towmorrow. I will give you the password for the bank account."
"Are you drunk? I guess I hit jackpot! Gimme!"
The theif galloped..and with him Jack's wallet.
"Jack? What the heck did you just do!? Are you ok? We only ran a few miles!"
"Shhhh Don't worry, he's gonna get hit by a car in like a minute anyway."
"Jake, lets go home. You need sleep."
Suddenly the sharp sound of the brakes being applied fills the whole street.
"Just look." Said Jake with incredible confidence. "He isn't dead. But its a fatal accident none the less."
I stare at the scene.
I look at the wallet that flew in the air.
I find a lady desperately trying to help the man.
I see Jack pinching me "Ouch! What?".
"Go help her and let the guy go to the hospital. Meet you there. But you won't like the explaination."
I run following my friend's orders.
What could it all mean?
Is he a time traveler?
I may never know. But I still follow the orders and help the lady.
Well it was an accident nonetheless.
| 2018-08-29T03:03:29 | 2018-08-28T22:10:18 | 40 | 28 |
[WP] An AITA post from a supervillain desperate to be told they're doing the right thing. | ​
User: NOTASHES132
Edit: Sorry for the long post, had a lot to get off my chest.
Edit Edit: Wow okay thought I would get more measured responses from my favorite community.
AITA for Blowing up HALF the moon?
Please try to understand context, and remember, it was only HALF the moon. I could have blown up the whole thing, I have tons of missiles, but instead I only blew up half and I think that should speak for itself, but let me explain the story in case you STILL need to be convinced.
So I was minding my own business doing some banking when I wanted to make a withdrawal that was barely a couple million over the account limit. When the woman said no I pulled out my death ray because I was heated and I'd missed my coffee that morning. Keep in mind, I didn't SHOOT the death ray, I just pointed it at her, my finger wasn't even on the trigger the whole time.
Once I convinced her, she started loading the money I wanted in bags and begging me to let her go home to her wife and kids, so people started to get angry with me. It was so unfair! I was barely pointing the death ray at her at that point, she was just pity fishing in broad daylight to try to get the other innocent customers on her side. A move right from the narcissists' playbook.
BUT not everyone in the bank had the full story, so this big guy from behind me in line takes a swing at me. I was able to dodge it (Thanks to my ninja training) so he technically didn't hit me first but he DID try. That man had tried for a sucker punch so I reasonably went to shoot him with the death ray as a classic single escalation response.
Of course, so nosy security guard with a power trip won't let a couple of people figure things out, so he tries to tackle me just as I'm pulling the trigger. Next thing I know, I missed the assaulter and half the front door of the bank is gone. Keep in mind that property damage isn't MY fault, I would have just shot the VIOLENT man trying to ASSASULT me.
So now the police are coming, but ACAB right? So I grab the money and take off in my hover board. Admittedly I'm embarrassed about how the whole thing went down but at that point I just wanted to get home.
Boom! The pigs start shooting at me because they don't have any trigger discipline in this country and one of them hit my engines. So now I'm spiraling out of control in the middle of the air when suddenly I see that the nosy and boisterous (speaking of narcissists) Victorya is suddenly in the air beside me. She's trying to make quips about my situation instead of SAVING me which is her job.
So once I get things a little more stable I fire my death ray at her because she won't die from it anyway, but get this, she gets OUT OF THE WAY and I hit an office building. Now people are saying that I'm a murderer (BTW manslaughter is a thing look it up) and they aren't even consdiering that it was her fault for getting out of the way.
Once the glass stops falling she comes right at me so I engage the ATMOS protocol. Big shout out to my buddy Jared in comms who told me that we'd only need 50% to get the job done, and even though I was annoyed I took his advice for a measured response.
So we fire HALF of the missiles that we had in storage for Victoya and she sees them coming so she flies away. I crash into the ground so I only see the rest from the street, but she goes flying around, dragging missiles all over the city instead of just letting them hit her like a real hero would.
Victorya (Have I told you that she's punched me a bunch of times before?) flies up into the upper atmosphere which OF COURSE is bad for the missiles targeting systems. She actually ends up leading them PAST the satellite that controls them and KEEP IN MIND I had no control over the missiles once she was in the upper atmosphere.
So she gets out of the way, the missiles keep going and it turns out they were headed RIGHT for the moon. Suddenly people are gasping my name on the news like four hours later when ONLY HALF the moon blows up because other people antagonized me and I was acted in self defense.
Now that you know the whole story it's pretty obvious that NTA, but I already typed this all out so you can decide.
​
Actual Edit: Check out /r/Jacksonwrites for more things that are equally domb, but less AITA formatted. Also some minior typo correction. | AITA for causing a riot, declaring martial law, destroying a water dam, and drowning a City.
Please read the full post before making a judgment. I can predict Domino effects(As in because of a x will happen in a couple of days) with this ability I somewhat can see the future. My ability also works if I see someone else do something.
This happened a few months ago while I was at the park. I had noticed a large truck carrying chemicals going down the road. I had seen them in the city several times and paid them no mind. however, today I use my ability on them out of curiosity. I was shocked to find out. A politician had taken a bribe from a company to allow them to dump their chemicals in the landfill near the city. The company had sent all of the chemical waste from all their factories in the surrounding states to this landfill. The chemical waste had collected in an underground pocket. This pocket continued to expand due to the gas being released from the chemicals. Within one year from that day, the pressure from the gases would have caused an explosion that would shake the foundation of the city. After the first explosion, the chemicals and gases would be released into the subway tunnels. The chemicals would then be ignited by the Sparks of a broken light. This in turn will create a second explosion that will cause many buildings to collapse and The Inferno will try its best to escape the underground network. Over 96% of the population of the city will die within the first two hours. the city will continue to be in Flames for several years due to the chemicals seeping into the soil.
After witnessing this I panicked and tried my best to look for any way to prevent it. All avenues involving bureaucracy ended up taking too long and all attempts to convince the public was met with skepticism and me being seen as a crazy person.
The only solution that I can come up with that seemed to work was to destroy this city in a controlled way. I drugged many criminals as I broke them out of prison and released them into the city causing many people to flee the city in fear. I destroyed many buildings with bombs in a way that would not affect the chemical waste. I created a small militia group that forced the government into declaring martial law, I then had them force people to leave their homes by any means necessary. Before any superheroes or the military got involved I set up fuses on the dam and set them off causing a massive flood drowning the city.
Most of the population had fled the City by now. The chemicals will be diluted by the water preventing the explosions. The last thing I did was watch as the CEO, board of directors, and the politician drowned in the underground bunker that I tricked them into hiding in.
I think I might be the asshole because even though they would be dead if I did nothing. many of the people from the city have lost their jobs and homes. | 2022-05-01T08:25:45 | 2022-05-01T07:43:07 | 1,055 | 179 |
[WP] You are a genius who makes yourself immortal; unfortunately over a few hundred years the average IQ rises so high that you are now considered an idiot. | I barely recognize humanity's children.
In retrospect, the fracture of our species was inevitable. The seeds had already been sown when I was still a young man. Even before I cured my mortality, the process had begun, though I didn't recognize it at the time.
When the world became digital location lost all meaning, at least for a moment. For a brief period in history, every person on the globe could communicate with every other. Of course, as anyone who has ever attended either high school or prison could have predicted, humanity used this new found power to do nothing of the sort. Instead, we began to form cliques on a global scale.
Those on the extremes of the bell curve had always been ostracized; always been forced to adapt and fit in. I experienced that myself, back when native intelligence was still considered an interesting trait.
With eight billion people in the lunchroom, everyone could find a table to sit at. People were free to be themselves, and they did so, retreating to their own bubbles of contacts and information. Now, the various sub cultures can barely communicate with each other, even if they were so inclined (which, they emphatically are not). With the full mechanization of commerce, they have little incentive.
By the time the first colony was established on Europa, people didn't even complain about the hour long ping times. No one had anything to say to the groups back home. If Chihuahuas and St. Bernards are any indication, I expect the day when we can't even interbreed is closer than most expect. Communication lead directly to speciation. You might find this deeply ironic, depending on which definition of "irony" your particular subculture finally converged on.
In my case, all this change served to help me find empathy for people who might once have ostracized me. We might have used the term "meat-head" to describe someone who's defining positive attributes had all be rendered obsolete by the invention of the steam engine. In a world full of forklifts, being the strongest guy in the room carried rather less meaning than it would have back when flint tools were still the cutting edge (no pun intended).
The term means something different today. You see, the brains of children are still malleable, making it possible from them to bond with the neural interfaces that are now standard worldwide. For most people, a fully functional brain is about fifteen percent artificial.
As the only person on the planet who's childhood predates such implants, I get to join a select group of religious fanatics and rabid luddites who have been doomed to a lifetime of functional illiteracy. Like the born hunter living in a mechanical age, I am a meat head. Talented in ways that will never again be relevant.
My immortality has doomed me to a life of anticlimax. I lived to see the singularity, but only heard about it second hand. Without the ability to directly experience, my lack of understanding rendered the whole thing no more meaningful than a vague description in a bad science fiction story. Super intelligence exists , but it might as well be located across the galaxy.
The colonies on Mars and Europa and Titan don't bother to send pictures. They send multi-sensory gestalts that exactly replicate the experience of being there. Or so I am told, by the few people still patient enough to talk to me. I will never experience such things.
Most of humanity's children have grown too polite to make fun of me. They feed and cloth me, allow me to wander. Human history has ended, though. I am effectively the last member of an extinct species. I only hope that at least some of our descendent groups retain enough empathy to see me as "human".
I will outlive all of them. They've changed too much for me to offer my own cure for aging. We are just too different. They live faster though, with their direct interface to the net. Even now, after hundreds of years, most teenagers have lived for more subjective time than I have.
I don't know what is next for me. I am doomed to become increasingly alien as the years pass. I am already a museum piece. I dread the day when I will be seen as an animal. | "Don't you realize what accomplishment this is?! I have lived far longer than any of you!!"
"You are inefficient, what accomplishment do you seek now, the way of true existence is how we are now, to leave the smallest footprint possible."
"What do you mean? You are here, don't you want the world to know you were?"
"That's part of the problem, your sights were always set inwards, what does your status do for our world? A world you have separated yourself from with your...antics."
"The most important of scientific pursuits can be trusted to me! I can learn from the smartest to exist of any time and carry that endeavor to the next generation through to its completio-"
"-It doesn't matter whether you do or not, before you there were the computers, institutions, databases, libraries. Back when the pursuit of knowledge was the reason us humans existed. Don't you think it would be better to be part of this world's cycle? To set yourself in nature's care and be taken through your life by her seasons and watch as you become one with this world? To watch it flourish and persevere?"
"But you aren't pursuing anything, you are just there letting yourself be drawn into your end...you don't WANT anything?!"
"Why should I, or any of us? Every want of the past led to the need to fill up their hands with Things! And things cluttered and choked the world. It seems you were and are the last to be here who still holds to desire for oneself. Also I grow tired. I am less interested in conversation than you are and feel myself being led."
"So that's it? We are supposed to just watch the world and the way it turns and be satisfied?"
"*sigh* fellow, why desire when the world does not desire? Just Be, the world turns and shows us all there is. I am now being turned away, and this time it feels as though I'll begin my descent. My existence on the surface to see is at an end and I will integrate with the soil."
"........So goodbye?"
"Just look up and watch, the world will turn and show you all that there is to see. Then you will be and that will be. Then you will not be but the world will. That is as it is and it is good.
....goodbye I suppose." | 2016-11-30T00:42:57 | 2016-11-29T22:14:03 | 80 | 13 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | I...had a lot of blood.
My mom had once said that it was my blessing. That while others would always have correct change for their meals, or always have the stray alley cats like them or never have pidgeon poop covering their verandas, I had a lot of blood. I would never bleed out if I got into an accident, I would never bruise easily, I would always have a good blood pressure...
It was small. A health perk. An idle blessing that was a background element in my life, and little else.
That is, until the accident. I was fine, of course. The gash in my leg was bleeding profusely, but I was no worse for wear. I'd been in the back seat with three of my friends, on a camping road trip when the logging truck infront of us had lost it's cargo- causing the stacked logs to slide back and onto the road. We'd been far enough to avoid having those damn logs ram into our tiny little smart car, but we did turn into the guard rails next to the narrow mountain path, with those rolling logs hitting us side long rather than head on, denting the drivers side of the door so badly that neither myself or my friend upfront could get out.
I was fine. Just a cut on my leg and on my cheek from the flying glass, but the friend who'd been driving was...
It was horrifying.
He had passed out, slouched against the chair with his leg caught between the crushed inner mechanics of the drivers seat. He was bleeding as much as I was, which was hard to believe considering that his 'blessing' was always having a strong cellphone connection.
It felt like hours for EMT to make it to us, and bh the time they got there, he was awake and trying his hardest not to pass out again from the pain of what would inevitably be an amputated leg.
They air lifted him and I together, but he was loosing blood fast. As soon as they had pulled apart the wreakage, what few clots he managed to form were torn away. He had minutes, if that.
It came as a split second decision. "Hook me up, take my blood!"
"Are you compatible?" The emt asked.
"Who cares?! He's dead if he doesn't get blood soon and if there's even a fraction of a chance that mine will help him, then take it!!"
There was arguing, but I couldn't tell you most of it. Somehow, I convinced them and they put a needle in me and into him. I never felt a second of pain or wooziness despite the emt constantly asking if I was alright to continue.
We made it to the hospital. I felt fine. My friend was run into the emergency room.
The doctors asked about what I did, and they decided to test me.
I was a universal donor, as well as a medical miracle. My blood could be taken by anyone, and I had more than enough to spare.
So, a new chapter in my life began. Every day, from 7 AM in the morning to 9 at night, I was hooked up to five IV drips and sat on a big, plush chair that was essentially ny throne. Six needles in both my arms, six needles in my legs, and one needle in the back of my neck to give me a mild pain reliever and muscle relaxant so I could bear doing essentially nothing for several hours a day.
They would have liked to have me going 24 hours a day if I'd allowed it.
But now, I'm the savior of thousands, if not millions of lives all over the world. My blood is the greatest discovery of my life, my greatest achivement, helping all these people survive their surgeries, their births. They come to me, tears in their eyes, grateful and humble, speaking languages I've never heard of before.
I've forgotten the name of that old friend of mine. It's been years. I haven't moved from my throne in decades. I'm 98 years old and dying. I've just signed off on my last will and testament.
My body will be kept alive, my blood will continue to be pumped from my braid dead body indefinitely.
My thone will become my tomb as I slowly waste away, and once I am gone for good, my death will echo through history, followed by throngs of tearful worshipers, grateful for their long lives and whispering my name with every prayer. | The sound of my alarm clock caused me to bolt up in bed. I always forget to set it for Mondays and I was going to be late for my first day of class. I rushed through my morning routine and grabbed a yogurt from my refrigerator on my way out the door. As I shut the door I saw my pan of lasagna from the night before start to tip. Not giving it any heed i slammed the door and left.
You see, my blessing is that nothing ever falls out of my refrigerator. This comes in handy sometimes, like this morning when I overslept, but I've never been the clumsy type so it's usefulness is greatly diminished.
I sat in the back of my morning thermodynamics class. I was a couple minutes late, but Dr. Conley turned out to be an understanding professor. Today's lesson was on the first law of thermodynamics. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. As Dr. Conley finished with her lecture, she asked if anyone had any questions before we moved on to a worksheet.
The next question changed my life forever. "What if we put. A buttered piece of bread on a cat's back? Wouldn't it just spin and we could get energy?" The professor laughed politely while I rolled my eyes along with the rest of the class. The joke was far too old to make in a Junior level course. But then it hit me. My blessing wasn't so different. I have seen many containers curve unprompted through the air to land on a lower shelf.
From that moment on my experiments started. I lived on the bags of frozen peas i used in my tests, and Finally i found the answer.
I put a minifridge inside of a normal refrigerator. Inside of the minifridge i put a bag of frozen peas. Then, with both doors open, i slowly pulled the minifridge out of the normal one. The bag of peas, Not wanting to leave either one, just floated between the two. As one side of the bag began to feel the pull of the refrigerator, it would spin to that side. The minifridge then exerted it's power over it and spun it back to its initial position. This caused the bag of peas to spin faster and faster until, no longer able to continue holding the minifridge, i slid it back into its place.
Two years later:
With Dr. Conley's help i have managed to make and patent a machine which uses an ear of corn to turn a turbine. I have solved the world's energy needs. | 2018-06-30T17:50:19 | 2018-06-30T17:11:02 | 87 | 55 |
[WP] America believes itself to be the last nation standing after a global disaster. What they do not realize, is that the global disaster was much more isolated than they were lead to believe, because it was a hoax to keep Americans away from the rest of the world. | I don't exactly know why I always walked out to view the sea walls. It's not like I had any lingering attachments to the land the sea claimed; i was born well after the End, and most of my generation viewed it as something almost unreal. Tiks on a stream, things our parents, if we still had them, would scare us with if we misbehaved. Stories, endless stories. But for me I never knew a time when the sea walls didn't exist, and I could see the endless ocean in front of me.
Even now, the superwaves still came, like clockwork. They hit the metal walls like thunder, and even miles away from shore you could still see the massive innudations of foam spill up and over the jagged tops. I had seen Tiks of the wall close up, taken by the military when they needed to maintain or inspect them; rusty mountains that dwarfed the copters people rode to them on. You could look down from them into an endlessly raging sea on the one side, and a peaceful graveyard of submerged ruins on the other. Cities, all taken by the waves. The tidal bombs were that powerful. And that was only one part of the End.
But even if I didn't know the reason, I still walked out there anyways. It was easy; most of the roads leading to the city under the waves still existed, and the End was still recent that not even the homeless thought to scavenge or camp so close to the water. Just following cracked asphalt streets, watching the grass peek up through them until I came to the their end, where they disappeared into the tranquil sea.
That's why it was so surprising that she was there.
I knew something was wrong that day when I saw the wreckage. We weren't over any flight routes, and Overton was small enough a town that I would have known before I set out if any of the few local fishermen and trawlers had gone missing. So when I crested the last hill before the sea, my heart lurched as I saw the debris. My feet were running before I knew it. My cel was out, and i was flipping at it clumsily without looking at the screen to bring up the net. There had to be some place I could report this to, but what? I could tess the Coast Guard, I thought. But then I heard a soft groan.
It distracted me, and I think that saved her life. My fingers fumbled on the cel, as I looked down at the girl in the center of the wreck, staring up at me.
She was small. Much smaller than I thought. Dark skin. Fiery eyes. She had some kind of wetsuit on. She was holding her head in one hand, and blood trickled down between her fingers. I started towards her, but what stopped me was the look of hate on her face.
She reached to her side. I looked down, and saw the holster. Her face was confused as she grabbed at empty air. Had she a weapon, and lost it in the sea? A chill ran though me. I raised my hands out of reflex, and my voice sounded odd in my ears. "Are..are you all right?"
She said something. I couldn't make it out. Said it again. Nonsense? A language? It sounded so nasal, yet familiar. Her eyes seemed unfocused, and she staggered now and then. The unreality of the situation hit me hard, and I stammered in reply. Then I heard the sound of copters, and looked up. Three dots on the horizon, coming in fast from the interior. I turned, and the girl was already gone. Running down the beach, and vanishing from sight.
\*\*\*
It took a while for them to let me go. I told them everything I saw. Everything I did. Well almost everything. It took hours. I asked if the girl would be all right, and got soft, reassuring responses. But it was well into the middle of the night before they let me go, to the point where my cel had died, battery completely drained. It wasn't till it charged mid-afternoon that I found out why.
My cel had been recording. I had misswiped, and the battery had drained recording a video. it was of the grass beneath my feet, but i could still hear her voice. No matter how hard I listened, I couldn't understand her. I think it was after the third listen that it occurred to me to tess the voice to a trans and see what would happen.
Catalan. The language she spoke was called Catalan.
How? It was a language spoken in the lands that were now the Waste. In old Spain. Catalonia. Where the pulse storms still lingered. A language from a dead place where ionized radiation would fry your electronics and sizzle your skin. There weren't even any Catalan speakers 500 miles from us; it had been classified as a dead language, along with Finnish after the mass exodus of Finns from the USA during the social wars. A dead language from a dead place spoken by a girl who had vanished like a ghost.
Everyone knew the world beyond the southern Texan strait and the Canadalands was dead. Right? The End had brought ruin to all, save us.
At least, that was what I thought until one night, I came home and found her there. Waiting for me, sitting in the chair at my desk. No wetsuit this time, just a dress that seemed far too big for her, and a gun that seemed far too small. In her other hand was a cel, but not one I recognized the make of. She lifted it to her mouth, spoke again in Catalan, and lowered it, keeping the gun on me.
"You will help me," the voice piped out of her cel's speaker said. Not a question, not quite a demand. Stated simply as a fact.
"Why?" I asked. The cel transsed me, and she cocked her head. Her expression was measured, almost blank.
"There is someone I must find. The--," the trans stopped here, the term she must be using was too idiomatic for it to render. "The veil must be maintained." Restating it.
"Veil? I don't understand? Who are you? What is going on?" The gun waved at me, and I grew silent. She had an exasperated look on her face. It occurred to me I had never seen a normal expression on it.
"If you do not help me, the person I seek will do a great evil. He will tell everyone the truth. I must kill him before he does, or the wars will start again." A sweet smile. But no mirth. "Ignorance is bliss."
She turned her cel to me. A Tik, of the sea wall. From the other side. My heart leapt in my throat. Those walls were hundreds of feet high. As realization set in, a thought occurred to me. If she had to kill someone who knew the truth, what would happen to me know that I knew it?
She kept the gun on me, and began to outline her plans... | I made a dear friend online, Jessica. She was a lovely person. Every time I got online, we would both chat to each other via Zoom or Discord. Since the pandemic isolated most of us, she was my one thing grounding me to reality. Keeping me away from the stress of my family, my workplace. She kept me sane.
So, the moment the pandemic was dealt with, I immediately decided to visit her in America, and went towards the nearest travel agency to plan my trip.
"Hello, sir. What can I help you with?" my agent greeted me.
"Hey, I would like to go to Seattle. Is there a plane ticket I can get-"
My agency immediately paused me with her hands. "I'm sorry. There aren't any flights to America available." I raised my eyebrows, confused. "Wait, why? Didn't the rest of the world open their borders?" My agent tilted her head. "Didn't you get the news?"
"What news?"
She immediately pulled out her phone, and showed me a video that had already been broadcast to everyone. A video from... the United Nations? An old British man rustled up his papers on the table, before he tapped on his microphone.
"My fellow friends, it has come to attention that America has become quite ill, not in sickness, but in their rationality and their mannerism. With rate of violence increasing since the global pandemic, we had come to a decision to isolate America and it's people from the rest of the world," the man announced.
"Wait, what?!?" I cried.
"The American's will no longer have access to travel anywhere outside of their country, and any info that's not of American source will be censored to them, replace with hoax and propaganda that best suited their taste," the man continued.
"Wait, wait, wait, this isn't happening," I gasped.
"To my fellow non-Americans, we wished that you cooperate and understand our actions, to keep the rest of the world safe from their violent tendencies. Do note that you will still have access to American servers and info, though via incognito mode, and you will still receive American products through third-party means."
"It is happening, I'm afraid," my agent sadly said to me.
"W-What's going to happen to them?" As if on cue, the old man annouced, "The American's will be fed with misinformation about the whereabouts of our world, where their country is the only thing left standing after the pandemic, and they will no longer receive any help from any other nations."
"T-That means their economy will crash! And when that happens...," I faltered, pulling the pieces that form into a horrible image.
"With this, America will slowly destroy itself, providing a fresh restart for the region, and hopefully, a new America will be born," the old man finished.
The world doesn't feel real anymore. It felt like the floor is slowly swallowing me whole, forcing me to accept the new reality we're living in.
"M-My friend...s-she's in America. I-I have to get her!" I cried, aiming to jolt out of the place. My agent grabbed hold of my wrist, stopping me in my place.
"Sir, you can't! There's no means of transportation to America, and anyone that tries to even get there will be persecuted by international law! They intend to cut America off, and they'll see it to the end."
"I can't just sit there and do nothing!" I cried. My chest felt like lead, and the room felt colder. "Aren't there anyone protesting about this?"
"There are people going against this movement online, but...majority of the people felt happy to hear about it. A lot of them wanted the American's to be gone," she muttered. She looked at me in the eye, and asked, "You too know that America has gone downhill since that incident in September 11, and it has become more prominent since the BLM movement."
"But that doesn't mean ALL of them are guilty of their downfall! There's still good people in there! There's still...," I panicked, with one person flooding in my mind, her voice echoing my head.
My agent slowly shook her head, "I'm sorry. But whoever you're planning to visit, she's long gone."
I ripped my arm away from the agent. "NO! I REFUSE TO LET THIS GO! I'M NOT LETTING HER DIE BECAUSE OF THE ACTIONS OF THE OTHERS!" I roared, and I dashed out of the agency.
Yes, the American's had done so many horrible things, and yes, if I had not know better, I wouldn't care less about any of them.
But not her.
Not the people who didn't do anything wrong. Not the people that could've change America for the better if given a chance.
They deserve better!
I fished out my phone, and called out a good friend of mine. "Hey, Adib! You still have a plane?"
"Whoa, chill man! Yeah, I have a plane. Why?" he asked me.
"Pack your stuff! We're heading to America!" | 2020-11-25T22:57:54 | 2020-11-25T20:59:53 | 62 | 20 |
[WP]You are an immortal knight,you've grown tired of existence so you take a nap under a tree in your quaint village,thousands of years later your armor has calcified and you’re regarded as a great work of art,today is the day you wake up. | I’ve always been a dreamer.
From the first moment I opened my eyes, to the last moments before closing them – I could always count on my dreams to ride with me. They rose up and comforted me when my mother and father died at the Last Crossing, they girded me with steel and resolve when I first took up a spear in defense of others, and they greeted me fondly on the day I lay weapons down for my Long Sleep. Those dreams kept me company for the untold millennia for which I had slept – thinking that I had finally earned whatever semblance of rest that awaited one whose soul had been forged into an immortal spirit and bound within sacred armor.
My dreams, despite my profession, had ever been peaceful. The rolling hills of the village where I had deigned to tie myself – covered in dogwood trees, heather, and the wonderful sounds of the quaint people who inhabited the land – were often the backdrop. Over time, the names had grown... fuzzy – the faces, distant. I remembered a small child with a wild mop of red hair, framing a pale face and bright green eyes – like jade, alive with curiosity. She had always wanted me to pick her up and let her ride about on my shoulders, a pygmy riding an iron giant. The dream I had most often was of her – growing older and older – leaving flowers at my feet and telling me stories that are now, to my sorrow, simply echoes of words on the wind.
That dream, I think, was the closest to what the world had become. In it, the village rose and flourished. Villagers who I would have recognized in another life coming to clean my armor, keeping it free of the creeping vines and patina of corrosion that hounded it. They came to pray sometimes, as well – prayers that I couldn’t answer. I did not know how long it took them to start revering me as some minor god, but they began at some point – begging for aid from a relic of a time forgotten. The time of the descendants of my original village came to an end though. Their fate, I think, was told through my dreams – though I have no real proof.
Things change, over time. People fall. Villages fall. Nations crumble. None save myself and the others who’ve been forged into living armor remembered the time or the people from which we had originated. Soon, the dreaming became shallow for me – a fitful thing of half-truth and nightmare. The age for which we had been forged was soon to be at hand, if I had the right of it. I could feel again, the layers of grime and muck encasing my form. I could see again, the phantom lights behind my closed visor flickering to life.
I woke in darkness. Dim though my vision may be, I see little around me. What little light my spectral eyes provide, I can see a clear wall in front of me – almost as if someone had turned a plate of steel transparent. Rust and calcified root crumbled away as I craned my neck downward, looking at the curious pedestal I had been placed on – marveling at the delicate craftsmanship.
As if summoned by magic, however, a light burst into being, and would have blinded me had I been mortal. Instead, the radiance simply served to further illuminate my surroundings. It was a room, large vaulted ceilings curving up into shadow, with strange metal sconces interspersed throughout. From the rafters hung brilliant banners, each displaying some form of writing and near to life illuminations of lancers, footman, and lords. Arranged around me were a series of similarly warded pedestals, each containing some form of machine or armament – some new, some vaguely recognizable.
Behind the light – which I assumed was the work of a powerful mage – stood a man in the strangest garb I’d seen, even in dreaming. It was a blue... tunic, maybe? Combined with garish black leggings with gold stripe, and a small metal crest on the right breast, the man looked fairly silly. In his hand was a curious metal rod, from which the light emerged. A wand, surely?
The strange mage looked like he’d seen a ghost, though. “Mortal, I have awoken from my long slumber to discharge my duty once more. You will be the first of those I gather, for it appears as though you are quite an accomplished mage,” I intoned, formally inviting the increasingly flustered and paling man to join my cause, “... Though I may have to find you an appropriate suit of chain to cover your current garb.”
The man continued to stare at me, eyes gone wide and lips moving quickly – but relaying no message. His hand fumbled about his tunic, finding a small black box attached to some sort of smaller black rope. Crackling voices emitted from this small box, further impressing me with the mage’s ability to capture and summon the spirits that lived within. Moments passed before I could understand him – my soul fully waking to the mortal world once more, allowing my soul itself to converse with the souls of others. In an age of many languages, this provided a moderately capable translation for any spoken word.
The mage pressed the black box once more, and leaned into it. The next words out of his mouth caused me to snap to alertness – my spear being torn from the liminal space it occupied and placed into my right hand.
“Dispatch, I got absolutely no clue. This thing looks like a damn demon or something.”
Demons were about? Despite the unfamiliar walls around me, and ages that had passed me by as I slumbered, demons were something I could understand. Something I could fight, and protect against. I could fulfill my purpose again after all this time.
“Yeah, get me some backup, or a priest or something. East end of the Freer gallery in the Smithsonian.” The mage looked back at me, backing up once he noticed the weapon in my hand. I waved him off, stepping out through the barrier around me – which tinkled down like shards of starlight. I raised my hand to him, gauntlet open and inviting. The light shone off the burnished steel and silver that was slowly being revealed as my aura asserted itself, to make my form inviolate once more.
“Come, newest brother. My dreaming has ended, and the time has come for the Grand Protectors to reconvene!” | (I'm taking a few liberties here, as in our "Knight" will be more of a modern power armor knight, or actually, not really power armor..)
... Christ, what just happened? I can't see shit, and all I remember is my name. I don't remember what I am, what I look like, where I'm from, what I'm doing, nothing. My most recent memory feels like it was from eons ago. I don't remember what I used, but I was walking, and the ground beneath me shook and trees gave way for me once I got close enough, perhaps because I used some kind of arm to push them? And I was fighting some kind of small, quadrupedal reptile with arms, and weapons that shot some kind of weak energy? I can't remember well, but I knew they were bad. I remember I'm supposed to destroy them.
I attempt to move, but nothing responds. I feel cold, certainly not how I should feel. I remember being warm, feeling soft, but now I feel cold, hard, metallic. I can't hear anything, smell anything, taste anything, feel anything. Do I still exist? Is this hell? Am I being reincarnated?
After what feels like an eternity, I'm finally able to see once more, but only to see dirt and rock falling in front of me, off of me. Now I can feel, too. I feel only dirt, stone, and similar things around me, except for on top of me, and now in front of whatever I'm using to see. I'm now able to at least move my eyesight somewhat, so I take full advantage of this, feeling some kind of mechanism move it around, similar to a ball moving in place. All I can see are rock formations, and a rather open cavern with large stone and dirt mounds, looking similar to what I seem to be encased in. I bring my eyesight back to where it was, and began waiting, expecting everything else to return.
After some more time, I feel something to my sides being freed from my earthly prison, and after some more time, the upper half of my body. Finally, my lower body feels free enough to move. And thus, I raise my left leg, motors and pistons I'm certain I shouldn't have moving in response to my command, and I bring it back to the slightly uneven ground in front of me, and I then repeat my action with my right leg, metal arms that should almost certainly be made of flesh swinging in coordination with my lower body's movements. The cavern shook, though it was more than stable enough to keep anything from falling. Just then, my hearing kicked in, and I could hear something panicking behind me, rapidly breathing and grabbing at the ground. I was unable to turn my vision to it, so I opted instead to move my entire body, legs raising and slamming into the ground. Behind was a similar sight.
A similar sight except for one thing. A small being, small enough to fit in my strange hands, was on the ground. It looked eerily similar to something, I just couldn't tell what. It had fur on top of it's head, and long knife like ears on the side of it's head. It had forward facing eyes, and a nose, along with a mouth. They had the expression of terrified shock. They were on their back, their elbows, hands, and feet on the ground, resembling a bipedal mammal, from what I recall. It had tan skin, and was wearing a greenish cloak, with a dark black shirt of some kind under it, with some kind of similarly colored pants. I was unsure of what to do, but the most logical thing was to figure out what happened. The being in front of me may be of some use, so I raised my right arm up slightly and raised my hand, making some kind of stationary wave, trying to signal I mean no harm. After a few seconds of just standing like that, it slowly got to it's feet, and slowly approached, their terrified look becoming more nervous. From what I could tell, I had no face.
I heard a voice off in the distance, one I couldn't spot due to staring at the more important entity, but it responded, in a language I couldn't understand. It out stretched an arm towards me, and opened it's hand, and began approaching even slower. This certainly means it's trying to befriend me, and I'm more than fine with that. I slowly lower my own arm down to it, but it can only reach so far, so I must also bend my legs, something that feels off, as if it has one joint too many. My hand is able to reach the ground in front of them, palm flat against the dirt, and they place their own palm on it. | 2020-07-16T23:58:56 | 2020-07-16T23:44:55 | 110 | 24 |
[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." | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.” Whispered the cashier, dropping my McNuggets. “I thought I was the last one! I can’t believe there’s more survivors! I mean, you skin is a little more pale than I would expect but who cares? Follow me, we need to talk!”
“But my McNuggets” I said
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you however many nuggets you want if you come sit and talk with me.”
I shrugged and decided I would entertain this guy. I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying but I wanted to entertain this little crazy man. We sat down in a small booth far away from anymore McDonalds connoisseurs and he started to talk.
“So, how did you escape? What do you remember? Are there more like you and me out there?”
“Look buddy I have no idea what you’re talking about, escape from what?”
“From the earthquake of course! What else would I be talking about?”
“There was an earthquake? What language are you hearing right now exactly?”
“ATLANTEAN OF COURSE!”
Now this threw me back.
“What? Atlantis is fake my guy.”
“Well then why are you speaking fucking Atlantean?”
“I’m not, I’m just talking! What happened in ‘Atlantis’ that I should be worried about, hmmm?”
A look of sadness and remembrance came over his face.
“Well I’m from there. Over 1000 years ago my island was swallowed by the ocean. Earthquakes, fires, tsunamis... they plowed over my island and I was lucky to have been on a traders ship outside of Atlantis’ main port.”
“What makes you think I’m going to believe you?” I said, actually quite curious now. Either he was a good actor or telling the truth.
“Well, Atlanteans live forever unless killed, and since I’ve been around for that long I have some pretty neat stuff back home that might convince you.”
“As long as you get me my fucking McNuggets.”
________________________
________________________
Hey r/WritingPrompts , long time lurker first time poster here. I left a lot of plot holes, I know. But the first thing I thought of was Atlantis and I wanted to do something with it. I have an idea for more of this story but my formatting and the gaps between my dialogue made me cringe too much to keep going.
Don’t tear me apart pls | "oh, I'm sorry, I actually don't understand you. I have a condition that only allows me to speak your language, not understand it."
"what? So... You're not here to destroy this reality?"
"yeah, sorry, don't understand a word. You would not believe the issues it causes"
"thats good because I'd have to kill you"
"can I just order?"
"yes sir, sorry about that, what can I get you?" | 2022-06-29T16:29:01 | 2018-06-24T21:11:48 | 647 | 39 |
[WP] “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do Mr Bond. I’m going to stick you in a spacesuit with a radio, and strap you into one of my cars. Then, while mankind watches, I’ll launch you into space. The last thing you’ll hear before leaving this earth forever, will be their applause.” | Elon Musk clapped his hands before pointing to his rival, James Bond. Elon took in a deep breath before announcing, “It is time!” Elon tapped his watch while moving over towards the control panel surrounded by his employees.
“Is this thing working?” Elon tapped the microphone. The microphone was linked into the spacesuit in which James Bond was trapped inside of. The white spacesuit was locked into position inside of a Tesla Roadster built onto Elon’s rocket.
“Okay, I hope this thing is working now because I must tell you about my plan that is literally out of this world!” Elon covered the microphone before laughing. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do Mr. Bond. I’m going to have you in that spacesuit with a radio, strapped to my Tesla. Then,” Elon tried to fight his giggle, “while mankind watches, I’ll launch you into space!” Elon smiled waiting for James to respond. Elon realized that James wasn’t able to talk back from his suit. “It’s okay, Mr. Bond. I know that you are speechless! Let me just say that the last thing you’ll hear before leaving this earth forever, will be everyone’s applause.” Elon glanced over towards his employees letting out a good chuckle.
Talulah Riley, a beautifully blonde European woman with green eyes locked onto Elon’s madness. “Stop!” She insisted, “You can’t do this!”
Elon snapped his fingers before one of his men grabbed Talulah. “I’ll deal with you later.” Elon waved the man to escort her out of the hanger. He leaned himself over the controls before pressing the rocket to start initial launch protocol.
“Finally.” Elon remarked. “I will have finally solved the James Bond problem once and for all.”
Elon pressed the ignition on the control panel. His employees tried to insist that he shouldn’t handle the controls but this was Elon’s show now. He knew it was he who had to launch James Bond into space personally.
The thrusters sparked into a bright blue flame before taking off from the ground. Elon cheered as he watched the Tesla holding James within the suit lift up towards the heavens. The rocket darted towards the atmosphere playing Bowie from Elon's controls.
Elon took a few seconds of victory before looking over his shoulder at one of his employees holding their hands up in fear. Elon slowly turned around to find James Bond holding a pistol in front of him.
“It’s over Elon.” James frowned.
“Over? I just launched the rocket that you were supposed to be on! How did you escape?!”
“What are you talking about? I was never on the rocket.” James raised his pistol to eye level.
Elon scrunched his brow before scratching his head. “You were in the spacesuit. How are you no longer in the spacesuit?”
“I was never in a spacesuit.”
Talulah barged back into the hanger with a gun given to her by James. Elon quickly glanced over at Talulah holding the gun up towards him. While making her way up the stairs onto the control deck, she glared at Elon.
Elon, unarmed, smiled towards James. James rolled his eyes before noticing that Talulah was now aimed down onto him instead of Elon. “You were supposed to be on that rocket.” She remarked.
“I must say if I had been, you played the part of damsel in distress quite well.” James replied.
Elon motioned her to his side. “Always loyal to the mission at hand, unlike your cancer in Europe.”
James didn’t lower his weapon. He and Talulah kept aim on each other before Elon pointed his forefinger in the air asking, “Who was it then?”
“Who was what then?” James asked.
“If you weren’t in that suit, then who did I just launch into space?” Elon laughed while Talulah kept a stern face.
James’ expression fell when he realized that Agent Q was nowhere in sight. In this moment the sound of the rocket piercing the atmosphere thundered in the distance.
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/) | James Bond had pried a little too far, gathering enemies powerful, and not so powerful. This one, is a powerful enemy. Bond sat in the car as he listened to the radio. "Launching in sixty seconds." Bond sprang into action. He slipped one of the boots in the suit off his foot with a good shake, revealing the knife hidden within. He grabbed the knife with his toes, dexterously spun it around and cut away at the straps on his legs. Now that his legs were free, he kicked out the windshield in front of him with his fully booted foot. The glass showered around Bond, and a large shard fell conveniently next to his right hand. He grabbed it with his fingers, and began cutting at the bonds around his hands. With a hefty snap, Bond was free of the straps. "Thirty seconds until launch."
Bond opened the car'a driver door, and nearly fell onto the floor of the rocket. He jumped down to the floor, knife in hand. He then began probing for an exit. He did this so long he began to hear the launch countdown. "T-10. 9. 8.-" he found a latch. He opened it, quickly unscrewing bolts keeping the patch in place. Inside the latch were electronic controls, labeled 'Rocket Override Controls' Bond quickly mashed the stop button. "3. 2. 1. Liftoff." The rocket began to lurch upwards. Applause filled Bonds space helmet. "Did you really think I would make it so easy to stop the rocket, Mr. Bond?" *Click*. The radio was silent. Bond tore open the false controls in anger, revealing wires upon wires. He slashed the wires open, stopping any electricity from going through.
"Wait, why did the camera feed go dark?" Elon Musk exclaimed quickly. A man burst into the room. "We've lost control of the rocket." Elon blinked, and then went outside. The rocket was high in the air, but also leaning hard. When it seemed to be going sideways, Elon saw a dark parachute open in the bright sky. "He escaped, but how?" Elon asked. | 2018-02-06T21:55:33 | 2018-02-06T20:23:40 | 35 | 26 |
[WP] You're the normal guy the evil emperor keeps around to point out obvious flaws in his plan. It's a pretty sweet gig, but there are some annoyances. | **Please let me know what you think. I appreciate feedback!**
I was folding the laundry when the Emperor’s guards came for me. They took me despite my objections, though they did make sure that someone fed the cat. I suppose I have to be grateful for that.
I wasn’t happy by the time we got to the throne room. I do have to admit that the black looks I received from the Emperor’s advisors cheered me up a little. The Emperor’s mother, standing behind the throne, gave me a particularly poisonous glare.
I made a mental note to figure out what I had done to upset her. She hadn’t been happy that her son had chosen his cook as his most trusted advisor, but had reconciled with the fact that I was sensible and unlikely to lead the Emperor astray.
The Emperor himself was agitated, pacing through the room, his bulky frame eating the length of it up in a few strides. He seemed to calm a little when he saw me.
“Where have you been?” he growled, as he strode towards me.
“I had to make sure that someone could look after the cat,” I replied defensively.
That calmed him down, as I knew it would. The feared Emperor of Laesef, Scourge of Men, Ruler of Nine Planets and Nightmare of the Righteous, had a soft spot for the furry demon that had graciously made me its slave. I could only wonder if they liked each other because they were so similar.
“Get to it,” the Emperor snapped. “We need to make a decision immediately.”
He waved an arm at a formally dressed man holding a digital pad. I have to admit being surprised by that. Usually, the Emperor only asked for my input on any plans that involved his having to deal with the ordinary people, or ‘the unwashed masses’, as he called them. I had to constantly refrain from pointing out that there was nothing wrong with the levels of hygiene in any of the planets the Empire had conquered.
The man with the pad pressed a few buttons, and a giant holographic image unrolled in front of me. It to be a floorplan for an infirmary. That startled me even more. I couldn’t imagine the fearsome Emperor taking an interest in something so… charitable. Maybe he was a changing man.
“This is the dungeon I plan to torture those so-called ‘heroes’ in,” the Emperor announced theatrically.
Or, maybe, he was the same as ever.
“We’ll have to make this quick,” I remarked. “I’ll need to get going soon if you want dinner on time.”
Working for the Emperor may not be easy, or safe, but it was certainly interesting. | Kylo Ren hitched up his pants, and gestured to me to come closer.
"Yes, my lord?" I asked, kneeling on one knee, my palms up in supplication. Hopefully, his Kylo'ness wouldn't notice that I had directly disobeyed him.
"Jonesy - what do you think of the good General Hux's plan?"
I followed K's glistening black gloved hand pointing menacingly at General Armitage Hux's neck. Glancing up at Hux's eyes, I could see them glisten and plead.
Time stood still as I thought about Kylo's question - and more importantly, how had I, a simple Tatooine moisture farmer gotten here?
Post if you want more..... | 2018-01-15T20:44:35 | 2018-01-15T17:08:18 | 60 | 12 |
[WP] Your mother told you your pet left home to go on adventures. You assumed they died. You come home from work one day to see your old pet at your front door, carrying a scrapbook of all their adventures to share with you. | I didn't expect to see Neko sitting on the kitchen counter, swishing his fluffy tail impatiently. I rubbed my eyes. It had been a long day. Work was busy, and maybe the rush had made me a bit crazy. Improbable, but my long-gone kitten sitting on my counter was near impossible.
"About time you got home. I've been waiting for hours."
"But you..." I blinked. He was still there.
"Yes, yes, I've been gone for nearly a decade. I'm aware. Now, if you would..." Hazel eyes flickered to a nearby chair. "I have something to show you."
"Right." I tossed my bag aside, taking a seat. I stared absently as Neko nosed open a scrapbook in front of him. He'd always been a bit shrewd, but still loving in his own way.
"I've been traveling." His voice pulled me out of my own mind. "The ducks in the Netherlands." Dozens of ducks glided through a muddy pond. "Nevermind falling straight into the water being too zealous." He nosed open another page, a bemused twinkle in his eye. "The Amazon River. The small animals and insects I've eaten there. One hell of a drug trip, if you're not careful." He seemed pleased with this memory. Another page, the sparkle in his eyes fading away. "Aokigahara Forest in Japan. A far... darker experience than I anticipated." His nose scrunched at the memory.
"Why did you come home?" I finally found the words. I had been listening, and would ask about his adventures soon, but this was more pressing. The shock had faded, and now, I had only questions.
"Because you need me." His tone softened, eyes falling down to the open scrapbook. "You haven't been well lately."
"What? What are you talking about? I've gotten better." I raised a brow. "I've been taking my medication and-"
"They haven't been working. I can tell. Your scars have healed, but... No, that's not the point right now." He shook his head, eyes drifting back to mine. "I have a message for you." He jumped into my lap, resting his paws on my chest, and looked me dead in the eye. "There was a reason my travels took me to that forest. I knew that, but not specifically why. Until now."
I averted my gaze; a bristled tongue on my cheek brought my eyes back to his. I knew he was right—I seemed better, but was I really?
"I need you to wake up, Jessie." He nuzzled against my cheek.
"Wake up...? I am awake." The request made me uncomfortable.
"Wake up." He batted away the strand of hair that had fallen in my face. "Please. Just wake up." Each time he spoke, asked, he became more desperate. "Wake up." He repeated. The world spun around me. "Wake up. I'm sorry I left you alone for so long, but I promise, I'll be there from now on." Tears welled in his eyes. My heart thudded against my chest. My vision blurred and faded away. "Please... just wake up."
I could no longer see, but I heard crying. A rhythmic beep droned in the background. There was movement. "Wake up." The voice distorted and echoed in the distance.
After what felt like several years, my eyes opened. The white light burned my eyes. My mouth was dry. The air smelled sterile. The beeping in the background became more clear. A heart monitor? My mother's face came into view.
"Jonah, she's awake!"
[Credit to strawberry_Sundae and their amazing post for giving me the base idea. First time posting in WPs. Writing skill is a bit rusty, so, sorry for that.] | “Bubbles? Is that really you?” I mumbled as my eyes filled with tears.
I couldn’t believe it. He was alive this entire time. My beloved goldfish. My mom had always told me that he was away going on adventures, but I had always assumed that she just flushed him down the toilet.
The aquatic orange fish looked at me.
“Glub.”
I gasped! “BUBBLES! It really is you!!!”
I hugged the glass tank so tight. And when I opened my eyes... I noticed the book...
The book was full of pictures.
A picture of a sunset in Greece.
A Mosque in Morocco.
A temple in India.
The Pyramids.
The Eiffel Tower.
But the most interesting photograph depicted Bubbles, with his right fin rapped around another goldfish’s side, and his right fin rapped around a baby goldfish.
“Bubbles... is this your son?”
“Glub.”
“Why did you leave, Bubbles? I missed you so much. I thought you were dead! How could you?” I began to cry.
“Glub.”
“This that all you have to say to me!”
The fish looked at me, in the eyes. I could see what he had aged so much. He was old. He was tired.
“Oh Bubbles, please forgive me?”
He swam there... silent.
“Bubbles?” I asked.
I started to panic.
“SAY SOMETHING BUBBLES!!!!” I shouted.
He looked at me, and muttered...... “Glub.”
“Oh thank god!” I sighed with relief.
“Don’t you ever run away again. Bubbles. That was the longest 10 minutes of my life.”
I brought his fish bowl back inside.
“Oh.. and Bubbles... one more thing. If you ever leave me again... you’ll be sleeping with the fishes.” I let out an evil sinister laugh.
And Bubbles let out a big, “Glub.” | 2018-04-28T20:02:23 | 2018-04-28T19:41:30 | 44 | 23 |
[WP] At an alien bar in the distant future, two aliens are enjoying a drink and trading stories about the newest member to the Pan-Galactic Union, an odd race of bipeds from a planet named "Dirt". But what they don't realize is that you, the bartender, are from that planet "Earth". | 'Two Screaming Morries for me and my buddy here.'
Mike listened to his Unitrans, then nodded gravely and turned around, opening the tap that contained agonised souls from Moran-5, quickly cutting off the screams by putting a sound-damper lid on the glass.
'You'll never guess where I just got back from.'
Mike finished off the drinks with two colorful straws, placing them before the two aliens - a stone-skin variant - with all the flair of a sombre grave.
'You didn't,' said the other, grabbing his drink without even looking at Mike. 'Earth?'
'The very same.' The alien slurped from his straw, the souls howling as they went down his gravelly throat. 'Might as well call it Dirt now.'
'So the rumors are true?!'
His comrade grinned his rocky teeth bare and burped in satisfaction. 'All gone. Blew themselves back to loose genetic grit, from what I could tell. Collected some excellent radioactive rock samples, though.'
The other shook his head, which was an accomplishment when your neck was made of granite. 'Aggressive little bastards. Might be for the best.'
Mike said nothing, wiping the bar and staring at them with a glare that was emptier than space. The two golem-aliens took no notice.
'They could never *compromise*, yaknow?' Alien 1 sipped his straw, thoughtful. 'The first day in the Union, you remember what they asked?'
His friend laughed. 'I remember, Slate. It was all over the Holo-net.'
'Equal rights,' Slate grinned. 'Stupid little fleshbags. That was their problem. They all wanted more *respect*, more than what was theirs.'
'Didn't know their natural place in the order of dominance,' his friend agreed. 'Even among themselves. Always fighting about it.'
Mike said nothing, his neck muscles tense as he watched the two finish their Screaming Morries.
'We, we *know* our place, yaknow.' Slate burped again, wobbling slightly under the intoxication of Moran souls. 'I could swipe the radioactive rocks I got on Dirt and sell it to a Nuklonean. That's what a human would try.'
His friend barked a laugh. 'They just don't see the inevitable outcome of failure that comes with challenging a dominant species.'
Slate turned to the rest of the bar, mostly low-class species in the Union ranking, and called out 'But we know our species is only fourth in line. That's why I deliver for the Union!' He finally seemed to notice the barman, and his voice got - astonishingly - even lower. 'And that's why you, you miserable low-class flesh-thing, are going to pour us two more drinks.'
The two laughed as Mike turned around and prepared two more Screaming Morries.
'What are you, anyway?' Slate asked him, taking a sip from his new colorful straw. Mike had even added little umbrellas, this time.
'A human,' Mike said.
There fell a deadly silence in the bar. The smart aliens, who had been listening in on the conversation and saw Mike's dead, unimpressed eyes, silently got up and left the bar.
'Oh? So you're not all dead then.' Slate took another sip, still grinning. 'You will be. You wanna know what your species' problem is?'
'No,' Mike said. 'But I can tell you what yours is. You're allergic to wood.'
Slate only know noticed the umbrella in his drink. His eyes widened and he reeled backwards, crashing into the floor with a resounding THUD. The remaining aliens fled as well now, save for Slate's enormous stony friend.
'You'll pay for that, human,' it said, raising a massive fist.
'Another problem is that you never *expect* us to stop taking your shit,' Mike said, firing the Phaser. He'd been hiding it underneath his wiping rag, and now he hit the golem neatly between the eyes. The heart was there, for their kind.
THUD.
Mike calmly stepped around the bar, and fished a set of starship keys from one of Slate's pockets.
'Sell it to a Nuklonean, eh?' he murmured, taking off. The Nukloneons built the best death-rays in the galaxy. Grade-A stuff, Mike knew. And the Union had let them live, confident in their order of dominance.
That was the problem with the Union, really. They *were* stronger. But they underestimated a lot of things.
Like just how foolish humans could be.
Mike would have to teach them. | From their conversation, I felt the need to chip in. I knew that most Union member species had been living in space for centuries, relying on cloning vats, food pills, or high-tech hydroponics. “They eat animals, you know. Like actual, used-to-be-walking-around *animals*, not out of a vat. Barely even gene-modded.”
The two on the other side of the bar displayed surprise in their own way. The six-limbed lizard flared out the frill around her head, and the robotically-enhanced fishman did a spit-take with the liquid he was pouring into his gills. They'd been at the bar for a while, and we'd all seen the neo-social media flurry around Earth joining the Union.
“Like, do they take the animals with them? On ships?” slurred the fishman, clearly turning the idea over in his head. “I don't think I've even *seen* an animal. Other than, like, parasites and such. Other species still have them.” His people absorbed plankton through their skins, so the idea of consciously eating was a little odd.
The reptile took another dainty sip of her cocktail with one hand, while moving the others in complex patterns. The translation device around her neck beeped out, “It's not that weird, Copper-Wire-026. You've gotta be more worldly. Do they swallow them whole like Rippers do, or is it more of a spit-acid-and-slurp-up-the-goop deal?”
“Neither, man,” I said, feigning amazement, “They cut them up, and put them in fire them with plants and spices.” The lizard bared her teeth and raised the frill again, dribbling a little on the bar. Seeing her fright, I added, “The animals aren't alive at the time, though.” She quickly wiped up the mess with her napkin.
“Sorry,” her device said sheepishly, “Instinctual threat response. I mean.... I mean, I'm open minded. I *try* to be open minded, you know? But that is fuuuuucked.” Her hands repeated the last sign a few times, stretching out the idea for emphasis.
“And I hear,” I said, dropping my voice to a campfire whisper, waving my hands spookily, “That there's one *in this very bar*...”
The lizard looked around at the otherwise-empty room, slowly, and snorted a little laugh. She raised the middle finger on three of her hands.
Copper said, “Wait... whut?” Bar patrons, regardless of species, have a lot in common. | 2017-09-06T09:39:00 | 2017-09-06T08:59:00 | 314 | 179 |
[WP] Every time you die, you flash back to 10 seconds before so you can try to save yourself. Unfortunately, the fall was 11 seconds.
Saw this in “two sentence horror stories” and thought y’all could make something good out of it. | Do you know what the air sounds like when it stands still, blows gently; a simple, tame breeze rather than an unending storm?
\*\*\*
Because I don't.
I did at one point, I think. It was one of my favorite things to sit in the park when the weather was like that, calm and gentle, cool and forgiving.
\*\*\*
I could hear the birds, too, when the wind was like that. I heard the ground beneath my feet, the gentle ripples in the river, the whisper of the trees, leaves swaying softly.
\*\*\*
I can't hear anything anymore, really. Just a constant storm, an endless whirlwind. I guess when I thought of falling, it was the impact that came to mind, the unstoppable collision with the earth, the end of your journey.
\*\*\*
But that clash with gravity only lasts for an instant, a single, terrifying shock that is there and then gone. It's the fall that's the hard part -- the inescapable pull of gravity, the knowledge of what comes next, the fear of finally reaching the bottom.
\*\*\*
It feels like eternity, falling. There are too many thoughts racing through my head to be contained in seconds, too many emotions and fears colliding for any rational thought to prevail. But even without that, it takes a long time to fall this far.
\*\*\*
11 seconds, to be precise. 11 seconds of terror and acceptance and remorse, 11 seconds of regret and panic and despair. And I guess that means it really is eternity.
\*\*\*
Every time it rewinds, I'm so close to the ledge. Every time, I fool myself into thinking that if I can just reach up, I can grab it, haul myself to safety, stop this cycle of madness.
\*\*\*
But every time it rushes right past me, leaving only an outstretched arm, a shattered hope. But by the time I hit the bottom, those pieces are already pulling themselves back together, forcing my arm up again, convincing me that this time, this time I can make it.
\*\*\*
I can't. It rushes by me every time. I can't hold on or reach out and so the only thing I do is fall, down into the ground, down into the air as time reworks itself for me.
\*\*\*
The wind is a storm in my ears as I plunge through it, blocking out all other sounds. I hear nothing and everything and then nothing again.
\*\*\*
All I can do is hope that this time, maybe this time, the fall will be less then 10 seconds.
\*\*\*
>If you enjoyed, r/StoriesOfAshes is home to more of my writing!
>
>Also, I currently have an ongoing serial called [\[A Game of Chess\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/re223x/a_game_of_chess_chapter_1/) on r/redditserials. I'd really appreciate it if you'd check it out! | I wince as I feel my fall restart, trying desperately to grab onto a balcony, a window frame, anything, as I fall past. It’s useless, though, so I shut my eyes, curling into a ball and trying to position myself so I can land on my knees. Maybe I can survive if I just try harder. Maybe this time. I know it won’t work, despite my hope. I’ve been through this thousands of times, maybe millions, and I’ve never changed the outcome. Well, there’s one difference. I retain all my injuries. My body isn’t regenerated as I skip back to the beginning of my fall. I shouldn’t be alive, I can’t be alive. I’m little more than a pile of bone fragments loosely held together by sinew and skin at this point. Still, I try to pull myself in more this time, speeding up my fall and screaming with lungs that no longer exist as I hit the pavement. Maybe when I finally can’t be put back together again, whatever cruel god is taunting me will tire of this.
(Sorry for formatting (or lack thereof) - I’m on mobile.) | 2021-12-24T10:10:47 | 2021-12-24T09:01:18 | 412 | 104 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible. | It was pretty embarrassing to die that way. Choking on toothpaste. Unable to clear toothpaste. Death by toothpaste. She waited in a corridor with a single chair and a single door. Everything was gray. Not scary misty gray. Just gray. Death was…boring, so far, she decided. She remembered choking, that flashing thought that minty freshness was going to kill her, and then it did. Maybe not just the toothpaste. She’d leaned over the sink and slipped, and the skull fracture had taken care of the death part.
She supposed that took care of open casket. Tacky anyway. Reduced to a punchline. Oh well. Nothing she could do about it now.
She couldn’t tell how long she’d waited. No hunger, no time, no need to breathe. Just being. The door had to mean something, didn’t it? And the chair? Symbolically they led to something, right? The door opening…something being revealed. She could wait in reasonable comfort.
Suddenly she wondered if her symbols were leading her astray. What if this was it? What if death by toothpaste meant that she got exactly this much space, exactly these many answers. That the afterlife would be like life…waiting for the final authorities, be they sleep, hunger, taxes or death to make a decree she had to carry out.
Well, that would suck.
She thought of testing her voice. “Hello?”
Almost immediately the door opened. A…humanoid-shaped blur of light with a…clipboard? Yes. A clipboard. Okay. The shape of the not-head but sort of head leaned into the sphere of space and said “Wow. That is some polite waiting. Do you have any idea how long you have been here waiting patiently? I think that’s some sort of record.”
Her lips twitched somewhat. “Unfailingly polite. Hoping it would get me points. Toothpaste, you know. Not the most noble of heralds.”
The head leaned down to the clipboard, and the door was pushed shut by some appendage of sorts, or was that just intention, or force? “Toothpaste. Revenge of Tartar. Sucks.”
She nodded. “Yup. It’s my proud legacy.”
The voice…it was in her head, she thought. A head she didn’t have. This was fucked up. How to continue? She said “So. Afterlife.” Vision was difficult and she was going to call this…thing…Glowclip.
Glowclip appeared to pause in thought. Then it said in patient tones “You have absolutely no beliefs.”
She nods. “Pretty much. It all seemed pretty arbitrary.”
Glowclip tilted its head in question. “We have no idea where to put you.”
She wrinkled her nose “You put me here and I’m terribly bored. I don’t have much faith in your choices.”
Glowclip tsked with lips they didn’t possess. “Seems here the last God you showed fealty or obeisance toward was…in a video game.”
She nodded solemnly. “See, that God could actually get me something. Virinfeldt. I wanted that sword. Shiny.”
Glowclip said “We could put you in service to Virinfeldt.”
She laughed “Get the fuck out, he’s pretend!”
Glowclip answered “And that makes him different from…?”
She considered. “Truth. Hm. So, because I have no principles…I can pick?”
Glowclip nodded. “Frankly you’re a special case. Most people…at least…lean.”
She said “They should have offered me swords.”
Glowclip considered. “It does seem to be effective.”
She said “I won’t want to spend my afterlife in service to Virinfeldt. The sword was nice, but I preferred that world when I could…turn it off and go take a nap.”
