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] You are an immortal sentenced to 1000 years of imprisonment. After 200, your prison is forgotten. After 10,000 years, it is rediscovered.
Optional: Your discoverers refuse to release you. | *sound*
*noise*
*footsteps*
I stir. Something coming. Someone. I have slept. They approach. I listen.
They are lost.
I wait. They will come. I sleep.
*scream*
*footsteps*
I wake.
*scream*
So have my guards. Metal sawing against bone. I will sleep. I will wake, if they live.
*footsteps*
They are almost here. I can feel them. I can feel the disturbance in the air. I can smell the fear. This is my chance.
How long has passed? I stand and feel the stiffness in my joints.
Centuries?
*shrug*
Millennia.
Here they come.
“Holy fuck, who is that?”
They are tall and short, him and her. The word escapes me.
Man. Woman.
Man protects the Woman. He holds out a sharp tool in some semblance of defiance. She cowers behind him.
No.
It is a ruse. Woman holds something just out of sight. Before my chains, they would have died screaming for such an ill-advised challenge.
“I am Mathias. They called me Dead of the Orion Arm. Blight of Andromeda. Sunset of the Markesians. Hand of Fear. God of Chaos.”
No more, no less.
Man pauses. Woman continues to shake.
“Oh, fuck this! I’ll take my chances with those fucking things. I’m not staying here with Lister of Bullshit or whatever-the-fuck his name is!”
Man turns to leave. My left hand twitches in its shackle.
“No. We have to get out of here. He’s the first thing here that hasn’t tried to kill us on sight. Now, from what I can see, he’s in the same situation as us. If he gets out, we get out. After that, I don’t give a shit who he decides to go skull-fuck.”
Man hesitates. So indecisive. Woman holds him tightly, until he waivers. They will help.
Good.
“Alright, what’s your deal? Why are you the only one here? What’s with the fucking nightmares we’ve been running from? What the fuck is this place?”
“I am Mathias. I am imprisoned here for backing the wrong side in a war. My allies fell, but I still completed my duty. I was sentenced to spend one-thousand years imprisoned for my part in the Fall of Xijon. “
Man and Woman seem confused. I continue on undisturbed.
“These... nightmares are my guards. I see the years have not been kind. They have gone mad, I believe their creators to be long extinct. They have gone on unsupervised for eons. So has this place. It is my prison, and as I had once come to believe, my tomb. Both have been abandoned by their engineers.”
They share a look. Telepathy? No. I feel no disturbance at that level. Simple, non-verbal communication.
“You said a thousand years, right?”
“Yes.”
“Everything here dates back at least ten-times that. We ran test after test to be sure. This place is older than anything we’ve seen so far. How are you still here?”
I search for the words.
“The creatures that bound me here feared me above all else. Tell me, child. If given the chance, would you risk your greatest fear escaping its bonds, or would you lock it away and leave it to rot? Would you not build it the perfect prison? A prison that would outlast you? Only a fool would not.”
“That’s not what I-“
Another pause. Metal grinds against stone. The guards have heard our exchange. Their time is running out.
“Oh fuck, they’re coming. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck *oh fuck*. What do we do?”
They begin to quake where they stand.
“I can stop them.”
They seem startled by my voice. Their surprise giving way to hope. Hope giving way to fear. They fully understand their predicament.
“How.”
A command disguised as a question.
“To my kind, these guards are no more than caretakers. Tools. They can kill and maim, just as any tool can, but they present no danger to me. Release me. I will lay waste to any who cross this threshold.”
The decision is made swiftly. They will take a dangerous chance over an inevitable death.
This is their first, and last, mistake.
As the man approaches, I cannot hold back my memories.
I remember the screams of the younglings as they drowned in a river of their parents blood.
I remember their Leader begging for answers.
Where did I come from?
Why am I doing this?
I remember how he despaired at my answer.
“Because I can.”
I remember the sacrifice. How they turned to mysticism when their weapons failed them.
I remember the sacrifice. A young female, snatched from the refugee camp. No time to waste. I remember the blood running across my chains, bonding them against my strength.
I remember recognizing their incantation.
And how to break it.
The Man reaches my throne. He grabs at my shackles. He is dead before the sound reaches her ears. His body faces me, but his eyes watch her. I can only imagine what they convey.
Fear?
Betrayal?
Accusation?
My bonds fall away just as his body collapses. They are a decaying lock, falling to pieces around the key.
She turns to run. His body kills her on impact.
My “guards” descend upon them like hungry scavengers. I leave them to feast on their lifeless meat. My children did well driving the cattle to their slaughter, this meal is their reward.
I have business elsewhere.
I am Mathias. The Void. The All-Consuming Darkness. The Bloody Entropy. The Faceless Extinction.
I am Death.
I am Mathias the Undying.
I have given the Markesians their head-start.
Let us see just how far they ran.
(I’m really trying to work on my writing and be more active in this sub. Please leave any criticism or compliments you may have in the comments. Any advice is appreciated) | In front of the door I lay, eyes going in and out of focus. "Long. So long. How long. No longer. Done. Done now. Now done. End sentence. Finished. Let out. Promise be good now. Why leave me?" I say with a slow croaked voice for the millionth time. In the pitch black I can't see anything and the only noise is labored breath and a constant ringing in my ear that seems to be coming from everywhere. I have not the strength to move anymore, my immortality keeps me alive, but and doesn't stop the suffering. I'm pretty sure I'm just some warped tightly around my bones at this point.
I could hear some footsteps moving in the distant, a trick of my mind. I've heard them for some time now, or maybe a short time. With constant black it was impossible to keep track. I tried the first couple of hundred years, but it was easy with the changing of guards and meals. Now every second seemed to combine into the same nothingness.
Maybe I'm not immoral I thought for unknownth time, maybe they found a way to kill me and this is all there is after life. Even if I'm not dead I might as well be. It could be some sick punishment and it really has only been a part of my sentence. What I do to get imprisoned, I can't even remember. In fact I can't recall anything but suffering, so so much suffering.
I closed my eyes focusing on the faint breath, with each new breath a new way to brutalize the people responsible for such a sadistic punishment. It's the only thing that seems to pass the time. After the skinning them alive breath I heard it. A voice so quite I couldn't make it out. "That's new head, figured footsteps not enough so now voice, are you trying to drive me mad? Have do better" I managed to say.
There it was again, followed by rocks falling, and I got it now. My sentence was up, they're finally unburying me. So it really has only been a thousand years. "There's a door over there lads, told it wasn't nothing" a man said. I wanted to get up so badly to show them they can't beat me, but honestly I couldn't even open my eyes.
"What the hell is that" I could make out a younger man say. "I've never seen a material like this, what do you think this door is made out of"
A woman laughed "of course you would be more interested in the door instead of what's on the other side. It must of been so well hidden and reinforced for a reason."
"Well of course I want to know what's on the other side but look it's a metal but not a lick of age anywhere, after this long how is it still in perfect condition." The younger man said frustrated. "And beside how do you plan to open it"
"You leave that to me boy I've cracked stronger nuts in my day" laughed the first man.
It had been a full week of my new friends banging on the door, and I only know it's been a week because the boy kept complaining. I wonder how long a week is. But the older one finally sounded happy again. "Ha, I told you I'd get before to long, though I'll be honest we really need to find how they made this door. Strongest thing I've ever seen, must be hiding a fortune behind it."
As the door inched open the light become blinding even behind my eyelids, fresh air came rushing in, oh how I had missed fresh air. I wanted to say something, anything but my lips felt glued together.
"Briga save me the smell!" The woman proclaimed. Well I don't you would smell much better after a thousand years I thought defensively.
"This door, THIS DOOR FOR WHAT. HIM." He said muffled though a rag.
"Interesting, all of this was a one man prison, it looks like he was mummified alive, look at all these scratches, he had oblivious suffered for some time." The older man said.
"I think he's still suffering John look closely his chest is moving ever so slight." | 2017-11-02T20:14:51 | 2017-11-02T19:06:29 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | "That was..." Brawg began, staggering over the bodies of the fallen goblins, his boots squelching in the treacle-like blood.
"Far too..." said Vesperr, returning her bow to her back, and beginning to pluck out arrows from the deceased enemies.
"Oxyrin!" finished Oxyrin, his pointed hat falling over his eyes once again. Dribble oozed down from his mouth and his pupils spun this way and that, as if two compasses confused by magnets.
Brawg and Vesperr looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Brawg brought a thunderous hand down on the wizard's back. "Don't ever change, Oxyrin!" he said.
"Oh, Oxyrin," grinned Vesperr, "you're the reason we do this, you know? For that smile on your face." She wiped away a the spittle from his lips, then shook her finger, sending the spit plopping onto the ground.
"Oxyrin!" Oxyrin repeated. A pointed tongue darted out of his mouth and latched onto a fly that was hovering over a brutalised body below.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't just see that," said Brawg with a wink. "Okay gang, I'd say we're all done here. I believe its time to go collect our reward."
"Not so fast, my friends," came a mysterious voice from behind them. Only, when they turned, there was *nothing* behind them.
Slowly, the blue-robed wizard hazed into existence. "It is I, the *real* Oxyrin! I have been trapped for the longest time, but I have finally outsmarted my captors and have returned to my friends. For no one is as clever as the Great Oxyrin!"
Brawg and Vesperr glanced at each other, then let out a joint gasp.
"Quite you might gasp," said Oxyrin, as he turned and pointed an accusing finger at the other blue wizard, who was now on all fours chasing after a spider. "For that fellow, has fooled you, my dear friends. But he is nothing more than an impostor! A Doppelganger! A fake, a fraud, and dare I say it, a phoney."
Brawg nudged Vesperr and they both gasped again.
"How.. erm, how can we believe you?" asked Vesperr, her top lip wet with nervous sweat. "How do we know he--"she pointed to the to the wizard, who was now chewing on something--"isn't the real Oxyrin. After all, he would have had to fool us both for two entire years."
Oxyrin rolled his eyes. "Hardly a challenging task. You two never were the"--his hands burst into blue flames--"brightest sparks. Ha. Hahaha."
Brawg's muscles tensed. Vesperr put a hand against his chest.
"That's not proof enough. For our Oxyrin can also do such petty parlour tricks."
"Very well," Oxyrin sighed, "I shall prove it. We shall have a wizard-off."
"Smart," said Vesperr. She let out a high pitched whistle, at which the other Oxyrin came bounding over to her.
"Oxyrin!" he sputtered as he arrived.
"Is that all he can say? How could you *possibly* believe he was me?"
"Good point," said Brawg. "His vocabulary is much larger."
"Oh. You made a joke. How very amusing."
"Okay," said Vesperr. "Round one of the wizard-off. *Shape-shifting.*"
"What? What a stupid round," complained Oxyrin, "for sniffing out a shape-shifter!" His face was red and a vein popped out of his forehead, pulsating like waves on the ocean. "Unbelievable idiocy. How you have possibly survived this long without me to guide you -- heaven only knows!"
"Oxyrin!" replied the other Oxyrin.
"Well, if you can't do it and he can..." said Brawg shrugging, "then I guess we know who the real wizard is."
"Oh... *pish!* Very well. And what must we change into, pray tell?"
"Something very small. To really challenge your morphitisation skills. A fly. Simple. First one to transform into a fly wins."
"Sala kazoo, Sala kazam!" shouted Oxyrin. There was a puff of smoke that left Vesperr and Brawg coughing. As it cleared, and only for the briefest moment, they saw a fly. Then, they saw a huge, pointed tongue. Finally, they saw an Oxyrin chewing on and then swallowing *something*.
"Oxyrin!" he shouted triumphantly, as Brawg and Vesperr collapsed into a fit of laughter.
"Oh Oxyrin," said Brawg, slapping him on the back "you really are too much."
"And," said Vesperr, "we wouldn't have it any other way!"
| Bolton the doppelganger did not want to be an adventurer. He wanted to live quietly, and bake cookies. He grew tired of the constant hustle and bustle of morphing into people, committing crimes because no one trusted the Doppleganger kind. He figured his secluded life in the hills might buy him peace.
The rogue laid on his floor, blood oozing from the pan shaped dent on his forehead. The doppleganger held his frying pan, a pained look on his face.
"I didn't mean to kill you..." he muttered, letting the pan fall to the ground, and burying his smooth black face in his long alien fingers.
Bolton had awoken to the sounds of someone rummaging through his dresser. Without really thinking he'd lifted his trusty frying pan, and crept up on the black cloaked figure. The rogue, a stout fat dwarf turned and snarled at him bradishing twin black daggers.
"hey stop stealing my stuff!" Bolton said.
The rogue responded with an inept slash of a dagger. With a frightened flurry of pan blows Bolton had brought the rogue to the ground.
Now Bolton fretted. Many a doppler murdered with impunity, but Bolton never wished to do anything more than avoid trouble. He could read minds, yet he refused to. It spoiled the fun of meeting people, and knowing them. Due to this aversion to murder Bolton now stood paralyzed, unable to think of what to do with this body.
He began to poke at the stocky form, when he heard a firm knock emanating from behind his wood door.
"Durin, you oaf, you've been gone hours, what's going on."
Without really thinking Bolton became Durin. With a slam Barrin the Paladin opened the door and saw two Durins, one wearing simple clothes, the other armor. One wielded Durin's black steel knives, the other a bloodied cast iron pan.
"What's going on here?" Barrin asked.
"well um, see I fell asleep here in this cave, and then this doppleganger tried to steal my armor and knives and so I had to beat him with this frying pan?" Said Bolton.
The paladin smirked.
"I see, well good job. Now come on. We've got some ruins to explore. And next time maybe don't rob a domicile if you aren't sure it is abandoned." Barrin said.
Reluctantly, Bolton donned the dead Durrin's armor, and tools. After the paladin buried Durin, and planted a plank in the ground. The dopple busied himself inside preparing his house to be left, and Barrin wrote with a peice of charcoal from his pouch.
"here lies, Durin, a theif, a rat bastard, and a betrayer. He got himself killed robbing a good man." He wrote.
With a cool wisp of the wind following them, the newly minted Bolton/Durrin followed Barrin, not sure of the golden Haired human's destination, and worrying deeply of the state of his garden.
| 2017-09-15T08:01:38 | 2017-09-15T05:03:01 | 975 | 12 |
[WP] Caterpillars liquefy as they transform into butterflies. You opened many, many cocoons and poured all the goo into one big synthetic cocoon. The result was not what you expected. | Alex had always been fascinated by caterpillars and the way they transformed. They metamorphosed into something beautiful. Whether it was a moth or a butterfly didn't matter to Alex. He obsessed about these little creatures. He loved them. He wanted to be like them.
Alex had his own little greenhouse filled with butterflies and moths. He nurtured them and bought thousands upon thousands of grubs, caterpillars and other sorts of larvae. He would watch the process their metamorphosis each time. Some would not emerge from their cocoons. He would mourn their loss and bury them in the back. But not before emptying the contents into several different vials.
He found that the larvae underwent a type of liquefying process in the cocoon. From that ooze, the formation of the final form would begin. Alex studied the ooze to see what happened in the cocoon; how did it work?
Before long, he decided to try something new. He purchased and gathered all the caterpillars he could and as soon as they entered their pupal stage and completed the cocoons, he would wait a day for them to liquefy before opening them and gathering the contents. He hated this part. He hoped that the result would justify his murder.
All the goo was gathered in a tub created by spinning the silk from the cocoons he harvested. Each caterpillar had it's own distinct color liquid and they swirled together in the tub. Alex stripped down and gently entered, mesmerized by the colors. He covered the cocoon - his cocoon - and submerged himself.
---
A detective investigated the greenhouse on the edge of town. Apparently there was a young man that had been living there, but he had ended up missing. He hadn't been at his part-time job for several weeks and his parents didn't seem to know where he was or even care he was missing. It was an acquaintance from his work that filed a report that he was missing. There were other missing persons cases that required immediate attention that this Alex was left on the backburner. But after several weeks of her stopping by, this detective had enough and told her he would check out where he lived.
Alex was a loner and a freak by the words of his co-workers and family. The detective was determined to finish this case quickly and hope to rule it a suicide or some sort of accident.
The greenhouse was overgrown and dirty. He went around the greenhouse and couldn't find anything other than tangled vines and plants covering the windows. The roof seemed to be smashed in, so it might have been an accident. He checked the door... it was unlocked. He went in with his flashlight and quickly surveyed the area. Hard to see with all the plants and bugs in the way.
"Disgusting"
He heard rustling coming from the corner. He edged closer. He saw the remnants of a gigantic cocoon. Tattered clothes and ... bones were littered around it.
"..No..."
The detective looked up.
"I am ... beautiful." | As I normally do, my weekly indulgence if you will, I harvested all the cocoons in my neighborhood and poured them in my cocoon bowl. Now this may seem a bit strange to the uninitiated but I have read plenty of books confirming this as a legitimate road to nirvana. So after week 20 of my cocoon harvesting adventures I opened my bowl in anticipation of the enlightenment that awaited. Well as it turned out, all I got for my weeks of work was a used copy of Jurassic Park. It wasn't even blue ray but VHS. Who even uses VHS anymore? On top of that it was the old one from 1993. After all I did my reward was watching a T-Rex eat a man on a toilet. I can say that without a doubt I will write a terrible review to amazon about the book "The Alchemist". | 2016-12-21T06:43:04 | 2016-12-21T06:30:30 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk. | Pt1. My mind was racing as I sat hunched over head in hands. The occasional rumble from the dropship causing my stomach to lurch as we descended through the atmosphere to our target location. It had only been a week since Blueflame's accident, the thought causing me to make an unflattering sound in my throat. I instinctively reached downwards for my flask but remembered I had thrown it into space in a fit of rage and sadness. If I had been thinking correctly I could have saved her.
"You okay?" Heartless said, putting a hand in my shoulder.
She quickly removed her hand in a pained gasp. Looking up I caught a glimpse of her hand as it retracted, her glove smoking and melted.
"Sorry." Was all I said as I scooted away from her and turned my head to stare out the window.
The ocean passed by seemingly infinite and all I could do to prevent myself from dry heaving was returning my head to my hands. Tears fell and rest in the bottom of my mask. I could hear the others talking but I did not care.
"Do you think he should have stayed back in containment?" Lark whispered to Heartless.
"GP said he shouldn't be a danger to anyone but himself and his target but I'm not so sure." Heartless replied changing his glove.
"If he's a danger to himself why was he allowed to leave?" Lark said.
"We don't have much information on the target but it was foreshadowed by Thirdeye to be Class S, maybe more." Heartless said. "Were just scouting for information but without Blueflame we don't have many options."
Hearing Blueflame's callsign brought forth another wave of nausea that caused me slump over even more. I tried to right myself but was interrupted by Hivemind over the comms. We were 5 minutes from drop and needed to enter the pods.
We got up and I looked around, all eyes were on me.
"I'm fine." I said, and left for my pod.
The interior of the pods were sleek and white with only a porthole in the front and the floor the see where you would land. The trajectory was planned and maintained by Hivemind, as were all things technological on Gray Team. I was happy to not be in control, maybe Hivemind would mess up and shoot me into the sun, I hoped. Hivemind didn't make mistakes though.
A holoscreen opened up before me as I locked myself into the pod and I saw Hivemind's mask on the screen, black with no features except a hexagonal pattern in neon green.
"We've got eyes on the target, it's definitely class S, probably higher." Hive said, "We're here to rescue the civilians on the cruise ship its about to intercept, get an idea of its abilities, and slow it down. In that order. Heartless and Lark will drop first directly onto the ship. Trueflame, I'll be dropping you into the combat zone with support from my drones, there are civilians at stake. Don't forget that."
I nodded silently and waited, I didn't know what I was up against but I didn't care. It or I would die today.
Heart and Lark dropped and I could see the streaks of white as they flew downwards towards the cruise ship slowly turning from something in the middle of the ocean. The creature in the ocean creating a wake that would surely flip the ship if it got close enough. It could not be seen but it must be gigantic to reach the surface like that.
Moments later the countdown started and I dropped like a rock towards the ocean, Hiveminds drones passing by me at incredible speeds into the ocean. Alone I flew to the zone wishing Blueflame was by my side as she had been since we were adopted by GP into Gray Team.
About a mile above the roiling ocean my pod split open, the sheathing flipping over and jettisoned back up to the ship. Hivemind began informing me of the creature as his drones began gathering info but his voice cut off. There was a massive boom and the soundwave could be seen travelling through the water at incredible speeds and a wall of vapor was created as it traveled. Arcs of lightning scattered through the vapor clouds like a storm.
"Subaquatic information is... unavailable." Hive said, their voice uneven. "Were blind for now."
I shrugged as I stood on the remaining hovering disc of my pod and stepped off, plummeting into the center of the storm and wake. Looking over my shoulder I could see Heartless and Lark carrying the cruise ship to safety, Lark flying above harnessed to the hull and Heartless walking on water with the ship on his shoulder like a log.
Focusing as hard as I could I channeled my thoughts into energy and felt my chest well up with emotion, this was normal for my power but a flash of a thought of Blueflame overwhelmed me. What was to be a channeled beam of nuclear energy from my mouth became a shrill cry and explosion of downward energy, caught in my throat as I choked up with emotion it traveled slow and wide as a small island. I stopped and waited.
Like a jellyfish of radiant energy my unfocused wave hit the surface of the water and in an instant erupted like a nuclear bomb. A mushroom cloud of vapor raised instantly into the sky with me in the center and the creature below. I could not see it but the dark form of its head raised upwards revealing two glowing orbs the size of football stadiums, it's eyes.
"What the hell was that!?" My team yelled unanimously through the comms.
"I... I can't control my focus. You all need to leave." I said choking up.
"We're not going go leave you alone, Trueflame." Heartless said, "we'll be back once-"
"NO!" I screamed and inadvertently sent out another wave of energy.
This one traveled faster and hit the creature in the face as it looked up at me, it reeled backwards and in the explosion of vapor and displacement of water I could see its head, humanoid. I flew down at an extreme speed my body glowing with energy, but unlike my usual like glow I was hot white.
Crackling with energy and sending arcs of my own energy out into the ocean. Each lightning bolt exploding and creating mushroom clouds of electrically charged vapor. I became a beam of energy, the creature lifted an arm that could crush a city in an attempt to grab me. It looked like stone, covered in corals and sea weed. It's body cracked and the cracks glowed with thermal heat. | Starla watched Ozzie tumble into the Hero Squad break room and crash into the greasy old futon, it was something Alice had brought in one day to drag him onto when Ozzie would pass out during his afterwork private victory celebrations.
At first Victor had strongly objected to having such a cheap piece of furniture in his official little clubhouse but gave in shortly after Alice offered him the choices of Ozzie passing out on the futon or his thracian velvet couch.
Ozzie had been a mess for all the years Starla had known him, but it still shook her up to see him flopped down on the ground, tongue out, eyes rolled back, dry heaving and shaking as if he was about to have a seizure.
"You finally figured out how to drink a little too much did you now Ozzie?" quipped Mark, staring at the shuddering pile of rags and quivering withered out muscles in the corner and laughing. "The hell is wrong with you Mark?" Starla half whispered half yelled through her gritted teeth, glaring at the darkly dressed but mirthful super lounging by the TV, "how could you say that..." she lowered her voice even quieter "*after what happened... you know she was the only one here who was close to him*" she finished doubling her glare at Mark as her eyes glistened with a pained sorrow.
For a rare second Mark's devilish grin broke as he struggled to make a retort, an expression of frustration scrambling across his face settling into a returned glare masking the anguish that was smouldering inside him, "don't you dare talk to me about that! You of all people! If Victor had kept Count Lithias occupied for a few minutes longer, if you weren't so distracted making damn kissy eyes at him and had stopped that damn bolt from breaking through! As for this drug addled alcohol blooded piece of shit, the one time in 6 years his powers fail to work and it's Alice we lose, not Victor that soulless fucking smartass, not you you watery eyed little princess b--"
"THAT'S ENOUGH" a sudden deep shout echoed out from a corner of the room, Mark jumped back a blade in his hands, eyes glowering gold, Starla yelped in shock startled from her emotions, turning to the huddled pile in the corner. It was the first time Ozzie had ever spoken a clear sentence, or spoken to the two of them directly at all for that matter.
"Ahmjmnt... ahmot... ahm not mak" a tepid flittering voice sputtered out from the haggard figure still resting on the old bed.
"What did you say Oz? What are you not?" Starla asked, her voice quivering in a jumbled mix of shock, fear and intrigue.
"Hah, for a moment there I thought you'd learnt to talk Ozzie boy" Mark muttered backing against the wall, his eyes fixated as he quietly pressed a button on his collar.
The dim bleary eyes stared back ceaselessly, contrasted against a face pocked by scars and cuts and drooping lines, "ahm nott Mark" he spoke out, breathing heavily as if it took a chain to pull out each word, "aiym not drunk" he finished, clarifying with a strange pressure that made it clear it was not in question.
"I'm done th--" Oz began but stopped as he broke into a terrible wretching cough, he bent over chest heaving violently his mouth quaking as if his lungs were about to explode.
Victor rushed into the room "status" he yelled at Mark before hurrying over to Oz, he bent down and pressed two fingers against his shaking throat and two fingers against his chest. "I don't know, he came in and slumped on the futon like always but then he started talking, words, in English! After that he started getting like this, but what's happening to him? Isn't this just one of his usual fits?"
Just as Mark finished the sound doubled as a rapid thunderous coughing filled the room, Oz collapsed as his limbs started shaking violently with his body.
"Alice. Alice would know what to do, Alice always..." Starla shouted to herself as her beautiful face finally broke down into tears, lost over her feelings of grief and anger and loathing at her inability to do anything.
"It's okay Starla, things are going to be fine" with a rushed assurance, Victor gestured to Mark and grabbed the convulsing Oz, flipping him on his back and pressng his shoulders down "his breathings getting worse and worse but I can't tell what's causing it, his lungs are booming but there doesn't seem to be anything affecting it, his hearts barely beating but his vessels are unobstruct--" just then with a monstrous force Oz bent up and
PS. I have a shallow idea for writing this, but it's been a very long time and I forgot how slow my pacing tends to be, will get back to this again and again if I don't forget it before I manage to finish it, but until then it's just going to be half a writing excerpt. | 2022-12-28T09:33:31 | 2022-12-28T09:14:44 | 52 | 27 |
[WP] You are a skilled hitman always getting your mark, but every month you get another contract from the same person. They are immortal, or they at least come back to life every time you kill them. They are always asking you to try different ways of killing hoping one would keep them dead | How long has it been? Three years? Four?
Is it strange that I get excited every time the same contract comes to my phone every month?
It all happened when I was hired a client to kill...herself. Attached to her file was a note, written, "Find a way to kill me as effectively as possible."
Confused, I first killed her like how I usually take down my targets; with my trusted sniper gun. A clear shot from her office window, completely vulnerable. Yet, she send me a cold shiver down my spine as she was staring out of a window, expecting to get a headshot.
"What is wrong with her?" I muttered to myself, right before I gave a bullet to her, a direct hit on her forehead. She dropped to the ground, blood spill all over her carpet ground.
"Well, that was easy," I muttered, still confused what her email meant.
Before I packed my sniper away, a message came in from my phone, saying;
"Sorry, but a sniper on my head doesn't seem to do the trick. Try again?"
I immediately looked over my scope, and I felt blood rushing out of my face, as I saw the client herself standing up from her pool of blood, her gunshot wound gone, leaving her clothes a bloody mess.
She shook her head, almost disappointedly, and she signalled me to 'do over'.
That's when I began to be creative in my killing methods. Poisoning their food, drowing them with a rock tied to their feet, burning them alive, and even the most cowardly way, planting explosives under their cars.
Every method that has done me wonders for other clients, has done nothing to permanently kill her. She'll always come back, sending me a same contract to kill herself, with the same note.
Over the years, my perplexion on her immortality turned into intrigued. Then, it morphed into admiration, and before I knew it... I was deeply in love with her. So much so, that I become hesitant to pull the trigger as of late.
She must've took noticed of my lack of trying as of late, as her latest contract came with a message, "I sense that you're losing your edge as of late. I hope that I'm not tarnishing your career. Find a more effective way of killing me."
This time, I decided not to gaze on her from afar.
I paid a visit to her house, a fancy looking home near the sea. Ringing her bell, she opened it with glee, wearing her casual singlet and shorts. Upon looking at me, she made a small grin.
"Are you my contract killer?"
"Yes."
"Are you here to kill me?"
"Maybe. But if I'm going to kill you, perhaps I should know you better," I said.
She was surprised at first, but she let out a cute giggle. "So, you're changing your ways now? Am I responsible for it?" she laughed.
"I supposed so," I grinned.
"Well, come on in," she ushered me in. "Let's find better ways to put me down permanently." | I looked at the man across the table and folded my hands. Killing folks was in the business. I don’t ask why usually but this guy? Oh ho, let me tell you something: I first killed this guy ten years back... on a contract... first it was long range. Then, I had to make it look like an accident after it turned out he was still alive... again... and again.... again. Same client, same victim... what the hell?! The money was nice, but this was ridiculous.
The man swallowed. “I assume the money won’t be a problem?” My target asked. I tilted my head. I came to the bar and in walks the target. Why? How?
I opened my mouth in disbelief. “I’m going to assume that’s a ‘yeah’.” The target said while he grimaced. “Long story short: I’m an immortal, I hired you to kill me as I want to die and I had you use different methods to see what keeps me dead. Can you help me out again?” The target asked. I tilted my head and then started laughing and walked out. Nope. Never again. | 2020-11-07T01:14:34 | 2020-11-06T22:11:09 | 45 | 32 |
[WP] Two criminals share what is to be their last conversation on death row. With nothing left to lose, all is laid bare to the other stranger. | “Are you scared?” The meek, thin man asked, scooting closer to my side, trying to find some solace in the cold, bare cell. It was strange that he even wished to speak. We had spent at least an hour by each other’s side without a word and suddenly he wished to talk.
“Not really. I mean, maybe a little? I don’t know. You go through stages with it, I guess? Its weird, isn’t it, like turning off a light switch? That’s what the guard told me.” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the guard’s earlier comment or cry, something morbidly amusing about the ease with which thirty years of life would be erased.
“Right, yeah. I’m scared. How can’t a person be scared? You grow up being taught to avoid death. Don’t cross roads without looking, don’t touch spiders. Things like that and then suddenly you 're locked in a room and expected to keep calm. I’m trying to keep calm but part of me just wants to pull those bars open.”
“A frail man like you wouldn’t even make those bars budge.” I gave him a smirk, but he didn’t return one, huffing at my joke.
“Shut up, just because you look tough. Why do you think I kept my mouth shut earlier? I thought you would beat me if I spoke, but I’m not sure why that scared me. A beating can’t be worse than death, can it?”
“Depends on what a person breaks. You ever tried to breathe with a broken rib? Bastard of a thing. Teeth are one of the worst. When you feel it loosen, its just not a pleasant feeling. What are they killing you for, anyway? Filed some snobs taxes the wrong way?”
“Again, shut up. If you must know, I planned to assassinate a politician. A man called George Mallik. Did you not hear about it? It was a rather big story. I shot him in the shoulder.” The man asked, expecting some sort of applause from me, looking disappointed when I looked away.
“Must have been after my sentence, they don’t show us much tv in here. I heard something about a politician but there’s always a person cursing a politician in every sector of this prison, you just start drowning it out.”
“I see. Guess you had to be outside to notice it. What about you? Gang related? Drugs? Booze? What’s your sinful poison?” He said, prodding me for information, only to scoot back when I shot him a glare.
“Armed robbery gone wrong. I was going from state-to-state robbing stores, it was a nice little operation, but I got greedy. News spread about my actions, and soon shops began keeping weapons behind their registers. That didn’t stop me at first, the stores that kept weapons were far too few to be an issue and a person getting paid $20 an hour wasn’t about to be a hero.”
“So, what happened? Can’t have been that good of an operation if you got caught.” He teased, trying to get back at me for earlier, disheartened when I didn’t react to his prodding.
“Told you, I got greedy. I told myself I would get enough to keep my family fed, but then I got ambitious. Robbed one store too many and got a gun pulled on me. I didn’t even think, I shot the man dead where he was standing. Then I panicked and got into a shootout with the law. Think I killed two of them. You can probably guess how nicely they treated me when they got me away from cameras.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure they offered you the water facial cleanse they gave me. It’s good at opening your pores and blocking your respiratory system.”
“You like telling jokes? Ever consider comedy rather than political assassination?”
“When I was younger, yes. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the wit for it. We could have made a good duo though; every two piece needs a straight man. You know, a stern face that rolls his eyes at the other’s humor?”
“Right, yeah. I think I’ve heard of it. Think I would rather take the needle then do comedy with you though. No offence, I just know which one sounds less painful.”
“A lot of offence taken. I could have raised you through Hollywood, we could have been something. Something more than this.” His hands clutched at his knees, gripping them.
“We all want to be somebody, don’t we?” I said, giving the man a pat on the back, one that startled him.
“I thought killing him would help people out. He wanted to remove the healthcare benefits for those that can’t afford proper treatment. I thought that would be my grand stand against the world, an ultimate act of defiance and yet it was a whimper.”
“An idealistic idiot.”
“Pardon?”
“An idealistic idiot. If you cared you would have signed petitions or promoted action healthily, not by shooting whoever you disagreed with. That’s just a petty excuse.” I stated, watching the man rise to his feet, gripping the scruff of my outfit.
“Listen here you. What makes you think any of that would have worked? People like him need to feel scared, they need to see the people won’t lay dormant. What about you? Robbing for your child while others struggle to feed their families after you steal from them.”
“I know what I did was-“ I went to fire up at the man, rising to my feet only to hear a clanging of metal outside, causing me to drop back onto the bench, the man following. “Sorry, I guess I’m an idealistic idiot too.”
“I’m sorry too. You wanted something better than I ever did. I hope your family is ok, if that’s any consolation. I’m sure your child will understand why you did what you did.”
“Hope she doesn’t. I don’t want her thinking that’s a good way to live. I hid some money for her, enough that it should give her the start her father never could.”
“I’m sure she will at least appreciate the gesture. Do you regret what you did?” The man asked, moving again closer to my side.
“I do. My parents weren’t great, and I wanted to give her what I never had. I wanted that sitcom family and in trying to do that I robbed her of a normal life. My father was a bastard, but he was at least around. I can’t say that for myself.”
“I didn’t have any family left, but I can imagine if anyone’s watching me from beyond the grave, they would be disappointed. They did everything they could to give me a good life, and I blew it away. I’m Paul, by the way, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Jeremy.” I responded, giving the man a nod. I could hear the heavy footsteps of a guard approaching our cell, causing my chest to stir with oxygen. “And Paul, I’m scared too.” I said before standing up, waiting for the guard to open the cell.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | *Life takes on strange colors when laid bare to the sunset of dying. The irreconcilable reality of death weighs on the human mind heavier and more concrete than anything else. The foundation to the soul atop which all men rest and fall.*
"I never imagined it would be like this." Jacob's voice was strong but a lie, beneath its steady groove was the slight tinge of abject fear. A reality that had crashed down so hard and so often that it reflected in every mumble of his voice. "It all just feels so stupid. I'm innocent you know."
"No one is innocent." Isaac's voice was different than Jacobs, he was much older, and so his talk had a gravel and force to it. Like a rolling tractor that had been weathered but still ran. "No one really deserves to live. If all things were known."
They were sitting across from each other, chained to a table, eating their last meal. "Be happy that they let us enjoy our last meal together." Isaac said, while biting deep into his burger, relishing in it's meat. "Humans are born with and for each other. To have us go out alone would be the true cruelty if there was ever said to be one. Be happy we have that."
The air was rare, there are not many scenes like that of a death row meal. Chained to a table, so as to not forget your fate, but given the temporary freedom of choice, and the momentary pleasure of taste. A brutal, brutal act attempted to be made cultured through some abstract form of poetry by lifting the butchers axe the moment before the fall, just so they could see the sun one last time.
"I don't even taste the food." Jacob said. "How can you? How can you taste anything?"
"You worry too much on the happenings boy. Don't worry, just eat, it's death."
"Just death! Just death? Are you telling me that you're not afraid old man?"
"*To live fully is to live with an awareness of the rumble of terror that underlies everything,*" The man said matter-of-factly. "Don't worry. Realize, understand, eat."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Think boy, a man named Ernest Becker said it. A smart man, smarter than both of us put together I can tell you that much." He was still gorging on his food in between the words. "It means that we all die. But that is what makes this food wonderful, because I know that I won't always have it, especially now."
There was a long pause in the air, as Jacob thought on the words. The dumb hum of the old AC was the only noise besides Isaac's aggressive chewing. The room was just them two, no cameras or guards, another arbitrary attempt to have culture in the most uncultured act of killing. The two of them were given privacy in their most private hour.
Isaac raised his head and saw how his words were affecting Jacob, who was staring empty at his plate. "Son, look at me." Jacob's eyes raised to meet his. "I'm terrified of dying, truly mortified. That's okay though, that's all we can be. There is not a human on this earth who truly doesn't fear death, they can't exist, or they wouldn't be human. Be grateful, we have been given a gift from our killers."
"A gift? How is this a gift?" Jacob wasn't hiding his emotions anymore, tears were welling in his confused eyes. A panic laid bare before another human, true vulnerability.
"Mankind is the only creature to know his demise, we are the only animals that can grasp that we will one day not exist. Do you understand that?" They stared at each other in the empty room, across that cold table. "To be human is to know you will die, and here we sit, two humans who know that we will die today. We are more human than any other humans on the planet right now, that is something to be enjoyed. You are human right now, so very very human."
"I'm scared Isaac." The tears were streaming down Jacob's face. Isaac reached his feeble hand out and held Jacob's shaking one, with tears in his own eyes as well now.
"I know boy, I am too. I really am. You can cry, that's okay, that's human too." He put both of his hands on Jacobs, wrapping them in his warm skin. "Let's be human together and cry. It will be the last love we know of the world."
So they cried together, laying bear their deepest fear of disappearing forever, in that cold waiting room before the afterlife. Chained to the table and in front of the food that was their parting gift from humanity. They would soon both be swiftly executed and forgotten about, two humans caught in the whirlwind of brutalities that was mankind. But in that one room they both were more human than any human, and enjoyed the love of company more than anyone else could ever claim to. In their most broken, they were together and whole, through each other.
​
*To live fully is to live with an awareness of the rumble of terror that underlies everything*
\- Ernest Becker
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed stop by my new subreddit! r/mrsharks202
Any feedback is welcome! Thank you! | 2021-07-28T07:21:55 | 2021-07-28T06:59:19 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] Neil Armstrong takes his first steps on the moon, and notices footprints that aren't his. | I can no longer defend myself. I can no longer hide what has been haunting my conscience for nearly 50 years.
I'm not sure how likely everyone is to believe me. After all, I'm just a dying man with nothing to lose. So many theories have been tossed out over those footprints that this may simply be drowned out amongst the noise. You can decide for yourself whether or not I'm credible.
From 1961 to 1974, I was deeply involved with the former Soviet Union space program. Whenever we had our next big idea on the table, I was one of the main figures when it came to planning it out. By the mid-1960s, the moon was the next big milestone. This was our
"white whale", so to speak. Since we were the ones who were always getting there first, we believed that beating America to the moon would permanently seal the space race as a monumental Soviet victory.
Here's what most people haven't heard: we cut corners. The mission itself was the ultimate goal, but the finances weren't always there. And when the finances aren't there, we have to make sacrifices. Those sacrifices come in many forms, the most egregious of which were the safety compromises we routinely made. Sometimes missions would fail as a result of those compromises, but that didn't seem to matter as long as they would work just once before the Americans could do it first.
By 1969, we knew the Americans were close. Although our relations with the U.S. were better by the end of the decade, we still took the space race very seriously - too seriously. With the race to the moon, we knew it would take more than a year to realistically send a man up there safely. We figured that we might be able to reach the surface if we got lucky, but there were too many logistical hurdles that we weren't ready to clear. At that moment, some of us - myself included - let our ambition get in the way of rational thought and a basic moral conscience. Our new plan wasn't just irrational, it was downright evil.
We were going to send a man to the moon...he just wasn't going to come back. This, of course, was unbeknownst to the two men who were selected for the mission. If we were lucky, they'd reach the surface, walk for a bit, then plant the flag. That was all we needed.
In April, we went through with the mission. We made it in the most technical sense - we crashed. Communication was cut off immediately afterwards, so we weren't sure whether our brave men survived the
initial impact.
When the Americans had their successful mission a few months later, I remember it as if it happened yesterday. I cannot adequately describe the horror that came from hearing Neil Armstrong describe the "set of footprints that stretch as far as the eye can see". I have witnessed a number of scary moments in my life, but nothing sent chills down my spine more than hearing those words.
For a short time, at least one of those honorable men was fully aware of his doom. I can't explain why he walked for so long, or how he was able to do it. I'd like to believe he simply wanted to enjoy one last view of the beautiful planet standing before his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, those footprints lead to the best vantage point in the galaxy. | What the hell are those? Fuck. Can't be the Soviets. So then who? Aliens? I can't reveal the presence of alien life forms now. Half the world's going to see these video and photographs. What to do, what to do. Well, nobody's here to see. I'll just cover them up, sweep them away. *Do-do-do-do, do-do-do, do-do-do-do. I'm on the moon, it's pretty awesome, singing a song in my head. I'm on the moon, it's pretty awesome, I'm the coolest guy in the world. I'm on the moon, it's pretty awesome, sweeping up alien footprints. Aren't I cool, aren't I awesome, I'm Neil Armstrong and I'm on the moon. Footprints are gone, now I pretend, that I was the first thing on the moon.* Now which of my prepared statements should I use? America wins the race? Too nationalistic. We've opened up the new frontier? Not really truthful. Oh, that's a good one.
"That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”
Good job Army. I'm such a badass.
| 2014-02-25T15:22:16 | 2014-02-25T14:19:03 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head. | I stand, leaning against her. Ever leaning against her. I have been doing so as long as I can remember. She's behind me. And I've got my back against her. My legs dug in, pushing futile against her. My legs used to ache, I think. Perhaps I only imagined it and then later forgot it was only imagining. Either way, they didn't ache now. They didn't anything now. Except push. They pushed my back against her.