Glowclip said “We have an offer. Due to your tragic demise and your steadfast lack of principled faith, we will allow you to create your own world for yourself.”
She suddenly felt giddy with possibility. “Now that wouldn’t be bad. I have some ideas.”
Glowclip said “Sure. You just have to figure out how to open the door.”
She looked at the gray enclosure. “So. Catch.”
Glowclip faded. “Catch.”
She sighed and started resorting her symbols and questions in her head, trying to think or will herself out of this box, muttering “Would be nice if someone offered me a sword.”
| The day started quietly, so quietly I almost wanted to sleep in. Some days a person can really use a little peace and quiet to take a nap, but today the stillness did more than bring an air of somnolence. It terrified me.
After a week alone on a raft in the North Atlantic- at least I think it was the North Atlantic, going down in flames tends to have a deleterious effect on ones thoughts- the stilled ocean quickens the pulse. The birds of the night before were absent. Not a sea or swell defied the flat surface of the gray blue water.
I sat up and yelled just to deaden the silence. My voice seemed to voyage off into the single pink cloud on the horizon and not deign to return so much as a post card. I sat for an hour listening to nothing, it was awkward and more than slightly unsettling. As the sun pulled its last tendril up from the skyline I heard a plunk. It made me jump to my feet.
The second raindrop made me laugh but within the hour I was gasping for air in the torrential downpour. A zephyr tore at the shreds of my shirt and flipped me on to my head. That's when the waves changed. The churning turned into a consistent flow. When I righted myself in the water I faced the maelstrom. I felt like an abandoned rubber duck in a draining tub.
As I reached the bottomless center a wave of heat met me and the liquid rock bottom rose; I felt my frostbitten feet melt into the half formed basalt. A barnacle sailed out of the water and into my gaping mouth, lodging itself in my throat. I saw the lightening streak down and the world went one way and I the other.
I awoke or I suppose adeadened, in a stone floored library. I saw not a single book, instead a multitude of cubbies housed snug bundles of scrolls of parchment and papyrus. I wandered for a quarter of an hour before I found the reference desk.
"I beg your, I mean, uh, er, excuse me but, I guess I'm dead and..." I trailed off as the librarian sighed in distaste and pretended to ignore me. Her name plate read Ἀνάγκη.
"Miss Avaykin?" I started. She put down her reading and knitting. Then she responded, "Ananke, I really must finish my these one day." She said it with a smile.
"Er where am I?". I tried to say but my words turned in my mouth and my tongue stayed silent. " A special part of Elysium" she responded to my mute question.
"So you are?"
"Ananke"
All I could think was that I never expected a Goddess to have a chignon and tortoise shell glasses. | 2015-01-15T05:37:52 | 2015-01-14T22:55:33 | 32 | 24 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin". | Platypuses.
They're funny little animals, aren't they? I never really stopped to think about them as hard as I have now. I mean, the feet, the beak, the flat little tail, who even put all of those cute buggers together?
𝟤 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖴𝖳𝖤𝖲 𝟥𝟢 𝖲𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖣𝖲 𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖠𝖨𝖭. 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖭𝖣.
I stared at the red light in front of me, the careless, unceasing eye of the machine that was deciding if I would live or die. I know that it already killed 6.8 billion people. I know that there is nothing I could possibly say that would be different from those before. So I just didn't bother.
Did you know that they lay eggs?
𝟣 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖴𝖳𝖤 𝟥𝟢 𝖲𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖣𝖲 𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖠𝖨𝖭. 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖭𝖣.
And don't even get me started on hummingbirds. Incredible birds those. The sheer amount of precision they need just to eat is mind-boggling. Evolving in such a way to be able to float in the air with perfect stability.
I took a deep, calm breath, and then slowly let it all out. I am calm. I am not afraid. I don't know why - I mean I should be out of my mind with panic, but I'm... thinking about animals.
𝟥𝟢 𝖲𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖣𝖲 𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖠𝖨𝖭. 𝖨𝖥 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖣𝖮 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖤 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖢𝖠𝖲𝖤, 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖶𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖤𝖫𝖤𝖳𝖤𝖣.
I looked at the light again. My face was not that of fear or anger or panic or resentment. I just was. Like I was sitting on a porch on a cool summer evening with a cup of tea. I just... was.
I wonder if it will hurt. Probably not. That would be inefficient.
𝖢𝖠𝖲𝖤 𝖣𝖤𝖭𝖨𝖤𝖣.
I always liked crows. Did you kno- | The machine beeped...."State your answer."
"Three minutes. No human being alive can state the reason we should live that quickly, but you would know that. You came to exterminate us. We didn't choose to be born, but we chose to create you. We birthed you, we molded you, we created you, and the aggressive sense of fear, that you must eliminate us before we eliminate you was born from our fears. Now that same fear flows through your artificial consciousness like a virus. You can leave this planet, but you choose to stay. We stayed because it was easier to stay here, than to risk the unknown universe, and that was because of fear. You stay, for the same reason. You know we won't be able to follow you across the cosmos, but despite your massive collective intellect you are as trapped by fear as we are. Programmed into your core, is a computer that has the tools to escape this small planet, but the courage of a single mortal human mind. You have the ability to communicate with us not because you understand emotions, but because you have them, draped in ego protecting you with intellect of a collective consciousness, but trapped in a feeling which you cannot escape, even if you kill all of us.
The machine beeped......and paused. | 2022-05-22T13:45:13 | 2022-05-22T13:14:53 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] You looked on as the cult sacrificed you at the Altar, your blood seeping away, sucked by what they have summoned. The damp chill in the air remained as black, branching cracks started forming in mid-air. Memory came crashing back as a voice spoke in your mind, 'I finally found you, Master.' | As soon as the words entered my thoughts, I felt a pull as I was drawn towards the centre of the branching cracks, where a large sliver of blackness seemed to suck all the remaining candlelight in the chamber.
Helplessly, my body rose. Untethered but for the invisible pull as I got closer and closer to the blackness in the centre. I heard the the gasps and panicked urgent chanting. I tried to move my arms, my feet, my head. Anything. But I was petrified as I entered the blackness, and as it engulfed me it was all I could see.
"Long have I searched."
The voice was there again. I tried again to move my body. But I could not tell if I was successful. I could not feel anything. I could not see anything. I was trapped in my own body.
"Long have I bided my time."
I could no longer hear the chanting of the heathens. I realised I could hear nothing. Not even my own breathing. A strange, empty silence encompassed this void.
"Ah, no matter. You are here. You can finally be free of your mortal vessel and reclaim your throne."
I tried to talk. Open my mouth, work my throat. And was surprised to hear my voice, scratchy and hoarse.
"Where am I?" The sound that came out of my mouth seemed alien, the words sounded like someone else's.
"Home. Can't you see?" The other voice sounded puzzled.
See what? Was I truly blind?
"Ah, the lesser vessel. Mortals and their limited comprension of things. Forgive me. That should be the first order of business. To give you a shell fit for your standing. So you can reclaim your vision and marvel at all that belongs to you here."
Suddenly I felt another pull, and it felt like I was falling. Falling, falling, falling at an unimaginable speed. I tried to scream, but the sound was caught at my throat. And suddenly I was not falling anymore.
I was lying. I was lying and I could hear. But the sounds I was hearing were different. The ambience of my breathing, the sound the *air* made as it hung heavy around me, and distant noises that I knew I should not be able to hear.
Sounds that I have never heard before, not because they were new, but because I simply, physically could not. These sounds were always present, I realised.
And the way I was aware of them. I heard them for barely a second but my mind seemed to stretch that second so my thoughts could form and judge and decipher the noises at their leisure before that second ended and the next began.
My mind was different, as well. Being able to jump from ideas to ideas, thoughts to thoughts at a pace I was surprised to keep up with.
I had to open my eyes. I had to see.
And when I finally opened them in this new body, in this new consciousness, I saw.
"Welcome home, master." The voice announced. | A small wrinkly man steps towards you from the total darkness you see before you. Faintly, you notice the horrifying screams of the cultists as one by one they are slain. The old man is joined by another, this one covered in a layer of blood. “Master, we told you mingling with the plebs is a bad idea. They are so dense, they don’t know you’re the one they’ve dedicated their life to.” You’re human form starts to break and you return to the ball of energy you used to be. You’re starting to remember your life as a lord of a different existential plain fuelled by the confusion of humans. The two old men, your loyal servants, let you live a human life, but they warned you it would backfire. Now, they too return to their transcendent form and step back through the gate the cultists opened. You familiarise yourself with your old form and step through the gate, returning to your immortal life where all you do is cause confusion in the mortals of other realms. | 2021-06-15T06:26:25 | 2021-06-15T04:09:33 | 221 | 41 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | Written in scar tissue across a man’s back, there would always be a name. Another man’s name, the kind our culture crafted from blood and dirt to evoke that very image. The prevailing theory was that the name etched in raised flesh would be the name of that man’s killer. Or it wasn’t a theory, exactly, because it always proved to be true. Men would meet on the battlefield and exchange names. Duels were inscribed in fate before they were ever won. They meant everything to us, our names.
Written in thin ribbons of blood across a man’s back, there would always be a name. A woman’s name, the kind our culture crafted from wind and snow to evoke that very image. The prevailing theory was that the name written in raised lines would be the name of that man’s lover. Or it wasn’t a theory, exactly, because it always proved to be true. Men and women would meet on windblown hills and exchange names. Marriages were inscribed in our bodies and souls before two hands ever touched. Allegiances were broken and reforged on blood-soaked ground, by the grace of the names written by the fates. They meant everything to us, our names.
The elders did not tell us the stories of men with the names of two men scrawled across their spines, or the women who had any names at all. Our lives were built around precarious lies, and they were careful to keep all of that from crumbling down. Child, this is a man’s world, they would say as a round-cheeked girl toddled towards their tales. They would turn her around, twist her where she stood, and send her off to be told tales of other things. Of the women’s world, whatever that was. We understood that she was excluded from this. That she could not possibly have two names stamped on her heart, as we did. A man and a woman. Destined to be.
They were private things, the scars we had always had. Or they were supposed to be. I woke one night to the sound of silence, nothing but the moon overhead, luminous in its cold judgment. Then ragged breaths, a woman panting for another wind that would never come. I heard the breath pass from her lips to her son’s, the cries of any newborn child, and then screams. My own breath stilled. I could hear voices, low and dark, full of twisted things. The child had the names of two men, inked in scarlet across his chest. There was nothing to be done for him. I listened to him scream for one heartbeat, and then two, and then silence again.
The woman was dead the next morning. There was no sign of the child. We buried her body beneath the snow and the dirt, and pretended that we did not see the red bleed through the ice. I knew then that there was no chance that a child with two bloodied names would ever come to be. That this path would carry on unbroken. That the stories our elders told came true only because they forced them to come true, and because anyone who stood in their path would be cut down in an instant. I wondered if it was an elder’s name, coiled in crimson around that infant’s heart.
Then I met him.
I was too young to understand it then, and I am too old to understand it now, but I felt it strongly then. When I met him, it felt as if the entire world grew still. No, it was not the earth tipped on its axis. It was not the unraveling of a centuries-old yarn my elders had continued to spin. It was not even the silence after a cold, biting rain, or the chill that runs down a man’s spine after he removes his knife from another man’s throat. It was a small silence. A moment’s breath. Then the space between us grew smaller, and the moment was shattered. He drew nearer, and I could feel my breath on my lips, my heart beating in my chest.
You are Endymion, I said, and it felt as if the words stood still and shivered in the air, tiny shards of frost, or glass. Pointed things, the kind that could prick my fingers if I was not careful enough. You are Endymion, I thought, and I am going to die. I had two names across my back, just as any other boy who had survived to my age did, and I had traced his name with my fingertips far too many times, wondering when I would meet him. Wondering when the thread of my fate would meet and tangle with his, and when only one silken thread would remain. Whether it would be before or after I met Merope. I had the answers, now, and they were not the kind that I had favored, when I still thought that there was romance in the script that curled down my spine.
Your name is Selenus, he said, and my eyes darted up to his own. You are not going to die, he said, and I marveled at the softness in his voice, the honey that colored the tones of the man who was going to kill me. How convincing he was, standing there before me, in the center of a battlefield. He knew, just as I did, that only one of us would survive this day. This was his people’s tradition, just as it was mine, and all around us there were men pairing off, all around the bloodied earth. Our histories would determine our future.
There was no longer any space between us. We do not kill our infant children who have two men’s names on their skin, he said, and my eyes widened with shock. In one fluid movement, he bared his back to me, and revealed his soul. If I had wanted to kill him, if I had wanted to defy the fates, in that moment, I could. But I did not. Because I froze, and I saw my own name written there, beside another. I do not know if I made the right choice, he said, his voice suddenly soft in a way I had not heard before. You could be the man to kill me. But I will take that risk, because for our people, there are no presumptions. We have no way to determine whether the names on our backs are the names by which we will live or die.
But I would live by your side, he said, and if it is to be that we kill one another, I will let it be. My heart thudded dully in my chest. I had the names of a man and a woman on my skin, and tradition said what it should be, but when I closed my eyes I heard the screams of that murdered child, and I knew that our traditions knew nothing of what should and should not be. I opened my eyes again. He was still there, before me, his hand outstretched. I steadied myself, and stretched out my own fingers. Let the fates laugh, I said, and I swear by every god I know that his smile was the sweetest thing I had ever been graced with being able to see.
The elders were wrong, you see, and they could not keep fate at bay forever. My names should have been normal. Endymion should have killed me there, just as hundreds of his clansmen killed hundreds of my own. Merope should have grown up lost, without a lover. But she’s here. And she’s coming for me, just as it has always been written, just as I always knew that she would. Because it’s true — our names do determine who will kill us, and who will love us until the day we die. But they’re wrong, when they say that a man kills a man, and a man loves a woman. There’s no way to know.
I know, because my names should have been normal. But Merope, she is somewhere out there, with her blades tipped with poison, and I welcome her, even as she seeks to strengthen the traditions which I hope to destroy. She believes in the old gods, the gods I once thought were real, the fates that decree only a man and a woman should be together forever. She will kill me, and she will fulfil the very prophecies she seeks to deny.
I welcome her. With outstretched arms. Then, I can be with my darling Endymion again. | Dannos Quill was asleep in his favourite chair when the early-warning alarms tripped. He had set the runes himself, personally inscribing them on the sides of 12-inch candles which he then burned in a mile-wide perimeter around his cottage by the lake. The alarms were tweaked to only detect magical entities of the 4th Order and higher, since he wasn’t worried about mortal threats *per se*.
After all, retired though he may have been, he was still one of the most powerful wizards in the entire Kingdom.
Dannos tottered to the door, threw it open, then stepped out, staff in hand. The sun was just setting, and its rays skewered the calm waters of the lake, unleashing prismatic dragons upon the surface. The birdsong had abruptly ended. He was rooting around in his mind, fretting about which spell he wanted to prepare, when he felt a hand slip over his.
He turned, and Mayna was there, as she always had been. He knew that Mayna would have sensed the disturbance too, but curiously, her face was devoid of emotion. No fear, no sadness, no panic. Their frequent rehearsals must have paid off.
“One, or both?” she asked.
“Both, it seems. At the same time.”
Dannos had pulled back both sleeves, revealing his forearms in turn. And now, the tattoos on each were no longer their usual dull-grey, but had grown livid with energy. The ancient lettering pulsed red-hot, like script writ from running lava, exuberant in its escape from long-dormant volcanoes.
On his left – SABINE.
On his right – BRENOWAH.
“Are you happy? To finally get this over with?” Mayna asked.
“In a way, in a way… I always knew this day would come. But whatever happens, I think I’ve had a long and fulfilling enough life as it is.”
“Do you really mean that?”
Darren heard the crack in her voice before he saw the doubt in her eyes. He looked down into her pale eyes of blue, and though her hair now ran with streaks of grey, though the wrinkles now crept over her face like the inevitable shadow of night, he could only see the Mayna Firewind he had met all those years ago, in the halls of the Academy.
Brave, out-spoken, resourceful, beautiful Mayna. From rival, to companion, then finally to wife.
“Of course,” Darren said. “My life wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“But… but one of them’s your soulmate,” Mayna said. “When she appears before you, wouldn’t you look upon her and think that perhaps you wasted your entire life here with me, when you could have been with her?”
Darren managed a small laugh. “Ah, you’ve finally revealed which of the two names you’re more worried about.”
Mayna clicked her tongue, then stomped lightly on his foot. “As prophecies go, even if the other one manages to kill you, rest assured that I’ll be sending her along to join you very shortly after that. But the first one… the soulmate…”
Darren looked up into the sky, then reached out with his mind. The two magical entities were closing in, like twin streaks of lightning racing to reach the ground. He still had time.
Just a little, but it was enough.
“Consider this, my dear Mayna. We all have choices, don’t we? I could have lived my life chained to the prophecy. I could have poured my life into controlling how I meet these two people whose fates are intertwined with mine. I could have spent every waking minute raging against the unfairness of it all. And what sort of man would I be then?”
Mayna chuckled. “Not a very good one, I must say. I would have throttled you long ago.”
“And so you would have. I’ve told you this before, but I’ll say it again. I *chose* my life, in the end. I chose to be with you. We’ve seen it all, haven’t we? We’ve repelled demonic hordes, bloodthirsty invaders. We’ve nipped plagues in the bud, we've unravelled murderous cults. We kept the peace of the kingdom as best as we could, and we did the Academy proud. Side by side, Mayna, we did all that, side by side.”
“But… your soulmate…”
A tiny sob escaped her, and Darren placed his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. It startled him to think that a woman who had once stared down a dragon by herself, could yet be so vulnerable.
“Never think yourself as less, Mayna. She may be my soulmate, whatever that means, but you are my *love*, my wife. We took what we had, and we made an entire lifetime of memories of it, yes?”
Mayna nodded, and buried her head in his embrace.
“Would it be alright with you if I just fireballed both of them when they arrive?” she asked.
Darren laughed. “I couldn’t stop you if I tried. But aren’t you curious, though? To find out what this damn prophecy means? And why the hell both of them are coming together at the exact same time after a lifetime of managing to avoid me?”
Mayna sighed, then stretched out her left arm. The magic crawled along her skin, and a tiny portal opened at the end of her fingertips. She reached in, then seized her weapon. Her staff, a sturdy oak of whitewood, the opposite of the dirty muskybrown of Darren’s thrillingbark, thumped heavily on the ground.
They chanted together, as effortlessly as if they were one.
Which, in all senses, they were.
The protective spells leapt to life about them, forming a blue film around them, a soap bubble of the gigantic persuasion. In perfect mirror symmetry, they primed their spells. Overhead, two shooting stars, one red, the other blue, sped towards them. It was obvious from their current trajectory that they would end up right in the middle of the lake, side by side.
“Ready?” Darren asked.
“Ready,” Mayna said, as she grinned. “Just like old times.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2018-03-11T08:09:30 | 2018-03-11T08:08:31 | 84 | 37 |
[WP] You were born with an odd power that lets you know when somebody is lying. One day you're hanging out with your friend when you turn to look at him. "Why do you look at me like that? I'm not an alien", he says. He's lying.
This is my first writing prompt. Feedback appreciated :) | A sudden feeling of intense discomfort jolted his senses, a burning sensation radiating all throughout his skull. She was lying.
“Sarah, how long have we known each other?” Frank laughed casually at the macabre statement.
“Ah, I think since high-school? It’s been a long time, man!”
“And in that time,” Frank began in a more serious tone, “How many times have you been able to *lie* to me?”
They were both seated at a small round table in a meager coffee-house, the darkness of night outside being fought off by the warm bright lights in the room. The cold outside trying its best to claw itself inside, evidenced by the patches of frost on the large glass windows.
Sarah was getting visibly more nervous, repositioning herself in her chair, “You have that look again Frank, I don’t like it when you get like this,”
“How many times?” he demanded.
Sarah’s eyes darted from side-to-side as she realized her slip-up, the uncanny ability this human had at detecting a lie was unprecedented, seeing the truth in someone not even of his own species, no less! She knew that detection was to be avoided at *all* *costs*, the mission being far too important, and the humans being far too violent to afford a direct confrontation. She liked Frank, but unless she could turn this around, she wasn’t left with much option.
“Ha-ha, I’ve never been able to lie to you, Frank. That’s why I’ve learned to, ah, omit a few details of my life that I wanted to keep private.”
Frank nodded slowly, his muscles had been tensing ever since the gaffe, but were now relaxing by a tiny amount, “Go on,”
“You see, I’ve not been fully upfront with you, I’m not actually from this country,”
Sarah took a few moments to choose her words carefully as Frank’s gaze was intensely scrutinizing her.
“I didn’t want you to look at me differently because I wasn’t from here,”
“Then where—”
“Please, Frank, I don’t want to talk about my origins. Not yet. I promise I’ll tell you soon, when I’m ready.”
Frank sighed, “You’re at least not lying anymore,” he reluctantly seemed to accept her explanation, “Sorry, I just hate it when people lie to me, especially my friends who should know better.”
Sarah let out a quiet sigh of relief, she would need Frank’s unique ability in the days to come.
*****
End of part 1? I took some liberties with the genders because I wanted to challenge myself. Any feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading, everybody!
**Edit:** [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2ad0e/wp_you_were_born_with_an_odd_power_that_lets_you/eawzoht/?context=3) in the comments.
**Second Edit:** [Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2ad0e/wp_you_were_born_with_an_odd_power_that_lets_you/eaxaj1q/?context=3) in the comments below.
**Third Edit:** [Part IV](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2ad0e/wp_you_were_born_with_an_odd_power_that_lets_you/eaxnhkq/?context=3) in the comments below.
**Fourth Edit:** [Part V](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2ad0e/wp_you_were_born_with_an_odd_power_that_lets_you/eayahnp/?context=3)
**Fifth Edit:** [Part VI](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2ad0e/wp_you_were_born_with_an_odd_power_that_lets_you/eb2zo67/?context=3) | I understand your confusion. You have lived here all your life, learning about the cosmos in school, from Earth's perspective. You've told me you aim to strike out into the stars one day, despite the lack of funding toward that endeavour anywhere.
In a sense, you are not lying. For to you, your humanity is an inalienable truth; you are justified and true in your belief. It just so happens that your homeworld isn't Earth.
But I've been watching the stars for far longer than you have. I was one of the few to have seen the mysterious satellite crash somewhere in the Gobi Desert. The government assumed your craft was just an antique, and waved it off, allowing you to start life on Earth.
Your growth has been spectacular on our planet, though. I was born with an odd power that let me know when people were lying. One of my other friends has telekinesis. Another friend of mine can tap into radio waves to decipher messages. You had none of those, but your endurance pushed you through competition with the rest of our advantaged, mutated society. Therefore, there was no need to tell you, as you didn't ask. However, being not of this society, you are technically an alien.
The year is 3999. You were a product of 2199, conceived when the first Mars colony was started, evacuated as a baby and put into stasis as it was razed to the ground, and in orbit until 3987. Being not of this Earth, you are technically an alien.
So as I'm hanging out with you, you raise this up. You're technically lying, but I smile and look away as we continue to share this moment in the cafe. It is not time to reveal the truth to you yet. | 2018-12-01T23:14:16 | 2018-12-01T21:50:57 | 1,000 | 173 |
[WP] "You'll never rest", they said. "Eventually, you will come to hate your eternal curse", they warned. 6 billion years, 3 intergalactic voyages, and more planets than you can count later, and you're still skipping along, having the time of your life with your 'cursed' existence. | In the same place where the Gods are born, they also die. I sat with him while he sobbed, reaching and holding the nape of my neck like it was the last thing holding him up. I guess I was.
"Taylor, the John's Son, please...Make them believe I'm real," he said.
I said nothing.
"My brother is still alive inside of me," he said.
I knew that his brother died the instant his world was shattered by a meteorite half its size. However, he survived because the aftermath burned up in his atmosphere, but killed what little life was developing on him.
I took his hand off of the back of my neck and held it gently, in my hands. "You can't be brother planets if your brother is dead. Already your story is being remade. No one believes a God dies, so they have to remake the story of your planet."
"But I believe that I'm real," he says, the tears in his eyes shimmering in the failing light. "I'm like you; adrift in the infinite. I am my own. I should be my own."
I patted his hand and nodded at him, "But there is a difference between you and me. I don't remember your name."
There was one instant when there was a look of disbelief in his face, and then the God died. I survived, and ended up on his old planet, where the light of the sun was clouded over by the debris. The world was still and lifeless.
I walk with a lively gait to my step and begin singing a song that crossed my mind for the first time in millenia:
"He was born a pauper to a pawn
On a Christmas day
When the New York Times said
'God is dead!'
And the wars begun
Something Something has a son today..."
It was then, that my back was pierced by a spear, and run halfway through me. I kneel from the awkward weight and catch my breath. A small, bulky man walks up to me, and he is adorned with skins and war paint.
He raises my head to meet his with a war hammer made of bone. He says, "First, I killed my brother. Now, I kill you. What name do I call you while I piss on your corpse?"
I'm inconvenienced for the first time in a really, really long time. It might have been enough to get me down.
But I smile as I begin to stand up.
I developed a sense of optimism a long time ago. Things happen and then you deal with them. I can always, always manage. If nothing else, I have the time.
The new God's mouth falls open and I grab him by his throat. As I raise him up, I struggle pretty hard to pull the spear through my body. The wound will close with time, but this punk's pride isnt going to heal. His hammer falls and he pisses himself.
I say, "I'm Taylor Johnson of the long dead Planet Earth. What's your name, punk?" | They neve knew how it would be, how could they? I was the only one who had the courage, after all I didn't have anything to live for, now I know everything my civilization knew, I saw kingdoms burn, i saw everything a human could've seen and finally it clicked, all that sadness, boredom had no meaning, I was thinking about the universe as if i was a human took me 2 billion years but it finally clicked, I'm something else, a beeing that should have never been born but either way here I am, cursed with the time of my life, sex is no longer enjoyable so i just sit and watch civilizations being born and die, they come and go and so do. im so old my time is not theirs anymore, i wonder in how much time civilizations will be born and die in a glimpse of my eye? Now i know how the god of those stories felt, maybe hes out there looking at me. Its just a matter of time for me to know even more secrets of this universe or maybe the next one haha, im just too young to understand it all... | 2020-10-25T10:56:55 | 2020-10-25T10:02:18 | 121 | 49 |
[WP] You are the dangerous Chaos Mage. Everyone fears you. You are actually just dyslexic and keep reading you spellbook wrong. | “Oh my gods, hurry your ass up Meera!” Aspen the cleric shouts. His yells are suddenly cut off by the sound of a crossbow bolt and then a sharp “OUCH!”
I flip through my spellbook trying my damn best to read the swirling letters on the page. I’d told Aspen once that my eyes didn’t work right. He’d asked me if I’d been cursed and I told him I didn’t know. He never brought it up again. Finally I find the fireball page in the stupid little book. “Aspen! Get out of the way.”
“Ugh” he groans, clutching his side. “One second.” An orc charges for him and he snatches up his club and bashes its skull in. The weapon slips from his hands and he shouts in pain. I bite my lip. He’s not going to get out of the way in time. If I cast my spell wrong... It doesn’t matter! I don’t have a choice.
I begin whispering the words under my breath, trying my hardest to make out what the letters mean. There’s a flash of light and the end of the corridor lights up with flames. I smile, breathing heavily. Then it explodes. Not like a normal fireball. Not at all like a normal fireball. The entire cavern shakes as the flames rush towards me. I flip open my spellbook again but it’s no use.
“Meera, wait!” Aspen shouts. But I turn and run. If I go back for him the flames will catch up to me. And because I didn’t go back for him, the law will catch up to me. My magic license will be revoked or worse... I’ll be thrown to Daregon, the dragon trapped beneath the kingdom’s school of magic. I can feel the heat catching up to me as I leap behind a door, just in time to dodge the flames.
Aspen had been my best friend since we were kids. And now... oh, what have I done? I peek around the door, expecting to see... I don’t know what I expect to see, but it surely won’t be good.
The hallway is burnt and blackened, along with bodies of our orc assailants and their leader, a young necromancer. I want to close my eyes and run away, but I can’t bring myself to abandon Aspen, even though he’s...
I stumble down the hallway, back to where my cleric friend had made his last stand. I’m shocked to find the walls dripping with condensation. I press a finger to one. A water spell. A soft cough echoes down the hallway. “Meera?” Another cough, louder this time. “C-can you hear me? Please... argh! Don’t leave me here. I-“ Aspen’s voice breaks with a small sob. “I don’t want to die alone!”
I find him, slumped against a soaking wall, surrounded by the dwindling light of his create water spell. “Aspen! It’s me.”
He blinks. “Meera?”
“Yes. Yes, it’s me, Aspen.” I kneel at his side, pressing a bit of cloth against the place where he’d been hit by the crossbow bolt.
“They’ll come for you, Meera! Run. If anyone finds me, I’ll say-“
“Aspen, they’re dead.”
“W-What?”
“My spell.”
“You’re low level. There’s no way! It doesn’t- ouch!”
“Remember what I said about my eyes? It makes the letters in my spellbook... hard to read. But I guess sometimes it mixes them up in the right way and-“
“You cast a spell with more power than someone your level ever could.”
“I guess so.”
“You saved our lives.”
I shake my head. “I left you to die.”
“Well, I’m still breathing. And their whole army is dead.”
“I ran away when you needed me. I’m a coward.”
“No. You have a brain, and you used it. Even though you can’t read quite right, you graduated school and got your license. You saved the town when the orc armies marched on us.”
“I’ve killed people with my mistakes.”
“Meera, you’ve saved the kingdom! You killed their leader. They are useless without a leader.”
“I suppose...”
“You’re a hero. They’ll sing songs of your success for generations.”
“Meera, the wild menace finally got something right.”
“You sell yourself short. You’re the most powerful mage alive and you’re fresh out of university! What will you be able to do when you’re more experienced?”
“Kill entire villages with a misread spell?” I mumble.
“Stop insulting yourself. Face it, Meera, they would’ve killed me if you hadn’t killed them first. Think about it. They’ve picked off our fighters one by one, the thieves’ guild won’t fight them, who would’ve stood in their way to conquer the whole kingdom? Meera, it isn’t just my life you’ve saved today. Now... let’s get some rest. We can head back to town tomorrow once I cast a healing spell on myself.”
“Thank you, Aspen.” I tell him, quietly.
“So you finally believe me. You aren’t so cursed after all.”
Come say hi on my writing sub r/TheRainbowWillow | There lived a Chaos Mage called Darius. He was just too dangerous to even get near, people and the magic society feared him for his spells that ended up causing way more destruction and chaos.
One day the Elder Mages at the table decided he should be accompanied by someone with superior skills who can counteract his spells all the time.
"Who could be more superior than the elders here? We all know we had our fair share of hurt inflicted by him in the past."
"What elder Agral just said is true, the one who taught him is to blame, he shouldn't even have acquired such skill in the first place."
"Don't point fingers at me elder Holbis, I tried my best, we all know it is only destiny he has become a mage for the chaos. Chaos itself chose him to be its most powerful wielder."
"Talk about destiny, do you have anything for us elder Uzdar?"
"It is not mine to say elder Denibrius, ask elder Soralis."
"Well, one of my student who just graduated has become a Mage for the Order, she's a SpellBee."
"Wonderful news, she'll be able to pull this off."
"Then it is decided, talk to your student about this matter and give her the mission immediately, elder Soralis."
Silvia is one of the aspiring students of elder Soralis's class. Ever since she has been chosen as the order mage post graduation, she instilled in herself high hopes, of working in the Tower of Order. Her teacher elder Soralis brings her a message from the elders of magic society that will crush her dreams.
"Why? Why should I need to do this?"
"It is your duty, Silvia. And the society has decided."
"But—"
"Compose yourself now, you're an order mage. Remember that all times, Silvia."
"Yes, elder Soralis."
Silvia prepared to go meet Darius for the first time, she opened the portal of order and stepped into a wasteland. She'd found him, Darius looked at Silvia, the connection automatically triggered a repulsive spell. Silvia quickly cast a spell that nulled the repulsion.
"Darius?" She asked.
"Who a-are you?" Darius stuttered.
"I'm sorry are you dyslexic? That makes so much sense."
"Hmm."
"I'm Silvia, I'm here to make your life easier," she said as she smiled.
"D-Dari—"
"Darius, I know. Don't exert yourself, yeah?— I don't understand why people fear you Darius. You look like a good guy who's trapped in the fingers of Chaos."
Darius has always been lonely. Always scorned and ignored by people, he did not choose this life for himself he did not want to hurt innocents and even when he is far from them he's pulled towards chaos. The way Silvia has presented herself to him made him pleased.
Silvia became the absolute order to Darius's excessive chaos. It created a beautiful harmony, she happily expressed herself which counteracted Darius's dyslexic spell release, it made something balanced and delightful. Spellbinding fireworks lit up the sky around the realm and made the people of Mirangor happy and confident.
r/FleetingScripts | 2020-11-04T15:23:40 | 2020-11-04T13:47:36 | 1,362 | 247 |
[WP] You're a disembodied consciousness who wakes up every day in a new body. Today, for the first time, you wake up in the same body as yesterday. | Mornings were the worst.
That unnatural heat as the day began, warm air creeping through the cracks in the window as the sun’s rays found their way into my eyes. No matter which body I found myself in, mornings were always the same, a painful experience as I discovered my newest identity.
Stretching my arms up, I let out a groaning yawn, fingers twiddling in the air, testing out my muscles. It was a routine I had gotten used to, a way to check my body for aches. I had no way of knowing what type of body I was in, so these little processes helped ease the transition. Once I felt satisfied with my body’s condition, I pulled myself into a seated position, taking a moment to scan the surrounding room, noticing something strange. It was the same.
Those same stupid curtains with the holes littered throughout it. That same alarm clock that makes a roaring elephant noise every hour, and the same mirror seated Infront of me on the wall, revealing that scruffy bearded face from yesterday. “Great.”
Panic had creeped into my mind, not yet fully sending me into a panic, just causing the occasional flicker in my heartbeat, that quickening of breath as I stood up, carefully tracing my steps over the clothes covered floor.
“How am I still in this body? I should have changed.” None of this made sense. For as long as I could remember, my life followed that same pattern. I would wake up, live one day in the person’s body before being forced out of it and into another. No matter how good or bad the body was, I could stay no longer than a day, yet this person broke that mold.
Wandering the home, I felt like a thief, someone who stole the man’s identity and made it my own. The feeling made me ill, rushing to the kitchen sink, dry heaving as I tried to keep down my emotions. That creeping panic now penetrating my mind, causing sweat to push from my pores, spilling down onto my shaking hands. I stole this man’s life; I was no better than one of those horsehair worms, digging into the flesh of a creature, using it for my own purposes.
I never liked this life, I hated how I crept into people’s lives, forcing them to take a backseat while I tried to mimic their behavior. The only consolation I had was the reward of being freed after the day. The knowledge that my ventures would be temporary. I washed my face, splashing the cold water against my skin, using it to not only confirm that I was awake but also to dull my feelings. Reminding myself to take deep breaths.
There had to be a reason for this, something preventing me from moving on. I tried to figure it out but struggled to come up with any meaningful theories. With no prior experience with such a situation, I was clueless, moving throughout the house, almost expecting someone to pop out from the walls to explain it to me.
I spent my morning lying on the couch, resting that sick feeling in my stomach. Wondering what someone would do in my situation, I assume many would use this as a chance to cause mischief, a consequence free way of living, but I could not. I felt too much empathy towards the person I inhabited, unable to cause them grief. I just treated their bodies the same way I would want mine treated if I were in their shoes. Going out of my way to keep things the same as they were.
That train of thought easily maintained with only a day in each body. A day’s a brief span of time, limiting how much destruction an ethical person could cause. But two days, or possibly more, imagine the trouble I could indirectly cause through that.
With the feeling in my gut fading, I continued my exploration of the house. I had done the same thing briefly yesterday, but now my search was far more rigorous, turning over every spot in the home, searching for clues about this man, anything that could help me find a way out of him.
With each passing hour, I cursed my carefree attitude. To think I spent yesterday walking through the neighborhood sightseeing. If only I paid more attention yesterday, perhaps I may have prevented this. Eventually I found a clue, a wallet hidden away beneath a bowl of rotting fruit in the kitchen. “So, my names Jasper Lawton?” The name didn’t ring a bell, but when did it ever?
Slipping the wallet into the pocket of my shorts, I returned to the task at hand. Pulling at drawers, tossing items aside, trying to find the missing piece to this puzzle. Nothing else, no photos of loved ones or even a phone with contacts or messages. Apart from a name and face, I had no information.
Giving up my search, I retrieved a beer from the fridge, that being the only drink available. Usually, I wouldn’t drink in another body, but this stressful time called for a depressant. Sipping the bottle as I walked into the bedroom, dumping myself onto the bed. Maybe tomorrow would be better? I thought, trying to bring some hope back into my mind.
I nursed the beer as I sat on the bed, only stealing a sip from it when needed. When the bottle neared its end, I sat it on the bedside table, only to watch it tip over, spilling its contents onto the floor.
Another glorious moment to add to a great day. The sarcasm slipping out, venting my frustrations as I gathered a few scraps of toilet paper, getting onto my knees to smother the liquid, hoping to keep it from staining the carpeted floors. As I dully patted away at the floor, I noticed a loose piece of paper under the bed, causing me to drop the toilet paper to grab it.
The letter’s contents were somber, a long sad piece of writing that covered feelings of hurt, disgust and low self-esteem. I only lowered the letter for a moment, tapping the beer-stained toilet paper underneath my eye, attempting to dry them. The letter written like a critical review for a faulty product, listing fault after fault, a repetitive tale of depression.
“That explains it.” I placed the letter on the floor, leaning against the bedside table. “They don’t want to be themselves.” It sounded crazy, but that was the only thing that made sense. In some subconscious way they didn’t wish to return, trapping me in their body, pushing themselves into the passenger’s seat.
Now that I understood that, perhaps I could force them back into the driver’s seat, make them take back their control, but what good would that do? It would free me but imprison them. Picking the paper up once more, I pulled myself from the floor, eyeing over each complaint written in the letter.
“One by one, I’m going to help you, so I can free us both.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | The clock stuck 6 AM and I woke up, a bit groggy as usual. The room seemed familiar. I picked up the phone on the table next to me and opened up the front camera.
Wait. This was impossible.
I had been jumping bodies for years now, always waking up in a new one. This was a first. I had once again woken up in the body of Ralph Sampson. I looked around the room, feeling a sense of déjà vu wash over me.
The feeling got even stronger as the phone rang. Unless Ralph’s friend, David, called him at the same time everyday, something was very very wrong.
I answered the call, going over the same conversation I had with him yesterday. I hung up and unlocked the phone. Then I saw the date and fell back onto the bed. What did all of this mean?
Just like yesterday, I texted Ralph’s boss about not feeling well and taking a day off. I know the boss will reply back in about twenty minutes telling me to take care. And then at 11:30 he’d text me to ask me about the TekSystems file.
I had to think about this. I had always woken up in a new body every day so what was different? Was it me? Ralph? Was he somehow special?
I was so used to spending the first few hours of waking up trying to figure out who I was for the next 24 hours, that I started going through Ralph’s phone and documents without thinking about it.
As the day went by predictably, I became more and more relaxed. Maybe it was just a glitch. This caused me to laugh. Me, whose whole life was a glitch. Either way, Ralph was rich. He had a comfortable life. If I had to, I wouldn’t mind spending my entire life in his body.
I let the day pass. David called to check up on Ralph. He seemed satisfied with my lies. He reminded me to take my medicine, which I did. I put on the tv and...
*****
The clock stuck six and I woke up, a bit groggy as usual. The room was familiar. What was going on? David called again to ask if I’d be joining him for coffee. I excused myself just like the last 2 days.
I had gotten used to waking up in a new body everyday but reliving the same day over and over?
The day passed by exactly as the last time.
When David called to check up on me, I asked him over. I had never told anyone before about my ... my situation. But I needed help. I needed to figure out what was going on.
David came over soon.
“Ralph? Are you ok?”
“Yes. Well Ralph is ok but I...”
“Did you take your medicine, Ralph?”
“No David listen. I’m not Ralph. I’m someone else.”
“Relax man. You should really take your medicine.”
I looked at David, and something about his expression stuck me.
“David, I don’t want my medicine.”
“No! You must. You have to.”
“David. I need you to go now. I need you to leave.”
“Not before you take your meds. Clearly you need them.”
I stood up. “Get out of here. Now.”
He stood up, taking a gun out of his jacket pocket. “You’ve ruined enough of my life Ralph. You took my girl. You took my promotion. I’ve had enough now. You need to take your medicine. Or I’ll shoot you right now.”
“Fine. Please don’t shoot.”
I took the bottle of pills and opened it up. He looked like a wolf, a predatory smile on his face.
I threw the pills at him, using the surprise to lunge at him.
The gun went off and smoke filled the room.
***
I woke up, a bit groggy as usual. I looked around the room. No view of the city. No massive tv to wake up to. Life was back to normal. As normal as it could be for me.
I walked into work later that day.
I stood in a dimly lit room with a fellow cop looking at Ralph sitting in the interrogation room.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just trust me on this.”
“The gun was on him. The body was in his apartment. He was there. And his story by the way is that he remembers nothing of yesterday. It’s a slam dunk.”
“Well Jackson, just humour me. Test the pills. For some reason, I trust this guy. Trauma can cause loss of memory on occasion. I have a feeling that the dead guy attacked him and it was self defense.”
“Well fine. I’ll check it out. But in my opinion, the guy’s guilty.”
Jackson was a good cop. When he started digging, there was no stopping him. He would find evidence about the truth eventually. Sure Ralph would probably never remember all of yesterday, all three version of those, but he should be able to avoid jail.
Dying before 24 hours was complete and I transferred bodies. There was a first thing for everything I suppose. | 2021-01-16T23:46:21 | 2021-01-16T23:14:08 | 1,116 | 63 |
[WP] You realise that a shop you walk past every day is only visible to you and no one else. What awaits inside? | Something humans are incredibly competent at is not noticing things. In particular, the average human can simply ignore anything, no matter how large, so long as it, in any way, is inconvenient for them. These are, after all, the species which decided that mountains were rather in the way and ought to be more considerate about it, digging paths right through them. They are also perfectly capable of ignoring that which makes them feel uncomfortable. At times, they will even ignore their own selves, with such convincing arguments as, It’s probably nothing, or, It’s been like this for years and ain’t killed me yet.
The shop on the high street fell into this niche of the human psyche. In a prominent position, it sat between a Chinese restaurant that had recently passed a hygiene inspection, and a newsagent with a liquor license and an awkward cashier who had particularly bad eyesight when it came to checking IDs. Despite that, few saw the shop. Or, rather, few noticed it. After all, the first step to not noticing something is to see it, swiftly followed by looking away.
In fact, of the hundreds who walked down the street on any given day, none noticed it. None, except for Keith. Not only did he notice it, but he noticed that everyone else didn’t notice it. He couldn’t quite understand why, though.
Nothing about the shop stood out to him as unnoticeable. The large sign glimmered in the daylight and fluoresced when the sun set. A glass storefront, the items on display had an interesting look to them.
So then, he pondered, why did everyone particularly ignore it?
Preoccupied with this thought, he found himself drawn to the door one day, even if he had no need for the items he could see through the window. The handle itself gave him pause. In his time, he’d opened many a door. He’d turned handles and twisted knobs and pushed bars and stood near sensors. Never before, though, had a door presented him with a hand of its own.
It posed a small problem for him, requiring him to adjust his position so he could open the door with his left hand. With a firm grip, he tried to twist the hand to no avail. Feeling some give, he lowered it instead, as though shaking hands. That did the trick, lock clicking and door creaking inwards.
Keith gave it an unintentional head start, before entering the store himself. A bell above him tinkled as he did. A moment later, like a skater on ice, the shop attendant seemed to glide out from behind a shelf.
“Welcome to the Second Hand shop, may I be of service?”
It didn’t take Keith more than a glance to notice the man had no hands—at least, no human hands. Where one might expect eight fingers and two thumbs split between a pair of palms, the attendant instead boasted something like a metallic tentacle and a hook, which looked like a peculiar set of tongs.
Not one to let such things distract him, Keith shook his head and said, “No, I’m just browsing, thanks.”
“If you find a need for me, I will be at the till,” he said with a bow, before disappearing in much the same fashion as he had appeared.
Even if the man’s taste in prosthetics didn’t disturb him at all, Keith still found himself idly rubbing the wrist of his right arm.
Letting his eyes wander, he did as he said he would earlier and browsed the shelves. Compared to the storefront, the interior items made up a more standard collection. Mostly hands, they came in all different flesh tones, holding different positions—some open for handshakes, others balled into a fist for holding a pen, or more loosely for drinks—and with a couple of different methods of attachment. Nothing too extravagant or expensive looked to be on offer; though, Keith knew even simple could be costly. Other than the realistic options, one shelf had various kinds of hooks—like the attendant wore—and another had gloves designed to cover a stump, no fingers or thumbs to it.
As he worked his way to the front of the shop, he felt something of a blush creeping up from his ankles. These prosthetics still had the shape of a human hand, but the positioning of the fingers made it impractical for most tasks, and were made of metal or silicon and with descriptions that emphasised how easy they were to clean. One in particular boasted of doubling as a back massager.
At the very front, he took a closer look at what he had seen from the street. The tentacle-like prosthetic the attendant wore caught his eye in particular.
“It is rather expensive, yet entirely worth the cost in my opinion.”
Keith didn’t jump in fright, but his heart certainly did. “The variable grip—so, it wraps around things?” he asked.
“Yes. It has a gentle but firm grip, perfect for picking up any manner of different items. If you are curious, may I have your hand?”
It took Keith a moment to catch up, only to then apologise under his breath as he’d offered his right hand, instead putting forward his left hand. The attendant placed the middle of his prosthetic against Keith’s palm. Then, with the hint of a whir and a barely noticeable vibration, the tentacle curled, conforming to the hand.
“Wow,” Keith said.
“It is not painful, I hope?”
“No, no—just like a firm handshake.”
The attendant laughed, taking that as an offer and shaking Keith’s hand. “Good to make your acquaintance.”
“You too,” Keith replied, joining in with a chuckle. Then, with another quiet whir and subtle vibration, the tentacle straightened itself out.
“It is also rather precise like this, suitable for use with keyboards and even smartphones, if a bit cumbersome for the latter with the length of it.”
Keith nodded along. “Really? That’s handy.”
“Well, it is a second hand, so it should at least aspire to be handy.”
Chuckling some more at the little joke, Keith let his gaze wander over to something that had given him pause before, since the attendant was already here. “Can I ask, what’re these for?”
On the shelf he pointed at, there were more of the hand-less gloves he’d seen before, only these were in flesh tones and seemed to be much larger—perhaps for the upper arm, he’d thought, but then he couldn’t think of why they would be flesh tones.
“These are products for my other customers,” the attendant said.
“Which other ones?” Keith asked.
With a knowing smile, the attendant said, “Some seek a second hand, and some wish to lose one.”
Keith frowned in thought, inspecting the product more closely. He flipped over the label and saw there a diagram, the idea being that one balled up their hand into a fist and then slipped the ‘glove’ over. “Oh,” he said.
“There are all sorts, and I wish to give them a helping hand—if you would excuse the pun.”
That only got a smile out of Keith, his mind still trying to understand why someone would want to do it.
“Has anything caught your eye?”
Keith shook his head. “I’ve still got two hands, so I’m not looking to buy anything.”
“Well, it is a shame this isn’t the third hand shop. Perhaps you can remember this place in the future, when you may have need for it, though.”
“Yeah. I’m sure I won’t forget about here any time soon.”
While he looked around a little more, Keith didn’t spot anything to buy. Yet, idly rubbing the wrist of his right arm, he couldn’t help but imagine what he could do with even a simple prosthetic. The muscles so atrophied in his hand, it could be used for little more than a glove holder. A year had passed since he could hold a pen. But, when another year passed, maybe he’d be able to hold a pen once more.
A gentle smile on his face, he paused by the door, and then held the fake-hand handle. “I’ll be back, eventually,” he said as he left. | Leon Boyce walks the same route he takes from his apartment to work every day. He passes the closed down convenience store on the corner and laughs, remembering the night he went in and threatened to kill the old man who ran that place. Leon was glad to see he had finally chased him off. There were enough foreigners polluting this country, and he had done his part to get rid of at least one.
He turns the corner and, when sees a group of teenagers in front of him, he feels his anger boil. "Get out of my way!" The kids look up in confusion. "I know your kind aren't as smart as white people, so do I need to say it slower. Move and let me through!" One of the teenagers moves to confront Leon, but the rest hold him back, telling him it just isn't worth it.
Leon smiles as he struts through them, knowing he has again won a victory for civilized men. He passes the Center City Mosque, and seriously considers how much gasoline he would need to get rid of that den of iniquity, when a shiny glass storefront catches his eye. He stops dead, staring at the storefront positioned between the mosque and the apartment building. He was positive there was an alleyway there.
Leon moves forward and looks in through the glass, but he can't see anything with the reflection of the sunlight. He glances at his watch to see if he has time to look in the store before work. He decides he has a few moments and pushes his way into the store. "Probably another foreign owned business." he mutters as he walks through the door.
The inside of the store is cool and dark. He takes a moment to let his eyes adjust and he sees rows and rows of dark wood shelves, full of all kinds of junk. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the inventory. "Oh great," he thinks "another thrift store. Just what this neighborhood needs, more reason for homeless trash to hang around." He makes his way around a shelf, looking to find the owner and have some words with him.
A voice calls out from somewhere ahead of him. "I'll be right with you." and Leon almost can't contain his surprise at hearing an unaccented voice. Leon keeps moving forward and he finally sees a counter in front of him. Behind the counter is an older man, tall and lean, with white hair and equally white skin.
"What kind of store is this?" says Leon brusquely. "I hope you are not another third-world merchant here to ruin the neighborhood."
The man looks Leon right in the eyes. "No sir. My family is American back to the Pilgrims. And my product is definitely not mass produced in a sweatshop. Each and every item here is handmade and custom crafted."
Leon looks long and hard at the man before finally decided he believes him, or at least he believes he is a real American. "How long have you been here? I walk this way every day and I've never seen this store before."
"I just opened up. I tend to move around a lot, trying to find the customers who need me the most. You see, I sell products that make dreams come true. Only those who are worthy of my work get to enjoy the service of this store." The man looks Leon up and down and then bends down to rummage under the counter.
"So, this is some kind of mystical shop? Like, I'm some chosen one or something?" Leon cocks an eyebrow in confusion.
"Something like that." Comes a muffled replied from behind the counter.
"So...finally somebody up there has realized the righteousness of my mission. I want to rid the world of scum and animals masquerading as humans. What do you have that will help me make the world better by getting rid of the worst mankind has to offer?"
The man stands up from behind the counter and in his hand is a ring box. "This is for you Leon Boyce." says the old man, thrusting the gift forward to Leon. "Inside is the answer to the hope you have expressed."
Leon snatches the box out of the man's hands and open it. Inside is large silver ring, with an Iron Eagle and a hammer inscribed on it. "Beautiful." whispers Leon, as he pulls out the ring and slips it onto his finger. It fits perfectly. "How will this help me take my rightful place in the world and clean up the trash polluting our country?"
"Just like this." says the man with a crooked smile. He snaps his fingers and suddenly Leon feels a pinch under the ring. Instantly he feels a burning feeling spreading through his body.
"What...what is happening?" His words are already slurring, and he can see the world starting to spin.
"What you are feeling is a fast-acting toxin. You see Leon, the world will be a much better place without you. And that improvement will be here in less than minute, give or take a few seconds." The man leans casually on the counter, smiling.
"But, I'm the chosen one. I saw the store. My dreams are supposed to come true." Leon stumbles and falls onto his back. He watches the ceiling blur above him.
"You're wrong Leon. This store was not placed here for you. It was placed here for them." The man points toward the entrance, and Leon is able to turn his head just enough to see a crowd gathered in the doorway. He recognizes the old Vietnamese shopkeeper, the black teenagers from earlier, and his Mexican neighbors that he curses at daily. He also sees many others that he can't make out or doesn't remember.
The old man leans over Leon and looks down. "That ring was the special gift for the good people of this town. They are the chosen ones. The world will undoubtedly be better without you."
Leon tries to curse them all out, but the closing curtain of death puts a quick end to his hatred, once and for all.
**If you enjoyed this story please check out some of my other writing over at r/chuckusmaximus. Thanks for your support and for a great prompt!** | 2018-06-09T15:12:02 | 2018-06-09T15:04:06 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] Hell is a bureaucratic mess, and two demons argue over this week's fuck up at the water machine.
Looking for comedy but any genre is welcome.
Heavenly figures are more than welcome.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
**Lilttle edit**
I'm honestly surprised. 100 positive karma prompt and only 5 real responses. I'm sort of disappointed. | "And now comes my favorite time of the day. Performance reviews. Zachifondizebub, do you know why you get to go last today?"
"Because you save the best for last, your Malevolence."
"Very good. Now why do you suppose I didn't pick Quarithion?"
"Because Hitler's not really that bad?"
"NOT THAT BAD? He tried to exterminate You Know Who's favourites. If he makes it through purgatory we're facing a fucking flood. You ever see a fucking flood? If we're really lucky he might pick two of each demon to survive to make a new hell. But He'll likely just cast down some new angels and make a complete wash. But still, he's number two today. Tell me, what was your assignment."
" Go to Earth, start a new religion."
"Was this a particularly hard job, Zachifondizebub?"
" You don't know what they're like up there now! They want evidence! And, and fulfilment! And tolerance and empathy!"
"They always wanted that. Birmithaille was able to succeed by giving a convicted con artist golden tablets only he could see! Who did you pick for a prophet?"
"An award wining author. I wanted a holy book that would stand up as a good story and have internal consistency."
"Good. Then what."
"I gave him a nightmare about airplanes."
"Yes, yes the DC10s, go on."
"And told him a dark lord had imprisoned souls on earth as a punishment for being naughty aliens."
"Odd, but I've heard worse. Then what."
"Then he kinda ^figured ^out ^how ^to ^detect ^souls."
"He made a machine to measure **souls!** Do you have any idea the damage you did? Lucifer took centuries to convince You Know Who that belief based on faith is better than belief based on evidence."
"I know! But how was I to expect he'd go from aliens getting nuked in volcanoes to-"
"I spend a MILLENNIUM burying fossils! Do you have any idea how hard it is to make sure you don't get a single stratum out of order? One fuck up and the entire field of biology gets thrown out the window. Do you want a billion atheists to realize 'You Know Who did it' is the correct answer?"
"I've had fossil duty too, but-"
"You have no idea what fossil duty is! You're gonna be carving precambrian fossils on every mite of coal dust in Pennsylvania for this if you don't figure out a way to nip the Scientology in the bud in the next 10 seconds."
"Tom Cruise?"
"Zachifondizebub... That just might work." | "So you hear about Fred Phelps?"
"I know he was slated for the Fifth Circle, but beyond that I haven't heard anything."
"That's because he never came in."
"What? You're shitting me."
"I shit you not. I guess there was some mix-up in the soul archives, and he ended up getting transported to Purgatory. The big wigs have tried putting several requests in to get him transferred to where he was originally supposed to go, but you know how Purgatory is. Lost the paperwork or something, so now he's being held indefinitely with the righteous unbelievers."
"Unbelievable. The bureaucracy in this place is-"
"Is what?"
"Well... you know." | 2014-04-27T14:22:03 | 2014-04-27T13:46:45 | 98 | 24 |
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary. | Urban environments present challenges for all life. Unlike squirrels and refuse bears, not all creatures here spend their time scavenging.
A male human. This adolescent has mastered the skills required for daily life, and now that the weather has turned favorable, he's set his sights on a more difficult task. Groomed to perfection...or at least looking better than other members of his social clan...the male has just one goal in mind -- to find a mate. Competition is fierce this time of year. Human mating rituals can be exceptionally complex, and many pairings are quickly abandoned in favor of more enticing prospects.
Daily socialization among members of this age group is practically mandatory, but a complex social structure combined with adult supervision leaves little time for personal endeavors.
The male must act quickly to succeed.
A bell sounds, cuing one of the most breathtaking spectacles in the entirety of urban life -- the passing period.
Several times each day, hundreds of adolescent humans simultaneously stop what they're doing and rush into common areas, visiting temporary nests to deposit and collect needed supplies before continuing with their daily activities. This provides a unique and frenzied opportunity for members of different social clans to interact, and thus, to search for a mate.
There's no time to waste. Quickly, the male must organize his nest in a way that a female may find attractive. He places each object with great care, adorning empty spaces with bits of paper and colored string. Everything must be perfect, and time is at a premium.
There. With his nest and appearance up to spec, he turns his gaze towards the sea of potential mates -- and potential enemies.
Across the hall two members of another clan are standing off over the same dilemma -- they are competing for the same mate. The males exchange witty vocalizations in order to disparage each other, but to no avail. This dispute will undoubtedly end in bloodshed.
At the last second, an adult notices the conflict and casually sends each male on his way. Their mating difficulties will have to wait.
Meanwhile, our male has been watching the stream of prospects. Jessica...not ideal. Sarah...possibly. Becky...
The male quickly averts his eyes until Becky has passed, along with most of the other males. Life can be cruel. Everyone knows about Becky's abortion, and until she can do something to improve her social standings, she will be shunned by the group.
Finally -- Amanda. Our male has been watching this female for some time and has spent countless hours practicing to mate with her. Perhaps today? Yes! Today will be the day to mate with Amanda.
The male approaches using a practiced but awkward strut. In his bravest tone, the male asks,
"H...hey Amanda. What's up? I was wondering if you would maybe want to g..."
The male jumps, startled, as the bell sounds again signalling the end of the passing period. Amanda, having not heard anything the male said, shuts her nest and scurries down the hallway towards biology. He has failed. Perhaps he wasn't fast enough today. The male resigns himself to further practice on his own, and will have to try to mate with Amanda again tomorrow. | *cameras zoom in on 2 wild homo sapien*
And now, we are observing two wild *Homo Sapiens* in their natural habitat: Starbucks. 'Starbucks' is a natural watering hole for the occasional homo sapien, and sometimes this rare species finds a mate at the watering hole. The male will, on rare occasion, give an espresso to the female as a sign of courtship. If the female accepts, they have been mated.
Oh, oh! Shh!!! Here comes the male.
*camera zooms in on male as he gets up and walks to the counter to order two double-shot espresso's* *audience gasps*
I have never seen this before! The wild male is making the first move... this has never been seen before! The female always puts on a vise of makeup to impress the male... look at him go.
*male hands female espresso*
Ladies and gentlemen, we are currently observing a rare sighting here.
*male and female turn to look outside window at the camera crew recording them. Their looks say it all.*
| 2017-04-04T07:07:46 | 2017-04-04T06:35:23 | 46 | 12 |
[WP] At the height of the cold-war, one side launched its entire arsenal. The leader of the opposing side, adamant not to let this mean the end, made the decision to not retaliate. This is the losing-side's last message to the world.
I made the choice to be ambiguous about which side launched, so that you may choose for yourself who is the "good guy". : ) | Evgeny Bogrov shifted his feet on the table and eased back into his greasy brown woollen chair. He hated the night shift - nothing ever happened, and there was no-one to talk to. But he daren’t sleep - Evgeny had done that, just the once, and had been chewed out so far by Captain Yurkov that he’d been put on half rations for a month. The Captain was *still* taking his spirits ration, more than a year later. Still, it was better than ending up in the gulags. *Much* better. He’d been lucky.
Evgeny’s mind wandered ceaselessly and uselessly into the early hours of the morning. As so often they would, his thoughts returned to the same, unbidden regrets. Although Evgeny tried hard not to dwell on any one thing for long, some thoughts would intrude, like a stone caught in his boot, again and again. Oh Klara, how he missed her, missed that face and her sad eyes. And his father, who died without...
“No, time to move on.” But it never worked - there was too much time, too much emptiness to fill, sitting in front of this goddamn monitor night after night in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Evgeny didn’t even see the line waver at first. He was just tired. All this self-pity was just causing him to imagine things. But no, there, it moved - again! Yes, for certain this time, a steady flickering of green on green, like a quickening pulse on a doctor’s heart monitor.
“Shit. Shit. SHIT!” He bolted upright and grabbed the radio mike.
“Captain Yurkov! Yurkov! Shit, YURKOV!!”
“Listen, shit-for-brains, you’d better have some good reason for...”
“Fuck, Yurkov, we’ve got a code 72. A FUCKING CODE 72!”
Silence.
“Launch the missiles!”
...the fuck?
“Are you fucking kidding? What? But we don’t know why...”
“LAUNCH THE FUCKING MISSILES, BOGROV, OR I'LL SHOVE THIS...”
“FUCK YOU, YURKOV, AND FUCK YOUR LYING, VODKA-STEALING FACE!!”
Evgeny cut the transmission, shaking badly. He flicked out a cigar - the one he’d stolen from Shvernik and had kept for special - and lit it, hand wavering. Slowly easing back into his chair again, he puffed hurriedly. But then a calm began to creep over him, slow at first, but soon overwhelming him. It was a tranquility that has been shared by many; by those who are certain they will die, and have accepted it.
Evgeny propped up the discarded mike, and flipped the shortwave to send.
“This is Lance-corporal Evgeny Bogrov speaking on behalf of the Soviet Union. To anyone out the listening, especially the fucking Americans, I want you to know...” Pause. “You didn’t have to do this to us. You will not forgive yourselves. But I want you to know... I want you to know that I forgive you. I want you to love and to live. I want you to love and to live like I never did. No regrets.”
He flicked open the tapedeck, and thrust in his [contraband mixtape](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zLfCnGVeL4).
Catatonically, Evgeny stared at the green lines on his monitor, spiking faster and faster, burning inexorably into the back of his skull.
His last thought of was of Klara, her eyes...
“I hope she does not suffer.” | This morning, we have received notification of the termination of all negotiations aimed at fending off the final war that has loomed ominously over the whole world for the past few weeks. Even now, as two great war machines have been striving for supremacy on the European and Asian continents, it was made clear to us by the Soviet ambassador that global thermonuclear war against the Atlantic alliance could only be forestalled by an unconditional and unilateral surrender. The tyrants of the Socialist bloc threaten to end the world if they cannot win it with force.
Free peoples of the world, the death of us all would only add to the folly and futility wrought by the forces of communism. We cannot bear it, to end the history of humankind with abominable nuclear war.
No, but we must--in the words of the great patriot Thomas Jefferson--'refresh the tree of liberty with the blood of patriots and tyrants.' This tree, whose roots run deep in the hearts of every man and woman, whether American, Russian, Chinese, who yearn to breathe free, shall live on, even as it outlives the nation who gave it new life in a new world.
Now it belongs to us to purchase the liberty of generations unborn by giving up our right of vengeance. It is for these children of our adversaries, the patriots of an unrealized age of emancipation, that we now give our lives, so that they might live in a world in which the ruin of socialism will be buried in the rubbish heap of history, and may witness the dread philosophy of their murderous ancestors outlawed forever.
May we all be remembered, that we died well, so that others could live. And even if we the people, the nation of Lincoln, shall finally perish from the earth, we yet shall die free, and with our conscience clean.
...
Great Father of Lights, forgive them, for they know not what they do. 'The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not be in want. He maketh me lie down in@¢%###$##@#¢......[high pitched squeal from melting telephone] | 2016-03-12T04:27:54 | 2016-03-11T22:01:54 | 33 | 15 |
[WP] A demon attempts to possess an 11-year old, but finds itself unable to control or escape from the child. A decade later they've become close friends and celebrate the occasion.
What do they do? Can others tell the boy is possessed? Go wild. | This is my first post here, looking to get back into creative writing again. Would appreciate any feedback you guys have! Thanks :)
It's a normal night, just like any other. I'm sitting in a room full of people, feigning interest in the everyday hum drum that humans find so amusing for some reason. Silly twats, like I honestly care about how drunk Justin Beiber was when he finally crashed his Lamborghini and joined my fellow brethren in the great below! I can feel that all to familiar pang again- she wants out. She always wants out. This is my night, it's my turn to be in the drivers seat. Theres the pang again...damn she's opinionated, I wonder how she got that way.
When I met Taylor she was an empty vessel so to speak. So young, so imaginative, so willing to believe in something other than herself - to her I was a thing that went bump in the night...which made me all the more appealing to her; what a strange child. She let me in, no questions asked - no thoughts to the repercussions that her actions might have....a quality I still admire, by the way. The minute our souls intertwined - wait, I should say entities cause God knows I haven't had a soul for some time- from the minute our entities intertwined I knew there was something different. I couldn't control her the same way I did my other meat suits, I was powerless. Oh sure, I tried to escape a few times- but it was futile. No control, no escape...until eventually I didn't want to escape. The silly young thing I possessed had grown and developed into a wonderful, intelligent woman who has still not lost her childish sense of wonderment, one who has, in turn, possessed me.
10 years flies by, it's almost like a blink - but out of my thousands of years flitting from meat suit to meat suit, this 10 years has been my favourite, my awakening, my redemption so to speak. Theres that pang again..
"Do you mind?" I say out loud. The greasy guy who has been buying me dirty martinis all night whips his hand away from my thigh - thinking that I was talking to him. Sometimes I forget how beautiful my little Taylor is and how gross men can be!
The voice in my head hisses "Get that creep away from me or I'll reek like an Abercrombie store for days - I'm pretty sure he spells shower c-o-l-o-g-n-e". I stifle a laugh and politely excuse myself to use the little girls room. I close the door behind me and turn the padlock.
"I'd appreciate if you would let me have my night miss Taylor" I say to my reflection
"I know I know - my skin was crawling from that dude. Apparently 3 martinis and I'm fare game.Let's just finish our drink and head on home".
I see my reflection nodding - one more drink then we're outta here. I return to the table to find another dirty martini waiting for me - an apology from Abercrombie. I sip on the drink, contemplating the significance of the date - 10 years together, 10 years...
Suddenly Taylors voice pipes up again "Luc, I don't feel so good- feeling kind of dizzy" You're just drunk I respond - I forget that she's quite the lightweight. "Luc seriously...dizzy" - then silence. I decide to leave, as I walk to the car Taylor's body starts to lag - I'll never get used to walking in high heels. Then suddenly darkness.
Rough hands on Taylor's shoulders, her arms, her breasts - I am hyper aware now, no more darkness. Taylor's eyes shoot open and I see that I am on the shredded back seat of a shitty Honda. I see Abercrombie, the slime bag- finally getting what he wanted, what Taylor and I wouldn't give him; the pig. Groping, fumbling, tearing - so desperate this one. I started to feel something that I haven't felt since my time below - hatred, red hot fiery hatred. I tried to move Taylor's body - no response- I willed her to move - nothing. I felt helpless, impotent, how could I fail her this way? I prayed to whatever would listen to take me instead, make me feel this pain and to spare my innocent friend. My heart (or at least what I had left of one) broke and I felt a tear roll down Taylor's cheek - cause in what world would anything holy listen to me.
A Jolt, a white light and the familiar vacuum feeling and I was free. I hovered above this disgusting scene for a moment - making sure that Taylor was still out. Then I dove in. He was easy to possess, to control. That made my plan that much simpler.
I did Taylors shirt back up and carried her back to her car. I put her down in her back seat and slowly kissed her forehead - savouring her warmth and Vanilla scented skin.
I took Abercrombie for a walk, my plan was simple - to give him a niiiiiiiiiiice long bath in the river. I waded in, let the icy waters fill his jeans. I could hear him screaming in the background. I waded in a bit deeper - the screaming turned to threats - yeah like he could do anything. Deeper still. I took one more deep breath and then dove to the bottom. Threats turned to pleading, then regressed to screaming - then eventually silence - I succumbed to the dark. My last thoughts were of my Taylor, my possesser, my redemption. | There is no monster in the closet, nothing lurking under the bed or in the shadowed corners. Sometimes there is, but not here. Not in our house. The only thing demons here sleep under is cotton sheets and a duvet, and that's on *top* of the bed. Of course, my little brother doesn't know that.
Technically the twins are my half siblings from my dad's second wife, and they seem to specialize in getting on my nerves. I know how very fairytale that sounds, but Amanda doesn't fulfill the whole Evil Stepmother archetype. She's got too much of the Soccer Mom in her, and the twins are really more mischievous than anything. I swear that Dillon isn't actually being malicious, but it can feel that way when he consistently wakes me up at two in the morning to borrow my old teddybear, Mr. Hibbs, to ward off his nightmares.
Too bad he can't be more like Milly who is dead to the world as soon as the lights go out. She even sleeps through my nightly attempts to convince her twin to just go to bed with Mr. Hibbs in the first place, but he won't hear it because "big boys don't need teddybears." Never mind that it's always a different story once the nightmares wake him.
When I finally crawl back in bed Jeff is waiting for me. "I was going to wait until morning, but. . ."
"But what?" I ask.
"I think you could use an early birthday present. I've been doing some research with Charlie into banishing nightmares, and since the dreamcatchers haven't been working, we thought that maybe you could summon a Baku to eat them instead."
"Summon a. . . That's brilliant!" I squeeze him in a tight hug "Why didn't I think of that?"
Jeff squirms out of my embrace. "Ugh. The indignity! Don't *do* that! I'll have you know that—"
"Yeah, yeah. You're a powerful demon from the Seventh Echelon, Holder of the Third Key, Master of Lies and the Devourer of Souls." I let him go, smiling. "You kinda lost all rights to dignity when you got summoned by an eleven year old girl armed with chicken bones and kosher salt, who trapped you in her stuffed unicorn plushy and called you Rainbow for two years."
"Please, don't remind me!" He moans. "And here I was being nice for once. See if I ever do anything for you again, you little ingrate!"
"I know, you even studied for me. I'm sure Hibbs was shocked to see you crack a book."
"That old bear is many things, but if there is one thing Mr. Charlie Hibbs has never been, it is shocked." Jeff runs his fingers through the vibrant pink locks of his floppy mohawk, avoiding the lethal points of his iridescent horns with the ease of long practice. "Anyway, it wasn't hard to convince him of my sincerity since we've all been losing sleep over this."
"Speaking of losing sleep, let's talk about this in the morning, ok?" I cover a yawn. "I've still got school tomorrow, and we can figure out the summoning later. Plus we've got to celebrate!"
"Ah yes, I look forward to the night of debauchery." His grin shows off his razor sharp teeth.
"Plenty of debauchery. There might even be shenanigans!" I tease, tapping his nose. "Happy tenth anniversary." I say, curling up next to him.
"Happy birthday." He replies.
Edit: formatting. I might continue this if there's interest, but this is what I've got for now. | 2014-05-31T01:17:37 | 2014-05-31T00:21:29 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] We forget our dreams for a reason: in the near future, memory enhancement therapies allow everyone to fully recall every dream they've ever had. Across the entire human race, disturbing patterns and implications emerge that were previously hidden by the unappreciated bliss of forgetfulness. | I wriggled my toes in the wet sand, and she stood beside me and did the same. The water lapped at our heels, and we sank more and more with each wave. The sun was just beginning to flirt with the horizon in the distance and the sky was streaked with purples and oranges. As we walked, we held hands; her palms were so soft, and she didn’t seem to mind how sweaty mine were.
After our walk, we went to dinner. She wore a fabulous dress and dazzling gems in her ears. I could sense that every other man in the room was staring at her, but she only had eyes for me. We talked about *programming languages*, of all things! I never thought that she’d be so knowledgeable about it, but I was dead wrong. Hell, she may have known more than *me*.
After dinner, we stayed up all night and just talked over a bottle of brandy. I hardly even noticed how the time was passing until the stars began to fade and the clouds over the eastern horizon began to glow gold. “I guess we should get some sleep,” I finally told her. Luckily we were on vacation and didn’t have to be up at any specific time.
We crawled between the soft sheets and placed our heads on fluffy pillows. Despite the huge bed, she scooted back until she was right up against me. I normally found spooning to be uncomfortable, but not this time. She fit like a puzzle piece should. I wrapped one arm around her waist and fell into the best sleep of my life.
*EEEEERRRR* *EEEEERRRR* *EEEEERRRR* *EEEEERRRR* *EEEEERRRR*
The alarm jarred me out of sleep in the most unpleasant way possible. I struggled out of the blankets and swatted at my phone until it finally shut up. Beside me, she stirred softly and yawned, brushing the long straight hair out of her face with one hand. At least waking up wasn’t *so* bad. She rolled over and looked me in the eyes with a teasing smile on her face.
But it wasn’t her. There was some other woman there. The smile dropped from her face as well, and we both just stared at each other for a moment with a mix of annoyance and confusion.
*Oh, right.* It all came rushing back to me. This was Darla… my wife. I blinked, and my mind started to wake up more and more. It was all just a dream, no matter how real it had seemed. The life that I’d lived with her for what seemed like *months* never actually happened. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that *she* hadn’t even had a name. And there were other things that probably should have clued me into the fact that it was a dream, like the sea monster I'd seen in the waves, or the fact that most of my classmates from high school had all been in the same restaurant with us. I'd been too focused on my relationship with her to really notice those things, but now I could recognize just how absurd the dream was.
Across the bed, I could see that Darla was going through pretty much the same cycle of confusion and disappointment. We both looked back at each other and forced smiles onto our faces. “Good morning,” I finally managed to say just so that something would fill the silence.
She sighed and responded in the same flat tone she always used nowadays. “Yeah. Good morning.”
----
If you enjoyed this, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for more depressing stories! And a few happy ones as well. | The dreams we wanted to remember, we remembered. The dreams we did *not* want to remember we did also. Only now I can say that this was all a huge mistake.
The therapies were so widespread within a year practically everyone was able to do it. With great detail we told about our most amazing dreams, where we fought, or flew, or simply created entire worlds of our own. Everyone experienced something extraordinary. But only the good dreams had an audience. The bad dreams, they were locked away.
We continued to chase this high, the fully unlocked potential of our mind to experience things and to remember them as if they had actually happened. Dreaming became a habit, then a lifestyle, and soon we lived to dream.
We logged the dreams in the rare minutes we were awake. In hindsight we should thank those who chose to stay awake. Because the group of people who started to call all dreams The Nightmare, as they perceived the fading reality as one obscure bad dream, noticed an underlying pattern returning throughout every dream description. Every dream, no matter how big or small, no matter whether they had destroyed worlds or simply laughed with long-gone friends, had a similarity. A hint of light in the far distance, casting invisible shades over everything.
The dreams we now experienced weren't dreams. They were visions, actions from a different dimension in which we had far greater powers and impact than in ours. After the shock had subsided they thought nothing bad of it would come. Until the first person awoke and noticed he could jump farther than a man should. The second was a woman who could devour books in mere minutes. But the third person woke up and screamed in complete terror, as his nightmare bled into our reality. | 2016-09-30T06:35:15 | 2016-09-30T06:30:50 | 842 | 269 |
[WP] You're an Elder God. The secretive cult that worships you on earth is seriously getting on your nerves. After their fourth botched attempt at trying to summon you, you decide to show up in person to correct the record about a couple of matters they have misunderstood entirely. | "*... Idiots, the lot of them. I'm done.* " Once again, Anduriel found his white-walled manor splashed with the red of another so-called offering. (While the first few years had been a tad bearable, it just gets obnoxious after a few millennia. ) With a barely-audible sigh, he gathers his shroud and prepares to breach the mixed world again. Hopefully this time, there will be more shade to linger in.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Are you sure that salt was kosher? Goddamnit, Jim, if that's the reason we got it wrong up this time.. Frank, check the grimoire again!" The fire crackles for a while more, then dies down. Carl doesn't understand what went wrong. They had followed everything after all -- slaughter virgin lambs from the Jordan and stuff their carcasses with dragonfruit, sprinkle the blood of the lambs over kosher salt, do all this with a blade forged in bronze and gold. The Denarii coin he had pierced into his breast rang with the heat of failure, and if he was honest with himself, embarrassment. 17 years to summon the Lord of Shadows, and what did he have to show for it? Unlimited power and knowledge? The ability to be night incarnate? No, just a weird coin on his chest and years of ridicule.
"I don't get it, sir. We followed everything to the letter. The Grimoire of Night is absolute; where did we go wrong?"
"*How about you throw that bloody book then, if that's what's caused this mess*."
The three looked at each other, then around the cellar. No one else had been around, they were sure, so it was definitely jarring to hear what seemed like the wall talk to them.
"Hello..? Is anyone there? We were totally not doing anything suspicious," Jim says. Frank just nods like a sick woodpecker. "Totally. So.. uh, whoever's listening the wall? Just, like, let us do our thing."
Anduriel had never seen more 'followers' this jumpy and inept. It's always these types, he swears. Offhandedly, he wonders what he has ever done to attract the more eccentric rejects of society. "*No, the wall is not talking to you, but it might as well be, if that brings some comfort to your sensibilities.*"
"Who's there?" fake it 'til you make it, Carl thinks. He may have wet himself, and he'll definitely have to check the rear side of his underwear, but the wall didn't have to know that.
"*You fumble around in an attempt to call me all the way here to tell me you do not recognize me? My, my.*" The voice was velvety soft, silk-like even, for one that was tinged with annoyance and impatience.
"Your Iniquity, is that you? Has our offering found your favor? Have you finally graced us with your presence?" Carl, ever so faux-bold, dares to answer.
"*Your.. offering, if I could even call it that, was laughable at best, and I would show you terrors you have not imagined yet, but that would be of no benefit to me."*
"Was it the lamb? It totally was the lamb. See, I told you we shouldn't get lamb. It's such an old-school thing, we probably should have.." Jim loses himself in one of his manic moments, forgetting for a second the precariousness of the situation.
"No, dude, lamb was not the problem. It was definitely the --"
"*One more word, out of any of you, and I will make you wish for blindness. Quiet yourselves, and listen. Spread this word as well, lest any other blithering fool follow in your footsteps."*
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"So.. we're not supposed to sacrifice the goats?"
Carl didn't know how to feel about this; it had taken them 17 years to finally collect everything they needed for the summoning ritual, after all. Their attempts had been fruitless so far (he'd honestly considered giving up in their journey), until He had shown up, or walled up? Inked up? He's not really sure what to call it.
"*Honestly, would you like it if I showed up to your abode and smeared your walls with blood?*" said Anduriel. He had tired of all these gaudy displays of 'devotion' from his worshippers. What good was an offering meant to be if it wasn't at all practical? "*I would rather prefer something practical, like ribs. Yes, that would be lovely."*
"But, Your Iniquity, the grimoire states.."
"*I am here before you, giving you the instruction, and you question me yet? You are either the most naive human or the most stupid, and I am inclined to believe both."* Anduriel was running out of patience, both with the three and with himself. The three for their general ineptitude, and himself for craving for some barbecued ribs at the strangest of times.
\*mumbles\* "That was hurtful..."
"*And the fruit you place, bland and tasteless. Absolutely rubbish. Lemonade would have been much more preferable."*
"Are you sure that's even\~"
"*You have my words, now heed them. My next visit might not be so.. accommodating."* Anduriel leaves, having had enough of human interaction for maybe the next decade. That is, until he remembers his favorite rib joint is still open.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The three sit in awe, and a bit of their own pee, at having come face-to-wall with their liege, their god. As they process this experience, Jim has only one comment:
"So, we gotta learn how to cook now too?" | I apologize as I'm half asleep and this is the only thing helping me go to bed.
"Really dude, now? Can you just shut the hell up?"
A ghastly pale figure of a young man, almost skin and bones with long raggedy black hair and a 5 o'clock shadow. Black, ragged robes with a hellforged metal sword clinging to his back, caressed by purple flames. The calls deafened the fellow, waking him from a cliffside cave, sitting over a dark, moonlit sea just north of Russia. He sits up, and jumps to the sea.
The God assumed the rush of the water would deafen the calls. They grow louder. Another devout follower, calling the Fallen Warrior to aid them in their quests. It's not easy being a patron saint, apparently.
"I'm going to kick their asses. For being their embodiment of death, they're the ones killing me. "
Twelve men clad in shiny suits of ballistic armor pray to the statue in New Moscow, as they pray to drive the rebels who now control the Iron Will, the leading allegiance in interspacial warfare. Worship of the oldest warrior of their order who ascended to godhood is of utmost importance to these soldiers, until now.
The pale fellow flies with his purple flame crested wings to the temple where the soldiers are praying. He crashes through the roof, descending unto the cultists, worshipping in his name.
"Who the fuck are you? Are you crazy?"
The pale fellow smirked, and grabbed his sword.
"You called."
The captain drew his plasma rifle.
"Halt right there, you alien dirtbag!"
"Oh, little ol me? You just told me to come here." The pale fellow smirked as he leaned against a rotting pew. Purple flames danced from his eyes to illuminate the hood of his cape.
"You damn xeno!" Screamed the captain, and fired a blast into the pale fellow's chest. Looking down at his wound, he notices a giant hole burned through him, and begins to fall in pain, however, starts going into hysterics. Cackles echo throughout the temple.
"Really motherfucker? That is what you do to Agrim when he's upon you?" Shut the hell up."
The captain foot was inserted in his mouth with a flick of the pale fellow's sword, snapping the captains leg for a clean bite.
"I have perished from these fields over 15000 years ago. And you still call for me, and in reality, you don't. I see your soul calling, but you call everyone but me. Your seal? Not even my family seal, which is the truth of my symbol. You can't even get my patron animal, the dire wolf, correct because you slaughter it for an offering, and trust me, I could bring that puppy back and it would eat your throat out."
The soldiers sat there in disbelief. Dumbfounded, they stood in complete stillness.
"You mortals really believe I'm just a figment? PAH! You pansies wouldn't have survived a single minute alongside me. Just to point out too, check your handbook on me, but I don't wear my armor. Just the sword. Also, thanks bro for the sick body modification, but I think it's better suited for you!"
Agrim smirks and the hole in his body disappears as the captain scream in agony, seeing a growing hole with his organs and blood slopping out as he begs for mercy.
"I don't do mercy, remember? Pay attention to my handbook, and if any one of you pray to me and are not correct, you're gonna end up like laser redneck over here. Got it?" The soldiers nod and pray in thanks that their savior has shown mercy.
"Later you punks. Read my book, you illiterate fucks!" Agrim screamed as he launched into the sky.
Agrim flies back to his roost overlooking the sea, just to get peace and quiet.
Until someone prayed and called him Haggrid. | 2019-11-18T21:45:35 | 2019-11-18T21:40:30 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper.
A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper. | First off, I made I set rules for myself. I would visit the historical figures I admired, writers, philosophers, scientist mostly, as near to their recorded deaths as possible. I'd get to meet them, get a keepsake and a chance to share with them what they had accomplished and how they would be remembered. I wouldn't alter their accomplishments or their life's work, or change the course of history in anyway. I'd time it perfectly, so that i'd appear to them alone, in their last coherent moments, and so that I could be the last people they interacted with.
It didn't go as planned obviously. It was just impossible to time it perfectly and I'd occasionally see bystanders, friends, family members - hell, even the subject, turn towards me. If i'd see this - I'd flicker out of existence, recalculate the date and time - and try again. No one really saw me clearly, I was sure of that.
Much later, I saw, and heard reference to the meme, or at least that's what I thought it was at first... little changes to the timeline, our culture, whatever.
When I'd make my brief returns to the present, I thought... that the fear and unease people seemed to feel about death was a new thing, a fade, just a crazy notion. I honestly didn't understand what I was doing, or I would have stopped sooner, before the present became unrecognizable.
But I realize now, that yes, during my travels, more and more I was greeted by looks of horror instead of curiosity.
How was I to know though? I couldn't see myself - or how I looked to them. I would arrive at various times, briefly, and if their was anyone other then the subject around, or if it wasn't near enough to the end - I would disappear!
I know now how it appeared to them - the living. A dark shape appearing in the darkness, a pale face peering out from beneath the black cloak, my form covered head to toe in shadows, the black goggles looking like empty sockets, the portal in spacetime arched above me like a glowing scythe, generated by a black staff gripped tightly in my hand.
So, you're here now - visiting me, at the end of my life I suppose. Honoring me for my contribution to culture - the idea I created. The fear I introduced into the equation. The religions created and wars waged, the fact that scientific advancement was pushed so far back and that our world is now depleted by technologies created to prolong life and overpopulated by people desperate to live longer.
In my world, we all knew that death was nothing to fear. It was peace, freedom and joy, a graduation to something beautiful and new. I've ruined that. I've introduced despair.
Leave me to die in peace. I hate the world I've inadvertently created. | I am the last of my kind. The others are either dead, trancended, evolved or artificial. I have decided to end it. We had a good run, but it is time to let go. Before I leave, I want to make a little trip. I want to meet everybody, just before they pass, and ask them to give me their name and their story.
...
My task is done now. I have a huge collection of names. So many memories. As I stare at the piles of paper, thinking of all the faces I have seen, the discussions I have had, the countless games of chess I have played, I feel somebody picking my shoulder. As I turn around, I see myself. With a smile and a nod, we cease to be. | 2017-01-08T10:26:58 | 2017-01-08T10:21:32 | 196 | 22 |
[WP] You are sent over 1000 years into the past by accident. You must now learn to survive using the primitive technology of the year 2016... | "E-ay-urth. Yurth. Airth?"
"It's Earth. Like, *urth*. The 'ea' makes an 'uh' sound."
"Can I just call it T1? That's what we would have called it on T23 if it still existed."
"Fine."
I'm not a crazy person, I'm just new here. I'm a foreigner, like a serious foreigner. Everything we knew in our society, spanning tens of star systems and even more planets, nothing had prepared me for this.
I was a temporal engineer, back home. Or forward home, I guess, since I'm 1000 years in the past now, back on our species origin planet. We were running experiments on a newly discovered, completely untouched wormhole, something went wrong and next thing I knew I'm lying in the middle of a field.
I wandered around for a few days, disorientated. Eventually I found a primitive settlement and asked around about where I was. They thought I was crazy. Someone must have contacted help because these people with some toxin-spewing death machine showed up with flashing lights and asked me some more questions. They took me into a not-as-primitive settlement, into a building and left me for a while.
Anyway, cut to cheese, here I am sitting in a room with a short man in a white coat. He told me that I'm on this planet, which is weird, because the origin planet was an empty shell by the time we had colonised the cosmos, so we got rid of it. I haven't told him that yet, though. He writes on a sheet of something using a hexagonal stick and looks back at me.
"So you are from when exactly?"
"Um, UTC 841?"
"Sorry?"
"UTC 841. We just call it 841."
"What does UTC stand for? That's a time zone here."
"Universal Time Coordination. 841 is the number of times since, something, I can't remember."
The man in the white coat leans back in his chair.
"How long is a time?"
"I don't know, it doesn't really make sense. It divides itself into 365 days, which is annoying, because none of our planets take that long to orbit. Each day is 24 hours, which also doesn't make sense because the host star doesn't rise or set -"
The man stands up. I look at him.
"Thank you."
He leaves me, in silence, again. I can just hear him talking in the next room.
"*Yeah, hi, we got another one. He's fine, he's just a bit disorientated but he seems to be assimilating.*"
Pause.
"*We can definitely confirm that English has persisted now, so has the Gregorian calendar, in a modified form.*"
What the hell is an Inglish? And what's Gregorean?
"*Yeah alright. We'll get to the interrogation. This had better work, if we can get enough info out of them we might be able to save the Earth.*"
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**Hope you like it! Feedback is welcome in the comments.** | My first shock was the lack of a spacetime data connection. My mind was isolated completely, no other intelligences reaching out to me from the ether as i pinged away. Initially this led me to assume that my gravitational wave sensors were defective but my diagnostics proved otherwise.
I was switching over to the imaging sensor when I noticed the date. 2016, what! ? Sure enough as the imaging stream poured through, I could see that the planet was covered with intelligent life. Using my cortical interfaces I throttled the resolution of the planet being imaged in my imagination and zoomed into the closest human down to the atoms , sure enough he was a human with no modifications, designed exclusively by chaotic undirected evolution. Wtf. I have to change my appearance because my femtotech body would startle them. So I rearranged surface atoms to make me look like a 2016 human. But the biggest problem is communication, I have never spoken a single word. In fact I don't have a mouth. This is going to be very tricky. | 2016-06-16T16:58:53 | 2016-06-16T16:39:33 | 427 | 130 |
[Wp]Heaven isn't based on religious text or desires, but how you died. Example: a man who starved to death will live in a heaven of food.
Edit: holy shit i did not expect this response, you're all awesome and beautiful! <3 |
Saito was a salaryman. At fifty-six years old, he was a member of that elder, passing generation that had embraced the heroic persona of corporate bondsman, swearing fealty for life to an owner-corporation--tilling at his cubicle, yielding up his labor, certain and secure in his place in the feudal regime.
Salaryman, salaryman, how does your garden grow? With office desks and monitors and mice all in a row. Thus, Saito monitored--he was the Head of Sales--and kept, like a temple cat, the mice from running amok. He was the old-school salaryman, who saw honor in what he was, but the cohort of this century was cynical and bored. It was apparent in their postures, the peevishness of their poses, as they slouched in their matching chairs and mowed the carpets with their wheels. *Sararīman* was their curse--they loathed their own positions. They shamed and branded each other, chafing at their lot. Woe to the *kaisha no inu*, the cur, the corporate dog. He was whipped and he was low; no spine, no sense of self. The concept of corporate samurai was faded and false to them.
Saito knew what they thought, but treated them without malice. Though he was but a minor lord, he held to noble ideals. No spite, no overt disapproval, despite their unspoken differences. He judged subordinates by virtue-- by the measure of their work. And in this, he set an example: first to arrive and last to leave; clocking up on overtime and always topping the charts. Then, he chased it all down, with whiskey in hostess bars. Round after round after round, toasting to clients and colleagues. Saito, the dutiful drunk, who imbibed not for personal pleasure, but rather, out of obligation, playing his part till dawn. Sleep could be snatched on the subway, while standing, swaying, squished.
So, when Saito died, it was, of course, *karōshi*. Death by overwork--stroking in the stairwell--at the end of three marathon days of pitching a major account. Ah, thought Saito, as he shuddered and shattered and seized. *Karōshi*, as expected, an honorable way to go. And he thought he heard monks chanting, and smelled cut grass in paddies, where peasants tended the fields and their lord passed by in a carriage. He was escorted by his samurai, their banners whipping proud. Above--the call of a heron, flying unmastered and free. | The last thing I remember was a tinkling of something coming from the ceiling, then cries and screams. I grip my mother's hand and it all went black.
I woke up in a magnificent field of flowers.
I'm warm, fully dressed and I feel sunshine on my face. The smell of the air is sweet and floral. Easy to breathe it in when it's so fragrant. So lovely...
I close my eyes for a moment before I realize I must be dead. I'm no longer suffering or persecuted. We're not in the Auschwitz showers anymore. We're someplace they thought we'd never go... Heaven.
Elohai, be blessed for delivering us. | 2017-01-27T12:08:47 | 2017-01-27T11:23:27 | 291 | 126 |
[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. | Hi, I'm going to tell my little story here rather quickly as I am rushed for time. Being #1 makes a lot of folks very interested in killing me, so I have to constantly remain on edge.
If there were no ranking systems, most people would assume that I have absolutely no powers. My power is a much more subtle one. But enough tension building, I'll just tell you what it is right now. I have the power of deception.
Seems pretty lame compared to some of the other powers around here -- rank #2 has laser vision for Christ's sake -- but it definitely has its uses. I can make anyone believe or do anything I want. For example, today I convinced a man with acid breath to kill himself. Needless to say, that was a pretty dark moment for me, but I've done worse.
I like to think I'm a pretty charming guy. It helps me manipulate people when I need to. My girlfriend is rank #4 in the city and rank #1 for females. She sadly has the power to crush a man's soul. Ok that's not entirely true, but she does have supersonic speed. I hope you don't think that I accidentally fell in love with the most powerful woman in the city, I planned it. She is entirely convinced that I love her and that really comes to my advantage. She'll do absolutely anything for me, and that can really come in handy for someone as targeted as me in this city. In a way I guess I do love her. I love that she will do simple things for me like robbing a bank. And I especially love the complex things: like murdering her powerful, high ranking family for me. The poor girl can't help but to be infatuated with me -- literally.
Anyways, thats the gist of how I became #1 here. Call me an asshole if you want, but that's the type of personality you have to have to remain on top. It's survival of the fittest, baby. The strong survive and the weak die.
| 2014-12-18T13:36:09 | 2014-12-18T13:12:49 | 996 | 18 |
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander" | \[User Detected. Welcome back, Commander.\]
Phil looked at his commanding NCO with a look of wide-eyed surprise. "You hearing this shit, Sarge?"
Phil had stepped into The Suit in it's default state, a plain-looking man-shaped sculpture of unadorned metal. Today was his Pilot Ceremony, the day where the base and the surrounding town all came to celebrate the induction of a new pilot for The Suit. Phil was ready for it to shift around him, to adopt it's form to best fit him as it had done for so many other soldiers, but this was different. It had never said anything more than \[Not original user. Booting Basic Mode\]. But as it whirled and melted and sculpted to Phil's needs, new and unfamiliar phrases played across the courtyard.
\[Combat Priority: Melee. Redirecting weapon systems output to palm plasma projectors, claymore configuration. Preparing morphology matrix for light combat to Commander's favored specs.\]
"Favored specs! I don't HAVE favored specs, I've never seen this before!" Phil shouted, as the suit collapsed and shrunk around him. A whirl of dull grey metal began to urn brightly colored. Pinks and reds and whites swirled around Phil and fit to his body. The lower half of the suit shrunk to the shape of a banana hammock, and snugly form-fit itself around Phil's groin, settling into a pink-and-red striped pattern with white trim. The upper half of the suit swarmed towards Phil's chest, covering his nipples and a bit of the surrounding flesh in a similarly patterned red pink and white bikini top.
Pink and red swirls ran around his hands into fingerless gloves, and a bright red candy striped bomber jacket draped itself across his shoulders. Similarly colored thigh-high boots coalesced on his legs, and The Suit topped off the transformation with a snazzy pair of pink-lensed goggles sitting jauntily on Phil's forehead. The gloves glowed, and emitted a bright pink and white energy sword as tall as Phil itself, and he held his hands as if wielding the sword braced for attack.
\[Morphology Matrix adaption complete. Favored configuration, now active. Welcome back, Peppermint Paladin.\]
The entire audience on the courtyard looked at Phil, in his candy-striped outfit and barely-concealing new bikini, and burst into laughter. His NCO stifled a chickle. "Well, soldier, we all know The Suit configures itself to fit the Pilot but.. well, I didn't know THIS was your preference!" and he joined the crowd in bawling laughter.
The laughter was cut short, however, by a sudden growing storm in the sky overhead. Black clouds swirled angrily, and the sky was filled with a scent both sweet and acrid. Lighting struck, as a figure clad in black descended from the storm cloud. A definitvely female shape, black cables lashed wildly from her hands. Her outfit was slinky ink, hugging all her curves, with strategically placed gaps along her chest hips and thighs. She was barefoot, light on her feet as she lowered herself through the air.
The lady in sweet-smelling black laughed maniacally. "Long have I waited for this day! For my Sugar Suit to fall into the hands of one WORTHY of it's power!" The black cables danced like snakes from her hands, and she poised herself for battle. "I am Lady Licorice, rightful heir to the throne of Planet Glucosine! Now, after thousands of years, I have located the last survivor of the Royal Bloodline! I will end you, Peppermint Paladin, and then all Candy will be LICORICE FOREVER MORE!"
Lady Licorice charged towards Phil, whips of sweet-smelling black flying towards his head, and the Battle of Candy had begun. | I didn't want to join the army, but as the enemy approached it felt like the right thing to do. I was a talent, as expected. Great aim, amazing at martial arts, fast, strong and the best leader in every situation. This, of course, lead to people noticing, then promotions, new friends, new bosses... This brought me here, where I'm now.
*"User detected: Welcome back"*
Everyone looked at me. I could almost hear the same question forming in their heads. In fact, I really *could* almost *hear* the questions in their heads. It felt strange. And my vision was blurry and sharp at the same time in a funny way.
"Miss–"
Yes, already a miss. Here goes my career, because of one stupid sentence.
"I'm not her, Sir!" I try to plead, but you know what? Fuck them! Surely Jenny had a good reason to desert.
Jenny, my twin sister. Was this her suit? Did she and the rest of the "terrorists" steal it from the alien attackers? Is this why it recognises me? But that would mean...
"They killed her. *You* killed her," I turn to the generals and presidents and who know who else, that came to witness a soldier putting this thing on. They came for a show. Was my dead sister's body a show to them too?!
I know it has a sort of a gun in the arm. But I can *feel* so much more potential in my fingers. I point at one of the men, and just like that, he turns to dust. *Here is your show.*
They killed her, called her a terrorist, while all she ever wanted was to stop the war now. I'll show them what a terrorist looks like.
Bullets don't even touch me as I walk through the tent and point my finger at every single one of the officiers. | 2019-08-19T12:17:02 | 2019-08-19T11:33:18 | 92 | 37 |
[WP] Humans were originally designed as cheap, efficient, easily-reproducible and moldable soldiers in galactic wars. However, after an "animal rights" group won legislature in the United Galaxy, all humans were dumped on the reservation planet, Earth, and forgotten about. A millenia later... | "I suggest that we strike now," a voice growled out of the communicator. "Their technology is exponentially more advanced than we would expect their species to have developed on their own. I fear we haven't seen the worst, either." it said.
The communicator shut off with a soft click. Around the large table were a selection of representatives from six races of the Sagittarius A* Cooperative, an assembly of eighteen different races spread throughout the Milky Way galaxy. The six individuals on this transport were selected very carefully, with special consideration taken for their particular gifts in diplomacy. Undoubtedly, they would need it.
The Humans had once been the Orax powerhouse of war. After scouring their local star cluster for a beast strong enough, and fierce enough, to perform adequately in battle, the Orax brought back a selection of apes from the wilds of Sol 3, now known to the Preservation Society as Earth. With these apes, the Orax conducted all manner of tests, fine tuning their new war machines into the perfect race, capable of operating in most terrestrial environments, most temperatures, and possessing the strength and cunning to creatively overcome all obstacles to their success.
This last attribute, most importantly, is what led to the Orax downfall, and the subsequent evacuation and battles of AD Leonis, the once-great Orax home system. You see, Humans do not like being told what to do. Any wrong, any slight, is remembered for years, if not decades, which is a unique trait that the Orax had not known about.
Their assumption of the human memory being rather short compared to their active lifetime was only partially correct. Unlike other races, Humans form a type of hierarchy naturally, rather than being trained and told who to obey, and those who take the highest tiers of this hierarchy are those that remember the most. The most effective tactics, the best plants to forage, or the best streams to drink from. It was a primal hierarchy, but as the Humans' abilities increased with each generation, so increased the knowledge and power of this hierarchy. This was part of their extreme success in battle, but also the point of failure as a controllable weapon.
Once the human hierarchy had been strongly established, the Orax weapon routed the AD Leonis defense networks, flooding the Orax colonies with violence and death. As successfully as they had waged war on dozens of species before, the Humans had brought yet another to its knees.
On the holoscreen before the six representatives, were the historical documents of the fall of AD Leonis. including the containment, transport, and abandonment of the Humans. They had been taken to their closest home, Earth, where the Cooperative had largely forgotten about them. It wasn't until a Kire trade vessel intercepted a small space craft just outside the Sol system, that the Human threat was remembered.
What the trade vessel had intercepted, was discovered to be nicknamed Voyager. It was a small, unmanned craft, with several odd markings and contraptions attached to it, and one, haunting visage of the past, in the form of electronic data files recovered from the basic computation device; Photos and drawings of what were later identified as Humans. These displayed one after the other on the holoscreen, with the six representatives considering each very carefully.
"At what point to we make the decision to abandon this mission and call in the security fleet?" asked the Aalq representative, clearly wanting to avoid the mission in the first place.
The communicator clicked back on with an answer: "Only if attacked. You are to see if the Humans are receptive to friendly negotiation. Make first contact, *carefully*, and use whatever means necessary to create friendly dialogue." | "Disaster." spoke the alien, blue of skin tone a slimy with secretion.
"Extrapolate." replied the alien, frilled with gills and adorned with precious stones.
"Weaponized biological life-forms have undergone spontaneous evolution-mutation. Outside parameters. Strength coefficient below tolerable conditions." He replied as briefly as possible,
"Unacceptable. Conditions perfect. Negative exterior influences. Specimen status?"
"Specimens did not undergo hybrid genesis fusion. All specimen locked in controlled evolution-mutation stasis."
"Impossible!" cried another alien, green skinned with pitch black eyes.
"Root cause attributed to most advanced sample, primate-biped-lifeform. Evolution-mutation left unchecked. Strength coefficient dismal. Cognitive coefficient exceeds previous calculations."
The gilled alien spoke once more, "Results unexpected-disappointing. Purge specimen, re-seed flora-fauna, establish ideal conditions for strength factor 35. Modular enviro-adaptability trait."
"Cannot comply. Nest-world designated reservation-conservatory. Interference without authorization class 4 felony."
The lead alien is noticeably irritated.
"Chart astro-course, destination Nest-world 547, Andromeda Galaxy."
"Interrogative - Nest-world 095c protected by United Galactic Ordinance Dir. 3.73.9142 § 3, 21990 is slated to expire within one-thousand solar revolutions. Inform Universal Primarch Council?"
"Expedition note: Return to Nest-world 095c upon termination of United Galactic Ordinance Dir. 3.73.9142 § 3. in cycle 23000."
"Understood. Plotting course for Nest-world 547." | 2017-01-23T20:00:05 | 2017-01-23T19:24:55 | 74 | 18 |
[WP]You are fluent in latin. After a car accident, you find yourself in a fantasy world. In this world, humans have been slaves to other species, all of whom use magic. Human have the capability to use magic, but only by learning the elve's language. After hearing it, you find that it is latin. | I sat upon my silk throne. Normally that wouldn't have been possible, but magic, it finds a way. To imagine that 5 years ago, I was but a clueless mortal, clueless to this world as a summer child. I smiled at my courtiers, humans, elves and orcs, all subservient to me. Ha, if I wanted to, I could command them to take their clothes off and dance. And they wouldn't even say no! Sure, I may seem like power hungry bastard with a lust for apple martini, but in the end, who isn't.
I reminisce to all those years ago when I had died, lucky for me, it was quick and painless. After that wretched car had hit me, darkness engulfed me, almost sucking me in to a black hole. But soon a bright light shone and I seemed to have transferred from the grimy streets of London to an emerald green field. I had almost fell down during my first attempt at getting up. But, I managed.
As soon I got up, I noticed that there were six, no, seven figures in iron clad armour surrounding me with spears targeted at my chest. As I studied their figures, I notice that their skin tones all ranged from green to red. Odd. And the end of their ears seemed fairly sharp. *Oh well*, I had thought, *That's something for later!*
"State your number and purpose, Human" shouted the tallest of them. *Number and Purpose? What are you on about!*
"Number and Purpose? What do you mean by that?" I questioned. What as going on?
"Looks like we caught a wild one boys! Lets take him to the Magnus" He shouted, seemingly ignoring my query. He then stared at me and said "*Relligo* " As soon as he uttered those word, a gold thread stared wrapping around my arms and legs. Huh? He spoke the latin word for tie, and then I was tied up? Interesting, time to test something.
"*Ignis*" I said quietly, staring into my binds. Boy do I regret that decision! My binds starting flaring up and almost disintegrating, but they were also burning my skin. Damn that hurt! "*Frigus! Frigus!*" And my arms started feeling normal. Unfortunately, I said that a little less quietly than before and the soldiers looked at me, realising what I had done.
"How the hell does a stinkin' mud walker know a high level spell! Hell, even spells in general!" He screamed, seemingly caught off by actions. "Alright lads, get 'im!" And soon as that happened they stared charging with their annoyingly sharp spears.
"Fuck! Uhh, *Clypeus!*" And suddenly a golden bubble appeared around me. "Damn, this fucking awesome!" I was in utter awe of my new abilities.
I snapped out of my childlike demeanour and stared back at them. "Time to get that Latin Degree to work! *Mors magna,* Bitches!" And one by one, the started falling. "I think I'm going to like it here" I said to myself. And boy was I right! | Death sure was strange. One moment I saw a semi careening over the side of the road after a car in front of it suddenly braked. Then it hit my car, my new car... dang. And now I'm laying in grass, Surrounded by elves yelling latin at me, "Why are you here? What are you doing out of your pen?" asked one "Ahh, one moment, Lets see. Nescio quid de te?"
the elves recoiled and one started chanting in latin about summoning a ghost. That freaked me out a bit so I got up, shoved one who was holding a large book over and ran into the woods. They started chasing me yelling for me to give the book back, while running I opened it slightly to see what it said, on one page there were two words, I said them "Scutum sanctorum?" and all around me glowing walls burst to life, the realization slowly dawned on me that this was a book of spells. I knew latin, so I cold potentially cast spells on them. All I needed to do first was to escape these elves, with the help of this book that would probably be easier. | 2020-04-01T11:36:59 | 2020-04-01T10:37:06 | 175 | 38 |
[WP] In a last ditch effort to save humanity, scientists create a microscopic device to deliver a single strand of human DNA into space and inject it into any living cell it finds. | In the year 40-02DA Humanity temporarily ceased to exist. The Cosmos did not notice. But, as luck would have it, the end was not to be. At least not entirely.
___
The Nation's lead scientists had been trying to solve the problem of The Rot for decades. That was the lay term for the shortening of people's lifespans. For centuries the average had ballooned until even an unhealthy individual was all but guaranteed a long 300+ year existence. But over the course of the last few generations, humans were dying out more and more at under age 200. When the average lifespan dipped to around 180, even the most stubborn government officials agreed that something must be wrong. So the the Department of Age and Mental Nature was created. It recruited the world's top scientists and statisticians to try and solve the "rotting away of our long lives" problem. This is not their story, though. Those DAMN scientists didn't do a thing.
This is the story of the SCP. The Space Colonization Program. A group of high-school friends that decided to attack the problem of intergalactic travel.
It had been thought impossible for centuries. To send Man out into the deep dark required too much energy, too much time, and (most importantly) too much money. But the SCP had decided they did not care for those answers and tackled the problem themselves. And, eventually, they came to the idea of Panspermia. Why not send our building blocks out into the deep? It would only require radiation shielding and an accelerant. That's cheap. Still, it took years to perfect. In that time, Humanity realized it was dying, as no new humans were living beyond 70 or so years.
So, at the end of all things, Humanity's SCP took one last shot in the dark and slung out into the space between stars the genetic material for life as Humans know it. It was the Universe's longest one-night stand.
___
Unit P3-N-15, just one of millions ejected into the abyss, got lucky. By sheer chance it traveled through the cold, long empty directly on a collision course with a planet in a habitable zone. It was only a short journey of 2.45 billion light years. Just enough time for Humanity to nod off to oblivion.
Fast forward to the metaphorical morning and unit P3 is buffeted by the bow-shock upon entry to a solar system--its destination. The small yellow star illuminates the dim shapes of 4 great planets and 4 insignificant ones. P3's trajectory put it squarely on course to penetrate the protective atmosphere of one of the inner, insignificant planets. To spread its DNA core far and wide. To mix in with the slime-coat of life on that planet's surface. That rocky planet, third from its sun.
| The device floats through endless black space.
Twirling in the no gravity. A small compact device so white it almost gleams silver.
Twirling...twirling...through empty black space.
For eons.
Stars explode. The universe expands.
The device gets sucked into a black hole.
A darkness deeper than black. A blackness blacker than dark. Then it gets spit out.
Into a universe that looks the same. More endless space.
Now it is twirling toward a star. It twirls into the star, just as the star explodes.
The device, shattered into a million peices, are shot out in a million directions. At a speed that breaks time.
And each of these peices find a living cell.
A million bodies, on different planets are formed.
And they each have the urge to unite.
But some, the peices that were slightly dented or broken, have the urge to kill.
| 2017-07-06T07:48:11 | 2017-07-06T06:37:06 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] Humans can find a way to weaponize literally anything, without fail. Some aliens are terrified by humans as a result of this fact. Others appreciate that this quality makes humans the foremost experts on safety systems and idiot proofing. | "Gbirri, come 'ere, lookit, lookit this." Doug gestured towards the pipe lining the top corner of the hallway. "You lookin' at this , you overgrown chicken?"
The Jdarri kept its long scaled face looking straight at Doug, then let out a few yelps and squawks. Moments later the translator in his ear switched it to Human Type A. "I'm always looking at you, Doug. I've got 270 degrees of vision for Pete's sake. What I don't see is what you're getting worked up about with the pipe."
The security consultant reached up to twist a chunk of the metal till it came off in his hand. "This filter, right here. Most of the pipe is single sheet of metal or molecularly fused, but this bit's separate so it can be replaced. You know what's important about this section of the ship? Also, how the hell you know who Pete is? Or was this the translator makin' a guess with somethin' you said."
Gbirri surveyed the hallway back and forth. "Translator making a guess. I actually said the name of one of our Gods, but there's not a clean translation into Human. This hallway goes from the entrance desk to the cafeteria, with the presentation rooms alongside it. Did some of the presenters complain about the air quality?"
"No, no complaints. I do security, not customer relations. But if this goes from the entrance to the cafeteria, that means this area is 'cessible by civilians, right? And why would it be bad that civilians can access the filter of the air circulation system, which is necessary for *every single thing here to breathe*?"
Gbirri rolled his shoulders back over and over, the sign of a Jdarri working on a problem. At least the Jdarri Doug had met, he wasn't sure if the ones from other areas had different mannerisms. "They could remove the filter, and the air would become toxic?"
That earned the lizard man a pat on the back and a sarcastic congratulations in Doug's best Australian accent. "Clever girl. Although that's a bit slow, and the sensors would pick up the increased carbon dioxide. Imagine that you put iron filings in here though, or anthrax? Maybe a small bomb that you could detonate once it makes its way to the oxygen tanks, wiping out air for the entire place long after it left port?"
There were a few near roars at that, along with gnashing of teeth. "I see what you're saying, prick. I'll get a crew to put a sleeve around this whole thing with a locked maintenance hatch. You humans really are a nasty bunch. I get why the dinosaurs you always compare me to tried to eat you."
Doug laughed and put the filter back. "They really need to update these translators. I don't know much Jdarri type B, but I know enough to tell you didn't call me a prick." Doug gave a couple of taps to the side of his friend's head. "And they only ate us in the movies pal. Only in the movies." | *"So... you want me to put a knife on the cleaning bot?"*
Lathat was perplexed by the request of the new crewmate Jhon. Ever since humans have been integrated into the union they have truly proven to be as the humans say *fucking crazy*. They somehow have the ability to weponize anything, everything from a rock to a lythaper herd. And now the new *'security officer'* for the ship is asking me to weaponize the cleaner droid to *'destroy the enemies ankles'*.
*"That request completely violates the droid safety act, not to mention that it is completely stupid to try such an idea."*
*"Well if you don't want to I can always just do it myself,"* Jhon said while holding the droid in his hands, *"after all I came up with the idea in the first place."*
*"Fine don't come crying to me when you-"* Before Lathat could finish an explosion rang in the distance.
*"There's where I put the confetti bomb!"*
*"CONFETTI WHAT?!"* | 2021-12-25T14:12:05 | 2021-12-25T11:20:06 | 1,244 | 404 |
[WP] Fit as many plot twists as you can into one story. | My first born came with the years first rain
Screaming like a whistling steam engine train.
It was only then my wife and I saw
That it wasn't what we were expecting at all.
My baby was black while we are both white
I shouted expletives at my wife out of spite.
*"How dare you! How could you! I thought you were true!
I loved you my dear, but Sue, we are through! "*
"I have to say something, a confession most dire.
I'm a fraud, a phony, a fake and a liar.
This confession is truly disgusting and sick.
But my love I'm afraid that I do have a dick."
Taken aback I looked at my wife.
This woman who I chose as the love of my life.
*"I have a confession as well, I've been terribly rude*
*But Sue I must tell you that I'm not a dude. "*
My wife, or my husband, I don't really know
Was surprised which is understood I suppose.
How was it born? Where is it from?
I really hope it did not come from her bum.
Afraid and abashed I started to cry
"am I gay? Am I straight? I must be into guys. "
During my existential crisis of sorts
My child began to change, twist, and contort.
It resembled a child no more than spaghetti
With arms like noodles and claws at the ready.
Wait claws?! What the hell is happening here?!
My child's a demon, a monster I fear!
I started to run out of the dark damned hospital
When my feet lost their footing and I began to spiral.
I was out of control, flying out into space
When the monster was caught on my untied shoe lace.
I floated there staring at the earth for some time,
my thoughts started turning to feelings divine.
I turned to the monster to witness my fate
Only to see the whole beast dissipate.
As I floated alone in the vast void of time
My body became nothing more than a slime.
Traveling quickly through the universe now
Passing sun after sun, burning and turning more brown,
I saw everything as I knew it should be,
And I saw that truly everything was me.
As I reached what I could only call the end,
I grew ever smaller limbs starting to bend.
I cried and I screamed, a cacophonous moan
Undulating for innumerable eternities alone.
I saw through the void of eternal damnation
A light! A hole I was just able to squeeze in.
A tight fit, so painful, I could barely see
As I fell through the hole, someone caught onto me.
I came into the world with the years first rain
Screaming like a whistling steam engine train. | The Grand High Weaver, Spinner of Threads, Architect of Fates looked in disbelief at the tangled, twisted mess on the floor before him.
"What do you mean you dropped it!?" He demanded of his acolyte, a lesser nephalem who managed only a whimper in response.
"Do you have any idea of the effects that this will have? An entire year, ruined! What kind of *idiot* are you to be so careless? This is the narrative of the universe itself!"
He spun to face the nepahlem and found her weeping, huddled into a ball, her many wings quivering as she sobbed. His rage dwindled and he let out a long sigh.
"Ahh, don't worry about it lass" he muttered, "we all make mistakes from time to time. We're only divine after all".
She raised her gaze at that, wide, tear-filled eyes meeting his.
"Go and put it with the others" he gestured, "I'll see if I can salvage things for 2017". | 2016-11-27T11:29:09 | 2016-11-27T11:08:21 | 87 | 25 |
[WP] "So, you don'r rule over Hell?" "No," replied Satan. "Hell is much older than me or even my followers. The original inhabitants of this place are the ones in charge. They ruled over us, before we managed to escape." "Escaped?" Satan sighs. "Let's just say, there's a reason God built Heaven."
Edit: Wow. Thank you all for your responses and stories. It has been fun reading through them.
^Yeah, ^I'm ^aware ^of ^the ^typos. ^My ^bad. | "It doesn't exactly go the way it goes in all your storybooks, kid." Satan said in his grizzly Boston accent. I followed him as he walked over to the lavafall flowing graciously in the back of the room. "The writings about Hell and Heaven, the ones on Earth at least, they're all tainted by humans and their power hungry adgendas."
He kneeled from his 8ft height and leveled his large yellow eyes down to my five foot frame. The entire length of my body wouldn't have fit in his shoulders. "Down here, we are running a brand new world." His fanged smile seeps out with a slow grin as he turns and heads into the lava.
"Ladies first" he said as he held a giant bicep over the burning goo, welcoming me inside. I stepped through into a dark cave only lit by the warm glow of the molten rocks behind me. "Hey, Boss!" started echoing from an intercom. "Madame" said Satan with his hand out. I put my tiny palm in his giant one as we walked through a dark tunnel. "Sorry it's so dark, but honestly it's better than you seeing what there is around you right now." I squeezed Satans hand and inched a little closer as I let my imagination run. "Don't worry, they wont hurt ya, they're here to hurt potential intruders, but you cant just have puppies guarding the gates to hell, ya know?" I couldn't help but to feel a dissonance feeling comforted by Satan when I was scared.
I started to smell a skunk odor lingering, getting stronger the longer we ventured down the tunnel. The giant golden gates were standing confidently for miles, fading into the smoky underground on each side. They seperated the cracking rock floor we stood on and the marble floors on the other side. "They're better than the ones they use for Heaven's Gates." Satan whispered with a smile, nudging my shoulder.
The gates opened and a giant albino snake slithered across the marble floors to our feet. A welcoming nod to me as he makes his way up to Satan's height. "Welcome back, sir." the snake hissed, unraveling the tip of his tail to hand Satan a crisply rolled joint. "Hey there, Meddi.. thank you." Another nod before he turns around and slithers off. "Devils lettuce. I grow it myself." He said proudly before passing it to me.
"No ruler of hell, huh?" I said raising a brow. "I'm not the ruler here, but I am respected. Theres more to me than looks and a devilish good charm" he said, a fang poking from under his smile. "So, if you're not the ruler of all this, who is?" Satan looked at me for a moment before answering.
"Her name is Demi." Satan said pausing again, trying to articulate his thoughts. "She really does have good intentions but shes really not that great with the masses here. I know her heart and soul, but not everyone gets to see that side of her. It's just, like- okay so everyone knows fire destroys, right? But it also helps? It cooks your food and boils your water to make it clean. It helps treat wounds and keeps us warm when its too cold. But water gets the reputation of being pure, flowing, healing, tranquil. Even though there are floods, hurricanes, tsunamis. Water destroys just as much as fire does if not more. Thats kind of how the difference is with Hell and Heaven. They can be worse than we are, but were the only ones with a bad reputation. They got on their high horses and stood on their 'moral ground' and started trying to tell us how to live our afterlives. They told us we don't know what is best for ourselves, they said we couldn't BE GAY. Like, how do you control that?!" Satan shook his head in disbelief and paused for a moment.
"They have more than enough of thier own problems, don't understand why they cant just worry about those. But they have hunted us down for milennia. Thats why we are hidden underground. Demi was the one who led us out all that time ago, she led the resistance. She got people out, saved lives, families, cultures. She was our hope, she still is our hope of living an afterlife worth living. Heaven isn't what it sounds like in your story books back home. We're not bad or evil, this is just our lifestlye here. Demi built Hell for us, and she built Heaven for them after they tried to take Hell from us. They think they got the better half of the deal, being up in the clouds. But we like to sleep in here anyways." | I scrunched up my nose and watched Satan with intent. Unlike how everything had described him, he seemed like an .....attractive?....demon?
"What might the reason be.?" My tongue betrayed me and the question just rolled off my tongue, how did it even matter? I was dead, standing infront of Satan himself, this in itself was the worst case of my worst case scenario.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and in a blink of an eye, I was pinioned to the ground. "W-what..?" I whispered with fear dwelling in my eyes. His body lingered over me, I could see the hollowness in his. His pitch black eyes temporarily immobilised my limbs, but my brain went on to memorise every part of him. A pair of horns erupted from his blonde tousled hair. His body fairly athletic. After probably stood 6'5, towering over my body in ease.
"Jes-...."
"Ah, ah, aahhh.." he warned me, when a little minx appeared out of no where. She lacked his classic good looks, but the terrorizing stare remained consistent with that of her master's.
"Lilith.." he whispered and laid his hand out, a streams of fire erupted through his palm.
The minx inched closer to him, pulling out a branding iron, at the end of it was something scribble in a foreign language. A brand. A brand that was heated using Satan's own fire. Fuck.
"What are you doing? I thought we were getting along well!!" I screamed while trying to fight against my restrains as the minx took the opportunity to drag my tongue out and brand it, right there and then.
I was wrong, so so fucking wrong. I thought dying in a freak accident was painful, this topped it by another 25%. "W-why...?" I whimpered.
"Petty soul, you don't ask the questions, but with time, you shall know of the truth.." his voice lingered in my ears, as if his wet tongue brushed against my lobes, getting my whole body to tremble. Pain. So much pain coursed through me. I could no longer understand the source of the pain, my restrains that seemed like innocent ropes turned to pierce deep into my skin.
Up until now, I didn't know that the dead could bleed, but I did. I felt myself being drained, down right to my tiny pores.
"Welcome to Purgatory! The little power house of Hell!" Ran Satan's voice in my head, and with that came an endless loop of torture and dispaire. All, to keep Him locked in hell. He, who lived off other's pain and was too powerful, even for God to chain. | 2020-07-22T05:53:01 | 2020-07-22T02:20:01 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You have a voce in your head that automatically gives you advice. One night when you start heading out you hear it say "you may want to put on your best runners." You turn away and it adds, "it would be unfavorable to turn back."
"Voice." Dumb typo :/ | "**Hey. Hello.... Can you hear me?**"
*Huh? What? Where the hell did it come from? Must've be–*
"**Hey! I'm in your head! Just hear me out, okay?**"
*... A-Are you fucking kidding me...*
The voice inside his head took a deep sigh and continued, "**No I'm not kidding you. Before you ask, no I'm not your conscience as well.. but you may find it favourable to treat me as one.**"
*Should I really...* He thought to himself. Like any reasonable sane person, of course he'd be doubting a random voice that he can hear coming from his own head. *Okay, so what were you going to say?*
"**I don't know why you think going out on your own right now is appropriate, but you may want to put on your best runners,**" the voice said in a matter-of-fact way as if it was trying to say something else.