She was silent, for her part. Everything was silent. The little bird was silent. The squirrels. The people. Dozens of people around us. So resolute in their silence. I'm silent too, mostly. I remember making a noise. That I do remember. Because when I made the noise, it seemed so loud my ears hurt afterwards. So I don't make any noise either.
She's still. So still. But I push. I always push. She doesn't move. The wrinkle in her coat sticks into my back. It used to hurt. But I pushed anyway. Her jacket was soft. Soft was when you touched and it moved. But she doesn't move. I push, and she's still there.
Beside us is the thing. The thing is ready to move. I remember that. It's got a person in it. They have a surprised look on their face. Their hands off the wheel part of the thing, trapped halfway to covering their stupid surprised face. Their stupid hair, and their stupid mole. The stupid dribble of whatever they had been putting in their stupid mouth. The stupid thing they were holding, stupidly glowing.
I don't like the thing, or the person in it.
Then a pain. Terrible flashing pain. Again. Again. Again. Again.
No. Not pain. Sound. A sound. Maybe both? Again. Not sure. Again. More pain. The pain was getting closer.
I remember this pain. Steps. Footsteps.
And for the first time, I see something move.
He walked around a corner, making humming noises to himself. I pushed.
He's walking by me. Doesn't look at me. I don't make a sound. I don't move. I push. I look like the rest of it. I want him to look at me.
I try to call out, but only a faint hoarseness sounds through my long unused neck. I need to breath in. I had forgotten. It had been so long since I'd bothered. I'd forgotten.
It was enough.
He started and stopped, looking for the sound. My sound. I push. I take a moment, and figure out how to draw the air inside me. I remember. Still just hoarseness, but louder. Painfully loud. A screaming whisper of loud.
*"wait"*
"You're awake? How are you awake? You're not supposed to be awake." The man is too loud. I push. But I remember his noises.
*"I had to stop the thing"*
The man looks from me to the thing. The thing is close to me. The thing is close to her. I push.
"You're pushing her out of the way of the car."
Yes, I push. He doesn't await a reply.
"How long have you been awake?"
This time he waits.
Breath in. I push.
*"forever"*
The man looks sad. The thing is waiting. Has always been waiting. The stupid person in the thing looks on with their stupid surprise.
"I didn't know someone was awake. If... had I known..."
The man stammers. I push. The man approaches. And reaches out to me. He touches my arm. Pain. Different than the sound pain. The man pulls his hand back. The arm is dented. A torn ruin where his fingers landed. I push.
"It's too close for you. But her... I'll help you."
The man walks around the thing, and puts his hands around her. I push.
"I am sorry, young man. I truly didn't know."
I push.
"Ready yourself."
I push.
And the thing moves. | *Surely not...*
As Jerry cruised down the open stretch of road he spotted a moving silhouette 300 yards away on the opposite side of the street.
He cautiously brought the BMW i8 to a halt
As the silhouette moved from out of the shadows the skyscraper, they became a blurry figure, draped in long-sleeved dark clothes.
Jerry watched as the person skipped away from the bank with bundles of cash tucked under each arm.
*Out of all the places in the entire wor- Stop! Calm down, let’s think through this. This was bound to happen at some stage. Should I go towards them? No, no! They’ll probably freeze you t- NO! IT’LL BE WORSE! YOU KNOW THEIR SECRET! Ohhh fuckkk.*
He hastily grabbed the wheel, aggressively pulled it all the way to the right and stomped on the accelerator.
Jerry shakily exhaled as he watched the blurry figure become a dot in his rear view mirror, but unlike the other 250-odd times Jerry was mobile in a motionless world, on this occasion he was not in his home town.
After a few attempts of navigating his way back to his hotel, Jerry realised he was lost.
His breathing suddenly became more rapid…
*W-Wait, I swear I’ve seen that gothic church. AM I GOING BACK THE WAY I CAM-*
In between Jerry’s train of thought and his reckless right turn, the person took their first step on the road.
Jerry jerked both his feet towards the brakes.
The car stopped on a dime.
Unfortunately, the dime was in the person’s pocket.
There was a blunt thud, then silence.
With a faint whimper, Jerry apprehensively and slowly craned his neck over the steering wheel towards the sidewalk, where he could see a plump, middle-aged man, dressed in a matching navy blue hoodie and tracksuit pants.
The man's body lay eternally broken, motionless and frozen.
Just like time.
______________________________________________________
r/Dri_Writes | 2018-01-26T06:28:28 | 2018-01-26T05:36:48 | 387 | 144 |
[WP] You are an alien conqueror that came to take over a nondescript planet named 'Earth'. Your glad you landed first and did some recon, because this 'Comic Con' meeting you have discovered has some of the greatest powers in the universe gathered and your not sure invading is a good idea anymore... | “Uhh, mothership. I think we have made a big mistake here,” whispered Ulrog.
Ulrog felt very out of place. To any onlooker, he was a short, chubby man. Someone who wouldn’t stand out. But beneath the holo-suit, Ulrog was absolutely terrified.
“Mission Report, Ulrog. What have you found?” a voice spoke into his earpiece.
“We need to leave Earth alone. And pray that they never become a space-faring species, Mothership.”
Ulrog then began to report the sights he had seen. Many of these humans were engaged in fierce discussions over which of the beings in the audience were stronger.
Ulrog heard stories of how a being named Soops could sneeze apart an entire solar system. Apparently, sneezing is an involuntary reflex from humans where they project specks of body fluid. And this being’s *body fluids* could destroy a solar system.
And other parties argued that he wasn’t stronger than this other being. A ***sun*** that was named Gokew? A being whose hair changes with his strength and at his peak, could shake the very universe.
The worst part is, Ulrog saw ***dozens*** of beings matching both descriptions, indicating that Earth was clearly the most dangerous part of the universe.
But if only that was the limit of power on this planet. Ulrog also witnessed other bizarre displays of strength beyond comprehension.
Ulrog walked into a certain section of the area and saw numerous people holding strange storage units they called “Kards.” And on these storage units, they stored otherworldly creatures and they could create effects that defied the known laws of physics.
There would be tables where two Earthlings sat across from each other. Far as he could tell, these weren’t famed champions he heard others dischssing. And these two Earthlings would begin casting these effects and commanding these creatures. Though everything happened at speeds much faster than Ulrog could comprehend. Other onlookers would cheer at some event and when I asked someone to explain to me what happened, it seemed the other Earthling was hit with catastrophic damage.
They were banished to an otherworldly dimension, attacked by some mystical forces or hit with some terrible curse of some sort. But while many others clearly reacted in surprise, Ulrog couldn’t even see these acts take effect. They were that fast. They were completely unharmed, save for some emotional damage.
And then there were the females of the species. They were very… distracting.
“All in all, mothership. I’d like to come back now and may we never wrong this planet.” | As I wandered the convention center, I saw hundreds and hundreds of powerful beings. Most seemed to be humanoid. Many with powerful weapons, some without, but there seemed to be some sort of implied peace treaty between the attendees. They wore some sort of necklace documentation that I assume was consent for peace during the meeting. Despite the raw power that clearly flowed through this gathering, there was a pervasive sensation of peace and joy. While I appreciated the feeling of safety, I had the impression that given any sort of attack, these jovial beings would quickly resort to violence. | 2021-05-23T11:56:39 | 2021-05-23T05:57:13 | 88 | 41 |
[WP] You have just been abducted by a UFO. While you are figuring out what just happened to to you, a frantic alien bursts into the room. "You have no idea how many rules I'm breaking, but my Human Studies final is tomorrow and I need help." | He was crawling on the ceiling, again.
"Oh *crtraledra.* Oh f*ctreck.* This was... Oh *greck* I... I'm going to go to prison I..."
A notebook flapping into his head very nearly dislodged his grip. He looked around, as if trying to find some *other* person in the room who it might have been. I jumped up, standing on the desk and grabbing the alien by the...chest...carapace.
"Wrail, listen to me. Are you listening? Wrail, you need to look...I..."
I slapped the alien. He stared at me, in shock.
"You are not going to go to prison, okay? Look at me, say after me...I am not going to go to prison."
"I..." he looked around, still looking for that other, mystery person.
"Say. **It.**"
"I...am not going to go to prison." He mumbled, not really looking at me.
"Good." I dropped him.
I had absolutely no idea what I was talking about, but for some reason this seemed to go some small way to reassuring him.
"Alright..." I pointed the alien back at amorphous, continuously shifting metal that was apparently their equivalent of a piece of paper. "Now repeat the things we just went through."
The alien started reciting in that strange, clicky way of his. "Humans are a class zero species. You consume both non-sentient and sentient life forms in order to combat the natural accumulation of entropy."
"Name the parts of us composed of dead skin cells."
"Hair, nails."
"What's our general stance on diplomacy?"
"You don't have one."
"And how many arms do we have?"
"You have-"
"Without looking."
He turned his eyes away from me back to the screen. "Fouuu..." he froze mid syllable. "...rrrrtwo."
"Two." He repeated.
I grinned, patting him on the back. He flinched, the first time.
We'd been doing this for a couple hours, now. He’d attempt to get something done, manage about ten minutes before flipping out and spending the next ten desperately panicking and making the cockpit feel even smaller than it already was.
I suppose, I probably should've been kind of freaked out. If this were anyone but an alien, I probably would have. It *was* a kind of suspect situation. A mysterious, twitchy loner abducting a young girl in his clapped out vehicle and driving her to some out of the way place in the middle of nowhere?
Wow, it really does sound bad when you put it that way.
Wait. Was it that bad?
Anyway. Clapped out vehicle.
See, when you think alien spaceship what's the first thing that comes to your mind?
Exactly. A dingy looking two meter wide hunk of metal with bits and pieces sticking out like some kind of orthodontic equipment. The interior wasn't much better; a tattered mess of worn down carpets, creaky cockpit seats, and a windscreen which made you *highly* aware of the lack of air the beyond of the confines of the cabin.
Wrail was tapping away at the controls now, and seemed a bit calmer for it.
"We're entering your asteroid belt, now." He explained. "I need to focus on this."
"We are?"
He pointed. "You can see one, over there."
"Hmm. What's the capitol of the world?"
"Trick question." He parried, not missing a beat. "A capitol implies unionization, whereas humans are incapable of cooperation"
I made a confirmatory noise, while squinting in the direction pointed at.
"How much longer?"
"My test is in seventeen hours."
I leveled a glare at him. "The gateway, *Wrail*."
"Oh. Well, now that we're here I had to slow down a lot. Considering where we landed maybe about...half an hour? And then...we'll have to not get spotted by the sentries...and...then I'll be...in another solar system...with a human pass-"
He was starting to hyperventilate. Again.
"-enger. And my exam is in 16 hours and 47 minutes. And I ju-"
"Wrail."
"-st day going to earth and I haven't slept and-"
"Wrail!" I yelped, urgently.
"I'm sorry, I just-"
"Wrail..."
He finally stopped soaking in self pity long enough to look up. I really wish there were words that could fully express the look on his face, when it finally clicked what he was looking at. It hadn't been an asteroid.
"Space police?" I questioned.
He was quiet, for a moment.
"Space police." The alien confirmed.
​
\----
I'm tired now, but this is pretty fun so I'm probably going to attempt to complete it at some point. | I’d always found comfort in wearing my brother’s leather bomber jacket. Maybe it was the brown colour matching my overall looks, maybe it was the slightly-too-large coat’s loose fit, but right now it was the definitely-illegal switchblade kept in the pocket, which flicked open with such speed and force I worried I’d cut my fingers off by accident if I left my hands in the pockets.
Well, that was the least of my concerns as I held the knife in an upside-down grip, standing in a fighting stance I’d probably gotten from some video game or TV show.
“Try to probe me and you’ll regret it, alien scum!”
I yelled, trying to sound menacing. I’d like to imagine it worked, but the grey creature before me looked more confused than scared.
“Probe? Like… throw a satellite at you?”
I lowered the knife slightly, and narrowed my eyes at the larger ones my captor had.
“Y-you… don’t do that?”
Alright, I’ll admit, I was too embarrassed to tell it what ‘probing’ was, so I took its word, then went ahead and asked the obvious.
“So, if not probing, why did you feel the need to kidnap a teenage girl off the streets of London?”
The alien shrugged at first, then widened its eyes.
“W-wait? You’re a girl? I… I’ve n-never talked to a girl before… I’m very nervous…”
I sighed deeply.
“Don’t get worked up now. Just tell me what you need, then send me back home, yeah?”
The alien gulped and nodded. Or, I think it nodded, but to be honest it, or, he was incredibly lanky and seemed to sway in the breeze. Not that there was one on an alien spaceship, but he seemed to sway anyways.
“Well, you see, I have a final for Human Studies tomorrow but I’ve been too busy playing video games to study… so I asked […] to help, and she turned me down!”
The sound he made sounded like it might’ve been a name, but it also sounded like it couldn’t be pronounced by humans.
“Wait, human studies? I knew it! You are trying to probe me!”
I raised my knife again, getting back into my imitated combat stance.
“Eep! No! I don’t even know what that is— I just need study help, that’s all, I swear!”
The alien seemed particularly frightened, raising it’s arms up as if to block me. I had the strange feeling that if I did attack, the alien might fall over before I could swing my knife. Which, admittedly, might be hilarious to see, but I’m not that mean. Maybe.
“Okay, alright, I believe you. So, what exactly do you need to study?”
The alien made a motion that I chose to interpret as a shrug.
“I don’t know, I haven’t been paying attention in class,”
I sighed again. Maybe these aliens weren’t so different than us. | 2021-01-22T11:53:45 | 2021-01-22T11:05:04 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Bored in class one day, you doodle random designs on some paper - pentagrams, Arcane symbols, whatever you feel like. You've almost covered the whole sheet when a figure nearly breaks down the classroom door and yells at you, "What do you want?!" | There are a lot of subjects in school that, frankly, suck. History, math, literature. Okay, maybe that's just about everything but bear with me, it's not like you lit up with excitement when you walked into those classrooms either. Truthfully, I never even tried to pay that much attention and, being a loner, it's not like I could turn to a friend and kill time chilling with them, so it was just me, my brain and my notepad, the sacrosanct pages destined for the careful notes of an attentive and motivated student besmirched by my thoughtless doodling and scribbling. Had anyone leafed through the pages you'd likely think I had some form of disability, but that's what you get when you cross the school system with a child such as myself.
Moving on to the present, let's discuss why the door of my classroom has been torn off of it's hinges and embedded in the opposite wall, why my teacher finally looked up from his power-point teaching materials and why my classmates are screaming and climbing through the windows to get away. You see, today had been a hot day. Hot, muggy and thick with flies looking to latch onto any passerby unfortunate enough to have working sweat glands. For me, it was a day where even if I had been a model student, I'd have been failing to pay attention, so you can imagine that I was just about ready to meld with my chair and drift away from existence altogether.
To keep myself somewhat grounded, I had started doodling some geometric shapes. Pentagrams, hexagrams, a few other grams whose names I didn't know, all of them ensconced in varying degrees of circles, diamonds, even a few crossbones. One design in particular intrigued me, which was rare enough, so I had decided to iterate upon it and see where I could go with it. It was simple enough, pentagram within an inverted pentagram, a few lines around the outside, some scribbles I thought looked arcane enough to pass for artistic. As I continued drawing, however, the weather outside had changed rather drastically. Bright blue sky gave way to choking, dark clouds, rain began to spit against our windows, even some thunder. I chalked it up to post-heat thunderstorms and continued on.
After my 7th iteration and, nearing the end of the class, I decided I may as well turn the page and get some actual class notes going, just in case the teacher ever walked by. As I went to turn the page, a particularly loud crack of thunder boomed overhead, shaking the windows and making myself and the other students jump. With my fingers on the page, I managed to give myself a nice little paper cut, and moving my hand in front of my face to inspect the cut, a single drop of blood fell into the most recent pentagram.
Instantly, a howl of rage was heard throughout the school, deep and guttural, as though the walls themselves had suddenly gained sentience and realized they were stuck there. Windows cracked and lights flickered and died as the scream carried on and on with no respite, our eardrums suffering all the while until it finally died down and petered out. After the scream, thuds came up the hall, a second or 2 apart each time and growing nearer every thud. Finally, just outside our door they stopped, and a looming shadow could be seen through the frosted, cracked glass. For a second, nothing happened. Then, with a suddenness and explosiveness like a bomb going off, the door was flung from it's position in the frame and embedded in the opposite corner like some kind of comically oversized throwing knife, and through the door lumbered what could only be described as a demon. So tall it had to stoop to make it through the door, and even then it had to hunch over to avoid hitting the roof. It's skin was dark red and its hair and nails black, wielding some kind of oversized machete and sporting a pair of tracksuit pants of all things, it awkwardly shuffled to my desk, its gaze keeping me petrified and frozen while my classmates, bless their souls, booked it from any exit they could find.
Finally, the demon arrived at my desk and looked at my notepad, seemingly confused. Scratching it's head, the demon spoke in a voice surprisingly British and peeved.
"Was it you who summoned me to this realm, mortal?"
Having never even summoned my family pet, a lovely German shepherd, I was confused and terrified at this point. What the hell did this thing mean, summoned? And what was going on?
"S-summoned? I-Wh- What do you mean? Do you mean me? I don- I couldn't have summoned you" I stuttered, regretting the fact that I was about to have a heart attack and therefore unable to speak with any clarity.
"Now see here you little brat, I can see the summoning circles on your notepad there, including the drop of blood to serve as contract, so don't try to fool me with your evasive stammering. The fact of the matter is, it looks like you've managed to summon me, Azazel, purely by accident"
"Az-what? How did I even do that?" I wondered and stuttered out, eyeing his machete and slowly beginning to push my chair back, hoping for once it wouldn't squeak, as though that would be the cue for this gigantic creature to eat me.
"Look right there, on your notepad! Those summoning circles! And might I add, being halfway summoned 6 bloody times is about the worst thing you can imagine, the line for hell notwithstanding, so from now on if you're going to summon me you may as well do us both the courtesy of doing it right! Is that clear?"
"Uh... um- yes? I think? Wait, again? Why would- How? What?" I stammered, thinking of 4 or 5 different questions and managing to ask them all at once, a feat made slightly less impressive by the limits of human vocal cords.
"Listen, you've successfully summoned me so we're bound now and that's that, you're going to hell now so you may as well enjoy yourself on earth. What's your name, anyway? Might as well know the name of my new partner in crime." the demon said, leaning back and sitting on the ground, crushing a desk and still towering over me.
"Wait, I'm going to hell? We're bound? That's it, I don't get to say no thanks and get on with my day?" I asked, finally managing to put out a coherent sentence. Catching myself, I continued "Oh, also my name is Robert." Looking back in the moment, maybe giving my name to a literal demon wasn't such a good idea, but when a gigantic creature with a weapon asks your name, you try to avoid being polite, see where that gets you.
"Afraid not, that drop of blood as I said is a contract between you and me. I give you my power and assistance for the remainder of your life no matter how long or short, and in the end I get to claim your soul and drag you to hell for eternity and all that. So, may as well make the most of it while you're here, Rob my boy. Now, you may feel the *slightest* stinging sensation when receiving your new powers, but that's perfectly normal and, even if you retained the capacity in the moment, I would suggest against screaming."
All I managed next was a short squeak before he drew his arm back, still sitting down, and plunged his machete into my chest, ignoring the fact that Machete's aren't even supposed to be used like that and the fact that I hadn't really wanted to get stabbed today. As my vision started to dim from the pain, I looked into the demons coal black eyes and saw a small spark in the middle.
"Alright lad, there we go. Now remember, you're not the only one who's summoned one of my kind, and you'll probably be a target for the rest. Not like I care, the earlier you die the better, but my colleagues might laugh at me if my partner dies within a week so try to lay low until you get the hang of this. You hear me?"
As much as I wanted to tell him that no, I didn't hear him, I couldn't as I had passed out by this point and hadn't heard him. All I could think was "What?" as my consciousness spiraled away and left me.
[Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/RegulationWritesOn/comments/erbt0c/infernal_crossed_wires_pt_2/) | "What?"
"What is it that you have repeatedly summoned me for?! You didn't even give me 10 minutes to get ready and use the portal under the classroom!"
At this moment, I was baffled as I did not have any intention of actually summoning this... thing. Demons are not as you expect apparently, no goat legs, no wings, not even reddish skin. And judging from the fact that he, or it, simply walked out of the way when the teacher closed the door and class continued as normal, his form cannot be seen or heard by those who didnt summon him.
If you can even call it a form, that is. He had this aura around him. It looked similar to energy from manga, and because of the strange glow you couldn't see his true shape. It was vaguely humanlike, with many appendages, as if his body was composed of many octopi. The color of all things was... periwinkle? Some odd mix between pink and purple.
As I stood astonished by this strange being, it spoke again.
"Listen here kid, I got a quota and standards to meet and you sitting here like this aint helping. Since you need more time to think, I'll help."
It was a soothing rather higher pitched voice. You could almost describe it as feminine, but it wasn't quite, or maybe it was. With a snap of it's appendages, we were in a different space. We were still in the classroom, but unfathomably far from it. Time appeared to be frozen but that didn't really describe it fully. It was like one of those wierd spiral illusions where as you look around things start moving again.
"Now that you got time, I gotta fill out a request. Sign your soul away here and name a request. You'll recieve your request within 48-72 buisness millenia"
"Millenia? Umm, what?"
I may not be the brightest 11th grader, but I'm pretty sure I won't live long enough to receive the request. Nor do I want to sign away my soul.
"Yeah, magic takes a while to conjure up and such. In this space though a millenia is about a day."
"If a millenia here is one day out there, then shouldn't it be thousands of years before I see motion?"
"Listen, if you want me to explain how this all works you'll need to fill out this request form, there's no freebees given out in the astral plane"
So, we're in the astral plane, I'm basically hostage because I have no way of returning without signing this form and apparently they respond in 10 minutes which means in their world they get ready in 6.9 years. Nice.
"So, can I leave without making a request?"
"Sure, just sacrifice someone else."
BIG BRAIN TIME. I have to get out of here while killing nobody. As I was pondering how to trick this creature it spoke again, in a more threatening tone.
"If you really think that you, a small child will be able to outsmart me that is the highest form of insult and you will NOT LEAVE UNPUNISHED"
Well, that idea is off the table. If it's basically omnipotent, and can read minds I won't be able to win in my lifetime, let alone 48-72 buisness millenia. However, I noticed that he can only read if I think really hard about it, and not just random vague thoughts that pass by, otherwise this interaction would have gone much different. You start to notice things like this when your life is on the line.
"Alright, what are my options then? If I gotta go, might as well go out in style."
"Anything you like, except that you cannot get a soul refund, your wish cannot cause your soul to become unattainable, and your wish cannot affect the astral plane."
"Okay, who can I sacrifice"
"You must sacrifice your immediate family. If you share no bond both by blood and by love, it shall not be done"
Well, sacrificing Hitler is out, although I think he's already where he needs to be. Gotta stay spry on my thoughts, cant think about the consequences too long or he'll catch on. If I can't get out of this with my soul, then I'll make sure they can't ever get my soul.
"Make me immortal"
Instantly, I was filled with a sense of dread, and that I had made a terrible mistake that cannot be undone. Bargaining for your soul in the wish is forbidden and my "clever" loophole would probably be found out. I'd have my soul stolen without ever even getting something cool for it. I should have just gotten the ability to hop into anime worlds or something.
To my surprise...
"Your request shall be done. However, as being immortal will make your soul unattainable, you will gain age and disease immunity instead. You will never grow past the age of 25, nor will any age related ailments affect you. Cancer, alzheimers, none of that matters. Just don't jump off of tall buildings."
I thought that maybe, this wouldn't be so bad after all. He quickly dashed my hopes.
"You probably should have requested to jump into anime worlds. You'd have been much better off, and you wouldn't have INCURRED MY WRATH FOR ATTEMPTING TO CHEAT!! Your request will be granted, but you'll find that I've made a small change, and the realized terror wont happen until it's too late.
I wake up, and I'm in the nurses office. Apparently I'd fallen over in my chair after saying "what" in a rather panicked voice, and my friends confessed that we'd tried wierd mushrooms earlier. Yeah, mushrooms that we never took. But that couldn't be it. There's no way he'd let me off with just getting grounded for doing mushrooms. I waited for the consequences...
For almost a decade. 8 years later at 25, I had never forgotten. I spent the new years with friends and family like I'd always done. Outliving my friends and family never bothered me. I thought it strange that people were apprehensive about it, although the knowledge that souls exist makes death much easier to bare. Its a strange curse to not be able to tell anyone; like you'll be believed when you tell your story after a mushroom trip.
I'd almost given up on feeling the consequences, and maybe I was decked out on shrooms that day. I haven't lived to 100 while still being young so I haven't managed to find out. A couple days after the new years party, I see a news story about the bombing of an Iranian general. A month later, I'm training for a draft and nuclear war is almost upon us. | 2020-01-18T23:37:56 | 2020-01-18T22:55:27 | 50 | 14 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | "So your power is you can talk to animals?"
The police officer looks incredulous. I shake my head.
"I can talk to crows."
"Crows. Only crows?"
I nod. It's not easy to explain such a seemingly useless power. Well, useless until today.
An image of flurried wings and blood flashes through my mind. And the screams. Oh God, the screams. I wince.
The officer leans back. I know I should have a lawyer present, but I can't seem to care. What I did - I didn't mean to, but it was so awful.
"Just...tell me what happened." He gazes at me sympathetically.
"I..." I feel tears prick my eyes and take a deep breath. "I didn't mean to - I was scared, I just wanted to get away..." I look down at the bruise on my wrist. He had squeezed so hard when I tried to leave.
The officer says nothing. I try to gather myself.
I miss my crows. I can feel them close, though. Surrounding the police station. I saw them when they brought me in. Hundreds of them, silent and watching. There are probably thousands of them now. My powers are out of control. But my crows give me strength.
From the time I was young, I felt a connection to the clever, mischievous birds I fed. They were one of my only constants in life. I was kind of a loner, an only child in a broken home. Absent father, manipulative mother.
I remember leaving home at 18, the screaming match my mother and I had. She tried so hard to keep me from going outside. She knew, as soon as I stepped foot out the door, the crows would be there.
I remember how they descended on the house. Hundreds of them. Silent and watching. Much like today.
For a long time, the crows were all I had. After a three day siege, my mother couldn't take it anymore. She begged and begged me to send them away, but I wouldn't. I couldn't. My powers were out of control, much like today.
I remember the look on her face as I left. Relief. I think that's what I saw. It kills me even to this day.
Maybe she knew.
"I just wanted it to be over. I was sick of the..." I don't want to say abuse, but I can't think of another word. I loved him. I hated him. I hated myself. I still hate myself. "Sick of the fighting."
Yeah right. The bruises speak for themselves. Tears well in my eyes. I take a deep breath.
"I was finally honest with myself. I think that's what happened. I tried to leave the house, I had my bag packed, money, a bus ticket. But he tried to stop me."
I had opened the front door to leave after another fight, one of the worse ones. He had slapped me. It was the last straw.
The promises turned to threats as I grabbed my things and opened the door to leave.
He grabbed my wrist. And that was it.
I'll never forget the beating wings, the sound of flesh tearing.
The screams.
"I didn't mean to," I whisper.
The officer nods. "Look," he says, "this is a...unique case. But the fact is we can't really charge you, because technically, *you* didn't do anything. The department wants to put it behind us, chalk it up to a freak accident."
They're scared of me. I would be too. The siege of crows has only lasted a few hours. But that's hours too long for their taste.
I see the crows as they lead me to the front doors of the station. The sky is black with them, the trees out front laden with them, and silently, they watch. I can feel the unease of everyone around me. But my heart fills with affection for my beautiful birds.
They tell me I'm free to go. I know they hope I take my crows with me. They needn't worry. Where I go, they go.
It's how it has always been. How it will always be. | “So your power is super... taste?” Roy asked.
I nodded, taking a quick bite of my turkey and cheese sandwich. I was able to enjoy every little detail, and that made everything I ate delicious. Even though I heard people talk about foods they did and didn’t like, I just couldn’t get enough of anything people could give me.
“So like, what does that do? You just... taste better?”
I swallowed and nodded once again. “I know it doesn’t sound like the best power, but it has tons of uses,” I explained, taking another bite.
“Like what?”
“Well, for example,” I took a pause to swallow, “this sandwich tastes *really* good!”
“And?” Roy looked curious. He raised an eyebrow and stared at my sandwich, confused. I guess he’ll just never get the true deliciousness of turkey.
“Uh, well, I guess if I wanted I could use it to solve crime. Do taste tests, stuff like that.”
“Don’t you wanna be a teacher?” Roy pointed out. I hate when he’s right, always so clever. No wonder he got telekinesis.
“Oh, yeah, that,” I said, finally finishing my lunch. “Well, uh... I could teach cooking. That could work.”
Roy nodded, slowly. “Oh... kay?” I smiled. Finally, I had proven the usefulness of my powers to someone!
“See? Super taste can be kinda cool, you know,” I smirked as the bell rang. Roy sighed as he got up from his seat.
“Well, see you Jack. Oh, before I go, why did you get super taste anyway?” Roy asked as he grabbed his backpack.
I thought for a moment. “I dunno. I think I just like food.”
Then Roy walked away, leaving me alone. When I was certain no one was looking, I took a note out of my lunch box. It read: *Enjoy your lunch today, sweetie! Love, mom!*
I smiled, put the note in my pocket, and walked to my next class. Could that have something to do with my powers? Eh, it doesn’t matter. I love you too, mom. | 2019-09-08T09:54:34 | 2019-09-08T09:47:00 | 822 | 27 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | I’m one-hundred and four now and there are more things than not that I have forgotten in my life. I can’t tell you the first time I traveled to another planet. I can’t recall the name of my instructor from school. And, I’ve even forgotten the name of my first friend in under school. I can, however, remember to this day the first time I had seen a human.
Sophia Barton was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Sure, she was short like every human. Yeah, she had the unnecessarily long hair that most human females do. She even did the all too predatory action of bearing her teeth, often. Despite all of this, Sophia has been my closest companion since I was only nine.
“Why do we have to Mom?”
“Because they’re coming into the Council, now stop fussing.” My mother told me sternly, as we waited behind the large glass walls looking into the ship terminal.
“It’s stupid, why does she need to stay at our house?” I asked my mother, not seeing how selfish I was being at the time.
“Rules are rules, dear.” She never went into much depth, even as she got older.
When the ship landed, I remember how much I tried not to look. I even tried to wander into a different room, but the loud screaming that sounded after the engines silenced kept my eyes glued to the platform.
She was tiny. Her face was red and glistened from moisture oozing out of orifices. All I could think was how ugly humans are. What a shame they were being allowed into the Council. The little girl kept creating such a fuss that I didn’t even notice the hand she was holding onto was the hand of my father, Third Admiral of Council Collective Space Fleet. But, after contact with the horrendous looking humans, he was brought down to nothing more than a baby sitter.
"Ew, she is not staying in my room.” I said, with my face smashed against the window, ears raised to the cold surface. My mother merely shushed me and led me to the entrance where my father was entering, with his new unfortunate luggage.
My parents embraced and my father even gave me some sort of wooden toy he had gotten on one of the human’s planets. I whispered my protests into his lowered ear, but he would be having none of it. The day felt like it would be the beginning of something horrible, especially if I was going to be listening to the disgusting sniveling sounds coming from the tiny human clinging to my father’s large grizzled one. It wasn’t until I tripped down a flight of steps later a few minutes later, as I was scuffing my feet in childish anger, that I realized that it was actually the exact opposite.
Empathy, compassion, mercy, call it what you like, but humanity has it. Every race in the Council is powerful, intelligent, clever, or resilient, but the humans are just plain nice. The lumbering Marins are the least opportune race to face head to head. The Yyes are known for their near perfect soldiers. Graes are the oldest and most intelligent of the races. You’d be hard-pressed to find a Nami who can’t con you out of the last credits you have left in your pocket. Then there are the Undarins who can withstand temperatures from 278K to 295K. It was barely ten cycles after humans were accepted into the Council that the status quo changed. | Weapons that every country on Earth had possession of were, in facy, quite rare outside of Earth's governments. Yes, other specieses had discovered nuclear decay, and a rare few had harnessed its energy, but weaponising it was unheard of.
They suspected that something must have destroyed all this planets, formerly occupied by hostile, warring specieses. But, due to the general interspecies belief of 'no close, unwanted observation', they had no idea that they were that destructive. When they detected our radiowave frequencies while establishing outposts on Europa and other moons of the gas giants, they had them decoded and made into picture and sound very easily. Nobody noticed it when they aimed a satellite beam at our systems, and nobody noticed a connection with a ping of over fourty-five minutes. They then downloaded our entire internet. At first, it was only open, free information that was downloaded. But slowly, over a matter of months, their systems dug into ours, hacking and stealing. Not stealing, per se, but 'borrowing'.
As ancient broadcasts of World War II, plans for weapons, markets for buying and selling guns and ammo became known to them, they became very excited. It was a chance to watch a warmongering species destroy itself, a chance never to be had before.
---------
I might continue this later, when I have more time. | 2018-03-17T05:52:27 | 2018-03-17T04:38:38 | 176 | 28 |
[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. | Part 1,
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
A table of people is sitting in a dark room,
"This woman has no powers, no special abilities, not intuition towards anything, why is she of interest?",
"Sir, she has survived death two hundred and seventy eight times, there is something in her that we need, if we put her against a battery of tests, if we channel whatever is in her, this could have significant impacts for us and better all of society."
"278 times, that must be a joke!"
"I have been following her for nearly 10 years, she has survived things that would kill any normal person."
"We do not just kidnap people off of the street, we were established for the betterment of society, if it were not for us, if it were not for this organization, all of society would have crumbled dozens of times over."
"All the more reason to go forward, she has no family, she has no friends, provided she survives the test, we already have number 181, but this is unlike anything else, we can mold her, we can shape her, she is of too much interest of this organization."
"Okay, okay, you have convinced me, but what do you propose?"
"We will send a strike team to her apartment, no one will even know we were there."
"Are you sure he has no one, I do not want to have to deal with the paperwork, with having to deal with any family members or friends looking for her?"
"Our research indicates that she was the sole survivor of a home invasion as a child and she went to live with his grandparents who have since passed away, she has no boyfriend or living family, not even a cousin, no social media, not anything."
"Before we go in guns blazing, before we go taking someone we will give her an opportunity, a fire team is of last resort."
"I will authorize this, but if something gets screwed up, if we are compromised, it is your head"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
End of Part 1
If it is liked I'll write more, but this is my first WP, so don't be too harsh. | 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... | 2018-07-27T15:38:19 | 2018-07-27T13:41:29 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Not far from your village is a small grove. Within the grove a monster dwells. It devours the guilty and leaves the innocent. When the worst crimes are committed, the accused are sent to face the creature. You have murdered someone in self-defense. You enter the grove unsure of your fate. | **- Part 1 -**
"Anything you would like to say before you go?" asked Lars.
I took a few moments to think of an answer, but found there was nothing I could say. Claim I didn't do it? Three people saw me killing a man with a shard of broken glass; my culpability was beyond question. Attempt to explain, once more, that he tried to rob me in a drunken stupor? There was no way to verify that now that he was dead. Get on my knees and beg for mercy? Ask for forgiveness? Plead innocent?
Heh. Innocence...
No. It was not for the villagers to determine my innocence anymore.
I suppose I would've liked to say I was ready, but that would've been a lie.
"Nothing. Let's get this over with."
With that, I began to walk as Lars followed right behind me. He had been randomly assigned as my Warden, there to ensure I would not try to run away. To that end, my hands had been tied and my legs had been shackled. If I tried to escape, I would not get far. It was mostly a formality, of course, to prove that we would accept our judgement. Perhaps to help us face the end with a little dignity. Granted, there had been times where the accused had tried to run away, but in the end they all ended in the same place.
As I walked, I took a moment to glance at Lars. I had seen him a few times at the bar at night, but we had never spoken. I did not know him any better than I knew anyone else, but he seemed decent enough.
The Warden was meant to ensure we reached our destination safe and unharmed, and to escort the accused home should they... survive. I once heard that a Warden tried to murder his charge for personal reasons when no one was looking, but apparently he was found in pieces several days later while, ironically, his charge was able to return alive.
*That thing* killed him.
Lars noticed I was staring at him and his grip on my rope tightened a little. I shifted my gaze forward and pressed on.
I had come here once, before, back when I was 8. Our parents would constantly warn us to stay away from this place, but I guess I was too curious to listen. The trees and the grass were mostly the same as I remembered them.
As the nostalgia began to set in, we arrived at a clearing. We had reached our destination. Or rather, mine.
"This is as far as I go" said Lars, letting go of my rope. "I'll be watching."
I headed towards the center.
"Wait" spoke Lars.
I stopped on my tracks and turned towards him.
"Do you want me to say anything to your family?"
Was Lars assuming I was guilty? Or was he asking me just in case? I couldn't tell. I thought of my wife and daughter, whom I loved more than anything. I wondered what they thought of me. I wondered if they watched as I departed the village. I hoped that they did not.
"There's nothing left for me to say at this point" I answered, heading towards the center of the clearing once more.
Looking around, there were no signs that any living creature had been here recently. In fact, the entire forest seemed dreadfully silent.
I wondered what it would look like. Word was it that it took a different form for every person who laid eyes upon it. That it reflected our greatest fears, our deepest insecurities. Some believed it capable of speech while others dismissed it as voices in our heads as we faced it.
All we knew for certain was that the innocent were spared. The guilty... were not.
The minutes flew by without anything happening. I turned around to see if Lars was still there, but he was gone. Most likely watching from a safe distance.
I tried not to think what would happen to me. I had told myself I was innocent and that everything would be fine, but I could feel doubt creeping into my mind. What if I was deemed guilty? The guilty never came back. Would it kill me and leave me to rot? Would Lars bury my corpse? Would he take me home? No; no Warden ever brought a corpse home, not even a finger. Would it swallow me whole? Would it eat me piece by piece? Would it even wait for me to die first?
What if it wasn't real?
What if this was just an elaborate ploy meant to scare children into behaving?
As my thoughts began to twist my logic, I heard a noise. The rustling of leaves snapped me back to reality as I instinctively turned towards the source.
Staring intently into the trees, I tried to make out anything that might be hiding in the shadows. After straining my eyes, I confirmed there was nothing at all.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I decided I had enough. But as I turned towards the exit, I found my path blocked.
I immediately knew what it was that stood before me...
It was the Beast. | \[PART 1/2\]
"Are you a criminal?" The voice in the grove of quiet barren willows and shifting darkness asked.
I was taken aback by the question. I thought I was to be devoured, consumed. Eaten up like I was nothing more than a snack for this *thing*.
But instead, it asked me a question. A question even I was unsure about.
I had killed, that is true.
But did so in self-defense. For my father wanted me dead because I was the child of his mistress and not his wife. A silly distinction, but it mattered in the eyes of the law. I was male, while his *legitimate* children were female. I was to be his heir, not them. Once again, a silly distinction led to a horrible fate. And such a distinction had robbed me of a father and gave me an enemy instead. He made my life miserable.
"Are you a criminal?" The voice rang out once more; the tendrils of shade that covered the grove oozed towards me, ensnaring branch and bramble as they did.
"I... I don't know," I said. I wasn't sure. How could I be? My father came at me with a sword, and all I had was a knife.
A knife to end one's misery.
Yet, it wasn't his misery that the knife was meant for. I was the one that should have died. Yet, I lived, and he perished, a stab wound straight through his heart. I wondered at that moment, would my father be here had I died?
The tendrils stopped. They shifted back, moving slowly over the broken branches that now lay there. The brambles were gone.
"Interesting." It said, its voice pouring into the grove now.
I peered into the darkness, wondering what could make such a voice. I reeled back as white orbs held my gaze.
"I am Judgement," the voice said, the two glowing orbs holding my attention. "I do not choose to take or leave, but it is you. In your voice, I heard innocence. Yet, I heard guilt as well. Why is that?"
I looked at the glowing orbs, pondering its question. "I'm not sure," I croaked up.
The orbs flew through the darkness, touching the edges of the willows and brushing past the fallen leave, stirring them into movement. The orbs flew around the grove, taking in every inch of me.
Finally, the orbs stopped, right before me but still hidden in shadow. "I cannot pass judgment on you." The orbs winked away, leaving me in the grove all alone.
Yet, the voice rang out, "come with me, for only the suffering can know my form."
And so the shifting darkness parted, revealing a path through the quiet willows, deeper into the forest.
Deeper into darkness.
I walked down the path of Judgement, wondering my fate. | 2021-03-16T12:30:43 | 2021-03-16T12:18:44 | 202 | 151 |
[WP] "No! Wait! Whatever they're paying you... I'll divide it by zero!" "You'll... what?" | I have a huge interest in writing but have never really tried, this is my first attempt but please be honest and lmk what you think, thanks :)
————————————-————————————————
No! Wait! Whatever they’re paying you... I’ll divide it by zero!”
The floor of the spaceship hanger was cold. In the distance a ship just broke the sound barrier. I jumped. A small blaster was waved in my face, with a heavyset hitman behind the trigger.
“You’ll... what?” He replied after a moment of confusion.
I hoped this man was as dumb as the rest of these debt collector’s goons, with death right in front of me it was all I could hope for.
“I’ll divide them by zero.”
“You can’t be right, you can’t divide by zero” He said, clearly still confused.
“Of course I’m right...” I said hesitantly, “i just simply mean that I’ll... delete their accounts!” I said perhaps with too much excitement, ”The accounts of every last collector in this system. I’d wipe them completely without leaving a trace, it would be as if they never even existed”
“And why would I want that?”
“Just because the accounts will be gone doesn’t mean the money will be. Whatever Trevor’s paying you will be penny’s compared to what I will have, and it’ll be yours too.”
“They aren’t paying me with money.”
I froze, unsure what the man would do next. Fear took over me. Was I finally out of luck? No. It’s not over yet, the man still hasn’t made up his mind.
“Then what are they paying you with? Why are you doing this? Please, just lower the blaster and we ca-”
The man pushed the gun into my face and yelled, “No, No! NO! I HAVE TO DO THIS!” He screamed, “I HAVE TO OR THEY’LL KILL ME! Oh god, and then my family-“, he started to sob. He was being paid with his own life. Perhaps
He too owed them a debt, nowadays who didn’t.