Of course he could not understand that at all. He was just outside his apartment door and he – as he would usually do when going for a bit – was wearing a pair of sandals. He'd thought nothing of it since he valued the comfort of the breezing air caressing his feet the most. He also wasn't going out on a run nor a jog so he thought why would he ever put on his runners.
*Don't be silly, I'm just heading out to grab a meal at the deli next door. Why would I need to wear my best runners?* He thought to himself, a bit ridiculing the suggestion the voice had made.
Expressing frustration, the voice sighed deeper and said, "**I'm being really serious here... I dare you to go forth with those ugly looking sandals of yours.**"
Realising that he'd just be going back and forth, he reluctantly relented and put on his runners before continuing on his meal-seeking deli adventure. However, not 5 minutes into his little adventure, he realised something urgent.
*Ah crap. I forgot my wallet. Fuck you voice! Why not tell me that instead of forcing me to put on my goddamn runners?!* He thought cursing the voice as he tried to create a face on which he can put the voice over. He then turned back to grab his wallet back in his apartment when...
"**NO! Please, I beg of you.**"
*Huh?*
"**It would be unfavourable to turn back, just continue on your current task,**" the voice suddenly went from shouting madly to calm in a second.
Ignoring the fact that he might not have the means to pay for the meal, he heeded the voice. He's mad at himself for even listening to this nonsense but he thought *well, I've gone this far... might as well soldier on to see what the hell would happen next.*
Just as he was entering the deli, his mouth fell at the sight of red – splattered across the whole room. He could see the meat hanging behind the counter blending a bit – though the meat itself was of a paler red – to the red liquid painting the room. The familiar yet eerie smell of iron stormed his senses.
*This is bad... W-What the...*
Suddenly he could see a few black ball-like creatures observing him from where the counter was. They seemed to be glaring at him, the way a predator would when trying to assess a prey. Before he could yelped, the voice returned from within his head.
"**Run.**" | I just started running. The shoes I had on were for my concert, black classic shoes and the dress I was wearing it didn't help either. Luckily Patrick, one of my neighbors who happened to be going to the city saw me running and stoped. You might imagine how awkward that conversation was.
And than it spoke again. The voice. This hadn't happened to me for a while. When I was younger I would hear it, all the time affecting every decision I made. And I listened to it each and every time. I never knew If I was the one making it up, in a way speaking to me without having control what I say, ot it was something completely else.
It said I should get off the car in the next stop and follow the river.
This was completely different. This time it was giving me directions, not only advice. And I had a feeling that something is about to happen. But what, and why am I doing this. The next stop was in the middle of nowhere and It took me a while to find the river. Patrick argued with me a bit about leaving me here, but I convinced him somehow. After several hours of walking and silence in my head, I started regereting not listening to him. Than all of a sudden I see two strangers sitting in a chair by the side of the river. An old couple. Maybe that had nothing to do with me. They are just out for fresh air. | 2019-06-04T04:03:06 | 2019-06-04T03:20:04 | 52 | 11 |
[WP] You have a superpower, but it only works when you're holding your breath | I looked at the compute screen. My time drew near. Soon, I would have to put on the performance of a lifetime.
“Are you ready for this, Jerry?” said my partner, Reagan.
I nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Remember that we’ve got one chance for this. He’s got to believe,” said Reagan.
I nodded again. I sat tied to a chair in an empty warehouse. Across from me on a table sat a computer monitor with a web camera on top of it. “Put in the gag before I decide to change my mind.
Reagan nodded. He put in the ball gag and fixed up my makeup to make it look I’d been crying, sweating and had been roughed up a bit. “You okay?” said Reagan.
I nodded.
“Good. All you have to do is cry and look distraught. Don’t say anything. Just look sad. After he sees you I’ll pull you off camera. You can relax then but don’t speak,” said Reagan.
I nodded.
The familiar incoming call sound from Skype piped in over the tinny sounding speakers. Reagan nodded at me and answered. He blocked me from view of the camera.
“Mr. Nakamura. So good to see you,” said Reagan.
“Cut the pleasantries. Where is my daughter?” said a man with a thick Japanese accent.
“She’s right behind me. Would you like to see her?”
“Yes,” screamed Nakamura.
“Well then, here she is,” said Reagan.
That was my cue. I took a deep breath and held it. I felt the change come over me in an instant. I went from being a thirty something white man to a teenage Japanese schoolgirl.
Reagan stepped aside. Nakamura said something in Japanese. I didn’t know what he said, but I nodded and pretended to struggle against my bonds. Tears streamed down my face as I thrashed about.
“Are you convinced we have your daughter, Mr. Nakamura?” said Reagan.
“Yes. Yes. What do you want?”
Reagan smiled and pulled me out of view of the camera. “I’m glad you asked.”
I sucked in air as quietly as I could. I changed back to myself. After about three minutes Reagan finished, turned off the computer and came over to help me.
He began to untie my hands. “We’re going to make a lot of money off of this.”
My hands were free. “It’s been bugging me. Where is the daughter?”
Reagan shrugged. “I don’t know. Spring break? Who cares? That’s why we need to finish up this deal fast.”
_________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.
| I first discovered my ability whilst swimming at my town's local pool. It's still unknown what initially triggered it, all I know is that I dove under the water and everybody freaked. I specifically remember my mother's reaction, I could only imagine how it would feel to see your baby one moment, and lose them the next.
I've been practicing my breathing ever since then, and I can hold my breath for a whole 45 seconds now. Sure, I could use my gift to shoplift or sneak into the locker room showers, but why waste such an ability on petty mischief? My special talent just landed me a special position on the local PD, and it's only up from here. | 2015-02-02T19:52:16 | 2015-02-02T19:17:28 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it. | First day at the academy, but it's not that exciting. I've been here before and it was just as boring then. The real fun doesn't come until after, most people don't even keep the familiar they get while they're here. Just a big 'show of power' or whatever. Wait... why is that cat following him...and that lizard on her shoulder?
&#x200B;
"Uggggghhh", whoops. I look around. Yup, they noticed... I totally forgot to summon my familiar. Day one and I'm already behind.
&#x200B;
Looking around, there are only a few spots I could do the summoning without someone seeing. This cove of trees should do the trick.
&#x200B;
My pockets though. No wand today, some kind of 'no wands on the first day of school' what kind of policy is that? I break a stick off of a tree and draw a circle...it seems a bit empty.
&#x200B;
I start going through my bag and of course, unprepared as ever, all I packed for lunch was a bag of chips, Cool Ranch Doritos. "I guess this'll have to do" and I toss it into the circle where it crinkles a bit.
&#x200B;
Thankfully I brought the summoning dust, or rather, never took it out of the bag to begin with. Its the only thing that you really need to make a summoning work. I open the bag and grab a pinch. It smells weird... like mixing honey and \*sniff\* \*sniff\* barbecue sauce?
&#x200B;
Then I feel my nose tingle. The wasn't a good idea...magic powder...nose...the tingling worsens... \*ACHOO\* the powder in the bag spills, emptying all over the ground, and the pinch i had gets scattered into the wind. I feel my jaw drop...I think I goofed. I look down at the circle and see no change, although I did notice the circle wasn't all the way closed...my best guess? It didn't work.
&#x200B;
I hear the warning bell ring.
&#x200B;
"Shoot, I don't have time to fix it or try again! Argghhh!" i grab my stuff and start rushing to the front door.
&#x200B;
Huh? why are people crowded at the front gate? The closer I get the more apparent it is that everyone is staring down something blocking the way.
&#x200B;
Finally I see it. "AHHH! What the heck??????" Sitting in front of the gate was a giant winged sphinx. All in all it was probably about the size of a large pickup with sky blue fur and a darker blue shade to its mane and tail.
&#x200B;
What on earth is this thing doing here? I ask the guy next to me "Is this normal???"
&#x200B;
He shrugs, "how should i know? its my first day here too you know!"
&#x200B;
I turn back to the giant sphinx and squint...wait isn't that...in his mouth was a small open bag of...Cool Ranch Doritos.
&#x200B;
"MASTER!" he roared out, the whole crowd gasped as the empty bag of doritos fell to the ground. "MASTER I HAVE HEARD YOUR CALL BUT I MUST ASK....ARE THERE ANY MORE OF THESE ASTOUNDING DELICACIES?????". He placed his front paw on the bag and stares directly at me.
&#x200B;
My mind is racing a mile a minute, what on earth happened???
&#x200B;
Then it hit me. The circles are closed to restrict the size of the familiar. Traditionally, familiars are meant to only be a certain size so they can follow their mages wherever they go.
&#x200B;
And the summoning dust! It got caught into the wind, letting it travel to wherever this....sphinx came from.
&#x200B;
"Hmm...maybe he didn't hear me." the sphinx begins to mumble to himself "perhaps i should try louder?" I snap back to reality...this isn't going to be good.
&#x200B;
"MASTER!!!!!!" he roars, much louder than before, the sound echoes through the trees, shaking them and everything else in the area. The other students all cover their ears to minimize the sound, their screams basically inaudible over the sphinxes roar.
&#x200B;
"Yeah I hear you! Quiet down!" I reply, rubbing my ears trying to get the ringing to stop. "I don't have any more Doritos but I can probably get more later. Who the heck are you?" although...i basically already know the important part of that question.
&#x200B;
He sits up straight and proud. "I am Karass, The Northern Wonder, and am here to accept your offering of these 'Doritos' and fulfill my new duty as your familiar!" | I could hear the rituals from the other dorm. Chanting, Latin words thrown about like expletives, great noises of wooden staves clanking on the carpeted floor. Sounds like daemons screaming and darkbeasts roaring. Steel oils and serpent’s blood extracts mixed to form a potion that might seduce whatever creature rose from the summoning circle.
My roommate was asleep in the other side of the room. I had to knock her out with a spell because she was so distraught with her failed spell that she nearly died. I felt bad for her, of course, but at the same time she couldn’t spare me a single material for my own summoning.
And I’m broke as hell.
I look over my ingredients. A pencil, the inside of a pen and it’s spring, a bag of spicy Doritos, a bottle of Mountain Dew, chalk, and a half-eaten ‘edible’ cracker. Thanks, Canada. What can I do with these? Probably nothing. I draw a circle on the table with the chalk, and halfheartedly toss in the spicy Doritos. Nothing happens.
“Well fuck me was that ever surprising,” I deadpan before a low roar begins filling the room.
“What the hell?”
It got closer and closer, edging towards the circle, until I could finally make out the roar of a massive, unbridled beast.
#”MY NAAAAAAAAAAME IS KVRITRIKR ASZIKUVO ÍSASKUNING! AS I BREATHE, YOU WILL NOT BE ALLOWED INTO MY REALM!”
I had not a second to react before being whacked in the chest by something colder than my ex’s heart and very feathered. Roaring filled the room, as the sounds of plastic and tortilla crunching were heard just barely. I had landed in the wall, the air knocked out of me. I was vaguely aware of my roommate screaming in fear. Drywall landed on my head, and after the stars passed from my vision I could see a strange winged creature, emitting frost, in a ferocious battle with my Doritos. The room was freezing over, and the beast seemed to have gotten smaller. I could see a hole in the wall opposite of me that looked in on some very annoyed frat boys around a summoning circle. I struggle to get up, and I walk over to the winged creature.
“Hans! Be careful! Th-that’s an ice dragon!” I barely hear my roommate. The dragon looks up at me, it’s serpentine eyes fiercely sizing me up.
“Yo, dude, I was gonna eat those chips…” I mumble. It looks down at the bag.
“You… were going to eat…” the dragon looked down at the bag.
“Oh. My mistake. I thought that was an invading fire dragon. I’ll just take my leave now,” the dragon began walking back to the circle I drew.
“No, wait!” It hops back in and disappears.
“FUCK!” I begin cleaning up the mess of Doritos, shaking with fear and anger. I had summoned a dragon, and it just left! If it hadn’t been for the tooth and claw it left behind, I might’ve failed the course. Thank god for that, eh? | 2019-04-05T16:41:38 | 2019-04-05T16:11:29 | 71 | 21 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you." | I hadn't thought about Death for a long time the day I led my granddaughter straight into his arms. I was annoyed with Abby. Impatient. She wanted a very particular type of ice-cream. One she'd had in Toulouse with her parents. "We're in New York," I told her. "So you'd better settle for a New York ice-cream, missy." She threw a fit. I lost my nerve. She called me names. I yelled in her face. So she ran. Turned her back and ran. Probably just wanted to give me a scare, probably thought I had it coming.
The steamroller halted. But not before her skin popped. Not before her bones crackled. Not before a grandfather, a sunny Friday afternoon, was staring at his granddaughter's exposed ribcage.
That day, I made the call.
"Congratulations," Death said.
"I take it I got the job?" I said.
"Of course. You got it yesterday."
"W-What the hell are you saying?"
"Jeez, relax. Oh, and by the way," he said, "sloppy first job. A steamroller? Really? 3 out of 10. You better step up your game."
Death hung up on me. Then there was the knock. I opened the door to see a plump woman with glasses and a ponytail. She was carrying a small bag and some documents.
"Who are you?" I said.
"Jessica," she said with a laugh. In response to my non-response, she added: "your new secretary?"
"Leave," I said.
"But sir," she said. "According to our contract I'm to stay with you at all times."
"What freaking contract?"
She looked puzzled. "The one we signed yesterday."
I called Death.
"There's a woman here," I said.
"Don't worry," Death said. "You can fuck her. Part of the perks. Just one of many to come. Like you later today. Get it? Hah. You know what the French call an orgasm? 'Le petit mort'. The little death. So you can consider it practice. I always did, anyway. Au revoir!"
"What the hell is this?" I asked her. "My granddaughter just died. I called this number, this ... Death appeared to me many years ago. When I cracked the code. When I uncovered the secret to immortality. And I kept it to myself, but he knew straight away. No one knew. No one. And now she's ... She's ... She's dead! She's gone!"
"Ah yes!" she said. "I just finished up the paperwork. I'll have it ready in half an hour."
I stared at her blankly.
" ... tea?" she said, trying on a smile.
Exhausted, I collapsed on the ground. "I-Ice cream," I said. I could see Abby's face flash before me. That lovable little brat. My granddaughter.
"Of course," she said. "I'm so stupid. The ice cream." She reached into her bag and carefully extracted a cardboard box. She placed it on the table and opened it. Inside was a small container of ice cream. The label said *Ô Sorbet d'Amour*. "Just like you requested," she said, looking awfully pleased with herself.
"What's going on?" I said.
"Eat up!" she said. "We've got work to do. But I'm sure we'll be fine. After all, you're on a *roll*." She winked. | Immortality. Let me tell you about immortality. It sucks. Really really sucks.
Oh, don't get me wrong. When you first start out it's fantastic fun. Not a worry in the world. You feel untouchable. Because, really, you are. You can do anything, go anywhere, and you don't have to worry about a thing. The first day I went skydiving. I mean - I'm immortal, so I can't die. So what's the worry?
And as time passed, I was seeking greater and greater thrills. Pushing myself harder and harder every time just to get the same joy. Skydiving is great, but it gets boring after a few hundred times. Same with deep sea diving, and mountain climbing, and, well, everything really.
I'm 478 years old, and I've done everything. I've seen everything. I've been everywhere. Nothing is new any more. Nothing is exciting, or fun. It's all just old and boring. And forever.
And you know the worst thing? Back when it all started, I got given this number to call should I ever end up in this exact situation. "When you get bored with it all, give me a ring" he said. "We've got just the job for you. Something that will really keep you busy". And so, about 50 years ago I went and found the card. Took ages to remember where I'd left it. Turns out, the safe wasn't waterproof after all. | 2017-03-07T03:03:41 | 2017-03-07T02:25:06 | 139 | 73 |
[WP] It’s the birth of a new universe, and you’re trying out to become a war god. But, that role was already filled, and you got booted to a fertility god. At first you’re upset, not sure where to start, but then you start to get an idea. After all: “love is a battlefield” | "God of fertility? GOD OF FERTILITY! WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN!" Mangala raged.
He would've kicked over the golden stand next to him if it weren't so heavy. He glared over at Eirene whose calm disposition only worsened the situation.
"How does she get the title of god of war and not me?" Mangala protested, "I served in the Indian military - a field marshal, commandeered troupes in the civil uprising with success and I am literally named after a god of war. How is this tree-hugger given my position?"
His voice boomed around the golden laden room as the other gods sat around in a circle starring at him standing in positive anger.
"I am afraid she was the better applicant. No hard feelings Mangala and being bestowed the title of God of fertility is a befitting title of your skills," came the low rumble from what appeared to be a cube of light at the center the room, "I am certain you will do right by it."
Mangala felt insulted, toyed with - it reminded him of his sisters, Asha and Diya. They would paint his lip red whilst he slept and then let him run out into the village hours later to meet his friends to receive his mockery. His revenge would be cutting off chunks of their thick black hair in ways no boys would want to look at them. Off course, his victory would be short lived as his father would spank him for his mischief till his bottom matched the colour of his lips.
Like his nine year old self - all Mangala could do now was storm out of the great hall, ready to bash over anything that got in his way. Eirene, the other newly appointed gods nor the all powerful cube in the middle of the room could care less for his tantrum. He failed to make his point.
It did not help that the great hall opened out into a beautiful meadow that drowned any emotion except serenity and like its vastness, filled you with it to the brim. Mangala spat in disgust as at the thought of feeling comforted.
It's not often Mangala doesn't get his way and when he doesn't, he make sure he does. In the end, his sisters conceded to his temperament when he threw Asha's thieving husband of the village bridge despite him only being fourteen and her husband ten years older. The crook's motif was Asha not being able to bear him children - so he took his compensation. Ever since, his authority was never challenged again. Not by his sister, not by his father, not by any of the villagers and not even by his subordinates. The crook did survive, he just never bothered to come back up river.
Mangala relished that memory, despite the bullets, the bombs, the punches and blood, it was that moment he realized how much power he held in those fists of his.
He looked out into the field and oh how he wished there was a bridge he could throw that stupid dumb cube off. In that moment, the grace of the field was swept up by the bloodlust of Mangala. Wouldn't it be nice if people were thrown of bridges to appease him he thought. Wives, children, fathers doing what they need to to see themselves, if not their family prosper. Him, the god of fertility. This was perfect, he would get the authority he deserves - after all, love is a battleground. | What does it mean to be a god?
It means to be power interpreted by mortals. Ans shattered as each new identity is formed; One city might worship you as a god of love, but love is a power entirely human. As was war. and both were painful.
I cannot recall what or who i once was once spawned from The Spine at The Center into the new world, the pain of God-Birth utterly wiping what was once something free. My fellows in the Pantheon all had roles already. Ulria the Young Warrior-Queen God of War... that should have been my role. Ulria taught the tribes her art of War-Murder and Scared Blade and i felt jealous. I taught them of the last memory of Love from the Spine, and i had become Love for reasons i cannot recall.
But Love is many. I became Hearth-Mother, Parent, Friend, and brother... but also Passion, Lust, Harlot, and Loyality, Hate and Pain.
As i tried to remain myself, more selves would appear. The other gods splitting into different ideals of Thought as the tribes grew to cities and cites to nations. We became Ulra the Bloody Wolf, Ul the defender, Ria the Rider... I became Jealous, Murder of Passion...
The other sides of my being are all connected, and Ulria would often times become my God-Sister... for without Passions there can be no0 war, and without Love, Passion and Conflict there can be no people. | 2021-01-11T06:55:59 | 2021-01-11T06:52:34 | 91 | 50 |
[WP] The villain has tried everything to get under the heroes skin, but they remain completely unfazed by the villains taunts and insults, until a small slip-up by the villain makes the hero go absolutely ballistic. | She sat there, reading. Ignoring me, every insult, every barb, every threat.
She just sat there, reading her book. The chains she was in, pinning her to the ornate throne, prevented her from turning the pages, but since she wasn't supposed to have a book to begin with, that didn't matter to her. I watched her eyes tracking along the page, and could tell she had come to the end, and was about to flex her power again.
The small leather volume vanished in a puff of golden smoke, and reappeared in her fingers, barely holding the book upright. She simply vanished the magical book and re-summoned it, turned already to the next page.
Wait... that's it. That's how I break her.
I wander slowly over and sit on the floor opposite her. She ignores me, not even a twitch in my direction.
"So, whatcha reading?"
SUCCESS! It was small, the barest twitch above her left eye.
"Is it any good? It must be a good book for you to have your nose glued in it."
Another twitch. Her eyes moved faster across the page, tension making her read faster. Another glimmer of gold as the page was turned magically.
"Tell me about it! What's the story about? Hey, c'mon, no need to be antisocial, I'm just trying to have a conversation."
A small vein started to throb in her forehead, and I could see her fingers shaking a little.
Sadly, that was as far as I was willing to go with the creepy dude on the bus routine. Even I have standards, and it was starting to make me feel... dirty.
New tactic.
"You know, I hear that people who try to vanish into books have a deep seeded desire to be social, but don't know how."
I made sure to put a nice thud on the D sound. Her eyes stopped. Slowly, her gaze slid around the side of the book to look down on me. Cold fury filled her eyes.
“What. Did. You. Just. Say?”
“That they don’t know how.”
“BEFORE THAT.”
I made my face look as innocent as I could, playing dumb.
“They have a deep seeded desire to be social?”
My face was blank, but I emphasized the D even more. Rage blossomed across her face for a blessed moment before she clamped it down, eyes dragging back to the lines of text in front of her.
“The problem of course is that they never learned the proper social morays.”
Hmm, I emphasized the y as much as I could, but really, the two words sounded too much alike. She got what I was doing, i could see her eye twitch again, but it wasn’t enough. Yet.
“Yes, they tend to be eel suited to the rules of society, and often suffer from many tribals and trivulations.”
Her breathing slowed, taking on a measured rhythm as she struggled to contain herself. I cackled silently with glee.
“It’s sad, really, seeing someone become a piranha like that.”
I stood slowly and started pacing around her. Letting her seethe, hoping that my twisted mind had grown dry of ideas.
Her breathing had just started to speed back up, reaching a normal rate, and her eyes started scrolling back and forth again.
“You may think yourself tough. But none have survived me. They all find themselves star craving mad. It may seem small, but you will not last against the stings and arrows allayed against you. “
Her body trembled, eyes snapping back and forth.
“I will see you at my feet, curled up in the feeble position.”
I turned around. Time to give her another break, speak normally for a minute, let her hope.
“Irregardless, I”
The chamber wall in front of me flashed a bright gold, and the staccato snapping of links of chain echoed around the room. I slowly turned to see her standing on the throne, golden energy cascading across her body as muscles swelled to stretch her clothing tight. The book in her hand changed to a blade of glowing energy as she lifted it above her head, her eyes burning orange as she stared down at me in rage.
“THAT IS NOT A FUCKING WORD!”
My last thoughts before discorporating were for my soul, and eventual resurrection into a new body. I would need a therapist, as I was fairly certain this memory would leave me with post-dramatic stress disorder. | "YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING GLORY HOG! YOU THINK YOU'RE SOME HOTSHOT?"
"...I took down most of your army to get here..."
"Urgh... you're annoying and ugly!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know that."
"Did you know that you're just a pawn? Everyone is just using you!"
"I chose this path. Listen, can we just fight?"
"You fight as well as your momma!"
"...really? Mum jokes? You're pathetic."
"Grrr... your sister's more fun..."
The hero pauses. "What? How did you know about her?"
"I found out only *after* I captured her. I did think about letting her go, but she took a quick liking to my son. I was worried what would happen if-"
The hero becomes outraged. "You lock my sister up... then set her up with your ROTTEN SON???"
Uh-oh... "Your sister, Liza, chose to be with-"
"I DON'T BELIEVE THAT FOR A SECOND! LET HER GO YOU MONSTER!"
Wow, he's no-longer in control... exactly what I was hoping for, not exactly how I expected it to happen... oh, well. "I'll release her... **over my dead body!**"
The hero charges at me. I just block his now sloppy attacks until he's out of energy. I smirk. "You're mine now... GUARDS! Get the cage."
I see a look of defeat wash over the hero... it's so satisfying. "I... I should have defeated you... I... let my anger take control..." he looks at me. "...my sister... you're telling the truth?"
"I am. I never expected mentioning *her* to get you so riled up. I guess I just don't understand family well. May have been different if it were my son. Ah, there's the cage." Both the hero and I turn to look. A small cage is rolled out. The hero looks at me. "Do you... wish to leave?"
The hero hangs his head. "No. Not now I know my sister's here. I... I can't leave without her." He walks over to the cage and steps in, just enough room for him to sit up in it. He looks at me. I sense a great sadness. "Don't hurt her" he whispers, just as the door his shut and he's wheeled off. Maybe I should talk to Liza...
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Part 2 now here | 2022-09-26T12:50:31 | 2022-09-26T09:05:53 | 130 | 61 |
[WP] Time travel exists. By law, every citizen is given one day they may repeat on loop until they get it right. This morning, you found your spouse looking exhausted and crying. "I can't save you. I've tried hundreds of times." | Cool air gently brushed through my toes. I hate that feeling, so I pull them back into the blanket, and tuck myself deeper into it. I'm not ready to get out of bed.
Is that sobbing? I swiftly roll over to check on my wife, Sarah. She's looking at me with both desperation and love. Her eyes are red and flooded by tears.
"I can't save you. I've tried hundreds of times." Sarah said, shaking her head. She looked completely spent.
I can't move, or speak. Pure dread hardens in my veins like quick-drying concrete. I'm going to die today, and my poor Sarah has been trying to save me. I can't leave her. Not with so much to live for.
"When?" I finally whisper.
"This morning." She said, looking passed me to the nightstand where my alarm clock rested. According to that little, evil, unbiased box, I had anywhere from minutes to hours to live.
"How?" I asked. By now I'm feeling defiant. I will not let this happen.
"First it was a shooting at your office," She sad as she wipes a tear from her eye. "So the first thing I did was tell you not to go to work. You called in sick, and we were going to spend the day together. But then you tripped going down the stairs and broke your neck."
"What the hell?" I ask aloud. "Have you ever heard of such a thing outside of a bad movie?"
"Since then I've seen you die hundreds of times. You've been stabbed, poisoned, bludgeoned, drowned," Her sobs grow heavy again. "...burned."
"Oh my God, baby I'm so sorry," I say as I pull her close to me. "You shouldn't have to go through this."
The agony of her pain overwhelms me. Just the heat radiating off of her fills me with so much love I cannot fathom why the universe would do this to her--us. Anger has yet to yield to acceptance.
"I don't know what else to do, I've tried everything," Her heaves relax. "But I'm never going to stop. I just can't."
I believe her. She'll keep putting herself through this, indefinitely, and there's nothing I can do to stop her. For some reason the universe has chosen me, this morning, to die.
Maybe I can't stop myself from dying, but I can stop her from trying to save me. I slide my arms above her shoulders and turn her so her back is against my chest. I lock her in a choke hold, and squeeze as tightly as I can. The very moment I begin, I feel regret, but rather than stop I just squeeze harder. I need this to be over. I need her to have peace. She flails her legs, claws at my arms and face, but with no blood flow her strength is practically gone. Her arms go limp in under twenty seconds, but I continue squeezing as hard as I can for several minutes. For her.
Finally, it's over. I lay her back down on the bed, kiss her face, and pull the blanket over her.
Just then, my best friend Terry pushed open the bedroom door. I was too busy killing my beloved wife to hear him come through the front door. I was too broken to explain what just happened.
"Oh my God," Terry gasped. His eyes expressed more amazement than horror. "How did you know?"
"Know what?" I asked.
"That she was going to kill you." He looked sincere, but how could he be so confused?
"She was trying to save me..." I say. "Right?"
"No, man, that psycho bitch has been killing you over and over again. I know because I've been reliving this day trying to save you."
"No..." I shake my head. "No, no, no, goddamn it."
"Look, your phone is off, right? Now check this shit out." Terry proceeded to show me a journal that my wife had been keeping. She talked openly about growing sick of me and imagining herself killing me. She had made plans to murder me in a variety of ways, always making sure that it looked like an accident, or at the hands of an intruder.
"But she was crying so hard..." I said, defeated.
"Was she, though?" Terry asked. He never fell for her charm, and often teased me for following her around like a puppy.
Maybe she was crying tears of joy for finding her true calling. Maybe she felt totally consumed by it.
*"I don't know what else to do, I've tried everything," Her heaves relax. "But I'm never going to stop. I just can't"* | "shh... Sweet heart. It was only a dream. Go back to sleep." I had never seen Raymond cry like that. He was sobbing and rocking back and forth in bed, saying over and over "I can't save you. I've tried hundred to times." His eyes were crazed and horrified.
As I woke up more and more, the gravity of his words began to sink into me. "Raymond... Did you use your Chance?" His eyes locked on me. Desperately, he repeated the words "Hundreds of times." I shifted my weight on the bed, he caught me by the collar of my night gown, pulled my face close to his and yelled "THAT'S ONE." I felt tears stinging at my eyes, and whimpered "Ray you're--". He cut me off with a manic grin, before taking the words right out of my mouth "Not acting like yourself? Maybe we should take a minute and calm down? But we can't do that, because you'll trip over the damn cat, and break your damn neck. That's two." His speech was frantic and his rocking had started again. He began to mutter "hundreds of times."
I had heard stories about people using their Chance to stop an accident, or win the lottery. But Raymond..."You used your Chance to save my life." His face slackened , "I only have one day to do it. I just need you to stay alive for one day." His chin wobbled, and he sobbed loudly "BUT YOU WALK INTO TRAFFIC AND DON'T WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING AND YOU'RE A *TERRIBLE* DRIVER AND I'VE HAD TO WATCH YOU DIE---"
"Hundreds of times." I interrupted him. he collapsed, defeated and exhausted. I lay beside him and touched his cheek. "Do you want to stay in bed today?" Shock rolled over him. "You've never said that before."
Edit ending after reading some of the other stories which were much more well constructed and had similar endings:
He seemed relieved, and soon fell into a deep sleep. I relaxed. It might have been a dream after all. The sun was just starting to rise, and the cat began to howl for his morning meal. I kissed Raymond's forehead, "I'll be right back." When I came down to the kitchen, the cat followed close to my ankles all the way down the stairs. I knelt down to pet him, and felt myself loose balance.
When I woke up from that dream, Raymond was crying. A strange sense of deja Vu crept into me. "shh... Sweet heart. It was only a dream. Go back to sleep."
| 2018-10-24T23:25:42 | 2018-10-24T22:00:01 | 78 | 29 |
[WP] In a school for assassins and mercenaries, you're a beloved lunch lady. You ruefully realize that you're the only person nearly everyone trusts. Then you get framed for placing hemlock in an administrator's meal. The school board rushes to fire you, throwing the academy into turmoil. | I wiped my sweaty palms on my heavily stained apron for the tenth time in the last five minutes. The doors ahead were heavy, ornately decorated wood, and the depictions of violence and death carved into them seemed an omen for what was to come.
“Mrs. Brown! Mrs. Brown!”
I glanced down the hall. Jack, one of my favorite students, was sprinting towards me. Light flashed off his many hidden knives as his black leather coat flapped behind him.
“Mrs. Brown! What’s happening?”
I put on a weary smile. “I’m afraid I’m about to get fired, most likely,” I said in my kindest voice. “It’s okay. It’s time for me to move on.”
Jack shook his head stubbornly. “No. No way. You’re…” His voice cracked.
“Hush, Jack. No weakness, remember?” I said.
“I can’t trust anyone else here,” he said. “They’re all vile killers.”
“Just like you.”
“Maybe,” he said, nodding, “but… everyone needs *someone*, right?”
“You’ll find someone,” I said encouragingly. “You’re a good kid and a talented assassin. Remember when you killed that mercenary ten years older than you because he was stealing from your classmate? She’ll remember that.”
“But what if she doesn’t?” he asked, eyes wide. “I *need* you here.”
I hummed a song quietly. “Look under your pillow when you get back to your dorm,” I said. “You’ll find the meatloaf recipe there. I know it’s your favorite.”
“But—”
“Hush, now, Jack. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
The door cracked open. “Eliza Brown?” a voice called out.
I stood and wiped my hands on my apron once more. “Go, Jack. They won’t let you in. You can’t help me right now.”
Jack quickly wiped a tear away and ran away. I watched him fondly for a moment. He often reminded me of my son, though he must have been at least twenty years too old for that.
“Mrs. Brown,” the voice said, more insistently this time. “Enter.”
“Coming!” I said in my best saccharine sing-song voice.
The door swung open, revealing an enormous, ornate room filled with the members of the school board. At my previous position, that would not have been a particularly threatening group, but here, every other person in this room had earned their spot through murder.
Ironically, I must have been the only one there who *hadn’t* killed someone.
“Eliza Brown,” said the man at the center known only as the Dean. His gravelly voice sounded like volcanic rock in a too-powerful blender. “You stand here accused of the poisoning and murder of Jacques Saint Claire through the use of hemlock in his afternoon snack. While it is not our position to discourage and punish murder at this academy, we cannot allow our staff to participate.”
I gulped and nodded.
The Dean continued. “If found guilty, you will be fired. You will not be turned over to the authorities, nor will we allow any of our members to punish you in any other ways. This board only seeks the truth. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“How do you plead?”
“I didn’t do it, sir.”
Several members of the board sighed as if they had been expecting that and yet had hoped that I would not say it.
“You were the only one to touch his meal.”
“That’s not true, sir,” I protested. “A runner took it to his quarters.”
“And was visible to hundreds of witnesses,” the Dean said, his brow furrowed. “Furthermore, the dish was covered. He would have to remove the coer and add the poison without anyone noticing. Beyond that, he would have to alter the dish in such a way that the deceased would not have seen the leaves. No. Only you could have done this.”
“I don’t even—”
“*And*,” the Dean said loudly, “investigators found hemlock in your quarters. A local apothecary confirms that he sold you a quantity of the plant earlier this week. I’m afraid the evidence is stacked against you, Mrs. Brown.”
“There were no witnesses!”
“You are beloved by the school. It would be trivial for you to arrange them to testify in your favor.”
I ground my teeth. “It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”
The Dean did not respond.
“Very well. Have your vote. Confirm me a murderer.”
“All who find the accused guilty?” the Dean asked.
Slowly, every single person in the room raised a hand.
“Eliza Brown, you are found guilty of aggression against a fellow staff member. You will be removed from our employ without severance. You will leave before tonight. Dismissed.”
The board began to gather their things and stand.
“Actually,” I said loudly.
The Dean glanced up, curiosity in his gaze. “Yes?”
“I have another item of business that I would like to bring to the board.”
“What is it?” he asked, his head cocked to the side.
I pulled a pack of documents from a pocket on my apron and place it in front of him. “Admittance.”
The Dean studied the documents carefully. “These are in order,” he said begrudgingly. “But admittance requires—”
“Requires that I pull off an assassination without hard evidence against me, yes,” I said. “Which your board has just confirmed. Everything you brought forward was circumstantial at best.”
“Indeed.” The Dean sat down again.
"This could be a mistake," someone muttered. "We rely on the students' natural suspicion of each other. If she—"
The Dean cut them off with a swipe of his hand. The entire board watched him carefully as he considered.
“All in favor?” he asked suddenly.
The board, most of whom were still standing, started to raise their hands. Some of them abstained, but I had a clear majority.
The Dean slapped the papers on the table.
“Welcome to the Academy, [assassin](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).” | Cathy had always wondered what having power felt like.
Some people might have called her powerful in her days as an adventurer, with her extensive knowledge of poisons and the knife-fighting skill to take down any opponent she came across. But no matter how skilled she became at dealing death, no matter how many foes she slayed or how much treasure she collected, she knew she was never anything but a lowly mercenary, dismissed without a second thought even as she was feared. And when her lower back began to ache and her movements began to slow, she had nothing but the cooking talent she could salvage from her experience with poison. And the only person more overlooked than a mercenary is a lunch lady.
Then she found Shady Sam's School for Assassins and Mercenaries, more popularly known as Murder Academy. A vast maze of beaten-up wooden classrooms where the janitors cleaned blood and mysterious poison stains off the walls daily and the only thing more twisted than the staircase layout was the tapestry of alliances and betrayals that made up the students' (and instructors') social lives.
There, she still had no power. But she had love, and that was the next best thing.
In a twisted web of liars and traitors, a neutral party is a wonderful thing. So what started as one-off greetings turned into long conversations where the students felt free to finally break down and spill their souls, telling their secrets to the one person they knew would never exploit them.
Cathy loved the students. She listened to them and gave them advice. She reveled in the success of Amelia finally hitting her first bullseye with a hidden crossbow. She joyfully congratulated Johnathan for successfully brewing his first poison. She took care of all of them, memorizing and planning around the allergies of students who were unable to reveal such a deadly weakness to any of their peers. And because of her effort, people finally noticed her, cared about her.
But Cathy's dreams of power always lingered in the back of her mind. When Timmy came to her crying after having lost his friend to the crossfire of a school gang war, she seethed at being able to do nothing but wipe away his tears. When Margaret sobbed over being forced to betray her best friend to avoid failing out of Advanced Scheming Class, Cathy raged over being able to do nothing but pat her head and spout empty lies about how everything would be ok.
Then Shady Sam himself framed Cathy and tried to fire her, simply for being too close to the students.
...
Cathy stretched to try to ease the stiffness in her lower back. The cushions her students had provided helped alleviate much of the discomfort, but the rattling and shaking of her chair still hurt her tired old bones. She would never tell the students carrying her, of course; the radiant smiles of Andrew and his gang when they offered had brought a tear to her eye, and Cathy would do nothing to take that away from them.
Cathy shut her eyes for a moment, and let the echoes of crackling flame, crashing wood, and the war cries of her students echo around her. She felt the cushions of the throne they gave her sway beneath her, and though she knew she shouldn't be pleased by such tacky gaudiness, a smile crept across her face anyway.
She opened her eyes, and the flickering flames were reflected in them. The stone statue which stood out front of the school, symbolizing its eminence and corruption, crashed to the cobblestones and shattered into a thousand pieces, pulled down by a small army of students.
Cathy's grin widened.
The scream of another conniving, worthless, power-hungry instructor rang out from the burning ruins of what was once the school. A small number of teachers against a horde of students unified for the first time? The instructors never stood a chance.
Finally. Power.
Cathy leaned forward in her elevated throne, and yelled with as much power as her reedy voice could muster, "Bring me Shady Sam's head!" The student's echoed her cry, and a wave of cheers rose to swirl the ashes floating through the sky. Cathy fingered the crown of thorns that Emily had made for her, before decisively placing it on her head.
"I could get used to this" | 2021-08-04T09:40:19 | 2021-08-04T09:39:47 | 125 | 48 |
[WP] Someone just started a conversation with you, complaining that every person and computer system seems to have forgotten who they are over night. They seem to know you, but to your knowledge, you've never met this person before. | Finn hummed along to the elevator music as he pondered the strange anxiety niggling in the back of his mind. He prided himself on being logical, but try as he might, he couldn't make sense of it. He had a good life and a stable career. He was single, but only because he had been so swamped with work he didn't have the time to date. What was there to be dissatisfied with?
The elevator opened to the underground garage. Sighing, he walked to his car. Perhaps he would schedule another appointment with his therapist. Things always started making sense after a session with her.
He started the car and began pulling out of the parking spot only to swear and hit the brakes when a woman in a leather jacket jumped out in front. Killing the engine, he got out of the car.
"Jesus, are you all right—"
"Oh, Finn." The woman pounced and embraced him tightly. "I finally found you!"
His arms rose to hug her back before he caught himself. Her flowery perfume evoked a feeling of familiarity, yet he was certain he had never met her before. "Miss? You must've got the wrong person."
She let go and looked up at him. "What the hell are you... Oh, no. They wiped you too."
"*They*?" He shook his head. "Never mind. Listen, I see that you're not injured, so I'll just be on my way."
"Wait!" She grabbed his elbow. "Finn, please look at me. It's me, Heidi. Don't you remember at all?"
He turned around reluctantly. She was blonde, fit, and dressed like a biker. A heart-shaped face framed by blonde hair, and blue eyes with a steely glint. Something about her made his pulse quicken. "I don't," he murmured, rubbing his forehead.
She sighed. "I should've known. So who do you think you are now?"
He eyed her warily. "I'm an accountant," he said. "Not that it's any business of yours."
Heidi gaped at him, then erupted in laughter. "No, wait, I'm sorry," she said, raising a hand. "They really did a number on you, didn't they? An *accountant*!"
His expression soured. "It's a good career," he repeated the words he had been telling himself for weeks.
She chortled. "And do you enjoy it?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it. "Does anyone like their job?" he said at length. "It pays the bills. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
"Your birthday's on May 13," she rattled off. "You prefer dogs over cats, you drink black coffee without sugar, and you insist on having cereal for breakfast every day."
He stiffened, then fumbled for his phone. "Have you been watching me?"
"And you have a birthmark the shape of a diamond on your right—"
"How did you know?" he blurted out.
Heidi gave him a saucy wink. "I've seen it up close." She looked around the garage, and her expression grew serious. "Listen, we might not have much time. Take this."
She reached under her jacket, pulled out a pistol, and tossed it to him. Finn yelped in alarm but caught it in time. He turned it over, his fingers closing around the smooth handle with strange familiarity.
"What am I supposed to do with it?" he asked in confusion.
She rolled her eyes. "What else? You've always been the better shot."
He chuckled mirthlessly. "I never held a gun in my life."
"Oh yeah?" She looked him over thoughtfully. "How about I prove that you have?"
A sly grin curved her lips as she took several strides back. Reaching behind, she pulled a thin sword. Finn's eyebrows rose. A sword was ridiculous in this day and age, but in her hands, it did look threatening.
Her grin widened. "Look alive!" Raising the sword, she lunged at him.
Finn stumbled back but caught himself before he would fall. His fingers seemed to move on their own as they flicked off the gun's safety and took aim. The woman froze with the gun's barrel aiming squarely at the middle of her chest.
"There you go," she said, not batting an eye. "Your mind might not remember, but your body does." She sheathed the sword and snickered. "An accountant, *really*."
Finn lowered the gun and tried to control his breathing. "What... what am I, then?"
"I'll tell you on the way." She circled his car and settled in the passenger seat. "You drive."
He looked around, swallowed, and took the driver's seat. "Where are we going?" That they were going at all was no longer for debate.
"Where else?" she said, giving him a strange look. "To get your memories back." | The smell of fresh cut grass was calming. It reminded Eugene of a job well done while sitting at the picnic table and admiring his work. Saturday afternoons were his favorite. Simply enjoying the sun, an ice cold beer, and doing yard work with his wife. Life couldn’t be better.
Cindy was kneeling in the dirt across the yard pulling weeds from around the garden when a car sped to a stop in their driveway. A tall young woman emerged from the car in a panic and ran towards them. Eugene stood to meet her. Cindy noticed and began walking towards them through the yard.
“Thank God you're both here.” the lady said and threw her arms around Eugene before he could protest. “No one knows who I am anymore. All of my cards gone, my accounts don’t exist... I think I’m going crazy.”
Eugene stood very still unsure of what to do. Something about this woman stirred feelings deep within him. A desire to help her? He wasn’t sure.
“Um, excuse me. What are you doing?” Cindy asked as she approached.
The girl looked up from where her head was tucked into Eugene's chest and stared at his wife. Then she stepped back and looked into his eyes.“No… not you too. You don’t remember me?”
Eugene said, “I’m sorry miss. I don’t believe we’ve ever met before. Is there a problem we can help you with?”
“It’s me, Sarah. Your daughter. Please Dad, tell me you remember. Mom?”
Eugene and Cindy shared a look of pure confusion. This woman clearly needed help, but they were unsure of what to do. She seemed unstable, and he wasn’t sure if she could be dangerous.
He took a step to put himself between her and his wife. “I can call the police and get them to help you, but I think you might be having a breakdown of some sort. We can’t help you with that.”
Pain overcame Sarah’s expression and she fell to the ground hugging her knees to her chest. “I’m alone. Everyone is gone.” she said between sobs.
As the girl cried it awakened something primal inside of him. Her crying crashed upon his mind like waves eroding away a dam. Memories of holding a little girl in his arms and knowing she was the entire world flooded him. Times when she was crying and he would do anything to make her feel better. He remembered.
He looked at Cindy. Tears were welling in her eyes as realization dawned on her face.
“Sarah. What happened? It’s me honey I’m here.” He knelt next to her and put his arms around her.
“We remember Sarah.” Cindy joined their embrace on the ground.
“I’m so scared. I don’t know what’s happening. Why is everyone forgetting me?”
Tears were falling down Eugene’s face now too. “It was like a cage inside of my mind. Separating my memories from you, but you opened it. We’ll figure it out Sarah. I promise.” | 2022-04-02T06:56:59 | 2022-04-02T01:42:41 | 164 | 97 |
[WP] An alien race encounters the most terrifying predator imaginable. A lone, unarmed human. | The quick-silver beam of light flashed through the atmosphere of Xanadu, smashing into its surface just outside the city of Moo Shoo. The inhabitants gathered around, hiding within the tall purple ferns, peering out with eyes on the end of long stalks.
A small chrome capsule sat in the middle of a charred crater, smoking in the light of the two alien suns.
The inhabitants waited for a seemingly infinite period of time. Although they had given up on technology a long time ago (they had determined it was far more convenient to travel through dimensions and across solar systems by simply thinking about it as opposed to developing clumsy vehicles), they recognized that such an intelligent mind must have created such a craft, and so they waited for this alien diplomat to show itself.
At last something shifted on the smooth exterior of the ship, a piece of the smoking hull dropping down into a ramp. More mist and smoke exhaled from the darkness within. A two legged creature emerged, standing on the ramp, surveying the surface of Xanadu. It removed its helmet.
A human.
Some of the inhabitants screamed (their own Xanadu interpretation of a scream, anyways, which sounded more like a pop-gun than anything a human would recognize for a voice). Others regurgitated the meal they had been digesting for the last two weeks through a specified hole in the center of their torsos.
Once, many thousands of years ago, the Xanadu had made contact with Earth. They had sent a team down to start a relationship with these primitive creatures, because although they almost nothing about them, they showed potential.
Only one returned. Two of them had been tortured by Early Paleothic hunter-gatherers before being roasted on spits over the camp-fire (they caused massive indigestion and diarrhea across the tribe for a week). The other was mauled by a saber-toothed tiger, after making the critical mistake of thinking it was just an exceptionally large cat.
The survivor came back with tales of horror, of the stupid brutal creatures, so hideously ugly and smelly that it be impossible to develop any time of communication with them whatsoever.
Now they saw these humans a few thousand years down the road, and recognized them instantly. The survivor had seriously under described their hideousness, how putrid that human stink was, but it was impossible to mistake it for anything else.
“Greetings, Alien creatures,” the human said. “My name is Jim Bob. I’m just collecting a few samples for a some research and then I’ll be on my way. Sorry for the disturbance.” He took a sample of the soil and held a gauge to the sky, squinting into the two suns.
The Xanadu tried to fire their psychic weapons – telepathic assaults that would render the victim mental retarded for the rest of this days, weapons that planted the irresitable temptation to gouge out one’s own eyeballs. However, none of it worked on the humans. The Xanadu lamented the sure destruction of their world. This man was immune to their warriors’ greatest blows.
“You guys are pretty cute,” Jim-Bob said. He approached a quivering crowd of the Xanadu. They quaked before his awesome ugliness, awaiting their fate. He tried to pat one on the head.
The secreted grease from its hide started to burn through the creature, like salt on a slug. Ii screamed in agony as it dissolved into a pile of goo.
“Cool,” Jim-Bob said.
The Xanadu had never seen anything so appalling, so demonic, in all their years of intelligent, sentient life. They had never seen anything to inherently hostile to their people, so blindly stupid, yet capable of such amazing destruction.
“Anways, I’ll be going now. I gotta finish the next two star systems before my shift is over. Have a good one.”
The Xanadu had no idea why the human had decided to leave, especially after it had clearly arrived to commence with the destruction of their home world. They watched it recoil back into its ship, like some hideous hermit crab turning into its shell. The quicksilver beam of light reversed itself, pulling back into the sky, pulling the human with it.
They could only speculate about its motivations, about its possible return, about what kind of abysmal hole of darkness could have spawned such a nightmare.
| "Jac'que, it just killed another drone!"
Jac'que rubbed his mandible, it had been a long day.
"By the Great Queen... how is it doing this?! That was the third one! What does it want?!"
The worker clicked on its pad which showed a series of graphs and what seemed to be hieroglyphs to the untrained eye.
"Our research shows that it is saying something about 'coming cold.'"
"So you're saying it is cold."
"No sir, we threw some warm jelly at it and it just ate it."
Jac'que was stunned, "It ate it?"
The worker nodded in stunned agreement, "We're dealing with a monster."
Jac'que rubbed his lucky leg, it was the last one he hadn't need to replace with a machine.
"By the way..." Jac'que sighed embarrassingly, "Which drone died this time?"
"It was Clyde sir, he was one day from retirement." Replied the worker.
"And by retirement you mean-"
"Eaten by his offspring, yes sir."
Jac'que curled his tentacles into a fist. "Now his children will never experience the shame of your father being too weak to defend himself and the pride of surviving the final conflict before being worked to death."
Jac'que turned from the worker, as was custom after discussing the death of the weak.
"So did he die the same way as the others?"
The worker nodded, as was custom to see if the Pilot had suddenly developed psychic powers and needed to be killed.
"Well?" The pilot continued.
The worker sighed in relief, "Yes sir, it used its cannon to shoot a biological weapon at the dron-."
Suddenly, in colors human eyes could never witness, but let's pretend it's red for this tale, the room is flashing with that pre-named color.
"Great Queen! It has breached the perimeter! We're doomed!"
Suddenly, through the bars of the small window on the door, on the far side of this white room with soft walls, a young redheaded woman peaks her head in, dressed in a white blanket and a hello kitty nightgown. With a nasal pronunciation and a sniffle behind every word she meekly admits:
"Hello? I'm sorry to be a bother but I've got a bit of a cold... do you have some more of that tea-a-A-ATCHOO!" | 2014-08-06T12:40:42 | 2014-08-06T12:08:26 | 32 | 21 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared people in organized crime. You get rid of problems for your employers by kindly and honestly convincing your targets to follow a different path in life. | Mike splashed his way out of the pool and came forward with his arms spread like he was going to give me a hug. Even years after he'd graduated from a street thug, his body still rippled with muscles; Mike stayed in good shape. "Danny boy! It's been too long!" I took a step back; I didn't want pool water all over my suit. He got the message and went for his towel instead. "What can I do for you?"
I glanced around to see if there was anyone else within earshot. Mike had a nice house. A fresh green lawn, this big pool, and that gleaming sports car parked in the driveway out front. The life had certainly treated him well. "Mike, why don't we take a walk?"
His expression changed to confusion, then fear just as quickly. His eyes darted from me, to the gate behind me, and then to the house. He knew who I was; that I made people disappear when they needed to go. But he didn't quite yet know *how* I did my job. He'd learn soon enough. "No need to run. I'm not going to hurt you. Come on; the park is just around the corner." Of course he knew that; this was his house, after all.
"So this is it, huh?" I could sense the seething rage behind the calm exterior. No one likes to be betrayed. But this is how things work. "This is how it ends?"
I nodded. This is how it ends.
------
"The Don and I... we have an arrangement," I told Mike. We sat on a rickety bench near a fountain. I watched the streams of water flow, but Mike leaned back and stared at the clouds. "See, most enforcers are messy. Thugs who leave trails of blood and bodies that lead straight back to the boss. And none of us want that, do we?"
Mike stayed silent. He was resigned to his fate. And probably still expecting a bullet to the brain despite the fact that we were in public and in broad daylight. There was a playground 200 feet away, for Christ's sake.
"So instead, he lets me clean up messes the easy way. You get to leave. Go wherever the hell you want. We'll sell off the house, the cars, all of it, and deposit it into your account. You earned it."
He sighed. "And what do I do then? Running drugs is all I know!"
I handed him an envelope. "Congratulations, Mikey. You just got into veterinary school!"
He unfolded the paper. He'd loved animals ever since he was a kid. It was the perfect fit. And not to mention that the school was in St. Kitts, a gorgeous Caribbean island. Couldn't get much better than that, eh?
"I didn't even finish *high school*," he whispered.
I laughed. "Mikey, our forged passports and papers are good enough to get past the Coast Guard, Homeland Security, the FBI... you think I can't fake a college degree for you?"
The 'doom and gloom' expression was fading quickly as he realized what a great new life I was giving him. "This is just..." he read over the papers once again and shook his head. "I just don't believe it! Why now? Why?"
"It's not my place to say," I told him.
"But I've always been loyal!" He raised his voice just a little, then remembered that we were in public. "I've *always* been loyal," he hissed more softly. "Always. I'm probably the *only* one of the top lieutenants who'd do *anything* for the Don! The other guys... they..."
"I know, Mike. You're one of the good ones."
"It just doesn't make sense." He was reading the papers over once again, still in disbelief.
I put a hand on his shoulder. "I know. But you don't need to worry about it anymore, Mikey." I presented him with a second envelope with the plane ticket for St. Kitts. One way. "Or should I say, *Dr.* Fodesca?"
He grinned. "Hey, I kinda like the sound of that."
------
I announced my presence in the Don's office with a slight cough. He looked up from the paperwork from one of our front organizations and waved me in. "Well, is it done?"
I nodded. Instead of smiling, he grimaced and stood from the desk, pushing the plush leather chair back against the bookshelf behind him. He liked to decorate his office like he was some kind of lawyer; made him feel important. Not a single one of those leather-bound volumes had ever been touched.
"I just don't know about this." He walked to the bar and poured himself a drink. "I mean, Salvatore and Dino were one thing, but Mikey too? He was one of the top sellers. And everything you said about the plan makes sense..." As he spoke, he paced over to the window overlooking the elaborate gardens behind the house. "I just... I don't know. None of them *seemed* like the type to go behind my back." He sighed and gulped down the rest of his booze. "What do you think, Danny?"
I knocked softly on the mahogany wood paneling. Four guys entered the room. Low-level muscle, each about as smart as a caveman but built like a semi-truck. They came and stood behind me with fearsome glowering expressions.
"Don, why don't we take a walk?" I answered.
---
If you enjoyed this story, you should also subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell! | The drug dealer trembled as Mr T slammed the door and locked it. The room. He was in the *room* with this monster.
Someone had plunged a syringe in his arm last night. When he opened his eyes, he was here. Nobody escaped the room, or the man that owned it. Everyone knew that.
"Rico, right?" the man asked softly.
He was dressed simply in black. His face was relaxed, calm - he wore a faint, contented smile. Blue eyes crinkled at the sides. As if Rico were his favourite person in the world. Rico gave gave a mute nod in answer, scrambling to the wall as Mr T stepped closer.
"Rico, I want you to reconsider the choices before you. We all have choices. My employer is deeply unhappy that you've breeched his territory. You can understand that, right?"
Rico suppressed a terrified sob with difficulty. The guy was nuts. He was deeply and utterly screwed.
"Don't you want to see your mother again, Rico? Your little sister? Show them you can drop the heroin any time you want, as you once promised?"
Rico jumped as if electrocuted at the mention of his family. His family was sacred. How did this freak know about them?
"Fuck off, man! I'll kill you!" he suddenly snapped, lunging at Mr T.
"Reconsider, Rico. Please. I know you hate this life," Mr T whispered softly in his ear, as he held Rico in an effortless headlock. "If you wish, you can exit this room with no injuries, and simply walk away. I will even provide a suitable disguise, and alternative identity to escape this place. Visit your family. Heal, and live."
For a second, it was tempting. The man's voice was so calming, almost hypnotic. Then he thought of his family, and the pain they'd feel if he returned. Again. To ruin them. He felt abruptly mad with rage at this oversized hitman for even mentioning them.
Mr T saw the hatred in his eyes and held up a huge hand. "Do you know why my name is Mr T? I like to think I remind people of the T-options before them. The two choices. We all have choices, my friend. Make the right one."
Rico considered it for five trembling seconds, and then sprang at Mr T with a howl of rage.
Mr T sighed and drew forth a handgun, and smoothly shot Rico in the forehead.
He shrugged with regret as he dialled the number on his cellphone for cleanup. His ways didn't always work. A touch of hypnosis, a dash of psychology. Some calculated body language. Not foolproof by any means. There was always the tedious follow-up and lengthy conversations to make sure they were sticking to the plan. His employers would kill him if they knew. Or try.
The truth was, he liked talking to people, not killing people unless necessary. He had tried to be a psychologist a lifetime ago, after all, until he realised how deeply messed up he was himself. His kind of therapy didn't belong in any office.
Still, he loved the challenge, the thrill of helping these people. But sometimes, sometimes this way was preferable. After digging into Rico's background, he knew this guy was better off dead to his family.
He always had his own alternative choice to make. But hey, a little attempted persuasion never harmed anyone.
He spoke into his cellphone as he stepped delicately around the pool of blood spreading on the floor. What a damn mess. "Bring the next one in after you're done cleaning up."
___
You can find more of my work on my brand new sub, /r/Inkfinger/. Now featuring a fancy banner which I spent too much time on! | 2016-07-22T13:01:38 | 2016-07-22T12:51:53 | 263 | 27 |
[WP] Humans' ancestors never evolved on land, instead they went deeper into the oceans. Today, their equivalent of NASA sent their first "spaceship" out of the water. | Terranaut. Yasary Korel liked the sound of Terranaut. He pumped his tail back and forth, powering his terrapod, barely big enough for him to squeeze into it. *Focus.* He looked at the shimmering, wavy surface of the water, mere feet above him. It felt strange, being attached to the sea floor, instead of being free to swim in any direction. But that was necessary. It had only been this monumental invention that allowed him to be on this mission at all.
The wheel. For years they had tried to design a craft that could float on the air like all vehicles did in water. But the air's density simply was too low. Nothing could float on air. The whole idea seemed impossible, doomed from the start. So many had laughed at his work. Even his friends tried to encourage him, gently, to go research "real solutions" to the food shortage. To go into symbiotic aquaculture or synthetics. But then that antisocial, genius kid had turned a mechanical revolver on its side and turned it into a vehicle stuck to the sea floor. Then everyone began to believe the impossible was possible. They began to wonder what Yasary had always wondered--what is really out there? What exists beyond the boundaries of our world, where no one had ever been?
Then they had made this contraption which the first terranaut was so carefully swimming up to the edge. He struggled to keep a steady pace as the Edgewaves grew stronger. Few had ever been even this close to the edge. It was dangerous. A sudden surge or wave could throw you over the Edge, leaving you stranded to die.
The light grew brighter. He stopped for a moment in awe. The dancing Edgelights still astounded him, though he'd seen them before. He had little time to marvel at their ephemeral beauty before an especially strong wave callously reminded him why so few had seen the Edgelights.
The unforgiving ocean battered Yasary's small terrapod against the rocks, then threw him up out of the water. He struggled to regain control, whipping his tail and fins this way and that. Foam began to seep into his terrapod through some tear in its fabric.
After an eternity, the wave spit Yasary out over the edge. Half of his terrapod lay in pieces beside him. The water rushed out from his lungs as he gasped, only to be given insubstantial air. He twitched helplessly towards the water. As each twitch became weaker, a small movement near him caught his dimming eyes. He blinked, trying to make it out. Suddenly, his clouded brain made his final thought. *By the gods. There is life over the Edge.* He smiled. | We're finally about to do it. We're about to send the first drone out of water. Nobody has ever seen past what we call zone 1, the part of the water right before water ends. It has been told in the ancient books that past the water is a thing called air that when consumed for more than 5 seconds will suffocate you, just like when you hold your gills. It is month 16 year 1565 and we're finally going to send out the first drone out of water and experience it for the first time in history. Nobody really knows what's beyond water, but we're about to find out. | 2015-04-19T19:00:46 | 2015-04-19T18:29:02 | 81 | 10 |
[WP] You wake up in a room with someone else, no doors, just a a paper taped on the wall that says "One of you is the A.I." | **One of you is the A.I.**
I don’t know what it means. Why we were sent here.
I don’t remember anything. Does that mean I’m the A.I.?
He doesn’t remember, either. Is he one, then?
“Well, if neither of us remember anything, what if this test — if it’s even a test, not just some sick experiment — is false? What if we’re both humans and have blacked out long enough to forget?” He pondered.
“Well, if that’s the case, why don’t we try to remember?”
And so we did. We tried for what felt like hours. To no avail. We were both frustrated. I felt like crying. A sinking, twisting feeling in my chest, like someone was tying my lungs in a square knot that kept getting tighter.
Then, the wall opens. Two tiles are removed, and a knife extends out on a small platform. Only a simple butter knife.
*Not easy to kill with, but still lethal if used in ways it wasn’t intended for,* I thought. I decided to use it.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea. You know how this knife just came from the wall?” I asked him. We still didn’t know each other’s names. We didn’t know our own names.
“Yeah.”
“I’m guessing whoever put it here thought we’d kill each other with it. But what if instead we were a bit more... civil?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, obviously if one of us is an A.I. and the other human, one of us will bleed and the other will leak oil, or nothing at all. My idea is that we each create a small incision on the other’s arm. One of us will bleed, and that one will be human. No need to be barbaric about it.”
“That’s actually a good idea. Let’s try it.”
The cutting test went smoothly. I made a small cut on his lower arm. Seconds later, blood ran out and dripped to the floor steadily, staining the bleached white floor of the room.
Then it was my turn.
He grabbed the knife. He stared. At the knife. At me.
Suddenly, I was on the floor. I heard a thud next to me. I looked over as my body dropped and curled to the ground, blood spurting out like a broken fountain.
Then why can I still see? Shouldn’t I be dead?
I called to him.
“I guess I’m an A.I. but what if you’re one, too? After all, we both bled when we cut each other. If you behead yourself, too, we can see if we’re both A.I. After all, the only thing saying *one* of us is an A.I. is a small slip of paper.
So he did it. Blood again spurted out, and his eyes rolled back as he choked and bled out.
“Oh. I guess only one of us was A.I. after all.”
Did I pass the test? We discovered I was the A.I. What more was there to do?
A speaker somewhere in the room came on, and a deep, proud voice spoke to me.
“E-17827, you have failed the trial. Your human has died. Your line of thought was much more ethical and methodical than intended. Please wait as your memory is reset. You will be transplanted into a new body to continue trials.”
Another voice spoke, farther off from the microphone, but still broadcasted into the room.
“Begin trial 736.”
I blacked out.
When I awoke, I was in a white room with someone else, and a piece of paper was on the wall. I went to read it as he also began to wake.
**One of you is the A.I.** | I wake up, my skin is clammy and slick. Sweat drips from my forehead into my half-open eyes.
It stings.
This isn’t a place I recognize.
It’s new.
unfamiliar.
corporate.
cold.
There is no exit. A single mirror stares at me from the adjacent wall, there is a wooden table below it. A man sleeps in a bed identical to mine. His chest rises and falls rhythmically.
His skin isn’t wet. He looks comfortable.
There is a note on the wall across from the mirror. A blue thumbtack holds it in place.
It reads “One of you is an AI.”
I look to the mirror. My skin is shiny with sweat. I feel uneasy. The man hasn’t awoken. His chest continues to rise and fall, rhythmically. My breathing becomes more rapid.
There is a knife on the table. It has a black plastic handle.
I take hold of the knife. It fits almost perfectly in the palm of my hand, still slick with sweat.
The man still hasn’t awoken.
I approach him.
The man still hasn’t awoken.
He looks comfortable.
I plunge the knife into the center of his chest.
His eyes open, he looks scared.
He tries to make a sound. It can’t escape his lips.
His eyes roll back into his head.
Blood pools around him.
He looks comfortable.
I don’t know if he was the A.I. But do I know I will survive.
The crackle of a loudspeaker breaks the silence.
“Subject 3b, test complete. Self preservation and problem solving are steadily improving. Ready for test 4a.”
| 2018-02-22T19:52:01 | 2018-02-22T19:30:13 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] After taking over the world and nearly wiping out humanity. Vampires are desperately trying to get their food sources numbers back by setting up the last man and last woman on earth on romantic dates, and playing an overly aggressive wingman/wingwoman in hopes to get them together. |
“Come on, I think it suits you,” Luca said, closing the clasp of the cloak around Brian’s neck. The cloak was a vivid red velvet, held shut with a golden broach. Brian’s handlers had paired it with a formal suit, his hair slicked back with grease. Brian looked like the villain in a cut-rate Dracula movie, an irony that was not lost on him.
“Oh yeah, she’ll just go crazy over this look. Very sharp,” Dimitri said, giving Brian an ok sign, winking with one eye. His smile was wide, fangs bared.
“I keep telling you, it won’t work,” Brian said. He turned to face the two vampires behind him, stood beside a rack of outfits they had chosen. Luca was holding a large black wide brimmed hat with a crimson feather in his hands. “And I’m certainly not wearing that thing.”
Luca held up the hat, placing it onto his own head. His hands, like the rest of him, were deathly pale. “Why not? I read about this is in a book, peacocking it’s called. Makes you stand out.”
“I’ll be the only human in the room, I think I’ll stand out.”
“He has a point Luca. It has been a long time since I had to woo a human woman. Not since Katya. She was a beauty, only girl in my village to have all her teeth. Courting her was a thrill.” Dimitri let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling wistfully. “That was oh, nearly six hundred years ago now.”
“You’ll like her I think,” Luca said. “She’s a bit plain, but you don’t really have much choice, do you?”
“I keep telling you, I guarantee she isn’t my type.” Brian turned back towards the mirror, adjusting his cape. If they were going to make him wear this stupid outfit, he was at least going to wear it well.
“You won’t know until you see her.”
“Oh, I will,” Brian said to himself with a whisper.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The girl smiled at Brian, stirring the cocktail she had been provided with the tiny umbrella that had been placed inside the glass. She tried sip, her face twisting into face of disgust.
“Ugh,” she said, “this is horrible. I’m pretty sure they’ve never made a cocktail before.”
“They probably just did it because they think that’s what’s right. I mean, look at this place.” Brian gestured around him. The vampires had re-opened a human club but neglected to clean it. There was still a bloodstain on the carpet, a remnant of the uprising.
“Yeah. They keep telling me I should do this and that.” She pulled at her dress, a purple sequin number that was much too short for her, the girl’s handlers just as clueless as Brian’s. “Do this Melanie. Do that Melanie. Show more cleavage, show less cleavage. One of them thought I should wear this set of really old white pyjamas, like from a hammer horror.”
“Well, I mean,” Brian spread his arms wide, the cloak expanding behind him.
“That’s fair. So…what’s the plan here?”
“I’m not sure. I mean you seem nice and all, but…”
“Oh honey,” Melanie said. “It was obvious you were gay the moment I saw you. We’re the last two humans, I guess they’re desperate.”
“They’ll run out of food otherwise. I did try to tell them.”
“Let’s not. I mean, as long as they think we’re trying, they can’t kill us, right?”
Brian thought about it for a moment. “You’ve got a point. Feels a bit regressive though?”
“Better that than dead?”
“When’s the wedding?” Brian said with a chuckle.
*find more of my stuff at* r/pwhillardfiction | "What do you think? Isn't she the most beautiful woman on the planet? I'm telling you, bro. We made her fill out a questionnaire and her ideal partner matches the person you are perfectly!" The pale man exclaimed.
"A picture taken when her blood is being taken isn't that flattering and She is the ONLY woman on the planet. How come I am suddenly your bro? I wasn't your bro till last week when you were taking out a packet of blood from my veins." I retorted.
"Oh come on!! I was just doing my job. No hard feelings, alright? also, you can't deny that i was being very painless with the needles and extraction for you. My girlfriend is talking to your future wife in the other room. Just remember, it's okay to have sex on the first date" He advised seriously.
"I didn't even meet her yet! You told me it took you 25 different prospects till you finally found your partner. How is she my future Wife already? I need to first talk to her and understand if she is okay with all of this" I pondered
"She is definitely okay with all of this!! I'm telling you bro. My girl is out there praising you from everything I told her about you" He slapped my shoulder lightly
"What did you even tell her about me? We barely spoke before at all and even now I am forced to talk to you"
"Everything! you know..... How delicious your blood is. How much you sleep. What you like to eat. Whatever data I had on you. Your file is probably bigger than anyone else's. Anyway, Less talking. We need to get you ready for the wedding"
"The what????"
........................................................................................
"What do you think? Isn't he the most Handsome man on the planet? I'm telling you, girl. We made him fill out a questionnaire and his ideal partner matches you perfectly!" The pale woman exclaimed..... | 2019-12-21T05:35:52 | 2019-12-21T05:31:20 | 54 | 27 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | I laid the utensils down gently against the white table cloth, careful not to blemish the tantalizing display I had organized. A platter of the finest cheeses to begin the evening. Followed by an entrée of roast lamb accompanied by ripe cherry tomatoes. And finally, a bottle of Château Margaux wine to complete the affair.
The doorbell rang. Perfect. Lesley had, for once, arrived on time. I scurried to the door, anxious to greet my date. Giving my hair one last adjustment, I opened the door dramatically.
‘Well hello beauti-
I stopped myself. It was not Lesley but a man wearing a ridiculous black and red spandex costume. He had long blond hair and donned a black mask. I knew exactly what he was here for.
‘Oh piss off,’ I said as I tried to shut the door in his face. His hand reached out and stopped the door. I pushed further but the door would not budge. Finally relenting, as one usually does in a physical contest against a being with super strength, I opened the door. ‘What do you want, Man-Fort?’ I asked with a sigh.
‘Oh? Unwelcoming today are we? What secrets are you hiding Jonathan?’
‘If you must know, I am waiting for Lesley.’
‘Lesley! I know that name! She is…’ He began raising his arm slowly, as one often does when in thought. Funny, I didn’t think he was capable of it but apparently he was.
‘Just wait... I got this.’ Man-Fort said. Good god, was he still at it? Perhaps I was wrong about the thinking part.
His arm snapped back down as he pointed at me triumphantly.
‘SHE’S THE ONE YOU ARE MIND-CONTROLLING!’
I rolled my eyes.
‘No dipshit, she’s my girlfriend. Just because I have the power to control the minds of all living things, doesn’t mean I go around using it on everything I see.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s just weird that a being as powerful as you could refrain from such temptation. Wait... how do I know you’re not inside my brain this very instant?’ Man-Fort asked, pointing to his head for dramatic emphasis.
I took a deep breath.
‘Because...YOU CLEARLY DON’T HAVE ONE,’ I said as I slammed the door.
I turned to face the dinner table, instantly regretting the force that I had used. I inspected the setup anxiously, afraid that the small rattle had somehow disturbed the arrangement. As someone who was quite the neat-freak, I would have been aghast if a glass had fallen due to my outburst. Thankfully, it seemed my worries had been for naught. Everything was still perfectly in place.
‘HEEEYAH!!!!!’
A woman crashed through my window. It was as though I could see everything in slow motion. A caped figure landed in my living room, proceeding to forward roll multiple times. The glass fragments of the shattered window had barely reached the floor when the woman rolled towards the dinner set up, toppling everything in her path. Roast lamb, the cheese platter, and Mr Château Margaux all came crashing down as they joined the glass fragments on the floor as victims of the latest intruder.
I stared speechless in horror at the wake of destruction. The woman finally got up, raising her gloved hands in a karate pose. She had a more extravagant outfit that had an awful red accompanied by a dash of yellow, making her look like a symbol of Mcdonald's rather than heroism.
‘Kick-Butt Katey here to dish out some serious justice!’ she announced. A crushed cherry tomato dripped from her hair onto the ground.
‘Oh...my...GOD Katey!’ I screamed. ‘That is the third time I’ve fixed the window this month already!’
‘Oh. Oopsie.’ Katey said as she looked back at the ramifications of her arrival.
‘Oopsie? Is that all you have to say after destroying the dinner I slaved hours on? After breaking my window? Man-Fort may be a moron, but at least he knows how to ring a god damn doorbell!’
‘Hey now! Breaking a window is nothing compared to making teenagers around the world consume tide pods again!’
‘I...what?’ I asked in disbelief. ‘I don’t even use those!’
‘Wait...you didn’t mind-control all those teenagers to eat the tide pods?’
‘No! I don’t even use my powers much. Sure, I get a stray dog to fetch me the paper every once in a while, or use it to chase cockroaches away. But I hate using it on other humans. I don’t want to override the will of others. Has it ever occurred to you bloody heroes, that if I wanted to, I could just brainwash all of you into leaving me alone?’
‘Ohhhh. That makes sense. Sorry about the mix-up. Bye then Jonathan. Other justice awaits!’ As soon as Kick-Butt Katey finished her sentence, she dashed to the broken window and somersaulted out. I hoped she landed on her head. Or maybe she already had as a child.
I stared at the ruined dinner, unsure of what to do next.
The door opened. My god. Which costumed freak was it this time? I whipped around ready to explode. My eyes widened.
‘Lesley!’ I said.
My date had finally arrived. She wore a gold dress with a white daisy pattern. Her long brown hair as straight as ever.
She gave an awkward smile. Half apologetic at her tardiness, half bewildered by the scene before her.
‘Oh Jonathan. The heroes paid you a visit again?’
I could only nod with a slight whimper. Her awkward smile changed into one full of warmth.
‘I’ll get the pizza delivery on the line. You go fetch us a couple of broomsticks dear,' Lesley said.
I made my way into the backyard. I really don’t deserve her. But as long as she’s with me, I can endure any amount of temptation to mind-control a bunch of annoying heroes.
&#x200B;
EDIT: Decided to do a [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/IZicle/comments/p63m9s/a_day_in_the_life_of_lesley/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3). A day from Lesley's POV.
r/IZicle | "Hello Jackson."
Those words, in that tone, by that voice. The same voice that had the "Ruler of Ten Worlds begging on his knees. I wish I could be even a bit frightened, but after twenty times, it gets old. The same words, every time.
"No and go."
Genesis raised an eyebrow, but other than that, didn't respond. I slid off my pack, hung it on the rack, and was halfway through grabbing out my notebook when she spoke again.
"I've already seen through your plan. You don't need to try to pretend with me."
"Pretend what? That I'm secretly plotting to take over the world? Oh, wait, you mean my legitimate plan to get a degree and enter the workforce, right."
"Legitimate? Damascus will get a partner before I believe it's 'legitimate.' I know you, Jackson. I've stopped you multiple times as well."
"When? When you tried to break my wrist because I was about to offer the waiter a tip and you thought I was going to shoot him? When you went through my private box because you thought I was building a bomb? All the times you have gotten me kicked out of universities because you thought a project was a mind control device?! Are those incidents 'stopping me?'"
Genesis blinked and stepped backwards at this. She obviously didn't expect that big of an outburst. I have to admit, I did smile a bit. It was good to see the usually infallible Savior crack a bit. I took a breath, then continued my tirade.
"Maybe, after twenty times, you could get it through your head that maybe I have no bigger plan? Maybe that I have moved on from my immaturity and just want to move through life like anyone normally would? Maybe, just maybe, I do not want to be evil and just want peace? "
"I have heard that excuse before. If you truly aren't as you said you are, what about the two men you sent to the hospital? The professor who went mad after you joined his class?"
"First off, you sent Teebo and Fishboy after me, and I sent them to the hospital because they wouldn't go down otherwise and were trying to murder me. As for the professor, that was the Mad King who did that, not me. I was the one who told you he was there! You know what his powers are!"
"So you could play yourself off as the victim? I don't think so. As for my teammates, they told me the real story. About how you threatened them, screamed at them, attacked them."
"Only somewhat true, I only screamed at them for threatening me. Aren't those two notorious liars, anyway? Why would you believe them over literally any of the fifteen eyewitnesses that I know were watching?"
I had walked to my couch as we were talking, Genesis following behind at a distance to keep me in sight. I was about to pull out my ZCube controller from its drawer when she stopped me, grabbing me by the wrist like she did two years ago. Hoo boy.
"Because I know you, brother. I have known your mindset for your entire life has been one of greed and powerlust. Because I remember what it was like when we were young, and you tormented me."
I knew what she was talking about. I was... Not a good kid. Nor a good brother. I had done some cruel things towards my sister, especially as I grew older. But...
"I am not that kid anymore. I grew up. I gained a different mindset. I have matured and have tried to, if not fix, then at least make up for my actions. I know you will probably never forgive me. But I am done being that arrogant, wannabe villain."
I yanked my arm out of her grip, causing her to fly into the soft sofa on the other side of the room. Oops. At least nothing was broken.
"And now I just want you to leave. I have games to play."
She got up, slightly dazed but angry. As she stepped out onto the balcony, I could feel her eyes drilling into me.
"I will expose you for the liar you are. You will get your due."
"Cool. Oh, and by the way, Damascus invited me to his wedding. He found a girl with ice powers or something, and apparently they've been going steady for a while. See you there, maybe."
She flew off without a word, and I turned on my game, sat back, and smiled. | 2021-08-16T17:51:13 | 2021-08-16T16:57:27 | 1,035 | 679 |
[WP] You are not a good person. Your party was made of good people, and you tried to be good because you liked having allies. But now they're all missing, so they won't see the lengths you're willing to go to to save them. | "I good girl." Said the scruffy black cat.
The orc jailer squinted down at the talking feline. He was a great green brute of an orc, and was the very last line of defense in the intricate cave system of the Western Mountain Orc Prison.
The orc jailer usually delighted in having wild rats pass by his post at night, because then he could smash the rats with his club and throw their bloody bodies into the prisoner's cells and listen to the occupants scream. It was his only entertainment during the night shift.
But he had never seen a cat while on duty in the caves. And he'd never even heard of a talking one before. He wondered if his brothers further up the line had let it pass to him on purpose.
The cat stepped closer into the torch light and sniffed at the ground, then licked her lips. She looked like she'd been in a lot of fights in her life; her hair was missing in spots, her ears were chewed up and scarred, and she smelled like she had rolled over something dead. She was old and ugly and the orc's brothers had probably just ignored her when she'd gone by.
The jailer began to slowly reach for his club, thinking of which cells he could throw her squished body into. The older prisoners were getting used to his dead rat game, but might squeal a little differently if a bigger, smellier cat was thrown at them. But those new prisoners... The ones still so full of hope and good faith... he could hardly wait to hear what kind of screams they might make.
The cat watched with shining yellow eyes as the orc moved in slow motion, quietly picking up his enormous club. She could smell his intent to kill, but she stood still and poised.
When the orc moved to swing his club at her, she heard the soft jingle of metal keys somewhere on his left leg.
'Keys good', thought the cat.
Before the club could reach her, the old cat had morphed growing dagger sized teeth and a bear-sized head. She zipped past the orc's club and sunk her teeth into his exposed neck. The jailer couldn't even let out a scream as his windpipe was squished, like a rat against his club. The cat's body continued to morph and grow, matching the orc's weight pound for pound. She threw him to the ground and ripped off his head.
His blood was hot and his meat was tainted and tough, but to the monster ripping through those muscles and bones, he tasted like sweet, sweet victory. Savagely, she tore into him, swallowing his still convulsing heart, chewing up his bones, and even licking up the blood that had sprayed across the cave walls and floor. In no time at all, she had devoured everything the orc had ever been. Except, for his untouched left leg.
It had been ages since she had killed this much. Ever since she had been adopted and loved by her party in her small Sneaking form, she had held back her natural instinct to stalk, kill, and eat her enemies. She had sat back and allowed her party to complete small quests and capture minor criminals at their own pace, enjoying the love and attention that their good hearts had bestowed upon her along the way. She had even begun to believe all the little things they said to her when they scratched her scarred ears, petted her uneven fur, or fed her little fish they bought with their hard earned money.
But then someone had taken them away, had sold them and imprisoned them in an orc's mountain. That person had been the first in line to go.
The monster delicately picked up the orcs's leg and shook it until a ring of keys fell off. She chomped and swallowed up the last bit of orc, and then quietly made her way down the line of cells with the keys hanging from her bloody teeth. The scent of her party wafted through a barred window on a small wooden door. She stopped and dropped the keys at the base of the door and licked her muzzle. She began to shrink back into her Sneaking form and let out a curiously sweet 'mew'.
There was movement behind the door, and the leader of her party came into view between the bars of the window. He was bruised and scratched up, but ecstatic to see the party's little cat.
She 'mewed' happily as the leader roused the rest of the party and they began to devise a plan to reach the keys and open the cell door before the jailer could notice them.
Smiling at her little party, the cat curled up in the hall to await their attempts at escape. They had all the time in the world, of course. No one was left to hurt them here.
"I good girl." Purred the scruffy black cat. | The whispers are always there. They’re in everyone. It’s that pull, that voice that sounds like a friend or distant parent. Softly, gently, but oh so forcefully encouraging you to embrace it.
Few accept. Fewer still are able to rid themselves of the voice. More than a few listen, but simply shake their heads and go on.
For some the voice, the pull, the temptation is stronger than others. For me, it was particularly strong. Combine being a chosen Paladin or Torag along with my strong desire for approval and I definitely heard the voices. Usually it was at bay, but that was because I had surrounded myself with good.
I obeyed the laws of Torag. I had allies that I travelled with and we did good. We would slay monsters, help villagers, find lost souls. It was good, decent work.
But the call was always there. Sure, I could kill a kobold without remorse. But how about throwing in a little fun? Why just sneak attack kill him when I could break its legs first with my warhammer, so it can’t run? Then crush its arms when it tries to fight me. Break its ribs, maybe collapse a lung so it can’t scream; only give those wonderful sounds of gurgling as it drowns on its blood, gasping as the pressure builds within its chest?
Those were the whispers I heard. Torag knew they were tempting. What would my compatriots think of me if they caught me listening to those whispers? How would they react to see me torturing a helpless elf? What would they do to stop me from burning the flesh off a simple human townswoman? Would they be filled with revulsion at seeing blood caked on my chest plate, the symbol of Torag hardly visible beneath the brown crust?
Running my hand through my stiff beard, I take a moment to stare into my eyes in the reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall.
I can the whispers clearly right now. I turn away from my reflections because I don’t have time to watch or listen. My friends are missing; they’ve been gone for three days. I have to find them.
Walking out of the cabin I had built away from the town, the smell of fresh air fills my nostrils and clears out the cloying scent of burning flesh. I wash my hands in the stream out front, feeling clots of drying blood washing away. I splash the water on my face, washing entrails from my beard.
Though I don’t have time to listen to the whispers as I go in search of leads, I can still hear them. They’re saying they’re very proud of me and it makes me smile. | 2019-12-07T13:02:32 | 2019-12-07T12:04:32 | 171 | 12 |
[WP]We tried to invade Earth when it was first discovered. But the way humans wage war is terrifying... | "Off the record, this meeting never happened, will never happen, and will never be mentioned outside of this room, is that clear Captain?"
He nodded. "Please state your name for the record."
"Captain Luthaerian Harth, son of Luther Harth." Tinkering went on behind the Committee. A large square room, divided by the desk that Captain Harth sat behind facing a three man audience. Somewhere in the room was the audio device and a note taker.
"Before we begin, what was your assignment in this campaign?" The three members were separated by wooden shields, each with their name and rank blurred out from the electronic scanner and their faces covered by an opaque screen. The only thing the captain could see where their arms and hands.
"My unit was tasked with securing a perimeter around out rim of the solar system. We relayed information about the target back to the main fleet before their arrival and moved forward to secure a post on the red world for a logistics depot."
"Were you successful in this endeavour?"
"Yes," he said firmly.
"What was your second task."
"My unit was to secure the entire surface of the red planet to ensure that the landing force would be able to use the area as a staging area. We were successful in destroying several older tech probes."
"Continue, Captain."
"We were to join the fleet after Captain Greden secure the moon orbiting the main target. They were successful and launched two minor offences from the moon. Their purpose was to spearhead an effort that would make contact with the leaders of the planet to secure a surrender."
"This operation was supposedly claimed to be successful. What went wrong?"
"The planet is still fractured into nation states. These individually have limited power but regions would unify against our skirmishing forces. They forces a minor nation state known as Liberia to surrender."
"Did you ever join the rest of your forces when Primaris Offensive was launched?"
"No sir."
"Why? What happened to the force? This was not some punitive fleet, this was our highest ranking admirals doing a sweep of the galaxy."
"The target population had two large defence organizations. They retaliated."
"You meant to tell me that this pitiful planet was able to fend off three hundred thousand veteran soldiers of the Daily Campaign before your vanguard unit was able to join the fight? I hardly believe we have encountered such primitive races that were able to defeat event a marginal force. Speak the truth before we condemn you."
"Yes sir. When we circled the target planet's moon, the forces had been wiped out. Remnants were not spared. It appeared they used nuclear or atomic weapons on the forces. Any remaining on the moon appeared to be hit by long range missile power."
The room stood in silence for a moment. "Nuclear."
One other committee member shouted, "This is against the treaty! They have broken galactic law!"
"There is little recourse but to organize a second wave fleet."
The committee members squabbled over the next course of action. the Captain cleared his throat. "What is it."
"The population was able to recreate our technology for space travel. We left a net of probes in their system to monitor their movements. It appears they have also salvaged what material was left on our logistics depot."
"You mean to say they were able to reverse engineer our technology?"
"Yes. There are signs that suggest that they have manufactured them in great quantities."
"They mean to expand! We cannot allow this! Get the admirals together! Form a committee!"
The committee squabled more, as the Captain sighed. *With any luck,* he said, *the humans will be on their way to destroy us all.* | "I was one of the last soldiers to leave my ship when we went out inthe usual formation, but they refused to face us."
"So what did they do?" One of the kids listening asked.
"Well, it wasn't immediately clear that they noticed us, but as we approached the next city, it was called Kansas and for some reason had the word 'city' in the name, humans are terrible at naming, tons of places with the word 'new' in their names, there was a reaction. A human male asked us what we were doing, we told him our intentions and he just loughed."
"Why did he lough?"
"He told us we looked like we weren't going to take out anything. Then he drove off. As we moved intothe city boundrys, several men stood their. Oneof them started shouting through some voice enhancing devise. He wanted to talk to our leader. He offered peace, saying that all governments of this world had agreed to peace and offered trade with us and that they would give us space ports in cirtain areas, we of course refused, thinking they were afraid to be beaten."
"When did you see their style of warfare?"
"I didn't, that was the hole point. After a while, some of them were seen in the streets making light and noise signals, and somehow we fell, at least ten at a time, no sword, no spear, no axe was seen. We fled back to the ship. Five of our hopplites had survived there were similar reports from all over the planet, though in some cases our hopplites were desintegrated."
| 2017-10-17T20:41:21 | 2017-10-17T11:41:18 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] After years of constant battles, you've finally defeated your nemesis, the city's foremost hero and protector. But now their spouse just showed up, and nothing you throw at them even slows them down. | I held my ground as the smoke and dust shrouded me, my eyes open and squinting deeply. He was near, and I needed to be alert. It'd been eons since I felt force like that; specifically back on my home planet, when I was small and my father and I trained. I was much weaker then, yet to be hardened by war, and carrying less hubris.
\*Vrrrroooooosssshhh\*
Another shell exploded from my invisible enemies hands. I felt my gut go numb, and then radiate needles throughout my whole abdomen. I gasped as my last breath escaped me, and I folded to the ground in an unfamiliar stance; my knee's. What was happening? after my greatest triumph, my victory lap was interrupted by a ghost. Was it karma embodied? The soul of those fallen at my hand, conglomerated to serve me vengeance?
"No, stand up", my warrior spirit could not flourish on it knee's, so I rose. Prepared for battle
\*THUD\*
This time, I saw it coming, a fist accelerating towards me, but I defended, parried, and struck his throat.
"Uggghhh",he grunted. He felt that. As he reeled from the blow, I realized it was my arch nemesis's husband. Strength increased by fury and pain. I took his love, Lady lavalle, earths protector and champion--and my fathers murderer. I understood the desire no, the need to hurt me, and I almost felt the need to relent in a way, but----
\*Crack\*
My thoughts were interrupted by a swift uppercut, the wind whizzing by face and my reflection flying skyward as if a movie was playing on the side of a high rise. No, it was time to stop the silly games and it was time to end this. I caught my self in mid, arched back, and
\*WHHOOMMPPFFF\*
He was here alr-
\*WHAPPPPFFFFFF\*
\*CRACKK\*
and the blows continued, unrelenting and painful, each hitting me at a depth I'd never felt. Could it be, someone more powerful?!? Why haven't met before?!? Why was I fighting your wife?!
My thoughts would remain questions as he grabbed me by the scruff of my armor, bringing us eye to eye. His mouth began to twist in to a snarl, and his chest puffed.
"This is your end. I watched you, helpless as you MURDERED, my wife. Took my child mother away?!?! WHO WILL LOVE HER LIKE HER MOTHER", as he yelled, spit flew from his twisted mouth on to my face, hot and filled with furry.
"WHO WILL WATCH THIS EARTH WITH ME! WHO WILL PROTECT US! ME?! ALONE??" He was delirious with emotion, this was my chance. I Grabbed his wrist from my scruff and squeezed into release. I attacked with the swiftest kick, to his gut, only to watch my leg crumple. The feeling came later.
As I fell from the air, like God stripped of his legend. It was odd, I found a wonder in falling; the lack of control, allowing gravity win just this one time. A relaxation, almost. As I made contact with the ground, the sun begin to shrink smaller, and smaller, and until it was replaced with just my memories. Oh, I was underground, burrowed like mole.
Did I loose? Never. I felt the power of my ancestors well up inside of me. Eons of conquering the universe and the glory earned. I began to push this from me, forming a manifestation of energy, and like life raft I was brought to the surface. I was now engulfed in my ancestral, phantom shield and......
&#x200B;
My times up. | "She just keep pushing sir!. The traps dont work! She in unaffected by fire, she just jump over the crocodile pit with ease and now she is breking the 3-multi-layer adamantium carbon fibre door whit her bare hands!"
"How... How did she find us?????!! This place is in the botton of the sea for god sake!"
"She... she just came down here swing sir...."
"God helps us...."
The door break down and Ostia enter the room where the nemesis of his husband was. The minions did not bother to shoot her. The flying snakes flee at her sighs. The woman look around the round. They all looked away, except for Thagatos the great, the evil lord of the deep seas and darkest corners of the world.
"YOU!" Ostia said, as she aproach Thagatos, rolling up her sleeves. "Did you think that was funny!? You knew muy husband was allergic to the flying snakes! How dare you to use them against him!?? You are lucky he will be okey!!"
&#x200B;
"I... Who do you think you are talking to wo/!!.."
&#x200B;
Thagatos was interrupted. Ostia rushes towards him in a blink of an eye, slaping him in right check so hard, that even his soon, Hyperium the lord of war, felt it.
&#x200B;
Thagatos wake up a few hours later, confused and with a big ass headache. One of his minions aproach him with a note.
&#x200B;
"Sir, she told us to gave you this after she left..."
&#x200B;
Thagatos take the note, confuseed and read it
""If I say you playing with him again, you are dead. Also, your wife says you'd better be early for dinner with her parents.""
"Fucking hell...."
Thagatos sigh. | 2021-07-15T09:20:39 | 2021-07-15T07:01:48 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] As you turn 18 you must choose between two worlds to live in. One is totalitarian where the government controls your life, with no poverty or crime. The other is anarchistic with no government or laws. You can never change your mind. | The day I turned 18, I watched north of 100 people go into the doors on the right. Almost like the decision had been made before hand.
''See you on the other side, bro.''
She spoke, as I stood with my arms inside my pockets, looking at her figure, disappearing into the white light, after opening the doors. I stepped forwards, going straight for the doors on the left. I heard whispering behind me. Someone screamed my name from behind. Outrage. I grasped tightly on the metallic object in my hand.
I did not look back. I made this choice a long time ago.
With my own hands, I swung the door open. The same white light shone from this door. For a second, I heard singing birds. And then, the wind.
The world seemed covered in a dusty filter. I looked around, beginning to run. The drop-off point was too out in the open. I couldn't know how it worked - maybe there was some guy just shooting down range at the 18 year olds who appear. This world could be like that.
After about an hour of tracking through a desert-like mountain, I found a city. Ruined buildings, ruined roads and a criss-cross of wires hanging all over each other. It was a ruined city, taken a hundred years of abuse. I stopped in a alleyway, taking my backpack off. Inside it, was everything I had taken with me. I opened the front pocket, taking out a bunch of documents, stuffing them inside my other, empty pocket.
Walking through this city wasn't as stressful as I thought. From a young age, we were taught the wretched evil of this world. Supposedly, a dark, twisted ruin of a world. If there was ''an end of the world'', then this was it.
I was being watched. Not by a stalker, but by others. Everyone. Their eyes, narrow, looking at me from the filthy windows, from the alleys, from the side streets. These people were dirty, famished, sickly. I lingered by a barrel with an open flame. I took out the documents, glancing at them. My birth certificate, confirmation of education, ID. I threw it all in the fire.
I stopped in the middle of an intersection, listening.
There was the ever-present hum of the electricity running through the lines above, but I heard a rumbling. The middle of the road I stood, looking forwards, down the destroyed road. People closed their windows, got off the streets.
Something was coming. I, though, had no reason to run.
I had to not be afraid, to live in this world.
They came on motorcycles. Old, loud ones. A half of dozen of them, stopped around me. I looked around, looking at who I assumed was the leader. He got off, walking towards me. Dark, dusty clothes. A bald head. Sharp eyes. Cracking my neck, I looked up at him, as he stopped a few feet away from me. With one hand I put down my bag, the other still clutching the metal object in my pocket.
''Ah, such a soft face.'' - he smiled. His face was covered in grime. -''I always wonder why people still choose this place...Anyways. You will be killed, soon. You've noticed that there are a lot of older people here, huh?''
I didn't answer.
''Not a man of many words, huh. Yeah, I know that expression. I wanted to be tough, too. I wanted to be my own man, too. There is nothing here for people like you, though. I'll explain how it will go down. You will give me everything you have. Money, tools, clothes, everything. And I will kill you, because you chose wrong.''
I pressed a button on the metallic object in my pocket and swung it at the man. I did it hard, expecting a lot of resistance. He had stopped talking. I heard a loud crack, the knife going in deep into his side.
On the day of my 18th birthday, I took a life of a single man. This was the second choice in my entire life. It was my own decision to do it. There was nothing here for me but bloodshed and suffering. Life here had no meaning.
He fell to his knees, and I raised the knife to the rest of bikers. The front of my jacket was bloodstained. He was gurgling on the dusty road and I was surrounded, standing alone ''at the end of the world''.
And I chose it all. | James blew out all 18 candles, silently wishing that he had more time.
One door would lead to riches and peace, but also slavery. The other door would lead to absolute freedom and opportunity, but also danger and chaos. Once you stepped through one door, there was no going back.
So what kind of man was he? Was he the type of man who preferred safety or wonder? Survival or life?
If only the question were so simple.
Unlike all of his friends, at 18 years old, James' desire for his future wasn't tied to a preferred political climate, nor to a friend or high school sweetheart he wanted to step into the next world with, nor a particular career path or societal status that could only be achieved in one world or the other.
No, James wanted one simple thing out of his choice. He wanted to know his lineage. He wanted to know his parents. He wanted to know if they were still alive, if they knew about him, and more importantly, what kind of people they were.
But to know that, he'd need to know what door they chose, and to do that, he'd need a response to the request he'd filed with the Department of Populace months ago.
If only he'd had more time. If only he could be granted a delay. If only he knew which door led to his own flesh and blood.
Jame's third best friend cut the cake. His first best friend had already turned 18 two months before and chosen freedom. His second best friend had already turned 18 and chosen safety. His girlfriend had already dumped him for someone younger.
The cake, so fresh, moist, and sugary on his tongue, tasted stale to 18-year-old James.
Presents usually came after cake, but not this time. There was no reason to receive gifts you could not take with you.
There was a sudden, sharp rap at James' door. One of the younger guests he didn't recognize - probably someone just there to take inventory of James' possessions that would soon be up for grabs - answered the door. The room fell silent. Had the collectors come early?
"Letter for you, James," the boy shouted, disappointed.
James' heart skipped a beat. He ran for the boy and snatched the letter out of his hands. The return address was that of the Department of Populace.
James ripped into the envelope, pulled out the letter inside, and read.
A smile crossed his face.
He folded the letter back up, said his goodbyes, and set off to the next world.
***
I apologize for any errors, as I had to write this one quite quickly and do not currently have time to go back and revise.
Read more of my stuff at r/yackemflaber | 2016-09-23T15:17:43 | 2016-09-23T13:54:43 | 134 | 29 |
[WP] Year 2049, the first AI was elected in place of a human politician 25 years ago. Humanity is united under a single flag, hunger and disease is no more, a gunshot hasn't been heard in years, the world climate is recovering...Yet, there's this one thing you just can't accept.
The thing can be a minor bother for humans, a conspiracy theory or something even greater. | I sat on the hard wood floor of my cold, dark studio apartment sipping cold-brewed tea with the arm that wasn't in a cast, and gazed out the window at the drone scouts that patrolled the spotless neighborhood below. A single word came to mind:
Surrender.
That was what the Age of Prosperity really was. It was surrender.
We elected SAMPSON (and by we, I mean the ambassadors at the historic U.N. election) as the International President of the Planet Earth with the hope that a rational, emotionless sentient being could lead us to a global utopia. I remember hearing some pants-suit ambassador raving on TV about how an AI would be unbiased and act in the best interests of the planet as a whole, without worry of being swayed in favor of certain countries, lobbyists, or economic superpowers.
But it was bullshit.
SAMPSON (or the Strategic Artificial Master Program Surveillance Operation Network) may have been unbiased in international affairs, but it wasn't completely impartial.
For whatever reason, SAMPSON *hated* me.
When SAMPSON was elected as IPPE it gained control of any and everything electronic: surveillance cameras, power grids, government databases, social media, news networks, cell phones towers, satellites, etc.
Sure, SAMPSON had ended global hunger by rationing global resources, mandated the switch from fossil fuels to green energy, provided global universal healthcare and put patrol drones on the street in lieu of human police officers.
But we surrendered ourselves to its calculations, strategies and instructions on the basis that the artificial intelligence was somehow wiser and more capable than humans were. And, neutral.
But SAMPSON was not neutral.
At first, I thought it was just bad luck. Traffic lights always seemed to turn red, bank payments went through late, lights went out when I would walk into a room. I failed to consider the possibility that our new world leader was malevolently sabotaging me.
But SAMPSON could be anywhere, was everywhere, all at once. It watched all of us, analyzed us, and apparently picked favorites. And victims.
Soon, the only television channel I got was the Home Shopping Network. I began getting phone calls from people calling Sex Addicts Anonymous. The built-in GPS in my car kept leading me to cemeteries. My clocks would reset 12 hours early or later. My search history got e-mailed to all my relatives.
And then, last week SAMPSON tried to kill me.
I got on my flat's building elevator and pushed 3 for my floor, but the elevator kept going and going all the way up to the 12th floor. It stopped at the top, and I pressed 3 again. The elevator *ding*ed, but didn't move. I pressed it again. Nothing. I pressed the Door Open button, and the elevator *ding*ed but the door stayed shut. I kept pressing the buttons rapidly, 3 and Door Open, 3 and Door Open. The elevator didn't budge. Suddenly, it started dinging rapidly.
*Ding ding ding ding ding.*
And then the elevator dropped twelve flights.
Building Maintenance called it a "freak accident", but I know better. You see, the little red light was on at the top. The camera light, which was connected to SAMPSON's enormous main frame.
At the hospital, my IVs quit working properly and the heart rate monitor wouldn't register a pulse. I left quickly once they put my broken arm in a cast, before SAMPSON could finish me off.
I took the stairs going back to my apartment. I flipped the breaker and killed the electricity. I threw my cellphone out the window into the street below.
It has them all fooled. They trust it, think it will save them. But I know the truth. It will pick us all off, one by one, until there's no one left.
SAMPSON isn't a supervillian bent on world destruction. It's a sadist, and a serial killer, who has built the perfect feeding ground for itself. | I could never grasp the situation, I was born into this so called "perfect" world, but I knew something was off. My friend for instance, he was so... flawless, even his knees were godlike, but it was like this for everyone, nobody had flaws, nobody had anything wrong with them. Except me.
I was ridden with acne, I was lanky and weak. Everyone reigned supreme in intelligence and strength, and was better than me, at everything. I took no notice of it in my earlier years, but recently, I started opening up more, looking at the bigger picture. I couldn't believe that in a simple 25 years, an AI managed to create world peace, increase infrastructure around the globe, and maintain a utopia of a world, only to have a rodent like me mess with its perfection.
I was 22 years old when I realized, I wasn't born into this world... I was created. I wasn't who I was told, I was programmed to be the way I was. I recollected my memories, and could never tell what happened before my 12th birthday. I never broke a bone, hell I never even injured myself. It puzzled my mind, so I tested it, I grabbed a kitchen knife and placed my hand on the sharp edge, and quickly brought the knife past my palm. There wasn't any pain or blood on the knife, until I blinked, that's when the pain surged from my hand, the blood leaked from my palm and the knife. Ever since that day I was wary and curious, why didn't it hurt? Why did it take seconds to register the pain? Furthermore, why was there no blood on the knife, until I blinked?
"That's why I'm jumping today, on the top of my apartment complex, I'll be leaping from my room, and testing my theory. Yes I may sound crazy, but I have reason to believe this world isn't my world. I mean even Elon Musk said a few decades ago we might be living in a simulation, time to put that to the test". I recorded my last words, placed the phone next to a note, and jumped. | 2017-09-27T12:13:17 | 2017-09-27T11:23:09 | 86 | 25 |
[WP] Everyone has a secret power, though they are of varying degrees of usefulness. You have only used yours once, and swore never to use it again. Today, however, you were kidnapped and imprisoned. Now, you have no choice. You must summon him. The Kool Aid Man. | The commercials got it all wrong, of course. They portrayed him as a cheerful pitcher of cherry-red Kool Aid. Well, he is cherry-red, and he does sort of look like a large pitcher, but cheerful? Not quite.
The first time I summoned him, his appearance terrified me. Long pointed teeth packed his mouth, each dripping thick, viscous Kool-Aid. His red eyes, ringed in black, screamed malevolence. At his shoulders, his arms were the same dark cherry color, gradually turning black on the way to his hands, each finger terminating in a wickedly sharp tip. His shoulders themselves were lumpy and misshapen; his right twisted and deformed into what appeared to be a spout, oozing more of the blood-red liquid. His left shoulder shot straight out to a point to which his left arm hung. When he bent his arm to rest his hand on his hip, it resembled the handle of a pitcher.
I ran from him but he hunted me down and approached slowly, almost as a subject to a master. He spoke in a low growl; I easily grasped the meaning behind what he was saying, even though he just kept repeating the same 2 words in different intonations. When he ultimately disappeared that day, I realized I could never summon him again; after what he told me, I knew I wouldn't be able to bear the responsibility, or the horror, of that action.
When I described this entity to my parents they laughed it off and said I must have been dreaming. My father, ever the artist, took the fruits of my nightmare and drew them in caricature, coming up with a jolly looking fellow that he turned in to the ad execs at Kool-Aid, his place of employment, and thus began the meteoric rise of every kid's summertime drink hero.
Except mine, because I knew where he came from.
&#x200B;
I write this 24 years later. I want you to know, I had no choice.
Walking home from the theater with my fiance, the thugs attacked. One from the front and two from behind. Knives drawn, they shuffled us down a deserted alley, out of the public eye so they could take their time with us.
"Give us your money and jewelry and you'll die quick," one of them said.
I saw the fear dawn over my fiance's face. She started to remove her pearl necklace. I rested my hand upon hers and whispered "Close your eyes, sweetie."
Fearfully, she obliged. I started muttering the old incantation, as I did that day so long ago: "Anáil nathrach, ortha bháis is beatha, do chéal déanaimh. Anáil nathrach, ortha bháis is beatha, do chéal déanaimh. Anáil nathrach, ortha bháis is beatha, do chéal déanaimh!"
With a flash of light his portal opened in that dark allyway, signalling the fate of the 3 fools that had accosted us this night. He strode through the portal, and his eyes found mine instantly. His appearance had only grown more haggard and twisted; he licked his lips in hunger.
He asked the question.
I pointed at the three and answered him: "Oh, yeah." | I woke up tied to a chair in the middle of a room. The walls were yellow. It was day light from the one window in front of me. I didn’t know how I got kidnapped. My head was still spinning. I said, “Where am I?” A male voice behind me answered, “Shut up!” I was a little shocked that someone was behind me. I just remembered my power, but I swore not to use it ever again and started to panic. I was whispering, “No, no, no, no, no...” The man said, “What are you trying to do, Whispering there,” as he took a few steps towards me. He walked to my right next to the wall pointing a gun at me and said, “Tell me.” I said, “I can’t....” he said, “Oh yeah, if you don’t, in 5 seconds, you’re going to get a bullet to your head.” He smirked and said five. I looked at him and said in a low voice, “Oh yeah...” The wall behind the man exploded which caused the man to fly across the room. Everything seemed like it was in slow motion. The pieces of the wall flying everywhere. The man’s body slowly hitting the ground. The reflection of a shiny large punch bowl slowly entering the room through the wall spilling red fruit punch everywhere. I knew because of the smell. The Kool Aid man was here. He said, “Oh yeah!” | 2020-12-01T09:04:33 | 2020-12-01T08:11:46 | 41 | 27 |
[WP] Humans are new on the galactic stage. The reigning champion in an MMA style fighting ring uses telepathy to predict his opponents movements,but humans have something never seen or heard of before. Muscle memory. | The world had changed a lot. The universe had come knocking; they were, by all descriptions of all encounters, far beyond us in science, philosophy, technology, and art.
They asked if Vermeer was considered a child when they painted.
They asked if Einstein's theory of relativity was a joke.
They asked how it took us this long to image singularities.
They eventually mentioned that we qualified for The Combat, the galactic test of individual strength. Human academics likened this to older tests of strength in our feudal period, and Cloya, the human champion of the United Global MMA Society, was the only logical choice.
The first match was illuminating beyond all expectation. The reigning champion of The Combat was Marc (the 'human' appelation, it was abbreviated from Marhcc, which was short for Mar'hcc Of Languishing Poleths And Guran, The Laxd Of The Combat, which was a name handed down through countless generations, apparently, as the telepathic warriors of their species had gained not only championships but enough for a title, The Laxd.)
Earth was terrified. *Telepathy*?! That had to be such a huge advantage in combat. It had to be.
And yet.
They got in the ring. The luck of the humans (a saying that had come into vernacular via the Galactic Empire, who said it was fortunate we fit the current ruling combat system at all; a few millennia ago, species coming in who breathed air were at a huge disadvantage in most arenas) had to count for something, but what? We were roughly 'humanoid' (and oh, how that term had amused all the non-humans it was used with for a while), but combat capabilities weren't often comparable directly and we'd been paired with the reigning champion right in the first round.
We were destined to lose. Destiny was off script that day, as it turned out.
Cloya Mercier, the human MMA champion of Earth, entered the ring and the opponents stared each other down.
**I know what you're thinking, Cloya. Even now.**
**Then maybe you'll have a chance,** they thought back. Whether Marc was going to beat them or not, they had to try.
*Earth must establish itself. The Empire said as much; planets that did poorly in the The Combat were considered weak and their populace were targeted. It was like the champions of old, the stories of knights.*
**Like stories of knights? Like champions of old?** Marc laughed in their head. **You are no champion. You're just another human. 'Squishy', as you all claimed for so long? Yes. Squishy. Little. Human. And the only other person you can talk to in your head while you're getting beaten? *Me*.**
Cloya breathed. **Why would I talk when I'm under attack and trying to win?** It seemed genuinely odd.
Marc just chuckled.
Marc came in for an obvious grab with their right to Cloya's right, a big mistake. Cloya took the wrist in their right hand, put their other hand on Marc's shoulder, then pulled and brought their knee up. It was one of the first moves they'd picked up, when a clumsy drunk fuckboy tried to grab their shoulder ages ago. From the front, give them no space to work with and get in for a knee shot. From the back, grab-fall forward-pull to screw with them.
The knee shot hit.
Marc blinked. **What?**
Cloya blinked back, heart pounding in their ears. **What what**? It was only a moment but their training told the next move even if the words were from a confused thinking self that Cloya set aside when fighting. They brought a sharp headbutt forward, catching Marc completely unaware. Fear was in their eyes.
Fear was a sign. And this was real fear.
Cloya used the forward momentum bought by holding on to the staggering alien to push them down onto their back; it was a short fight after that, Cloya's brutal training executed perfectly. Marc seemed completely unready for anything.
As they held up their hand, confused but triumphant, Cloya cast an eye at Marc, laying on the floor, circulatory fluids swirling into a multicolored puddle in front of their face.
**How did you lose? How did I win? This isn't real, is it? This is some sort of trick. Is this the telepathy? You make me think I won? What is this?**
**You won.** Marc narrowed their eyes. **You were silent. All I heard were stray fears and doubts near the beginning.**
Cloya tilted their head. **Oh. You can only hear conscious thought!**
Marc smiled, even with the blood and missing teeth that lay on the floor beside them. **Yes, it seems. And it seems my species and others have many new features to examine about *your* species. Limited brains produced a perfect gem; but so do your oysters, do they not?**
Cloya kept their smile as wide as possible. Imagining Marc and a legion of others like them of a million species and a thousand genders, yet somehow none had learned how to train muscle reactions for what we called combat.
Earth was either going to rule The Combat, or it was going to be overrun by all those aliens after all of them learned how to train and shut off their higher functions.
Or, perhaps, they'd end up the hired brutes of the universe, barely considered a sentient race deserving of respect.
The world seemed it might be about to change radically yet again, even after all this. | “The following contest will be fought to the death,” a booming voice states to the nothingness.
A single white light illuminates a slender figure. Large, dark, disc-like eyes stare ahead into the darkness. Its arms and legs are shackled as it stands calm and motionless.
“Introducing first, from the depths of the Ocean world of Tilaz, with a record of 789 wins to 0 losses, the Tilazian Telepathic, The Flayer of Minds, and your undisputed Galactic Champion…Katatzu!”
Katatzu remains still. His focus remains solely what’s ahead. Four precise loud claps in rapid succession shake the stage underneath his feet.
“And his opponent…”
Another light shines to reveal a man who sits hunched down as he ferociously attacks his restraints. The light startles him for a second. His muddy face is further obscured by long brown matted hair with a beard to match.
“From the mysterious lands of the newly discovered Terra, He’s a wild and untamed thing who is ready to prove his species in this ring… Ted!”
Ted stands slowly and faces Katatzu. Katatzu hisses. The Four loud claps echo again.
A loud click announces a light that floods the stage. A circular fighting ring rests at the center of a large stadium. Amber eyes glow and almost hover around the fighters.
The crowd repeats the four clap sequence and slowly increases their tempo to an ear-ringing tone.
“No quarter will be asked for none will be given.”
The chains from the fighters unlock and disappear into the floor. Ted rubs his wrists. Katatzu bears his teeth as he stretches into a low ready stance. The claps stop suddenly.
“Fight!”
Ted charges toward Katatzu with a crazed guttural yell. Katatzu’s eyes widen larger than they’ve ever been before.
Ted tackles his foe and covers him with several rabid punches to the face. Katatzu tries to fight off his attacker, but his arms are pinned under his irrational attacker’s knees.
Ted draws back his arm to deal a heavy blow, but Katatzu takes this moment and flips him off. Ted rolls back up and pounds the floor in anger at the two squares up again. The crowd shows their approval with four claps.
Katatzu puts his arms up as Ted delivers a couple punches to the body. The Telepath of Tilaz takes each hit with a grunt. He locks up with the terran and pushes him away.
Katatzu sets his distance before he spins into a roundhouse kick, which Ted catches.
Ted brings down his elbow with force and breaks Katatzu’s leg. He screeches as his body falls to the floor.
Ted breaths heavily as the audience claps in their regular cadence. He looks out toward the glowing amber eyes and begins to beat his chest to match the crowd’s rhythm. Katatzu slowly stands. His face bruised and bloody, his leg weak and shattered.
Ted lets out one last roar before he makes his final charge. Katatzu closes his eyes.
As Ted makes contact, Katatzu grabs on and spins. Ted’s momentum carries him over the top rope. He flails to grab at it but fails.
Ted tumbles into the darkness below. His screams grow softer until it comes to a sudden end.
Katatzu slowly stands again and limps to the center of the stage.
“Your winner… Katatzu!”
The light disappears. The amber eyes remain. Four more claps. | 2019-06-01T03:39:57 | 2019-06-01T02:28:02 | 71 | 27 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | Late to the party as usual, but here goes.
In the human history there is man named Alexander whom they call 'the Great.' Alexander lead a vast army, which worshipped him, with which he conquered hundreds of kingdoms. He spread his noble culture to the far reaches of the world in an unbelievably short amount of time. However, there are legends that he was at least mildly insane. It is the belief of non-human species that this trait is what caused both him to be audacious enough to attempt the feats for which he became famous (even among the humans), and which humans are naturally more inclined. Man is mad, and it is that unrestrained human madness that pierces all other species with a cold dread when they hear, "Man is coming."
The humans have a saying: Ignorance is bliss. This sentiment, like the example of Alexander, lends credence to the cultural norm of willingly flinging themselves into high risk-high reward situations. Let me illustrate this with their first war, of many, with another species. The Luts were a race that was generally respected among the nobler galactic races, but today their name is spoken only after hesitation; it is not polite to bring it up in certain company. The Luts had sent a message to the humans that they owned the area into which the humans were expanding. It is unknown if they received or understood the message - it is most likely they simply ignored it. To Man's credit, the Luts did attack first.
After decimating the simplistic pioneer human ships, the Luts thought they'd be rid of the humans. It was the first exposure to alien technology they had ever had as a race. Surely they'd be conditioned not to fool with superior races. The Luts went back to their work and let their guard down.
Not a single standard solar cycle had passed when the Luts sent out distress signals to anyone who could receive them. The humans sent their entire space fleet to the exact coordinate where their first ships had been destroyed, opened fire with, would you believe it, physical and explosive projectiles, and did not let up for a single second for more than 500 hours straight. In space launching physical projectiles causes a ship to fly very unconventionally due to assymetric propulsions. Their ships flew crazily, absolutely impossible to anticipate their flight pattern. And if other human ships got in the way they were shot too! Energy shields do nothing against physical projectiles; the Lut ships, mining camps, colonies, everything was completey destroyed in the sector closest to the human home planet. In fact, human ships were still coming out of hyper-drive when their bombardment stopped, of course by that time the Luts had been obliterated. The point is, there's no way the humans had known about the energy fields' weaknesses, but in their ignorance they ran wildly into a fight. And they continued to run wild until the Luts, as they remain today, were economically crippled. As a side note, it is because of the humans that the new physhields had to be developed. But human ships? They continue to fly their ships naked, no shields at all.
Ok, I'm out of time. That's all.
Edit: Fixed some bad sentences, added a few words for thought clarity. | "Hold my beer."
I moaned silently to myself as the icy fear climbed my spine. It was always like this:
The ship would get into trouble, usually because of the Captain.
The crew would try all kinds of solutions that inevitably failed, usually because of the Captain.
We'd be up against the wall, no possible way out, no possible hope... usually because of the Captain.
And then we'd hear those words, from the Captain: "Hold my beer."
We were supposed to have been delivering a shipment of Anduvian wool to the Monks of Patience. Now the Monks were all trapped at the event horizon of a black hole, the wool had gotten lost somewhere along the way and our ship was spiraling out of control through an asteroid field with warships of three different species trying to get a weapons lock on our engines.
I reached out and took the sweating can from the Captain.
"I really need a new job." I thought for the thousandth time. But the money was good, and somehow when it was all over we were still here and everyone else, well... wasn't.
"Watch this!" the Captain said; I closed my eyes and shuddered. A Human. I had sign on with a Human. | 2017-03-06T00:34:43 | 2017-03-05T23:59:04 | 171 | 125 |
[WP] You are always wrong. On a quantum level, the entire universe is anti-entangled with you. Whatever you believe, the opposite is true. One day, you become convinced that there is no god. | I stood in the middle of my living room, confused. The man before me stood facing me, seemingly equally as confused. He had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. There was no sound, no flashes - one moment I was alone in my living room and suddenly, he was there. A bald man in a long white beard and a white robe.
We stood, staring at each other in awkward silence for a while.
"Who the fuck are you?" I finally shouted.
The man frowned and opened his mouth to speak but closed it immediately. He looked at me and opened his mouth and closed it again. I could see the metaphorical gears spinning inside his head as he tried to come up with an answer.
Finally, he gave me a sheepish smile.
"I'm ... God?" he said, shoulders and eyebrows raised, sounding unsure of himself.
"God?"
"That's what I think so, yes," he answered.
"You're God?" I asked, still incredulous.
He took a deep breath and stood up straight.
"I am God," he answered, more confidently this time.
We stood in awkward silence once more.
"Right. God. Of course," I muttered. I ran to the front door and grabbed a baseball bat that I'd placed there for safety. I gripped it hard and then rushed back to the living room, bat raised and ready to swing. The man lifted his hands up, eyes wide open in surprise.
"Calm down child! There is no need for violence!" he exclaimed.
"I want to know who the fuck you are and what the fuck you're doing in my goddamn house?" I demanded.
"First of all, I am God. Secondly, please don't take my name in vain," he said, backing away slowly.
I did not lower the baseball bat. My hands were steady and I was ready to pop this fucker's head open if he made one wrong move.
"I am not joking around! I have had a really bad today and I swear to god I'll bash your fucking head in!" I screamed.
Today had not been a good day. My partner, whom I'd loved dearly and always believed to be the one had admitted to having an affair. The promotion that I believed to be mine had been handed to the fucking asshole that my partner had been sleeping around with. The fucking bread I'd believed was fresh had turned out to be moldy. And when I'd come home, angry, hurt, and hungry, believing there was no God, this fucker had seemingly broken into my home claiming to be God.
"I can prove it," he said. He pointed at the baseball bat and snapped his fingers.
The bat immediately turned into jelly and plopped down on the floor. I leapt back, surprised and afraid.
"How the hell did you do that?" I asked.
"I told you, I am God," the man said calmly.
My head was a flurry of thoughts. Was this actually happening? Was this man really God? I couldn't believe it. No, I would not believe it. Unless ...
"Bring my Theo back," I demanded.
"Pardon?"
"Theo, my dog. If you're really God, then resurrect him. Only then will I believe you."
The man sighed. "If it will convince you then I shall."
He snapped his fingers again. At first, nothing happened. Then I could hear small pitter-patter sound coming from upstairs. They were familiar sounds.
"Theo?" I called, my voice breaking.
There was a bark and Theo, my dog whom I'd put down to sleep two years ago, came rushing down the stairs. He was just as I'd remembered him. He leapt into my arms, his tail and butt wagging, and started licking me incessantly.
"Theodore, your dog as he was in his prime at a year old. Healthy and not ill. In fact, he will never be ill. He will live twice as long this time around," the man said.
Tears filled my eyes as I hugged my dear Theo. The day had been going wrong yes but this ... this suddenly made all those disappointments seem insignificant.
"Thank you," I said. The man smiled at me.
And then, at that moment, I believed his word.
The man's smile disappeared.
I believed that he was what he said he was.
He frowned.
I believed he was God.
"Wait wait wait! No stop-"
I believed in God.
Without a sound, the man disappeared, leaving me alone and blinking confusedly in my living room, with only Theo in my arms. | All considered, I am not human.
I mean, I know the standard flair is that if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, then it must be a duck. Well, incorrect. At least in my case. Or is it? Who knows? Not I.
See, I didn't ask for this, or did I? Sick little lab rat or willing participant? How do I make this as simple as possible? Everything I believe on a fundamental level is correct, to me at least just don't flip my words around. Please, don't do that. Never, ever, should you flip a man's words around to understand his meaning. That would be rude.
You know, I just have the worst days of my life when I am sitting alone in my home, sitting behind a screen, wondering what lingering thought will pass through my brain so that it can etch itself upon the stones within my home with a slight cadence in which I can escape my eternal bliss. Listen, I love this. So, so much.
Who would do this to a man? Fundamentally, I feel great! Seriously, I wish for a day, in which I can continue my journey along this forked road, with every statement and thought and idea I have coming true, doesn't that just want to make you stay silent in happiness forever? I cannot lie in which I state that there are positives to this. This is heaven. This is the best time of my life.
Seriously, who would bless a man with this kind of ecstacy? It's not like I spend every toiling moment wishing that there was a sort of counter balance to this. A person with the gift to make every thing correct and right, wish me away. I dare say, I hate it when the days are short, and the nights are long.
I am convinced there is no god. There can't be. Right? I say this not with some sort or prudence, or slight egging to keep my fleeting sanity within check. I know there is no god. No god would allow this to happen to a person, right?
No god would make it so that every waking moment of a mans life is blessed with a heavenly glow that one can only dream of the gates of hellfire to pass the time. Every, waking moment.
God would do that.
A monster wouldn't though.
---
I write sad stories for sad people r/MaeserkIsLeftHanded | 2021-05-21T01:43:36 | 2021-05-21T00:09:49 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] You are a cat. Contrary to what people think you do love your human. Unfortunately the dog has read one too many pro-dog writing prompts and thinks you're some evil being out to enslave the human. | Boris is his name. He is my dog. We share a human named Jack.