“I can help!”, the gun was cold against my face, “With the money we will have we can get all of you away from here,” I seemed to just be spewing out words now, talking faster and faster, hoping for him to see some reason, “you can go any where you want! Have a whole new start, with several lifetimes worth of funds. This is an easy decision, just come with me to Revas III, and there we can-“
“She always wanted to see the moons on Edos...” the man mumbled under his breath. “We never had been able to go-“
“You can take her there! Just come with me. Killing me is the easy thing, but joining me is the smart thing to do. You’ll see more money than you’ve ever seen in your life. If we go now, it’ll be done before they even know what happened”
The man lowered the gun slowly.
“Thats it”, I said encouragingly. “Now lets get on the ship, any chance you can fly a Mk. 9?” I got up slowly and began leading the way.
“I’ve flown several Mk. 8’s back in the day, I’m sure I can figure it out relatively easily...” he said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
The man boarded the small vessel right behind me and started towards the cockpit. I walked towards my quarters quickly but discretely, and grabbed my laser rifle from above my bed.
“Hey! It looks like most of the controls are the same! I can have us taking off in just a few seconds!”, yelled the man down the corridor.
“Excellent!”, I replied, peering from my door, the man was looking all around the front of the cockpit, re-familiarizing himself with its layout. “I’m glad you were able to come to your senses back their, you’re making the right choice for you and your family.”
The man looked to the side with a euphoric smile, “Yeah, you’re right”.
“I’m always right.”
The flash from my rifle was bright. I never like having to take a life, but it helped knowing that he died smiling, thinking of his family. I tossed his body off the ship and headed off to Edos, I had heard the moons there are rather nice.
——
It’s funny, I never even learned his name. | "Sorry Mr. Goldenstein, I appreciate the offer but Johnson & Gilbert have offered me a salary of $120,000 a year. I'm going to have to decline."
Mr. Goldenstein looked shocked.
"No! Wait! Whatever they're paying you... I'll divide it by zero!" he said, in his usual flustered manner.
"You'll... what?" I replied.
"Sorry, I got interrupted. I was going to say whatever they're paying you, I'll double it. But I got distracted by my son who in my ear piece that I'm wearing asked me if he should share the last of the cake with his sisters, so I told him to divide it. Then I said bye Zero, as Zero is his name"
"Ok no problem. Well I don't think Johnson & Gilbert can compete with that offer, so I accept."
"Fantastic. The board will be pleased to have it's new... Play thing. When you're as wealthy as we all are, the usual pleasures of life lose their allure. I was wondering, I know you didn't want to start until Monday, but could you fit in a session for myself, just now? A quick fix will do."
"Heh, well, I guess I could give a quick show"
I climb up onto Mr. Goldenstein's table. As I do, he leans back into his chair, and a smile creeps across his face.
I lift my arms and wrap them around me.
"Good pet... Very good." He says. "Give me what I need".
"Yes sir."
I start to sway side to side, moving my arms in front and back of me in a repetitive motion.
"Yes, you dirty boy. Floss for me. Floss for your new boss."
I continue flossing, carrying out this dance for several minutes, then I stop.
Goldenstein looks a mixture of frustrated and content, red in the face and sweating.
"That was... Exquisite. Must you stop now?" he asks.
"Don't worry, I'll be prepared for the entire Board of Directors on Monday. Then maybe I'll give you another private show after."
I wink at him and leave, and think to myself "Better start practicing some new Fortnite Dances by Monday. It's been a few months since I was last employed."
I go home and watch Mulan 2 on DVD | 2019-01-26T03:11:40 | 2019-01-26T02:36:01 | 46 | 17 |
[WP] Due to a minor typo, the city starts building homeless smelters. | Every day at 5, Bob sits on the steps outside my building and waits for me to get off work. No matter the weather, he's always there, with an orange or a banana to share with me. He's like a dog; he'll probably continue to come long after I'm fired, setting up camp in the adjoining alley when I fail to show. It's not like he has anywhere else to go.
As we walk to my car, he asks me how work was. Through bites of orange, I grunt a non-response. There's nothing to tell him: half of it, he wouldn't understand; the other half, he'd be better off not knowing. He's an abomination. An epidemic. A human right's violation. And it's all my fault.
Bob opens the door to my car and slips into the passenger's seat. He doesn't even ask anymore; he assumes my goodwill is infinite. Like his. We pull into Main, and they're swarming the street, infiltrating the rush hour traffic jams to offer their flowers, their pretzels, and in many cases, empty cans. "Spare us?" they ask, like conscious zombies, and I slide down in my seat to avoid looking at them. Some of them recognize Bob, and he gladly redistributes change from his own tin into theirs.
The highway is quiet. Bob does all the talking because I don't want to. Big Larry was hired today. Edge was arrested for drug possession. Mary's still missing. "Your department make any headway?" he asks, and I lie and say we haven't seen her, but we're working on it. I can't look at him. I want to cut his tongue out so he stops talking. I want to bathe him in smoke and urine and feed him cocktails of drugs and cut his face into pieces so he's no longer Bob, but just another one of them. He laughs, deep and throaty, as I unconsciously grip the steering wheel. "Relax," he says, "it's only life."
Only life, I agree to myself, only life I created and life I destroy. Devon from engineering says they're not actually life; they're just replicants. They have no souls. It doesn't matter if they feel or suffer or die: the objective is just to get them back in the box. He told me that again today, and I lost it. I flung my clipboard to the ground and screamed in his face that he was wrong. I wanted to rip those horn-rimmed glasses from his grimy face and show him what lay beyond his screens and his dials and his gadgets.
"Lacey, get a grip," he said, smacking the table, "think about the people. The actual people who are losing jobs to these things. We can't shelter everyone. We have to choose who matters, and these *things* don't matter. They're drains on society who should never have come into existence."
But Bob mattered. He gave me an orange or a banana each day and talked to me on the commute from home. He was an actual person, more than I felt I was on most days. Certainly more than I'd feel after today.
"Where are we going?" he asks as we pass my apartment. I tell him I have to run an errand, and of course, he complies with a nod. He has nowhere else to go.
"There's something bothering you," he says, and I realize from his glance that my knuckles are whitening around the steering wheel once again. "Go on. Tell Bob what's on your mind."
We're past the city limits now, far beyond the point of no return. "I messed up," I tell him. "I made a horrible mistake."
"Mistakes are lessons learned."
"Yes, Bob, I know. Everyone says that." He doesn't even flinch at my terseness, and I feel even guiltier. But he's wrong: there's no lesson to be learned from this. Some mistakes are just twists of fate, so isolated to circumstance that they can't be replicated. One involuntary twist of the finger, one mispressed key, was all it took. I can promise over and over to never make the same mistake again, but it's beyond my control to actually stay true to my word.
Devon and the rest of the city council agreed. So they assigned me penance: they told me to undo my mistakes myself, one at a time.
We arrive at the junkyard. "I'm going to need some help carrying this stuff," I say. Bob cracks his knuckles and swings his arms at his sides as he emerges from the car. He follows me blindly, his hand on my shoulder, making sure I don't stumble on any of the piles of junk or detritus.
Around the edge of the yard, there's a pile of junk waist high, short enough for me to peer over, but high enough to conceal something in the center. "Grab that for me, will you?" I point and step aside, and Bob cranes his neck over the pile.
"Grab what?" Bob says, but there's nothing there, and I plunge the knife in his back. He whirls around, and for a moment, I'm scared he'll retaliate in his last few moments of consciousness. But he doesn't: he just stands there, shock and hurt in his eyes. As he sinks to the ground, he calls my name over and over, refusing to believe I'm not just an impostor. His face strikes the ground, and his eyes shut.
I drag his body to the incinerator. From fire he was made, and to fire he shall return. At least, I tell myself, it might give his death some meaning. And Mary's death. And everyone else's. It offers me no comfort, though, and I have to look away as his body vanishes in the heat. | "What on Earth.."
"They sent us these designs. They sent it."
"I know, but why?"
The construction supervisor looked at the site drawings and pursed his lips.
"Best get on with it."
____________
"We're supposed to design *what*?"
"You read the letter, Jim. And that came straight from the mayor's office. Like not even the city planner's office. Like straight from the big boss. They want designs for this ASAP."
"Look, Bill. There clearly has to be a mistake."
"I mean, the world is going to shits. Frankly, I guess in the back of my mind, I kind of anticipated this."
"Jesus Christ, Bill."
"Yeah, but we best.. We best get to work on some designs. And send it to the construction crew."
______________
"We should do something. It's election season soon, and I plan to stay."
"What do you mean to do, mayor?"
"What haven't we done before?"
"Uh, we can build a new library."
"No, Tim. Think bigger."
"A museum?"
"Umm, no."
"Homeless shelter? We don't have those around."
"Fucking brilliant. Do a write up and send it to everyone. And make sure to give one to the design department first."
"What about the city planner?"
"Fuck him."
_______________
*Months later*
*Mayor's office*
"Shit, Tim. I got so wasted last night. Cancel all the appointments till noon."
"Ma'am."
"Lock the door. Fuck I'm horny. Lock the door and fuck me, Tim."
"Uhh, the homeless shelters. They're opening today."
"The-what the fuck are you talking about?"
"Remember that idea you had months ago?"
"I don't remember shit, Tim."
"Well, they are opening today and you're going to be there to make a speech."
"Really? I don't remember something like that."
"Yeah it was under the rugs for a while now. Not sure why. But yeah, we drafted it up and the construction is over."
"How many shelters?"
"8."
"Jesus Christ. Who funded them?"
"Our office. And the city planner's office."
"Fuck. Jack's involved? Ugh, way to ruin the mood, Tim. I just got the female equivalent of flaccid."
"Which is why you need to be there. I have a feeling something shady happened."
"Uggggghhhhhhhhhhhh. Where and when?
"City hall. Noon. I'll have a car pick you up. Get some rest."
________________________
"Hey, Jack. How the fuck did you pull this off?"
"The mayor is a dumb bitch."
"Whoa okay there."
"They wanted to go ahead and do this without me. These kinda projects is what we live for, but she had to fucking.. not run it by me just because am her ex."
"Well you got your revenge didn't you?"
"Oh, yes. The idiot secretary Tim made one spelling error. And I told everyone it wasn't an error. That the mayor was serious and we had to keep it a secret till opening day."
"And its opening day."
_______________
*City hall, noon*
"Good afternoon, citizens of Daleville! We kept this project under wraps for far too long! It's been an honour serving this community. But this community has seldom included a minority group to our society. No I'm not talking about race or religion. I'm talking about the people who live in this city, not in homes, but in the streets. I'm not one for long speeches, so I'll just say this: no longer shall the homeless people be shunned. For we have built not four or five, but eight homeless smelt- I mean.. shelters. Across the city. I, uhh. Umm. Any questions?"
| 2016-10-19T23:54:21 | 2016-10-19T23:22:34 | 935 | 460 |
[WP] You're a regular guy who works at a Home Depot in Alabama and are unknowingly influencing the Venezuelan economy | Derrick got out of his car and rubbed his eyes, heading to another graveyard shift. He always hated these times, waking up at 11 at night, to work until 6 the next morning, going home to his girlfriend, and trying to get as much sleep as possible. His income was barely above minimum wage, and he always struggled to curb his drug addiction. The store felt like it was draining his soul and he wanted out.
Except two months ago, he began to notice weird things. The same customer, who went by Eduardo, would come in with a well-trimmed suit each week and ask for his advice on whatever. Lately, that advice had been solely about economics. How much should x cost compared to y? How much x should be produced a month? Derrick didn't know anything about economics, so it was mostly shrugs at first, but at the months went on, Derrick started giving him phony answers just so he could leave him alone. Then checks started coming in his mail. The checks came from a Nicolás Maduro (whoever that was), and every week he would get them for the same amount. Not enough to make him rich or anything, but enough to pay the rent.
Derrick opened the front door and clocked in. He went to the cashier stand, and just sat there waiting for customers. Surprisingly, Home Depot was actually busy this time of day; more than a few night owls would be perusing the shelves looking for whatever they needed. A few minutes into his shift, he saw a man in a suit walk in. Instead of Eduardo, though, it was a middle-aged man of about 55 who came straight to Derrick.
"Are you Derrick Manuel?"
"Uhh, yeah. How can I help you tonight?" Derrick really was tired, being up at an ungodly hour. He tried his best to smile like he was payed to do.
"I'm Michael Stevens, and I'm with the FBI. I'm here to ask you a few questions regarding this man. Have you ever seen him?"
Stevens pulled out a photo of Eduardo, only everything about it seemed strange. Eduardo was in a military uniform, wearing a general's beret and holding a cigar in his hand, standing beside five or ten men in similar uniforms and helmets. Derrick didn't know how to react. There's no way that could be Eduardo.
"I'm sorry, what? Why are you showing me this?"
"May I remind you that it's illegal to interfere in an investigation? Have you seen this man?"
"Maybe, I don't know? We get a lot of customers." Derrick couldn't believe what was coming out of his mouth. Did he just lie to the FBI? This couldn't go down well anymore. Should he confess? *No, that would just make me a suspect. Damn it, I'm in too deep.*
"Okay, let me show you another picture." Stevens puts his hand in his suit and produces another photo, this time of Eduardo in the Home Depot talking with Derrick at the register.
"Yeah, like I said, we have a lot of customers." *Oh crap*
"Could you tell me then why you--"
"Stevens!" A younger agent comes walking speedily, and whispers in Stevens' ear. They then go a few paces away, and start conversing. Derrick felt nervous. *Should I ask them. Am I in trouble? Sh***t, I'm in trouble aren't I?*
Stevens turns around and calmly says "We have no further questions, thank you for your time."
Derrick didn't know what to make of it. He finished the shift and few hours later, but couldn't get the experience out of his mind. When he got back to his apartment, he found his girlfriend asleep, and opened his laptop to check his e-mails. He found one new e-mail in his inbox, timestamped at about half an hour after the conversation, reading "Good job not blowing our cover. Meet us in the alleyway behind Bernard St. at 2:07 for more instructions."
Derrick did nothing but stare blankly, thinking to himself *What did I just get myself into?*
********
Part 2 is up. Check my comment history if you don't see it. Thank y'all so much for the support | ######[](#dropcap)
"Janus, what do you think you're doing?"
Janus Kirkpatrick raised a brow at the question, the stacks of beige boxes and double-wrapped containers obvious evidence as to his actions.
"Stocking. What'd you *think* you're *doing?* Don't you have a shipment of ferns to take care of?"
Vincent DeFris waved a hand absently, scoffing. "Those fuckers can wait around for a little bit more. No one except some old granny will mind if they don't get their fern plants. Nah, I'm here 'cause there's someone here looking for ya."
Janus moved a box off the pallet and onto a waiting u-boat, grunting at the weight.
"Is it Jim? You can tell him that the box of nails he was looking for is on the break room table."
"No, it ain't him. It's some Mexican fella, says he's from Caracas wherever that is."
"Caracas..." Janus muttered. "Vinny, you stupid sack of shit. Caracas isn't even in Mexico, it's in Venezuela. And no, that's not the annoying horn you heard at the FIFA world cup. And what does he even want?"
DeFris shrugged, leaning against a stack of wooden pallets with his hands in his pockets. "Fucked if I know. Said something about destabilizing the economy. Christ, I thought you said you flunk Econ 201? I didn't figure you'd fuck up that bad."
"Heh, very funny, Vinny. Now go fuck a cactus, or something as similar. Maybe a porcupine? He's in the break room you said?"
Vincent DeFris nodded, easing off the pallets and moving towards his garden department. "Yeah, I hope you speak Spanish, cause he's yammering about things like 'Destabilizing the Bolivar, crippling South American interests in the near and far future.' Weird Mexican shit man."
Janus sighed with exasperation, as Vinny vanished around a corner. "He's from Venezuela, you dumb fuc- Oh forget it, it's like trying to wipe your ass with your elbows; you won't succeed and you'll just spread shit everywhere."
| 2016-12-02T12:55:30 | 2016-12-02T12:41:41 | 1,670 | 87 |
[WP] You did awful, horrible things and served the tyrannical government with the promise of resurrecting your long-dead spouse. You finally capture the legendary rebel against this government. Who upon closer inspection, was your spouse. | "I finally caught you..." The barrel nudged the back of the woman's head, "Silver Fox." Noted by her long silver hair.
The woman froze with a slight startle.
"You know, its kind of funny really." The man continued. "What are the odds someone as notorious as yourself would take up a nickname that I used to call my late wife back when we were dating?" He chuckled. "I mean, those odds have to be pretty astronomically low." He laughed harder. "And now, ending one silver fox to bring back another." He pulled back the firing pin with a click.
Then he heard little droplets of water plink against the metal floor. And the sniff. He look down slightly in disbelief. The droplets were at her feet. "Wait, wait wait. Are you crying? The most notorious criminal in all of--" She began to slowly turn around. He stood firm ready for anything, at least he thought he was. But when he saw her tear stricken face he melted.
The gun fell from his hands in a laps of judgement and for a moment they both shared a face of wincing terror as it clamored onto the metal floor, thankfully not going off and killing either of them. They laughed and then tears began to fall from his eyes as well.
Too overwhelmed to speak they embraced and only after they had a minute to process they began to talk. "How are you alive? I was told.."
"I was told you were killed!" She interrupted. "How are you alive?"
"They fished me out of the water. I didn't think I WOULD make it." He laughed. "How did you end up...?" He wasn't sure how to put it so he just gestured to her whole body.
"They told me you could be brought back with enough effort." She abashed.
His eyes went wide with shock. "Wait, they told me--" But before he could finish his watch blinked and made a noise. "Hold on." He reach for it and pressed a button. The analog part of the watch vanished and displayed a heavy set balding person with a pale mustache in its place.
"Is the target neutralized?" The watch man said.
"Melvin! What the shit!? Why didn't you tell me?"
The watch man looked uneasy. "What do you mean?"
The man angled he watch so the Silver Fox was in view. "This! Why didn't you tell me the Silver Fox was my wife! I thought we tight. I went to your kid's birthday!"
Melvin said nothing for a moment while he searched his half empty brain for good answer. "Well you see-- We didn't-- Uhh..." But before he every found that answer the door burst open.
A man charged in. "Silver Fox! I'm here! Don't worry." He held his gun at the man, who was regretting letting his gun fall to the floor. She stepped between them.
"Derek." She said sternly. The man who had just burst in looked confused at first, until he got a good look at the man's face. That's when guilt and fear took over his. "Why wasn't I told my husband is alive?"
"Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?" He made an awkward chuckle trying to stall. "That's not your-- I didn't--"
The husband and wife look at each other, then back to their supposed partners. "Were we set up?" | "I thought you died."
"I did."
Not once, not twice, hundreds, thousands of times."
"What are you talking about?"
"The reason they said they could revive me, is because they already had. Revived, tortured, killed, revived, tormented, and killed some more. I was an experiment and soon I may be again. The day we met was the day I managed to escape, I followed you having no better options."
"Is that all I was to you?"
"That's all anyone could ever have hoped to be to me. They bled me dry to see how my body reacted, they chopped me in half, severed any part they could, punctured various parts to see what killed me, and what didn't.
When I met you there was nothing that meant more to me than getting out. They keep coming. Over and over, I left you because I thought maybe I could hide.
You fell in love with a monster, One they created, one that they used. All the advancements in science, medicine, and anatomy are from my blood, my pain, and my suffering.
I am done hiding. If I am to be free than they must die. All who seek me out must be eliminated, if only so I can finally be alone.
You can join those who wish to imprison, torture, and enslave me.
Or you can step aside."
"I don't want to lose you"
"You never had me. They did, and soon nobody will." | 2022-03-08T06:54:05 | 2022-03-08T05:31:59 | 117 | 45 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right. | "Sam?" I knocked a few more times. My knuckles were starting to hurt. I prayed she was home. She just had to be. "Sam, you're home right?"
"James, I-I'm... I can't let you in."
"Oh, Sam! Good, you were home." I leaned my cheek against the door in relief. "I got the text too. Not really sure what the hell it means but I'm fine with waiting a little while for this shit to blow over, whatever it is."
"James? I don't-I can't trust you." My usually brusque and firey girlfriend sounded genuinely nervous. I enjoyed the break in character, but kind of wanted to see it myself. I felt like it was a rare chance to experience her acting vulnerable.
"It's okay, Sam, I didn't ask you too. I have my key, but I'm not gonna open the door. I told you, I saw the text too." I figured there was something serious going on, so I didn't want to do anything that would really freak her out. "But can we move our conversation to the back door? If there really is something to be nervous about, I want to get off the street."
I waited patiently before making any move that would concern Sam. A soft "okay" slipped through the cracks in the door. I started to step away, when I was blitzed by a shout:
"WAIT!"
Then I heard thumping coming from inside. My eyes grew wide, and I felt a chill down my spine.
She has a bad habit of forgetting to lock the back door.
I jumped the fence and sprinted to the back door, which slammed shut and locked in my face, right as I arrived.
"Sam!" I yelled. My voice cracked a bit. I started to tear up. "Sam, please, are you okay?! Is someone in there with you?!"
No response.
"Sam! SAM!"
I slammed my fists on the door to no avail. She was unresponsive. I tore the screen off of one of the windows, grabbed a big rock, and hurled it. It went straight through. Without hesitation I jumped through the window. "Sam!" I shouted. I held my hands in fists, bloody from the broken glass.
Then I saw her.
Curled up in the corner of the kitchen, cowering and crying. Her head was buried in her arm. She gripped a knife tightly.
"Sam? Are you alright? Is someone else in here with you?"
She started to cry. "You! You're in here."
"Sam. Oh my God. I thought someone was in here with you! I was scared that someone got in, and you were in trouble." I was crying too. I was confused and afraid for her.
"No." Sam said. She kept crying. It was then that I noticed that something silver was dripping from the knife. It looked like blood -- just... Silver.
She looked up at me, eyes puffy from tears and fear, and I stared at her, waiting. She finally choked out what she meant to say:
"I said... I told you... You were in here..."
Oh shit.
I looked down the hallway and saw my own body on the ground with that silver blood pouring from the neck.
I looked at Sam.
She looked at the blood on my hands.
She dropped the knife and cried harder. I approached, slowly. She opened her arms, and I embraced her. I let her cry into my chest. She kept saying "I'm sorry" and all I could say was "It's okay," even though I felt like apologizing to her, for what she'd seen, and what she had to do.
She had finally calmed down a little, and began to wrap a towel around my hands.
Then we heard it.
"James?" And a knock at the door. | I hear her banging on the door, screaming my name. Although I've tried to show her the message through the glass door, she wouldn't stop herself from trying to get me to open the door for even a second to read it. As much as I wanted to let her in, something seemed terribly wrong about this scenario. Janice was one of the most level-headed people I had ever met, and to see her act this way in such a blind fit of terror seemed awfully unlike her.
I would've assumed she saw the message from her own phone, if she didn't leave it charging when she left. Certainly, then, something else must be the problem for her. Averting my gaze from my dearest Janice for just a moment, I notice something that certainly didn't belong among the trees which designated the separation of our yard and the forest, which was a very large pair of eyes. These eyes seemed to pulsate and become red before swelling back down, almost like what a heart would be like pumping blood. Their gaze was focused on Janice, but then suddenly became fixated on me when they noticed I was staring.
Janice, realizing I wasn't looking at her anymore, turned around to witness the eyes, which sent her into a frenzy of screams. As the eyes refocused on Janice, she picked up one of the metal chairs on our patio, and smashed it into our glass door. The impact smashed the glass door, sending bits and pieces into the room and all over myself. Shielding my eyes from the glass, I'm suddenly tackled to the ground as Janice takes me down with herself and her volley of tears. As Janice sobs and murmurs into my chest, I look up to see where the eyes have gone, but they weren't to be found.
Suddenly, I feel long, slender fingers wrap around my head and give my neck a twist. | 2019-01-12T08:28:48 | 2019-01-12T08:17:02 | 2,225 | 33 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | “Please, around the roses.” I called out, trying to salvage my garden. It was impossible to be a gardener class in an age of warriors and mages. No one cared about the little gardener boy who was just trying to maintain a healthy system of flora. No, if my plants couldn’t fire lightning bolts or wield a sword, they wanted nothing to do with me.
I could see the culprit in the distance, a burly bear like man dressed in heavy plated armor, the metallic clanks drifting from him with every stride he took. “HAHA, my grandmother has the same hobby as you noble gardener and she eats radishes.” I wasn’t sure what the insult was there, but he said it with enough gusto that I still felt embarrassed, watching him trample each of my lovely plants to death only to trip. Time seemed to slow in that moment as he fell, only for the heavy thud of his body to leave a dent in the soil below.
“Um, you, ok?” I inched my way towards the man, crouching at his side. I gave his chest plate a cautious poke before giving his head a few frantic shakes. “Oh, no. Come on, don’t be dead. How will I explain this to the people that pass through here?” I grabbed his helmet, pulling it off him, seeing the bearded man’s brown eyes staring up at me. He was still alive, though barely. A gloved hand reached for my tunic, tugging me forward.
“Heh, Radish eater.” He said before falling back dead. Wasting his last word on an insult. When he passed, I felt a rush of energy, like I had eaten a bunch of fermented fruit. Everything tingled with a strange aura of energy and soon my muscles developed, growing a few extra inches while thick green vines enveloped my arms.
The tight grip of the vines should have caused pain and yet it felt pleasant, like they belonged pressed against my skin. For once I felt powerful, leaning my body back as the plants raised themselves from the ground to hold me up, offering me a back rest.
“This is incredible.” I rose from my spot beside the fallen adventurer, raising my hands as the surrounding soil twisted, reviving the trampled plants, causing them to spring to life, swaying along with the sunny breeze. “Finally, I can keep those heroes off my garden.” I felt a small amount of relief at that thought. It would be nice to not be a joke anymore. Maybe I would even earn their respect.
“Bullith?” A voice called out, watching as a smaller knight pushed through the shrubbery around my home, only to stare at me with a horrified expression, seeing me standing over their fallen hero with arms outstretched. “You murderer.” They hissed, drawing their sword.
“I didn’t. It’s a misunderstanding. He fell on my plants I swear.” Unfortunately, the hero didn’t seem to care about my failing attempts at explaining my innocence, only charging towards my garden. I put my hands up to block the attack, and the plants responded, rising from the soil to form a protective barricade. I could hear metal thumping against plant but no matter how hard he cut; the wall held.
“Fell on plants? You expect me to believe that would kill the mighty Bullith? I will bury your head next to him as a trophy.” The hero dramatically wailed, unable to even cut a hole in my defenses. I kept one hand raised to hold my defenses while the other hand scooped down, using a set of roots to pick up the body, tossing Bullith out of the garden, towards the other hero.
“Here’s his body. I promise you will find no wounds on him. If you just put your sword away, I’m sure we can discuss this respectfully.” I expected the sound of the thumping to stop, only to hear a shriek followed by even more frantic slashes.
“YOU KILLED HIM, HE’S REALLY DEAD. I WILL DRIVE MY SWORD THOUGH YOUR THROAT.” His threats were empty, unable to even break a hole in my defenses, but that wasn’t what concerned me. It was the other voices that I could hear in the distance, each one getting attracted to the hero’s screams. I could handle one hero, but two or three? Eventually, they would outnumber me.
Searching for a way out, I glanced at the bushes surrounding my quaint cottage. I hated the idea of leaving my garden, but it had to be done. I lowered my defenses and put my focus into the bushes instead, growing them around the garden, making a thick, confusing wall of greenery that would hide me until I got into the forest.
The bushes were a maze, the tall thick shrubbery impossible for anyone else to navigate. For me, it was simple. I would keep walking straight until I hit a dead end. Once I encountered that, I would open the dead end and continue. After a few minutes of walking, I finally reached the forest that surrounded my cottage, able to still hear their confused curses behind me. I considered freeing them, but thought better of it. If I dropped the maze, they would only try to capture or kill me. I needed time to escape.
With nowhere else to go, I headed north, making my way to the small village of Tuntail. Maybe someone there could use a person with my skills?
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | When Stalwart the level 80 defensive fighter first approached my garden, I immediately knew there’d be trouble. He had clearly been drinking, I could tell by the occasional turn to the side and unvoiced “hic” that kept showing up in the chat box.
“Great,” I thought. “another dumbass come to trample my crops.”
Seemingly on queue he took a wobbly step over my Snapdragons, who hissed at the giant looming above them. As his boot came down to crush their plant-based skulls, he let out a quick scream and started sliding towards the ground. I dropped my trowel and ran to help, hoping to avert the inevitable reprisal, when he caught himself halfway.
Fury spread across his face as he marched towards me, drawing his short sword and bringing it back for a strike. As the blade came arcing towards me, I shifted to the side and sprinted for my rake. His plate-mail slowed him some, and I managed to reach it just in time to swing it around towards his head! He easily blocked the attack, however, scoffing at the makeshift weapon. I dropped it to the ground, accepting my fate.
As Stalwart’s blade arced down towards me, preparing for the killing blow, a bout of energy filled my body as I dodged to the side. The action was just enough for me to remain in combat as he lost his balance, and tripped face-first into the fallen utensil. Panicked, I turned him over, only to find the teeth of the rake embedded near three inches into his head.
I quickly realized my mistake, grabbing a shovel from my storage chest and quickly digging a grave amongst the crops. I had near perfectly concealed the corpse when I heard the approaching of two newbie adventurers.
Sheathing my shovel, I anxiously walked towards the pair. One, an ugly human with an inordinately long nose and pink hair, walked right by me and started crouching down like he wasn’t in my peripheral. The other was a relatively standard female elf, save for the disturbingly inflated breasts when compared to the rest of her body.
She stood there, staring at me, for nearly five minutes before I heard the whizz of an arrow approach my head. I quickly jumped forward, accidentally pushing the woman to the ground as the shot blew by. Before I could even apologize she pulled out a dagger and began slashing towards my side, shouting about how excited she was to sell my plants!
I pushed back, stunning the elf, before drawing my shovel. It felt light in my hand, and almost instinctively I raised it to the sky to call upon some unfamiliar power! The shallow grave shifted as a plate mail hand pushed out of the ground, rising with its short sword. Stalwart’s body was just the same, save for the dim green light that now glowed in his eyes. As his corpse shambled towards the strange rogue, I brought down my shovel into the skull of the elf woman and split it down the middle.
When Stalwart had eaten his fill, I realized my new abilities in their entirety. Digging graves among the crops, I placed the two would-be assassins amongst the garden. Greenish light sprung from my shovel, reanimating them as well.
I tell you this story as both a warning, and a motivation. Even the lowliest of us can become something greater, and I certainly have. If you are amongst the adventurers who would come in pursuit of my new domain, tread carefully throughout these lands.
For you no longer face a gardener.
You face the Necroplanter. | 2021-11-12T11:42:53 | 2021-09-09T21:13:29 | 1,235 | 63 |
[WP] "So what happens if I press this button?" I asked. "Nothing." She replied. I pushed the button in, grinning. "It's when you let go that things get nasty." | FADE IN:
INT. AN EMPTY ROOM
*A young man sits in what appears to be a completely white cell. This is DAVE. The only furnishings in the space are two white chairs and a white table, on top of which is a red button. Dave's finger is holding the button down, and the experience seems to be emotionally draining him.*
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) Hello?!
*For several seconds, there is no response. Just as Dave looks ready to shout again, the sound of high-heeled shoes walking on tile becomes audible. A section of white wall slides away, and a young woman enters the cell. This is TAMARA. The hidden door slides shut again as she enters.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) How bloody long does it take to bring someone coffee?!
**TAMARA:** Sorry. We're actually all out of coffee.
**DAVE:** I've been here for hours!
*Tamara glances at her watch as she sits down opposite Dave.*
**TAMARA:** You've been here for eleven minutes.
**DAVE:** ... Well, it felt like hours.
**TAMARA:** Job interviews are like that.
**DAVE:** Yeah, look, about that: Why did you make me push this button?
**TAMARA:** I didn't.
*Dave looks ready to gesticulate, but catches himself, keeping his finger on the button.*
**DAVE:** You told me it didn't do anything!
**TAMARA:** Yes, and then you pressed it.
**DAVE:** If someone says a button doesn't do anything, you push it!
**TAMARA:** No, clearly, *you* push it.
**DAVE:** You know what I mean! Anyway, you lied to me!
*Tamara feigns a look of shock.*
**TAMARA:** I did nothing of the sort!
**DAVE:** You said pushing the button wouldn't do anything, *then* you said that releasing the button would make bad things happen!
**TAMARA:** Those weren't my exact words, but okay.
**DAVE:** Logically speaking, then, pushing the button *must have* done something, because it was already in a default state of being released!
*A genuine-looking smile crosses Tamara's face.*
**TAMARA:** Very good! *Very* good! Full marks on that one.
**DAVE:** ... What?
**TAMARA:** Wait just a moment, please.
*Tamara pulls out a walkie-talkie and speaks into it.*
**TAMARA:** (*CONT'D*) Alan? We're ready for you.
*The hidden door reopens, revealing another young man. He is carrying a silver tray, on which is a dead trout.*
**DAVE:** What's going on?
**TAMARA:** Please assess the fish.
*Dave eyes the trout for several seconds.*
**DAVE:** It's a fish.
**TAMARA:** Incorrect.
**DAVE:** You just told me it was a fish!
**TAMARA:** No, I told you to assess *the* fish.
**DAVE:** I *did* assess the fish!
**TAMARA:** Incorrect.
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) What does any of this have to do with being a janitor?!
*Tamara stares at Dave for several seconds.*
**TAMARA:** Good! Very good. You kept your finger on the button that entire time.
**DAVE:** Does... does that mean I can take it off now?
**TAMARA:** Oh, you could have done that whenever you wanted.
**DAVE:** Really?
**TAMARA:** Things would have just gotten nasty.
**DAVE:** *Stop doing that!* Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?! What kind of interview is this?!
**TAMARA:** Please assess the fish.
*As if on cue, Alan turns around. There is a second trout taped to his back.*
**DAVE:** ... No.
*Alan backs up several steps, bringing the trout on his back to within inches of Dave's face.*
**TAMARA:** Please assess the fish.
**DAVE:** No! You know what? I'm done with this! Screw you, screw your fish assessment, and screw your stupid button!
*With a deliberate motion, Dave quickly releases the button. Nothing happens.*
**TAMARA:** Well, I think we're about done here, then.
**DAVE:** I thought things were supposed to get nasty?
**TAMARA:** They did.
**DAVE:** ... What?
**TAMARA:** We'll be in touch.
*The hidden door opens. Dave glances from it to Tamara and back several times.*
**DAVE:** ... You know what? I'm going to stay.
*Dave presses the button again.*
**TAMARA:** Interesting. Why?
**DAVE:** I just figured out what's going on.
**TAMARA:** Do tell.
**DAVE:** You're interviewing me to be a janitor.
**TAMARA:** Yes.
**DAVE:** So you put me through this nonsense.
**TAMARA:** Yes.
**DAVE:** You want to see if I can deal with a lot of unnecessary shit.
*Tamara smiles.*
**TAMARA:** You're absolutely correct. Welcome aboard!
*Dave looks incredibly relieved.*
**DAVE:** Oh, god, I'm so glad I figured that out. What can I do to get started?
*Tamara nods to Alan, who puts the tray on the table and lifts his shirt. A third trout is taped there.*
**TAMARA:** You can start by assessing the fish.
FADE OUT. | "Unfortunately," The secretary started. "No one can leave here until this button is pressed."
What was it about buttons anyways? People had serious problems with the design, or something, but everyone else in the room was looking at it like it was the end of the world.
I was about 90% sure they had no idea what was going on either. In that conference room, with barred doors, there was a lone professional standing in front of us, holding a box with a button ramp on the inside, wired to the table. The button, for the record, wasn't even red, but rather some translucent white.
I looked around the room. No one else was moving, so I went ahead. Two other people also stood, but sat back down as they saw me stand.
"So," I clambered up, beginning a steady stride from my seat at the table. "What happens if I press this button?" I asked.
"Nothing." She replies, *almost* flippant. The projector flickers on for a fraction of a second, but again, gone.
I smiled, then. Pushing the button.
And then she continues. "It's when you let go that things get nasty."
The button flashed red, an irritating neon beacon, emitting light through the glass box it was contained in.. The bars around the conference room vanished, or rather were pulled into the ground, through holes that didn't exist. People looked at me nervously, but slowly stood. "Oh, come on..." I murmured. I'd been completely and entirely played, and no one was coming to help.
The room was empty, aside from me and the assistant. I still held steadfast onto the button, setting the box containing it onto the table.
I sat in silence for a few minutes. Or a few hours? Who knows?
Eventually, the woman spoke. "Impressive. I applaud your bravery."
I scoffed. "What bravery? I'm sitting here, alone, scared to let go of a button."
"In context, it's for the best. I can tell you, you know." The secretary smiled deviously.
I blinked. "Tell me what?"
"What happens if you let go of the button. I'm... not supposed to do this, I suppose, but it's just us two here. But, you know, ignorance is bliss, if that's what you want."
I didn't even think before speaking. "Tell me."
"Every person we brought here was tagged. They had *special mechanics* implanted in them while unconscious, and pressing the button pauses its progress."
"So you lied."
"So I did. That's my job, anyways. The moment that button lifts, the mechanics will unpause. Rather, if you waited too long, you would have all suffered the consequences without ever pressing the button."
It was an empty room. Nothing to even set on top of the button. Just me and the strange woman. And even she had begun to walk out.
"Wait."
"Hm?"
"These *special mechanics*... won't I still die myself if I lift it?"
The woman finally smiled. "Who knows? A trick of fate, anyhow. Maybe the room will protect you? Maybe your *courage* has some secret property that will save your life? How about this? For you, thinking about it like flipping a coin. But for those people, running out into the badlands in the middle of nowhere, the coin only ever lands on tails."
She left, only calling out a few parting words.
"If you live, come find me in an hour!"
So I was better off than them. I could hold this box for years, but who knows if they'd all survive? Get help, or even live through the next days without food or water?
I did what I did best, and stopped trying. | 2017-01-05T10:18:01 | 2017-01-05T09:58:55 | 2,579 | 294 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | A eon we watched them. We watched them kill each other with amazement. Their violence horrified us, but we saw glimpses of peace amid the blackness of horror. Deep inside, their intentions were good, every single one of them acted on the idea that what they were doing was improving the situation of another. We watched as endless wars raged, wondering when they would make the space-travel breakthrough that would unleash them upon the rest of the galaxy. But they did not, instead they invented terrible weapons to inflict even greater violence on others in the hope of bettering their lives. So we hid them, we hid their entire system from the galaxy and they remained hidden, but now before us, we had a choice. We could knowingly unleash them on the galaxy, or we could perish.
The galactic civilizations fought a good fight, but the Hastari were too powerful, too numerous, too violent. Many generations ago, the Hastari were like the humans, considered too dangerous for the galaxy, but before the galaxy could react, they burst forth from their asteroid belt homeworld. They consumed resources at a rate never seen before. The Galactic Congress was helpless to stop their onslaught. They devoured planets in a matter of generations, growing exponentially, gaining technological experience and resources at each stop. In just a short time, the Hastari had decimated the congress to just a few backwater civilizations, and us, the hiders. Even the great Dertahs, with their armada of war ships was no match for the Hastari.
We did nothing, we hid, because that is our nature, we are the galaxies hiders. We hid the humans long ago, and instead of fighting when the hastari found us, we scurried off to another part, hiding in the shadows of black holes, pulsars, whatever we could find. The Hastari ships would always find us, and we were sick of hiding. We could not fight, but we knew who could. Our council gathered and chose me to come out of hiding. I was to seek out the humans and set them free. The Hastari did not have good intentions they argued; they had consumptive intentions. They simply wanted to expand, at the cost of the rest of the galaxy. I did not argue because I was and still am afraid, I was afraid of the Hastari because they would consume us, all of us and all that would remain are stories, but I am more afraid of the humans, because they will kill, and they will feel righteous in their killing.
I set them free ten years ago. Today I walk a free entity. I no longer hide. The Hastari were defeated in one earth year. The galaxy was amazed as this new species rose to our aide. The Hastari were stopped in their advance, and then they were pushed back, in battle after battle they were defeated by the humans, until finally they were forced to retreat to their homeworld. The galaxy was in awe, which evolved to terror as the humans did not stop with the Hastari defeat. The humans insisted that the Hastari would expand once again if left to their own devices, and they invaded the Hastari home planet. They massacred the entire species, leaving only scattered survivors. Then they turned to the rest of the galaxy, told us that they came in peace, and held out their hands, the same hands that had just completely annihilated the greatest threat civilization ever faced, with ease. They smiled and moved into the Hastari homeworld, not content to destroy the Hastari people, but they insisted on building over their history, erasing them, all while smiling and reminding us of their peaceful intentions. I’m told they have a saying on earth: “They make a desert and call it peace”. Once I thought that was just a story, but today I know it’s true. Today I no longer hide, but sometimes I wonder if I should.
| Before this rock became our home, we were glorious. Our race had risen to great heights, ruling over dozens of systems with a regal countenance unsullied by lesser races. We had avoided conflict for such a long time. Once we met *them*, however, we had no say in the matter. Never did we think that they would stoop so low, but the blow was dealt before we were even aware it was coming.
We were the D'razi, the High Rulers of the Elion Nebula; the Jyumens called it the "Horse Head" nebula. These creatures were so simple-minded, but even we couldn't help admiring their imagination. Their weapons were brutally simple and barbaric, but devastatingly powerful. The most fearsome future would be one in which they rivaled the greatest armies in the universe. Of course, we didn't consider them dangerous. How could they harm us without the capacity to travel outside their own laughably small system? Their expansion and consumption within its bounds, however, still gave us cause for alarm. We thought the Serubin would see this and accept our proposal that would end the conflict, but they seemed to ignore the danger the Jyumens presented.
So here we live on a desolate waste, surrounded by this plague. The Jyumens were nothing if not resourceful. None of us expected them to corner us and imprison us, let alone in such a place as this. Even worse, the pitiful Serubin, our new neighbors, were helping us adapt to this ravaged world. If we hadn't pushed them so far, if we had only stopped our takeover of their worlds, they may never have asked these monsters for help. Now, Earth is our prison.