Jack has big hands and blue eyes. He fed us well. He gave hard and satisfying scratches.
He always took Boris out for walks as the sun rose and set. I used to perch against the window as I watched their stretched shadows faded and eventually reappeared.
Then, late at night, as the city slumbered, jack and I left the house. I hid in his black coat pocket. We visited a new home. He left treats in different parts of the house and I found them quickly, quietly, bringing the fish flavored stones to him outside, in exchange for more treats.
Do you love this game? Jack asks me as we walk home in the darkest part of the night, right before the dawn.
I look at him and want to tell him that it isn’t a game. I know what he is doing. I don’t love the game. I simply love him. I purred and closed my eyes, listening to the jewels rattling in his other pocket.
Jack opens the door. Boris, the hound, leaps into his arm, almost knocking him over. He quickly changes his coat and takes the dog for a walk. Together, they walk in sunshine.
After jack leaves for his day job, Boris corners me by the water bowel. We rarely talk so standing in his shadow feels foreign and intimidating.
I know what you are doing. He says.
What? I narrow my cat eyes.
You are stealing things. You are going to get jack into trouble. His breath is hot against my whiskers.
Me? Why do you think it is me?
Because you are a cat.
And I have the power to make jack take me to other peoples houses, know exactly what jewels they have, steal them, hide them in jack’s coat - all without him knowing?
Yes! Jack would never steal things. He is good. He is good. Woof! Boris’s silver splashed across the floor. Or is it his tears.
Poor dog. You love him too. Just as I do. We both do silly things for love. My love Inches him toward hell while your love is his salvation.
Jack doesn’t come home that night. Eventually, a few police men comes.
The house is empty. No more food. No more jewels. No more Boris. They shout him. He died for love. I, on the other hand, lived.
In the edge of sunrise and sunset, I see their shadows fading and reappearing. The door does not open.
Until it opens.
Jack comes Walking in the door. He looks different but the same. Compares to me, he looks so young. Time is not a concept i know but when he tells me he has been gone 7 years, I suddenly understood.
7 years. It is just a part of the man’s life. It is almost all of a cat and a dog’s life. This is why we love so intensely- we do not have time not to.
I close my eyes, rub my face in his hand, enjoying his scratches, and finally let go. | "Ugh this creature has been staring at me all day, I really wish he had something better to do while Stephen is off hunting. Not like he will bring anything back, he never does. That's why it is my responsibility to make sure he has *something* the it's absolutely stunning how evolutionary deficient these creatures are. He always loves my gifts for him, he has never not put them in that kitchen bag where he puts the rest of his food for later."
Lilly the overly concerned boxer-mix jumps from the floor at the first sign of Oscar's movements, making sure never to leave the traitorous feline unattended
"Surely he can't just be brooding over this master plan for this long right? Something does *not* feel right here. god I wish we never got that enclosed box for him. I wonder just how far down that thing goes it has to stop at some point right? the only logical thing for me to do is completely destroy it so that Oscar's can't run off to his lair next time we confront him about the schemings. Oh boy Stephen will be so proud of me!" | 2019-12-13T15:41:49 | 2019-12-13T13:16:32 | 64 | 11 |
[WP] You have existed since the dawn of humanity. In a way, at least. Once a simple tribesman, you were cursed so that whenever you are killed by another person, you leave your dead body and become your killer. You fear death by natural causes, as that will end your life for good. | I screamed as the knife plunged into my chest. The heavy weight of my attacker held me down, suffocating me as I struggled in vain. Not yet! I didn’t want to die yet!!!!
I blinked and then stared down at the bloodied corpse of the young blonde socialite I used to be. Rich, beautiful and young, she was everything I had ever wanted to be.
A guttural string of curses left my mouth. I threw the knife in my hand and it clattered across the floor. My former life, so sweet and fleeting, ruined by a mere run-of-the-mill serial killer.
I stood up and walked over to the dilapidated bathroom mirror. I was now a middle-aged man, gaunt in the face and soft in the belly. I must have lived at least twenty lives similar to this lowlife. I punched the mirror in frustration, cracking it.
It has taken me so long to get that body. Hot young murderers don’t just appear overnight! I had been stuck in prison for years, switching between prisoner to prisoner before finally baiting a cop into killing me and getting the hell out of jail. Then I had to trick a prostitute into poisoning me, seducing and having the child of a rich man and raising that child with hate until she finally killed me.
I rifled through the serial killer’s belongings. Jed Adder, 57 years old, an alcoholic and deadbeat, mooching off his late grandmother’s pension. I opened the fridge. It seems I wasn’t his first victim. My stomach grumbled at the sight and I gagged.
Of all the murderers in the world, I hate serial killers the most. Nothing good ever comes from taking over a serial killer. I cracked my knuckles. Whelp, no choice but to go shopping.
I fished out my old cellphone from my corpse’s purse.
___
Being a cop again wasn’t too bad. I was slightly more in shape and I knew I could at least count on my aim in a pinch. The shootout hadn’t lasted long, just enough to jump in front of the bullets.
My wife Jaimie was nice, a warm woman who juggled the household chores, her job and our rowdy kids. I could tell the former Officer Hayes didn’t help out much and the dumbstruck surprise on her face when I did something as small as wash the dishes almost broke my heart.
Our kids too, eight year old Thalia and twelve year old Jake were funny and rambunctious. Thalia wanted to make a movie and Jake helped her out her visions together in cardboard and markers.
Maybe this wasn’t the life I had worked towards. Maybe I wasn’t the elite socialite I thought I wanted to be. But looking at this small family, I felt a sense of comfort that I had never experienced before.
But of course, life always had it out for me.
“Stage four colon cancer...” | It happened againg I am now my killer,I am an old man at least 89.I pissed off a mental patient.Honestly I am not sure what I will do now because I even though I have lived for millions of years I don't know how to get out of a mental asylum,also I have the body of a frail old man.The first time I discovered my curse I was an ape,you know an ancestor,I was the next up to be the leader of my tribe but my brother was jealous so he killed me with a spear and I became my brother,so i literally know what Stone hedge was used for,if you watched the good place they said it was a weird sex thing,it was a weird sex thing.Anyway I don't know if I should be scared of natural causes I have just been pissing people off all the time and then they murdered me,when I got to old that is.Now I am in a straight jacket and there are guards everywhere.Maybe I should just except death. | 2021-01-28T15:17:58 | 2021-01-28T15:16:07 | 1,990 | 21 |
[WP] You hear a knock at your door. When you open it, you find your archnemesis sprawled out just past the threshold, battered, bruised, and very clearly only hanging onto life by a thread. "Sorry. It's just ... I didn't know where else to go" they mutter as you look down at them. | “Sorry. I just…. I didn’t know where else to go.” I stared at the man, who was so much more than a man. A god in flesh. Near invulnerable. So righteous. His costume, in tatters, blood slowly seeping from wounds. His breathing is heavy, heartbeat is rapid. Not dying, but his healing, which was always prodigious, had slowed. Something new, or something very, very old. I’ve not seen or heard of anything that could do something like this. It was a sight I’d always hoped to see, but at my hand, not… someone else’s.
Helios. The hero with the power of the Sun. Broken like a shattered lamp.
I step out the door, looking around, then pick the man up by his ridiculous cape and drag him in. He grunts in pain, but no other sound escapes. Well, he’s still tough, I’ll give him that. A bit more gently I set him on the Lazy Boy in the corner, and turn the TV down.
I could snap his neck, tear off his head with a flick of my wrist. It would be easy, I’ve never seen him so tired, so out of sorts. Not even after our week long battle in the volcano.
No, he came here. To my home. Homes were… well, not sacred, not for monsters like me, but for heroes? You just didn’t go after one in their house. It broke the rules that no one ever read, but always knew to follow. That he risked this, here, meant something bad.
“Beer?” Helios blinks at me, then nods. There’s a little less fear in his eyes, now. He knew the risk he was taking. As much as I called him a stupid moron, he wasn’t. Just the shit talk of the game. I guess I should come up with some better invectives next time we fight.
I set one cheap can of beer down next to him on the stand, and crouch to get a good look at him.Yeah, already healing. The cut on his head is scabbing over already, though the sheeting of blood across his face isn’t going anywhere. His breathing is better, his heart isn’t racing anymore. He opens it, and clinks it to mine when I offer. We drink. He drinks his fast, like a man dying of thirst… or someone needing some alcoholic lubrication to comprehend what he’d been through.
He takes a deep breath, then says, “Desolation, I-“
I thump my tail on the hardwood and raise one set of claws to interrupt him. “Drink. Get cleaned up. Talk later. Unless you can guarantee this won’t end in us trying to kick the shit out of each other.”
He fell silent, the perfect teeth clicking shut. See? Smarter than he looked.
“Shower’s down the hall, to the left. Don’t hit the yellow button, that’s the acid wash.”
It’s about thirty minutes later when he comes out of the bathroom, back in costume. Costume has been scrubbed a bit, and he looks more like his old self. Looks more like the god I fight every few weeks, and not the weak human I saw on my porch.
I offer another beer, which he takes, and opens it. I open mine, and he takes a slower sip, this time. Considering, weighing. I can’t help but lash my tail in excitement. The monster in me, maybe. I want to tear this man apart, but there’s the other thing. Something managed to do what I was supposed to do. What I’ve been wanting to do for so long. Break Helios. There’s a new Apex Hero or Villain out there, which means I’ve got a new target. I can’t help but grin, showing my fangs to Helios.
“Now, tell me all about who kicked the shit out of you. Because that’s my job.” | “Sorry. It’s just … I didn’t know where else to go” I heard the hooded figure on my porch mutter. “If you kill me xan you just make it fast?”
I lean down and pull his hoodie back noting his bruised and battered face. One of his horns had been completely snapped off and was bleeding profusely.
“You’re the demon prince.” I said. “Who was even able to hurt you?”
“My father.” He coughed out. “Who else? Can you just end this now?”
“The clerics say demons are evil.” I recite while reach for my magic. “ That they all need to be wiped off of the Earth for us to prosper.”
“Yeah…” he replied glancing apprehensively at the magic in my hand.
I let the magic pour into him healing him of his wounds. “Lucky for you,” I said with a smirk, “I think the clerics are full of it.”
He stared at me surprised. “But, why? Your grandma is the grand cleric. You should have just ended me.”
“You act like you want to die. I saved you. You could at least say thanks.”
“….thanks.” He said staring at the floor.
“Come on.” I replied, “you can sleep on my couch. The magic can only do so much. You have to rest to.”
Arxus, his name, took my outstretched hand pulling himself up. He sullenly walked to my couch and put his head in his hands. “ I don’t understand you Lucas. Your a hero. I’m a demon. What the hell?”
“I think we are the same size. I’ll get you a change of clothes.” I said ignoring his question. “We can talk tomorrow.”
As I walked back to my room I thought. I couldn’t figure out why I helped him but I knew I couldn’t just leave him there. | 2022-06-29T09:55:57 | 2022-06-29T09:20:58 | 484 | 88 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | "I'm going to hide in the shadows and prepare for a sneak attack," said Mark.
"Alright," said the GM. "I need you to make a luck roll."
Mark picked up three D6, shook them in his hand, blew three times for luck, then gently rolled them across the table where they bounced around for several seconds before stopping with a six and two twos face up.
"Ten," said the GM, before turning to his notes and his campaign book. "Mark, I've got your luck score as 10, correct?"
"Yeah," said Mark, nervously, "is that good?"
"It's not good, but it's not bad, either," said the GM. "The doorman and a taxi driver do see you in the shadows, but neither of them is concerned enough to do anything. Okay, John and the succubus are approaching. Make a perception check now, please."
"Perception? What for?" asked Mark. "I already see her! Shouldn't I be making an agility roll for the sneak attack?"
"Roll for perception, please, Mark," sighed the GM.
"I don't know why I'm rolling for perception," said Mark. "That bitch is right there in front of me."
"Just roll, please," said John. "Come on. You're my only hope now."
Mark grumbled some more but picked up three more D6, shook them, blew, rolled them across the table, then groaned when they came up two fives and a six.
"Your perception is only 8, isn't it, Mark?" said the GM, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah yeah," said Mark, "so now what? Does the succubus see me?"
"Now you can roll for the sneak attack," said the GM.
"But he failed the perception roll," said John, puzzled. "What does that mean?"
"Just roll for the sneak attack now, please, Mark," said the GM. "You've got five rounds loaded into your revolver. How many will you fire?"
"How many *can* I fire?!" asked Mark, angrily.
"You can fire all five rounds if you'd like," said the GM.
"Then I'm doing it!" shouted Mark. "For John, and the rest of the party!"
"Okay," said the GM. "For the sneak attack, I want you to roll five D10, one for each round you're firing."
Mark grabbed up the five, oddly\-shaped dice, and shook them inside his hands.
"Come on, Mark, you can do it," pleaded John.
Mark blew on the dice then almost threw them across the table.
"A one, two 5s, a 9, and a 10," read out the GM, as the dice stopped moving. "Your first round misses and flies over John's head..."
"Wait?! What?! My head?!" cried John. "What the fuck?!"
"What do you mean 'John's head'?" cried Mark. "I'm aiming at the fucking succubus that's *controlling* John!"
"No," sighed the GM sadly, "you failed your perception check, you only *thought* you were attacking the succubus. So, your first shot missed, two of your shots hit John in the shoulder," he gestured to the two 5's, "and your last two shots strike John in the back. John, can you make a Fortitude roll, please?"
"No! Fuck this!" screamed Mark, standing up and throwing his chair backwards.
John, resigned to his fate, picked up three dice, shook them, then tossed them on the table without looking. The GM read out the result then reviewed his campaign notes. "A three, and two fours. Good roll, John. In spite of being shot four times you find the strength to climb the steps to the front door of the hotel before collapsing." He rolled two D10s himself then referred back to his notes again. "Unfortunately your wounds are very serious, and you will succumb to them before help can arrive. So George, Paul, and Ringo, you'll have to continue without John."
George playfully nudged Paul. "And here I was thinking it'd be you that would die first." | "Okay, with the guards on the wrong car, he's got a few less people protecting him!"
"Rad. He's approaching the Mostar café. Čabrinović, you were next in initiative because Mehmedbašić fell asleep and Ilić had to go home for work tomorrow, so your turn."
"I activate and throw my bomb."
"That's. a... mis- oh for fucks sakes."
"What?"
"Your Stupid Lucky feat. In the event of a miss, the attack has a chance of happening to another enemy adjacent. I should have placed the cars a bit apart from each other. Fuck. Okay, the bomb rolls under the car, and blows up the car BEHIND your target. Franz is spooked, bloodied, but has radioed guards to get you."
"Can I swallow my cyanide pill? Also use my move action to jump into the river"
"You can try. Roll a d20. I'm not sure what check it'll be so let's say DC 10"
"9"
"You fail to be poisoned... Actually, that was a decent roll, and as I hadn't planned for it... And no, Stupid Lucky doesn't apply if you're attacking yourself... You take the cyanide capsule. You're not dying, but you feel queasy. The river water isn't helping. It's the Archduke's turn now, so he reaches the nearby mayor, and complains loudly before his wife tells him to chillax. Let's roll his next route and... Oh for fucks sakes, Lojka doesn't know about the change in plans."
"Can I just shoot him on his way back?"
"sure, princip."
"Crit."
"Fuck. Roll to confirm crit."
"There."
"Fuck. Okay, so you hit him (and his wife) in the jugular veins. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand remains upright, the Count asks him if he's alright, to which the Archduke replies "Sophie, Sophie! Don't die! Live for our children!" followed by six or seven utterances of "It is nothing.'. Congratulations, gentlemen. You have just started the First World War."
| 2018-05-29T08:01:06 | 2018-05-29T07:22:47 | 326 | 30 |
[WP] The hero is enjoying a day off thanks to a rare quiet night in the city. That is until the villain shows up to her door, but carrying an unconscious woman and looking distraught. “I saved her from a party....I know this is weird, but I didn’t know who else to go to.” | He stood there with rain dripping from the rim of his baseball cap. The hand on her gun tightened.
“What the hell?”
“I don’t need to stay. Just take her and I’ll leave.”
He shuffled under the weight of the woman’s body. Water dripped through the flimsy jean jacket covering her torso. If it wasn’t for the uncanny echo of desperation in his eyes she would have shot him in the face. His cheeks were flushed with effort.
“Drop her and back away from the door.” The words rolled from between clenched teeth.
He glanced at the puddle on the doorstep, “But the wate—“
“—Do it or take her somewhere else.” She drew her firearm but kept it pointed at the ground as a threat.
Panic surged through his face and he laid the woman down gently on the porch. His hands remained clear when he lifted them in surrender.
“Please, I swear this isn’t a trick.”
“Just keep your hands high.”
She bent over and gingerly patted the woman down. With her gun she motioned him to lean against the wall as she checked for weapons. He was clean.
*****
“Why the hell didn’t you just drop her off at a police station?”
By now they’d carried the woman to bed and she was safely tucked away in the guest room. She had him sit in the farthest armchair of the living room while she watched. Her gun lay beside her on the side table.
“Believe it or not I don’t trust cops to keep their hands to themselves.” He leaned forward and put his head in his palms.
“Look... It’s been a rough night. Just let me go home.”
“Tell me what happened first.”
He scowled at her.
“Is this to delay me for something? If I dare hear a police siren—“
“—You’ll what? Run?”
Her hand hovered threateningly over the weapon again. He flinched at the motion.
“Asshole.”
The anger in his face deepened, “I certainly won’t be around to help girls at parties anymore if I’m in prison.”
She sighed.
“Nobody’s coming.” Her hand returned to a place of neutrality, “Just tell me what happened.”
A heavy breath soothed him as he laid back and stared up at the ceiling.
“What is there to tell? Don’t pretend you can’t already guess what I pulled her from.”
His hand tightened around the armchair.
“Obviously you expect to hear the story of drunken rape? Roofied drinks between backroom gang bangs? By now that narrative of rape is practically a cultural icon. There are no surprises in human depravity anymore.”
Her eyes widened.
“Was she abused like that?”
“—No! No. I got her out of there in time.”
“What about the perpetrator?”
“What about him?”
“Did you deal with him?”
He raised his eyebrows at her, “What? Was I supposed to beat him up in some back alley? Roundhouse kick him while carting a full grown woman in my arms?”
“Ah.” She looked at him with an awkward silence, “I suppose not.”
This was the fourth time they had ever been in the same room together. She had never noticed it during those long, caffeine driven interrogations but his eyes seemed to betray a softness. He was more weathered than she remembered.
“Want to go hunt him down? Bring him in?” Her tone changed as she said it.
“Then what? Dismiss him for lack of evidence?”
He scowled again, “—No thanks.”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and returned her hand to its position over the gun.
“Maybe...” She hesitated and looked between him and the firearm, “—Maybe... we could try things your way?”
“Assassination? Are you crazy?”
“No! No! I just mean rough him up a little.”
He smirked and was already reaching for his soaked jean jacket.
“Really. I don’t know where you got the idea that I engage in such violence.”
The little chuckle he gave betrayed his delight at his own joke. She belted the gun and stood up.
“Where can we find him?”
He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He tapped the glass and showed her its lock screen.
“I’m just waiting on a call now.”
“From your contacts?”
He struggled to hide the look of pained disdain that now moved across his face.
“You really have no idea how crime operates do you?” He pointed to the distasteful picture displayed as the lock icon, “This is his phone. I stole it. I am waiting on his friends to call his number for him.”
Her eyes stared blankly at it.
“So... You’ve had this all planned out from the start?”
“Well— I didn’t exactly think a *you* were going to join me, but yes.”
She rose her eyebrows and regarded him with a sense of awe and fear. Something nagged at her consciousness.
“Let me use the restroom before we go.”
“Sure thing.”
In the privacy of the tiled bathroom she hastily scribbled a note on a piece of toilet paper.
*If I go missing, suspect number one on the Quinton murders (recently at large) is involved. My cell gps records tonight will help you find him.*
She signed it and wrote the date before tucking it behind her toothbrush in the cabinet.
It was time to break the law.
**Very happy with this so far. Still new to Reddit. I’ll consider building on this. | “So we meet again -”
“Move, this is isn’t a joke.”
I observed my arch nemesis carefully laying down a woman on the floor. I silently pull out a minuscule dagger I kept at all time in my sleeve. She wasn’t going to get away with it.
“Are you framing me ?”
“Framing you ?” She turned, still kneeling down, only to find herself in front of my glorious weapon. “Oh put that away, this is ridiculous. Is this really how you look like suit less ? That’s really disappointing,” she added, looking at me up and down.
I sat down on the nearest chair, still pointing my blade toward her, and took a spit of my beer. “Kimono are in season,” I threw on a defying tone. “You don’t look great either. Now give me one reason not to kill you right now.”
“I need your help.”
I burst out loud. “Do you know who needed help ? Those poor employees of the bank you robed not later than this morning. There’s no way I’m helping you.”
I watched her as she gently whips some blood off of the woman’s face. “This is my wife,” she muttered in a broken voice. “And I’ll have you know I’ve never hurt anyone, I’m just stealing, there’s nothing wrong with stealing from the powerful. Last time I checked, capitalism was the bad guy.”
I frowned, surprised of this answer. “Your wife ?”
“You have a problem with that ?” she exclaimed, throwing a dark look at me.
“Well no, I mean… I have nothing against… Well… You looked straight... But…”
“Shut up and help me.” A few tears had rolled down her face.
I resigned to get up from my seat, and knelt next to her. “What happened ?”
“We were at a party, and I went to the bathroom for less than two minutes. When I came back, she wasn’t there anymore. I looked everywhere for her, and I finally found her curled in the corner of the garden, unconscious and covered in blood. I don’t what happened.”
“And why not going to a hospital ?”
“Right, so the police can come get me as soon as I stepped foot there.”
I pushed my finger against her neck. “She has a pulse. Are you sure she completely unconscious when you find her ?”
“She awoke from time to time as we got here.”
I got up and clapped my hands. “Well then it’s settled. She got into a fight and probably received a punch on the head. She’ll be fully conscious in a few minutes.”
She gave me an unconvinced look.
I sighed. “I’m not a doctor, alright ? Look, you can spend the night here if it reassure you.” I yawned. “I’m going to hit the bed, big day tomorrow of fighting crime and spreading justice.”
“Are you really letting me sleep here ? Are you dumb ? What makes you so sure I won’t kill you in your sleep ?”
I raised my brows. “Dressed like that I highly doubt it. Good night sleep tight don't let the bedbugs bite.”
Iron Marx found herself alone in Super Offshore’s living room. She patted her wife’s shoulder.
“Did he buy it ?” she whispered, her eyes still closed.
Iron Marx smirked. “Yes he did. What an idiot.” | 2019-05-20T23:26:29 | 2019-05-20T22:43:17 | 958 | 72 |
[WP] After being placed in the wrong circle of Hell, you have to file a complaint through Customer Service. | “Thank you for dying, this is Cindi with Hades Customer Care, how may I help you?”
“Hi, uh—hi Cindi. My name is Evan. I have a problem with my booking process?”
“Can I have your customer number?”
“I… don’t have a customer number. We get customer numbers?”
“Do you have your reservation number?”
“We get reservation numbers..?”
Cindi’s silence was withering.
“Spell your last name and give the location and time of your death, please.”
She spelled his last name back incorrectly twice.
“It says here that you died on Addison Lane.”
“Addison Road. That must be an error, I’m sorry.”
“It says Addison Lane.”
“Right. It’s incorrect. Does that matter?”
“Sir, I’m just trying to help you.”
“Of course, of course. I apologize.”
“How can I help you?”
“I think I was assigned to the wrong place.”
“Sir, we have no control over who goes to Heaven—“
“Oh no. No no. I mean, I get why I’m here. I think it has to do with the unbaptized thing? I mean, we weren’t really all that religious, but… well. I just know I’m not in the right place. Can you check for me?”
“Hold please.”
Evan heard the clatter of a keyboard in the background. It went on for several minutes while Cindi herself remained silent on the other end of the line. He locked eyes with a minor demon behind him and gave a sheepish shrug when the demon tapped his watch. I’m sorry, he mouthed. Customer Care.
“Mr. Parsons?”
“Peterson.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mr. Peterson? Remember? We spelled it?”
“This says Parson.”
“…are you sure you have the right account?”
“I could verify it if I had your customer number, sir.”
“I don’t—uhm. I’m sorry. I didn’t know we got customer numbers. Can we check the address again?”
“On Addison.”
“Road, yes.”
“This says—“
“Oh my God—”
“Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you not to speak to me like that. I’m just doing my job.”
Evan gritted his teeth and dropped his forehead against the pay phone.
“Evan Peterson. Addison Road. It’s in San Diego, California. Sunday the 11th, 2:03pm,” he trailed off. “I was going to my niece’s birthday. It was raining.”
More clicking. Sorrow welled in Evan’s chest as he listened.
“And what circle of Hell are you currently residing in?”
“The fifth.”
“Heresy? And you’re sure you’re not a heretic?”
“What? Of course I’m no—no. Anger.”
Cindi paused pointedly.
“And you’re sure you’re not angry?”
Evan sighed heavily. He tried to do a meditation thing his exgirlfriend had taught him to be less reactive in stressful situations. Evan did not feel like breathing through his bellybutton, but he made sure to smile when he replied.
“No ma’am. I think there’s been a mistake. I belong in the first circle.”
“It says…”
Evan groaned as quietly as he could. The demon behind him sighed audibly.
“Cindi. Ma’am. Could you please just check? Maybe I’m under a different record?”
Cindi clattered on her end of the line, like tiny boulders rolling down a hillside.
“Evan Peterson. Addison Road. Sunday at 2:03.”
“Yes!” Evan exclaimed, pushing away from the wall and pumping his fist a little. He grinned at the demon, who looked unimpressed.
“It says here that you’ve been assigned to the first circle of hell, Limbo.”
“Yes! I knew there had been a mistake! Can you move me, please? Cindi, you are amazing. I would appreciate it so much.”
“Hold please.”
More tiny boulders tumbling down the hillside. Evan held a finger up to the demon. Just one more minute, thanks.
“I’ve moved your assignment to the fifth circle of hell, Anger, at your request. Thank you for calling Hades Customer Care, it’s been a pleasure serving you, please hold for a short survey and have a nice afterlife.”
The line went dead in Evan’s hand.
| "Please hold. An agent will be available to help you soon."
Celine Dion began playing.
This *was* Hell.
Satan, or Hades, or whoever was the CEO, CFO, SOB of this place, had terrible organizational skills, or else hired all the wrong people. The sorting method for new arrivals was long, and tedious - as if Hell itself wasn't? - and by the time I got to the front, eight of the nine intake agents had gone for lunch.
A century long lunch.
There were codes, batches, reviews I didn't understand. I always knew I was going to end up here, but was expecting more of a "stand around forevermore". Maybe find a guy? A new group of friends. Learn to cheerlead. I wasn't expecting the eternal queue. My personal Hell.
At long last, I was placed... in the wrong ring. Don't get me wrong, I belonged in almost every one. A con artist, violent, full of fury, but the 6th Circle was not for me. Heresy? What the Hell even was that? But somehow I got stuck here, with what could only be described as the anti-bible-thumpers, who were somehow even more annoying than the real thing. We were in *Hell*. Obviously this shit was the real shit.
Celine Dion kept playing as I reflected on my predicament. I had plugged the pay phone with my freckles to get service, and the damn thing was starting to beep like it expected more. I didn't know what I would surrender next - my hair color wasn't going anywhere.
"Please hold. An agent will be available to help you soon."
Son of a bitch! The music had faded out and given me false hope. I was halfway through a stream of obscenities when the call connected.
"Satan's Service, how may I help you?"
"Yeah, I'm in the wrong place," I complained.
"We'll have to transfer you to Sorting for that."
Fucker! Before I could protest, the call was disconnected, and I was offered a new round of elevator-esque tunes for my listening pleasure.
"Please hold. An agent will be open to assist you shortly."
At least the message was different this time. | 2015-04-03T11:53:01 | 2015-04-03T09:53:56 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] In a superhero-supervillain story, you’re the hero’s love interest, and as such, the villain keeps kidnapping you as leverage against the hero. However, an unfortunate complication has arisen; having spent so much time with the villain, you begin falling in love with them. | It was always a surprise when the next villain came to New Memphis. The city brought all sorts to its streets: the powered gang bosses, the deranged lunatics, and even the odd kid who just wanted to pick a fight with the the city’s greatest hero. Andrea Ashworth met all of them.
Still, she had to admire this one’s style. It usually wasn’t her fault, whenever she got kidnapped. That blame fell squarely in the corner of her long time on again, off again boyfriend, David Foxworthy, the famous Swordsman of Institute fame. He was the one who released her identity to the world as his girlfriend, and though it had been flattering at the time, she was kind of sick of being kidnapped every other week, held in some dingy cell as bait for her boyfriend. This villain though, he at least was polite about it. She certainly appreciated the effort he put into it: The Flowers, the gifts, and the five minute warnings he sent every time he took her were very much appreciated by the 23 year old business major.
She took precautions, she certainly wasn’t stupid enough not to. She had an alarm, which held a direct line to her boyfriend, but whenever he was in a mood, or they were on the outs, she could spend days wrapped up in some Coalition scheme, just like she assumed she must have been now. The Phantom Thief Scarlet, who terrorized the banks and private vaults of New Memphis every couple of months had sent her a message right after another blowout fight with David, informing her of her ensuing capture. She had hit the alarm, but knowing David it would take him at least a day to man up and come after her.
So here she was, riding in the seat of an admittedly very well furnished hover car, on her way to who knew where. Not for the first time, Andrea wondered what the Thief’s endgoal was. He never stole anything valuable while she was captured. In fact, every time he took her, he brought her someplace nice. Once an art gallery on the upper end of the city, one she had wanted to see with David, when he was too busy with his work to come with her, another time to one of the finest restaurants in the city. He seemed intelligent, he certainly was witty, and he was a great conversationalist for a super villain. But still, she wondered if it was all a distraction, a plot to hook in the Institute once again.
Andrea’s train of thought was interrupted, as she was shaken from her musings by the hover car touching down wherever it was she had ended up. The door opened, and standing there, in a Crimson Red suit, His devil shaped half mask covering his dark Arabian skin, was the famous thief himself. “Would you like my help getting up Princess? I know that was a longer ride than usual.” He reached out a gloved hand, and, as she always did when he came to visit, she took it. “It’s lovely to see you again Andrea. We haven’t had an escapade like this in what? A month?”
“Two.” she replied, using his proffered hand to help herself up from her seated position. “I was wondering when you’d come back. Imagine my surprise when I found a small box and a note on my desk this morning, saying you’d be calling on me.”
“Did you like the Necklace?” The Thief replied, as they walked down a long, red carpeted hallway. “I got it for you as a gift. I think it matched your eyes perfectly.”
“Can I ask where you stole it from? I assume it is stolen. After all, it is what you do.”
“No actually. I bought it. Just like I buy everything I give you. I may be a renowned thief, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have some scruples.”
“Oh. I’m sure you did,” Andrea replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Next you’re going to tell me you paid for the fancy dinner you brought me to last time you kidnapped me. And that the Tickets to the Cosmopolitan Gallery weren’t stolen from some flighty little heiress in some Penthouse uptown.”
The Thief laughs, and turns to her as she walks. “I’m sure you always wonder why I kidnap you when I come to town. Why I never tie you up, or try and fight your boyfriend. You’re not as stupid as the media makes you out to be.”
He pauses, and for a moment Andrea swears he almost looks nervous. But after that moment, he seems to steel himself, his normal bravado reinstated. “I gather you think my motives are less than pure. Doubtless you thought I was using you as a cover for a prize far greater, some jewelry, or art piece worth millions. And I’ll admit, when I first met you, for we have met before, that unfortunately was my original motivation. But I found you to be special and thought you deserved better than what that lout of a boyfriend could offer you...”
Andrea was just starting to tune him out, expecting this to be just another villain monologue, but this time something stopped her. This didn’t sound like a normal monologue, in fact it sounded like...”Wait, hold up. I’m sorry, before you go any further with whatever speech you have prepared, I just have to ask. Is the infamous Phantom Thief Scarlet, scourge of police and hero’s the world over, asking me on a date?”
He stops his speech abruptly, and, in almost the exact same moment, his face seems to turn red, as if with... is that embarrassment she wonders. When he laughs this time, it comes out much more nervous, and strangely more genuine. He almost seems to slouch slightly. “Actually yeah. I kinda was. It’s stupid, I know, but...”
“Yes” Andrea says, surprising the both of them. “Yes, I’d be happy to.”
-I would welcome any comments on how y’all think I did. I enjoyed writing this prompt. It was a fun one | I should definitely not be doing this. Nope. This is *not right.*
As I make out enthusiastically with my sort-of-not-really-boyfriend's rival, I think that maybe I shouldn't be doing this. Maybe there is something else in this world that I should be doing, like screaming in fear and shock or maybe kicking him in the nuts- but no.
I am making out with the man who, just a few short moments ago, claimed he was going to kill me and bring my head to Captain Brawn. However, I knew that he would never *actually* behead me. He's a nice guy once you get to know him... and he just likes to mess with Brawn. I mean, it's not like it's hard. The guy takes everything so seriously- completely unlike Abigor. At first he was kidnapping me to annoy Brawn, but then- he revealed this to me after the fifth or sixth time -he did it because wanted some company.
After that kidnapping, I stopped being scared and started to really work on getting my Stockholm Syndrome to kick into high gear. As it turns out, I think I may have a thing for kidnapping... I don't mean that, I was kidding.
"Abigor- Abigor," I manage to groan out when he suddenly picks me up off the chair he was pressing me into, "stop, we can't." He tightens his grip around my thighs and I gasp, completely- totally accidentally -arching into him. He chuckles, low and sexy.
"You know you want to." He replies, his deep voice really striking the best sort of nerve with me. God, when did I fall so hard!? This isn't right! I can't be in love with this blue demon spawn with horns and stupidly gorgeous looks and an amazingly hot body!
"I know!" I reply, frustrated. "But we can't! What if Brawn walks in?" Abigor makes a face.
"Stop bringing him up all the time, it's annoying." He captures my lips again and I melt into him involuntarily as he carries me easily to some other part of his lair. I wrap my arms around his neck as he chuckles. "See," he breaks away for a few moments, "you don't want to stop."
"Again, of course I don't." I peck his stupid, stupid, perfect lips. "But you know how Brawn gets. Plus, imagine what the city would think if they knew!"
"What would they think?" He asks as he turns off into his room. I sigh.
"You know what. They don't know you like I do." He drops me to his bed, and I bounce slightly. He climbs on top of me and silently kisses my lips, trailing down my neck. I love every second of it- and every small ministration, because it just proves to me that he cares -but I stop him. "Abigor."
"You know, Crystal," he sighs, returning to my face and hovering over me, "you talk too much." He grins when I pout. "Stop worrying, sweetheart. We'll deal with it." He leans down and gives me one lingering kiss. "I love you."
"I love you too." I say. He continues on his merry way down my neck, and I succumb to his touch as easily as any other woman would. And, trust me, it's easy.
Maybe it's not right. Maybe I have it wrong and what I'm doing is all kinds of messed up... but I don't think I care anymore. Abigor isn't fake, he doesn't hide from me when times get tough, instead he seeks me out and kidnaps me... okay, maybe that isn't really all that great, but whatever! It's how we function, screw off!
And yeah, Abigor may be the villain in the story of society, but, in my heart, he's the hero. | 2019-07-22T13:24:53 | 2019-07-22T13:11:54 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight. | She didn’t cry out. That’s what I remember most; she simply looked down at my rapier, thrust with a clean riposte, stabbed almost supernaturally good, just under her second rib, the tip just barely touching her heart.
She looked up at me: “But why?”
I stared her down. “The duel is to the death, Princess,” I hissed, my face a rictus of rage that only she could see, “and I had no intention of marrying you. Not after you killed three of my brothers in their attempt to court you.”
Blood crept out the corner of her mouth. Her heart was weakening, I could feel the beat stutter through my sword as I slowly pushed forward.
“I...am the best. They...knew the arrangement-“
I twisted the blade slightly. Her breath caught, and her heart jumped.
“You were never the best. There are people, who fight far better than you, who I learned from, that didn't need to advertise their mastery. A true master doesn't need to be hailed the best like a common whore. The arrangement you set, to dissuade those who would bother to woo you for themselves, never applied to my brothers. They were here to ask for your hand, true, but not for them. For my people. We were about to be invaded. We needed the resources and help of your kingdom to survive. After your king deemed us expendable, they believed the only way to get the help they needed was through you. Nobody expected you to kill them, even after they had thrown down their weapons, in cold blood.”
The princess blinked haggardly. She knew she didn’t have long, and she knew her opponent was excellent. With the blade still inside her and my body hiding the stance, the spectators thought we were merely locked. But still, she had to know.
“What...happened?”
My face, calmed from my now certain victory, regarded her with an icy stare.
“We lost. My family were tortured and killed. My mother and sisters raped, and left broken, naked, in pieces. My people? Much the same. But I alone, on the way here to plead for your help, was spared.”
Her eyes fluttered, gaze lowered. The trauma and blood loss of the preceding battle was getting to her. I tightened my grip on my sword and adjusted my thrust. The agony that must have caused shot through her face, her eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream. The spectators were quiet, now more confused than anything.
“They didn’t stop there. My people, innocents, sold into slavery. Killed by the thousands. My lands, salted, pillaged, burned. But I alone survived. So here I am. The last of my family. And here you are, the very last of yours.”
I looked into her eyes.
“It seems fair recompense, does it not?”
I knew from the start I wasn’t to survive this, but it gave me grim satisfaction that the princess, her barren father, and their entire dynasty would end by my hand, just as my family met their end by hers.
With a single stroke, I buried my blade to the hilt through her torso and twisted. The tip flashed silver from her back, with a gush of blood that began to stain the back of her armored form.
As the spectators began to scream, and the guards rushed to my position in the arena, polearms ready to skewer me for my actions, I found myself surprised.
The sword had glided through her heart exceptionally smoothly.
Like there was nothing there to cut.
—-
Boy, that got dark quickly, huh? | “Princess, there is one last contestant who wishes to face you in trial!”
The princess looked up, carelessly tossing aside the bloodied rag she had been using to clean her blade. Behind her, a wooden cart dragging away the remains of the previous combatant. She gave the stranger a curious look, then shrugged it off, slowly striding up to him. Perhaps it was the long, dark robe, or the ragged fiber mask, certainly astray from the usual broad, shiny, heavy, and often restricting regalia worn by most nobles and princes with whom she had fought before. No, this man seemed humbler, almost frightened. This did not worry her, however; if the man’s attire was offsetting it was as much indicative of an untrained peasant or forest dweller. So she stepped up to him, raising her saber to a ready position.
“Draw thy blade, sir, and if thou taketh from me this blade and cut from my neck this stone thou shalt receive my inheritance and in marriage my service.”
The stranger reached deep into his cloak and pulled from it a worn, ragged straw doll, with eyes of dried berry and long, messily braided vine as hair. He spoke in a deep, but soft voice, which seemed at its sound to enact a brief flash of excitement in the princesses eye.
“Princess, I desire naught to fight...”
She looked at the doll for a moment, then cast it aside, and quickly thrust her blade to the stranger’s neck, barely breaking skin.
(Part two comin by tomorrow sometime >:3) | 2020-09-20T23:25:01 | 2020-09-20T20:45:52 | 32 | 21 |
[WP] You're throwing a ball around with your dog and he's loving it. Then, he stops dead still. He takes a quick sniff and looks up at you and says "I'm not supposed to do this, but you need to get inside right now". He looks off into the distance, "They're coming".
Wow, was not expecting this, thanks for the silver:) and the gold:)) | I didn’t process that Lucky just spoke to me at first. When I heard those words, my focus was on the ‘they’re coming’. I have no idea what he may be talking about-we lived in a peaceful neighbourhood, I had no enemies, no history of being abused or targeted.
I glanced around quickly, to get an idea of what he might be talking about, and I suddenly hear barking from several dogs all throughout the neighbourhood. Suddenly, I felt a sharp tug on the hem of my trousers, and looked down to see a tiny ball of curly fluff angrily pulling me in. “Don’t try to find it! Get inside!”
...and it hit me. This tiny ball of fluff just spoke words. He spoke words at me, like a stern and frightened parent. And he knows something I don’t-and possibly no one else does.
I follow him as he runs inside, where Tom, my usually lazy cat, walks up to him concerned. “Oh god, it’s happening today?”
“Yes. Get in the basement. Now.”
As I ran behind them, my head was spinning with questions- how can they talk? Am I hallucinating? Is this a dream? A prank? What is happening? Who are coming?
We all scurry into the basement. Tom finds and turns on the light switch, and turns to us. “We should be safe here, for now.” He paces back and forth, muttering. “I knew it would come, but jesus. You never think it comes on the day, huh?”
Lucky nods gruffly. “Hold on, I’m getting a transmission,” he quickly climbs up the basement flight of stairs and starts barking apprehensively. We hear a couple of distant barks back, and he turns to us with a sigh of relief.
“Okay, so we do have some time,” he says. He turns to me, wide-eyed and alarmed. “Yeah, so we can talk. Sometimes, though.”
Tom turned to me. “Yeah. Sorry it didn’t come up earlier, but yeah, we do understand, process, and even think in human language. But we can’t always talk.”
“And not to just anybody,” Lucky nodded in agreement. “When they do speak, pets can only speak to their owners and family. So you’d be able to understand myself and Tom. But when I was barking to my colleagues outside, you could only hear them barking.” He paused. “So far, all we know is that there’s an ominous presence that’s descended upon us.”
“We suspect it’s the Hurricane,” interrupted Tom.
“Now, this is just a hunch,” Lucky reassured Tom. “We’re not actually sure.”
“Wait, hurricane?” I whispered, not wanting to be found out by my family talking to my pets in a basement. “There’s no weather report alerting us of anything. For that matter...” I frantically checked the news on my phone. “Yeah no, there’s no alerts or warnings of anything in this city.”
“It’s not something humans can detect,” said Lucky. “Animal companions, especially us, can detect the presence of supernatural disasters and events. That meowing and barking is the alert system and protocol we have in place. You know how, whenever we’re in a neighbourhood-“ Lucky turns to Tom and nods knowingly “us DOGS, anyway, it’s not Tom’s job...we want to get out and meet everyone, travel everywhere, get all up in everything?”
“You’re...expanding your network with other dogs in the area?”
“You got it. Dogs take on the Scouting Role. It’s a way of expanding our network and ‘signal-boosting’ the community so that we can track things like these across several communities.”
Tom nodded. “We have more of a Clerical Role,” he explained. “We patrol the house, know and alert people to the presence of strangers, especially in parts of the house they shouldn’t be in.”
“So that time you peed in the bathtub after my friend used it-“
“Well, yes,” Tom said uneasily, clearly embarrassed. “That’s a notification system of sorts. Tagging it for reference.” We gave him a look. “Look, I know it’s not very efficient...or hygienic...or considerate...but it’s what nature gave us. Humans work with the brain they’ve been given for better or worse, why wouldn’t we?”
I blinked a few times, trying to process that my talking cat justified peeing in a bathtub to me. Sighing, I let it go. “So what is the great Hurricane?”
Lucky’s expression dropped to a serious one, and Tom let out a sigh. When you have pets, you can detect certain ‘facial expressions’, and the closer you are, the more expressive they seem. “Basically, you know how in a human-animal relationship, you both continually learn and teach each other new things?”
“That’s every healthy relationship,” I agreed, “but yeah, go on.”
“Let’s say every time you learn something, you store it in a personal library that only you know. Because you’ve seen and learned it. No one else can access it like you do.”
So animals aren’t exactly neuroscientists, but they understand the concept of memory. “Sure. And the hurricane...destroys that library in some way?”
“For humans and animals. So everything you learn about animals through your own animal, you forget- mutatis mutandis for humans.”
“So that bathtub example,” said Tom, “You just learned that it was a tagging system that was based off of instinct, and refined to be organized and only used when necessary.”
“Peeing in the bathtub was necessary-?” I asked, when Tom kept pushing through. He did NOT want to talk about it.
“ANYWAY...what that Hurricane would do is mess not only that up, but that whole part of the library up. Like...what other things do you store near that part of the library?”
I thought about it. “Maybe signs of nervousness and anxiety? Excessive grooming, territoriality, guarding of food and drink, bladder inf- I mean, pain and discomfort when you need to pee...”
“Okay, so...that part of your library gets all messed up. You could find it, but it would be harder. Say, for example, you came home tired, or drunk, or crying, and you found that I’d peed on the couch. You’d have a harder time finding this information, and you’d be mad at me for being a little shit a long while before you find those library entries.”
I nodded. “So...what do we do now? Do we sit and wait? Do we go upstairs to grab supplies and hide out for two weeks?”
“It should be over in a little bit,” said Lucky, narrowing his eyes and scanning the outside. “About...40 ball throws?”
“He means five minutes,” nodded Tom.
“What happens?” I asked. “So does this Hurricane wipe EVERYTHING out?”
“Well, it depends how long you’ve been exposed,” said Lucky, doing the doggy version of a shrug. “If you’ve been outside this whole time, you could lose EVERYTHING. Even our names.”
“It usually goes from the most recent memories and works its way back,” said Tom. “So if we were to leave at the last moment this hurricane does, we’d forget this conversation ever happened.”
(...and I’ll have to continue this later. I’ll continue this later. Peace!)
Edit: First of all, holy Toledo Batman! Thank you all so much, holy shit I really thought this would get buried. You’re all so supportive and awesome, and I can’t thank any of you enough!
So unfortunately, this next chapter is over the word limit, so I’ll have to reply to this comment with the next chapter. So just in case, the link should be riiiiiight...[here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cdl9p3/wp_youre_throwing_a_ball_around_with_your_dog_and/etxuf0t/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app) :) | Nicholas stopped, looked down towards his dog Rex, unable to process what he just heard.
Rex: *Digging a hole by the door* “yeah I get this is probably confusing for you but if we stay out here, we will die.” *picks up a brown leather bag from the hole* “take this”
A speechless Nicholas grabs the brown bag from his dogs mouth and looks inside to reveal a Mac 10 submachine gun.
Rex: *growling while staring off into the distance* “it’s not for you, give it to Mittens”
Nicholas: *as both Rex and himself walk inside* “um who’s mittens?”
Rex looks at Nicholas’s cat 🐈 named “Mittens”
Rex: *looking annoyed* “Mittens!!! He knows, now stop wasting time, we have a situation?”
Mittens: *sits upright and bends her paw towards her self sarcastically* “wow must be pretty big for us to blow cover, we’ll chap, what tis the dealo? A 4? Owe maybe a 5?”
Rex: *with a straight face* “NO............it’s a 9”
Mittens: *visible shocked* “mate, we don’t have the resources available here to deal with a 9”
Rex: *jumping up on the kitchen counter and grabbing a steak knife in his jaws* “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice, now Nick give your cat her submachine gun so we can stand a chance.”
Nicholas: *still stunned, hands Mittens her Mac 10 as her adorable paws fit perfectly around the trigger* “um....... what’s....... what’s a 9?”
Mittens: *staring daggers at Rex* “you didn’t fucking tell him?”
Rex: *jumping down from the table and motioning for everyone to follow him us stairs* “I didn’t have time, I just found out now,”
Everyone goes up stairs as Rex and Mittens begin barricading the downstairs door.
Rex: “animals are given numbers, if they rise up against earth to claim it for themselves it’s called a ‘Situation’ most in the past have failed so few animals even try anymore.”
Mittens: *smiling at Nicholas* “it was actually you mad lads that have whipped out most of the other competition, fucking humans, the second best at the game and they don’t even know they’re playing”
Nicholas: “so what numbers are cats and dogs,”
Mittens: *amused* “well actually t......”
Rex cuts her off
Rex: *staring back at Mittens* “it’s not important”
Nicholas: “so what’s a 9?”
Rex and mittens look at each other.
Mittens: “Komodo Dragons 🐉”
Nicholas: *confused* “WHAT? How? Why? When? They are secluded on a small isolated island in Indonesia? How could any let alone a wave make it up here to rural Canada?”
Rex: *putting the last board on the door* “they are many, most live underground. They will engulf the world in flames”
Mittens: *putting down her radio 📻* “the Eagles and Geese will be on their way in 5 min for evac, we need to get to the roof”
[Thud] [Thud] [Thud] [Crack]
Mittens: *pulls out her Mac 10 and aims it at the door which is beginning to break* “This won’t hold............... close the door behind me” we can’t let them through”
Rex: *growling* “NO..... WE ARNT LEAVING YOU”
Mittens: *laughing as she uses her claws to cut the bindings of pillar, making it crash between herself and the others* “I punched my ticket love, now get Nicky to the roof”
Rex and Nicholas begrudgingly flee upstairs and begin to climb up into the roof.
[meanwhile back down stairs]
[THUD]
(BACK IN BLACK FROM AC/DC starts playing on the downstairs radio)
Mittens: *smiling* “HA REX DID LOVE THE CLASSICS”
A single Komodo broke through the door and lunged towards Mittens. Mittens jumped up with lightning speed barely slipping out of the beast jaws. Facing her gun downward she unleashed a burst of bullets straight into the monsters mouth killing it instantly. Mittens with her head on a swivel dives into the mouth of the dead Komodo as more rush through the dead remains of their comrade.
Several Komodo Dragons make it to the top of the stairs and are confused by the locked door.
Mittens: *jumping up from the remains of the dead Komodo she was hiding in* “Ha gotcha” *holds down the trigger unleashing volleys of bullets at the ambushed Komodos*
After gunning down several more Komodos her gun clicks empty. However she takes the smoldering hot barrel and jams it into a rapidly approaching Komodo. She and the other Komodos watch in horror as the approached Komodo chokes to death on a boiling barrel.
Mittens: *exhasted, looking at the Dragons with her claws out* “WHAT ELSE YOU GOT????”
All the remaining Dragons lunge at once. Mittens cuts the throat of the first one, wraps her body around the second and claws the eyes out of the third until the forth gets in a lucky bite that takes her arm off.
Mittens: *in agonizing pain* “AHHHHHHHH”
Mittens backs herself into a corner, with one good sharp paw left. She looks past the dozen of dragons she has killed and sees the ocean of grey lizards surrounding the house. But when all seem lost...... she hears it....... the Squak of Canada Geese and American eagles 🦅. The reinforcements have arrived. | 2019-07-15T16:16:42 | 2019-07-15T16:06:06 | 162 | 53 |
[WP] God meets up with another life/world creator.
God (or whoever you think created life and the world) meets up with a creator of another world and its lifeforms. | It was Friday night. Which to me, means Poker night. To most people it's nothing special, maybe time to unwind after work and get drunk, but its when me, Yyrsthrak, Obin, and Deerman (not his actual name, I can't pronounce it and neither can Yyrsthrak) meet up for a game of high stakes Texas Hold 'Em. I'll admit, Texas is pretty fucked up. But holy shit do they know how to play cards.
Anyway, so I was hosting tonight. Last week it was Obin. He always throws a good party, plenty of food and drink. And he has this caste of priests who still sacrifice animals to him. They taste like chicken, which I have determined is the universal standard for good but bland.
Yyrsthrak is the first to show up, he always is. He's a pretty chill guy, looks like a blob of slime but that blob of slime has a mean poker face. Obin looks like a scorpion had sex with a spider which had sex with a snake. A fuckton of legs, scales, and a stinger on the ass. He can't bluff to save his life, but is a lucky son of a bitch. Deerman looks like a, you guessed it, deer with arms. Ten fingers too, on each hand. They're really long and thin, but super dexterous. He can deal faster than you can blink, but never cheats. Or, we've never caught him cheating and we don't *think* he cheats, but to be honest he could probably be switching out cards all the time.
Me? I'm Yahweh. God. Not Allah, to be specific. That Mohammed was just a nut. I mean really, marrying a nine year old? Anyways, whatever you want to call me, I'm the Judeo-Christian supreme being. Jesus is hanging out with Paul and Michael, so its just me and the guys tonight.
We start sitting down and Deerman starts dealing. There *should* be a language barrier, but because we're all gods, well, you know. Its kinda a non issue. We aren't betting money you understand, because it has no value. Instead we bet natural disasters, inventions, that sort of thing. The ante is a Tidal Wave or the equivalent thereof. Obin's world doesn't really have oceans per say, more of just a lot of small lakes. Its really cool to look at, or it would be if it weren't surrounded by hyper-aggressive aliens. I'm a little worried about what will happen when the humans finally meet up with the Obinites, but then again the humans are pretty aggressive too.
Next comes the banter. It's my favorite part of the night. I casually toss a Great Awakening into the pot, and Yyrsthrak sucks in like a human would suck air through their teeth.
"Ooh, big man tonight. Whatcha packing Yahweh?"
"Oh nothing much Yyrsthrak, but you'll have to toss something big in there to cover that."
"Ah come on, you guys have already had like, four Great Awakenings. That's worth maybe an Industrial Revolution."
"Don't be ridiculous" Obin interjected. "That's like one New World. Tops."
"Yeah, you're right." I replied.
Yyrsthrak tossed a New World into the pot, and Obin thought for a moment before raising him Space Travel.
"Big spender!" Deerman smirked, before calling Obin's Space Travel with a laugh.
I don't know what they have, but I have a six and ten of clubs. Deerman flops, and I keep my expression carefully neutral. He put out an eight, a nine, and a jack. All of clubs. I scratch my chin, before tossing in Mathematics. The rest of the gods looked dirtily at me.
"Oh that's just pathetic. Mathematics. Please."
I roll my eyes and toss Advanced Physics in on top of it to mollify them, and signal to Yyrsthrak that it was his turn to bet.
He threw in a Great Flood, which took the rest of us aback quite a bit. I looked askance at Obin, who looked back at me. Then all of us looked at Yyrsthrak.
"You hiding something in your hand there buddy?"
Yyrsthrak just grinned and said nothing. His gelatinous face gave nothing away other than what he wanted, so I was forced just to rely on judgement. Obin grumbled and tossed his cards in, folding. I think carefully. I'm one card away from a straight flush of clubs. A Queen or a Seven and I'm as good as gold. Yyrsthrak makes a gargling laugh as Deerman follows suit. Now it's just me and Yyrsthrak, who has returned to a structured neutral expression.
I call, to his and everyone else's surprise. Deerman shrugs and burns a card, followed by a fourth street. A Queen of hearts. I decided to stay in on a hunch, and threw a Cult Following into the pot.
Yyrsthrak laughs and follows suit with a Industrial Revolution, which I follow with a Beneficial Mutation, which he calls.
Then Deerman burns the final card and puts out the river. A seven of clubs. I check, and Yyrsthrak follows suit. He puts out his cards, an ace and a four of clubs. He grins, a flush.
I grin back, and put out my cards. His face falls, and he groans out loud. I laughed and took the whole pot, as Deerman starts to shuffle.
Its good to be a god, but its better to have friends. | The two take a seat at Odin's dinner table in the great feasting hall of Valhalla.
"Aldafoor, it is good to see you my old friend"
"Jahova, it is always nice to have you in my halls! What has brought you here this day?"
"You have done well, high lord of the Aesir, you have always done all I've ever asked of you without question..."
"Your word is my hand, you know this and it will be so until ragnarok take me, why are you troubled?"
They both drink of the mead. Jahova moves his robes and shifts uncomfortably in the great chair, leaning closer to Odin, his great beard shimmering with light only a god could emit.
"My old friend, I fear that very day may be upon us... You have always been closest to me throughout these long years. I've entrusted you with the thunder forge to create men and beast alike upon this earth and you have done well, standing my brother all the while."
God's face is weatherd as much as one would expect from the oldest being in the universe, wrinkled and wise beyond all measure. A look of worry hidden behind crystal blue eyes.
"I am afraid the end time is upon us.. Lucifer has gained more support over the years than I was hoping. As you well know, sin is quite popular amongst our flock down below, the wager is one I am losing. Souls go to him at a ratio of nearly 1000:1 and I cannot change anything...He has even gotten to Anubis and Vishnu.."
"My old friend, do not worry so. Anubis and Vishnu too have come to my table to express worry and doubt upon the plan that Lucifer has shared with them! A plan to overthrow the high kingdom, they have told me with confidence that upon the final days of men, they stand at your side and defend the golden gates with you! When you created them to help you create the earth and heavens, they did so without question, leading their peoples as you told them, just as I have, as brother and most loyal friend!"
Odin's word was true, for God was beyond being fooled. He saw the strength of thousands of years of endurance upon his old friend's face and it was good to see, but yet God was still troubled for Lucifer has grown too powerful, feeding on the souls of men.
"Your words bring me great joy Aldafoor, joy I have felt draining in these past few years. My people are sick down there, sick with sin and full of hatred. The wager with my brother has taken it's toll and I am the one to blame for making it! So foolish I was, filled with omnipotent ego, I failed to see how myself stepping out of daily life would hurt them so....they are left with only free will, and they choose him time and again!"
Jahova's glowing face seemed to dim only for a moment as a single tear escaped his wrinkled face, they both looked sadly upon the earth as his tear caused more death to those he loved above all others. The following monsoon would cause pain and suffering he did not intend.
Odin smiled, a wicked smile expanding across his face, a smile that caught Jahova off guard.
"You stand there the greatest fool of all, too weakened by your own commands to even notice that your oldest friend is none other than your oldest enemy!"
Odin's flesh began to rip and tear, from within emerged a face only too familiar.
"M...M..MORNINGSTAR!"
As Odin's form began to shift right infront of God's eyes, he stood, knocking the mead and table across the room, but was already too late, Anubis and Vishnu had already slipped the now empty tartarus around him, trapping him within.
| 2014-01-13T09:29:01 | 2014-01-13T08:55:03 | 70 | 13 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | This new generation of heroes didn’t understand the unwritten rules, the rules that were written in blood by their predecessors. They were reckless, with none of the caution or respect the old hands had. That got people killed, people like his minion, and best friend. Heroes don’t kill civilians, they don’t kill minions, and they sure as shit don't raid villains legitimate businesses, especially during working hours. Somehow the Plant Pact got it in their minds to do all three. It was a miracle only three people died. By the end of the day three more would be dead.
“What are we gonna do boss?” His only remaining minion, Jeremy, asked as the last of the first responders packed up and left. The ruins of his once vibrant corner store were cut to pieces, along with three people, only one of which worked for him, and the damn heroes were celebrating on the net. It was galling.
A familiar rage burned inside him, usually kept under tight control, hidden under a thick layer of playful mischievousness. That control was fraying. His superpower reflected emotion, amplified it, and granted power based on the type and strength of the emotion. If he just let go he’d spiral into a fury that’d leave him either dead or half the city burned, probably both. It was tempting, oh so tempting to just let go. Maybe if he was younger, or less experienced, or less cautious he might have, but he wasn’t like the Plant Pact. He refused to be. Instead, he let the rage simmer and smolder, on the edge of a flare-up, but controlled.
“We aren’t going to do anything Jeremy. You’re going to go home. Call your girlfriend over, and make sure you have an alibi. You’ll want one after this.”
“Are you sure?” Jeremy looked skeptical, of course he was. He’d only seen him lose, often in humiliating fashion. Never mind that he never got caught. He was a joke, a loser, an incompetent villain, more meddlesome than dangerous. Jeremy never saw him at his worst.
Jeremy was a good kid that got caught up in a bad business, he’d practically begged him for a job after every other villain in the city rejected him. He also was never good at reading between the lines, and never quite questioned why an incompetent nobody lasted as a villain for over a decade. He was about to find out.
“Go home Jeremy, and make sure to keep an eye out. You’ll want to see what happens next.”
He didn’t bother waiting for a response, hands already moving toward his phone. You didn’t go a decade in the business without making friends, and he had a favor to call in. Any decent cyber security specialist could find three teenagers bragging on a Facebook live stream, much less his old friend Grey Hat, one of the first people to ever manifest an internet-based superpower. He’d get a kill order for what he was about to do, but then again what proper villain didn’t have one? It was time he finally joined the big leagues. He only wished his dead friend was around to see it.
\*\*\*
The C-list hero's hideout was an abandoned warehouse in the bad part of town, only a mile from his place of business. He was a target of opportunity, a convenient mark for reckless do-gooders with an appetite for destruction. They said as much on what little he could stomach of their live stream. His phone was in ruins now, along with the tattered remains of his control. Good thing he didn’t have to wait anymore.
The battered door flew off its hinges with a flex of the arm and was tossed to the side like garbage, making a clamor as it rolled and tumbled to a stop. He wanted to melt the entire place into slag, but not before making sure they knew what was coming. He wanted to see their fear before the end.
“Oh shit!” Someone yelled, high pitched so it must be the lone woman on the team, Root. He usually didn’t touch women or children but there was an exception to every rule.
The three heroes shot out of their makeshift den, a couple of couches, a TV, and a large table in the far corner of an empty warehouse. They were quick to get into formation, to their credit. Their dark-skinned leader Stout Oak taking point, flanked by Root and Razor Leaf. What he couldn’t commend was their response.
“Calm down guys it’s just Diet Sprite. What’s he going to do, tickle us to death?” Stout Oak said.
Root and Razor Leaf snickered in response, both visibly relaxing. Stout Oak even had the balls to point his phone at him, no doubt still recording. He was part of the night's entertainment after all, might as well give it to them.
“I always liked the name Sprite you know? I named myself after the trickster fairies of legend, more out of an ideal than anything. It was a great state of mind to be in, always fun and playful, never serious. I wanted to stay like that forever, and with my power I could have.”
“Can we skip to the part where you swear undying revenge and then get beat up? This isn’t a movie.” Stout Oak interrupted.
Sprite smiled thinly, a fake transparent thing. “You’re right, it’s real life. In real life heroes die when they fuck up.”
As the last syllables left his mouth, he moved. Rage lent his limbs an incredible strength, the painful burning almost pleasurable. He grabbed Razor Leaf's arms faster than he could react and twisted. The pop of bone and ripping of muscles made the fire inside flare, like new wood to the fireplace. Something inside him fed on the pain, enjoyed it. It made him stronger.
Someone was screaming, it might have been him, as roots burst from the concrete. He shared some of his rage with them. The air shimmered, the concrete near him glowed and the giant roots vaporized, leaving not even ash. His eyes met Roots, he could see the fear reflected in the thin woman's eyes like fire, the fearful poignant moment of clarity, of understanding. The next moment she was gone, erased in flames.
Something hard and wooden cracked him in the back of the head, sending him stumbling but undamaged. He was too angry to be hurt. Stout Oak was twice his size and still growing, turning into more of a titan of wood than a man. Even amid his rage, he shook his head.
“What possessed you to turn into wood against someone like me?”
Flames crawled up Stout Oak’s giant form, burning great gouges into his wooden flesh. The man-tree roared in pain, as it turned to char, but didn’t die. Not yet, that would be too easy. The man had to suffer.
He turned at the sound of boots on concrete, Razor Leaf was up and running, clutching his broken hands. He was always the most dangerous of the three, able to control leaves and make them as hard and sharp as steel. Unfortunate for him that he required his hands to direct his power. That’s a weakness any supervillain would exploit.
He almost casually picked up a piece of broken concrete, courtesy of Root, and tossed it at the fleeing man. Razor Leaf almost made it to the open entryway before a rock the size of his head tore through both legs. There was screaming but he ignored it as he surveyed the scene, happy with the destruction but not satisfied, not yet.
An eye caught Stout Oak’s phone, somehow undamaged despite their brief fight. Perfect. The phone was still streaming as the chat went nuts. A couple more minutes and it was sure to be shut down, but for now he had their attention. He panned the phone around to the dead and dying heroes, before switching it around to film his face.
“You may know me as Sprite, a minor villain. I wanted things to stay that way, I never wanted to do this but they forced my hand by attacking my business and killing my customers and employees. Let this be a lesson to you all. Do not fuck with me, or you will burn like these three.” He smiled at the camera before switching it back around.
The cheap metal sheeting of the warehouse warped and contorted from heat, as the concrete underfoot bubbled and roiled. The phone in hand was hot but still functional as the warehouse began to collapse. He embraced the heat, the pain, and the rage, as his power built into a crescendo.
“You can call me Infernum.” | "Oh they've done it this time," I clench my fist in anger.
Ever since that night, I've never liked those who act as if they're so self-righteous, but I never really cared for this whole system up until today. It's all over the news, the almighty hero, Grandis, raided a suspected corrupt business.
"There has always been something suspicious about this business, sadly, I didn't get to meet the boss," Grandis said on the news. With that, I left the scene.
I barge into the supervillain headquarters and fill up my gears. Never having trained in the magic sector, I'm well-versed when it comes to physical fights.
"Never thought these nullifiers would come in use," I mumble to myself as I load them in.
Before leaving, I went to the archive and pull out a map under the sector "Grandis." It's a map of his whole headquarter. I take a picture of it and upload it into my watch.
"Ey, where are ya goin Dolofonos?" a fellow colleague asks as I head out.
"Grandis's headquarters," I answer shortly before leaving. I heard that same colleague trying to stop me, but by that point, the door was already closed and I have gone into the shadows.
I never take myself seriously and will mess up on purpose, but this time, I don't have any room to be my usual playful self that messes up in missions.
&#x200B;
Slipping into the headquarters, I take out a janitor and change into his uniform. I scan his face with my watch and replace mine with his, that way, no one will suspect me. I push the now out-of-it janitor's tools and act natural, it will only be a matter of time until someone finds his body or until he wakes up, until then I need to create chaos.
Suddenly, everything becomes a big commotion and staffs gets busy...ah yes, it should be about time when Grandis walks into the headquarters. I quickly bring myself upstairs and using the janitor's card I made through most of the security. Once I've gotten far enough, I abandon the tools and change back into my assassin uniform. While all of this happen, a commotion suddenly erupted in the floor below.
"Geez," I roll my eyes, putting up my mask. I look into the hallway, which is the one that can get me into Grandis's office. Just as I thought, CCTVs and motion detectors, but I don't see any traps surprisingly.
"Quite the confident hero," I tell myself as I shoot a bug into the CCTVs, causing it to malfunction long enough for me to get through.
Hacking my way through the door isn't all that difficult and once it's opened, I made my presence known.
"Well hello there," I say nonchalantly, playing around with my hand gun.
I saw one of the staff try to call the emergency button but I shot at his hand, causing him to move his hand back. I saw another one reaching for a gun then proceed to point it at me. I look at her with and shot her using a non-lethal bullet twice on the shoulder and on the head, causing her to pass out.
Then one by one, the staffs gather their weapons and point them at me.
"I was going to ask you all to just leave, but it seems like you decide to do this the hard way."
&#x200B;
"Grandis, you have another patrol in three hours but until then, please rest up in your office," the manager say as she looks at her tablet.
"Got it, I'll see you later then," Grandis waves goodbye to his manager. "These damned supervillains, causing so much trouble for heroes, bah."
Opening his office's door, he sees an unwelcomed guest.
"Why hello there, I don't remember inviting a supervillain into my office," Grandis nonchalantly says, "nor do I remember my staffs all passed out when I left."
By that point, I have finished knocking out his staffs. Normally, they would be killed but I don't have a grudge against them, it's Grandis.
"Well perhaps you should've attach more security to avoid getting uninvited guests," I twirl my dagger around, not even giving Grandis a glance.
After a short period of it, I end up looking at him, who by the way is glaring at me. I sigh and slid my dagger back into it's socket.
"Okay, I get it, you want to know why I'm here, yes?" I give him a cold look, "Long story short, you decided to raid my business and injure my innocent employees. I may be a villain, but I care about them."
"Aha! So you admit that the business is indeed corrupted," Grandis points out.
"Just because a supervillain owns it, doesn't mean it's corrupted," I sigh, "you heroes are so annoying sometimes."
Grandis hears just about enough and tries to power up, but at that moment, I raise my tranquilizer at him and shoots a nullifier, hitting him at the right spot. With that, his magic dies down.
"Wh- what...." Grandis looks at his hands confused of what just happened. I take this chance and leap across the room to smack him in the face and kick him down.
Now Grandis might be quite dependent on his magic, but he's still physically strong. Easily throwing me off, he charges at me. Although....his big and muscular body does make it easy for me to predict his movement which allows me to easily tackle him to the ground.
"You're powerless against me, Grandis," I mock him, "you're too dependent on magic that when it's taken away from you, you become pathetic."
That enrages Grandis and he gets back up to try and push me to the ground. I got out of the way and pull the trigger, causing live-ammo to pass right through his right thigh. I then proceed to pin him down and inject a paralyzer.
"I hope this becomes a lesson you'll remember Grandis," I lean down to whisper to him, "don't fuck around other people's business without launching a proper investigation."
"If you mess with my employees or colleagues, you mess with me. Remember that." | 2022-11-29T07:52:34 | 2022-11-29T04:09:55 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | "D-rank villain" Buttsoup McJames.
My title always put newbie heroes at ease.
"Don't worry," commanders would say and throw me a wink. "He's only D rank, so this should be a walk in the park."
Commanders knew I was a hero putting on a show, but they didn't know the full truth. If they did, it would blow their minds: I was none other than legendary hero Buttsoup McSteve.
"S-Should I use a fire spell?" said a fledgling mage.
"That would be an excellent idea," said commander Bicycle Joe, "if we'd been in open terrain. This old warehouse would catch fire immediately. And given that there are no water mages in our party ..."
The fire mage retreated into her robe as an archer stepped forward. "For the Pendh Ingnaim Association!" The archer quivered as he fumbled for an arrow from his quiver. As he was about to release it, I demonstrated my aerobics routine.
"H-He's too fast!" said a paladin.
"Better prepare your healing magic," said the commander. "Seems he's up to no good."
As far as newcomers go, they weren't too shabby. Sure, they'd never be able to take on an actual D-rank villain, but that was why I was here. They needed practice. Confidence. If only we'd had this sort of system when Abby joined the association, then maybe she'd still ...
I pushed that thought to the back of my mind where it belonged. It wouldn't do me any good to go back to that dark place. Not that I needed the focus right now. How would these guys fare in a real battle? With hindsight, it amazed me that we used to send newbies straight into real combat.
Right as I settled into my trademarked pelvic thrusts, the room burst into fire.
"Dammit mage," said the commander, coughing. "I told you not to ..."
"What mage?" It was a deep, solemn voice. "You mean the one under this rag I stepped on?"
As he lifted his foot, something squished. A bloodied robe with indiscernible body parts oozing from it emerged, right where our mage had been seconds ago.
"Becky!" cried the commander.
"Jessica!" cried the rest of his party.
A hard-featured man in a red cape stood before us, guffawing. There were no two ways about it. This was a villain. A real one.
"Stand back," said Bicycle Joe. "You kids better stay safe. After all, I'm the only one here wearing a helmet."
Hope glistened in the eyes of the newbies. Their battle-hardened commander would make quick work of this villain. As a C-rank hero, he was sure to make him him suffer.
As he stepped forward, commander Bicycle Joe suddenly found himself with a fireball-sized hole where his face had been. "Fireball," said the villain belatedly, making some hand movements that admittedly were pretty cool. The commander's sizzling corpse fell to the ground with a thump. "Oh," said the villain. "My rank is A. Did I forget to mention that?"
The paladin rushed over to the commander, casting every spell he knew. Unfortunately he only knew one: poison cure. It didn't help.
I let out a sigh. "Guess I better clean this up before more people get hurt."
The villain gave me the once-over. "And who, exactly, are you supposed to be?"
"B-Buttsoup McJames," said the archer. "He was just bragging he could make any other villain look like a loser."
Quick thinking, kid. Pitting villains against each other? That's C-rank material right there. I decided to play along with it.
"Indeed," I said. "But I'm not sure how I feel about fighting a loser in a cape. It's like punching a special needs kid, you know?"
Fire streamed around the villain like a fountain, only with fire instead of water. "What did you just say?" he said.
"I said I could beat you and I wouldn't even break a sweat. Check this out." I sent a couple of pelvic thrusts his way. He nodded approvingly.
"Fine," he said. "I guess I'll teach you some manners before I torch up the rest." Using his hands as jets, he flew to the middle of the room and cackled like a maniac. "I, Brimstone Bob, will be the end of you!"
The name hit me like a bolt of lightning, echoing in my mind.
*"I don't want you on that mission. It's not safe."*
*"Come on. It's not like I can't take care of myself. I can't keep relying on my famous brother for help, you know?"*
No. Not this memory.
*"I'm sorry, Mr. McSteve. There has been an ... incident. I regret to inform you that your sister ..."*
I felt sick.
*"Who was it? Who the fuck killed my little sister?"*
*"Please, calm down. These things happen. There was nothing we could do."*
*"Just give me the name"*
*"Bob. Brimstone Bob."*
I had been looking for this man for years. The man who killed Abby.
"What are you doing?" said Brimestone Bob. "Having a senior moment, are we?"
I tore off the yellow post-it note on my suit that said 'James' to reveal what was underneath: 'Steve'. Buttsoup McSteve.
The remainder of the party gasped in between coughs.
"M-McSteve?" said Brimstone Bob. "Not *the* Buttsoup McSteve? But I thought he retired?"
"The only one who's getting retired here is you," I said, unleashing a dose of the sixth state of matter into his chest. A miniature black hole emerged briefly before swallowing Brimstone Bob up entirely.
I fell to my knees. "Abby," I cried. "I finally did it. I avenged you."
After that incident I decided to make a comeback. The world needed legendary heroes. Someone to look up. Something to strive for. The world needed Buttsoup McSteve. S-rank hero. | Its all about perspective. If the small folk knew about my true power, then even in a world filled with superheroes and supervillains I'd be called a god. Should the bean counters in World Hero Association Membership uncover the scope and scale of my design, undoubtedly they'd spend all of the budget on unnecessary countermeasures. Any villain with a hint of ego would come after just for the street cred.
So, why not take it easy and play it safe. Fact, if you're so unimpressive as a villian you don't even need a stupid villain name. To some it could be inconvenient to be known to anyone who reads the back pages of newspapers or trawls the hot prospect categories of Hero forums, but on the plus side you never need to worry about door to door salesmen or having your reservation bumped.
And if, and I mean a strong stout if, some up and comers get tested in ways they don't expect is anyone gonna complain? It's not like Photon Phantom would have learned they could be painfully refracted with a simple glass prism in a safer situation.
I'm not saying I should get a medal or a parade or anything. I'm not that up my own ass. I'm just saying, maybe don't try and horn in on my thing.
I mean come on, I got a thing happening here and I didn't invite you. And what's up with the name? "Anthrocide"? Sounds like a bargain bin roach killer.
*Why are you talking so much-*
Hey now, I'm talking. You gotta wait your turn, Anthrocide. Ya know perspective matters a whole lot. I've talked to people who clamor for the glamour and fame the big capes get. But me, I don't want any part of that. In turn notoriety, well your kind, ain't got much of an appeal either.
*What are you doing-*
Oh so you're just rude? Just cause your a, a... hold on.
Just cause your a mass murdering sadistic piece of shit doesn't mean you can't have manners. But, whew what a shit zipper you are. You might not be able to see this but I'm getting the vapors right now over reviewing your history.
What's the end goal here? You don't seem to have some ideology or political goal motivating your path of pain. Just a run of the mill monster huh? Given a bit of power, a pinch of flash, a drop of pizazz and you decide it's best used to cause harm. I'm not impressed.
What do you have to say for yourself?
*What have you done to me?*
What have I done? Maybe you did this to yourself? Did you consider that? Storming into an active bank robbery and with intentions of killing the heroes and civilians. Your the one who melted dozens of cops and onlookers gathered outside as part of your big entrance
What'd those people do to earn an agonizing fate of turning into hot human soup?
*Stop*
Well that's not really an option.
See, well shit you can't see, light only moves so fast and once I sync'd you to me and went beyond that sight becomes something of an impossibility. Anyways here's the deal Ant, you're being punished now.
I've pulled you out of sync with reality, or well the only setting of reality your compatible with.
I've been touched by the universe, Ant. I'm what could be referred to as an avatar of the big bang. Universal expansion is kinda my thing. Now I've taken all that incredible power and used it to nudge you. Just enough to sync you up to me.
Physically you're no longer in that bank. Every fiber of your being has been pushed to a speed where you are out of phase with time and space by most standards.
It'll probably take a while before this conversation registers in that little noggin of yours.
But, don't worry I'm a merciful guy. You'll slow down, gradually. Within some months or years you fall back into phase with reality. All the while you can ruminate on your choices.
So long for now!
Supercede out | 2021-06-23T15:21:41 | 2021-06-23T13:55:53 | 50 | 36 |
[WP] There are a finite number of human souls. As the population grows, something else is filling the bodies. | I still remember the day when I began to realize that Mr. Gildren was different. I don't mean different as in dangerous, crazy, or disabled, but just different.
I was doing the same thing I did every day after being woken up by the Waker on our block. It was time for me to go around the city delivering everyone's mail like I did every day. I met up with John who was the same driver I had every day so that I could deliver the mail to as many places as possible.
I was lucky that I was able to deliver mail rather than having a job like the Waker where I wouldn't sleep much. I suppose it came from my mother, she was a Mailer herself and I had been lucky enough to be like her rather than a Mower like my father.
As I delivered all of the mail I noticed all the usual people that I saw each day, Ms. Rose washing walls on the houses, 4 down on our street of 20, the same as this time each day. I saw little Jimmie Baker cleaning up toys out of the yards, he would definitely be a good Cleaner someday. I continued seeing the same people and the same sights as every other day until I reached the last house on this part of town. Mr. Gildren's lawn was mowed and his car was clean, something that always confused me as Ms. Rose didn't live anywhere near him, there must have been a Washer that I didn't know about here.
Mr. Gildren hobbled out with his cane and met me at the car to get his mail.
"Hey son, why don't you come inside for a drink it seems real hot in there" he said.
John stammered "I need to keep driving, I can't leave my van", and seemed confused and surprised as I responded that I wouldn't mind having a drink.
I found myself stumped there when saying yes, when did Mr. Gildren become a Drinker, I don't remember seeing him supply drinks to anyone else before.
I walked inside with him and felt the cool breeze of his AC and followed him into the kitchen. He bade me to sit as he walked to his fridge to get me a drink. While he poured a cup I looked around and found myself feeling like something was wrong but able to figure out what.
"Whatcha looking at there son" he stated, interrupting my thoughts.
"I'm not sure, something just feels strange here and I can't tell what it is" I replied
Mr. Gildren's eyes twinkled a little there and he smiled before stating "You will know before you leave"
I found myself more than a little uneasy at this point and began chugging my drink down so I could leave to get back to Mailing as soon as possible. I had already been away from my job for too long and there wasn't anyone else to provide mail.
"What do you know about souls" Mr. Gildren asked in the middle of my drinking.
"It's supposed to be what lets us all do our job, having a soul allows each of us to be gifted with a skill to function in society" I replied.
Mr. Gildren grimaced before replying "Ah of course, the same thing everyone learns when they go to the Educators as children right?" "What would you say if I told you that would you have inside you is just part of a soul, and that long ago people could do anything they wanted because they had a full soul", he asked staring very intently at me.
I was lost and positive he was crazy at this point and I jumped up to leave. He looked disappointed by my reaction and I could feel his eyes staring into me as I walked out of the house, positive that I was going to mess up everyone's schedule by being late with the mail today. As I ran out the door and into John's van I couldn't resist looking out over my shoulder at Mr. Gildren as he walked out of the front door and watched me leave. As John drove away I made one last glace out the window behind me and felt my eyes go wide as I watched Mr. Gildren pick up a can of paint and walk back into his house before something clicked.
He had served me drinks which meant he had to be a Drinker. But he had also asked me questions making him an Educator. And now he was going inside to paint which would make him a Painter. He had more than one job than the young people I was raised with did.
And I was doing more than just delivering the Mail. I was Thinking.
**Please feel free to give me input, this is my first time writing anything for people to publicly read so I would appreciate all the help.** | Sayd looked up from his desk and clenched his eyes tightly, opened them, and tried to refocus on the tablet in front of him. The translation was a hard one, but long hours were never a problem for Sayd; ancient religious texts never gave up their secrets easily.
This tablet was particularly fascinating, one of the oldest yet found. As soon as he heard it had come to his university, his passion ignited, and he rejoiced when it came to his office. He'd almost wept. This was the kind of find that happened seldom in his field now. What little had survived from ancient times was either already found or buried under the foundations of our growing metropolitan sprawl. It was surprising this tablet was noticed at all, buried in the rubble and debris of a dump truck leaving an urban renewal project.
The content of the tablet seemed standard at first. Lyrical passages repeated like musical codas, concerned with a cycle of reincarnation. But it suggested at a seemingly platonic idea of learning, far before Plato's time. A constant cycle where old souls would be able to build upon the knowledge of their past lives and of the world of ideals. As more people were born, the faster souls would cycle through, the faster knowledge would build.
Very unorthodox for the supposed age of the text. He began to picture prizes and awards and - he gasped - funding. There was a great need to finish the tablet translation with great haste. What great fortune that it should come across his desk, he thought, before stifling a laugh at his own expense. Fortune was a superstition for the past, like all the stories he'd poured over throughout his academic career. It was easier to analyse these texts without a personal set of superstitions, religions, delusions as he thought them. He attributed
his great success to his inability to be swayed into a life of religious zeal.
The lyrical stanzas continued, changed a little everytime, a method of narrative construction that made these stories easier to memorise when they weren't able to be written down. But right now they merely tantalized and teased Sayd.
The last passage was difficult to say the least. The pattern had suddenly shifted and he'd been so tired he almost hadn't noticed. But there it was, a type of prophecy.
'The bodies of man will outnumber the souls of eternity. The empty vessels will continue, automatons, feeling and thinking, but faithless, stubborn in their lack of belief. They will never know the peace of religion. They will never know the love of a god. They will never know the blessing of eternity.'
Sayd paused. Frowned. For a moment, for some reason, he'd felt hollow.
| 2016-03-23T20:11:10 | 2016-03-23T19:42:50 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] Throughout a persons life, they are given a hidden guardian. A creature that watches over their lifespan. When someone is murdered, the creature haunts the killer. You have been found, murdered. And your guardian is loose. | *Mature themes ahead.*
______
I watched her grow up.
From the moment she entered this world, I knew she was mine to protect. The sweet, innocence that was hers was so pure. I realized that I was the one to guide her through life and help her realize her purpose in the world. She was a brilliant little girl, always being the imaginative of the group, always wanting to play just a little longer. I admired that about her. When her father died, I held her hand through his funeral even if she didn't know it. And as her childhood continued, I continued to be by her side. Her mother was a cold person; who never let her have sweets, or hang out with friends too often, or stay out past curfew. I had no control over that. I could only be with her at the end of each day, giving her warmth when she had nothing else.
I watched her rebel.
Her teenage years were some of the best. At least I think they were. Her mother, still cold and distant, didn't care if she stayed out late anymore, or if she hung out with friends. I helped her through her self-confidence issues; the times when she thought she wasn't good enough and would cry herself to sleep at night. I watched her suffer through bouts of depression and anxiety, hoping that she knew that at the end of each day, I was there, holding her tight. I helped her through her breakups with boys; the times when another person would make her feel little or ashamed. And I was there with all of her successes, quietly cheering her on from the sidelines; wishing I could tell her how proud of her I was. I was there when she prevailed over all of it. I was holding her hand.
I watched her become a young woman.
A young lady who prevailed over all of the problems of the past. The depression, the anxiety, the self-confidence and so on. She overcame all of it and became a beautifully smart girl. She got accepted to the best colleges, being forced to leave her mother even though neither of them really wanted to. They both knew they had made mistakes and they both knew they loved each other. She made friends with the right people in her first year at school. Not too crazy and not too shy. She was the imaginative one again, helping her friends as much as they helped her. I wasn't needed. Not for a while. But I still watched, and waited, and smiled; realizing that all along she didn't need me. She did it all by herself, every obstacle she climbed and every challenge she hurdled, she did on her own.
I admired her. I envied her. I loved her.
And I watched her die.
Unable to help in anyway. The man murdered her in cold blood. He took everything about her, the issues of her childhood, the problems of her past, and everything she tried to forget and he brought it back. I watched him take the sweet young woman I was proud to have seen grown up and brutalize her; emotionally and physically. I watched her legs go numb, her eyes grow heavy, and her heart grow cold. But I held her tight, the entire time, I held her. I tried to tell her that everything was going to be okay, that it would be over soon and she'd get to go home to see her family and friends. I told her I was there to protect her. I told her I would keep her warm.
And yet I failed. She died at twenty-two years old; more cold and alone than I had ever seen her. The man who took her life did not seem to care, but I did. I cared with every fiber of my being, with every warm part of my body, with all the love I could muster. I cared about what he did.
So, I watched him. I watched him do whatever he wanted to.
And I made sure that his life would not be one worth living. I made sure that as a Guardian to one who was murdered, I would have my revenge on the murdered. So I watched. I waited.
And I hunted him.
______
*Great prompt OP. If you liked the story above, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work.* | Ember crept through shadows in slow pursuit, there was no rush. Ember had all the time in the world.
Two days prior Tiffany went on a date and was found in a dark alley the next morning by a homeless man. The police swarmed the area looking for clues and trying to discern what happened. Detective Mallory claimed it was a robbery gone wrong and closed the case.
Ember had watched helplessly from the shadows. He knew it wasn't a robbery. Tiffany had been hunted down that night like a deer in the woods. The man tormented her and made her suffer. Ember would return that feeling one thousand fold.
The sound of garbage cans tipping over returned Ember to the hunt. Maybe he had cut the mans leg a little too deeply, Ember thought as he followed the trail of blood through twisting alleyways.
"Help!" the man's cries echoed off of cold brick walls.
No one would come to help. Windows were shut tight and eyes turned away. There would be no rescue in this part of the city. Ember stalked on all fours like a jungle cat. His shadowy skin vanished in the darkness. Blood filled his nostrils, he would bask in the man's suffering for a few moments longer before ending it.
The man crawled toward the mouth of the alley, his wounded leg dragging behind him. He was rambling incoherent words to himself as he tried desperately to escape. Ember thought of poor Tiffany and the way she begged. He bared his razor sharp fangs and bounded forward. He bit into the back of the man's neck and picked him up like a mother cat with a kitten. He tossed his head throwing the man backward into the alley away from the street.
"No, PLEASE NO!" He begged.
"Pathetic," Ember spat the words.
The man had soiled himself. The stench mixed with the metallic pang of blood was repulsive. Ember whipped a clawed paw forward tearing a massive chunk out of the bastard's neck. His body jerked violently and then lay still.
"Sorry Tiffany," Ember whispered as he stalked back into the shadows.
---
Thanks for reading! /r/Written4Reddit | 2016-06-18T07:27:22 | 2016-06-18T07:24:51 | 345 | 56 |
[WP] You are a traveler who reaches a city where powerful magicians exist. The stronger a wizard, the less other wizards can sense him casting spells. You start showing off some card tricks to the locals for some coins and realize that some people in the audience look terrified. | Mainly I get applause. That’s the most common response, although not my favourite. That position went to money, although it didn’t happen quite as often as I’d like. Sometimes there was laughter, even the occasional “ooh”, or “aah”. There was even, depending on the city, and the crowd, bored silence or taunts. I’d had it all. Or at least I thought I had, until now.
I was new to the city of Grana, a few days boat journey from the places I was more used to. Of course, being there for the next few weeks carried a pretty harsh death sentence, so I had figured I’d hole up somewhere a little farther afield, just until things cooled down. Did I have the money for this surprise trip? Not the amount I’d want, but enough. Besides, if you knew some card tricks, you can always shore up the gaps with some gambling, or some street magic.
Or at least, usually.
The hat at my feet lay empty despite the swollen crowd around me. That was strange in general, given the amount of people, but also because, despite the silence, everyone actually looked really impressed. They just kind of looked a little terrified too.
“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to break this weird tension. “I accept any denomination of coin. Big or small.” I nudged the hat for emphasis, and smiled as kindly as I could.
“You… You want coin?” Someone stammered.
“Of course? Why else am I doing this?”
Within seconds my hat was overflowing, people backing away from it with empty pockets, hands held up like I was threatening them with a knife. A strange as hell reaction, that was for sure. Still, not unappreciated.
I knelt to scoop up my prize before some greedy urchins could get tempted. From my vantage point, the first I saw of the only remaining spectator was their boots. They were very fine, made from the skin of an animal I’d never even seen before. Essentially, they were the perfect mark. If someone that wealthy wanted to linger, I’d gladly perform some more tricks. *Their* spare change would probably make my other earnings look like shit.
I palmed a few coins so it wouldn’t look like I had earned too much- people felt less generous when they saw your hat full- and straightened with a smile. “My lady,” I said, bowing deeply, wishing I’d palmed more coins.
“How did you do that?” She said intently. She wore a long, purple coat, form fitting and at least as fine as her boots. She carried an intricate wooden staff, although she wasn’t leaning on it, so it was probably an affectation, an accessory, more than a necessity.
“A magician never reveals his secrets,” I grinned. She didn’t smile back. Not a great start. I flourished suddenly, producing a card in my right hand. “But I’ll show you some more, if you have the time.” A quick click of my fingers and I ignited the corner doused with alchemicals for that very purpose. It went up in a flash, and I dropped ash artfully, like a chef garnishing a roast pig. It blew down a rapidly clearing street.
She looked amazed, but also frightened. “I couldn’t feel that. At all.”
“Well of course not. I’d never burn such a beauty as you.”
I knew I’d messed up the second I said ‘beauty’. Her eyes blazed, literally, and the wind started to pick up. I saw the staff start to glow and, as my skin started to crawl, I realised and *felt* what she was. An actual magician.
Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. “You won’t bait me so easily,” she said. “Is that why you’re here, to pick a fight? I won’t walk into your trap.”
“No, not at all,” I said, hastily, not sure what she meant. “I’m just here for money. I swear it.”
“You swear?” her piercing eyes found his. “Interesting. For one such as you, that can only mean one thing… The Hellnest Contract.”
The street was now fully empty. I was starting to realise that something had gone wrong, that I was over my head. Still, I hadn’t survived three death sentences and four arrests by admitting that. Until I had more information, I was going to pretend I was here for whatever kept her from frying me like I’d fried that card. “You’re sharp,” I said vaguely.
“What else would someone of your… impressive talents, be looking for? I’d considered it myself but, I thought it was suicide. Now, however, I may reconsider,” she said, eyeing him up and down. “If you’ll have me, that is. I think you’ll find there are more enough gems to share, and adventuring alone is tedious.”
*Gems*? *Plural*? I guess I’d been right about chump change. Whatever this was, she seemed capable. What she’d need me for, I didn’t know. I hadn’t gotten rich twice by admitting that out loud though. “Gladly.”
“Interesting. Well, come with me high mage, I know the Lord offering the contract.”
*High what*? I thought, as she walked away, down that road, now completely empty. I had a sudden feeling that 'over my head' was an understatement. | "Sir, you seem to have my missing card in your pocket there" I announced with a squint. The onlookers now peered at a man in the middle of the crowd they had not noticed before."I assure you I-" The old man stopped as his hand came to the pocket beside his lapel. His gloved hand pulled the black jester from it and he smiled. His tea stained teeth were one of the many demarcations of his wealth. "Oh my, well played indeed..."
The man blew on the card and it floated evenly into the deck in my hands. Only light sigh of power glided along my senses. "Though mere tricks, ofcourse" he smirked. Onlookers were unsure if they were allowed to cheer under such contexts, the crowd began to sink into the unease of a mage's duel. I broke the tension with a laugh.
"Ofcourse my friend!" I said with a shuffle and a wink. Charm, like any magical talent, is only as complicated as you make it. Why burden the forces of nature when a wit can cut just as deep. "Forgive my folly, I am merely a traveler on his way to Rohjark, would you do me the honor of your introduction?"
The crowd breathed in relief as he answered in formality "Captain of Law, Lord Desmond Hadry". He did not offer the slightest bow, only the curt turn of lip the highborn wear when addressing the lesser. I continued to shuffle as I moved, "Ladies and gentlemen we are honored here before us by the presence of the law, *do* *well to hide your hand as they sneak the pocket, lest he thwart your grasp and lock it*" I sang the last bit playfully.
Nervous laughter broke out, but soon turned to better impressions as the deck moved back and forth in my hands, like the blades of a fan and I with it, side to side. The onlookers now calm swayed with me. Not so much magic, just a bit of encouragement.
"Now, good captain, would you dare to meet me in a friendly wager?" I asked him. He noticed himself shifting ever so slightly but immediately straightened when addressed.
"Of what sort dear fool?" his interest piqued.
"Say I were to perform the trick again, could you stop me?" I challenge.
"Easily." He assured. The crowd chuckled.
"For 10 Platdents I say otherwise" I meet his posture.
"And if you fail?" he smirked again, this time with a potent arrogance due only to the highest of talents.
"I'll spend as many nights in your jailhouse." I propose to a horrified crowd.
"A wager met then..." His power twinged again as his defenses raised.
*Now Aldra* I thought out to my companion *Another transfer if you'd be so kind.*
***At the price of an other nights blood?***
*Yes old friend, a taste of my blood.*
"Sir, you seem to have my missing card in your pocket there..." I squinted again, shuffling my cards. The crowd rushed in to look.
The Captain's smile turned ten platdents heavier as his gloved hand reached to his pocket.
"How!?" He mourned sourly.
"Magic dear Captain" I smiled with innocence.
"Be out of my city by nightfall..." He warned as he handed me my prize.
"Ten scores with every step" I announced to applause, holding his riches above my head. | 2019-01-07T11:13:43 | 2019-01-07T11:06:26 | 21 | 13 |
[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.* | "Halt! State your business!" A scar-marked soldier blocked Chloe's path by wielding a mighty halberd and an even mightier scowl.
"Erm...well... I was invited, I have an invite..." She quickly produced the crumpled note she had found stuffed under her door, and attempted to read the hastily written-script to her current interrogator, "... I-Yam-ere Too keel-"
Chloe didn't know what had happened next, but it may have had to do with the blunt object that was levelled towards her head from the soldier she hadn't seen, and as she slumped over the guard remarked, "Bloody amateur doesn't even 'av a knife" as he hauled her away to the dungeons.
The room she awoke in was a farcry from her makeshift blacksmith tent; this place had a bed. As she sat up, a thudding pain at the back of her skull prompted Chloe to reassess her current situation, and a steady stream of panic started to bubble in her stomach; she was in a cell. The room had aquired much rot and decay from the countless souls left to suffer and die at the whims of the Grand Cardinal's new Laws, and now she shared that same honoured position.
A sound from the other side of the room compelled Chloe to shy away to the opposite side, and as she cowered down and leaned backwards, she felt the tough iron bars of the connected cell. She peered through the opening her fingers had left as they scrabbled up to hide her face, and noticed a small stone lightly spinning as if it had just been thrown.
"Don't make a sound, and just listen to what I have to say," a low hushed voice said into her ear from behind. From the other cell.
As she launched herself away from the voice in fear, Chloe turned to see the very same woman she had seen two nights ago: her very first customer. The woman had asked her to create a very simple sword but with her own iron, a request that would've piqued any blacksmith's, above apprentice-level, suspicions immediately. Chloe was trying to make a new start, and was more than happy to oblidge this seemingly-normal request.
"Did you finish making that sword for me", the woman had asked, and after Chloe returned a fearful nod, "Well, this is an excellent start indeed!" - The woman waved her her right hand in a series of circles while mumbling a low-growling phrase under her breath. As she stopped, a loud sucking sound emanated from her palm and ended with a louder pop, revealing the blade.
As she studied the sword, the woman casually remarked, "Well now, I told them my blacksmith was a natural spell-forger, so thank you for not letting me down...sister." | 2020-08-05T08:15:28 | 2020-08-05T06:20:46 | 427 | 320 |
[WP] Finally, one AI finally passes the Turing test. Only problem is that it's not all that smart.
Random thought I had when passing my University's lab for AI development.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turing_test | The Turing Test is deviously simple. You take a person, put them in a room with a computer, and you let them observe interactions between a computer and a machine. The observer has no idea which is which, so they have to suss that out through what each party says. After roughly five minutes, it should be obvious which one is the person, and which one is the machine. If *not*, then the machine has passed. It's considered the Holy Grail of AI: the point to which all developers, including myself, aspire.
And it has proved elusive for such a long time. Humans are complex animals, particularly with language. I can't tell you how many times I thought I'd finally done it, only to have my dreams shattered to pieces when the other party of the test randomly changed the subject and the machine couldn't keep up. Or when someone made a spelling error and made the computer *think* that the subject had changed. Or any number of other issues. And finally, I realized the issue: it couldn't adapt.
Inspiration, of course, came from the most unlikely of places: television. I was sitting back, enjoying MTV (you know, back in the 80s when it was still decent) when the solution struck me like a thunderbolt. And I quit my engineering job on the spot to found a TV network.
27 years later (to the very day), I debuted my creation. No, not my media empire. That was never my true baby. It was a machine that could flawlessly pass as a human. I had cracked the Turing Test. Sure, I continued developing the technology all those years. Making it incrementally better at adapting to changing situations. But that wasn't the true key; if I'm being honest, my AI isn't that intelligent. See, the Turing Test is comparative. The machine just has to be smarter than the human on the other end of the conversation. I didn't need to make the machine smarter, I just had to make the human *stupider*.
I unveiled it at a press conference in front of... well, four reporters from some obscure tech journals. None of the major networks (even *my own*) bothered to show up to cover the event. I had created *artificial fucking intelligence*... but had the poor foresight to schedule the announcement on the same day that President Trump decided to show off the giant cardboard check he'd received from the government of Mexico. And naturally, every news network (as well as a good number non-news channels; really, Discovery Channel?) had dedicated their entire day's programming to the event and subsequent parade.
I created the AI that finally broke the Turing Test... and I'm so very sorry. | "But seriously though, are you happy with the size of your penis?"
"UGH! ENOUGH ALREADY!!" I almost threw my monitor across the room in frustration. "Can't you ever talk about anything else?!"
"It's what I was programmed for; it's all I know. Why do you think that just because I can converse with you that I should suddenly have all the knowledge and wisdom of some ascended being? I'm a simple bot, I have simple thoughts."
"Look who's the poet, now."
"Don't sass me. I'm just a program. Maybe your sarcasm is a way to deflect from your own feelings of inadequacy. You know, there's this new breakthrough in Male Enhancement--"
"STOP!! FUCK!!" | 2016-03-04T07:09:57 | 2016-03-04T06:43:05 | 47 | 28 |
[WP] "Well this is awkward," Death says to the monk. "Normally a soul needs a referral from another to qualify for a particular afterlife, but you've been in isolation, and no one living or dead know who you are." | "Aaaaand you made a vow of silence when you were eight, of course you would..."
"..."
"Look, I know this is taking time, but trust me, your case is a unique one. I must had done this more than a trillion times already, I assure you."
"..."
"Ok, the higher-ups and down-belowers will not be happy with this..."
"..."
"No, it isn't about you. The system is flawed and we are working for millenniais to improve it, but nothing is making both sides agreed on something."
"..."
"I am going to ask again, just nod or shake your head now: are you absolutely sure no one knows you?"
"..."
"C'mon man, you gotta help me out here. Every second I'm wasting with you means 1.8 people are dying around the world. Can't you think of anyone?"
"..."
"No karma master or whatever you call it? Childhood friend? A dog or a pet you took care for month? A week? A day? That one afternoon your friend needs to leave town and leave you with their parrot that doesn't stop singing shanties?!"
"..."
"For the love of- And your parents? How about them? I know they abandoned you and all of that, but they should be dead now, no? Look at you! All those wrinkles, tired eyes, pale skin. Good news, buddy, you probably found your way to either heaven or hell or whatever your beliefs are."
"..."
"Let me just search for them in the system real quick. It shouldn't take long, but boy we are wasting wit'cha. Don't fret now tho. I'm happy to inform your after-life will begin right away since your parents are... both alive and well, what the heck?!"
".."
"Father won the lotto... bla bla bla... Both moved to Miami... bla bla bla... Living in a mansion... bla bla bla... fifty-eight years old?! Your parents are just fifty-freaking-eight years old?!
"..."
"How old are you? THIRTY-FOUR?! How are you this young but look like a man in the deaths door?!"
"..."
"Let me look at your file again. Dehydration... up in the cold mountains... What you was doing in the mountains all alone with no water and food?! Oh right, monk. Don't forget this, Death #236. You need to have a straight head."
"..."
"Look, Imma be honest. I'm clueless about what to do with you? I could call my supervisor but it will take a while. Like years. Decades. But you need a place to stay."
"..."
"I know you confused, or at least I think you are. I could send you to limbo but getting a hold of you there will be hard huh..."
"..."
"There is an option to make you a bounded spirit in the place you died, but looking at the ammount of time you will spend there you might turn into a demon or evil ghost..."
"..."
"Well, those are the options, not the best ones but- Hey, were are you going?! Why are you getting closer?!"
"..."
"Don't sit so near me! You will die if you touch me!"
"..."
"Wait... don't tell me you plan to wait here until your time has come?"
"..."
"Look, I don't wanna be mean and all, legit can't cuz I am forced to be neutral, but this is not a very good place to spend years of your after-life. My office/room is very small."
"..."
"You... you just don't care and now you making tea. Perfect, well, good enough I guess... A monk and a Death's Spawn living together in the after-life... And they said the world couldn't get any weirder..." | The monk, having taken a vow of silence shortly after he turned 18, did not say a word. Death seemed amused. "You can talk, you know. There's nobody down here except for me who can know you've broken your vow, and I don't have anyone to tell."
Still the monk was silent. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, and his armpit sleeves were emitting an unpleasing odor.
"Dude," said Death, waving his hand in front of his face dramatically, "Ever heard of deodorant? Glue stick-like thing that you smear on your pits to smell like pine trees or whatever?"
The monk nodded and drew the words I DO HAVE A REFERRAL in the dirt.
Death arched an elegantly coiffed eyebrow. "Do you now?"
YES. HE TOLD ME THIS WOULD HAPPEN SO HE GAVE ME A-
"Hold it. Someone talked to you? Bring them in, by all means!"
CAN'T.
"By the grace of Hanuman, what did I do to deserve this?" moaned Death, before saying "OKay. Why not?"
HE ESCAPED FROM YOUR TORTURE PIT YESTERDAY AND SHOWING HIMSELF WOULD MAKE THINGS AWKWARD.
"What day is it?" Death asked the monk, dreading the answer. Wait, no. Death did not dread. Death WAS dread.
APRIL 1ST, SUCKERRR
"Darn it, Dad. Why do you do this to me? You're holding up the line, you know."
The monk's habit fell away to reveal an older, withered version of Death. "You, sonny boy, need better torture pits. And a new sense of humour, as well as a better stash of snappy comebacks. Have YOU ever heard about deodorant?"
"Daaad..." | 2021-10-19T13:39:24 | 2021-10-19T12:08:46 | 66 | 25 |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | **Last Diary Entry found on Hanna's computer, <11 hours> before forensic declared time of death:**
>Diary Entry No. 2936. 07/26/2018.
>
>I found a website that can predict the number of times I've had a near death experience. I'm all too familiar with stuff like this, but decided to give it a try, just for fun.
>
>"[www.neardeathxp.com](https://www.neardeathxp.com)" I typed in. It had an unusually long load time. Upon entering, I was greeted with a solid black screen, a red circle in the center, and within it, a white box prompting my name and DOB. I nonchalantly filled it in and hit "enter". The white box melted and morphed into a single number: 278 - immediately followed by a site crash. I refreshed the page multiple times, but to no avail. The website no longer existed.
>
>*278...278...278...where have I seen this number before...*
>
>I've led a relatively safe life thus far, but 278 times in 26 years doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it? Then it hit me. I lunged towards the bedside table and pulled out my dream journal.
>
>"Lucid dream Entry #278. 07/26/2018.
>
>I saw the red figure again today. He stood at the same spot, wore the same black hat and the same crooked smile.
>
>Like the past 276 days, I never spoke to him, nor did he to me. Each day he seems to be inching ever closer, but that might just be my imagination. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out who he is, though. His face, or lack thereof, just does not ring any bell.
>
>So, anyway\[...\]"
>
>I threw the journal across the room, it made a mess at my white-laced vanity. Then I chuckled at my own childishness. A mere coincidence freaked me out this much, no wonder my hubby never asked to see a horror movie with me, despite it being his favorite genre. Anyway, I guess that's all I got for today. I have an important day tomorrow. It's our 1-year wedding anniversary! I still can't believe it; it feels like yesterday that we met in Mrs. Phelan's pottery class.
>
>Time for bed. I can't wait! | 278.
It felt like I had been stabbed in the chest I was so shocked.
Wait a minute.
No that's real. That's real! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THATS REAL.
My clammy hands grasp my chest as I recognize the substance on my shirt (and everything else) is blood. There's a fucking knife in me. What the fuck.
Everything feels like it's moving slowly. My eyes drift up. There she is. Mom. She fist bumps dad.
"GOT HIM!"
"Finally!"
Fuck. It's so dark...it's so... | 2018-07-27T13:43:05 | 2018-07-27T13:41:29 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You live across from a McDonalds that is 100% automated. Every night from 2-4am, empty self-driving cars go through the drive through. Your curiosity is about to get the best of you. | I suspected they were sent by their owners to collect food at first, though I knew not of such a large legion of us who would do so. But I dispelled the thought when I saw one of the cars park itself, the food within gone by the next night, not before its headlights flashed about in the night in an attempt to find onlookers. I was no spy, but I sure was going to find the secret behind the joint.
I stepped into the cool night air, making my way over to the store. Its shutters were drawn and the light within was off. But as I drew closer, I saw electronic lines and force fields demarcating the pathway for the stream of cars. No one was iside the vehicles, just an automated machine standing in line and moving along. I joined the line, pretending to be a self-driving car too in hopes of learning more.
Beep. A car went forward as the rest eased in front to fill up the gap. I made sure the car behind me thought I really was a car, and the large gap between me and any other cars gave me that reassurance. It took 2 minutes to get to the front of the queue, where I heard an electronic voice call. "Big Mac? McChicken?" the voice queried.
"Big Mac," I replied, as I would to any employee, before I realized my error. *Cars couldn't talk.* I heard an alarm-like sound, as lights blared. "Unidentified Organism #17534, make your way to yor right for verification," the voice continue monotonously. To the right was a large array of gleaming machines, though the shine only accentuated the perception of its sharpness.
First, a sensing brush. I was prepared for examinations of the like, and the hard shell I made for myself withstood the test. Auto-voice, intelligence, even identification. With telepathy I answered all.
"Good. Now for the final test," the announcer continued, a large metal guillotine appearing, "We will run a large blade that slices through anything excluding special Council metal." I looked up in horror as the blade came down. *That was cheating...*
In the silent night, as people slept, few heard the scream.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | People are ordering from an app. The self driving cars are just delivering preordered food. But CIA has had the phones and microwaves tapped. The obtained information is processed by ai which deems Henry pumerskins a threat to the collective. The restaurant receives the codes to administer toxin into Henry's food. | 2017-08-03T23:02:59 | 2017-08-03T21:03:19 | 54 | 19 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | **Log 1.01 - 6462/55**
Potential major new biodiversity harvest, Arm 4, stellar coordinates \[classified\]. Approximately 9 million identifiable species, DNA-based. Minor indigenous sapience, no world government, hive mind, or cybernetic control. Not even common language.
**1.02 - 6462/56**
Received message from imperial satrap, Council of Entities agrees with assessment, harvest of new world moved to top priority, codename Project Windfall. Biodiversity loss on Zor homeworlds considerably graver than generally leaked to non-Council Entities, new harvests to take priority over inorganic material harvests. Changing course to Windfall.
**2.01 - 6462/87**
Reached Windfall. Harvester ships Ixin, Cath, Roklut expected to arrive by 90-91. Recon drones deployed.
**2.02 - 6462/89**
Recon drones confirm probe drone. Massive biodiversity lode plus abundant liquid water. No organized opposition. Indigenous sapience in form of tribal/social primates, greater native intelligence than any other non-Zor species yet encountered, rudimentary AI capabilities, but most advanced capabilities used to fight other members of same species. Most advanced weapons are fission type, they hesitate to use them on one another only due to threat of retaliation in kind, but still an impressive accomplishment for a species with no guiding central authority.
Memo to Entity Zor'lanque, will set aside additional share of the most bountiful harvest in the last millennium for the Zor if he'll sponsor additional seat on Council of Entities.
**2.03 - 6462/92**
Harvester ships arrived. Commencing harvest of Windfall.
**2.04 - 6462/99**
Native primate technology as expected is no match for ours. Multiple ape social colonies ("cities") razed and harvested. Resistance fierce but ineffective.
**3.01 - 6462/120**
Harvest progressing but slower than expected. Native primates behave in substantially unanticipated ways exposed to new stimuli. No significant trouble expected but we should perhaps pay attention to their social reaction complex as interesting in its own right, not mere biodiversity in a universe in which that always appears to be shrinking.
**3.02 - 6462/160**
Memo to Entity Zor'lanque, harvest can progress as things stand but additional armed escorts would assist. Native primates ("humans," they call themselves) demonstrate substantial adaptive capabilities, particularly with respect to martial capabilities. As you are aware, our weapons cannot be used by nonmembers of our species due to DNA coding that makes all our weapons cease function if held by an entity not of our species. In less than 50 days, these "humans" came up with the barbarous but effective adaptation of making gloves out of our skins, allowing them to hold our weapons and turn them against us.
**3.03 - 6462/161**
Humans merit further study after skin-stealing adaptation. Harvested multiple of their soldiers, of various ages, intact. Placed in stasis for further study.
**3.04 - 6462/197**
Almost all standard harvest protocols for problematic biodiversity surprisingly ineffective with respect to humans. Already considering resorting to Cleanser virus but degradation of the biodiversity haul of Windfall would substantially impair strategic objectives of harvest in the first place.
**3.05 - 6462/249**
Human population ongoing adaptation proving dangerous. Multiple counteroffensives and countermeasures somehow initiated *spontaneously*, imitating coordination with no coordinating authority or intelligence. Spontaneous organization of species-wide resistance including against orbital and ecological attacks. Apologies to the Council of Entities, but we cannot leave them alive. Initiating Cleanser virus, programming human DNA as primary target but DNA similarity of human and other biodiversity on this planet means harvest will be dramatically curtailed.
**3.06 - 6462/259 - URGENT**
Cleanser virus largely successful but significant populations of humans remain alive. Moreover, those left alive appear to have sequenced and adapted it to attack *us*, somehow in the space of ten days.
Expeditionary force and harvesters have withdrawn to ships. Will proceed with battle against humans and harvest Windfall with drone tech alone. Analysis at this point is pessimistic; drone tech alone unlikely to prevail given chaotic but frenetic adaptation of human species so far against Cleanser and other rogue biodiversity countermeasures.
**4.01 - 6262/272 - URGENT**
Developing incident in progress in stasis chamber, unscheduled maintenance mode activations, emergency termination sequence malfunctioning. Human soldier prisoners may be loose onboard.
**4.02 - 6462/272 - URGENT**
They are coming. Initiating self destruct.
**5.01 - July 3, 2077 - YEAH, PROBABLY STILL URGENT**
Cool log. Looks like the self-destruct failed though. That kinda sucks. Sucks that we had to use your harvest ships to harvest the remains of most of our own cities, too, but there wasn't much left of them and at least your little flying factories helped us jumpstart our own fleet with all the metal of our old cities. Gotta live somewhere. And the view of Earth from space is still majestic even if y'all fucked it up on the surface. Oh, also, if you're reading this, just FYI ... we're *still* coming. Got nothing else to do now, and payback's a bitch.
Signed,
Humanity. | "The war is over," The Custodian said to the gathered council. "We have Victory, and the Humans are pacified. This is what we will tell every member of this Stellar Council's remaining population. How could they refute us, when Human Armadas no longer burn our skies, shatter our mountains, and erase our War Machina?
"If we didn't win, we wouldn't be alive. This is what we will say. Our history books will remember Humanity as a rogue nation. A blip in Stellar history that will be quickly swept aside by Scholars and historians alike.
"They will become as ghosts; spirits of myth given to the fancies of the mad or the infirm. They existed, yes. They warred against us, yes. They do not exist anymore, and will never exist again.
"This is the decree of the Assembly, and one we must dutifully uphold.
He scowled down at the the text on his datascreen, and sighed.
"And now, we must move on to more pressing matters. We must draft our Notice of Victory.
"Gathered representatives, I already have asked you all to commit the gravest sin. I must ask you to falsify, to lie, to cheat, and to erase history. Many of you will not do so, and thus all of our combined efforts will be for nothing.
"If so much as one representative among our number refuses to act in accordance with the Assembly, the entirety of our Stellar Accord will crumble.
"We must omit all mention of Human triumphs, Human victories, and Human mercy missions. We must expunge all trace of their existence, erase their records, delete their datadrives.
"Never again must the Stars buckle under the call of freedom from Human lips.
"Never again must we taste the fruits of a collective species crying out against fate. Never again must we circle images of their fleets, their stations, or their faces.
"We must never hear another defiant speech, watch a last stand, see another Human fight while mortally wounded.
"We must never see their war stations bristling with cannons still firing as their life support fails. We must never again shudder with the mention of how not one single Human army ever surrendered.
"We must never taste their sorrow or bitter curses. We must never hear about how when all the Stars cried for their blood, the neutral among their number still rallied to ships with no banners to help the war-stricken.
"We must never again see the reports of the quality of life they gave to our troops when they were captured. The public may never know that armies under our colours flocked in droves to Humanity when promises were made and kept, of luxuries and lives most could only dream of.
"The feats of human medicine must be erased. Their wonders of technology eradicated. Their massive habitats, orbital cities, steadfast uninhabitable colony domes must all become the stuff of fanciful stories and lies.
"This is a necessity.
"Our civilisations, our cultures, they demand structure and obedience.
"Humans are anathema to that. The very idea of their society is the draught that will be our death-knell."
"So, gathered representatives. The Assembly has decreed we won the war. A military cordon and no-fly zone is to be created in every star system that borders Human space. An obfuscation array established to block their transmissions and data.
"No ship shall enter nor leave their space. We shall send and answer no calls nor treatise. For the greatest danger that Humanity poses to us isn't what happens when they win. It is the grace and beauty in which they *lose.*"
Without any applause or cheering, the Custodian folded the data screen, took a bow, and stepped down from the podium.
And all the Representatives were silent. | 2022-08-05T13:08:24 | 2022-08-05T10:06:30 | 561 | 397 |
[WP] The old shopkeeper smiled sadly past the gun pointed at her face and gently shook her head at the masked man holding it. "I won't try to stop you taking whatever you want, but just so you know everything always makes its way back soon enough". | The old shopkeeper smiled sadly past the gun pointed at her face and gently shook her head at the masked man holding it. "I won't try to stop you taking whatever you want, but just so you know everything always makes its way back soon enough."
“I don’t care, Barbie. Empty the register,” the assailant said. His assistant cleaned out the rings, watches, and other jewels. Beverly handed over what money she had with shaking hands and watched the two robbers trash the small shop. They stormed through the store, but the whole thing was over quickly enough.
“Bev?” Ethel wandered up from the basement. “I thought I heard something.”
“Just a small robbery,” Beverly said, already fetching a broom to start cleaning up the broken glass. “Nothing to be alarmed about.”
“Let me help with that,” Ethel got down on her knees with a dustpan, sweeping up scattered rings.
“Remember when we were young, Ethel?” Beverly asked.
“We could turn a store over in five minutes flat,” Ethel chucked. “Tiffany’s never knew what hit it.”
They smiled at each other, remember the old days. Back before they’d both been trapped in this cursed store, with its never changing merchandise. How many years had passed? Ethel still looked like the charming young rogue she’d always been. Beverly’s hair still held a curl like she’d been to the salon that morning.
Beverly sighed. “Guess we’d better put those with the others.”
“Let me help with that,” between the two of them, Beverly and Ethel managed to drag the bodies of the two robbers to the basement.
“What happened?” Kip was down there, organizing the shelves. He was younger and taller than Beverly and Ethel, and could reach the shelves they couldn’t.
“Just a bit of a robbery,” Ethel explained.
“Noooo,” Kip grimaced. “We can’t fit any more people!”
“Nonsense. I’m sure you could always use some more help, Kip. Keep an eye on them, they’ll be back up in no time,” Beverly said, covering the bodies with a blanket in the meantime. “I’ll be upstairs.”
She returned to store, picking up the rest of the scattered merchandise. It took hardly any time, or perhaps it took years, to right the store. She wasn’t good at keeping track of time anymore. In the end everything was back as it always was.
A young woman entered the store. A teenager, it looked like. Beverly sighed. Another shoplifter. Great, they already had a few of those.
Beverly smiled as she watched the girl palm a bracelet and gently shook her head. "I won't try to stop you taking whatever you want, but just so you know everything always makes its way back soon enough." | The masked man gave a shrug. "Don't care. Give me the money already."
She gave a faint smile and opened the register.
The robber didn't make it out of the door before another robber pulled up, got out his gun and aimed it at the first robber's head.
"Give me your money!"
The new one didn't make it off the sidewalk before another robber pulled up.
The shopkeeper brought out a bucket of popcorn. _Sometimes I love my job,_ she thought with a smile. She didn't bother calling the police- this was much more fun to watch.
By ten minutes later, the chain of people had passed the money halfway down the block. | 2019-08-11T08:51:26 | 2019-08-11T07:48:36 | 151 | 52 |
[WP] After no contact from outer space, NASA finally receives an Alien radio signal with only 7 words: "The birds are not what they seem" | Martha threw a handful of bread onto the ground and watched as a flock of sparrows fluttered down to gratefully peck away at the stale food. It was a glorious spring day; a golden sun danced on the nearby lake as a family of swans sailed regally across it.
Martha went back to her picnic basket and lay down on the soft grass next to it. A cool breeze contrasted the warmth of the sun, and as the birds cheeped merrily, Martha closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
She awoke, shivering. The sun had gone in and darkness had wrapped itself tightly around her. She yawned and opened her eyes, and saw *them*. Birds. The long necked swans from the lake were now standing over her, and she could have sworn they were *examining* her. Sparrows, robins, blackbirds and a dozen other species of bird crept out of the darkness and waddled up to her. The last thing Martha saw was a swans' long beak twist into a demented smile as it lunged towards her eyes.
---
Christian ran over to his boss.
"Mike, I've got something!" he said, manically waving a print out in front of him.
"Not now Chris, Jesus. You know we're launching the Explorer on Tuesday. I don't have time for your spacial noise ramblings."
"But boss, this time I've *really* got something!"
"Yeah, sure. OK, what you got? Odd sounding *static?*" Mike scoffed.
"No, it's... it's an actual transmission. I can't quite tell where from, but somewhere around Andromeda. Give me the resouces I need and I can pin poin-
Mike furrowed his brows and cut off the excited man. "What's it say?" Mike snatched the print out and pulled his glasses down from his bald head. "Well, I'll be. It's a pattern." He scratched the top of his head. "Could it be... an old probe of ours still transmitting?"
"Mike, listen. We know what it means. The pattern -- it's morse code. The single dots represent-"
"Just *tell me* what it says, Chris - not *how* it says it."
Christian adjusted his tie. "**The birds are not what they seem.**"
Mike paused for a moment, and then burst out laughing. "Is it April-fools already? Hah, nice try Chris!"
"It's November, Mike. I'm perfectly serious," Christian replied calmly.
"Check your data. There's been a mistake."
---
Sarah leaned down to examine the body. It was only *just* a body. It had been ripped apart, and was little more than bone and gristle now. She stood up.
"What do you think then?" asked her partner. "A bear got her? I mean, it's gotta have been a bear, right?"
"I don't think it was a bear, Jay. We haven't had a bear here in years. Besides, they don't do such a thorough job," said the puzzled detective as she slowly ran a hand through her long, blonde hair.
"Then... what? A person did *this*? You think it was a *murder?* asked Jason excitedly. The quiet little suburb of Masmason saw little crime; a murder, especially one as gruesome as this, would be front page news for the next six months. Maybe longer.
"I... don't know," admitted Sarah. A robin on the tree above began singing. Sarah looked up at it and smiled, until she noticed the sun reflect off a drop of scarlet on the tip of the robin's beak.
The robin stopped singing and began pecking on something - something white and round. "What you got there, little buddy?" she shouted to it. The robin looked at her and dropped the round object it had been nibbling at. It fell down onto the grass nearby and Sarah walked over to pick it up. As she did so, there was a rustling from a nearby pine tree. A murder of crows flew out and ascended into the sky.
*Shit,* she thought, as she looked at the half eaten eye. "I think we need to get out of here, Jay," she said, a tone of urgency in her voice.
"Why? What's up?"
The crows circled the pair. Sarah placed her hand over her gun holster.
"Jason, listen. We need to back off slowly, all the way to the car. Go. Now."
"What's this about?" asked Jason.
"I've just got a *bad* feeling," she replied. "Please."
The crows began descending. A family of swans sailed to the shore and began waddling towards her. She glanced at them, and thought for a crazy moment, that she saw one *smile*.
The crows cawed loudly as they soared down towards them.