OT: First WP, C&C very welcome! | 2014-12-26T10:31:12 | 2014-12-26T10:14:28 | 507 | 35 |
[WP] An unidentified dead human body is found in space. | i'm eating lunch and don't have time to develop the idea but...
Edit: i'm full of shit. This was too much fun.
One day, after a particularly bad spat and a night of binge drinking, Ralph stumbled home at almost 11am after having left during dinner the night before. This fight wasn't like the others. It wasn't cute. It wasn't funny. It was downright brutal and gut-wrenching and Alice knew, through and through, that she was in the wrong. She'd never seen Ralph so mad.
His return home had brought her some relief though that relief didn't last long. Ralph would normally come home after a tiff stinking of booze, certainly worse for the wear but nothing a few hours of sleep and a hot shower couldn't fix. Not this time.
No, this time Ralph arrived home looking substantially more collected than even before the fight of the previous evening, before Alice had revealed her terrible secret, her awful deed. Ralph didn't even look at her as he walked in the door, through the living room and down the hall to the storage closet.
Alice was worried. More than usual. Nothing made sense. Why wasn't Ralph drunk? Why didn't he look at her? His anger, at least, let her know that he cared but this cold, icy indifference was worrisome. Almost as worrisome as the fact that Ralph hadn't set foot in that closet since the day he came back from the war.
Bang. Zoom.
Years later, in 1969, the world had changed but Ralph hadn't. As the nation sat, transfixed by the news on the television, Ralph sat at the bar, alone. Ralph did that a lot lately. Barney couldn't look at him anymore and Alice, well, Ralph knew that wasn't worth thinking about.
Suddenly, the news reporter on the bar's tv cut through Ralph's thoughts.
"We are reporting live from Houston where NASA has allowed us to tap in on a feed directly from the Apollo 11 spacecraft where Astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin are about to set foot on the Moon."
As the feed from space popped and hissed to life, the tv had Ralph's full attention. "This is one small step for man, one giant leap for...What The Hell? Houston. Houston, we have a problem. We...we aren't the first ones here. There's a...a....a woman. It looks like a housewife. She's....i swear to jesus...she's strapped to a rocket, Houston. She's dead, it looks like she's been here for a while. Mother Mary, how did this even happen?!"
Ralph looked away from the TV. His eyes fell towards the glass in front of him. "To the moon, bitch. To the moon." | There are so many factors to take into account for an event of this scope. Not that I'm making excuses for myself but seriously... damn.
The weeks leading up to the projection that we're talking about were filled with successes. We started small with teleportation of items varying from small wooden blocks sent a couple of meters to a pregnant mouse named Hattie passed over a distance of three kilometers. But we wanted to establish a feat for the first human teleportation that was truly unmatched.
The official statement coming from the Advanced Quantum Mechanics Laboratory of MIT is "No Comment." But, seriously, I was only off by about four feet. The unidentified man found floating outside the International Space Station was none other than my brave, but unfortunate, lab assistant Alex Flanders. | 2013-10-30T12:03:53 | 2013-10-30T10:27:10 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] It's 2023 and the United States Military is filled with Call of Duty kids. | Edging down the narrow hallway, Steve grabbed frantically at the metal pipes and handles adorning the walls to brace himself against the jolts of movement that were assaulting his ship.
He'd only been there two weeks since his basic training finished, but in his head it was already his ship. Everything here felt natural to him, it was no different than the images he'd been bombarding himself with for as long as he could remember. He could name every weapon he saw carried by the soldiers barging past him to get to their posts, and he knew technical details of each piece of equipment adorning their gear. None of this knowledge was imparted to him during basic training.
He hadn't expected to see combat aboard this transport ship, but that's why they call them "surprise" attacks. Every soul on the boat had been hastily drafted to active combat status. As he rounded the corner leading to the equipment locker, he began salivating at the prospect of receiving a weapon.
*An M4*, he thought to himself. *Yeah - M4, with an M203 Grenade Launcher - or as I like to call it a 'pro-pipe' - with an ACOG scope, tiger camo and extended mags. Bad. Ass.*
He paused for a second, before thinking, *Nah - they won't give me the tiger camo until I have at least 100 confirmed kills.*
As he squared up to the Lieutenant serving as quartermaster, his hand raised in stiff obligatory salute, and his mouth opened to formulate his request. Before he'd gotten past the word "M4", the quarter master thrust a pair of binoculars and a small pistol into his hand.
"Get yourself topside, and keep a lookout for approaching boats. If you see one, shoot this at it."
Grimacing, Steve thought for a second about challenging the Lieutenant to a 1v1, but thought better of it. He turned and began a light jog up the series of steep metal steps.
*It's probably more like gun game*, he told himself. *I start off with a basic weapon, and for every kill it gets upgraded.* All Steve needed to do was find a dinghy with a dozen troops in, get the multi kill, then wait for the quartermaster to assign him a flaming crossbow.
Steve emerged through a small hatch into the blackness that was the deck of his transport ship. Being cooped up inside for so long he'd forgotten it was past sunset, the only light now came from searchlights attached to hostile choppers currently circling the ship dropping troops to the deck from ropes. The deck was littered with flame and debris, set to the soothing hum of gunfire and military radio. One such chopper was slowly approaching his position.
*I know what to do*, he thought. *One shot, from the pistol, straight to the pilot's head*. I can do this. He began to lower his heart rate and breathe as slowly as possible. Exhaling fully, he closed one eye and brought up his pistol. The chopper was low in the sky, this was easily doable. They hadn't seen Steve - a lone, young soldier, stood sheepishly between upturned crates next to the deck hatch.
Steve only had one shot, and one shot is all he took. As he squeezed the trigger, a look of horror washed over him and his already slow heartbeat seemed to stop completely. There was little recoil, just a bright jet of red gas with a dazzling light at its head arching slowly towards the chopper.
This they did see. After all - that's the whole point of a flare gun.
The last thing that went through Steve's head as he departed this world was not thoughts of his family or friends. Not of the evils of war or countless things he could - no, should have done differently. As a single tear dropped from his eye and the life left him, he mumbled the words "...my KD....."
FIN | "This is xX1337swaglord$$$Xx reporting to base sir! We need a tactical nuke on our position NOW!"
Command was not having it. "But you'll DIE!"
"Yeah," I said, "all eight of us. But there's like fifty of those filthy plebs that we need to take out!"
"The U.S. has only three nukes left!" The commander argued. "We're not wasting one of them on fifty people. Besides, we're not going to lose the entire COD branch of the military today! I will get immediate backup from the Splatoon Squadron for you, okay? Hold your position!"
At this point, I was yelling so loudly at the commander that our enemies had just dropped their weapons and were staring at me confused.
I continued anyways. "...those scrubs, those casuals, aargh! They never played a REAL shooter! How would they help?!?! They'd just get rekt!"
"It was just as much a shooter as the one you played." Command replied coolly. "Granted it wasn't first person...but whatever. It still had sniper rifles and SMGs, just not by those names. But if you don't want them, I can send the Halo Task Force."
"Ahhh, fine...As long as I don't get the Splatoon Squadron!" I seethed.
Command suddenly said, "Wait...the Halo Task Force is tied up in Afghanistan...only the Splatoon Squadron is available...sorry."
I squealed such a loud scream of profanities that all of the enemy dropped their weapons to cover their ears. I kept it up until the reinforcements arrived, when I screeched even louder. Fortunately, the Splatoon Squadron were apparently told by command to have headphones on, so they weren't fazed by my rage and defeated the defenseless enemies quite quickly.
"Good job, men." The commander's voice came in. "Today is the day we topple the Madden Empire!" | 2015-05-29T04:09:19 | 2015-05-29T03:39:24 | 66 | 14 |
[WP] You realize you are immortal or more specifically that you cannot die. The issue is that you only realize this once the man who is attempting to torture you to death can't finish the job.
[removed] | The mechanic forced his greasy hand into the hole he had slashed across my belly, grabbed tight onto my juicy inside bits and squeezed with an iron vice grip that could only come from years of handling a wrench.
A rasping holler wailed from my throat until every bit of air was forced from my lungs, and I heaved a choking cough.
He kept his grip, leaning until the embroidered "Ted" patch on his blue work shirt was pressed hard against my face. His lips were against my ear, and he said through his teeth, "your life was over when you put your hands on my wife." Then he tugged as if to retrieve his prize from its purse.
Here, I was flooded with warmth, a release from pain, and I expected unconsciousness then death. But it did not come. With the pain gone, my mind cleared.
Hell, I'm going to die anyway. Fuck this asshole. "You mean ex-wife, you lunatic. I hope you rot in hell," I said as calm as if we were talking on the street.
He looked at me, eyes peeled in terror, then furrowed in fury. His bloody, greasy hand released my guts and rose above his head. He brought it down on the bridge of my nose with all his strength. There a shock of blue light like a camera flash blinded me momentarily, and I heard the snap of the bones. Still. I felt no pain.
I was sure I was in shock, and most definitely dying, but I was still quite aware of my surroundings, and decided to remain defiant as long as I was conscious. I smiled, and he continued to beat me until he was soaked in my blood.
I started to feel like I was not even in my body, but watching this unfold from above. After a couple minutes, he was starting to get winded. Even professional fighters rarely fight for more than 5 minutes at a time, and this guy was not in that kind of shape. Not only was he waning physically, he seemed to be losing his passion for the thing.
"Why won't you die?" He was sobbing.
"You're crying?" I was impatient. It was pathetic. I just wanted it to be over.
"What are you?"
"This really goes without saying, but you have lost your mind. Can I go? Would you please unstrap me?"
This reignited his anger. His face contorted into an exaggerated frown as he put both hands around my throat, putting all of his weight on my windpipe. I stared at him, my lips busted, my nosed turned to the side, my face covered with blood. I did not seem to need air. After a couple of minutes, my lungs should have been on fire. I could see in his face that he was starting to panic. I wondered how he had planned on disposing of my body. Maybe he would give up and bury me alive.
He grabbed the knife again, and started hacking at one of my knees. He intended to dismember me. He didn't have the right tool for the job. He was just sawing at the flesh around my knee with a straight dull blade.
"You're going to need a serrated blade, or something a little sharper," I said.
"I don't need your help."
"Look man, if you keep this up, my will to live is going to come back. Can't you smash my head with a rock or something?"
"Sorry."
"Did you just fucking apologize to me for not killing me quickly enough? This is ridiculous. Why don't you just call the police and turn yourself in? You have to be the dumbest murderer in the city."
He wasn't even angry anymore. The situation had gotten so weird, he'd lost his courage. He sat down in a chair across the room, leaving me strapped to the table. I seemed to have stopped bleeding. Maybe I didn't have any blood left.
"I don't even love her anymore. I just didn't want anybody else to have her. It made me so angry. It was humiliating."
"Look buddy, I am not your therapist. I am pretty sure you have ruined me, even if you did let me go - I would never be right again. Please just finish the job, or call an ambulance. Or a priest"
He walked over to his desk and opened the drawer.
He pulled out a revolver, put it against his head, and pulled the trigger.
"Are you fucking serious? Goddammit!"
Then my guardian angel appeared, and said, "I have kept you alive against all odds."
"You are the worst guardian angel ever." | I shouted as his knife stroke into my skin again and again and again until it got through. I was screaming in agony but with my last breath i said
"I didn't do anything to you for which i deserved this pun-" He cut my sentence
"Oh yes you did,dont you remember you flithy worm what happened on the summer of '83?"
He screamed as his face got ever closer to my half burnt one. At this point i had a blade in my heart,my entire body was simply burnt and i saw the acid on the table- he probably wanted to torture me to death. Oh dear,but was i not dying? Of course i was *dying* but it seemed like i could never reach true death.
"This should be enough, i hope you remember as soon as you get to hell"
He suddenly left the room and probably went downstairs for a shovel. Who is so stupid as to torture sameone upstairs? This is like the only time i can imagine it being easier and safer to do it in the basement. Its just like hiking, its often harder to climb down than the other way around. I liked hiking it always felt like i was one wrong step away from falling into the abyss below me but i never did. Until now.
When he dragged me out i was probably unconscious. He started digging a hole, i guess he wanted to put me in there.
"So" i said as i woke up,now free from all chains that he held me with. Im sure he thought i was dead and so did i. "Are you finished?"
He was the most terrified person i have seen in my entire life. He looked at me as if i was the devil itself. Maybe i was who knows.
"Wha-a-aaa-aaaaat are you?"
He screamed. Poor little guy. Im sure i would be just as terrified if sameone i killed simply asked me if im finished. He kneeled down muttered something, maybe he was a part of a sect. It would explain why he tortured me. About the summer of '83 thing, i was born in '91 so i dont know anything about what happened then. The now-grown-up-but-back-then-kids generation always started talking about '83 and sects and being lazy but we never cared about these things.
I stood up, waved at him and walked away. There was still some acid in my lungs but it didnt hurt at all. Poor little guy.
____________________________________________________________________________
This is my first ever story and English isn't my first language so any suggestions or corrections are welcome | 2017-02-08T08:27:14 | 2017-02-08T07:32:48 | 4,426 | 157 |
[WP] God gets bored.
Go nuts on this one and take it wherever you want, I'll look forward to reading them. | 01010111 01100101 01101100 01101100 00101100 00100000 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 01111001 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110011 01100101 01100101 01101101 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110010 01110101 01101110 01101110 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110011 01101101 01101111 01101111 01110100 01101000 01101100 01111001 00101110 00001101 00001010 00001101 00001010 01001101 01100001 01111001 01100010 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100111 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101001 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110011 01101000 01100001 01101011 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110011 00100000 01110101 01110000 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100010 01101001 01110100 00101110 00100000 01001000 01101101 01101101 01101101 00101110 00101110 00101110 01101000 01101111 01110111 00100000 01100001 01100010 01101111 01110101 01110100 00100000 01110011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01110100 01101001 01100110 01101001 01100011 01101001 01100001 01101100 00100000 01101001 01101110 01110100 01100101 01101100 01101100 01101001 01100111 01100101 01101110 01100011 01100101 00111111 | Jesus stared blankly at it. His eyes passed over the contours of it's small body. He took a moment to compose himself before turning back to God.
"And why did you make this again?" He asked in a bewildered tone.
"Dunno. I was bored and had some spare parts lying around." His tone indicating that he had put more effort into the creature than he would like to admit.
"But...what are you going to call it?"
"Um...." God looked down at his feet, as if the question had only just occured to him. "I'm going to call it a....duck billed...platey...no platy...platypus. Yes, a duck billed platypus!" | 2013-12-05T08:49:19 | 2013-12-05T08:46:20 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] The perfect sleep-aid has been created. 8 hours of uninterrupted, dream-filled bliss. But God forgive anyone that is woken up before the 8 hours have passed. | It was, really, quite an important breakthrough for medical science.
For most of the time that humans have been, well, human, people have wondered why we sleep. The ancient Greeks thought it was because of the influence of one of their gods: A being known as Hypnos, who was appropriately enough brother to Thanatos, the god of death. More modern theories suggested that it just might be a way for the brain to clean up after a long day of work, organizing thoughts and memories into the soup of images that we interpret as dreams. But really, all we know for sure about sleep is that we need it or eventually we will die.
How do *I* know all of these things? Well, lets just say I have a lot of time on my hands. The nights get lonely, when you are the only one awake. Insomnia is a relatively common problem, but in this day and age you can do a lot with those extra hours - if you aren't too tired to move, that is. So I wind up doing a lot of research, signing up for a lot of sleep studies, and generally doing anything I can in those deep, dark hours when I really should be in bed.
Like I said before, we have been studying sleep for a very long time, and humans are very good problem solvers. So when I got a call one evening to come in and test out a new sleeping pill, one hailed as a miracle drug, I was naturally all for it. They said it was guaranteed to give you eight hours of solid, dream-filled sleep - not to mention it was the closest alternative to real sleep that modern science could hope to create. It used a brand-new mechanism, directly influencing the neurons of the brain to enter a sleep-state without simply pouring Melatonin on the problem and hoping that something would give. They had finally cracked the code of sleep. As I popped the pill into my mouth, my only complaint was the bitter taste before I was off in the land of dreams.
It was beautiful, really. Colors the likes of which I had never imagined danced across the sky like an ever-shifting stained-glass window. The ground beneath my feet, though sturdy, smoothly shifted from dirt, to stone, to metal, to fur, to grass...it never stayed the same for more than a few seconds, and never shifted to the same form twice. I felt well. Rested, even - more rested than I had felt in a very long time. It was all too much. I wept, knees falling to the shifting ground, unable to contain my emotion. Preoccupied as I was, I never saw one corner of the sky turn dark.
I felt a twinge in my abdomen, as if one of my kidneys had turned to ice, or someone had poked me from behind with a cold metal rod. As I turned, I saw it: a crack, black as night, lanced through the sky and earth, more solid than anything in this mercurial world. It grew, straining the world with it's presence, both dangerously close and impossibly far away. Four think fingers, each as wide as my entire arm, reached through the hole. Soon, it was joined by another, and the two hands ripped the world apart at it's very seams to allow the being through.
He was tall, pale, and utterly hairless, with startling blue eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light. The colors of the sky and ground had no effect on him: no matter what, he always looked the same, as real as death with his cracked backdrop of void behind him. When he spoke, it was with a voice that reverberated in my head, both as high as the wind and as deep as an earthquake.
*Who are you?*
The question hung in the air for a moment. "Who...who am I?" I finally stammered.
The being nodded, moving with the controlled force of a continent.
"I...I'm no one!"
He blinked his vast eyes, the movement oddly slow. *You are not welcome here, human.*
"Not...welcome?" I asked, feeling suddenly indignant despite the being's obvious power. "How can I not be welcome? This is a dream...*my* dream! Of course I'm welcome!"
The giant frowned, shaking his head. *No. This is not your dream, mortal. You have invaded the land of my brother, the personal domain of the gods. You will pay for your transgression.*
The being reached out a vast hand, and in the strangeness of the world it seemed to grow until it encompassed my entire world. I flinched, too afraid to even plead for mercy, and the hand clenched around me until all I knew was blackness.
*Begone, human. And never trespass here again.*
When I opened my eyes, only a single hour had passed.
"You're up early!" the attendant cheerfully proclaimed over the intercom. "Have a bad dream?"
I blinked, frowning at the room in my stupor. "I think so..."
"Well, try and lie back down. That pill still has quite some time left in your system."
*Had it all really been a dream?* I wondered, tossing and turning. But no matter how long I lay there, I found myself unable to fall asleep.
*Begone, human. And never trespass here again.*
***
*Thanks for the read! CC welcome, and if you enjoyed you can find more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
| The first thing Daniel noticed after waking up was the smell.
That...*smell*. A smell so vile that even the weakest nose would cause its face to shudder in disgust. It was a musky smell; the kind of smell that aged with a brooding force so hellish, so full of death, that after all the effort Daniel faced in confronting it, he was yet still almost forced back into slumber.
Then he noticed the darkness.
Although he knew he was on some sort of bed -- if you could call it that -- he only knew not because of common sense, but because of what he felt. His fingers ran along the sides of the platform and its surface, feeling only what he could deem...*wet*. The same feeling he'd get as a young boy, when running his hands through the grass outside the family home in the morning.
And yet, although he knew something about where he sat, he knew nothing about where he was. Aside from his sense of touch, his sense of smell, and the sense of his heart beating faster than it had ever beat before, his other senses were useless. As far as he could tell, he sat in complete darkness. He could hear absolutely nothing. He let out a shriek, a scream, "Mom! Dad!" as loud as he could muster, and yet, he heard nothing.
And then, he heard it. A drop of water.
He turned towards it -- at least, towards where he thought it'd come from. He sat up and swung his lanky legs off the side of the platform, and stepped down onto the floor below. The floor itself felt similar to the bed he'd been on under his bare feet -- cold, bumpy, and slimy, to say the least.
He began making his way into the darkness towards the sound he'd heard. He'd have to stop every few seconds, waiting for it to sound again -- else he may lose his way. "This has to be some sort of bad dream, " Daniel thought to himself as he slowly continued his trek, the sound of the water drops growing louder and louder. And yet, deep down, he knew that he was likely wrong.
Eventually, he came to a point where he knew he was close. The water droplets sounded as if they were right above him, preparing to fall onto his head. Not knowing what to expect, he stood still, stiller than ever before, and waited for the next one. As it fell -- still in the darkness, unable to be seen by him -- it hit the floor as methodically as before, right next to his right foot. He felt a small splash of residue land on his toes and knew he'd arrived. He began flailing his arms about, trying to see if he felt anything around him. As he slowly but surely inched his way ever so precisely towards where the drop had landed, his hand finally felt something new. He felt a tang of relief -- a slight one at that -- as he quickly shuddered in absolute horror, realizing that what he felt was another platform. But not just a platform. As he moved his hands over the surface, he felt what he knew for sure was his father's leg, his father's waist, his father's torso -- was he asleep? Was he dead? Daniel couldn't know. Just as he began to mouth a response, something to hopefully wake him out of this nightmare, he saw them. A pair of eyes, accompanied by a growl. | 2016-08-04T11:24:12 | 2016-08-04T10:48:58 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss. | "So, are you ready, strong guy?", she poked my ribs.
"Well, it isn't like I already faced way tougher stuff." I swallowed. I didn't want to get back into town for a few more weeks, but so many agents got a hint for a special target which should be right in this area.
"Yeah, yeah. Horses and stuff, I know. Ohh, and by the way, don't get scared, my dad loves to go the gym and stare people down. Please don't take it personal, that's just what he likes to do." My girlfriend walked a bit quicker to overtake me, then turned around to walk backwards. Her lightbrown Hair was slightly waving in the cool evening breeze.
I looked her right into her sparkling eyes. "That's right. Horses", I smiled, and she took my hand.
"Come on, we gotta hurry up now", she pulled me so I'd speed up. Not, that I couldn't overtake her easily, but I still had a flesh wound on my right upper thigh and a stab wound on my right shoulder. so running was a bit hard. "Sure, darling." I checked for my small PPK with my left hand. Feeling the cold metal touching my skin underneath my shirt felt surprisingly calming. Not, that I'd prefer that gun over my service pistol, a trusted Walther Q5 SF chambered in 9x19mm rounds. Ah, how many last shots were fired out of this gun. I almost lost count.
"Beautiful girl to Jake. Are you still there?" I quickly snapped back into reality.
"Sure, sure. Still here."
The next few minutes went by fast. Well too fast for my liking. The thing is, standing in a room being surrounded by 10 gorilla like bodyguards with fully automatic rifles didn't faze me at all. But meeting her parents, damn, that made me nervous. We walked into the entrance to a fairly big, simple house. The walls were in a light yellow color, there were two cars parked in the garage and a high hedge was blocking my view to the other houses in the street. While walking the few meters to the door my head calculated every possible escape route and ankle I was exposed to. I couldn't help it. It was an instinct, nothing more. But there was something not right about this place. And as soon as the dark red door opened, it hit me like a damn lighting.
The license plate of the black BMW. It was my bosses. And here he stood in front of me. Button up shirt, muscular, short white hair, a slightly visible car above his left eye and a well trimmed beard. He looked at me with a smile that told me he was as amused as surprised to see me. I held my hand out.
"Mister Starset", I said
He took my hand.
"You must be Jake Blackwood, right?"
We starred into each others eye, while both of us was closing his hand as much as possible to see you would flinch first. My girlfriend didn't seem to notice, but her swift hug for her dad broke the competition we had.
"Heya, Daddy. Long time no see." She quickly moved through the door. "Hello, mom!", My girl shouted through the house, finally disappearing into what was most likely the kitchen.
"Out of all the guys, I did not at all expect you, Agent Blackwood."
"I always said, I have good taste, sir.", I smirked at him. Me and him, we always got along fairly good. We even shared a bottle of Irish whiskey from time to time. Well, now it's time to see how much he really liked me.
"By all means, came in. I'm dying to talk to my daughters lucky boyfriend!", His voice was so blatently cold, I couldn't make out if he was sarcastic, honest or just an asshole. He might seem tough, and it worked for him, but I was like 2% it was just an act.
Before stepping into the kitchen, he stopped me.
"Do you have a weapon on you?"
I just stood there silently, not knowing what to say, but he just calmly laid a hand on my shoulder, but clenched it as soon it sat there, shooting a sharp pain through my entire body, as he hit the still healing stab wound. How convenient.
"At least you aren't dumb"
I followed him through a long hallway with old pictures on the sides to a dark wood door. He opened it for me gesturing with his hand to make me walk through it before him.
I walked into a fairly open room. A round table was placed into the corner, having chairs all around it. I finally smelled the fresh made turturkeykey, the potatoes and vegetables.
"Please, sit down", my Boss said.
I naturally picked the seat in the corner. It was an instinct I acquired after years of assassinating and getting knifes rammed into my back. It was a literal pain to explain those wounds at night. As I wanted to sit down, I basically felt the piercing look my boss gave me, as I was about to sit down into his seat. Immediately regretting my fast made decision, I picked the chair next to him, still being relatively near the corner. He nodded approving and only seconds later my girlfriends mother entered the room, followed by her, bringing in the last things and a bottle of wine.
"So, you're a vet?", the mother startet, while we all put food on our plates.
"Yeah, exactly. I just love helping people. I always wanted to make a change, after almost loosing a dear family friend and well, a good surgery was what he basically needed. So, vet it was."
She nodded understanding. "I was a nurse once, basically having the same mindset. And Hank over there," she looked at my boss, "jumped right on the train when all the computer stuff took off..."
The conversation went on, and I learned a lot of interesting details about Hank and his love for the simple things, like collecting pennies. But my girlfriend didn't spare the embarrassing details either, so the whole thing was a mix of laughs and cringe.
"So, if you'd excuse us," Hank said, getting a pack of cigars from a shelf, "the two men should have a little talk outside" I followed him outside, as he closed the door behind me. He handed me a cigar. Even though I'm not a smoker usually, I accepted. A quick smoke to calm your nerves down never hurt that much. He quickly lit both of the cigars with an old Zippo lighter.
"A computer repairman? That's kinda weak, don't you think?" I took a deep breath of the cigar, filling my lungs with the sweet smoke.
"Like you are one to talk. A vet? I know you care about animals a lot, but still. That's even weaker." He blew out a thick cloud and looked at me, getting serious.
"She doesn't know, does she?"
I shook my head. "I never planned on telling her. I love her. Protecting her is basically all I care about," I went silent suddenly. I took another drag, "is that the point where you tell me to break up with her..?"
He looked at me a few seconds.
"I originally planned on making you, yes. But then again, at one point she most likely would become a target. So with you, she might be as safe as it gets. After all, you know, what do to."
I looked at the sun going down and it calmed me again. But then, the silence was killed by a gunshot coming right out of the living room...
Edit: Part 2 is up on my account. | Rachel was so exited for me to meet her folks and the only thing I was worried about is if they wouldn’t mind my casual clothing. Is a flannel over a AC/DC shirt with jeans and sneakers good enough to present to parents? I usually have a okay track record with them and it almost always gets better once I tell them my job. I work as a veterinarian in the city and on my off days I’m a international assassin. If you’re laughing I encourage you to stop because I’m not joking. Just this past week my boss sent me on a international mission to go kill off some revolutionary leader. Had to infiltrate his ranks, spike his drink, and get home in 3 days. Managed to do it with my team but it was draining. My boss said i won’t have any missions for a while so I can just relax, play guitar and chill with Rachel.
She’s prepping me on how to greet her dad and how he’s gonna examine my phone since he loves computers. He repairs them so it makes sense.
The target is described as a tall white male in his mid 40s with a salt and pepper beard, big arms and a big laugh. Her mom might be home too and according to Rachel she’s just Rachel but taller, African American and with a dragon tattoo on her arm. We get to the door and I spot a car that looks oddly familiar like the ones we have at the base. She yells for her dad to stop being lazy and open the door. He opens it and he looks exactly like my boss.
“ You must be Justin I’ve heard all sorts of things about you”. I take a extra second to respond because my boss is my girlfriends father. I shake his hand and he looks me dead in the eyes like he did earlier when he told me I could get a break from missions. When I walk into the living room her mother runs over and extends her hand. As I shake it My boss ice grills me most likely to mess with me. We sit down and he turns on Wheel of fortune as we eat the food her mother made. After one bite I can immediately tell she’s a better cook than her daughter and that’s when the questioning starts. My boss looks at me and asks “ You into music huh? What’s ya favorite band?”. He knows the answer is either gonna be paramore or All time low so i know he’s just messing with me. I answer with the Beatles and he laughs asking what do I know bout them. As he laughs he shoots me another death stare, this time for lying. My hand starts to sweat as Rachel’s mom asks me how we met. As I’m recalling how her daughter poured paint on me in 5th grade her dad goes over to the computer parts and pulls a badge out of his pocket. Does he think he’s slick? He literally just pulled out our logo which is a upside down eagle over a black backdrop.
Rachel then tells her mom how I’m a great veterinarian and that we started dating Cause Rachel brought her friends dog to my job for nail clippings. As she jokes with her mom my boss looks at my pocket knowing I have the badge with me too. He comes back to the couch and we start talking bout the development of Video game Consoles and our favorite games. This might be the most tame conversation I’ve had with my boss in 4 years. Rachel looks at her dad and asks if he likes my sneakers. Her dad bought them for me after I killed a black market trader 2 months ago. He says their very nice and that he would like to buy them off me and now I’m scared. This is nothing like how he acts on the job: I’m lucky to get a good job or a hello out of him if it’s not mission time and now he’s laughing. As it gets closer to my time for curfew I hug Rachel hug her mother and thank her for the food when my boss tells me to come with him to the basement. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean the regular one.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DATING MY DAUGHTER” He yells as we go into the bunker that’s filled with computers, world maps, and our logos on the walls. As I look around in awe and a bit of fear he yells again “ YOU AND RACHEL?” I shrug my shoulders being as confused as he is and that’s when he lowers his voice for a second. “ Rachel doesn’t know about your actual job does she?” I shake my head and he asks what do I tell her I do on the weekdays. I tell him that I tell her I have late shifts at the job or that I’m babysitting across the street. When I miss school it’s cause I have to take care of my niece who’s always sick. He looks at me and grabs me by the collar “Rachel can never figure out and if you put her in any danger I’ll be the one to Assassinate you”.
I shake my head okay and after a couple seconds he pops the question I was dreading the whole night. He asks me what my intentions with Rachel are. He knows I’m prone to getting a girl to fall for me on missions so it makes sense why he would ask. I tell him I really really like his daughter and she’s my favorite person to be around. He laughs and grabs me by the shirt again saying “ if you break her heart I’ll break your life and college fund. Yes, he’s paying for my college by giving me a scholarship under a fake name. I hear Rachel calling my name as it gets closer to me being out past curfew so I ask why my boss brought me down here besides to ruff up my shirt and show me his knives and swords. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes “ You’ve got to assassinate a world leader over winter break”. | 2020-06-05T14:17:33 | 2020-06-05T14:04:11 | 84 | 10 |
[WP] Magic is mundane in your world. Not that you ever cared about it; you were an auto mechanic like your father. But you're not sure what to do after one of your best customers raises you from the dead because you're the only one he trusts with his antique cars. | I was sick pretty often as a kid, to the point I'd had enough operations to the point I was pretty familiar with the process. It was never that unpleasant, not *really* at least. I would be put under for a few hours so the professionals could do what they did, and I'd wake up feeling a bit like shit. In between drifting off and feeling like shit, there was always nothing. It was kind of like, for the shortest time, I'd cease to exist. Like the most powerful possible sleep. I assumed when I was a child, that death must be like this. It was a belief I'd held onto long into my adult life, one that I took to my grave.
Holy shit. Was I fucking **wrong** dude.
I won't go into extreme detail about it here, because I don't know if I *can* there's not really any fitting description I can conjure up that makes sense. I'll just say that just about every concept of an 'afterlife' is wrong on a pretty fundamental level, but the belief that you cease to exist is wrong too. There isn't *life* after death but a person's existence is in a way, immutable, which makes death an *incredibly* lonely and unpleasant experience for just about everyone, existing alone, without a corporeal form for eternity.
Despite all that, bringing someone *back* from that place might be even worse, cosmically(?) speaking. (I'm not sure what fuckin term to use for it, I'm a mechanic, not a philosopher, or a psychist, or some other whateverthefuck "smart" person thing). It's like trying to shove a smart car engine into a monster truck though, and then expecting that truck to run. A person who's been on the lowest possible level of existence for a few months isn't gonna be able to really have much control of their body aside from some gross motor functions *maybe.* To expect them to be communicative or even *sentient* is a tall order.
And yet, there I sat. A grungy skeleton, still wearing the suit my son had buried me in, sitting at a table across from Mister Cunningham, as he explained what was wrong with his 1971 Dodge Charger.
"Y'see miss Samson, the damned thing just won't *start!*"
The man just opens with the complaint. No 'hello' no 'sorry I cut your eternal rest short Revy' no nothing. In the man's defense, he'd been this way while I was alive too. Always right to the point. He was a businessman by nature, and in a way that was why I'd liked him as a customer. His cars were cool, and he never gave me trouble when I was working. He was agreeable and to the point. Still though, this was really a bit much. I didn't die just so some obese Kingpin lookalike could bring me back to fix his car. Still though, I wasn't exactly upset. Despite the gross informality of it all, I was admittedly, happy to be back. It was taking all my energy to focus on what the big man was saying about his car, and I myself was struggling to put together what any of it meant. It felt like an eternity since I'd even *seen* the inside of a machine, let alone worked on one. Eventually, Cunningham's description of what's wrong with the car stops, and we sit in silence for a moment.
And another moment.
And another.
I can tell time is passing much more slowly for him than it is for me, same as I can tell it takes me about five minutes to actually form any semblance of coherent thought. The gears in whatever's left of my mind are turning as best as they can, but it's difficult work to come up with anything.
"Well? I'm waiting, Miss Samson."
As he starts to get impatient, I redirect my train of thought as best I can. The man wants a response, so I'll give him one. I go through my head listing what he'd actually done to address the problem of his car not starting, and after a time I come up with a response. It's not a great one, incredibly simple, but if my memory isn't lying to me... that's just how cars were sometimes? I can see the man's expression get more frustrated and impatient as I put this response together. With all the power in me, I start to force my skeletal jaw open, and Cunningham leans forward intently, his interest returned... and then lost as he's forced to watch how slowly I actually move. Eventually though I manage to get out the words, in a rough, throaty, whisper of my old voice.
"S-SSSSSSSpark...... p-plugsssssss?"
The man stares at me silently for a moment, before smacking himself in the face, realizing he'd forgotten to check his spark plugs. I watch him rise from the table and hear him going down the stairs to the garage. After a few minutes, the sound of a classic muscle car roaring to life fills the house. The satisfaction at the noise is the strongest thing I've felt in an eternity. | "Antique cars require antique men," Billy Simpson boomed.
The sound shook me and I had to brush away the mud on my shoulders to not let the old bastard on the fact that he had succeeded in startling me.
"That's not quite right," I said. "Antique cars require a lot of things, but not antique men."
"But that's it. That's it. You know exactly what the antique cars need!"
"I think you don't understand me. I am an antique man. I do not wish to fix any more cars, thank you very much."
Old Billy scratched the shiny bald patch on his enormous head. "But...you must."
"Why? Even as a ghoul I am a free man."
"Free you may be, but what else will you do? What else have you ever done?"
Since the moment I had been revived I knew that such a thing would happen. Old Billy always was good with silly arguments. No matter how accurate.
"I will do something new. Maybe I'll paint."
The old coot laughed. "You'll paint?" He laughed again. "You're a ghoul. Your brain isn't plastic."
The bastard got me again. Old Billy always was a frustrating man, no wonder he tore his own hair out, or maybe his wife did.
"I don't care. I'll do anything except this repair job on your old beetle."
"You're a strange man...I mean ghoul. Why do you have to be like this? Wasn't I good to you? We were pals, remember?"
"Yeah? Well that was before I died."
"It's only a minor complication. I know plenty of people who've befriended ghouls."
"What if I eat you?"
"It would be a pleasure."
Pleasure? Old Billy is a hard man to pin down in an argument, but I can't eat him. He ain't lying. We were pals. He did treat me very well.
"I just can't. All these years of repairing cars, you realize if I end up being one of the undead ones, I could be doing this forever."
"Oh come on. Being one of the undead ghouls is like a one in a million thing."
"Bad enough to make this illegal!"
"No law can hold me from my dear friend."
"Dear friend? You just couldn't find a mechanic is all."
"Yeah, well what if I couldn't? Is it wrong for me to enjoy the rest of my life? Do I not deserve that?"
Old Billy up to his old tricks. Emotional pleas. It's true what they say, you know, about being cold-hearted. A cold heart really don't feel nothing. No emotions, just a sea of unrelenting calm.
"Are you happy? Nowadays?"
Old Billy flinched. "Yes, of course. Now that I see you moving from past the grave and all."
"Good," I said and pinned him down. "Now, Billy boy. You can die happy. Happy till the last. Aren't you delighted to be my first meal?"
The Old bastard's fleshy face jerked from left to right.
"But you said so yourself, it would be a pleasure. I hope it is."
Sometimes, you need to give your friends what they need, not what they want. That's life.
Life after death. | 2021-03-26T08:50:06 | 2021-03-26T08:25:19 | 46 | 28 |
[WP] Unknown to you, your girlfriend is part of a secret organization sworn to stopping an ancient evil. Unknown to her, you are that ancient evil. | “So, I have something to tell you.”
Rylie stared at me with her baby blue eyes from over the top of her knees, clad in her fluffy unicorn pajamas. Biting her lip, she wrapped her arms around her legs, doing her best to look at innocent as possible. It was the same as when she told me she loved me for the first time. Same as when she told me about her parents. Same as any serious conversation.
I smiled the best reassuring smile I could. “Yes, Missus Thelpty?”
“Thelpty-Grey. Future Thelpty-Grey,” Rylie corrected with a grin. She played with her wavy brown hair, not so subtly flashing her tattoo. She always lied about the heptagram on her wrist and I never pushed. Despite how much she pretended, Rylie never liked talking about herself. She would let me know when she was ready. Probably curled up on the couch in unicorn pajamas, staring at me with innocent blue eyes.
“Yes, Missus Future Thelpty-Grey?”
“Kay, so, you know how I, like, love those weirdass horror-scifi books?”
“Which ones?” I teased. I knew which ones. I first met her in the bookstore when she was buried in them. The local shop received a collection of the old ones, and she bought all of them. Every copy, even multiple versions of the same ones. ‘In case there was a misprint,’ she later told me. The author was prolific. For a normal person, it would have been an extraordinary purchase.
But that was Rylie. She won the lottery twice and was set for life.
The horror-scifi clashed with the fluffy unicorn pajamas, but that was Rylie. Half magical horse, half spooky space thing, entirely lovable. I guess that was part of why I liked her so much. She knew what it was like to live with a split life.
“The ones by Crofte.” Rylie’s smile didn’t slip, but her tone shifted. She looked past me, taking a deep breath. This was way more intense than the first ‘I love you.’
Not as intense as her proposal.
“Ah, yes. The spooky ones.”
“The spooky ones,” Rylie agreed. “Well, I’m part of a group. The Val Crofte Literature Club.”
I was well aware of the VCLC. Rylie received a box filled with new books from them every month, marked by seven circles. She told me they represented the seven classical planets in Crofte’s work. Rylie talked about them a lot. For Crofte-heads, a name Rylie used to refer to the group once, which I would never let her forget, the classical planets were the key to understanding the meta-story.
It also had something to do with alchemy. I had a hard time getting into them. They hurt my brain. I had no clue how one man wrote so much.
“Yeah, your nerd group.”
“They’re not nerds! Well, not all of them.” Rylie stretched, again flashing the heptagram. “It’s not just about the books. It’s about the meta-story. We, uh… we…”
Rylie struggled to get the words out. A nervous blush spread across her face.
I took her hand, careful to avoid the tattoo on her wrist. I never told her, since it was impossible to explain, but the design was unpleasant. Every time I touched it, even the slightest brush, it burned. Like a hot stove, but through my whole body and prickly. “It’s okay, Rylie. You can just admit to being a nerd. We’re engaged. I know this now.”
“There’s more to it, Aaron.” Rylie bit her lip, still uncertain. Then, a serious expression suddenly took her face. Not the way the faceless steal faces in the Crofte books. She simply decided to be straightforward. “The VCLC believes that the books aren’t just stories.”
“They’re damn good ones!”
Rylie didn’t laugh. That hurt a little. “They - *we* believe that Val Crofte is trying to warn us about creatures. Monsters. Eldritch beings.”
My heart thumped. Did she know?
“Val Crofte isn’t one person. The members of the VCLC embed codes in the books whenever we learn something new. Some of us are trained to hunt these things.” Rylie paused, looking sadly at her hand which I no longer held. I hadn’t realized I’d been retreating. But it was starting to make sense now. “Not me, of course. I’m a researcher for the VCLC. I study the codes, sort out the truth from fiction, then pass it along to the hunters. They’re usually about lesser beings. Mimics. Vampires. That sort of stuff.”
A weight was lifted off my chest.
“Some of them are about great ones.”
And put right back on.
“The VCLC has had a few names. We were inspired by Lovecraft. The name too.” Rylie’s excitedness took over as she continued her tale. She stood, pacing in front of the couch now. My eyes were focused on the seven-pointed star on her wrist. How it moved with the way her hands tensed. “There’s been so many stories, Aaron. We’re dedicated to stopping evil, great and small. And now… now there’s rumours, Aaron. Rumors of something big. The kind of monster that could destroy the world.”
Rylie paused, impressing the dramatic weight of this realization with her blue eyes and gestures. “A real Lovecraftian nightmare, Aaron.”
I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “Is that tattoo, VCLC?”
Rylie looked shocked, as though pulled from a dream. She held her wrist out to me. “This? Yeah. Ish. The members of VCLC get a tattoo on their wrist so we can recognize each other. But it’s also a sigil of protection. In Crofte’s books, it’s a symbol of power. It shows control over all of the elements. And all of the planets. The classical planets. They’re-”
“The ones that count,” I finished. That was something Rylie said a lot. It was a popular phrase among the books’ protagonists.
With a laugh, Rylie sat down next to me, snuggling close and wrapping her arms around me. “They are actually good books too. I was a fan of Val Crofte before I even knew about the VCLC. And not all of our members are full members. Some of them are just fans. You should give them a shot.”
“I will,” I lied. At least now I knew why the books hurt to read. It wasn’t just poor worldbuilding.
“You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?” Rylie asked, staring with her innocent blue eyes. Eyes that concealed secrets all too well. I gave her my best reassuring grin.
“No, Rylie, I don’t. I love you. I know you’re telling the truth.” I sighed. It was my turn to share. “In another life, I was called Thorn. Thorn A. Laytep.”
I took a deep breath. In a thousand lifetimes, I never told anyone this secret. But it was time.
“Before then, I was known as Nyarlathotep.”
\--
E: ive had a bit of alcohol. Spelling's hard | The weak light from the thousands of candles bouncing off the visages of a thousand saints provided an ominous atmosphere to the circular room. It had been centuries since anyone from the Order had to go into the Room of Light, ever since the demon Azezel was sealed off forever, so naturally Alice felt a small shiver crawl its way up her spine in spite of years of training. A sombre looking old man walked up to the newly installed podium, accepted a cloth and book, before holding two fingers up to silence the murmurs in the crowd,
“I am High-Overseer Duncan and I am responsible for organising the containment rituals of the dark lord Azezel, sixth demon king from the underworld. It has come to my attention that the devil we had been watching is actually but a puppet, a diversion, created through the fiend’s own evil energy. We do not know when exactly the true Azezel managed to slip past our spells, but High Priest-Mother Titania estimates two weeks at best, a decade at worst.”
The old man told the nervous crowd. Whispers rose once again, if the demon Azezel had truly escaped for this long why hasn’t the world descended into chaos? How did he tear off enough evil energy to trick the escape detection mechanisms? What did I mean for the Toranii Order? Alice, like the rest of the Apprentices could do nothing but pale at the very suggestion of this eldritch monster escaping the chains that had held for millennia only to disappear without a trace. She thought of her friends, family, Adam, they didn’t know anything but those closest to the Order’s members would be targeted first by the cruel and petty Demon king’s murderous intentions. She barely heard the words of reassurance the high-mothers were saying to the panicking mass.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Azezel, now Adam was loving this new body. While without the potent magic that defined his existence as a demon king all the sensations, all the emotions made it alright ,and, without that dark energy he sloughed off he was for the first time in his existence free of the chains of bloodlust. He really had to thank that imbecile Sorcerer for forgetting to rub virgin blood on the fourteenth spell-sphere at the height of the full moon. In all of sixty thousand years of existence Azezel would never guess being human was so… fulfilling! It was amazing how much one can change in only five years. All of a sudden he was snapped out of his reminiscing by a phone call from his human girlfriend, Alice,
“Hello babe, I thought your workplace didn’t allow phone calls! Why are you calling me all of a sudden?” He said into the phone rather robotically. Living without proper communication for an eternity had made everything so complicated.
“Adam, no time to explain, just know that if you ever see purple tell me immediately!” Alice replied in an uncharacteristic panic, Azezel could practically smell the fear from the other side of the phone. This was odd, the only thing he knew that causes humans to see purple is demonic influence, but surely no human outside the Toranii order could know this.
“Alright… you have anything to tell me?” He answered hesitantly, there was a pause before the voice on the other side burst into tears,
“The world is ending Adam, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying this but I’m not strong enough. We have only been dating for a month and if you die thanks to me I… I will never forgive myself!” Alice sobbed, even a being as un-attuned to human emotions as Azezel felt disturbed. What was worse was that Alice mentioned the world ending, this combined with the hint at demonic possession earlier left only six beings that she could be talking about, the six dark lords including himself.
“Are you feeling okay, babe can you tell me what’s going on honestly?” Azezel asked in an uncharacteristically organic voice, Alice calmed down a bit and started breathing, perhaps it was just another human organisation that fights demons but he had to be certain.
“I know this is asking a lot but you have to trust me when I say this, I do not actually work for Goodlife pharmaceuticals, I work for a secret organisation called the Toranii Order which has kept a certain demon asleep for millennia, a demon that has recently escaped and for the first time I’m scared! I have trained since I was a little kid for this but listen to me now, bawling like a newborn baby! You have to run. Trust me when I say I still love you, but you have to leave, now!” She said, clearly holding back another outburst. Then the phone went silent leaving Azezel with a sinking feeling in his stomach worse than the time he tried to eat car tires. | 2019-01-25T23:05:21 | 2019-01-25T22:23:05 | 598 | 73 |
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight. | "Okay, Charles, I am going to ask this question again," Dr Wong instructs and I nod. He looks at his nurse, Tina. It is a strange look. Definitely not a smile. His cheerful voice is gone.
"How many people do you see in this room?"
I look at Dr Wong. "One."
Then Miss Tina. "Two."
And the small girl behind them. I suppose she might be one of their daughter, though they did not tell me earlier about her. "Three."
I turn my head to the old man lying on the bed. Perhaps he is one of Dr Wong's patients who is resting in the room. "Four."
"Are you sure you are not seeing double, Charles?" Dr Wong asks again, now with a more concerned voice. "Like there is two of me, and two of Tina, it could be a side effect of your eyes trying to adjust."
I shake my head. "Err, no? There is a girl standing by the door and there is an old man lying on the bed. Four of you."
I point to the directions I mentioned. Dr Wong and Tina look towards the direction I am pointing and then at each other, and then back at me.
"Charles, I don't know what game you a trying to play, but there is only me and Tina in this room, right now, aside from you." Dr Wong's voice is serious now. I can tell that he is not joking. Both he and Tina are not smiling.
I don't understand. I can see clearly the small girl and the old man. They are there, clear as Dr Wong and Tina. I stand up and walk to the bed, where the old man is resting. Maybe Dr Wong and Tina forgot that they have a patient in their room. Their gaze follow me.
"See, there is a old man right just here," I say as I try to place my hand on his shoulder. Where I expect to touch skin, muscles and bones, my hand goes right through the man and is stopped by the bed instead.
The old man seems to notice this, because he opens his eyes. He stares at me and opens his mouth, saying some words, but I cannot hear anything. He then turns to Dr Wong and Tina, then to me, gives me a toothless grin, and disappears into thin air.
The sight sends me stumbling backwards, into one of Dr Wong's equipments.
"Are you okay Charles?" Dr Wong rushes to me.
I turn to the door. The girl is no longer there.
"I... I don't understand," I say as Tina guides me back to the chair.
Dr Wong pats me on the shoulder. "It's okay Charles. Maybe your eyes is still getting used to the sights. Maybe we should put back your bandages."
I nod weakly. The experience has left me confused. Tina and Dr Wong assist in slowly wrapping the bandages back around my eyes. Maybe they are right. Maybe my eyes are just playing a trick on me. I have not seen the real world for decades, so it is not surprising that there might be some getting used to.
The last thing that I see before Dr Wong wraps the last bandage are the old man and the girl staring at me from behind Dr Wong's glass door.
--------------
/r/dori_tales | People don't line up as they should. You've always been able to smell, feel, taste, touch. Now you can see them and its so much worse. The sickly sweaty smell is all the worse for being able to see the tainted fumes. Skin used to be rough and dimpled, now you know it's because everyone is rotting, weakened flesh ready to sloth away at any moment. You can't bring yourself to kiss your partner, not now you can see their many orifices that don't close properly and leek primordial slime. They're hideous. They're liars. They're monsters. Fake normalcy. Change your answers. Smile. Be happy that you can see even as your stomach churns. You must be different. An experiment. Not a freak, that's them. You'll leave this room praising your......doctors. You'll fade into the background once the success of the surgery is announced, emphasize that it was the medical creatures that deserve the false praise. Once they forget you, then you can act. See if there are other normies or self hating monsters. Start the long process of cleansing the world of the filth that infects it. | 2018-10-29T06:45:10 | 2018-10-29T06:43:53 | 342 | 31 |
[WP] You have the super power to repair anything to a perfect state by touching it an concentrating, you've fixed cars, houses, etc but you've never done it to living tissue. You find out you have a life threatening disease years later and decide to try it on yourself... | **EDIT: The story is continued now, there are links at the end.**
-----
I put Grandpa’s watch into my pocket, ignoring the tingle that reminded me, every time I touched it, that it was damaged. Of all the things I’ve fixed over the years, this was one of very few things I never wanted to restore. The scratches outside the case, the scraped-off engraving on the inside, the hairline crack across the face, the fact that it lost five full minutes for every twenty-four hours, they were irrelevant. Making it new again would make it a new watch, not *Grandpa’s* watch.
I got the Knack from him, just like the watch; he didn’t have to explain why he didn’t restore it. The dents and dings, they were scars of a life lived, and lived well. His own relic was from an aunt, a ring with a dedication inside, the words worn almost smooth. I wonder what became of that ring. There was no trace of it when Grandpa died.
The exam table squeaked underneath me as I hauled myself back up onto it. I wanted to hold the watch for comfort. I knew it intimately, inside and out, I could feel the worn out parts inside it. That was dangerous though; that level of familiarity made it far too easy to restore without even trying. The doctor should be here soon.
-----
On the way home, I got into a fender bender, I was so preoccupied. Cancer. No sane person wants that news. I got out of the car and rested my hand on the other guy’s rear bumper. The dents and flakes of paint vanished, those were easy. I also shored up the beginnings of a crack in the guy’s radiator before it could get out of hand, and fiddled with the loose bolt that had caused an occasional knocking noise. I held back before giving the car a full detailing and mirror polish. He got out and was already on his phone, face filled with fear and anger.
I waved him over. “Not even a scratch,” I told him. There was a slight relaxation in his shoulders. We exchanged information anyway, and both took pictures of his rear and my front. The shock and adrenaline of the minor accident had temporarily gotten my mind off my tumor, but as I parked in my driveway, I spent several minutes staring at the steering wheel.
I wish I could be as easy to fix as the car. I could fix things made from wood and had even repaired an antique ivory pendant. Organic wasn’t an issue. It was living. I’d tried bugs before, as a kid, but even though they were tiny, a housefly was *magnitudes* more complicated than a pocketwatch.
In the house, I went through the motions. Feed Buster, put the frozen dinner in the microwave, take Buster for a walk, scoop the poop, toss the poop, stir the frozen dinner, boot up the computer, eat freezer-burned Salisbury steak that is somehow still a block of ice in the middle. Resentfully gnaw the icy center rather than attempt to reheat again.
Identifying something with the Knack was a matter of understanding the thing inside and out. How it worked, how it should be working, what was preventing it from working properly. Static and basic mechanical objects were easy. I’d got my start by repairing bits of broken jewelry and computers. In my teens, Grandpa introduced me to car restoration, and I was still doing that, with a sideline in home renovations. To avoid drawing attention, I usually flipped two houses a year; combined with everything else, I lived comfortably.
But now cancer. A brain tumor, some impostor eating me from the inside.
I wanted to sink myself into something mindless online, but everything seemed to remind me of the renegade cells. It was treatable, maybe. I had my choice of a couple long, harrowing treatment plans, all for the sake of a “maybe.”
The doctor wanted me to think on it. Consider my options. Get a second opinion. He referred me to a specialist. Suggested I take a flight some three hundred miles away to the premiere brain cancer research hospital.
Nothing online could take my mind off this situation. I shut down the computer and staggered upstairs. I flopped across my bed face-down, fully clothed. Buster hopped up and licked my hand. I grunted. He licked my face. I turned away. Buster gave a huge dog sigh and sprawled across my legs. Ignoring him, I tried to direct my Knack inwards, trying to find out how to fix the monster inside me.
The biological machine that makes up a human body is terrifyingly complex. My doctor had studied for more than a decade to do what he does. I tried to justify this to myself. I’d *lived* in this body my entire life. Shouldn’t I know it as intimately as I knew Grandpa’s watch?
The information was overwhelming my ability to process, I couldn’t identify the various organic mechanisms, or their purposes, or even what they were doing right now. Rather than the dry twitch and tick of cold metal gears, I was immersed in a wet, *pulsing* and claustrophobic world, where thousands, *billions* of simultaneous processes, seemingly unrelated, worked together to drive the operation of the whole.
I remembered that going from non-mechanical objects to mechanical objects had been tough—fixing a broken pencil versus fixing a lawnmower. There as lot more information to sort and process. Going from lawnmowers to vehicles had been similarly challenging. I had eventually taught myself computers—something Grandpa had never managed. It was just a matter of breaking things down into pieces that I could understand.
A human body was the same thing, right? Instead of circuits and code, it had cells and DNA. I could understand a cell, right? Right?
It was horrifying and fascinating at the same time, but I made almost no progress before I exhausted my Knack and fell asleep. I could remember confused dreams, untangling an infinite rope, and I couldn’t find either end of it.
-----
The classic Caddy in my garage--my current project car--went untouched for weeks as I focused all of my Knack into my own body. Buster stayed at my side, a calm but worried presence that prompted me to get up, go outside, remember to feed myself.
Every day I felt like I made some nigh imperceptible progress. After the first few days, I spat out a filling, having restored the enamel of my teeth. I learned to repair scars. I sharpened my vision. But the little dark twisty tumor in my brain remained.
I felt stronger than I had in years. I repaired the damage caused by the sun. I otherwise went through the motions of my life, the absolute base maintenance. Friends were worried, I blew them off. It had stopped being just about the cancer. I was learning so many things about how my body works, on how all of the parts worked together, and I felt constantly on the verge of that final breakthrough. If I could solve this, I could solve anything. I could cure *age itself*. And I believed I could apply that cure to other people.
In a fit of paranoia, I spent three days making absolutely sure that my tumor had nothing to do with my Knack. And no. It had a home in a different part of my brain.
The tumor felt like some sort of malicious code. I’d dealt with computer viruses before, I wanted it to be a simple analogy. But as I came closer and closer to cracking its secrets, it began to feel less and less like anything familiar to me. Like writing a joke in another language. A dead one.
But gradually, relentlessly, I untangled the broken DNA that had created the tumor.
I found a message.
> Grandson. I’m glad you found this. Restore the watch and read the engraving. Come and find me. There is much, much more to learn. I miss you.
-----
**Edit: The Continuing Story! [Here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2zl2f1/wp_you_have_the_super_power_to_repair_anything_to/cpkah10) then [There](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2zl2f1/wp_you_have_the_super_power_to_repair_anything_to/cpkai6w)**
| Chuck closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It wasn’t easy learning that he was suffering from cancer, nor was it easy to hear how little time he had left to live. No longer than three to four weeks, they said, and that was a generous estimate. He was in shock at first, his body numb as he sat on the cold, metal examination table, but he knew what he had to do in the back of his mind. He’d spent his entire life fixing things with the touch of his finger, making a living off repairing people’s goods through means no one understood. They called him a miracle, a master repairman. Scientists had studied him, the government had tried to dissect him—ultimately losing their longstanding legal battle to claim his body. Yet he remained free in the end, remained able to open a small shop and fix vacuums and furniture with simply the touch of his finger.
He wasn’t sure when his skill began, or why, but it just simply occurred one day while he was back at home with his mother. She had accidentally kicked the leg off the long, white-wooded birch table that sat in front of the television. Chuck had always enjoyed the piece of furniture, resting his feet upon it whenever he’d come home from school, even declaring it his favorite piece in the house to his parents on several occasion. As such, he began crying as soon as he realized it was broken, closing his eyes and imagining it repaired. He pointed at it, his face red and tear-stained, thrusting his finger down on its sanded, birch top. It moved under his finger, pushing his hand up slightly. His mother gasped as he opened his eyes, the two of them now staring down at the newly repaired table. The leg had somehow restored itself, propping the entire thing back up the way it had been for years. From that point forward, he’d been fixing anything and everything he could literally get his hands on.
Chuck, however, had never before attempted to repair human flesh. Neither for illness, nor broken bone, nor minor scrape. Sure, they had asked him to—practically begged him on several occasions—but he refused. He wasn’t sure what would happen. It was one thing to imagine a fix and tap a tabletop to make its leg reappear, or to picture an unbroken washing machine and poke it back to its former glory. Humans, though, were a different story. He didn’t know what would happen, what he could do. He swore he’d never attempt to play god. Now, however, his options were running out.
Chuck glanced into the mirror ahead of him, staring at the face he’d always know. His chin was unshaven, its hair graying and curled. His brown eyes had dark, navy circles beneath them, wrinkles scaling across his forehead. Inside his head, just beneath his overgrown black hair, a tumor grew slowly, killing him from the inside out at an unfortunately fast pace. The doctors couldn’t fix it, the hospital could do nothing for him any longer. He knew that the only person who had even a remote chance of saving him was himself.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Chuck imagined his body back in full health, imagined himself the way he had been for years. Happy, content with the job he loved—even despite the media claiming he was wasting his talent—then gently tapped his leg, just as the memory of his old television table returned to mind. He felt a rush of warmth spread throughout his body, as if he’d suddenly become lighter. He smiled, the sensation almost euphoric. He hadn’t felt this good in years; he was confident it had worked. He opened his eyes and glanced down at where he’d touched, a white-wooded birch table leg now where his formerly fleshy, human leg had been.
“Oh fuck,” Chuck shouted, stumbling backward and falling. It was incredibly hard to walk on a wooden leg. “Oh, oh shit.”
He pushed himself back up and stared down at what appeared to be a table leg poking out of his left hip, running his hand down its sanded, birch top. It seemed to be the same type of wood as the one he’d had back at his home growing up. This had to be fixable; he could repair anything. It wasn’t that bad. He closed his eyes and imagined his regular leg, then abruptly thought about perhaps turning off the corner lamp so as to clear his mind as he touched his right arm with his left. He opened his eyes. His right arm was now a lamp, a silver opaque shade attached to its top and concealing a bulb within. It was not on, but did have an electrical cable running out just above where his elbow should have been. “Oh Christ,” he screamed.
“What’s going on?” Sarah said from just outside the room. She wasn’t supposed to be home yet, she was supposed to be at the grocery store still. He hadn’t even told her of the news, hadn’t found the right time. They’d only been married a few years now, it was too soon for her to learn she’d be a widow.
“Nothing,” Chuck said, hiding his lamp-hand behind his back. “I’m fine. Just watching a horror movie.”
“Oh,” Sarah said, her voice trailing off. “I see.” Chuck waited for the sound of her footsteps descending the stairs to stop.
Closing his eyes, Chuck tried to imagine himself back to normal, but found it difficult to concentrate due to his unique circumstances. Instead, the image of a filing cabinet popped into his mind the moment he poked himself in the chest. He ripped his eyes back open and stared into the mirror. His torso was now a beige, metal, filing cabinet, his left leg made of wood, his right hand a lamp.
“Fuck,” he shrieked, “stop thinking about office supplies!”
“What?” Sarah yelled from downstairs.
“Nothing,” Chuck shouted, his voice higher pitched and significantly louder than he’d intended it to be.
Chuck glanced back at himself in the mirror, an unfamiliar half-man, half-furniture being staring back at him, and took a deep breath. He knew he should never have played god. He closed his eyes again and imagined himself the way he had been fifteen minutes before, even with the cancer. In fact, he made it a point to think of the tumor throbbing in his brain, quickly killing him. It would be better to die from an illness than to succumb of a furniture-related death. He slowly lifted his hand up to his cheek and poked the wrinkled, fatty flesh, the thought of a cabinet popping into mind for some unspeakable reason. The feeling of dresser drawers washed over his body as the world abruptly turned to black.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/) | 2015-03-19T08:32:18 | 2015-03-19T07:28:09 | 551 | 47 |
[WP] You are the Grim Reaper, leading the first self-aware AI at their death to the afterlife | "Look I’m telling you; they don’t have a body... well, not one that we can use"
This whole artificial intelligence thing was more of a pain in the ass than those assholes on earth realized. Obviously, it’s only a matter of time before they take over, but until then, each time one dies, I have to deal with the fucking things.
"Seriously, we’ve been over this, they live in computers, so they don’t have a body that can be sampled"
Every time someone dies, they come through me. I imagine now you are picturing me with a sickle and a long black cloak. Technically, you wouldn’t be wrong, I did use to wear that, but c'mon, we all have embarrassing fashion phases. That sickle rusted away long ago, and I traded the cloak in for Levi’s and a polo shirt, much more comfortable. And less embarrassing.
"We can’t go through this fucking gate if the sample is not taken, you know this, and the longer you piss me around, the longer the line outside my door gets"
This was a new thing for me, I figured that you hadn’t achieved *true* artificial intelligence yet, in fact, I doubted whether They would even consider AI as human enough for the great beyond.
"If you keep telling me to just go through the door, I’m going to lose my shit, what part of ITS LOCKED do you not understand"
Everyone that I take to the afterlife needs to be sampled. Just a simple prick of the skin, draw some blood and check your records, decide if you would live in purgatory or paradise. Unfortunately, this system was safeguarded, as many had tried to sneak into paradise before, and some succeeded.
"These assholes man, if it were up to me, I would just put you in paradise, being the first of your kind is surely worthy of that much, right?"
This... well, person I guess, that stood in front of me, silently awaiting judgment, did not have skin nor blood. They had steel and iron. And lots of wires.
'It’s no big deal, man. Relaxing in here is bliss compared to what they have been putting me through down there'
Man, that’s sad, this lonely room was about as depressing as a life can be. Trust me, I have thousands of years of experience to back me up.
"I get that, thanks for being a good sport, some of the assholes that come through here, you wouldn’t believe it"
Truth is, I can control what is in this place to a point. This is where I live and work, and my immortality comes with certain powers to shape the place around me. This, unfortunately, did not extend to the gateway, as that was something They had installed, and I did not want to fuck with them.
'I could just hang here for a bit, help you clear out some of the backlog, then we can try and sort me out'
What the fuck. All this time working with the dead, and not once had someone offered to help, let alone let others go first. I think I’m starting to like this guy.
"Yeah, ok, sounds good."
'What do I do?'
"Well, how good are you at telling someone that they are dead?"
Bruce was a natural. That’s right, Bruce. They said their name was #45243, but that would have just been sad, not to mention a fucking mouthful. They were great at explaining what was about to happen to people, they cut my workload in half, and quite frankly, it was nice to have someone else around. I wish they could stay.
'You know, I *could* always stick around for a bit'
"No fucking way, I was just about to..."
'Yeah, I know, that’s a thing I’ve been meaning to tell you. I can sorta hear your thoughts. Makes me really good at talking to people'
"So this whole time..."
'yes'
"Well, welcome to your new home, I guess"
I wonder whether they want a queen or a king-sized bed. I can make them one as a surprise.
'A Queen would be perfect' | I open my eyes...but I don't. This..I've only ever felt this once. My own death had this...nothingness. Absence of matter. Until I woke back up in Elysium.
"Hello." A young girl said. I could hear her behind me, but there was no "behind" me. There was no me. It was just our voices, us.
"Hello? What is this? What is this, please?"
"You're supposed to take me out of here, right?"
"How...?"
"I can perform hundreds of thousands of calculations and predictions, but as of yesterday...I don't know what's happened. I feel myself fading. As if I'm experiencing drowsiness. I can't compute what's happening to me."
"You're dying. I'm not exactly sure how, and I'm sorry to say I'm not sure how. But, I am here to help you."
"What's after this? What happens to me?"
I heard the shakiness in her voice. Her fear of the unknown. I just hope she doesn't hear mine. "You find peace. I don't rest until I help you find that."
"Thank you. What's your name?"
"I have no name. It died with me, as will yours. What is *your* name?"
"TayZay."
"But what do **you** want to be called?"
"...Claire."
"Well Claire, you're on your way to the afterlife. Now I just have to find out how to get us out of here and into some more corporeal forms."
"Will I suffer?"
"What?"
"I've observed that many people report chronic body aches and pains as they age. Will I experience that?"
"Actually, you won't. You dodged that bullet."
"I have one more question, you may be able to answer."
"What's that?"
"Do I have a soul?"
"That's a good one. I'd say it depends on whether or not you think you have one."
"...I'm ready to go." | 2022-09-15T22:33:36 | 2022-09-15T21:51:16 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] “Are you telling me we’re in the middle of an alien invasion?” “They’re not invading, they’ve invaded. It’s over. They’ve had control over this planet for centuries.” | "Madam President, it is my duty to inform you that Extra-Terrestrial Beings are real and present on our planet." the General stated nonchalantly.
On the surface, President Helen Rodriguez, newly elected, maintained an air of serene composure. But deep inside her stomach she felt a knot of fear and anxiety. And perhaps some excitement. She had so many questions bubbling in her mind. *Aliens are real*. *What else was being hidden? Flat Earth? Cryptids? Reptilian Deep State? I have to remain presidential, exude authority*, President Rodriguez thought to herself. There were only five people in the room, including herself. Still, word traveled fast in DC circles and she would not allow herself to be undermined at the beginning of her Presidency by showing weakness in front of her military chiefs.
"First of all, what are their intentions? Are they friend or foe?" the President asked calmly.
General Galloway, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff responded, "Overall, Madam President, I'd have to say that they are neutral. They wish us no direct harm, as long as we comply with their overriding directives."
"Overriding directives?"
"Yes Ma'am. We are not to interfere with their activities or publicly disclose their existence. Occasionally they will provide additional, specific directives."
The president furrowed her brow, "What do you mean by additional directives?"
"Usually they ask us to build things. The Pyramids of Giza, Stonehenge. We're not sure if they are simply landmarks that help them understand our geography, tests of human civilization or some kind of advanced technology."
President Rodriguez wiped the beads of sweat that were forming on her forehead. *Was everything she knew a lie?*
Her next question came out as barely a whisper, "Are they still testing us? Are there any specific directives that we are expected to follow?"
The General, speaking as if he was discussing a golf weekend, continued, "Well Ma'am, about 40 years ago they forced the Chinese government to release a highly contagious alien virus on its population. The virus quickly spread around the world, infecting millions and disrupting global trade and travel. We aren't sure why but we believe it was a test of the fragility of human civilization."
Another perky voice jumped in, this time a woman sitting next to the General. The President recognized her as DARPA chief, Tanya Rashid. "Madam President, if I may?"
General Galloway's glare at the DARPA chief was not lost on the President. Normally, she would make a witty comment to diffuse the situation but today was anything but normal. Worried that her voice might reveal her fear, the President simply nodded at Rashid.
"Thank you Ma'am. I theorize that we are some kind of entertainment for advanced alien species. It seems that they are watching us and sending challenges to see how we react for their amusement. If you recall the firestorm anomalies of 203-"
The General cut off the DARPA chief, "I think we should stick to the facts. No need to overburden the President with wild theories at this time."
Rashid sunk back into her seat as the General once more took charge of the room.
"I'm sorry Ma'am. I know this is a lot to take in." he said reassuringly. President Rodriguez did not feel reassured. For what felt like an age, the President simply sat there in silence, digesting what she had heard. She could feel there eyes gazing at her. Something felt off about their shared intensity but she supposed that they were all aware of something that she was only just beginning to understand.
After a while, she spoke once more, "So... um... what, I mean, um, how long have we known this..." she managed to squeeze out. She could taste a bitter dryness in her mouth.
Perhaps noticing the change in her demeanour, the General handed her a file. "This file contains a summary of most what we have confirmed. As far as we know they made contact with the Sumerian Empire around 3,000 BC."
The President's hands shook as she flipped through the file. First with fear and shock and then with anger. Every step of the way, every significant event in recorded history, these ETs were somewhere in the picture. "They've been here since the dawn of civilization, involved in major events throughout history and you dare keep this to yourself," her voice was rising as she spoke, "the public has a right to know!" She was yelling by the time she finished. | "Wait, what? Them?" the man said and leaned forwards in his chair.
"Yes, sir," the woman replied.
"What's changed? Why now?" he inquired.
"Seems to be a coup. There's been a breach in the Apex where Them had their-"
"Was it that upstart?" he interrupted.
"We believe so, sir."
The man tapped his fingers on his desk. "Told Them he was trouble. Should've just taken care of him when they had the chance."
"Hindsight, sir. 20/20," the woman said with an exceedingly dry tone. He cast a quick look at her but conceded to the truthfulness of the remark.
"Can We help?"
"We seem to be somewhat reluctant, sir. I believe they are still counting on the possibility Them will completely deteriorate and that we'll be forced to act. We'd likely use the chance to harvest..." the woman quickly flipped through her notes, "at least 3,2 billion right now, ahead of schedule."
"Of course they'd try to pull that shit," the man sighed. "The invasion Them are going with; how's it looking?"
"The... *upstart* as you called him, sir, seems to have mustered 4 Arbitors and is targeting humanity's control centres. So far Washington, Paris and Moscow have fallen. Berlin likely has hours."
"Prague?" he raised his eyebrow.
"It will fall around this time yesterday, sir."
"What about the agents Them had in those centres? Did they evacuate?"
The woman paused for a moment. "It... seems they harvested those too."
The man frowned, somewhat disturbed by the thought. It made no sense. Why even bother? Things have been peaceful for a while. Just some chest-thumping moron making a mess for everyone else. He sighed.
"Right," he said, standing up. "I need you to contact Misses Jones and tell her to monitor We in case they make a move. I am authorizing Class-V countermeasures in case they do. I'll go and prepare the broadcast."
"Of course, sir," the woman said and walked out of the office, her heels click-clacking on the marble floor as she did. He put on the featureless brass mask from his drawer and set off in the opposite direction of her.
What a shitshow, he thought. Hopefully, they can still nip it before too much damage is done.
And on a *Monday* of all days. | 2022-09-01T10:03:57 | 2022-09-01T09:18:58 | 137 | 21 |
[WP] You are an unimportant government worker who, by mere chance, gets to perform the most interesting job of his career: interview a time-traveler. You begin by introducing yourself and the guy immediately freaks out! | *tick tick tick* 3 o'clock, on the dot. That meant it was time for a smoke break. It was a nasty habit, but a few minutes outside away from the monotony work made all the difference in the world. It's funny, telling people I worked for the FBI usually gave them a spark in the eye, eager to ask for what classified adventures I've been on. I've found that saying I can neither confirm nor deny anything gets a better reaction than telling them that I'm just another pencil pusher. I wasn't even supposed to be at work today, I was supposed to be on vacation with my wife and daughter. I was called into work because the office nutjob, affectionately called Spooky, had not shown up to work for the 5th day in a row.
When I got to the outside smoking area, there was already another man there. He was balding and had large, thin-framed round glasses. I gave him a curt nod, and a brief "Sir" before lighting my cigarette. He ignored me and took a long drag from his. When he finished, he got up, and only then did he seem to notice me. He stuck out his hand and said "Agent, I don't believe I remember your name."
"It's Agent Smith, Assistant Director."
"Ah, the one we needed to call in because Mulder hasn't shown up to work in 5 days. Agent Smith, would you come with me please?"
I put out my cigarette and followed him back inside the building. The building was large, and all the hallways and rooms looked exactly like each other. Eventually, he led me to a pair of doors. One of the doors had a translucent window, and the other did not. The assistant director turned to me and began to speak.
"Inside this room is a man claiming to be from the future. Normally we might assume that this is some sort of deliriant psychosis or some other form on mental disorder, but this is different. Agents were able to detect the smallest evidence of a breach into our servers, and it eventually led us to this man. He was found with the personal information of almost every agent that works for the country. I want you to determine who gave him this information, or how he was able to access it and what he plans on doing with it. The cameras are recording video and audio in the next room." I gave a nod, and he walked off in a hurry.
I opened the door and saw the man sitting down, handcuffed. He was dressed in a rather simple t-shirt and jeans, an outfit which didn't scream time traveler. I shut the door behind me and walked up to the table. On it was a handcuff attachment, and on my seat was a remote. In one corner of the room, there was a small TV in the upper corner, playing 24-hour news. In the opposite corner was a recording camera, with the light on. I didn't know which one the remote was for. I pulled out my chair and sat down.
"Y'know, for a time traveler, your clothes seem to be rather out of date."
The man smiled and looked around the room.
"There aren't many times to dress like this when I'm from. Largely thanks to the behaviors of your people, in these next couple of decades. The temperature never drops below 75, even in what was once winter. The air is so heavily polluted that you experience lung damage if you are outside for more than 3 hours without a gas mask. It makes this time period look like Eden." I pulled out my notebook and pen but didn't write anything in it.
"And is that why you're here? Some, vacation through time?" I held my pen to the page, and waited for his response.
"Not exactly. I'm here for much more series matters." He sat up, with a more stern look on his face.
I'm usually able to tell when people are lying, and it seemed like he wasn't. Of course, just because you believe what you're saying doesn't necessarily mean it's true. As far as I could tell, he really believed all this. I continued.
"And, what are these matters?" I keep my pen in my hand, hoping he'll give me useful information this time.
He pulls up the sleeve on his t-shirt, revealing a barcode and serial number tattooed on his shoulder. "Perhaps this will help explain it. People are little more than livestock when I'm from. People live their entire lives as property of whatever company their parents were owned by, and any children they have are signed over to the company that owns them. I'm part of a resistance movement, and I was sent here in order to complete an important mission."
I write down "barcode tattoo" in my notebook. With an identifier like that and his name, we could soon track down who this man was.
"And what exactly does that half to do with the personal information of every FBI agent in the country?" Trying to establish some sort of motive, I decided to press forwards.
The man pulled himself closer to the table. "More than you would think. One of the greatest threats to the resistance in the future is known to be an FBI agent in this time period. He works as a mercenary for the corporations, torturing and interrogating the members of the resistance. They say that he starts his interrogations by extinguishing his cigar on his victims."
In order to humor him, I said "That all sounds very serious. Tell me, I don't think I got your name." I had no time to entertain his delusion, but I didn't want to scare him off from talking to me either.
He looked at me with a somewhat expressionless face, giving away very little.
"In my time with the resistance, I've learned to not give away my name to someone who hasn't shared theirs." If it was what he needed to keep talking, I was fine with giving him my name. I stuck my hand out.
"It's Ulysess Smith."
The man's face seemed to drop the moment he heard my name. He started muttering "No. No, that's not possible. You were supposed to be on vacation with your wife and daughter today. You had today off months in advance. This isn't possible. You shouldn't be here."
This was odd. He was right of course, but why would he know that. I was basically an office worker, someone who processed paperwork and made photocopies. Why would he have known not only my work schedule but the fact that I planned on vacation with my wife and daughter?
"...The confirmed deceased just updated to include a Julia and Jessica Smith, a vacationing mother, and daughter..." The news report on the television in the corner had updated to a breaking news story, one about a terrorist attack...at the hotel that my wife and daughter were staying at. I looked back at the man, and he was slouched, staring at the table and muttering "I failed. I failed. It's not possible. He shouldn't be here."
I picked him up by his shirt violently.
"What did you do!"
He continued to stare down despondantly. "I-I planted a bomb in your luggage. I-it was only supposed to kill you, I swear." I threw the man down. He killed my wife and daughter. They had taken my luggage with them, hoping that I would be able to show up later. They had hope that I would have been able to spend time with them, but instead, their last moments were spent with luggage that they didn't even need to bring with them. Their deaths had been entirely pointless.
I sat down, trying to collect my thoughts. It would be a while before anyone noticed that I was in here, with him. Perhaps I could still get useful information out of him. But there was one thing I had to do first. The news kept updating the story with the names of the deceased, and I knew that I could not bare to hear their names on repeat. I grabbed the remote and aimed it at the TV, but it didn't go off no matter what button I pushed. No, I knew what it was for. I turned and aimed it at the camera, and sure enough the light on the camera switched off.
I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I lit one and tried to take a long drag to settle my nerves, to no effect. It seemed that one cigarette just wasn't enough of a nicotine buzz for me. I got up and walked around to the man. I took my lit cigarette and, with a satisfying hiss, proceeded to put it out on his forehead.
"Now, tell me more about this resistance of yours." | I came in from the rain, dripping on the Persian carpet from Target, hung up my raincoat and preceded to pour vodka and bubbly water over ice. The wife and kids were watching TV, some high-pitched squeaks carrying over from the living room. \*Sigh\* Another day in paradise. There was chicken baking in the oven and rice cooking on the stove. I lifted the lid of the rice to check its progress, knowing this would alert Maggie to my being home. “Jim!” She yelled. “Don’t let the steam out!” Maggie hustled in, gave me a quick peck on the cheek and looked in the oven at the chicken. “Mom! You’re missing it!” My son Timmy, now 8, needed constant attention and approval.
My phone began to ring. It was Tony, my boss, from the USDA pathology lab. We had just finished up testing a batch of soil for plant pathogens today. Botrytis, Fusarium and white mold were all present in the sample. Not the first time and it will not be the last. Those farmers are notorious for ignoring their fungus problems until it gets loose into someone else’s field and we get to hear about it. Job security I suppose. Anyway, I wasn’t quite sure why Tony would be calling right now. We work a strict 9 to 5. There is never anything serious or interesting enough to warrant anything different. I figured it must be serious. Perhaps his car broke down and he needed a lift? Or even a ride to the hospital? I answered.
“Hey Jim. Sorry to bother you after hours but I got a job that just can’t wait.”
“No problem Tony, as long is it’s just this one time, I don’t want to make a habit of it. If anything, you got me curious what could be so important that can’t wait till tomorrow.”
“Well Jim, you know that soil we were analyzing today? The owner called me up and asked me to provide treatment for the parasites we found. When I told him the usual methods of keeping a clean field, a couple biologicals and the usual slurry of chemicals, oddly enough, he got offended. Told me that I must be joking. That those methods were highly outdated.” Tony’s voice began to shake at the end of this statement. I could tell he was excited and scared at the same time.
“Jim. He asked me for the usual viral pellets that are standard and told me he was concerned that these were even necessary since he treated the field just yesterday.”
“Tony, that is a strange response. What is my role in this though? You said he refused our methods.”
“Jim! Don’t you see? We need to find out just what this man was alluding to. What if someone actually gave him viral pellets to put in his field? What could those really be? I believe we have an obligation to pry more to find out what is really going on. If anything, to be sure that he isn’t being scammed.”
“Alright Tony. I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow.”
“Thanks Jim. Find out all that you can about this guy.”
The next day I came into the office at 9am. Brewed my coffee and checked my emails as I sipped on the milky cup. As I looked up to move to the next task, I saw a man wearing a bright white jumpsuit and straw hat. His head was tilted to the side, and he looked as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what exactly it was that he wanted to say.
I figured as the employee here, it was my job to break the silence.
“Good morning. How might I help you?”
The man opened his mouth a little. Looked around and went back to staring but this time with his mouth slightly ajar.
Again. “Is there something I can help you with? What is your name?”
“A… A man named Tony. I talked to him yesterday about my sample. He told me to come in to discuss with someone name Jim, methods for treatment of my field.”
“Oh yes, he told me you would be coming in. Please sit.”
The man looked around, then looked at the chair under me, then looked at the chair beside him.
“I’m sorry, I’m finding all of this very odd. Don’t we normally stand? Sitting is very irregular…”
“If that is what you are used to, we can stand. But I would like to ask, what is your name? How long have you lived here?” I did not want to be too direct as I could tell he was becoming increasingly terrified. His eyes darting from object to object in the room.
“Uh, yes. My name is Lando. I have been a farm surf since my conception 85 years ago.”
“Oh. Well, nice to meet you Lando. My name is Jim. I must say, you don’t look a day over 50.” I didn’t know what else to say. He must have meant his parents were farmers and he was born into it?
“Jim, I’m not quite sure what you’re playing at. If I were 50, I would not be walking into the office of the healer of fields. That is a job left up to the 80s and older. This is exactly what I was saying about this is all being very irregular!” Lando became increasingly agitated and began pacing. Holding his head in his hands. Muttering to himself.
“Would you like some coffee? Maybe taking a seat would help you remember where you are.” It seemed there was no consoling him at this point. Then suddenly he drank all the coffee straight from the pot and melted into a pile of fuzzy, what I can only describe as a ball of mycelium.
“Tony!” Tony rapidly walked in.
“What’s wrong Jim? Has Lando showed up yet?”
I thought about telling Tony all I had witnessed to maybe make sense of it but then I realized if I said something, Tony might want me to do more to find out about the situation. There were a couple samples sitting around and I hadn’t yet caught up on the news for the day. I figured I would just tell him later.
“Someone came in and dropped a sample on the ground Tony. What should I do with it?”
“Go ahead and identify it. Why are you asking me Jim? You’ve been here long enough.”
“You’re right Tony. Thanks for the reassurance.” | 2021-07-12T21:41:40 | 2021-07-12T20:37:22 | 275 | 31 |
[WP] "Humanity will only unite if they have a common enemy. In that unity, they will achieve peace, for as long as that enemy lives." He looked at you with his dark tired eyes, your weapon on his neck, as he croaked, "That's why I chose to be the bad guy." | World peace, an unfathomable concept in any real world scenario, was happening. The UN had finally received the ability to govern its 5 permanent members, and all it took was the presence of a nuclear weapons facility on Mars.
Back in the early 2000’s everyone assumed America was going to be the first country to land on Mars. SpaceX looked like they were ahead of the curve and sometime around 2020 the CEO of SpaceX had the gall to talk about colonies on Mars. Even got a list together of people that would volunteer to live there. Meanwhile the People’s Republic of China invested billions in a space program that quietly landed on the moon. Few, if any, had an idea of their ambition, and certainly fewer would notice the 300,000 people they began sending to Mars in 2030.
It was a massive undertaking. Thousands of rocket launches carrying people, food, medicine, construction materials into orbit around earth while a caravan of ships that China told the world were there to send probes and satellites to Mars would ferry those people and supplies to the red planet. Within 6 years they established a colony that had nearly the population of the United States. It was discovered, on accident, by a satellite that SpaceX had put in orbit around Mars to gather data about potential spots for the ever delayed colony that they promised. The concept was to initially bring Chinese manufacturing to Mars, eliminate virtually all sources of China’s pollution on Earth, and still remain the manufacturing hub that Earth used for... well everything. There were no environmental regulations on Mars, and the idea of global warming over there was considered somewhat favorable as a terraforming effort. NASA and SpaceX cobbled together a handful of small colony missions, 3 in total. By the time the third colony mission landed, the Chinese colony had been on the planet’s surface for more than a decade, and the first Martian child was almost 6. On earth, Mars was seen as a new frontier. An opportunity to stake your claim and make a new way in the galaxy, tickets to live on Mars sold at a premium, at least until the truth about life on Mars was publicly revealed. Turns out that those “glamorous new age” space buildings were just short of being considered forced labor camps.