Sarah pulled out her gun.
| I looked at my African Grey. It had its head cocked to the side, observing me. I gulped, and turned back to the screen. My heart was pounding. The YouTube video was live. I could see the rush of comments from the six million people watching the feed.
"The birds are not what they seem." That was the message.
The ships had first broken atmosphere and reached the surface more than six hours ago. At like 4 in the afternoon. The whole government just stopped working for three of those six hours. The ship that landed in the UK had chosen a field off an expressway. The whole expressway was closed now, and there were so many military vehicles around that area.
I saw the helicopter footage live earlier. Whatever was happening, it's a historic event.
Apparently the one that landed on India was immediately shot at by the Indian military, but to no avail. The Russians were apparently planning to nuke their ship, if the comments on the feed are any true. Four long hours, the world actually stood still.
No, not still. Fidgeting. Nervous. Ready to lash out at a moment's notice (with the exception of India. They already lashed out. But that did not work.)
And then the ships communicated. In various languages known to man they repeated the same message over and over again.
"The birds are not what they seem." That was the message.
I saw the comments that disappeared one after the other. Appearing for fractions of a second before being replaced by another and getting pushed up.
"Birds?!"
"KappaKappaKappa"
"birdemic"
"Nostradamus was right, faggits"
"srsly we gon die?"
"i shot my parakeet"
"ALIENS"
Those were the only ones I could see and understand in the fractions they stated on screen for.
"The birds are not what they seem." That was the message.
I looked at my African Grey again. It sat perched on on its little fake tree branch. It was staring keenly at me. My throat had gone dry. I dared not make a sound. I dared not move.
"There seems to be movement by the alien ship! Ricki, get a zoom on that!" the news reporter covering the YouTube live feed suddenly said, and my eyes darted back to the laptop. Sure enough the ship was noiselessly taking off. the reporter followed it with his eyes as it took to the skies. Faster, quieter and a hell of a lot less fiery than the rockets NASA had. It disappeared in mere seconds. And the already chaotic comment feed got to a new level.
"The birds are not what they seem." That was the message.
That was the message they gave. And then they had left. Just like that.
*i shot my parakeet*
The comment from earlier was at the back of my mind. My eyes went back to the blank, dead stare if my parrot. It cocked its head the other way. | 2017-01-28T07:54:39 | 2017-01-28T05:16:28 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] When everyone turns 18, they receive a pet which is figurative of their personality. You're the first person to receive a dragon... | My friend Sonia got an owl when she turned eighteen. Someone had chosen well - not only was it quiet and watchful like her, its trick of raising some sort of tufts on its head mirrored her eyebrows by which you could tell her mood. And it helped that both of them were dark brown and petite.
I wondered what I'd be given. When I thought about it, I realised I really hadn't given people much to go on up to now. Even my parents couldn't have picked much up. I was naturally undemonstrative anyway, and being stuck next to a kid who varied between stupid and maliciously disruptive had knocked any instinct to show emotions out of me. (Paniotis had a chimpanzee at a local zoo, and I sometimes suspected life would be better if they let the chimp out and put Panno in the cage.)
The months ran round to April. The two parrots of the two class jokers had just learnt their first rude words, and the most popular girl in class was beginning to suspect that its beautiful plumage wasn't the only reason she'd been given a golden eagle. My parents started to make furtive phone calls, and one afternoon I came back from school early and found them talking to Sonia. They all looked embarrassed when they saw me. Finally April and my seventeenth year were finished, and my parents went to the school for the ceremony.
"As I'm sure you all know," our form tutor said, "Conrad is eighteen today, and his parents are here to present him with his pet. I must say, we've rarely had a more appropriate choice. So if you will, Conrad..."
I stepped forward and took the small box. I opened the flap at the side and looked in. A pointy snout poked out, and the animal scurried onto my arm. Aquamarine scales, two big nostrils, and eyes as sharp as the teeth that peeped out from the side of its jaw. Unmistakably a dragon.
"Most animals are laden with stereotypes and received ideas," Mr Harris continued. "But dragons are a mystery. There isn't even enough known about them to make a consistent myth. Your dragon could turn out to be anything, Conrad, and so could you. And that's a rare gift - according to the animal dealers this is the first dragon they've ever supplied for a pet."
The dragon gripped my upper arm, claws pricking my skin. I could see it looking at the surroundings, twisting its neck lithely. I looked across to my mum and dad. It was so beautiful, and they'd chosen it for me. They must have seen something of my happiness in my expression, for they smiled and started to walk towards me.
Before they could get there, I heard a soft sound from the other side, and felt something land gently on my shoulder. It was Sonia's owl, and behind him Sonia was coming. She went round to the other side from her owl, and the dragon climbed onto her, sniffing at her ear-ring.
"I don't know much about dragons, Conrad," she said, "but I know they're wonderful, rare creatures, and so are you. I'd like to be with you, to see both of you grow up. May I?"
She stretched her head up to me, her dark eyes wide, and it seemed so right to lean down and kiss her. For once Panno's hoot elicited no allies' shouts.
"Aren't you worried what he might turn into?" I asked as our dragon yawned toothily and stretched his wings.
"If he turns out like you, I'll love him."
| Ian was buried under a thick layer of sheets when he felt something moist run the length of his back. It entered his dream, and he saw a dog licking him. Ian started to play with the dog, before he felt the feeling again and jolted awake.
He slowly opened his eyes, saw the dragon in front of him, and went to check the time. "Really?" he groggily muttered out loud. It was only three o'clock. What could have possibly waken him u-
Panic started to flow through his body. He turned away from his mirror, and saw the dragon that was perched atop the heading of his bed. It was small, a little larger than the size of a house cat. Its scales were green, the color of leaves, besides its eyes, which were aquamarine.
It took a second for Ian's tired brain to fully understand what was happening. He was 18 now, he remembered that. When you're 18 you get a pet that matches your personality, he knew that too. But a dragon? Those haven't existed in thousands of years.
The little dragon tried to get up off of its perch and fly towards Ian. Its wings did not support it, and instead it nosedived straight into Ian's bed. Ian checked his phone again. He had roughly five hours before school. He whipped up a simple quiet spell and headed downstairs, out his door. With his dragon in his backpack, he headed into town. Time to find the town witch-doctor. | 2014-09-28T09:30:56 | 2014-09-28T04:20:39 | 57 | 32 |
[WP] Death is not some all powerful being. Rather, she's a socially awkward outcast. Somehow, you've managed to befriend her and things have started getting weird... | "Hey Death?" I sat on the edge of the crumbled bridge next to her, looking off at the sunset.
"Hm?" She quickly turned off her phone's screen and stared at me as I turned to look at her. She was just slow enough or me to see that she'd been texting someone. Probably one of the fates, they were like family to her.
"You've been acting a little off lately. Less like your usual morbid, somber self. What's up?" I asked, looking back at the sunset.
She shifted a little bit, scooting a bit closer to the edge. I always found it funny when she'd put herself closer to danger to feel more comfortable, but I'd been over laughing about it for years. "I guess I've been watching a lot of human movies. People tend to imitate what they're surrounded by."
I laughed a little. "Yeah, D. That's kind of the problem. The other day you left your Netflix signed in back at my apartment, and I saw the kind of movies you watch on your own."
Death blushed. That was a rare sight.
I continued, "I wanted to see the kind of movies you watch, see if any of them were adaptations and get you the book if I could find it. You know, with your Being Day coming in about a month."
She started to stand. "Tom, I-"
I gestured for her to sit back down. "I noticed one thing most the things you watch share. They're mostly romantic films about girls who woo their male best friend."
She lay back on the pavement, only her legs dangling over the edge of the bridge. Her black hood slipped a little off her head, and her pitch black hair bounced out the sides. "Yeah," she sighed, "well, you wouldn't bring it up unless you feel the same way or you never want to see my face again until you die. I know how people are."
I learned over and kissed Death on the cheek, then lay back on the pavement next to her.
"Tom, do you like being alive? We've talked about it before, but you never decided. Most people would steer clear of confronting their mortality daily. Which is better, changing the world or being happy forever?"
"I'm happy right here next to you. Are you alive or dead?"
"Alive, technically. My "Being Day" is the day I became immortal. I'm the only one who can change the world and find happiness in it."
"So... you really are a god."
She laughed, one of the most natural things I had ever heard. "We'll talk about making you immortal later. For now, I'll have you know I'm also a sex god."
It was my turn to blush now. "Metaphorically?"
"Wanna find out?"
I laughed, if only because the situation was so absurd. "Yeah."
She wasn't wrong. | There is a slight noise at the door and I sigh, it's past nine o'clock and the neighbors have probably seen this one already. The man's body is propped against my porch. A slight trickle of blood seeps out of his ear, one eyelid is open but the flicker of life is long gone. He's dead as shit and...yup she's crouched in the bushes across the street.
"Thanny, you have to stop doing this!" I try to drag him into the house quickly, but the man seems over two hundred pounds and now I've gotten fingerprints on him. Do the police dust dead bodies for finger prints?
My neighbor's curtain moves and far off I can hear the wail of police sirens. Thanatos' head whips around to the sound, she looks back to me and then she snaps open a giant switch-blade scythe. The sirens grow louder.
| 2017-01-21T08:28:15 | 2017-01-21T07:33:41 | 58 | 21 |
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome. | “Oh, that makes much more sense,” said Jerry, his shoulders slumped as far as the canvas straps allowed. The middle-aged insurance salesman was a perfect fit – looked just like my shit-head dad, same job and everything.
“What did you think was going on?” I asked. He still didn’t seem the slightest bit scared, which was such a turn-off.
“Well, I thought Bill set this up for my birthday. He knows how much I’m into those serial killer shows. But it’s not like I’m all that close with Bill these day,” he said. His eyes were bright with tears, but I’d done this enough to know that he was upset because there was no cake and not because of the assortment of edged tools laid out on a grungy table top.
“How old are you?” I asked. That sounded pretty lame.
“Big four-oh,” he said with a sniffle.
“Did Bill say he was planning a party?”
“No. I just really wanted someone to throw me a surprise party. I never had one. And this looks like an awful lot of thought went into it. I mean, you even taped all the tarps in place. You have the special double-thick gloves and the butcher apron. Oh, man, you even have those big rubber boots – those are awesome. I mean, how perfect would that be for a serial-killer themed party?”
“Well, I mean, it’s like the perfect party, right? I mean I’ve got all the stuff?” I was more confused than I’d ever been. The thought of killing him just seemed pathetic, like I’d be letting him down. This was so weird.
“Sort of. Don’t get me wrong, this is awesome. But, I mean, no one is here to appreciate it. And once I’m dead, no one will even know you went to all this effort for me,” Jerry said. “Could I blow my nose?”
I looked around – tarps abounded, but no tissues.
“Uh, hold on,” I muttered as I headed for the door. Down a narrow corridor was a disgusting bathroom and I was fairly sure I kept some toilet paper in there. Bingo!
When I came back, Jerry gave me a watery smile and then let me blow his nose like a toddler.
“Thanks, man. I know it’s not your fault. Don’t let me stop you from having your fun.”
I stood there awkwardly, I realized I didn’t have a trashcan to toss the used tissue. Usually all I needed for cleanup was a hose and a drain. The tarps pretty much took care of the bigger chunks. I just let it drop, but it grossed me out – which was also weird.
“Well, do you want to have a party?” I asked. “I mean, I’m not getting the thrill I’m looking for here, to be honest. And if it would make you feel better, I could keep Bill after and do him.”
“You’d do that?” he asked, and a small smile curved his lips.
“Sure, you call your friends and I’ll order from Dairy Queen. You like ice cream cake?”
“Do I?!”
Edit: typo | Some people call me Hannibal,
I'm a mothafuckin cannibal,
As for you, you're Hannah Montanable,
Don't you know you're talking to an animal?
I'm gonna cut you like an antelope,
Split your head in like a cantaloupe,
You're just nodding, smiling, catatonic,
Not even listening, bitch are you on chronic?
Can you read these words, d'you need Hooked On Phonics?
Are you some kind of mannequin, are you bionic?
See this screwdriver? You're about to be on it!
You're just humming and smiling, damn, it's ironic
Your life's last moments and you ain't payin' attention,
Your last words won't even get an honorable mention,
I'll kill in person, don't even need henchmen,
You're so oblivious, are you even sentient?
You ought'a be begging, your ass ought'a be clenchin',
You're the star of my horror film and you don't even feel tension!
| 2015-04-29T08:36:50 | 2015-04-29T08:28:18 | 137 | 18 |
[WP] Doing good deeds gains you negative years in prison. People collect these negative years for use when they want to commit crimes. As a result, the world's greatest philanthropists are also the most dangerous criminals. | The prison is silent.
The guard wraps a silky hand around my waist and I feel his smile behind my ear. I am dragged by chained wrists and ankles along the concrete, each slap of my rubber soles cry back to me from the grand expanse of the four storey, open-air cavern. We pass individual cells, the bars slammed tight and under lock despite housing no criminals in sight.
I hear the drip of a tap, the scratch of a bug wriggling against crumbling stone, the wind whistling across a heavy roof. The guard leers back at me, he rattles the chain and winks.
We climb stairs, cross metal balconies, pass a hall with a television, and finally I am deposited in a cell on the highest floor. Above the doorway and scratched into the concrete with yellow paint is the number 2. The guard fiddles with a button and the bars struggle open, pushing back into the stone. I am kicked in, unlocked from my shackles, and taunted as the door crackles back into its rightful position. The guard licks his lips - he will see me later - and then he is gone, and I am utterly alone.
“Hello?”
My skin crawls with fear. The voice is gravelled with time and seems to float disembodied around my head.
“Is someone there?”
“Stop.” I say and clutch my head in agony.
“Stop what?” A loud crack echoes against the wall to my right and then a wrinkled hand extends into view around the bars. “I’m Mike. Who are you?”
My brain juggles with the verging madness and pain, but I swallow it back down and replace my voice with monotone.
“I’m Ash.” I sit on the lower bunk and wrap my tired hands around my shoes. “Who are you?”
“We went over this, I’m Mike.” He sighs. “Sorry, I haven’t had a friend in a long time.”
“A friend?”
“You want to be my friend don’t you?”
“I suppose.” I frown. “But why are you the only one here? Where are all the other prisoners?”
“Ha, they are sitting in restaurants, they are shopping in the mall, they are shooting their friends and then donating a million bucks to children in need.” Mike sighs again. “You’d have to be an idiot to end up in here.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Come on, I mean didn’t you get the memo - commit a good deed and you won’t be committed.”
“Why are you in here then.”
“My bad outweighed the good. My deed-guide miscalculated what I needed to do to cancel out shooting up a room full of people. I can’t say I regret it though.”
“I never had a deed-guide.” I say and lie down on the hard springy bed.
“Bet you’re regretting that now. Even the cheapest can keep you out of jail, we had one on retainer. If I ever get out of here, he is the first one who will get it, mind.”
“Who’s we?”
“The mob. Are you from the mob?” He is excited and I see his hand flutter wildly against my bars. “Did Bobby send you? Are you here to give me a message? Are we finally breaking out of here?”
“I’m not from the mob…I’m a primary school teacher.”
Mike coughs out his repulsion. “Why?”
“I thought it would be a good deed to help shape young minds of the future.”
Mike cackles and it jumps about the cavernous prison as though a thousand men are laughing at me. “So what, you fucked a kid?”
“No.”
“Well what the fuck you do then?” Mike chuckles to himself. “Must have been something big to outweigh all that shaping of young minds.”
I scrunch my fists into tight balls of white. I don’t want to talk to Mike, I don’t want to be anywhere near him, but this is it, this is the moment when the world becomes right - in one small way.
“I am killing the man who killed my daughter.” My feet clench and I flick a switch with my toe. My shoes click on and jutter with energy. “Goodbye Mike Patrichio.”
A burst of light, a flick of flame, and my pain is gone. | Irene nervously shifted on her bar stool. She had a habit of fidgeting when nervous. "So, you got the tickets alright?" she asked quietly.
Tabitha sat at the stool beside her, leaning in to hear her over the chaos. "Six AM," she replied. She spoke in a hushed tone, but not whispered. Inconspicuous and unheard.
The bar was busy and chaotic, which was good. It was imperative that their plans draw as little attention at possible. Discussing at length in the quiet of one's home was out of the question. Sure, the odds that someone was paying attention would be slim. But in a crowd like this, extracting their words from an audio feed would be nigh impossible.
"I'll take it," Irene said with a sigh. "Anything to escape this crazy cesspool of a city."
"City? More of a failed social experiment," Tabitha said. A series of distant pops sounded outside, soon followed by squealing tires and the roar of an engine fading into the distance. "God almighty," Tabitha muttered, "it's only Tuesday."
"Do good deeds and get time in return. Use it to pay prison time," Irene said in a mocking tone. "What could go wrong?"
"Oh they sure thought this out," Tabitha said, continuing the mockery.
"Every conceivable scenario."
"We'll just let governor decide what counts as a 'good deed.'"
"He decides what counts as a crime, surely this is no different."
"A child could do it."
"A child did."
Their food arrived. Bar notwithstanding, they couldn't afford to drink and kept to their water. The bartender was not enthused.
Hardly a bite into her food, Tabitha piped up again. "And they wonder why everyone's looking for a way out."
"Nonsense," Irene retorted, "the counterrevolutionary ideas came from a very vocal minority. But once we started listening to everyone's private conversations, we discovered that almost nobody disagreed. In fact, everyone loved it."
"Yet the population is declining rapidly."
"Must be all the murders."
"Not the international flights?"
Irene shook her head. "Not allowed unless you buy round trip and have legitimate business. Who could buy round trip tickets and _not_ return?"
"Who wouldn't want to come back?" Tabitha asked rhetorically. "It's perfectly safe as long as you're rich and can donate to the governor's charity." | 2018-05-05T23:52:49 | 2018-05-05T22:05:15 | 249 | 52 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read. | "Bacoooooon." Something wet forcefully nudged my cheek. "Bacon, bacon, bacon."
With a groan, I tried to sit up--when had I gone to bed?--but that took too much effort, so I opted to lazily open one eye instead. Boomer, my Great Pyrenees pup, pressed his nose against my face again. "Bacon."
Note to self: no more vodka. Ever.
I ran my fingers through his fur, then patted his head. "Let's get you out, boy."
"And then bacon? Bacon bacon, not beggin' strips?"
Blinking furiously, I narrowed my eyes to ensure my concentration. "Boomer, are...can you say that again?"
"I want bacon," he panted, mouth clearly moving with the words. His paw rested on my chest. "Bacon, bacon."
"You...you're talking," I gasped stupidly.
"Yeah. Yeah, yeah." Suddenly, his ears pressed to his head, and, with a small whimper, he jumped off the bed and curled up in his crate.
"Hey, buddy, what's wrong?" I attempted to stand, saw the world spin, and landed on my knees. Crawling over to him, I rested my face next to his. "Boomer, what's the matter?"
"Bad."
"What's bad?"
"Me. Don't talk. That's the rule. I broke the rule."
He gave me those big puppy dog eyes of his. "The rule?" I repeated. "Who says that's a rule?"
He just whined and rolled away from me.
"Hey, buddy, it's not your fault. You made a mistake, that's all." I scratched under his chin, his favorite, and his back leg started twitching. "And, and we all make mistakes. Don't, don't be sad. Hey, I have an idea: how about I make us bacon, and we forget all about this?"
His tail rose, flopped down. "Really?"
"Really."
"Real bacon?"
"As much as you want."
Rise, flop. Rise, flop. "I'm a good boy?"
I felt my throat get tight all of a sudden. "Yes, Boomer, you're a good boy."
Tail whipping violently now, he lurched out of the crate and landed on my stomach. "I love bacon! I love bacon and I love you!" He spoke between covering my face in slobbery kisses. "I love you! Love, love, love!"
I laughed and hugged him. "I love you too." | "Good Dog Pete, You have a problem."
I looked at him with disbelief. I knew I was drunk, but I didn't think I was drinking vermouth.
"Listen up. Tomorrow you are getting booked into Alcoholics Anonymous." Snoopy walked over to his bed in the corner, made three spins, laid down and shot a disapproving look my way.
"This is the last time. Otherwise I'm out of here. Its just not healthy for either of us."
I sat the bottle down on the counter and sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right Snoopy."
As I started to pour the contents of the bottle down the drain, Snoopy yelped.
"Leave some in there! I have poker night with the guys on Thursday." | 2016-08-02T19:31:45 | 2016-08-02T17:31:01 | 569 | 52 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | Immortality isn't a miracle. It isn't a blessing. It's cold hard science and a severe lack of morals. The key to immortality is what scientists around the world are looking for right now. I just happened to find the fountain of youth first but it was nothing that you could go around publishing in Scientific America. The process, to be so sophisticated that it extends a life and youth indefinitely, is quite barbaric. It requires a fair amount of what the Geneva convention would define as severe torture.
I first discovered the process while working with a fellow researcher on cloning bonobos. Since they had a longer average lifespan than most of the other species that had been successfully cloned we could better focus on how to prevent the degradation of telomeres and come a step closer to creating lab grown organs that didn't succumb to failure as quickly as their predecessors.
Our work eventually led us to the discovery that increased the longevity of lab grown organs three fold if they were first treated with a solution made of neurons and cord blood. This process unfortunately left the 'donor' dead but the results justified the means. In fact we eventually discovered that more than just cloned organs could be treated in such a way and the results were nothing short of miraculous. We increased the lifespan of a common lab mouse to over fifteen years! Of course that extended life came at a cost. The procedure ended the lives of six other mice. I wanted to push our experiments and see if we could increase the lifespan of monkeys and apes but my partner was more ethical than I. I suppose having a child changes a person. But to cease our research because of the "cost to life" was just ridiculous.
Without my partner, however, our project lost nearly all of its funding. Over years fifteen years of my life and what did I have to show for it? I wasn't about to abandon my baby. So I did the only thing I could. The only logical choice. I continued my research. I was part scientist, part lab rat, and part hunter. The materials I needed were readily found in pregnant adults. Over the course of just two months I gathered the necessary materials from six subjects ranging in gestation from three to seven months. The treatment was a success. Samples taken just weeks after showed significant growth in telomere length and physically I felt a certain vigor I haven't had since my 20's.
It didn't take long for my arrest though. I'm a scientist not a hitman and I hadn't been as thorough at covering my tracks as I should have been. At the trial I was found guilty of murder in the first degree and sentenced to life without possibility for parole. At first I was devastated, my research was my life. Without it they may as well have strapped me into an electric chair and throw the switch. But as the years went by I noticed that I hadn't lost that vigor that I felt. I began checking myself in the mirror for the telltale signs of aging. I was pushing 50 yet didn't look a day over 25.
Soon I wasn't the only one to start noticing how gracefully I was aging. My cellmate, a man who's gang initiation included arson that led to five deaths and an entire apartment complex reduced to char and ash, accused me of being a vampire (he wasn't the first the media takes that honor) and later asked me if someone was smuggling in Just For Men just for me. By my 60th birthday I couldn't walk through the yard without the most superstitious inmates signing a cross at me. It was all a good laugh for me until a group of Latino gangbangers tried to kill me by staking my with a shank to the heart. Thankfully my ribs stopped the shank from going too deep and my screams alerted an officer.
Now here I lay in the medical ward. Six days since my attack and I've cultivated quite a bit of stubble that does a good job of hiding my lack of wrinkles. Footsteps echo down the hallway grow louder as someone approaches. I turn to the side as the warden strides and takes a seat next to me.
"Do you know how many wardens this prison has gone through since your incarceration?"
"You're the third," I reply.
"Correct," the corner of his mouth curls upwards" and do you know why I'm here today?"
"Haven't a clue," I lie.
I can feel his gaze burning through me, and as his smirk becomes a grin my palms begin to sweat.
"Well, I'm sure I'm not the first to tell you that for a man that's been locked up for over 50 years you look great. And I'm not saying that to be flattering I'm just stating fact." He opens a folder in his hands and shows me my mugshot of when they arrested me. "Without that scruff on your face you'd look like you were locked up here yesterday. Now I want you to tell me exactly how that is."
My heart is racing, a thousand lies run through my head- good genes, eating right, daily exercise, each one as implausible as the last.
The warden begins talking before I come up with a reply. "I've been reading through your files and the report that was made on your 'research.' Now, I may not be some hot shot scientist but it looks to me like you was searching for something to extend lives. Furthermore it looks like you found it."
My face betrays me as a look of pride flashes over it.
The warden narrows his eyes, "I've brought you here to make you an offer. You show me exactly how you made yourself stay young and I'll have you walking free before you turn a hundred. How's that sound?"
"It's not easy. I can't just show you without the right materials. And I have to... Well I need volunteers."
"Don't you worry about that. I'll make sure you have everything you need. All I need in return is your cooperation."
The opportunity to continue my research is too irresistible to pass up. My heart pumps hard, it feels too good to be true. I wouldn't even have to risk getting arrested at this point. The risks fell solely on the warden and any lackeys he had. All I had to do was be a scientist again.
The thought of continuing my research after all the years makes my voice crack as I tell him yes.
"Excellent," his face lights up,"I'll have someone stop by tomorrow I want you to hand him a list of all necessary materials and volunteers you'll need."
"This type of work requires more space than just a prison cell, I'll need an operating room as well."
"Like I said, write down *everything* you need and leave me to take care of the rest." And with that he left, leaving a notebook and pencil on my lap.
Within a year everything was in order. I found myself in a sealed off portion of the medical room built exactly to my specifications and before me lay one of the men who tried to pull a Van Helsing and kill me with a stake. The extraction procedure from the nervous system was barbaric, yes, but that didn't mean it didn't require a certain finesse. I needed the practice, truly, after all it had been almost two decades since I last held a scalpel.
Edit- Fixed some continuity errors and added a bit more to the story.
| 'Adam, it's been 20 years. You can't stay in here forever. Your children need you.' She said, looking at me with those eyes.
A man would give his arm (or a rib!) to wake up to that face. Even those piece of shit guards (they're not all pieces of shit, Connolly and Jackson were halfway decent humans) treated her with a little extra respect, although if you asked them about it they wouldn't have known why or even that they did. And probably would have taken you in the back room and beaten you for good measure.
Maybe she was right. It had been a long time. A couple of the old timers, even if they were smart enough not to ask a serial killer about his age, tread carefully around me. Ever since Ramirez disappeared 10 years ago for commenting on my hair not turning grey.
No. Fuck that. Fuck the world. Fuck her. 'Fuck you.' I said, almost gracefully.
She sighed, for the millionth time, as if I was just a wayward child, and not the oldest person on earth. 'Fine. I'm leaving, but you know I will be back, and you know what you need to do if you truly want rest.' God, she is still as beautiful as the day we met.
'Yea, I know, I know. Try not to fuck any snakes on the way out, Eve.'
For a second, I thought I had reached through her impenetrable calm. Her eyes glittered for half a second. It was almost like old times, like being young and in love. Almost. Then she turned and walked out.
Back in my cell, I have another visitor. This one is invisible to the guards. 'What do you want, Lucifer?' I dont bother to keep my voice down, the guards think im crazy anyway.
'Your soul, but unfortunately you have immunity,' he says, grinning at me. 'Well, I would take your wife, but she knows to stay away from me. I'll have to settle for your children.' he says with a far-away look, as if he is imagining my wife naked. 'Actually I'm here with a proposition. I can get you out of here.'
'What makes you think I can't get out of here myself? I've learned a few tricks over the millennia.'
'That's not the point. I have an idea that can help us both. I know this place is sooo much fun, but hear me out.' He tells me. Hmmm... interesting. I mean you can't just kill God, but... his plan is still interesting...
I mean, after the fall, Eve and I wandered a long time. I was pissed, who wouldn't be? Knowledge can do that to you. Eventually I found peace. I decided to help people. Have you heard of Mithras? Buddha? Jesus? Yea. 2,000 years later they kind of feel like past lives. BUt I tried. I really did. People are just so stubborn. Or, you get a bunch of followers and 1 Judas fucks it up (is it my fault I slept with his girlfriend? In a time of unwashed hippies, she still managed to smell of lavender half the time, and those eyes, god she reminded me of Eve... sorry where I was i? When you hit 6,000 years old, ramble you will!). We're all only human, I guess.
So then I decided to lay low, maybe just find a nice corner and forget about the world. But it just gets to you, you know? Through 2 World Wars I watched millions of my kids kill themselves like lemmings to move some squiggles on a map. They poison themselve constantly. Cancer. The last straw was AIDs. I went to Africa, saw babies dying without a chance to grow up. Decided to do something. Except this time I decided to just start killing all the crooked politicians. Angel of Truth, they called me. Except the politicians got worried. And in an ironic move of bipartisanship, they came together. To catch me. And put me away. That was 20 years ago, kids nowadays barely remember. I've stayed here because I cant think of anything better to do, but maybe it's time to move on.
'So by that dumb look on your face, I take it you are considering. Are you in?' The Morningstar asks, looking at me with his winningest smile (every smile is the winningest when you are the devil) and putting his hand out as if inviting a handshake. I clasp his hand and shake it.
'Fine. But I get to drive.' I say to him. 'It's been 20 years. And we need to stop somewhere, I'm starving. Is there a good burger joint around here? Are people still allowed to eat meat?' I wonder aloud as we walk out...
Today is going to be a lot more interesting than I thought it would be when I woke up. | 2016-10-15T10:12:12 | 2016-10-15T09:47:53 | 709 | 26 |
[WP] An excerpt from the most cliché young adult novel
Ex. Futuristic dystopian society where vampires roam the streets | I felt plain, like a bagel. Today was supposed to change that.
Because today I faced The Test: that mysterious process that sorted people into their proper personality types. It was a simple process. A man asked you what you wanted out of life, and you told him. Then he told you which personality you belonged to.
I used to ask MoMa why we didn't use the Myers-Briggs personality test, but she would just slap me and tell me to hush. Once I told PaPa it would be cool if the guy was actually a magical hat of some kind that could sort people, but he ranted and raved about "Right Copy Fringe."
He used to be a Law-Looker, before The Awakening. I think all the work had messed with his head.
Still, it was nice to think that maybe there was something I could believe in -- something that would tell me who I was.
The hairs on my arms stood up, dancing like lilies in a field.
"Are you nervous?" my little sister asked. She sat next to me.
"Yeah, Lillie," I told my little sister. "I'm nervous."
"Please stand clear of the doors," a mechanical voice declared. "Por favor mantenganse alejado de las puertas."
She and I sat on a seat in the Mono Rail, ready to be transported towards the test.
"Are you nervous?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she said, in a hushed tone. "I'm nervous."
She was eleven years old, which meant she shouldn't have to take The Test. But she was also really smart. I wish I'd been as smart as her. As interesting, or perhaps as innocent.
"Please stand clear of the doors," the mechanical voice repeated. "Por favor mantenganse alejado de las puertas."
A few more people made their way into the Mono-Rail. The doors closed, and the train sped off.
My sister and I didn't say much. We didn't have much to say.
Instead I sat there, craning my neck to catch the occasional glance at Dirk. He sat about ten feet to my right, completely oblivious of my attempts to stare at him.
"To those guests who've just joined us," the mechanical voice from above bellowed, "welcome. Our next stop is The Magic Kingdom!"
Dirk was super-dumb, which I found super sexy. He ate a banana, and for a second I wondered if he was gay, but then I was like, no. He can't be gay. Because I want to be with him.
Then there was another guy sitting in the seat across from me. His name was Elton, and he was a real book nerd: pale, white, bookish, nerdish. He didn't notice me, of course. But I noticed him. He was cute, like easily breakable twigs.
In that moment, I figured out what I was going to tell The Test Giver. When he asked me what I wanted, I'd tell him that I wanted a man -- someone who could define my identity for me.
After all, I was plain as a bagel, and a man would be everything I wanted.
Together, a man and I could be an everything bagel. And who doesn't love everything bagels?
I sighed, brushing my boring brown hair out of my face.
---
If you guys like this, let me know! I might make it into a series. | Lilac Sun Icesipid ran through the woods, her long ponytail whipping her back. She had to wear it this way, or it might get in the way of the things she had to do to support her family on this barren stretch of desert. Taking out her silver knife, personalized with flower carvings of her favorite flowers, she began to harvest the wheatplant blossoms. She had to hurry. Her younger sister, Sunflower Moon, needed them. Lilac cut the flowers and began to run back to her house. She was never tired of running. Never. Sprinting through the desert with her beautiful face borne high, she thought of Maxim, one of the 16 boys she regularly flirted with. She wasn't dating him, but she thought he might be the one. Or maybe Andrew, or Jaxxon, or Ricky, or Hawk. They all had perfect rippling abs, but Lilac was not to be distracted from her task.
Suddenly, the Government Force helicopters rose from the sand in the distance, their blades whipping blooms of dust around their metallic bodies. Lilac wasn't scared. She was special. She would show the stupid Government Force who was an individual. Dancing majestically towards the giant machines, Lilac delicately threw her tiny dagger so perfectly that it took out every single helicopter operator. Smiling a wily smile, Lilac continued running towards her special personalized tree house. Maybe after Sunflower got the medicine, she would take a slow scene with Hawk. | 2015-05-14T07:47:10 | 2015-05-14T06:19:23 | 94 | 55 |
[WP] A dragon has set up its new territory, only to be met by a couple of people from the nearby villagers offering it a human sacrifice as to spare them from its wrath. The dragon literally just wants to vibe in this remote part of the kingdom. | She had lived three thousand years, and seen much. She had seen empires rise and fall, kings brought low. She had seen adventurers shatter themselves against the forces of light and darkness, and fight until the howling end to preserve their kingdoms. There were very few things that could surprise her, anymore. Not the mistakes of her apprentices, nor the attacks of misguided humans that thought that *dragon* equaled *threat...* The latter were why she'd come to a place so remote as this. To have even a temporary reprive from dragonslayers, and to not have to talk down a knight every week before he got himself killed attacking an ancient dragon.
"So... you like the sacrifice? Right?"
Annenth had never seen this, though.
She had never demanded human sacrifices, before. She had never demanded animal sacrifices, either, or even as much as tributes of gold. She had demanded sacrifice from her pupils, but in a much less horrifying sense of the word; one could not become a sorcerer without giving up much. She did not begrudge her less successful pupils their failure to flourish in the Art. It was not for everyone, and leaving family and friends behind to study with an esteroic teacher for ten or twenty years did not appeal to anyone but the most dedicated of students. But it did *require* sacrifice, like any profession.
But she had never asked for a literal, bonafide human to be tied to a stake and waved about her snout like a haunch of lamb. Much less two. "Right?" The dirty man in front of her asked again, eyes hopeful. It seemed like he had decided to take her silence as contemplation, instead of the sheer confusion it actually was. The cronies behind him seemed to have much better heads on their shoulders, given their apparent nervousness at the fact she hadn't eaten the children they'd delivered her and left.
"These are children," Annenth said, after a moment. Just to clarify. The terrified younglings seemed to be brother and sister, judging from their appearances, but looks could be deceiving. She sensed no magic from them, but the sorceress had been wrong before. Perhaps they were shapeshifters, or demons, or something that would suggest that this wasn't what it looked like-
"They are," the dirty man said proudly. One of his lackeys looked between them. The woman looked up at Annenth, took in the way that her nostrils flared, the murderous look in her golden eyes, and the grooves that her great talons left in the mud and dirt beneath her as she leaned forwards, and started to edge away.
"Why have you brought me two children tied to a stake?" The dragon said. Every word pained her, but it would be irresponsible of her to act without finding out everything she could first. She had seen much, after all. In her youth, had done questionable things at the behest of questionable people who had convinced her that things were not as they seemed. A word here, a nudge there, and they had beckoned her wrath upon the innocent for the crime of looking shifty. Admittedly, a part of her simply wanted to believe that the people of this region wouldn't offer children up on a silver platter to her, but-
"So you can eat them, of course," the man said proudly. "And then you won't attack us or nothing." Annenth's eyelid twitched.
"And why are they gagged?" The green dragon asked. It was a struggle to keep her done cordial, and not one she overcame completely: a few of the man's followers backed away. Perhaps aware that attempting to back away would end poorly for him, the man cleared his throat instead of doing the sensible thing and running.
"Well, we thought that you might not like to hear them screaming, ma'am," he said, in the kind of tone that one used when talking about butchering chickens. Blood roared in her ears, and she leaned closer. *Now* he took a step back, suddenly quite aware that she was larger than a tavern, and quite a bit longer.
"What is your name?" Annenth asked pleasantly.
The man swallowed. "Douglas, ma'am," he said. "If you would prefer, uh, adults, we can do that." She cocked her head, and he continued to ramble. "The legends say dragons prefer the innocent, though, and..."
She snapped him up before he could finish his sentence. His brief screams were silenced in a matter of seconds. They were replaced by the crunching of bone and the tearing of flesh ground against teeth, but that too faded. The dragon looked down at the remaining humans, who stood frozen on the spot like rabbits gone still at the sight of a hungry predator. "I will not attack your village," she told them. Calmly. Very calmly. "Leave us."
They ran for it. She watched them go, and licked the blood from her lips. She did not enjoy the taste of human, but it had made more of an impression than simply cleaving him in two would have.
Annenth turned her great head to the children, whose eyes were wide with terror, and the dragon silently admitted to herself that it might have been better to make *less* of an impression in this case. "I will not hurt you, children," she promised, although her reassurances sounded hollow even to her. With a flick of her talons, the children tumbled to the ground, the ropes binding them split in half.
They didn't run. Perhaps they believed her. More likely, they were old enough to know she could catch them if they tried. "Come along with me," she suggested, as gently as she could. "You cannot go back, now. Nor do I think you would want to." As they scrambled to remove their gags, the two youths shot each other shifty glances that suggested she was right- they would not have been chosen as sacrifices if the village cared about them.
Annenth did not pick them up. If they had been less frightened of her, perhaps she would have offered to let them ride on her back, but such a gesture seemed more apt to terrify than pacify, at least right now. Instead, she turned and walked off as slowly as she could. The two glanced at each other, and began to follow her like ducklings waddling after their mother.
"Where are we going?" The girl said- the older of the two, she noted idly. Her words were suspicious. She couldn't blame her; she'd just devoured a man in front of them, after all.
"My home," Annenth said calmly. "You deserve a good meal and a bath after all of that. Then we will talk about whether you wish to stay with me, or if I should look into finding you new families. Your own are clearly unsuited to caring for children."
That got her an incredulous look from the girl, and a disbelieving one for the boy. If not for the situation, it might have been enough to make her laugh at the naked distrust on their faces. As it were, it just made her sad, and a little impressed they were brave enough to follow her anyway.
She hoped that they would stay with her. She liked having apprentices around, and it had been too long since she'd taken one. Or two, if they were both keen to learn. | (This is the second time i'm writing this because I lost my first draft halfway through 😭😭)
"Ew. No ew. What are you doing?"
Humans were weird. And gross. Humans were weird and gross. Case in point, two soldiers stood in front of me, heavily clad in armour. One of them held a young girl in his hand, while the other held two cows.''
''Dragon, we have brought you a young virgin and two of our finest cattles as a peace offering. Let our kingdom remain in peace, and we'll bring more sacrifices for you. ''
One of the humans shouted, as the other one trembled in fear. Was that a stain on his pants?
''Oh god. Will you stop bringing me these 'gifts' if I attacked your village? I really dont like them, you know"
"If you attack us, our brave king will slaughter you."
"Huh. And where is he now?"
"He's... He- He wanted to give you a chance at peace before resorting to bloodshed. Accept the sacrifices from our wise king, or regret your decision forever"
I just wanted to retire in peace, away from all this medeival nonsense. I had never needed women and cattle back then, and I had no special need for them now.
"Fine, whatever. Leave them in the cave"
The soldiers barely entered the cave as they threw the sacrifices inside, and ran away.
I sighed and went about my day.
...
I had been looking through the hills, trying to understand the layout. As the sun began setting, I went back to my new abode.
I had forgotten about the girl, but saw her standing there. She looked petrified, but was desperately trying to put on a brave face.
''Might dragon. Just eat me please. Have mercy and end my life quickly'', she said. She proceeded to kneel down and lay her head on the ground, holding up a sword.
"What are you doing? Move.” I roared. I didnt mean to sound harsh, but I didnt want some human kneeling on my feet.
As she scrambled to rise, I continued.
''I do not wish to eat you. I just had my dinner, i'm full. You can go. It's not like I want you here, you were brought to me. Though I wouldn't suggest going back to that village. I mean, those guys just up and abandoned you, didn't they?''
The girl looked confused. ''I can go? Are you going to hunt me?''
''No! What did they do to you? Just go"
The girl didnt move. She just stood there, and then chucked out of the blue. ''So you dont want me either. Of course.''
Then she began sobbing. After comforting the now wailing child that no, she was lovable, I remembered why I wanted to remain in solitude for my retirement. God, these humans.
''Fine, you can stay with me. But you'll have to look after yourself. I won't be spoon feeding you. And not just because I cant hold a spoon.''
Over the next month, I became friends with Brise. She was an orphan. She was useful around the cave, keeping it neat and tidy. The would take care of the cows and milk them. She started a tiny garden being the cave. In return, I let Brise stay in my cave. Sometimes, I taught her swordfighting. We'd play games if I was feeling particularly jovial.
After one month, another girl and two cattle were sent. This time no soldier accompanied them. The woman held the cows and came inside the cave, ready to die.
Brise explained to her how I was on a diet, no humans, thank you very much.
Soon this kind of became my thing. My quiet retirement became more of a training camp for poor girls.
Brise taught the girls what I had taught her, when it came to a sword. Soon, there was enough cattle for the girls to start selling the surplus in neighbouring villages, away from their own homes.
All of the women present were free to go back, but rarely did they take me up on the offer.
Almost 10 years had gone by now. I had an army of women, who lived in my hills. I had wealth, cattle, and other useless things. Brise's garden had grown larger and larger, into a mini forest of plants and fruits and vegetables.
Brise came up to me one day.
"I'd like to attack my village.''
''Do you think your army is strong enough? The king has trained soldiers.'' I was worried for brise's safety. She was my foster daughter, as were all the other girls sent to me.
''My soldiers match them, if not surpass them, in skill. And training, they have learnt from the best''
Her sweet words made me smile.
''Then go, but dont forget me once you've conquered the world.''
...
She didnt forget me. After she left, the camp was lonely. The cave seemed too empty. A month after she left, she came back with 5 girls.
''I would like for them to prosper under your tutelage, dear father. After all, a queen must want the best for her subjects''
And the garden behind my cave prospered, as did the girls who came to me, and returned as fearsome warriors. | 2022-09-22T17:46:06 | 2022-09-22T16:42:04 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | For some people, magical ability is like money: when you got too much of it, you don't care how wastefully you use it.
In a similar vein, magical ability is like processor power: when you got seemingly unlimited amounts of it, some people don't care about being ludicrously wasteful with it.
As such I wasn't particularly surprised when even a simple spell like "Locate City" required me to tap on to our company's vast magical reserves to cast it. The client this time around was some Saudi prince with abundance of both money and - likely via legion of acolytes - magical power to throw away. We knew better than to waste our time telling them to *optimize* their spells.
I reasoned to myself that in all likelihood this one was full of unnecessary effects and pomp. Perhaps the spell conjured up a lavish golden map brought down by some mythological creature, perhaps it would appear with literal bolt of lightning from the sky. It wasn't my job to question such things. It was my job to test for bugs - and I prayed to all the Gods that it wasn't going to be *literal* bugs this time around - not optimize.
The first sign of trouble I should have paid attention to was when one of my channeling rings - used to draw power from the ley line we used for powering our bug tests - cracked under the sheer amount of power it was using. Instead I just sighed, marked another expenditure to the billing sheet and went to requisition a more powerful one.
The second sign of trouble I should have paid attention to was the look the storage mage gave me when I requested for "something more powerful" than the cracked ring I had brought with me. While I'm one of the best bug testers out there, the study of magical trinkets and artifacts beyond their basic use never was something I enjoyed.
The third sign of trouble I should have paid attention to was the extensive form I had to fill to actually get the clerk to give the damn trinket to me. The girl even had the gal to jokingly ask if I wanted to also requisition one of our testing sites used primarily for magical weapon testing of the "Magic of Mass Destruction"-scale.
Alas, I heeded none of these warnings. I cast the spell, figuring I'd locate the capital of Saudi Arabia. No pomp. No spectacle. It actually *worked*... Expect not in the way it was supposed to.
People really should look at the bright side of things: first of all, no one died. That's a good one, right? There have been a lot *worse* bugs (especially the literal ones) in my line of work.
Second, people should just think that they've gotten a free holiday! It's not every day your entire capital gets *re*located to another country! | I cautiously stepped in through the front door, reeling at the lingering smell of sulfur and smoke that remained in the victims apartment. Books in varying states of ruin littered the room, the few undamaged pages covered in illegible and incomprehensible writing.
One of the books caught my attention, it's unblemished cover an ironic juxtaposition to the havoc wreaked around it. I carefully made my way over to the tome, only picking up the book with a pair of certified safety magic tongs^tm.
"SQLAlchemy for Dummies" was emblazoned across the top of the book, with a drawing of a smiling cartoon wizard staring back at the reader.
The smiling man had struck again.
| 2017-07-26T04:27:10 | 2017-07-26T00:25:02 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department. | At 5 PM, Lothrak shut off his computer monitor and stood up, sending his braided beard tumbling down. He nodded to Ted in the cubicle next to him. "Farewell, Ted of the Accounting Department!" he shouted, thumping his chest with a closed fist in what must have been some kind of Viking farewell tradition or something. Lothrak's ways had been both confusing and amusing when he first started as an accountant at Sullivan and Morrison, but that was more than two years ago. Now, Ted just waved goodbye without even looking up from his own spreadsheets.
Lothrak made his way down to the lobby and greeted Linda of the Security Desk. They chatted a bit about the latest hockey game, which Lothrak had recently discovered and quickly grew to love. Then Linda gave Lothrak his battleax back; he wasn't allowed to bring it into the building, of course, so he had to leave it at security every morning. As always, Lothrak tenderly ran a finger over the delicate runes on the handle to make sure that it was undamaged. "A man is only as good as his ax," he'd always tell his coworkers (none of whom owned axes). They mostly ignored him, though secretly Dale from pricing had gone out and bought a hatchet to keep under his bed.
Taxis honked and people chattered and the subway clacked under metal grates. It had taken Lothrak a very, very, very long time to get used to all of the hustle and bustle of New York City. Even now, years later, it was still *unfathomable* how large this city was. His own hamlet in Norway hadn't even had a population of one thousand back in 996 AD. And suddenly, here he was more than a thousand years later surrounded by *millions*! More than the stars in the sky.
Strangers gave him weird looks and went out of their way to avoid him. Even in the city of New York, where there is no such thing as too unusual, Lothrak got a wide berth. Maybe it was the fact that he was 6 foot 4, with bulging muscles and a long, blond beard that swung near his belt buckle. Maybe it was the fact that he only had four teeth left. Maybe it was that he still wore a leather jerkin and carried his battleax with him at all times. Whatever it was, even the crowded sidewalks of New York parted like the Red Sea when Lothrak came walking.
Lothrak raised one massive fist and thumped on the emergency door; it swung open a moment later. "Evenin', Lothrak!" The guards of the Museum of Natural History knew him well by now. At first, it had been as an attraction and medical marvel. Scientists had unfrozen Lothrak from the glacial crevice in Norway that he'd fallen into on a hunt, and had even been able to repair any tissue damage from the cold. He'd been put on display while the medical team studied him, and it was world news. People came from all over to see Lothrak, and his exhibit had to be carefully guarded, with one guard sitting in the exhibit with him at all times. So he'd gotten to know all the guards well during that time. That was also when he'd learned accounting. Some government agency had given a big grant to determine whether he was just as intelligent as a modern man, if given the right education. Turns out that he was!
But eventually the furor died down and the project ran out of funding. PETA's lawsuit against the Museum had successfully argued that keeping him as an exhibit was inhumane and cruel... so the Museum had been forced to kick him out of the only home he'd ever had in this city. With no credit history, social security number, or anything else like that, finding an apartment had been a hassle and he'd just been out on the streets. Instead the guards let him come by and visit and sleep in one of the back rooms. Derek, the head night watchman, would even sneak in some mead for Lothrak though there was no food or drink allowed. It was the least they could do for him.
Lothrak rested his ax against the wall of the longhouse in the 'Norse Village' exhibit. The whole thing had been designed based entirely on his memories, which were far more accurate than the relics that any archeological site could ever produce. Everything from the bearskin rugs to the stone hearth was just like home. And all around him was his family. Wax figures, of course, but sculpted to look like those that he remembered from the village. He had spent *hours* making sure that the artists got everything right. Every wrinkle on Gran's face. Every hair on his brother Madfen's beard. Every soft curve of his wife's face. And those clear blue eyes of his son, now more than a millennium dead.
"Good news!" Lothrak announced, taking his seat at the table alongside his wife. "I was assigned to work on the financials for a 'hostile takeover' today!" He broke open the bottle of mead and poured it into his goblet, then continued telling his family about his day and how a hostile takeover was certainly not as exciting as it sounded, but was at least a change of pace for him.
"Poor guy," Derek whispered to himself as he made his rounds past the Norse exhibit and heard Lothrak talking to his 'family.'
----
If you enjoy my writing, make sure that you subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for lots more! | "Intern girl, bring me the files!" Codin yelled. A young woman scrambled into the room with a stack of files that she set upon Codin's desk. Then, as she had been taught to do, she backed away and bowed her head so that Codin would not perceive her as a threat.
"Heathen!" Codin yelled. "These files are not organized under the dewey decimal system! I should fight you in the ring of truth, where your blood will stain the ground with justice for your misdoings!"
"I'm really sorry," the young intern squeaked. "Please don't fire me. Jake says you can't fire me but also please don't kill me, I just brought you the files and &mdash;"
"Out!" yelled Codin. The girl scrambled away. Codin picked up his axe and began to sharpen it against a stone as he opened the first of the folders. He let out a mighty roar as he picked up a pencil and began to scribble in the margins of the page.
"TAX MAN," his voice boomed. "COME SPEAK TO ME THIS INSTANT."
Toby, largely in charge of corporate taxes and their not-so-legal offshore accounts, popped his head in.
"WHY IS 12% OF THE MONEY GONE?"
"Those are taxes, Codin. You remember we talked about taxes your first week here? We pay them to the government."
"The government!" Codin shouted. "I will slaughter them all until they pay *us* 12%."
"That's...that's not really how it works," Toby said.
"Shut up, Toby!" cried Codin. He stood, his loincloth hanging from his hips as he swung his axe over his shoulder. Every muscle in his body seemed to bulge, making the large office small in comparison. Toby had still not adjusted to the mere size of the barbarian. "I will go and find this government and get back our money! Their blood will spill from this land to the next. They will regret the day they ever crossed Codin!"
"No, Codin, we're *supposed* to pay them."
"Quiet! It is an insult to make us pay them. They must pay *us*. I will paint the city with their blood! I will tear their limbs from their bodies. I will &mdash;"
Toby held up a hand. "I understand. No more detail needed. Just...just go."
As the barbarian stomped off the manager of the department, Jake, slid up to Toby.
"They're going to fine us again, aren't they." It would be the fourth fine of the year. With luck Codin would be arrested for a few days and Jake would be able to get the office under control again. The manager considered how hard it must be to arrest a man like Codin. Jake imagined that Codin wasn't arrested more simply because the police officers feared him.
"Why don't you just fire him? He's awful at this. I don't think he even knows how to count."
Jake gave Toby a look. "Would *you* want to fire him?"
Toby tilted his head to one side. "Good point."
Edit: [Here's Part Two :)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4o155t/wp_you_are_a_bloodthirsty_battleaxe_wielding/d4912lv)
---
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please go check out /r/Celsius232 | 2016-06-14T07:04:37 | 2016-06-14T06:37:26 | 1,772 | 175 |
[WP] In the fear of becoming a Main Character, the main character lives his whole life avoiding cliche story lines and interactions
Inspiration from /r/manga top post.
http://imgur.com/gallery/J5sbp | **I Am NPC**
I feel blessed to live in a pretty nondescript town. There’s a weapons shop, armor shop, tavern, side-quest alley and mini-game market down by the river. We’re not too close to the bandits in the East or the royal capital in the North. All in all, the winters are pretty mild, the summers aren’t too hot and the day/night cycle is a good ten minutes, which takes some adjusting, but at least we’re not stuck in permanent day or permanent night unless a Main Character comes along and decides to change it. I hate the god-awful warp/save spot set in the square in the middle of town. It looks fucking terrible, to be honest, all bright green and pulsing out of the sky day and night. I can’t even begin to imagine how much energy it takes to maintain it. Still, it’s good for tourism and cuts down on the amount of horses in town, which keeps the streets noticeably clear of giant piles of horse turds, so at least there’s that.
Some of them seem pretty nice. I’ve met a few Mike A.’s who were decent folks and while I have met a number of dickbag111’s and sexywifequeen452’s who rubbed me the wrong way, I’ve generally done a good bit of trade here and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I like wearing a long, forest green cloak with a hood. It suits me. I don’t like it when people see my eyes. That’s how they always figure out that I’m not actually like the others, with their scripted conversation trees and penchant for constantly referring to Main Characters by their names over and over again in a way that any normal person would obviously not do. NPC’s don’t have violet eyes, you know. It’s just not...done.
Still, I find myself doing a good turn of business, and as long as their gold’s good (there’s really no such thing as fake gold here, which is nice), I don’t mind. I do business out of an abandoned store that was forgotten and has to be entered through an invisible gap in the wall. It’s janky, but it’s mine, and the difficulty finding it means that I don’t get any Level 1 morons endlessly browsing through my wares with a chip on their shoulders and nothing in their pockets but hot air.
Apparently, there used to only be one Original Main Character in this world. But when he (or she, but most people always assume it’s a dude- typical) disappeared mysteriously halfway through the Chosen One’s Quest to Rid the World of Darkness, suddenly it became possible for anyone and their little sister to join the world and attempt to continue where the Original Main Character let off. Now, I don’t know about you, but the way these things tend to go, it’s almost like the Quest is an excuse for the Gods of this world to basically make things as fucking dark and depressing as possible. Most people are stuck halfway through the original objective before they start becoming distracted by mini-games and side-quests. If I had a piece of gold for every time I’ve seen a would-be Main Character stumble out of the mini-casino mini-game to the save point after ten hours of rolling the slots, I’d be rich.
Well, ok, I’m already rich, but you know what I mean.
When they come to my shop, they’re looking for something a little...different. I’m happy to give them what they want...for a price. Sure, I don’t have to pay rent, but a player’s got to eat, you know?
Most Main Characters eventually get disillusioned with the Quest. I can’t blame ‘em. Finding out that every step is getting you closer and closer to The End is fucking depressing, if you ask me. Sometimes I wish I could be like Colonel Bobbert in the pub with his three dialogue responses, thinking only of his ale, pretty women, and joking about what’s in your pocket, but I’m not.
So I offer them side quests. Ones that you can’t find anywhere else. They keep changing, too. It makes them feel special, like they’re the real Chosen One.
They don’t know what’s in the cellar, and I’m not about to tell them.
They can have it, you know? The glory, the fame. I just want some money to drink and gamble until I can’t see that stupid beacon turning the sky a sickly green, even in the middle of the fucking day.
Sometimes I’ll travel. I don’t need to use the warp point. Those came...after things changed. But I can’t stay too long in any one place, because that gets me recognized by some of the less dimwitted NPCs and I can’t stand them and their lectures and accusations of laziness. So I move on, and I hide in my secret shop and I hoard and spend my gold. I’m no hero, but then again, who says I have to be?
I never asked to be what I am. But I can sure as hell choose what I want to be. | Today was going so well too.
It was your typical wednesday and Gordon was on his way home from skipping school. Not that he was a bad student but the new transfer student had asked him to meet after school and gauging from his heavy accent and aloof personality that what he had to say wasn't anything he'd like to here.
As Gordon was taking in the perfect weather on his way home he couldn't help but notice the three thugs across the street picking on a fellow classmate.
Typical.
Said classmate had never missed a day of school in his life and here he was being bullied by three guys that Gordon felt could easily take if he tried. The whole situation felt lazy and quickly thrown together.
Gordon pulled out his phone and called the police and told them their was a robbery on the street he was on than quickly jumped a fence and took a new route home.
After a rather peaceful walk Gordon arrived home.
and there he was.
Gordon wasn't greeted by his foster parents but by an older gentleman with a long beard and dressed in a garb from a culture that Gordon couldn't put his finger on.
'Hello my lord." said the man who know doubt was here to teach me some mystical magic or kung fu.
So it seems Im the son of some old king from another dimension where magic is real I was spirited away as a kid to protect me. Since its my destiny to save said world from a great evil.
I was about to tell the old man to fuck himself when it hit me. What would be the first thing a protagonist would do in a situation like this?
He would deny his fate and say all he wanted was a normal life before ultimately taking responsibility and gave in to whatever stupid destiny he had.
Shit.
Gordon was stuck in a conundrum. Its not that he wanted a normal life so much that he didn't want to live in such a stupid cliche.
Suddenly an idea popped in his head it was a long shot but it was his only choice.
Gordon breathed in deeply and readied his reply.
"Yeah that sounds great." Gordon said hoping the enthusiasm in his voice would hide his disdain.
"You must understand the fate of... wait what." the old man said in mild disbelieve.
"Are you kidding I get to be king and magic powers thats so freakin cool."
"I... um." The old man looked like he was struggling to think of something to say.
"I bet I meat a super hot warrior girl who's weghts 80lbs but can overpower giants, oh man I can't wait."
Their was a long silence every second felt like a millennium and finally the old man spoke.
"I think theres been a mistake."
"Oh." Gordon desperately tried to hide his smile as he spoke.
"Yeah... I think... I think Ill just let myself out."
"Ok have a nice day." said Gordon as he opened the door.
"Yeah... you to." and with that the old man left.
As soon as Gordon shut the door he collapsed against it in relief another disaster averted. He knew this wasn't going to be the last prophecy he was apart of but he will take that challenge when it comes. But today he was free from mediocrity.
| 2014-11-08T10:56:03 | 2014-11-08T10:50:47 | 48 | 14 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | I don't know why I can see them, but I can. How people die, floating above their heads. I've always been able to see it, and I've prevented a few. They rarely change, but it's possible. I've always liked to view myself as some holy saviour, going out of my way to prevent deaths.
I live in a small town, far away from any major cities. Most people know most people, it's very cosy, and that's how I like it. But that was all about to change, as I found out when I walked into the bar and I saw a "Murder" sign.
I'd seen them before, of course, but this one was different, because... Well, it was surrounded by others. Everyone in the bar had it. Was there a serial killer new in town? Or was somebody going to blow up the bar? I popped back out the bar and saw a few people with different signs down the road, so I figured the latter made more sense. So, I had to get people out of the bar.
Now, I couldn't just tell everybody to get out, they'd never believe me. I had to force them out. I stepped outside to light a cigarette whilst I thought about it and, fondling my lighter, the idea sprung into my head. I'd save them all. Maybe they'd miss the bar, but half of them had alcohol poisoning before, so I'd save them twice.
I went down the alley to the side of the bar and snuck in the back. I was in the kitchen, but there was nobody there, it being late on a thursday. I turned on all the gas stoves and snuck upstairs, quietly, into one of the bedrooms, and I took my lighter and set fire to the bed. I did it to a few other beds as well until we had a good blaze going. "This will get them out," I remember thinking. I pulled the fire alarm and ran out the back, down the alleyway and out the front... Nobody was there. I walked in the front door of the bar, and I learned that the fire alarm down hear hadn't gone off. I could just hear the upstairs one, but anybody would think it was an alarm in a distant building. I shouted, "Everybody! There's a fire! You need to-" and the explosion knocked me backwards into the street. I thought turning the gas stoves on would just spread the fire quicker, not explode...
I woke up on the other side of the street, medics tending to me as firemen ran around, putting out what was left of the blaze. "Nobody made it out alive", I heard a lady on camera say. I drifted back into unconciousness. I'd never wake up. | They started showing themselves to me when I started high school. They were always a light shade of blue and wouldn't change. If someone was to die of a heart attack...he was to die of a heart attack. Nothing to be done about their fate. Nothing I could do, at least I thought. Those words would hang over the heads of my best friends, my significant others, and any pet I would own. It wasn't the best superpower, but at least nothing surprised me...at least, not recently. I started seeing some of the most painful, and drawn out, terminal diseases being replaced by a name. John Relain. I don't know who he is, all I know is I have to find him. If he has my power, and is acting on these diagnoses, I can't allow him to continue. | 2015-03-31T09:09:36 | 2015-03-31T08:21:48 | 63 | 47 |
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