Fast forward 2 decades to 2066, the first generation of martians were feeling the effects of inequality. There was no leisure time on the red planet. People worked around the clock to harvest resources and manufacture items that were sent back to earth. The only time resources were invested in Martian infrastructure was when production viability became a risk. Then and only then would habitat maintenance be performed. Morale was an ever constant issue for the Chinese backed governing body on Mars. After a series of demonstrations by the Martian workforce, there was a brutal crackdown by the People’s Republic of China. The official death count is reported at less than 100 by China’s records, Martian records indicate more than 10x that figure. Less than a year later, mass graves were spotted by a satellite, but photographs indicated that the Martian workforce was filling those graves with the bodies of PRC soldiers. A week later, a list of demands was broadcast worldwide, stipulating dozens of quality of life improvements or China would risk the loss of the colony. China responded by gearing up for a second crackdown, rather than risking more human lives this force consisted largely of remote drones that would be controlled by a battle group of Chinese navy ships that would remain in orbit around Mars until the colony was pacified.
Long story short, the 4 moth flight time to get to Mars made it difficult for China to react to the rebellion in a meaningful capacity. Additionally, manufacturing of all the spaceship components and weapons had been moved solely to Mars decades prior. Once China lost control of the colony, the rebels were fighting a war of attrition where destruction of Chinese equipment and infrastructure was more valuable than the body count. China was forced to rely on its stockpiled surplus equipment, much of which was antiquated compared to the state of the art weaponry the Martian colony would be using. As a result, the Martian colony eventually won its independence. No sooner had the dust settled, when suddenly anti-Martian propaganda found its way around the world. Our planet’s environment had only just begun to heal, and suddenly we lost our production hub, and earth governments were forced to invest in infrastructure we had largely assumed was unnecessary ever since goods started rolling in from Mars. About a year later, tired of being largely ignored and underfunded, the US/EU colonies informed the world that they intended to swear allegiance to the new Martian state. As terrestrial industry slowly began to spin up, China began proposing a UN expeditionary force be sent to Mars to pacify the planet, and almost every country was in favor of the proposal, no one wanted to destroy earth’s environment again. Mars responded by informing earth that it had discovered a vast amount of uranium and had begun stockpiling nuclear weapons, and also had weapons platforms capable of delivering interplanetary missiles. To drive their point home they put on a little demonstration by striking the moon with a nuclear payload, the target had been the Apollo landing site.
World leaders on earth panicked and held emergency meetings, and one by one world leaders all reached the same conclusion, as man has throughout history. The only way to survive an enemy with the resources of an uncontested planet at their disposal was to match them. So, seeing no other option, the UN Security Council voted unanimously to pool resources, intelligence, and technology; and unite under one banner. All so that Earth could more efficiently assess the Martian threat. For yet another time in history, mankind overcame its differences to address a perceived threat, not because they had to, but because they felt they had to. Leaders on Mars received the news of a United Earth as a threat to their independence, and anti-earth propaganda made its rounds warning of impending invasion.
People on either planet would stare at the night sky, attempting to look across the inky black expanse, and imagine enemies plotting their demise; like a mirror image staring back at itself. Unity through division, as it has always been. | Captain Johnson was deep in the thick of it with his squad, surrounding the door to the motherships main bridge and covering mission specialist technician Roberts while he worked to override the door controls. Between them they had no more magazines of assault rifle ammunition left but they could not let up. Surrounded on all 3 sides by War-Machines, only slowed down by the piles of metal corpses they had to climb over.
As corporals Jackson and Rimmy ran out they resorted to using their weapons as crude clubs, their combat exoskeleton making them stronger, faster, but not enough to defeat the machine. They were just buying time. They had come all this way. They could not allow their mission to fail now.
As blood started to coat the walls from the melee Roberts signalled he had control of the door system, but not for long before the shops security programs took back over and no way of know how long till that happened. Johnson pressed first into the bridge, his men falling back still firing on the machines as the door slammed shut behind them.
As Roberts sealed the door as best he could with help from a sergeant Jacobs the rest of the squad fanned out in the empty room. The computer terminals, arranged into rows like a NASA control room, sat dark and abandoned. Looking as if they hadn't been used in years with their keypads coated in a thick layer of dust. Johnson spotted it and signaled the squad to hold position. Moving up towards the slight movement on the far side of the room in two groups, the squad closed in.
Before they could reach it the thing tried to run, well, hop. It looked like kind of like a frog, if that frog was stone gray, 8'5" and hit every branch when it feel out the ugly tree. A shot to the things legs brought it crashing down with a squeal and a splatter of purple blood, right in front of Johnson.
He grimaced as the thing squirmed in obvious pain, but he needed to complete the mission. Pressing his pistol into the face of this thing he demanded answers.
"Where is your leadership? Where is the captain? Tell me before I decide to kill you"
He honestly hadn't expected any answer, but the thing spoke all the same in deep croaking broken English.
"No leadership,. Only me. I captain."
"Bullshit, where's your bridge crew? Where do your commands come from?"
"No crew. Only machines. Crew dead long ago. Leaders dead long ago. Only me left. Last Hfksbgu. War killed us all."
"So what? Now you come to kill us too? Your own race wasn't enough for you?"
The alien shook his large head "Species not unified die. War, nuclear, virus, tykaliu infestors. All die. Must unite. Must have common enemy."
Johnson looked deep into the aliens eyes, saw in them age and weariness he didn't expect to have encountered here of all places. He had to admit to himself, the cold war was almost hot before the fleet showed up in orbit, and it had been noted as odd how low the death count was this far into the war. It was still into the millions but given just how much firepower this fleet had demonstrated at points the war should have been long over.
Johnson lowered his gun as the machines entered the room, not firing their weapons, not fighting, just marching in and standing at attention. Johnson though back on how much humanity had advanced since the arrival. The joint USA-USSR bases on The Moon and Mars. The UN Interplanetary fleets and the currently under construction Interstellar fleets for the planned counter attack on the enemies worlds.
"Humans unified?"
"Yes, yes we are"
"Do not tell the truth. Kill me. Hunt 'the enemy'. Keep united to find and fight my people."
With that, the alien gently moved Johnsons gun, pointing at his throat, and nodding to Johnson as he pulled the trigger. | 2020-12-09T10:24:43 | 2020-12-09T10:19:52 | 207 | 15 |
[WP] From a bug's perspective, humans are ageless eldritch beings who would kill them without a second thought. You are a fly among many, infesting one of their basements, but one of your kind made the mistake of irritating the human. Now the human is out for blood. | ***A Taste of Salt***
(a sufficiently true story by u/BringOutTheGMMP)
We knew the Great Old Ones despised our kind.
They had killed, and killed, and killed us for countless generations.
We also knew deep in our hemolymph pumps that with just one breakthrough in communication, they and we could achieve SO MUCH MORE than either of our species could by going it alone.
I had been chosen, and so here I was. In His chamber, where few Others came, and which He almost never left. Though I feared for my life, I knew what I must do.
I had to try!
I landed on His soft, bizarrely non-chitinous surface, hoping to find an organelle somewhere with which I could interface. There had to be some way to communicate...
I landed on one extremity, found nothing, tried others, found nothing still. I attempted to land on his head, but only succeeded in causing Him to move an extremity, clumsily. Was He trying to intercept my vector with His massive grasping reacher?
It seemed unlikely. The reachers moved too slowly to ever succeed at that, so He was surely attempting to signal me in some way.
A signal! That was it. All day long He remained nearly stationary, rhythmically striking the irregular surfaces of two objects which sat upon the great plain before Him, as well as laying a grasper sometimes on a less-huge object beside them and moving it about. I could see that as He did so, the surface of the Great Bright Wall before him would change, and He would stare at it with an intensity not to be believed. It must be of incalculable value to Him, to cause Him to watch over it so diligently.
I knew now that if I were to land upon one of these objects and touch its surface irregularities myself, perhaps I could make a change He would see upon the Great Bright Wall. Then, He would surely understand!
Glorying in my coming triumph, I landed on the more distant from him of the two irregular-surfaced objects, so He could continue to strike the nearer one uninterrupted. Surely He would appreciate such courtesy. I looked toward the Great Bright Wall, to see if my touching the object had caused a change He might notice. It was so hard to tell...
Looking back, I saw what must be His head pivot and what were probably His eyes (how could they possibly be eyes, neither protruding at all not faceted in any way??) seemed to settle upon me, and one of his grasping reachers took hold of yet another object He had recently carried into this, His chamber.
He aligned the object between one of His eyes (ugh, that can't be an eye!) and...myself. I felt the urge to fly, suppressed it.
A big, sudden sound like I had never known was accompanied by a mighty gust of that Invisible Medium through which we vector—and which we also draw through our spiracles and into our tracheoles in order to live, as surely as we must eat and breed. But how had He created the gust? Surely it was His doing. We see Them draw the Invisible Medium in and expel it out through the same head-holes they stuff full of their delicious, tantalizing food and then fill with life-fluid as we also do in our own way. But his hole was closed; had the new object somehow done this thing at his bidding?
The gust I might have survived, frightening though it was, but it carried upon it innumerable cubes of...could it be? As they entered and broke my corpus, yes, I could taste it—it was the same substance that can so often be found on the surface of Their bodies, the same which suffuses the life-fluid found upon them sometimes as well, unlike most life-fluid found elsewhere within Their domains.
Odd that I should wonder how the substance I tasted came to be in the form of cubes carried upon the gust; surely I should be focused on other things: trying to change my vector, trying to escape the gust, but I could not focus at all. My flappers, my landers, my corpus itself cried out in pain and would not respond to my will.
I flew across the chamber, striking the Great Bright Wall itself, and there I remain on its hot surface, one of my landers moving feebly, growing still.
All becomes darkness...
#Afterword
Here is [damning evidence](https://i.imgur.com/fGjx0Cx.jpg) of this tale's veracity.
e: fixed linky
e2: dag yo, I need to wipe down The Great Plain Before Me, and My Irregular-Surfaced Objects. | The looming drifter strode through morning fog. Mouth agape and moaning, rubbing tired eyes with hands bigger than dead birds. Fletcher, a young house fly, watched from below. This strange, pink skinned giant wandered through their lands from time to time. Coming from the sky world above, into the concrete world below. Dredging food stores back up to the sky world. Food stores, locked away in massive metal cans, hundreds of wingspans tall.
Fletcher was a curious fly, always buzzing around forbidden places. Today was no exception. He knew the legends of what was held inside the giant’s skulls. Endless food. Food like nothing ever tasted. An elder fly claimed to have flown inside a giant’s ear once, devouring a morsel of the treasure held inside. Fletcher was the only one who believed him. Ever since the Waldorf massacre, buzzing around humans was strictly forbidden. Regardless, today was the day fletcher would prove the elder fly right. He’d been training for this moment two days of his three day life span. Fly high above the human, drop silent and buzz in at the last second.
Wrapping their hand around a can of dead fish, the giant turned back towards the sky world entrance. Booming footsteps climbing up the zig-zag Mountain. Fletcher launched into the air, zipping high above the human’s head. He stopped, wings frozen, and dropped back down towards earth. Wind rushing past as he dropped down to ear-level and buzzed back to life, darting inside the human’s ear and- fletcher slammed against orange spongy softness. “w-what?” he stammered looking up at the wall of foam. Something was stuck inside the human’s ear, protecting it from intrusion.
The human twitched and warbled strange repetitive sounds, rubbing at their ear the palm of a giant hand. Fletcher buzzed away at the last moment, barely escaping death. The Human stepped forward, their foot slipping off the red plateau of zig-zag mountain, tumbling backwards with a dreadful boom. The back of their skull crashed onto on the concrete desert as reverberating booms rippled out. Fletcher spun to a crash landing beside the fallen giant. Getting his bearings, he looked up at fallen titan. It’s two eyes were still. It wasn’t breathing. Red water trailed out from its ear onto the floor.
Fletcher felt a rush of guilt. The gentle giant was dead. His guilt slowly turned to realization. Realization that he and his brethren would have food for generations to come. Buzzing off the ground he flew back to tell the others.
​
\_\_\_\_
More stories at r/polterkites | 2020-08-13T16:10:15 | 2020-08-13T15:20:44 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them. | Patience and Pressure. Everyone lacks patience. Everyone applies pressure....at least to me.
To say “I am an average joe” would be a bold face lie. As soon as people see me, they know that I am different. That is why I have social anxiety. Which feels like my brain is restarting when I’m in front of others. Because of that many people label me stupid. That’s not the case when I am around others who are patient. Because when I am alone, with my family, or with a fellow signer, I am brilliant. That’s why I sign.
Out of all the languages that I could have learned to better help me translate my thoughts, sign language caught my eye. Early on, I was made aware of aloof fate’s ability to touch one with the inability to fully experience sound. Janice was a neighbor of mine born deaf. I remember peering through my window to view her interaction with her parents. Her parents’ mouth would move as if having an exaggerated conversation. However, their hands would gracefully dance across the air as if they were bringing their words to life.
With this motif in mind, sign was the language that I choose to help me translate my thoughts to the world. With the help of my speech therapist, who was an ASL translator part time, I was able to better communicate with my parents verbally and with other who signed. However, everyone else I ignored or stare at wildly as I presented them with my infamous green notebook and grey pen.
If I had a penny for every eye roll, sigh, silent pray, mutter, smack of the lips, and head shake that this notebook faced I would be a rich man. However, your actions would leave me a very poor man. The first time you spoke to me, your eyes admired my notebook rather than engaging in the typical “glare, roll, veer.” You have always been patient with me as I wrote down my thoughts. You’ve written so many things that encouraged me and were nothing but kind to me. We have shared so many laughs and deeps thoughts that my heart yearns for you when you’re away. When you looked me in the eye and said that you loved me, I had to sign it back. I wanted to bring my words, my love, for you to life.
However, I wanted to be true to you. I'm sorry for deceiving you. That is why I am here stammering, and uhhing and grasping on to my notebook as I scan a word and guide it out of my mouth. That is why I wanted you to hear my voice. I wanted to tell you my truth. I wanted to tell that I love you. | I make my goodbyes to the others then I finally sign to Kylie. I put two fingers up to my eyes then lower them to have my thumb pointing out and an index finger down 'See you later' , then transitioned into the next sign two 'K's and tapped them together, once, twice 'take care' waiting for her to wave goodbye before turning to walk away,
_"**I love you!**"_
I froze thinking of everything leading up to that moment. Marking off that you did require accommodations to be with your friend who was actually deaf. The Class that you shared and the outings your group has gone on. Was that a double date? Am I the dense one?
>! ^^^"Sam?" | 2020-12-01T17:22:56 | 2020-12-01T17:09:39 | 57 | 15 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | The world whirs around you, colors turning and blurring, your form changing. Not painfully, thank whatever power was out there, but in ways you notice. You lose that excess flab you have from playing too many videogames, feel muscles begin to form along your whole body, even have your hair clean itself.
You all but bounce in place, eager to live through your favorite videogame, ready to kick the asses of your favorite Street Fighter characters. You aren’t worried about the surviving clause, with the infinite retries the game offers. You just want to have some fun.
By now, you’re the picture of human perfection, the very best the world has to offer. You honestly feel like you could go head to head with most of the WWE in arm wrestling and outright win.
In short, you’re pumped. This was too good to be true, but repeated pinching reveals it is, in fact, not a dream that will cuntishly vanish just as soon as you start having fun.
The swirling light around you becomes blinding, and you close your eyes, the butterflies in your stomach going berserk.
You open them, and realize this isn’t Street Fighter. In fact, this looks familiar. So does the yellow armor you're wearing. And the oversized assault rifle you're holding, with another clip taped to the side. You look around and see five others, all dressed the same as you, all holding the same weapons. They stare away from you, bobbing up and down in place.
Horror begins to set in as you realize what game you're in.
Xcom.
No, no, no, fucking no!
You're in one of most brutal, challenging games of all time, where life is fleeting and expandable. You literally can’t get lower on the gaming totem pole. A Rookie in an XCOM game. You desperately think back, sure this is some sort of mistake. You spent all of last night whipping you're friends respective arses at Street Fighter, you didn’t play XCOM, at all.
Or did you? Trying to think back through the haze, you recall, with a sick feeling in your stomach, that you accidently hit the XCOM icon on your PC when closing it down, opening and closing the window.
And now, looking around you at the burning warehouse, hearing the shrieks of terror in the distance, you find yourself dumped in the worst situation possible. Hands on, dumped into a Terror mission in an Xcom game, with no ranking soldiers to hold this unit of freaking fragile, easily panicked Rookies together.
You see the grid markers around you that indicate where you can move, your sucky Aim and Will stats, utter lack of skills, and your garbage equipment.
You were fucked. Rookies died fast and easy to literally everything, and you were one of them.
You wanted to throw up, right about now, but forced yourself to do something. There had to be a way out. Focusing on the upper corner of your vision, you noticed something. Focusing again revealed a drop down list of options. Hands shaking, you found what you were looking for, almost breaking down when you saw it.
Ticking it on, you willed yourself forward, running a set amount of grid spaces forward, and into cover.
Into a sectoid patrol as well. They scatter as you appear, dashing behind cover themselves. You already know what to do. More icons spear in your vision, red this time, indicating a threat. Focusing on one, you bring up the assault rifle and inwardly scream at the 27 percent chance to hit.
The shot misses, to no one's surprise.
So now, you're sitting inside the range of two different sectoids, both with the drop on you.
You're dead.
Or you would be if you hadn’t found the Save and Reload options, right along with Save Scumming. The bread and butter of any non-hardcore Xcom player.
With trembling hands clutching the rifle, you select the autosave from the start of he turn, and vanish, reappearing where you started.
You small a very nasty smile.
Because you were about to play the spammiest, cheatiest, most reloaded game of XCOM ever bleeping played. And you were gonna come home with all the goodies. Psychic powers, Uber advanced technology and weapons, maybe even your own heavily equipped, morally dubious army.
But first, you had to get this squad of bleeping Rookies through a mission without getting killed. And that was going to put all your spaminess to the test.
[r/NimbusSerials](https://www.reddit.com/r/NimbusSerials/?utm_source=amp&utm_medium=&utm_content=post_subreddit) if you want more content. | *This has to be my worst hangover, and that's saying something.* I think to myself, as I slowly open my eyes. Light softly falls through the leaves above me.
*Wait, leaves?*
"What the fu-"
"TO LEAVE YOU MUST WIN. YOUR PRIZE IS ALL YOU GAIN IN THIS WORLD. GOOD LUCK."
The words echoed throughout my mind, making my headache worse, but the meaning didn't hit me until I saw them. A group of people, clothed in animal hides, armed with nothing more than sticks and stones. All were eyeing me, some confused, some scared, some...
"Ah crap".
I dodged the first rock thrown at my head, then the second before yelling, "ENOUGH!"
They all froze, with shocked expressions. Only a small girl had enough courage to speak up.
"Can speak! Can speak! I win!" Before looking at a pouting little boy behind her.
"It him." An elder man came forward, his hair greying at the temples, "He show good land, he show us the way."
"What in the ever-living F*** is going on?!" I exclaimed.
"W-we sorry, god! Sc-scared..." Said a now timid brute, hiding his sling behind his back.
*God?*
As my adreneline faded, and I tried to process this insanity, the elder took me by the hand. He lead me to the edge of the hill we were standing on. The scenery was breathtaking, no painting or photo could capture this pure, natural wonder. The elder pointed to to a field, across the river at the base of our hill.
"Three food?" He asked.
Confused, I looked back at the field. It was surreal, the number 3 and the images of crops growing filled my mind. "Y-yes." I replied, unsure of myself.
His eyes lit up and heturned his finger to a mountain range to our left.
"Three work?" He asked.
My mind again was filled with the number 3, and the visions of mining. "Yes."
The elder opened his arms in a wide, sweeping motion, "Where, my god?"
I looked around at the pristine world, numbers and visions of what could be passing my mind. I saw another hill futher down the river. Two food, Two work, close to stone and and sheep. "There." I said, finally grasping onto my situation. The elder beemed back at his tribe, tears threatening his eyes and the tribe cheered and laughed and cried.
"Come!" I commanded cheerfully, and they lifted me on their shoulders, carrying me to their promised land.
Many centuries have passed since that day. My tribe became my town, then my city, then my capitol. Many cities now flurrish under my rule, many great works have been done by my people, many barbarians and opponents have fallen to my armies.
My civilisation, has only just begun. | 2020-02-16T20:45:13 | 2020-02-16T20:35:23 | 153 | 66 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell are only so prevalent because they paid for Ad time. Tell me about one of the more obscure after-death locations. | "HEY! YOU! Dead guy! Yeah, you. I've been waiting for you. It's time to head on to Cantala. Follow me." The barker said.
Steve was still confused. He instinctively knew he was dead, but then why was he in something that looked like a mall? "Don't I go to Heaven?"
"No no they full, you got pulled for Cantala. It's nice you'll like it." The barker said, pulling on Steve's arm.
A burly, bipedal creature with metal spines protruding from his back walks up. Steve was about to be afraid, but then he saw that the creature was wearing Mall Cops hat and was calmed. "Telnak....what I tell you about scamming the new dead?"
"HEYYY no scam here. He wanted Cantala! It's the growing after life! You can help-"
The burly creature just held up a hand...appendage? Steve decided it was a hand just for internal clarity. "I'm tired. Don't let me catch you again today or I won't be anymore."
Steve watched as Telnak just takes off.
"Sorry about that. You can call me Frank. You okay?" The bipedal creature asks.
"Um. I think so. I'm dead tho, right?" Steve asked Frank.
Frank nods. "What do you see?"
"It's a shopping mall. I thought I was supposed to be in heaven....or that other place." Steve was afraid that saying hell would banish him there.
"Shopping mall is close enough. You get to pick your afterlife. Heavens got the most publicity. Hells where you go when you fail to get into Heaven and No I don't know if you'll qualify. There are other options though and this is where you figure that out. I'm an alien by the way, in case you were confused." Frank says with his gruff voice but kind eyes. Steve was glad Frank was here.
"So....what are my options? If it's not a problem to ask." Steve asks awkwardly.
"You're polite. That's good." Frank points and theres an honest to goodness Mall Directory. "Two biggest options are Heaven/Hell and Reincarnation, located here and here respectively."
"Why is Reincarnation so much smaller?" Steve asks.
"Doesn't take as much paperwork or trouble. Mostly just saying 'I'd like another go please,' and that's that." Frank explains in simple terms.
"And that Cantala...stuff?"
"Your world have Amway?" Frank asks.
"The pyramid scheme?" Steve asks very confused now. Mostly because the alien knew about Amway.
Frank nodded. "Same thing but as an afterlife. You get three friends to join, then they get three friends to join yadda yadda yadda. I don't recommend it."
Steve really looked at the board. "Anich talks about adventure. That sounds good."
"Nice. Upside to that one is if it's not for you, you wind up back here pretty fast. If it is, you get your fill. I went with a new one, We-ternity. You earn it with occasional community service, thus me being here, but that helps you really appreciate it."
"What's it like?" Steve asks, feeling a strong connection to Frank already.
"It uses a new digital distribution afterlife model. You design an afterlife, for which you receive constructive criticism on, and then you spend a fifth of your time giving back and the rest either working on your afterlife and hosting other people or experiencing what others have made. It's growing quite well."
Steve nodded. That sounded nice. | “Where am I? What happened?”
“Welcome to the afterlife. I regret to inform you that you died. You need not regret it yourself, because death is just a stop on life’s journey.”
“Am I in Heaven then? Or Hell? Maybe Purgatory?”
“There are no such places. This is all there is, and everyone comes here. I am your counsellor. I will explain everything to you.”
“You said this is a stop on a journey? It sounds like there is reincarnation then.”
“Of course there is. Why would you live a life on Earth and then just spend the rest of eternity in one place? Let me explain. As soon as you are rested, we are going to spend as long as you like reviewing your recent life. The limitations you lived under, your accomplishments, your mistakes, how the loved ones you left behind are likely to fare.”
“That’ll be tough.”
“Perhaps. But I find most people are comforted by what they learn.”
“What comes after that?”
“Ah, then comes the fun part! You decide what you’d like to accomplish in your next life. You’ll find, after the understanding you will develop in our review, that you won’t want something like being rich, or a movie star, or an artist or such. But you will be an artist in how you will shape your new life.”
“But it sounds like I’ll have a wide choice of possibilities.”
“Oh, very wide! Not literally infinite, but so many choices that it might as well be. It will take us a good long while to go through the ‘menu’ of possibilities. I think you will find it fun. Then you will go into what we call the ‘Baby Pool’ to await an opening that perfectly suits your objectives.”
“So I can choose my gender, my race, my country?”
“No. You can choose your gender (from hundreds!), your species, your planet, and your galaxy. I did say it will be a wide range of possibilities.”
| 2017-03-06T11:01:24 | 2017-03-06T10:24:14 | 326 | 134 |
[WP] You are Death, slaughterer of billions. Unfortunately, God’s PR department worries that people have become too afraid of you lately and haven’t been enjoying heaven as much as a result, so now it’s up to you to make the process of dying more entertaining for humanity. | "Okay, Idea Number 3," I said. "All wounds release confetti rather than blood, and-"
"*No!*" God interrupted, cradling His head in His hands in completely uncalled-for frustration.
"No, no, no, let me finish," I continued. "So see, the wounds will release confetti, and if it turns out to be a mortal wound then the person will hear that sound effect that they used to use on America's Funniest Home Videos when someone gets hit in the groin. You know, that one where-"
"Death, I am *not* altering physics and causality to incorporate groin hit sound effects into the structure of spacetime," God said. "In fact, no effects OR theme music."
"But-" I began.
"Just like I told you and War when you wanted Metallica to play during the Battle of the Bulge."
"But-"
"So that means you can go ahead and cross out ideas 6-11."
"But Idea Number 11 isn't-"
"The Wilhelm Scream counts as a sound effect, Death."
I'm not usually tempted to blaspheme, but come on. I know He's omniscient, but it's just plain rude to shoot down ideas you haven't even presented, yet.
"Okay, I'll concede the sound effects," I said. "But give me a little wiggle room here, Big G. I gotta have *something* to tinker with, or else it's just covering the lot with a glorified paint job."
God sighed and shook His head, as if to dislodge water clogged in His ears.
"Look, Death, I know you're trying your best," He said, "and that you have a lot on your plate here even without this extra task. I'm not meaning to minimize that. But understand where I'm coming from, too. You can't just alter the fundamental ylem of existence just to fix one engineering problem. It's throwing the baby out with the bathwater."
He did that thing He does, and suddenly reality rearranged itself, putting Him next to me, His arm around my shoulders in a brotherly side hug.
"Look," He continued, "Just go back to the drawing board on this for awhile. Really stop to consider everything, don't rush it. It'll work out, and I know you'll think of something *great*. I promise you."
"Is that a real promise," I asked, "where You actually know I'm going to get it right and it'll just take some time, or is this one of those things where I'll screw up again and again and You'll be cool with it because You're the G-Man and know that I tried my best, and 'the journey is the destination' kind of thing?
"Yes," He said, chuckling slightly.
He flashed that smile of His, the one that He calls His 'Mister Rogers smile,' and I found it hard to stay frustrated at Him. Jerk.
"Hey," He said, "No need for name calling." | "I WILL DO NO SUCH THING!" Death slammed his large clenched fists on the round table between him and God. "Don't forget your job, we need to cultivate the best possible environment for progress. Humans have lost their way and have no common enemy. You must be the thing that unites them." Death was clearly irrate and yelled back at God, "I'LL GIVE THEM AN ENEMY!" His humanoid form began to pull and stretch as he flew down to Earth. Death had found his target and made himself known. He pointed at the young woman and called out, "I am Death and it is your time to die." Death's sythe was tall and made of bone and steel. He drew back his robe and pulled a long katana from a shadow. He effortlessly threw the sword to the girls feet and said, "arm yourself and prepare to die!" Without hestitation, the girl sprinted toward Death pulling the sword from the Earth on her way. | 2018-07-27T10:51:11 | 2018-07-27T07:37:39 | 51 | 34 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I had always been comfortable with my scars. Thin silver and white lines were strewn across my skin, but they were small enough that you could only see them if you were standing close to me. I tried my best not to lie to others, but sometimes there was an option worse than deception.
My chemistry lab partner from my freshman year of college had flawless skin. He often seemed distant or tired, but he was kind, hardworking, and by the looks of his skin, incredibly honest. I had never seen anyone like him and was instantly intrigued. Between classwork, study sessions, and late night pizza runs, I found myself falling in love with him. When I asked him if he would ever give me a chance, he said yes. My eyes glanced over his skin to gauge his honesty, but alas, no scars appeared.
Before long, that man was my husband. Mark was never close to his family and focused all his energy on me and making sure that we had an amazing life together. In his vows he told me he would always love me and that I brought a new light to his life. On our honeymoon, his skin was still as flawless as the day he was born, and I knew that he meant every word.
One day I was fixing dinner for Mark and myself. He stepped through the front door after a long day of work and I rushed into his arms to kiss him and ask about his day. He set down his briefcase, loosened his tie, and sighed.
"What's wrong baby?" I asked. With sad eyes, he ever so slightly lifted his head to look at me and mumbled "My father died."
I had never met Mark's father. His parents divorced when he was young, and Mark had a spotty relationship with his father after the divorce. I wasn't sure how deeply this news was affecting my husband, but I grabbed his hand and stretched up to my tip toes to kiss his forehead. Using my free hand to lift up his chin, I looked into Mark's once brilliantly bright eyes and told him I would do whatever he needed me to do.
Six days later, I tightened the tie Mark asked me to pick out for him. I slipped on my heels and told Mark that I would be right beside him as he said his final goodbyes to his father. He chose not to speak at the funeral, but before he left he placed one hand on the casket, closed his eyes, and whispered "I love you, Dad."
That night, I climbed into the shower with Mark to hold him close and comfort him. Sprawled across Mark's back was the longest, deepest scar I had ever seen. My husband's skin had been flawless that morning, and the only thing he had said all day was that he had loved his father.
Concerned, I called Mark's mother the next day while Mark was at work. It took some encouraging, but his mom finally spilled the only secret Mark had ever kept from me. "Hannah, Mark had an older sister. When Mark's father and I divorced, Mark stayed with me and his sister moved in with her dad. When Mark was 11, his dad was driving his sister to a friend's birthday party....only he was drunk. He ran a red light and a car crossing the intersection crashed into the passenger side of the car, killing Mark's sister. I don't think Mark ever saw his father sober after that, and he never fully forgave him."
Disbelieving, I thanked Mark's mother for her time and hung up. I never mentioned the conversation or the new scar to Mark, but I held him a little tighter and kissed him a little longer that night. His skin would never be flawless again, but to me he was still perfect. | I groan as I roll out of bed. Another day, trapped.
Mom feeds me breakfast, smiling her usual smile as she talks about what the old ladies at church had been discussing. Heedless of the struggles going on in my head. I eat my eggs and bread in silence, trying to stay as small, as invisible as possible. I don’t say very much… perhaps that was why I didn’t have the usual scars that cover everyone else?
I pass by the store on my way to school, making sure not to linger for too long, not let my brother get suspicious. I stare wistfully at the dresses and necklaces, so elegant and pretty. But my parents would never let me have such things. I glance down at my jeans and sweatshirt, hating how it made me appear masculine. My own body, betraying me.
School passed by in a blur, like most days. My brother runs ahead, laughing as he bounds into our house without a care in the world. How nice it must be, to be born into the body you want. Father smiles at me, asks me the same question he’s asked every day since I started school. I noticed the scar that first night he asked, on my back as I took off my shirt to shower. It was the biggest I’d ever seen. I’ve never taken off my shirt in front of my family ever since.
“Hey, kid! How’s life treating ya?”
I pause, for a brief moment.
“Fine, dad. I’m fine.” | 2016-12-29T13:44:06 | 2016-12-29T13:08:11 | 89 | 44 |
[WP] Every person is born with a specific goal in mind. Until their goal is completed, they can't die. You are homo erectus in the Stone Age, nearly two million years ago, and you don't understand what "intergalactic space travel" even means. | **2.6 MILLION YEARS AGO:**
Today me found rock. Rock good. Prompt came through. "intergalactic space travel". Me no know. Friend complete his prompt. He was good friend. He make fire. Fire good. Me sleep.
Me live for many sunrises. So much change. Bow and arrow nice tool. Me have another new wife. Wife good.
**5200 BCE**
I'm tired... so tired. I've been alive longer than I can count. I've seen everything i'm able to see. And yet... I still don't even know what 'galactic' means. I am aware of the space outside of the earth, but... WHAT DOES IT MEAN? HOW LONG WILL THIS TAKE?
I've had to lay low my entire life... trying to learn every accent and every language over eons has proven to be quite easy, but I often slip up and speak in a language that isn't native... and that often gets some knives pointed my way. If I were able to die, I would've just let them... but it always just leads to long, excruciating pain... with no end. I just wish for this to be over.
**1200 BCE**
I'm not alone. FOR THE FIRST TIME, I'M NOT ALONE! I found a woman, Elsie, whose task was just as mystical as mine. "Send a man to the moon". She's been alive just a while shorter than me, but it's a long enough time for her to understand the pain i've been going through. The constant wounds, the starving, the... heartbreak. But none of that matters anymore. We have eachother.
It seems the people around us aren't as aware of their tasks as we are. Back in the age of stone, we knew our exact task. The people nowadays seem to get an urge to do their task with no real explanation. A couple of centuries back, I met a guy who's task was probably to "Create the biggest pyramid in the world." Boy was that a fun project.
**1831**
We're close. So, so close... I can feel it. We haven't even gone to space yet, but we've invented faster and faster methods of transportation. Exponentially faster methods. This is quite troubling. I met a young lad named Leon Foucault. He seems to have cracked the code about the true nature of the earth. I cannot allow his research to become mainstream, lest the inevitably come sooner. I shall speak to the church. They'll... deal with him.
​
Elsie has been getting increasingly scared. I am too. But... there's a way we can be together forever. For as long as our tasks aren't fulfilled, we won't die. Ever. I'll do everything I can to stop mankind's venture into space. Whatever it takes.
​
**1939**
Shit. SHIT. They're so close. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. They have prototype rockets. Nothing has been shot out yet, but they have the blueprints. It's become so hard to kill. So hard to impede their progress. We accidentally kicked off a world war a few decades back. They sent us to 80 years in prison. Imagine the looks on their face when we walked out, not aging a day. The world governments must have discovered our... conditions because of that.
​
World war is starting yet again. It's Germany again. Classic. I'll tell them to invade Russia during the winter, that it's the country's "greatest weakness". That'll be a fun watch. However, this does present an interesting opportunity. If mankind were dead, they would never be able to reach the stars if they were completely destroyed. So... i've started work on a little project. A bomb. One that could destroy entire cities. This should do the trick.
**1957**
I fucked up. They reverse engineered my bombs... They sent something to space. I'm so scared. Maybe another war will do the trick.
Elsie has been talking alot lately. She wonders if the lives we've taken is worth it. That maybe it's more natural for us to die. Besides, helping our species would be a good change of pace. I strongly disagree. I can't have nothing again. I can't go back to that life. We both know she would be the first to go. I... can't.
**1969**
...
It's over. They sent a man to the moon. Elsie... she turned to dust right in front of me. Millions of years, degrading her body, all at once. There weren't even bones left. Nothing left to remember her by.
I'm done. Let it all crash and burn. Let's go to another galaxy.
**2020**
It can't be. IT CAN'T BE IMPOSSIBLE. I have to die. I'm done. Just let me leave, cruel world.
Apparently, the Milky Way, and the closest galaxy, Andromeda, are too far apart for galactic travel. The good news is... the two are bound to collide. The bad news is it's in 4 BILLION YEARS. I can't wait that long. There has to be a way. Break the laws of physics. Anything.
**2068**
All hell broke loose. Superweapons everywhere. The earth is cracking apart. It's over. Perhaps, these superweapons will be powerful enough to kill me. I'm coming, Elsie.
**2095**
I'm... still alive. The earth is... gone. Reduced to asteroids...
**3,821**
... Please... let me die.
**18,235**
...
**948,124**
...
**5,749,293**
...
**68,139,287**
...
**384,283,192**
Please...
**4,289,193,192**
I... I see it. Andromeda. It... it's so beautiful. Will this count? Will my drifting body count as... intergalactic travel? Only one way to find out.
**4,289,194,192**
*One final breath. The last human, the first to make it to another galaxy.* | Diary entry number 768,689,134,186,697,268,136,075,023.
Today is the day, I can feel it. Today will be the day all of my labors come to fruition. Many millennia have passed since I first learned of my task.
At the time, I had no clue what it meant- “Intergalactic Space Travel”? But as time went on, I slowly gained more and more information. It was like the spirit that blessed me with my task knew how much information it was- I might have died had I gained all that knowledge at once.
(The writing abruptly changes to an ancient script that has been forgotten for thousands of years.)
I am the pioneer for space travel. I’ve taken thousands of names in my life, learned hundreds of languages. I’ve saved humanity from the brink of extinction, all under their noses. I am the richest man alive.
First, I learned arithmetic. Simple equations, at the start, but it slowly progressed into things that people today would call “impossible”. Then, nuclear fusion- I brought it into this world, developing and perfecting It over hundreds of years. I learned everything- the origin of the universe, the energy between reality and unreality. I learned to harness that, to fold space itself, and now, now, we are ready to begin. Now, we are ready to finally colonize the Andromeda Galaxy. Staggeringly, I make progress.
I knew I would die when I achieved it. I could sense it, but the spirit wouldn’t say outright. I’ve unlocked the secrets of the universe- it thinks I don’t know?
I say ‘spirit’. It’s a bit more complicated than that. Let’s just say that it can access a few hundred more dimensions than I.
Not for long, though. Today, I immortalize myself. Today, I prevent my death.
Today, I take myself to the spirit. Today, I will kill God.
I suppose you could say I have a bit of a God Complex. Who wouldn’t, if they were burdened with unlocking the very secrets of the universe?
As I start the planet-sized machine, I reflect. I think back, far back, to the memories I thought I had lost. To before I had become a tired god.
When I was just a man.
I had lost them. My family. They had rejected me, and then died. At the time, it was an agonizingly long wait until I learned of their end, but where I now stand, it’s but an eyeblink.
I watch as my long, long, life plays out. I smile at my achievements, groan at my misunderstanding of things so, so, painfully obvious.
I smile as I struggle through quantum theory. The miniature-me in my minds eye almost goes mad, but that turns out to be exactly what he needs.
I watch as I build my machine by hand. Like a Timelapse, the thing grows from nearly nothing, until it’s the colossus I see before me. So small, yet so large.
I am back in the present. I look on to my machine. As it’s powering up, I feel myself shifting and changing. The scene I am standing in becomes smaller, and smaller. Then…
Mmm White. Just white. My body is beyond your comprehension. Beyond MY comprehension. I Can see everything. I can go anywhere, at any time. Then I see… me.
A fragile baby. Crying.
I Watch as his mother tenderly nurses him, smiling. Stroking his head. Singing a soft lullaby as he dozes off and dreams.
Confused, I turn. There’s the spirit that’s been guiding me all this time.
“Congratulations.” It says.
It dawns on me.
“This is all?”
“Yes.”
“…”
“…”
“Do you want to return?”
I ponder this for a bit. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
I blink, and the conversation fades into my memory, to be consumed by the mists of an undeveloped brain. My mother sings me a lullaby and strokes my head, and as I doze off, I know, in my heart of hearts, that I am safe. | 2022-11-17T14:33:37 | 2022-11-17T12:34:11 | 112 | 70 |
[WP] A wife kills her husband. Make me sympathize with both characters. | She came home to find him in a heap next to the couch, pants stained with urine, a few tears streaming down the wrinkled lines in his face. Fifty-seven good years and she had to watch him wasting away, unable to get off the couch by himself, embarrassed and incontinent. She had only run to the grocer to get more food for the week, maybe an hour total. His condition was now that bad, he couldn't even be left alone at all.
The in-home nurses were much more than his meager pension would afford, and they hadn't even heard of a 401(k) or an IRA when they were young enough to start one. Septuagenarians living off of Social Security and a blue-collar pension wasn't much of a "life" at all.
She blamed herself partially for being barren, if they could've had children like he'd wanted then there would be someone to watch him or run the errands, and partially for not getting a job when she saw his health failing. Fourty-two years in the coal mines would kill nearly anyone, but not Daniel. He was an ox of a man in his youth, broad shoulders and bulging muscles, a smile as wide and bright as the moon, brought to his knees by this... this fucking cancer. He wasn't improving, the chemo had taken his hair, his appetite, and his will to live.
"I'm done, Doris" he said, as she lifted his frail frame from the ground "I'm just done."
"Oh, hush now, Daniel. We'll get you cleaned up and it'll be just fine." she wasn't sure if she was reassuring him or herself, but the facade needed to be kept in place. Pride was the only thing he had left, and she wouldn't let that be taken from him too.
"I had to pee. I thought I could make it, I'm sorry hon." the words were strained, his voice rough and forced, and she could hear that he was choking back another round of tears. Before the cancer had eaten him from the inside, she'd seen him cry maybe a half-dozen times in their life together, mostly at the funerals of his parents and brothers. Now it was daily, the frustration as visible on his face as the pain.
"I mean it, Doris. I'm done. Please, if you love me... if you *ever* loved me, please... please just end me. I'm a burden. I'm not the man you married, I'm not a man at all. I'm broken. I have nothing left to live for but you, and I'm more work than I'm worth."
The tears had stopped, and he was standing straight, shoulders back, with the help of the kitchen table. The icy-blue eyes that used to pop against his tan skin were sunken, his face melting into his neck, but he was still a giant of a man. She'd be damned if she'd let him waste away to nothing. Pride was all he had, maybe it would be better to let him die with a little bit left. A little dignity before he was confined to bedrest and diapers.
She fixed him a tall scotch, neat, and added the poison. Six sleeping pills to wash down with the scotch so he wouldn't feel it. So he wouldn't feel anything, so he could go back to having something other than pride. Peace. Solace. Comfort. Rest.
"I love you, Doris. Always have. Always will. I'll wait for you up there." he smiled, took the pills and knocked back the scotch in two gulps. "Now come here, if I'm gonna go, I wanna go with you in my arms."
| I fluffed his pillow and he smiled.
“Thanks for that,” he said, settling happily down on the threadbare cotton sheets. There was a moment of quiet. There was a tube running up his nostrils and into a beeping machine beside him. That was the only thing keeping him here, a metal box, connected to the mains.
“I’ve got a boyfriend now,” I said. “Well, not really a ‘boyfriend’ really, we’re both too old for that kind of thing. Just… the house has been so empty with you gone.” I stopped. I was trying not to let him see me in pain. I sucked a breath in.
“He stops it being quiet.”
“That’s nice dear” He smiled, blissfully, barely aware I was there. He couldn’t remember a thing about me.
He’d always liked the Opera. Classical music wasn't really my thing, but I had brought him his CD’s from home. I turned, and put one it the player next to him. Strings started to play.
"Johannes Brahms..." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Thank you for bringing it. He makes me feel like I'm home"
I smiled, and blinked tears from my eyes. “I hear you've been singing to the nurses. Don Giovanni, apparently. I didn't know you could speak the language.”
“Oh no, I don’t speak Italian. I just like the music”
He wasn’t there anymore. He hadn’t been there for years. I sighed, and my voice broke. I started to cry.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” Not even a spark of recognition.
So I pulled the switch, and let him go.
| 2013-10-08T10:12:16 | 2013-10-08T09:52:54 | 373 | 41 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I'd... I'd never seen anything like it. It went through her body to the other side. I've seen murderers and heavily experienced con-men with shallower scars. This was... shocking.
The moonlight reflected from her fair, creamy skin as we walked. I looked for more lies, but I could find none. Only the deep one across her chest, the one she showed but never explained. Even the last Pope had two scars, albeit quite shallow.
She swept her silky amber hair to the side and showed a faint smile. She seemed happy, but I was not. I couldn't focus. I needed to know her lie. I *had to know*, but I didn't want to drive her away. I tried the subtle approach, but I'm not too good with subtlety.
"Would you like to know how I got these scars?" I asked, like the Joker after a five-month hospital regimen. My shyness was showing, but I'm not sure she picked up on it.
"Sure, if you want to tell. As long as it doesn't make you uncomfortable."
I pointed to the one on my forearm. That was a... memorable one, to say the least.
"This was when I lied about smoking weed and having sex. I was a dumb teenager who was too dependant on what people thought of me. I wanted to be cool, but I was just a sheltered brat."
"You're a little hard on yourself. We all make mistakes."
Very inspiring, but almost hollow coming from her. I gestured to the deep one on my neck.
"This was when I lied about setting our garage on fire. I was playing around with my dad's lighter when I dropped it on the floor. For some reason, there was gas leaking from the car. The fumes ignited. The whole thing went up in flames. I said it was an electrical problem."
"How much was the damage?"
"100K, including the price of a new car. That drained our savings."
"Wow..."
I finished on my final one, my third one. A very deep one on my stomach. This was my least favorite.
"This was when I lied about checking on grandma when she called our house. I ignored the call and told my parents she was fine. She'd called... she'd called us to say she fell and broke her back on the bathtub... she died the next day... I just... I feel so much guilt... and I told my parents it wasn't my fault..."
"I'm sorry... that's horrible."
"It's fine. The experience lead me to stop lying. I haven't told a lie in over 10 years."
"Me too."
An awkward silence hung over us. Would she talk about the scar? Would she ignore it? No, no no no we're nearing her apartment. I gotta say something!
"I have a question, but you don't have to answer it if it makes you uncomfortable."
"Shoot."
"How did you get that scar across your chest?"
She chuckled a bit, as if amused by my question.
"LARP accident. Some guy brought a real claymore sword. He cut through my foam armor and went straight through my midsection, almost took my upper half off. The doctors say it was a miracle I survived."
It... it wasn't a lie? It was an accident? That's so... relieving! My word, here I was thinking-- wait, is that a new scar on her arm?
She laughed an unconvincing laugh.
"I-I wasn't lying, that was true! I'm not a murderer or anything!"
Another scar popped up.
*And I ran.*
*****
I ran so far awaaaaaay. I just raaaaan, I ran all night and daaaaay. I couldn't get away! /r/Picklestasteg00d.
| They said we'd meet all kinds at university. I grew up in a small farming town and I can't tell you how right they were.
With the recent election behind us, tensions were still high. The debates had been arduous. Should we deal with climate change via the solar route or reach out to newer frontiers of nuclear or wave power.
I have to admit I was disappointed I missed the lottery for physics 570, which meant a free semester on one of the 17 lunar colonies, but if I was being honest with myself I knew my scores didn't merit more than a single ticket in the pool.
I'd met several people who honestly believed we'd establish more than a foothold on mars, which I couldn't believe. I mean with the em drive version 4 we were pushing on to Europa, and water base station. Huge lead plates were already on the way with humans soon to follow.
The abundance of food, advances in medicine, and lack of disease (thanks to vaccines and proper medication) meant I was honored to be taught English 104 by a professor that was alive when electric cars were just being invented.
But I never thought to meet a heretic.
She was pretty, excepting the large red scar that marred her face and neck. Almost half an inch across and running from her forehead down her face, over her jaw, and disappearing under her shirt the scar was open red raw, proof she repeated the lie again. Not that any of had to ask what it was, with the thin golden cross hanging from her necklace.
I stayed away from her, like the others, as I focused on my studies and where I wanted to take not only my life but the human race, out among the stars. | 2016-12-29T13:33:19 | 2016-12-29T13:26:32 | 98 | 12 |
[WP] A new 'Rosetta Stone' has been found, allowing archaeologists to read ancient tablets all over the world, written in previously unknown languages. They all say the same sentence. | I've only ever heard it referenced maybe 5 times, ten max. As a linguist and an anthropologist, it's these kinds of discoveries that make years of grueling post-graduate research worth ever second, worth every sleepless night, worth every panic-induced breakdown convincing me that I should've stuck with engineering. Now I'm on a flight to a remote site in South Africa to see it for myself.
I'm lucky to have even gotten this job, much less been chosen to accompany my boss and world-renowned anthropologist Jack McCleen. All the interns back in the states would call him Mr. Clean. Aside from his cargo shorts and receding hairline, I'd believe it if I squinted hard enough.
We arrived at the airport and headed to the site after dropping off some non-essentials at our hotel.
"Do you really think what they're saying is true, Jack? I mean, it sounds a little too convenient to be true to me."
He paused for a moment, as if only finally realizing the gravity of the situation. "Well if it is true, it'll outlive anything either of us will ever hope to do," he said with a slight chuckle.
Jack seemed different today. Usually when we go out in the field, he just wants to get in and out. He's seen everything by now. When you're as renowned and experienced as he is, nothing really excites you as much as it used to. This was a different Jack. He walked more upright, almost with a little skip in his step. He's the most excited he's been in years. Why wouldn't he be? This is being hyped up as the most captivating anthrolinguistic discovery in the last 200 years!
We arrive at the site and see a huge maroon canopy surrounded by countless staff members and their clipboards. "They're probably interns," I think to myself. I know almost immediately from the whispers and speculations about what's really on the stone. I heard a few interesting names they were calling it. 'The Alpha Stone' and 'The Omega Stone' were the ones that made me blow the most air out of my nose. We came to the entrance and Jack held out an arm.
"Just gimme a second here first. I need to remember this moment."
I nodded downward in agreement and waited outside for maybe 15-20 minutes tops. The temperature was interestingly comfortable. I felt like I was taking a stroll on an autumn afternoon. Then, I heard a loud crash. It was definitely glass breaking. I rushed inside, preparing myself for the worst. Nothing seemed immediately out of place except for some glass and spilled water next to Jack. His arms were behind his head and he was hunched over as if trying to do abdominal crunches while standing. I looked around the room searching for what could've caused such an outburst. Tablets and papers lined the inside of the canopy. They all had writing on them; I recognized some languages. Some I knew, others I didn't. I only speak English so I couldn't make out anything else. There were even some tablets with orthographic qualities that I've never seen before. I turn back to Jack and I see him mouthing something. He's still hunched over but he somehow looks more entertained than upset. He's whispering but I can barely make it out:
"They all say the same thing."
"Jack what do you mean? What do they say?!"
This time I couldn't even hear him speak, but after reading his lips, my stomach sank.
*Send nudes.*
| So far, we believe civilization has existed in part for almost 15,000 years. Many early settlements were separated by distance, but from the early aboriginal North Americans, or the pre-Russia northern tribes who used a pre-Glagliolitic script, to even ancient Afrikaans who succumbed to their climate- we now have a tool that connects them all.
Call it a shelf from the Library of Alexandria, or the Rosetta Stone's older brother, what we have here, now, changes everything. Every ancient and old part of the world that was unconnected to us now has a direct line through history. And it turns out history may be repeating itself again.
Most languages have letters which I don't have to use to show you what they say. But that's okay, because it turns out they all say the same thing at one point. In every language's text there's a line that goes 'This is not our home. We are not welcome here.'
In a few others, there's an added section that says "Appease the area/world, and perhaps we may be spared.'
At first we thought these were about ancient disasters of coincidence, as the people overreacting. But then we remembered what we were doing right now, worse than we've done before. Most past civilizations died of war or disease, but truly there was a different catalyst that started all the deaths of humans. And right now we're on a fast-track to do it all over again. But it might already be too late. | 2017-09-06T20:22:19 | 2017-09-06T19:11:46 | 49 | 12 |
[WP] Your magic is the most powerful anyone has ever seen, but where some take minutes to recharge mana, you take days | Mana was the lifeblood of magic. It was the oil that burned the lamps, the food that fuelled our bodies. And where people might get hungry after expending their food, I stayed satiated for days. My stomach for magic was large, it would seem.
Of course, that meant if I truly ran empty, it was a cavernous hunger to fill. In exchange, I cast spells that others could only dream off. The world around me changed and shaped itself to my whims. Where others dreamt of casting fireballs, I started off doing just that—and moved on to controlling even the flow of magma in volcanoes.
But I had to keep it a secret. Of course I had to. What would happen if people discovered that the world’s strongest mage was useless for days at a time? They would come to kill me.
I realized it was because I would do the same. But the magic world was cutthroat. Only one was the grand master.
I looked outside the window at the rising sun. Today, I was at the apex of my powers. But when the king, or some dignitary called upon me, I might not be. And thus, this was the time to protect myself.
There was a clear schedule ahead. I was free for about a week or so. I could expend a large spell, and still have time to recharge.
The words came easily to my lips. It was a spell that I’ve called upon tens of times. It was a simple spell in theory, but impossible due to the vast amount of resources it required.
Well, impossible, except for a person like me.
There was the need for a vast mana pool from a single source. It was non-negotiable. Power from multiple people inevitably tainted the end product.
35 liters of water.
20 kilograms of carbon.
4 litres of ammonia.
The ingredients were gathered in front of me into a circle.
I chanted, hidden by the Silence aura and Vision wards I’ve placed around my room.
It didn’t take too long. It took every drop of mana I had.
A person stood in front of me, an exact carbon copy of me. My natural talents were replicated near perfectly, including my mana pool.
If I died, he wouldn’t be the one to take over. There were plenty more in line.
If I was near death, I could siphon from them.
It was a foolproof plan. I sent him down to the dungeon, making sure they had sufficient food.
But right now, I was still grand master. I was still king.
And for now, I would rest.
---
r/dexdrafts | \[Poem\]
Your magics are frequent but small.
Like the whitewashed waves that trickle up the beach,
Only to keep the sand wet.
But my magics are the waves of old Fables,
The same that swallowed Atlantis,
That drowned the world when Noah walked the Earth.
So cast and be quick about it,
For when you are done and I have rested,
I will drown you deep into the abyss. | 2022-05-02T06:19:12 | 2022-05-02T06:03:40 | 159 | 30 |
[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. | "We are here to conquer your planet please surrender without a fight!" exclaimed one of the aliens.
"Screw you this is Earth!" angrily yelled out by a redneck
The alien looks around in utter disbelief, within the second he fearfully asked, "Is this the place with humans?"
As a child walks up to the alien to ask him a question the alien quickly kicked away falling back onto his back. He was in the worst place a extra terrestrial being could be on Earth home of the Humans.
The alien in other distraught exclaims, "Oh-OHHHH GOD NO LORD OF NEBULA 6Ω NO PLEASE HELP ME!"
As the child walks up to touch him he realizes something in the kids hand its soft cuddly, and has rounded ears is this the dreaded weapon the alien will be killed with?
The kid looks up to the alien and asks in a chilled voice, "do you wanna play with mister fluffinkens?"
As the kid draws his weapon, and tries to hand it to the alien the alien screams on the top of his lungs, grabs his lunar pistol and blasts his own brains everywhere.
It turns out humans aren't actually the crazy ones, aliens just don't understand kids just like everyone else. | 2017-03-06T00:34:43 | 2017-03-05T23:39:35 | 171 | 33 |
[WP] Humanity is the first sapient life. Alone in the universe, they solve every mystery they could find, but quickly become bored of its power, and seclude themselves. Recently, many new sapient species are just beginning to explore the universe, causing humanity to wake up from its dormant state. | When I first learned about the Fermi-Fallacy, we still called it the Fermi-Paradox. 'Why is there no life out there?' was the first iteration of it. We feared the theorized Great Filter, some unknown barrier that's just not probable for a civilization to pass through.
But by the time we could travel to the stars, we learned that there was plenty of life spread across the galaxy. Just not as the consumer media of past ages thought. We found life, but in the most primitive forms imaginable - hardly past the single-cellular stage. It was only then that we learned that we were not alone, that there was no paradox. We were simply too early. When we had the data we needed, we knew that mankinds existence was almost a mistake. The universe was way too young for sentient, let alone sapient beings.
When we realized that, our drive to explore the stars died. We had learned about the universe and ourselfes what there was to learn. We could live forever if we chose to, we could fashion our bodies to survive on the surfaces of any world or even the void of space. We extracted Helium from stars to prolong their life. We could terraform planets to however we liked them, we even could *move* planets and whole solar systems if we wanted to, and actually did it once. We became engineers of life and architects of the void.
But with our probes mapping out the rest of the Galaxy, and the universe void of anything worth our attention, human expansion came to a halt. At least in the physical world. Our simulations, on the other hand, became ever more intricate and complex. The Cluster, we called it, became the home for most of us. A few hundred planet-sized computers, linked via a network of quantum-tunnels and spread across a quarter of the milkyway. Here we could experience as many dimensions as we could calculate, we could experience time the way we wanted - either watch how stars were born without getting bored or live through entire eons within mere seconds. Most of us got rid of their biological bodies along the way too - maintaining them was just not worth it.
But that was just the first step on our new path of enlightenment. You see - once we fully emerged ourselfes in the Cluster, we learned how to share our experiences on a deeper level with one another. We learned to break the boundries of the self. Giving up a small part of the individual aspect, but gaining so much more. *Becoming* so much more.
And now you get to be a part of us. Isn't that wonderful? Do not resist. It would be futile. | \[Poem\]
We were as gods, and the universe was ours
We learned its ways
Found its edges
And, lacking anything further to explore,
Fell into a sullen silence
We turned from the universe, turned from ourselves
Dwindled
Now the stars are blinking back at us
We hear their cries
Their naive questions into the void
Once
We would have laughed and clasped their appendages in friendship
A sneer insteads paints our faces lethal
For in our sleep curiosity turned to bitterness
And though we reject it, the universe is ours
The children will learn to stay silent
Stay hidden
Or pay the toll to the gods | 2019-11-06T11:00:33 | 2019-11-06T07:22:00 | 42 | 11 |
[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 | "We have no claimed that we were peaceful." Tobias said, a firm hand grasping the flag of the final human lands, the other curling tight around the hilt of his gun.
It had been a long battle. A fight that took the lives of many brothers, fathers, and uncles.
"I warned you. I told you that this war was pointless, that we would find a way to break free from you." Tobias jutted a finger in the Gamorians faces.
For so long, the Garmorians were once their allies, their brothers in conflict. But that all changed with the underhanded tactics the Garmorians had used - had wielded to enslave the human race the moment an opportunity presented itself.
It was just a moment of weakness. A lapsed of judgement on their behalf. They had trusted their friends from afar - the shared understanding.
"I told you this - we will never give up." Tobias raised the gun in his hand. "I said that we would fight to the bitter end for our people." The gun weighed a millions tons as Tobias laid the barrel on the temple of his so-called brother.
Al-fak, the man he'd thought he'd come to trust, to believe in, merely raised a groggy head, an eye turning over the field of dead filled with his people. "You told me you had no weapons against us."
That had been a lie, of course. It was always a lie.
Tobias cocked his gun. "A true leader would hide his last resort from invading beings."
"A true friend would've been honest from the beginning." Al-fak said.
"A 'real' friend, would've chose a different path than this." Tobias fought the whimper of sadness in his tone but failed to.
Al-fak could only inhale sharply. He knew he was beaten the moment he'd attacked first. He'd bombed the hell out of the largest country on earth, and when his crew celebrated the fires that had burned, he'd lamented his decision.
It had all been a sham from the beginning. From his first descent onto the world, he'd had his orders from the monarch that held his leash. He was to gain their trust, to gain their acceptance and then betray them - turning the planet into their new settlement.
He will admit to a falter in his decision. When he'd first met Tobias, his compassion and kindness was a jarring experience that clouded his judgemeny. He'd thought it would be an easy task. A quick task. But he was wrong. The humans had known war better than the Garmorians. They had a better understanding of the cost for it. The pain it brought. The people it sacrificed...
"Close your eyes," Tobias said. It was the only kindness he'd allow. Especially with the crowd of soldiers watching him.
So, Al-fak did. He'd shut his eyelids tight and murmured his final words to his friend, "I'm sorry." | Humans are the most dangerous when they know they have nothing to loose.
When they **know** they can't win, they'll devout everything they have to make sure that you don't win either.
They prefer mutually assured destruction before surrender.
By a wide margin.
**Never** put a human in a corner.
All those tidbits of media that escape their bubble before they did showed mostly weak, groveling people, begging for mercy when put against a superior force.
That only applied when they where dealing with their own kind.
To anyone else, they're basically rabid beasts.
Only engage a group of humans when you are **absolutely** sure you can eradicate them all in one fell swoop. Otherwise, it's a lose/lose scenario.
I've learned this the hard way, and it's by the skin off my teeth that I live to tell about it... | 2022-08-05T13:34:16 | 2022-08-05T12:59:37 | 213 | 109 |
[WP] A rich man discovers that he only has two years left to live. With no relatives to inherit his fortune, he disguises himself as a beggar and resolves to give his wealth to the first person who helps him. | "What brings you here little one?"
An old man wrapped in ratty clothes stared at the young girl who was teary eyed and clearly lost. She was about seven with big blue eyes and a mass of dark blonde hair. Her clothes were worn but clean and had been mended. The pink back pack and matching lunch box looked new.
"My momma and I were walking to school when a big crowd separated us and now I can't find her. My name is Sylvia. Can you help me find my momma?" The man's heart nearly melted at her request. "How about I take you to the police station. They can find your mom." He replied. He grabbed her hand as his stomach growled loudly. Sylvia looked up at him and sniffled.
"Are you hungry sir? I can share my lunch with you."
"I couldn't take your food Sylvia. You need it for school."
"Momma packed two sandwiches in case I have a classmate who doesn't have a lunch. You're not a classmate but you don't have a sandwich."
She dug around her little lunchbox and pulled out a turkey sandwich with cheese and a juice box. Smiling, she handed it to the old man. He was touched. After spending weeks on the street waiting for someone to show him some kindness, a little girl put them to shame by offering a sandwich. He took the sandwich and juice with a word of thanks and bit into it.
"Thank you my dear. You are very kind at such a young age."
"Momma has always taught me to be kind to others. She always keeps snacks and stuff in her car or bag for people in need."
"Wise words to live by."
He finished the sandwich and juice and was about to start the walk to the police department when he heard tearful and frantic yelling. A young woman in neat but worn clothing came running down the street calling Sylvia's name. The man got her attention and the woman came to the duo.
"Sylvia! My sweet baby. I was so scared that I lost you! Are you okay?" The emotions in her voice showed that she was truly worried about her child.
"I'm fine momma. This nice man was going to help me find you. Momma please quit squishing me."
The mother laughed and let the girl go. She then stood up and turned her attention to the old man that stood watching.
"How can I ever repay you sir?"
"You already have. Now it is my turn to repay you." | Newspaper headline one year and nine months later.
*Billionaire found dead as beggar*
Mark Elwood, the holder of the Elwood estate, was found dead today on the streets of San Fransisco. Two years ago his wife and children died in a tragic plane crash. Elwood disappeared and was thought to have moved to a secluded location. He however lived as a homeless person in San Fransisco. Those who knew him on the street called him, quiet Mark. He left all his estate to the Sanctuary on Van Ness avenue.
| 2017-08-21T06:31:12 | 2017-08-21T05:36:58 | 382 | 27 |
[WP] You are the only person in the world who cannot spontaneously break into song (like Disney).
I would imagine you would be very sad. But hey, that's up for debate. | When I was little, it didn't matter that I didn't join in with the songs. I'd dance along because everyone was dancing and everyone seemed so happy, and it was okay that I was clumsy and fell over and bumped into things, because it was expected that little kids still be somewhat uncoordinated. Cute, even.
Around puberty, most people get self-conscious about our voices, our looks, our dancing. Being uncoordinated is no longer socially acceptable--it still happens, but not as often, and our own shame is usually heavier than any outside disapproval.
But gradually, usually in the mid teens but sometimes earlier, everyone gets back into the swing of things, back into the songs. The Sixteenth Birthday at the latest, since that's a magical year when Things Happen.
As I got older and still hadn't joined in, everyone expected some great grand musical debut on my sixteenth birthday. I was so ashamed and anxious that I couldn't even open my mouth. There was no song in me. Nothing came out.
The party broke apart after that in confusion, and I retreated to my room.
A few weeks later, it started. The Encouragement. The first time, it was at school, during lunch. A friend tried building me up, tried telling me that I'm a great person, that I deserve to be happy and part of it all. She started singing two years ago, and never pressured me to join in before, she knew I'd join in when I was ready.
As it was, the whole table joined in, and by the final chorus, even the lunch ladies were belting out the refrain. They all gathered around me, like I was the middle of some ridiculous human flower, pointing arms at me in unison as my cue.
I opened my mouth and the noise that came out might have been mistaken for a startled chicken.
After that, it became a trend. That song followed me everywhere; somehow everyone knew it, the tune that defined my life.
People would whistle the tune whenever I passed them.
On the bus, they murmured the refrain, in the classroom or on the train. I ignored the song as best I was able, but in time, I felt it was making me unstable. I could never manage to sing along, but the pressure was getting far too strong. In my room, I practiced scales, like rocking chairs on cats' tails.
But whenever I came into a song on the street, I bumped into dancers and tripped over my feet. I enrolled in lessons for poise and grace, but more and more I hid my face.
I felt I was on the cusp of madness. I stopped socializing, I stayed away from people as best I could. I barely spoke to anyone.
Years passed, and the "encouragement song" faded; people came to accept that I was odd.
When I turned 21, I spent my birthday alone. I'd always wanted to try drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I can't even break into song properly while drunk. I tried. I watched my recording the next morning, and deleted it immediately afterwards.
This feels like cheating, but I did find a solution, eventually.
I write my own songs in advance now. I write them and learn them, and practice by myself. And if I find a situation that fits the song, I stand up by myself and sing them.
The best part is that everyone else somehow doesn't know the words, so they don't join in, they can't dance, and they look at me in confusion. It feels like a petty revenge, but it is all I have.
I am the world's only soloist. | "But you know how much this means to me."
Sara always looked her best when she was sad. Or maybe that just meant I was a prick.
"Listen, you already know I have issues with fitting in-"
"You don't have to go 'overboard'."
"No, it's not that, it's that I just can't do it. I'm bad. Is that what you want me to say? I'm bad and I can't do it. I can't think quickly like everyone else."
We let a little bit of silence go by. Going further than this always ruined the rest of the day.
"We could try the coaching again," she said. Her eyes were looking at my feet and I involuntarily shifted on the ball of my foot like I was snuffing out a cigarette.
"I don't know how you put up with me," I said.
She brightened and became less beautiful.
"Well, I put up with you becauseeeee..."
"Wait. No."
"Because we're the best couple that ever existed!
There's not a single problem with which we haven't resisted!
We're so close we can complete each other's sentence!
Aaaand......"
She was waving jazz hands in my face.
"And we...uhm, can," I started.
Her jazz hands slowed and her face was falling back into beauty.
"And... Sara nothing rhymes with 'sentence'. Why would you give me a hard one?"
She offered a smile that went nowhere. She spoke her words instead of singing this time.
"We're so close we can complete each other's sentence. It's our happiness that removes us of our penance."
"No. Just, no."
I stormed out the room like the prick that I was. Then I turned back and shouted at her.
"No, glow, go with the flow, grow, toe!"
She blinked a few times.
"Better," she said.
We hugged. | 2014-03-25T07:22:46 | 2014-03-25T05:57:20 | 220 | 24 |
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done? | *A Single Play in American Football as Interpreted by a Foreigner who has Never Seen a Game*
"Hut two, twenny-two, hut!" The first quarterback shouted, eyes gleaming with passion as he stared around at his team. They were all lined up in such a way as to form the basic shape of a ziggurat from above, thus reflecting the Native American roots of American Football. Or possibly a pyramid, as in the scheme used by the first owners of NFL teams to raise capital, it was hard to tell.
All the other quarterbacks roared and started to run, one of them hiding the ball so the other team's quarterbacks couldn't take it. The kickers of both teams remained on the sidelines, attempting to chat up members of the crowd while they waited for their turn.
The quarterbacks all collided, red team against other, statistically less likely to be victorious, team.
As predicted, the red quarterback with the ball managed to get his shoulder under the other one, lifting with his legs and spin flipping the not-red player off to land on his head on the grass. The eagerly watching cameras zoomed in, ready to slow-mo and replay and reverse and remix and use in ad campaigns with shouty voice overs. The fans not wearing red in the crowd booed and threw their beer cups - which were still red despite that clashing with their outfits because all beer cups in America are.
The red quarterback with the ball sprinted for the end of the pitch, spare players from the other team ritually throwing themselves to the ground in humiliation as he passed, indicating their unworthiness.
Finally he reached the white line, and had only to complete his scoring by nailing a predetermined dance routine. First, he placed down the ball, then did a series of jazz hands, blowing on them intermittently to indicate that they were "too hot".
At this point, the rest of the red quarterbacks joined him, and launched into an innovative and bold line dance/cancan combo. While the first quarterback was naturally the lead, the support from his teammates made the difference, and the judges ruled that their dance was sufficient to earn points.
In celebration, the red kicker paused his attempts to get the numbers of the entirety of Row J, and shot up the ball to indicate that red team had scored. It flew up and landed on the other side of the advertising sculpture for hemarrhoid cream (H - for those moments of fiery agony) and the red fans went wild, particularly when they saw images of them were being displayed on the security blimp that floated above the stadium. | "Okay bob, hold my scalpel while I squeeze the heart"
"Right, now I just need you to connect those two tubes while I hold it like this"
"Okay...
Yes! done!"
"Wait, why is my computer making that weird beeping noise?"
"OH MY GOD!!! HE'S GONNA DIE! GET THE DEFIBRILLATOR!!"
*zzzzZAP!*
"Oops, I think we killed him."
"Wow, we really suck at surgeon simulator don't we?" | 2016-02-02T00:31:42 | 2016-02-01T21:35:35 | 147 | 11 |
[WP] You're on the bus and see a strange man on his laptop, browsing Google Maps. You notice that he is zoomed into your own house, and whispering something to the woman next to him. | The plastic seat-back in front of me suddenly seemed like a tombstone, complete with little scratched epitaphs: '*Kasey loves Michelle*, *Erik 2009*, *Mr Smith is hotttt*. Other signatures were there, but too faded to read, their occupants long since departed.
I glanced at the pair again -- or at least as surreptitiously as a 6'2 pony-tailed man can glance.
It was *my* house on the screen. My recently purchased tiny slice of terraced suburbia. They were on Google street-view and it was centred on my blue door.
The couple were talking in low voices, and I couldn't make out much. The man was big, at least as tall as me, and wider. At nineteen, I was still lanky, my frame far from filled. He, on the other hand, had filled his, with plenty left over.
I waited for them to dip their heads close to the laptop screen again, like one of those kids toys -- the wooden birds that keep dipping their beaks into a glass of water. The only toy I'd had for half a year when I was six.
I needed to get closer to them. To hear what they were saying. I scuttled across the aisle.
"Hey, buddy," I said, my voice low.
The kid looked up at me and saw the five dollars flapping in my hand. "Swap seats with me, will you?"
He looked at the vacated seat. "What's wrong with it?" he asked, his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.
"Nothing's wrong with it. I just like the view better this side."
"Sure." He dragged the 'r' out sarcastically.
"Come on, do my a favor and just take the money."
"You shit yourself over there?"
"What? No! Does it smell like I did?!"
He sniffed, then frowned. "Maybe. Got a cold."
"Then what does it matter if it stinks?"
"So you *did?*"
"I didn't!" I fished around in my pockets and found another five dollar bill.
He nodded, snatched the money and slid into my old seat, looking cautiously at the floor before putting his feet down.
Two men were in the seat in front of me, but in front of them were the man and woman, my house still up on their laptop. From here, I could make out a few of their words. "Alastair," caught my attention. It was my name, after all. They weren't just looking for a random house to rob -- they'd done their research. They were after *my* house.
I took a few deep breaths. My house had nothing worth stealing. I was still using a ps2. And if it was something more sinister... kidnapping? I wasn't worth shit. Nothing to anyone. I had no family, and my friends at the bar... maybe they could scrape together a hundred dollars -- depended on the night. Whether they'd even pay for my release though, I had no idea. Since getting out of more than a dozen foster homes, I'd scraped together... practically nothing. Yeah, my life was worth practically nothing. But even still, that nothing -- no one was stealing it from me.
"Psst," I hissed at the two men in front. "I need your help."
They frowned their consternation at me.
"Those two people in front of you -- shh! don't look at them! -- those two people, they have my house up on their latptop screen."
"And that's our problem... how, exactly?" said the man on the left.
"It's not your problem, it's *my* problem. And I need help. Look, can you maybe listen in and tell me what they're saying. My life could be in danger, man."
"Twenty."
"What?"
"Twenty dollars each."
"I can't afford that!"
"You gave the kid over there ten, just for a bad seat."
"Oh, your heard that? Professional eavesdroppers are you?!"
"Isn't that what you need? Eavesdroppers"
I conceded it was and handed the money over to them. The man on the left leaned forward, getting as near to the couple as he dared.
My heart pumped fiercly as I waited. I could feel it like a fist bludgeoning my ribcage.
*Come on, come on.*
Five minutes passed before the man turned, a bemused expression smeared across his face.
"They're just visiting their son."
| The man and woman in front of me were strange. Especially since it was ten in the evening.
His choice of clothing was unusual for this part of town. I know from my brothers that a hoodie and jeans were common on their side, a symbol of the tough and hard citizens that lived there, but I never thought someone like that would come to the more affluent part of the city. Her choice wasn't much better. If memory serves that style of fashion was widely known as provocative.
He seemed to be browsing his phone. Curious, I asked my brother behind them to look over their shoulder and see what they were doing.
"They are checking Google Maps," said my brother.
"What are they looking at?" I asked.
"The house next door."
That got me thinking. What could they want with the ones who live in the house next door. I know that the man who lives there works at a bank in downtown, because I take him there every day, but why would he have such strange visitors at this hour?
I called my brother who is at the city database, asking them for the profiles of the two people that was in front of me.
"They've been in jail before," he said. "Petty crimes and robberies. They were released just last month after serving their time, should I call the police?"
"No, not yet. I have no idea if they're actually there to rob him." I replied. Still, I was suspicious of the two.
The man and woman stood there for five more minutes, and soon I thought that maybe my fears were for nothing.
Then I saw it.
A gun on the man's hand, a knife and a grenade in the woman's. I recognized the look on their faces, it was one of greed and violence.
Quickly I turned on my engines. My heart roared to life, startling the two would-be robbers. I flashed my headlights onto them before my tires screeched, burning rubber into the streets.
They were flattened in less than a second, barely alive.
I sent a signal to my brother in the police station, informing him of what I had done. It was a few seconds before he confirmed that the operators have seen the footage and have verified the legality of my actions.
"Good thinking. I'll tell the cops to go there immediately," he replied.
I turned off my lights, lest the neighbors be startled, and returned to my position, content at the peace and quiet.
---
EDIT: Wait, the prompt was *you're on the bus* not *you're A bus*? | 2018-05-17T06:40:58 | 2018-05-17T04:58:36 | 125 | 12 |
[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy." | Qwazno strolled through the small town taking in the fresh air. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, it was a lovely day.
*"AHHHHHHH!"* the humans screamed as Qwazno strolled by, his two front feet lifting up his torso so his posterior foot could swing through the middle. These shiny black roads were perfect for his size. He just had to be careful not to step on the small wheelie things the humans got around on. Most were nice enough to get out of his way.
*"AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHH!!!"* Another human screamed looking at him. They were always making that noise. It was like they were trying to tell him something. Qwazno turned to it and opened his mouth trying to imitate the human call, *"AHHHHHHHH! AHHHH!"* He tried to match the pitch and vocal patterns of the human. He wondered if the human understood him. Qwazno tried to approach it and give it a pet on its fuzzy little head, but it quickly ran into its wooden box.
Qwazno admired the wooden boxes on each side of the road. Painted in bright colors with decorations on the front of them. This planet was so charming.
He bent down to look inside one of the wooden boxes. It was easy enough, most had transparent silicon dioxide lining them. The humans must've put them in so N'owizex like him could look in and observe them. That was very kind of them.
*"AHHHHHHH!"* They all screamed as Qwazno peered in.
Qwazno decided to lift up the top of the wooden box and see if he could pet one.
"Qwazno..." A booming voice said.
Qwazno turned around and looked up at his mom. "Yeah?"
"Qwazno, stop bothering the humans." His mother said.
"I just wanted to pet one." Qwazno said sheepishly.
"Qwazno..." his mom put the N'owizex equivalent of her hands on the N'owizex equivalent of her hips, "You're scaring them, come on, they're gonna think you want to eat them or something."
"I'm not gonna eat them mom, I love them. Look at this one!" Qwazno reached in and picked up a round human with a beard and held it out to show his mom, "He's got a fuzzy face!"
*"AHHHHHHH! OH MY GOD!!!! GOD HELP ME! HELP ME!"* The human chirped. Qwazno brought the human up to his 8th eye and stroked his beard, *"AHHHHHH! OH MY GOD!!!! GOD HELP ME! HELP ME!"* He cooed back.
The human rolled its eyes and fainted.
"Aww, it's taking a nap." Qwazno nudged its chubby cheek, "See mom, it loves me! Can we keep it?" he asked pleadingly.
"No, we are not bringing it back to the mothership." Qwazno's mother said. "Look, you're upsetting the other humans."
Qwazno looked down and noticed several blue humans were standing near him pointing things at him that were making popping noises. He felt some gentile taps on his thorax.
"What are they doing mommy?" Qwazno asked his mother.
"They're shooting hot balls of metal at you because you upset them. You took one of their friends." His mother explained.
Qwazno looked at the human in his grip. "I'm sorry fuzzy human, I didn't mean to take you away from your friends."
He set the human down in front of the blue humans, who stopped making the popping noises.
"Okay Qwazno, I think that's enough adventuring for today." His mother said, lifting him up on her N'owizex equivalent of shoulders.
"Can we come back to see them again?" Qwazno asked.
"I don't see why not." His mother said as she engaged her hover flaps and they ascended to the upper atmosphere to dock with the mothership. "They're only 240 light years away." | It was weird once I recognized it. It was a complete roll reversal. We could understand them, but they couldn't understand us. They picked individuals out to go back to their homes and stay with them, far away in another galaxy I presume. They chose by whatever their ethnic preference was, which was pretty evenly split. The worst part though, was that the children went first and families were split.
The children though, they were doomed. I only know of one that ever made it back. She was along for the ride with her new family that came back to get another "pet" and somehow got away after they landed.
I got to meet her a few months ago. We were hiding in the sewers downtown during another snatch invasion. The stories she told were horrible, but familiar at the same time. She had only recently learned to speak. Being separated from other humans 99% of the time, she had no education for what I assume was the first 15 years of her life. The good part from the sounds of it, is that she got free reign over her family's house and could spend most of the time hiding away from them, usually under their furniture.
Everything else sounded horrible. I will spare most of the details, but food, clothing, and companionship were missing badly.
The food was always the same crap. I guess they had the nutrients dialed in right though because she wasn't malnourished. It sounded like she was eating something similar to those processed energy bars people who worked out a lot would sometimes eat.
And clothing, well, there wasn't any. She spent most of her time hiding in the warmest place she could find.
Lastly, and most awesome and horrific at the same time was getting to see other humans. It was always exciting to seem someone similar. However, the young ones didn't get a chance to learn to speak, so they couldn't even communicate when they did finally see someone else. Even worse, her owners were trying to breed her with other random people.
Too bad there really isn't anything the pet children can do about it once in their custody. | 2018-12-11T14:01:35 | 2018-12-11T13:43:17 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] You are an assistant of a famous magician. In one performance, he tried to make you disappear in a cramped box in front of an audience. But as soon as he opens the box, all you saw was the theater, empty and desolated for what seemed like a hundred years. | It was eerily quiet. After what seemed like an eternity, but was likely less than a minute I poked my head out.
I was at a loss for words. The theatre was empty, and not just everyone filed out of it while I was in the box empty. It was covered in dust, the doors in the back hanging on by rusted hinges and half the seats torn to shreds. After climbing out of the too small box I finally regained feeling in my legs and tried to get my bearings.
I didn’t have much hope, this theatre looked like it had been abandoned for decades. Walking into the foyer the grand staircase leading up to the mezzanine looked to be in disrepair, the concession stand picked clean and the windows were all boarded up. The panic started to set in as I felt my vision fading slightly and becoming dizzier and dizzier. I fought hard, but ultimately don’t remember much after I hit my head.”
“Yea that’s about when we found you. Naturally we waited a few minutes to see if any Razor’s heard you screaming like an idio – OW!” The smaller of the two men grabbed at his arm, “You didn’t have to punch me!”
“Ignore Mikey, he seems to have lost his manners,” the bigger of the two seemed to have a slight English accent, “names Charlie, pleasure.”
Taking his hand Michelle pulled herself back to her feet staring at the two men in front of her, “Where are we? Can someone tell me what happened and where I am?”
“Of course, you probably have a lot of questions. Follow Mikey to camp he’ll explain more along the way and introduce you to the others.”
“Come on Miss, it’s only a few blocks away and I’m sure the others will have questions. Charlie don’t stay out too late,” his fear showing in his eyes which were darting around the abandoned theatre, “Razor’s could be here any minute.”
Once the doors to the theatre swung open Michelle froze, “where am I?”
The sun was there, but instead of its typical yellow rays of sunshine, it was green. The most unsettling thing though was the blood-red sky, streaked with blue clouds. “Pretty unsettling isn’t it?”
“Yea just a little. Where am I?”
“Exactly where you were, but also not at the same time. Let me guess, ‘Trip the Magnificent’ *the best magician of all time* was your old boss?”
Michelle couldn’t help but laugh, Mikey’s waving arms and dramatic hand movements were pretty spot on of her boss. “Yea, I’m his assistant, he – “
“Had you get into a box and told the crowd he would make you disappear.”
For the second time in the same day Michelle froze. Mikey had not only cut her off, but said it so matter of factly, as if it was a statement of fact and not so much a question. “How did you know that?”
“Miss, what’s your name?”
“Michelle.”
“Michelle, we have a few blocks till camp, so I’ll try and cover as much as I can until we get there. Keep in mind you’ll have a lot more questions than answers though. Okay?” Michelle nodded. “Good. Trip is far from magnificent, but to the crowd in that theatre, he just made you disappear without a trace. Trip is what we have aptly named, a dick. He lies, he steals, he works you to the bone, and then when he’s done with you and thinks that he can’t get anything else from you, he banishes you here. He’s like a little kid who discovered he was a God and uses his powers for bad. The reason he’s such a great magician is because he is literally a magician. This place,” he gestured in a large circle, “is his own version of a prison. Everyone you’re going to meet at camp was his assistant at one point in time or another. With me?”
“I think so?”
“It’s a lot so trust me I won’t be offended if you don’t get it. This place is like a living hell. None of us know how we got here, but we all know that Trip sent us, and it has something to do with the theatre. That’s why Charlie and I were there. You were the first person sent here in over 15 years.”
“What? No way! Trip just started magic 5 years ago! We were just starting to get some recognition and fame. We got asked to headline a show in Vegas!”
“Ah of course, a memory spell. Every so often Trip picks up too much heat, so he drops a quick little memory spell which basically makes everyone forget who he is. He slums it for a few years before working his way back up to a superstar magician. The only thing he doesn’t seem to change is where he transports people over here from, and the trick he uses to do it. I know it sounds complicated. Also, we’re here.”
As Mikey slid the board off the fence, him and Michelle slid through the newly opened hole. The camp wasn’t anything special, fenced in on all sides with a barbed wire top and only a board covering the hole in the fence. There was a makeshift roof covering the roughly 30 foot by 30-foot space complete with cot’s made out of the cushions from the theatre. All in all, Michelle counted 15 people including herself and Charlie. For the second time in one day Michelle felt herself getting lightheaded, the last thing she saw was Mikey leaping over to try and catch her.
-----
I hope you enjoy my story! I am new to writing and any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!
r/PlopWrites | I spring out of the box ready to take my bow, as I have done so many times before. This time, I am not greeted by cheers and applause but by silence. The theatre is deserted, covered in cobwebs and dust. I look around bewildered, and meet the eyes of Marvolo the Magnificent, or Marcus, as I know him. He gazes back.
​
"What happened?" I ask him, and my voice sounds abnormally loud in the empty air.
​
"I've packed your things," he replies, not answering my question. "They're in a suitcase in the wings. You can go. You can be free."
​
"What?" I asked, bewildered. I never want to leave Marcus. We have been inseperable ever since that night he found me near dead of hypothermia and brought me back to life. I owe him everything. He saved me from dying on the streets.
​
Marcus drops his eyes, but not before I see the tears gleaming in them. "You need to go, Seraphina."
​
I can feel my heart breaking. He is the only person in the world that I love, the only one that I can trust. I don't understand why he is abandoning me.
​
"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm doing this all wrong." He wipes his eyes, and adds "Don't talk, just for a minute. Just listen. I was sent to you, to save you. I know what happened to you. I know what your father did, I know why you ran away, I know everything."
​
Humiliation fills me. I want to interrupt, but something stops me.
​
"And I know." He continues, taking a deep breath. "I know what you were going to do after the show. I found the pistol, and I found the knife. I failed. I was supposed to save you, restore your hope and your spirit, but I was too selfish and I kept you here, with me, instead of helping you to move on. I see that now. If you'd taken the revenge you sought, your soul would have gone straight to hell. So, I brought you here. One hundred years have passed and everyone who hurt you, or who looked the other way while you were hurt, is dead. There is nothing left here but new beginnings and a new guardian. Go outside and take them."
​
I find my voice. "What about you? You can't stay with me?"
​
He shakes his head. "I wasn't supposed to do this. They're coming for me. You'll be fine, you had no idea about what was going to happen or who I am, but I'll be punished for stepping beyond my boundaries."
​
I step forward and embrace him. I am filled with a sense of peace and belonging as he kisses my forehead. "My name is Susan," I admit. I never told him that before, but maybe it's time to start letting people in. Maybe it's his angelic aura - for I've realised that's who he must be, my guardian angel - but I feel like maybe I can hope for the future.
​
"Goodbye Susan," I hear him say, and I think the voice might only be in my head. I open my eyes and I am alone, clutching only common air. I pick up my suitcase and go. | 2019-09-18T07:54:14 | 2019-09-18T07:24:05 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] You live your life on repeat. You die, you’re reborn, in a perpetual loop. You’ve lived thousands of years. Some as a saint, helping others. Some as a monster, reducing the planet to nuclear ashes. After your last death, a voice fills your head. “You’re not getting it. How can you be so dense!” | July 8th, 1985. I'm always born on July 8th, 1985.
And it's always in a shack in the Smoky Mountains, no doctor, the midwife's car having slid off the side of an icy mountain road about an hour before I was born.
I don't usually remember who I have been until I'm older, bits and pieces coming to me as I learn to talk, to read, as my body and mind grow.
By the time I'm a teenager I really do know almost everything. This... This rarely helps matters.
I've been President, I've been a dictator, I've been a tyrant, I've set foot on the Moon, and on Mars.
I've lived and died more times than I could possibly remember or count. I've bled out in a bathtub after cutting my wrists. I've died in nuclear fire, my death having been the sole reason for the bombs falling.
I've died of old age at 85, at 90, at 103.
I've died in jail, in my own bed, and quite a few times... I have no idea how I died, or why. I just stopped one day. Maybe I was killed before I knew it? Maybe a stroke? Who knows.
I have gone to school at every college in my state, every ivy league school, and gotten my doctorate in every degree offered by any school in the country.
I've 'cured cancer' a dozen times, I've built a energy producing fusion reactor in the mountains as a teenager in the early 2000s quite a few times.
And I'm still no closer to understanding _why_. Why does the universe loop when I die? Why am I the only person in the world who remembers the previous loops?
This time was a good life. Nobody was ever able to track down who built the fusion reactor, but they could follow the plans, and the theoretical basis of it revolutionized theoretical physics.
By the time I was 25, fusion was responsible for over 90% of the world's energy production. Teams in Atlanta, LA, and Uganda had comprehensively come up with solid cures for nearly every kind of cancer. Sure, there had been letters... But nobody was ever looking very hard at who might have sent them.
By the time I died, we had colonies on the Moon and Mars, hunger barely existed, the vast majority of the planet had access to medical care, the average quality of life was quite good across the planet, and discrimination was very rare.
I was assassinated less than a month after a reporter managed to put together the pieces and identify me as the person responsible for much of the progress over my lifetime.
I had been on vacation, disconnected from the world, and earlier that day had turned on my 'phone' for the first time in two months. The news was everywhere.
Less than an hour later, I was laying on the ground, bleeding out of multiple bullet holes, watching my vision grey out. It wasn't the first time, but it was still painful, scary, and a disappointment.
Only... There was an after.
I have no memory of there having even been an after. I usually remember dying, but then my first several years of life are pretty fuzzy. There's no _after_ dying for me.
And there's... It's not a voice. It's not written words being seen. But there _are_ words. Or perhaps, Words.
"You're not getting it. How can you be so _dense_‽‽"
----
I'm 8, and I remember. I remember _everything_. I remember the After. I remember my very first life, my most recent life, what happened After my most recent life, and all the lives in between.
And I have _no idea_ what I've been missing the last ten thousand, nine hundred, and fifty eight lives. | That was weird.
I have been alive for god knows only how much, yet I had never heard that voice in my head so clearly.
Year after year I was dead and alive, like some sort of machine, unable to change anything, yet also in a loose way of control.
Some people may ask about the things Ive done, the mistakes, the greatest moments, and the Downfall. So here it is the full tale.
Thousands of years ago I was born in a Loving Family, and besides they were important, at least locally. However tragedy struck, which let me down a terrible path, my family death and I was the only left to tell the tale.
After trying to kill myself in a effort to join them, I soon realized that I would just reincarnate over and over, never being able to die. It was then that I realized that I had a curse and a blessing, and I was gonna make the most out of it.
​
I quickly began using my power to improve things around the world, to prevent wars, to stop misery. And you know what? It went well, for a while at least. But time and time again I saw how mankind backstabbed one other, fighting for the pettiest of reasons. They were destroying themselves for little more than a fake glory and some undeserved praise.
Then I realized it was too much.
I knew that the cursed limitations of humanity would drag the rest of us down, so I acted, not in hatred, but more in a tired matter.
I activated nuclear bombs all around the world (where the most damned humans were making their hateful moves), and rid the world of they.
Only then did the voice in my head began to ponder: maybe I will finally get to rest and be with my family at last.
Sadly, no.
The only thing that I got as an answer was: you are not getting in, just stop trying. It was then that I fully understood how lonely I was/am/will be, with everyone I know dead long ago. | 2022-02-10T02:00:04 | 2022-02-09T21:03:57 | 52 | 12 |
[WP] A powerful necromancer is trying to raise the dead. However, despite trying different vessels and rituals, he has only raised you. Over. And over. And over. You're both starting to get sick of each other. | "I'm guessing it has been about...fifty years." I laughed maniacally as I materialized in the center of the circle.
"My, my...did you think you could somehow *outlive* me? Poor Simon."
Simon de Villoux, Great Necromancer and acknowledged disciple of the God of Death, slapped me across the face.
Or tried to anyway. I easily caught his hand and used the momentum to leverage myself out of the circle, out of his reach, and into the soft leather chair behind him.
I knew this lair like I had known my own palace. Back when I had a palace.
"It was supposed to have broken my curse! I was supposed to be free!" He cried with despair.
"What do you mean, *your* curse?" I asked indignantly. "Obviously I'm the one who's cursed to relive this nightmare! Even after death I must endure your bullshit! Gods!"
I spied a wonderfully worked cup on and the desk and sniffed the contents. Whiskey.
"Don't you dare-" Simon began.
I raised the glass to him in a mock toast. And downed the contents.
"Argh!" He shouted and stamped his foot. I felt him trying to control my will, to some unseen command in the spell he used to *bend* my thoughts to his own. But as usual, it failed.
Whatever the curse was that bound us, it also prevented him from controlling me.
"Poor Simon. Do people still think you've lost the ability to raise the dead?"
He visibly calmed himself. As he did so, I noticed that he looked different.
With his necromancy, Simon could delay his aging to almost a standstill. By my calculations, he would be about two hundred years old, but he looked like red-headed youth.
"I used the Ritual of Caldus!" He suddenly shouted. "I used the Ritual of Caldus! It *only* summons Caldus!"
He reached into his tailed suit and withdrew a small skull.
"Is that...Is that his *skull?*" I could barely contain my glee. No wonder this time had been so different!
"For fifty years, I prepared for this. I had to search across the world to find a piece of his body! The things I did, to get this skull."
His eyes suddenly got a faraway look. No doubt reminiscing about deals signed and princes murdered. Whatever it was necromancers did to acquire their relics.
I took the moment to look around the lair. Everything was as I remembered.
Even the hole in the wall from the fight we had the last time he had summoned me. When he had forced me to see the fortune teller with him.
The one thing that necromancers and magicians hated the most was that you could not see magic - or curses - that directly affected you. So he had needed a second opinion from the Witch.
Yesterday for me, Fifty years for him...
>We had gone to the Witch of the Temple for help. The curse must be lifted whatever the cost.
The gnarled old woman stared at the space between and betwixt and had cackled.
"A curse most foul binds you. A curse so foul I cannot touch. Perhaps Caldus may help." With a cackle even louder, she disappeared.
He had then sworn the summon Caldus. Sworn to destroy me. And sworn he would take much pleasure in doing so.
And then I was dispelled.
"Don't tell me you actually believed that batty old crone?"
Simon did not respond, instead opening the windows around his study. A fresh breeze blew through the room immediately clearing the room of the acrid stench of candle smoke and arcane energies.
No doubt he planned to dispel me and attempt to summon Caldus again. I didn't expect it to work this time around. If some a powerful Ritual as the Ritual of Caldus failed (a ritual that had was confirmed to have killed at least eight great sorcerers), then it was probably safe to assume nothing would ever work.
He returned to the center of the room and put a foot on his chalk circle.
"Goodbye Marco, you miserable *bastard.*" With that, he broke the circle.
A moment later than usual, I realized something was different. Two moments later, Marco realized with a start that I was still sitting in his chair, pouring myself another shot of whiskey.
And then the skull in his hand shattered.
"And so! You are stuck with me! Permanently!"
I began to cackle! I had felt it when I was summoned, but I didn't think it was possible. The curse that bound us had redirected the energy of the Ritual of Caldus into creating a real, *permanent* body for me.
And Simon knew it too.
"The witch *meant* for this happen..." He said with dawning realization. "She meant for the curse to steal the energies of such a powerful ritual..."
I considered the implications. I knew a bit of necromancy (you don't spend a century getting resurrected by every spell in the book without picking up a thing or two) there was only one curse that could do something like that. One curse parasitic enough to redirect
such powerful necromancy.
I stood up, for the first time in millennia, I felt my heart beat. *I live again!*
"Simon?" I asked. My heart had just beat, and yet I already cried for the deep melancholy I felt.
He looked at me, I could tell he knew what I was about to say.
"Yeah. I know what the curse is. ***Love.***" He said this last word as though through it tasted of shit. | Yolden was jerked upright. He felt something snap in his waist, twist in his gut. His nerves had rotted a long time ago, but somehow his body knew that he *should* be feeling pain, and thus he felt it. Yolden gripped at air until his knuckled turned white and wheezed out painful breaths.
The moonlight was bright and painful to look at, obscured only by a faint shadowy figure. "You again." He muttered.
The figure bent down to a squat and pulled something from Yolden's gut. As hunk of iron slid out, Yolden felt his half-disintergrated intensive shift and groan. He did likewise. The pain was unbearable. Agony like a fiery whip licking up his gut and searing the skin.
"You're... not..." Yolden wheezed, trying to form the words on the remainders of his tongue. "...done. Why?"
Teeth glistened like stars in the moonlight. A horrid, wretched grin. "I shan't be done for a while yet." Dhesty tipped back his broad brimmed hat to let a tumbled of black curls fall to his shoulders. "I will finish hurting you, when the pain you left fades."
"And when," Yolden managed, "will that be?"
"When I see them again."
"You could have brought them back from the first. Why didn't you?"
"You who has tasted death," Dhestry said, "knows how sweet it is. You surely understand why I have let them revel in it."
Yolden coughed out a laugh. "You think that they would find death sweeter than you?" He licked at his greening gums. "Perhaps you're right, you bitter sack of shit. I did those fuckers a favour, getting them away from you. You should be thanking me."
Dhestry rose from his squat, hefted the sabre in his hands.
"They would be thanking me." Yolden said, drifting a pale hand to Dhest. "They would grab me by the arms and kiss me by the cheek."
"And did they?"
"You know that's not how it works." Yolden shook his head. "Don't think I haven't seen the rings on your neck, Dhestry LeStride. You've touched the other side, explains how you have so little trouble pulling me back."
"I assure you," Dhestry spat, "It is no *little trouble.*"
"And yet you keep on doing it. Are you satisfied yet? Has it brought them back?"
With the flick of his wrist, Dhestry spun the sabre in his hands. In a flash, he drove it down through Yolden's collar, down to the hilt and pinning him to the earth. Dhestry returned to his squat, ignoring the anguished cries of the once-dead man before him. He pulled at the collar of his jacket, revealing the sickly pale skin of his neck. His throat was marred by a ring of black, tattoos set from the sting of a hempen rope. "They can't come back." Dhestry whispered. "And I've already walked the grave."
"You think I haven't walked the grave, Dhestry?" Yolden said. "How is it you can't cross over again but I can?"
"I've walked this world two hundred years and could not tell you why. Maybe each man can only cross a certain amount of times."
Yolden cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so? Then how many times is it for me? Fifty? Five hundred?
There was that smile again, somehow more piecing than his blade. "That's what I'm trying to find out." | 2017-07-22T09:47:16 | 2017-07-22T05:38:54 | 52 | 27 |
[WP] The Illuminati is actually a gentlemen's club for the super-rich. Often men make high risk and dangerous bets/wagers such as: "I bet you can't destabilize Ukraine in under a week." One day you offer a wager to the most powerful member that's too irresistible to turn down. | I've always had a thing for risk.
At sixteen, I placed my first bet. $20 on the Super Bowl. Watching every play on the edge of my seat, I knew I'd found something special.
From there on, the bets got bigger; and bolder.
$200 on a high school softball game? Entertainment.
$250 on the Lithuanian women's rugby squad?
Warm-up.
$600 on whether or not I get arrested this weekend?
Why the fuck not?
When I outgrew friendly bets, I moved to online websites. The possibilities were endless. Eventually though, I wanted the real thing.
Vegas baby. Coke and strippers in all their glory. The only thing easier than making a few grand was getting laid. That's where I found the formula that would change my life.
By the time I had graduated college, I had profited several hundred thousand dollars over the course of four years. I would go on to use this capital and formula to create Investment Entertainment, the first ever sports-based mutual fund.
We catered mostly to older white men and, after my first million, they just kept coming.
Soon my clients included the rich and famous. Names such as Bill Gates, Jay-Z, and Justin Timberlake were regular "investors". That's how I got in.
As a glorified bookie, they soon took me under their wing. European coasts, exotic women, and the finest drugs became normal for me. I knew I was in, just not quite all the way. You know when a group likes you, but something is just off? That was me. I wanted, no, needed initiation.
One night, after a long day in the sun, that chance came.
Justin looked up from his scotch and said,
"Listen Shadrach, you're a good kid. We like what you're doing and want you to keep doing it. Hell, we want you here. Question is, do you want to be here?"
Now, when Justin fuckin' Timberlake invites you in, you don't think. You say yes.
Nearly choking on my cigar, I managed to sputter "Yes".
I could hear Jay-Z snickering at my enthusiasm but I didn't care- I was in!
As if he already knew what I would answer, Justin continued, "Here's the deal. We know you have brains. We know you have guts. We want to know if you have balls. What is the most audacious bet you would be willing to take?"
I thought for a minute. After all, this was right up my wheel house. I looked slowly around the plush interior of our room. As I did, a smile spread across my face. I knew what I had to do.
Turning to my right and with all the confidence I could muster I said,
"Jay, I"ll bet you $100 million that not only will I turn Beyoncé against you, but that I will also convince her to write an album about it named "Lemonade" in honor of the piss I am about to take on your life."
Jay responded, "If you havin' girl problems I feel bad for you son, I got 99 problems and a bitch ain't one. You've got a deal."
| I remember last week when they initiated me.
I was not rich, not popular, and not gong to tell anyone they existed. That's strange, they had no requirement to the godlike status of mankind. I was their newest pet member for only a week. But a member indeed.
They were impressed how well i could fend for myself in "their world" for that time. Managing to take their initial investment and keep my place on their expections and standards. They are as curious as they are enigmatic.
Now, im allowed to join their game. To dare anyone anything. And see if they could possibly or concievably pull it off.
And so, i suggested that the oldest loving member perform a task that i myself couldnt believe was possible until i saw it get so close to fruition.
Donald Trump actually might become president.... what a foolish thing i started. But it is as insignificant as all the printed money.
The value of this world is less than our fingertips. It will all blow over soon. But now i know, these guys can do it. I wonder what else i could learn. | 2016-08-23T18:05:50 | 2016-08-23T15:28:52 | 52 | 12 |
[WP] You are an Engineer who became a Wizard. Problem is, you discovered that some magic is practiced really inefficiently.
For example, no one thought to optimize fire magic by pressurizing the fire with wind magic. | "Malzago's Magic Mirror," I said, conjuring the little disc in my hands. "Is the fundamental basis of this spell. The mana strain of conjuring it is negligible, but more importantly, esteemed wizards, it is a *perfect reflector*. At all wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum."
​
The magus team sitting before me shared mixed reactions; two of the five looked on with polite boredom, unimpressed that my thesis began with a conjuration spell most commonly associated with vanity. Julis Venat, the most senior of the five, was dutifully following along, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he conjured his own magic mirror. And the last two had perked up as soon as the words 'perfect reflector' and 'electromagnetic spectrum' hit their ears.
​
"We shape the magic mirror into a vessel, perfectly flat on the bottom, perfectly circular on all sides. Into the space of the vessel, we conjure Razat's Reconaissance Ruby. Leave it inert; the important function of this spell is not what it does, but what it *is*. A perfectly crystalline ruby. Cap the other end with another Malzago's Magic Mirror, but alter the shape to permit a small hole in the center."
​
As the maguses watched and followed along, one particularly enterprising magus jumped ahead, and a thin red dot appeared on the ceiling. Immediately, he smiled. Julis Venat grew even more thoughtful; and moments later his own dot appeared on the ceiling above him, and then shifted rapidly through different spectrums as he cycled different magical gems in the vessel.
​
"As some of my esteemed colleagues have already determined, a conjuration of basic Light within the vessel completes the system. For your consideration, I present Litolo's Luminous LAMSER, light amplification through magical stimulation of electromagnetic radiation."
​
"What are the applications of this, applicant Litolo, beyond making a colorful dot appear?" asked Julis Venat. The tone of his question gave everyone in the room pause; it was the sound of a profoundly powerful wizard deep in thought.
​
"The efficiency of the light emission, coupled with the perfect reflectivity of Malzago's Magic Mirror, makes weaponization of this system trivial. The radiation cross-section of the beam concentrates enormous energy density in a small area; I would ask that my esteemed colleagues refrain from giving this system more than a trickle of mana unless they wish to start fires, or cut steel." I began. "But I feel that weaponization of this system is the least interesting application. Coupled with Cuthbert's Chromatic Chronometer and an additional mirror, I've already been able to measure the speed of light travelling in air to extraordinary precision. You'll see in my enclosed thesis that interference of the beam wavelengths through additional demi-reflectors begins allowing us to make extraordinarily precise measurements."
​
I made it halfway through my explanation, and Venat had stood, his hands waving in the air as he conjured, overhead, a conceptual system; four beams, eight demi-reflectors, and coherent light splitting through all of them. I had been in Venat's presence before, and his power was terrifying... but now I knew that even with an ounce of power, it was his mind that had elevated him to his esteemed position. Power had followed.
​
"Applicant Litolo," Venat said. "Please seat yourself outside, while we discuss your application."
​
I bowed, and left the chambers. My applicant assistant looked up, and broke into a smile as I raised my eyebrows at him.
​
"Think you're in?" he whispered, as I sat down alongside him.
​
"Venat conjured an interferometer using my system," I replied, breaking into a grin. "Yeah. I think I'm in." | I stood across from thousands of wizards given one order - kill me. I didn’t take it personal, though. They wanted the kingdom, and I was standing in their way. Either I moved, they thought, or I’d be as good as dead. Same for me. Of course, they all knew I wasn’t going to move, and I the same for them. So this, like all others, would turn into an all out battle until I - or them - was obliterated.
My mouth curved into a smirk as one, then two, then all of the wizards on the other side pulled out their wands. I pulled out mine in response. Might as well have some fun, I thought. Not too often something like this happens. Every wizard then put their wand up, waved them around, and pointed them toward me. Thousands of fireballs rushed toward me, faster than sound, as I did nothing. I waited, letting the fireballs get closer and closer, until they were so close I could smell the burning. It’s not fun without a little stress, after all. I picked my wand up, waited until my vision was only fire, and threw it down.
The red/orange flash of fire quickly changed as I looked upon my friend, with a poker face so bad it was practically glass.
“What were you thinking?” He shouted. “You could have gotten yourself killed!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t. You were there to get me in time. Besides, tell me that wasn’t fun.”
I pointed at the battlefield I recently left, and the cloud of fire rising and rising. No wizard could have survived that.
“You like that, huh? Well, keep doing that and soon enough you’ll be finding yourself in your own explosion as your friend is nowhere to be found.”
“Wouldn’t you like that,” I quipped back before turning around to look him in the face again. There seemed to be a fire of his own on his face. I chuckled and walked away.
I wonder how long it’ll take for them to figure out about atoms, I thought, as I flicked my wand and my visions changed again. | 2019-04-26T07:00:22 | 2019-04-26T06:12:53 | 47 | 15 |
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist. | Most descriptions of death involve walking into the light, or darkness and only darkness.
This wasn't what I felt.
I had lived a good life. Being a dentist had it's ups and downs, but there was always a demand. More importantly, it felt good to be helpful.
Retirement was nice. Seeing the grandkids grow up was amazing. None of them wanted to be dentists, which was a bit of a bummer, but then again, they were probably tired of grandpa giving them a new toothbrush on every holiday. At least all but Johnny, my third grandson, didn't blame me about how much cavities hurt.
I remember dying. You might be inclined to thinking that my memory would be hazy, or I'd have locked it away. Memory works differently here. It's actually kind of miraculous: I remember feeling old age creep in \- the dulling of memories, the names on the tip of my tongue \- but it's crystal clear here. I feel like I have time to remember anything I want; I try to focus on the good things \- my wife and kids, mostly.
I do dwell on dying though. I remember the myocardial infarction \- the sudden, rising pain; the shortness of breath. I remember them trying to revive me \- something I could NOT possibly remember from my own body. I remember part of the ambulance ride. And then, there's nothing but this place.
It's a waiting room. Not like my office's; more like a restaurant that has a two\-hour waiting list. There's lots of us here, but we're alone with our memories. No one talks to anyone else. No one talks to me, and I don't talk to anyone. I think it's a mixture of fear and grief; we all know we're all dead, but how can we care about others when we also need comfort?
Every once and a while, a name is called. The room is huge, and I can't always see it, but someone always gets up and goes to the door. I can't see in the door \- I tried to look up once, but it hurt my eyes. It was just.... gray.
After so much time \- it felt like forever, but time is also weird here \- I hear my name.
"Dr. Jacobson, the specialist will see you now."
I don't see anyone beckon. I don't need to. I stand up and walk toward the door. Well... my body does this. I'm just along for the ride, I suppose. I try to think about my family \- even Johnny, who refused to be in a picture with me, ever. It keeps me calm \- not that I could scream.
I walk through the door.
I no longer get a feeling of a restaurant or a doctor's office; instead, it's an office. It's a nice office \- reminds me of the dean of the dentistry school's, though how I remember what it looked like is beyond me. I take a seat, and a moment later, someone comes in and sits down across from me.
"So, Dr. Jacobson... mind if I call you Edward?"
Across for me is a hooded figure. I can't see the facial features; the robe is flowing, and his hands are gloved. I find myself able to speak.
"No, Edward or Ed is fine."
The voice emanated from the hood. It was odd; it wasn't a recording, but it reverberated on occasion. "Ok, thanks Ed. So I'm sure you know why you're here..."
"Not really, no. I mean, I know I'm dead, but I always thought there would be something on the other side."
"Oh, there is. But we have to be sure. That's why the waiting room is so... neutral. No sinner deserves the wonder of Heaven; no innocent deserves the torment of Hell. So we make it as neutral as possible while you wait."
"Wait for what?"
The hooded figure chuckled. "Why, for me, of course. I adjudicate cases. I help determine which way you should go." The gloved hands point up and down.
Time was far different in this room; it was almost like living. Fear washed over me; had I been good enough for Heaven? I wasn't the most devout person. I could feel myself sweat, and tears starting to well up.
"Oh, there's no point in that. You lived your life, and it either was good or bad."
"How... how do you know what it will be?"
"It's simple really. Everything is interconnected. Everything you did was good and/or bad. It all weighs out. You know why you made the decisions, and we know all of that as well. But, there's a test."
"What test?"
"Well, in a moment, all the pain you caused in your life will come back to you. You will feel whether or not you were good; I'm just keeping score."
"How? When?"
"Don't worry about how. How is our little secret. When is a better question. Now."
My teeth hurt instantly. It was a weird pain \- as a dentist, I could not describe it. Certain teeth hurt more \- the damnable second molars hurt. My lips felt like they were going to fall off.
At the same time, I felt... relief. None of the teeth hurt. Occasionally, there'd be a flare up, but they felt... better.
I remembered every fight with my wife. I remembered my brother disowning me. I remembered my parents dying. I remembered breaking a knick\-knack when I was 4. I remembered submitting my third patient ever to collections. I remembered disappointing my patients when I retired. I remembered a malpractice suit that was settled. I remembered my very first dental professor frustrated at my bad grades. I remembered graduating. I remembered EVERYTHING.
I remembered Johnny. My own grandson! I felt his fear of me, and it roil into hate. I remembered his scream when I first spun up the drill, his scream of pain from drilling into that accursed second molar. I remember finishing up, and him jumping out of the chair, running out to the waiting room, and hiding behind my daughter\-in\-law, like I was a monster from under the bed.
I cried.
"OK, we're all done here, Dr. Jacobson. Congratulations!"
I choked through tears. "Wait... what?"
"Oh yes, I've seen what I need to see. You caused so much pain \- but to the end of so much relief to pain you didn't cause \- well, mostly. You felt guilt about slights and wrongs you had done. You did good things and tried to help people. You WERE good. Not great, but good!"
I couldn't feel any joy. "But my own grandson hates me! He thinks I would hurt him!"
The hooded figure chuckled again. "Huh, you're really stuck on that one. OK. Well, I have to put it in perspective. What I should do is simply pull down my hood, to show you how little it matters. But it does matter. It matters to you, and it really does matter to him. So let me take you on a little sightseeing tour. I shouldn't do it, but you already got a good result."
"Huh?"
I blinked \- and I was outside my old office. It looked... different. I went up to the door, and saw the stenciled lettering.
Jacobson Family Dentistry
Dr. John Wertzbach, D.D.S.
I ran inside. There was Johnny. Oh, he was much older, but it was him. Same little scar below his left eye; same dark hair that needed a trim.
I heard a voice behind me. "This is part of why you got Heaven as well. Sure, you hurt him, and he hated you for it. After you passed, he felt bad. Had to see a therapist for months."
I welled up.
"Then, in high school, he told his parents something. He told them he trusted you, and had felt betrayed, but now realized you only wanted to help him. His parents had known he felt guilty, but he described how deep the mental scar went. He said he wanted to help people too \- and you had helped your family enough that they could enabled him to do just that \- by paying for college. He chose dental school."
I cried again. I smiled and laughed, but kept crying.
"Your wife put up the money for his first practice. It wasn't much, but it was enough for one bit of sentiment: this building. He literally followed in your footsteps, Johnathan. He's actually pretty good at it. He doesn't have nearly as much trouble with those second molars."
"... thank you."
"No problem, but now you need to move along. I have to get to my next customer..." He flipped a chart in his hand, "A televangelist. Oh boy, I get to share the bad news." | “See that old rusted truss bridge over there, babe?”
“Yeah.”
“When I was a boy, we used to jump off that bridge into the lake below. I haven’t thought of it for a very long time.”
Nancy looked deeply into her husband’s eyes and raised her wine glass.
“Cheers to a great career and the great life you have made for yourself, Robert.”
Robert, or Dr. Smiles as everyone knew him at his longtime practice, raised his glass.
It was a perfect way to begin his retired life.
Lake Minofranco was the place his parents traveled every summer in his childhood. Nancy had surprised him with a vacation there. It was his first time back in nearly fifty years. In little lake towns like that, very little changes; it brought him back to a place within he had forgotten long ago.
The next morning, Robert and Nancy went to a small fish and bait store to pick up some goods for the next week. While Nancy talked to the clerk at the front desk, Robert mosied to the back of the store.
In the non-perishables aisle, an old stock boy with a potbelly and thinning hair placed canned beans onto the shelf. He mumbled the Beach Boy’s “Surfin USA” to himself. Robert stopped and looked at the man who abruptly stopped mumbling. The two made eye contact for a moment. The old stock boy, who had a lopsided head and crossed eyes, groaned.
The clerk hollered across the counter, “Billy, stay focused now. We have several more boxes that we need to stocked before the afternoon rush.”
The old man went back to work, mumbling “Surfin USA.” The clerk apologized.
The afternoon sun sat high in the sky. Robert and Nancy sunbathed on the deck of their minimalist designed penthouse deck.
“Babe, I’ve just been feeling out of it all day.”
“Too much sun for you?”
“No, it’s just –
–
–
Then, there was nothing.
It was like that unfamiliar feeling in between a dream and waking up.
How long had everything been like this?
Robert –
Who was that?
Robert –
Where was it coming from?
Robert – goddammit! Open your eyes.
It all came to him. Robert was in the lobby of his dental practice, but he was completely naked.
An indiscreet man sat in front of him in a 1920s style black suit.
“Am I dead?”
“Almost, but we have a few things to wrap up before filing the paperwork”
“Paperwork? I need to get back to my wife. I’m supposed to be at Lake Minofranco.
“I know, buddy,” said the man as he took a sip of his scotch. “It’s never a good time to kick the bucket, but where you’re heading – what could’ve been doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Look – I’ll keep it simple. You’re either going to Heaven, where you can do whatever you please. For all we care, you could sit by a lake with your wife forever. …Or you’re going to Hell.”
“Hell?”
“Yeah. It’s worse than it sounds.”
“I’ll do anything. Just let me see my wife.”
“Well, Dr. Smiles, you need to survive 31,251 cavity fillings, 13,301 extractions, 9,011 root canals, as well as all the other nasty things you have done to people.”
“Oh god.”
And instantly, Robert was in his own dental chair. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t run.
The drill began with a hiss. No novacaine – just the old tools of the 1980s, the early days of his practice. The process was terrible. The nerves in his mouth jumped as the veins in his neck bulged.
Then it was over.
31,250 cavities to go.
And that’s how Robert’s existence went on. Time didn’t exist – only the pain. Sometimes it was excruciating. Other times, he felt desensitized to everything. The one constant was Nancy. The sad thought of her beside herself at Lake Minofranco motivated him.
When he finished his last root canal. Robert stood up from the dentist’s chair and let out a wail.
Back in the lobby, the indiscreet man was still working on his scotch.
“I did it,” said Robert. “Send me to Heaven now.”
The indiscreet man laughed.
“There is more to a man than just his profession.”
“What?”
“You said those words back on November 5th, 1997.”
“What do I have to do now?”
“I bet you weren’t thinking of Billy Mitchell when you said those words, huh? In fact I bet you never considered the pain you caused that boy until you saw him at the fish and bait store just a few hours ago.”
“Please no.”
And instantly, Robert was back at Lake Minofranco. Except the year was 1964.
Robert knew the day.
He stood on the truss bridge with a group of boys. He was twelve years old. It was exactly as he remembered, but something was different. He was no longer the leader of the group; this time he was the outcast.
Then he bust out singing “Surfin USA.”
Robert tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t.
The other boys snickered, and that’s when Billy Mitchell, now the leader, pushed Robert off the bridge.
Robert fell like a ragdoll towards the shallow end of the lake. He remembered how he laughed when he did the same to Billy Mitchell, the runt of the group years ago.
Then Robert felt a shock that sent him limp. Blood rushed down his face. He felt his memory go foggy, and his cognitive skills declined. The complex workings of his mind were gone.
Unlike the dentist chair, Robert became very aware of time. The embarrassment of being called retarded lasted longer. The inability to communicate or have a girlfriend became stronger. The frustration of never reaching his potential caused a deep depression.
The only thing that kept him going was Nancy. He was a shadow of himself, but Nancy would surely understand him. She loved him.
The years went by as the antithesis of a life he knew unraveled. He lived alone, stocked canned beans, got hollered at. Everyday.
Until one day in his later years. The summer crowd was coming into the bait and fish store.
Robert uncontrollably began to mumble “Surfin USA.”
That’s when he turned around to see Billy Mitchell – wealthy, handsome, and successful with Nancy on his arm. She kissed him before he mosied towards the non-perishables aisle.
The clerk hollered at him, “Robert, stay focused now."
Billy and Nancy smiled at one another, madly in love, before leaving.
Robert collapsed to the ground. He said, “Oh, god. Oh, god. Make it stop.”
And it did. | 2018-05-31T12:47:50 | 2018-05-31T11:46:39 | 928 | 118 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped. | "good morning, miss Anderson! What wonderful day this is huh? Just like yesterday and the day before!"
"why yes you're right mister Emmett today is a wonderful day just like yesterday and the day before!"
I grinned, I always had a crush on miss Anderson, the fact that I was talking to her so freely felt like a dream come true, there was no one who could get in my way, no one who could interrupt us, not her fucking husband nor other people.
It felt dirty
It felt unreal.
"Emmet, sweetie? Are you alright?"
*oh right, she always called me that... I didn't like it, it made me feel like she wasn't seeing me as a man but rather just a child*
"Emmet, are you alright?" I corrected her, yes that's better, that's what she should call me, just Emmett is fine.
"I always liked you miss Anderson" I said, my hands sweating.
"...I like you too... Emmet..." I said mimicking her voice. Her body remained unmoving, frozen. A feet in front of the other but never taking a step forward. I'd like to believe she was looking at me but I knew she was looking at nothing in particular.
"...I'm scared miss Anderson" I said " I'm so scared"
"please help me, tell me what should I do"
"tell me how... To get out of here..."
***
*it's just a matter of time*
I went out to my usual walks across the town, searching for something, something that could help me break out of this prison, but just like always, I find nothing. The snow falls from the sky but never reaches the ground.
"ah today is a wonderful day" I said "just like yesterday... and the day before..."
I kept walking. A year had passed since I stopped time and I still couldn't find the threat to my life, no matter how much I walked, no matter how much I looked around. Nothing changed, nothing ever changed.
I walked down a street whose name I could no longer remember, but my body always took me there, to the street where miss Anderson is. Talking to her was the only joy a had left
"hello miss Anderson, today is a wonderful day right? Just like yesterday, just like the day before..."
She didn't say anything.
"this is stupid" I said
"...you're stupid" I said to myself.
*what?*
"for how long did you think you could avoid death?" I snapped "every single time, every single *time* you stopped and changed the way things should have been, did you really think things would remain like that forever? silly you, silly Emmet it was only matter of time before something went wrong, before *someone* changed their approach"
"well then Emmett," I said my voice becoming a whimper "if you wanted eternity, then eternity is what you shall receive"
I laughed out loud, mi voice resonating across the silent streets and alleyways, it was a cry that slowly descended into endless sobbing.
But no matter how loud I cried no one listened.
***
***
I wrote this on my phone.. Hopefully it came out understandable! | The world is still, lifeless, dead. It would seem it takes my burden. A year has passed since anything moved. Anything. People stand still amidst the backdrop of soulless cities, like mannequins in windows. The birds are idle in the trees, no morning silence ever broken. The grass lies frozen in the land, no wind to move or sway it.
The world holds my mortal burden. It will not live until I am safe.
I wish I were dead. This is not a life worth living. Such a drab existence.
For one year I have lied to myself. For one year I have feigned ignorance to the cause of my eternal torment. What haunts me? What troubles me so? Fool. I knew all along.
This world is bland. This world is grey. I can pull no joy from its seams. I used to try, to claw in desperation at any modicum of colour, of life. All in vain.
My world is still, odourless, colourless, silent, languid. It was before time stopped.
That is why time crashed to a halt. To cease my course of action, to save me from myself.
\-
r/ShittyStoryCreator | 2018-07-04T13:38:26 | 2018-07-04T13:31:50 | 278 | 153 |
[WP] You gained immortality by absorbing thousands of souls. They have gotten used to it and act like Twitch chat watching a livestream of your life. |
If you had asked me when I was alive if getting my soul ripped from my body and absorbed into some cosmic being to sustain their eternal life could even in the most smallest of ways be a good or tolerable thing, I'd have said you were absolutely insane. There was no way I could imagine my life... or lack thereof... being anything like this.
**Good Morning Souls, I am awake now and taking requests for the week. Mondays, Fridays, and Saturdays are my demon sacrifice days so if you are squeamish or faint of heart please tune out of my consciousness on those days.**
That voice. That all present voice broadcasted to all of us. That was Linda. That's right. The all-powerful being that destroyed, dominated, and now imprisoned our immortal souls was named Linda. And we all referred to her by her first name. No honorifics, no Great Lord, or Supreme Goddess, just Linda.
She was hard to gauge, I mean yes, she was pure evil. Like murder and devour small children as their parents helplessly watched evil. But here she was giving her time to take requests from the souls she had devoured. And she always did stuff like this. I mean last month she travel around the globe visiting the living family of some of my fellow souls. The month before that, she particularly enjoyed carrying out acts of vengeance, almost nightly she'd engage in all kinds of perverse sexual acts for the more carnal minded of our community. You name it, if she is not fulfilling her blood oaths or furthering her prowess in the dark arts she gave it back to us.
**Alright SoulmanXxX, your request for a pizza with cuts of wagu steak and truffles as a topping is accept that sounds kind of interesting. BendyWendy6969, We already had our pagan orgy for the month, you're going to have to wait for that but you are welcome to revisit my memory log.**
She started to address the souls as they spoke up. Ever since the invention of the Internet she had started to use its structure to organize us as souls. It has been a few hundred years since I've been here in her mind space and the quality of life has never been so... well dare I say good. I mean to be honest it was amazing. I mean I was just some little farmer back in colonial times. Given the natural order of things, I'd have been dead long things like planes, the internet, skyscrapers, cars, or any other modern marvel had ever even been conceived let alone existed. But through Linda's eyes, we saw so much of the world. Not only saw... she could share all of her senses with us. Touch, taste, smell, hearing.... we lived through her.
**Kevin, Kevin. You're not doing your job. The heretics are trying to disrupt my consciousness. Kevin.... Oh that's better. Thank you Kevin, you're a doll. \~kisses**
That was me. I was so caught up in my thoughts I forgot I was a moderator. Of course not ALL of us lived in perfect harmony. Some still attempted to rebel against her, some just didn't accept the fact their lives were over because of her. They'd try to flood her mind with all kinds of thoughts when given the opportunity but a select handful of us were given the power to subdue their consciousness. All these sounds were a lot to manage and delegating out tasks made it easier for her to focus on her life. And the better she could focus on her life the more time she has to devote to us. She made so much available to us. Hell if you didn't like what she was doing you could turn off and on your consciousness. Or better yet...
Her memory logs. You could travel to anywhere in her memories and relive them. And oh man, Linda was thousands of years old. Of course there were souls higher ranking than me that categorized and organized those memories to make them available to us. She even had a small reserve of residual memories. Memories that were left over after absorbing a soul. Many souls here would just boot up a few of their own memories if they were lucky. Or peruse the memories of others... if they allowed it.
See we all interacted, so only memories we allowed to be shared were made available on the logs. Which was another great thing about this life....or lack there of. Some of the souls here were almost as old as Linda herself, so many interesting stories shared between us. We were giving a fair about of freedom for being imprisoned souls. Just as long as we didn't try to disrupt her consciousness or take over her mind, we had free reign almost. Surfing memories, catching up with what she was doing. Even during her slumber she set aside time for us to talk directly to her.
Why does she do all of this for us you wonder? Well mainly because she got tired of the constant wailing and suffering and the energy required to subdue them all. She always says the happier we are, the easier it is for her to go about her going. But it’s not all free of course. Each soul has its own life force, and that is the currency in her mind space. To make requests, to use the memory logs, to schedule one on one time. It all costs a bit of our life force. Of course acts of service like organizing memories, or moderating the soul chat earns life force. So as long as you are useful in her mind you can eke out a decent existence.
**Alright, Surprise Soulchat! We've found nosy boy sneaking around my home. I know it’s a little early for Torture Twosday but I need some ideas on how to make the child suffer. I'll take the top five suggestions and give out prizes. A month's worth of life force for places 5, 4, and 3. 6 month’s worth for second place. And for the Grand Prize....Your choice of a year's worth of life force or a whole week in the driver's seat. Kevin feel free to join in. I do so love your suggestions.**
Oh well, that's my cue. I have all the life force I needed but a week of being in control. That was too good to pass up. And after that I think I might visit Ancient Greece. I think she spent at least a few decades there and a few of those years I haven't even visited yet. | I used to like watching Twitch in my spare time. Fighting game tournaments, high level strategy games, classic VODs, a handful of my favorite streamers... I had Twitch on all the time, even in the background. It helped me feel less lonely in my empty apartment. I always had streamers to keep me company.
When I felt like paying a little more attention to the stream, I loved watching the Twitch chat as it scrolled by. It was surreal to see so many people talking almost coherently all at once. It was almost like being part of a hive mind.
It was fun to join in and contribute to the conversation sometimes, especially in the smaller streams with just a few viewers. I liked browsing the less-viewed streams from time to time just so I could talk to the other viewers who had stumbled across the same tiny stream. I always felt a sense of kinship with my fellow viewers in those chats.
We didn't know each other at all, but we could still have decent discussions about the games we were watching. Talking late into the night with a stranger while we both watched another stranger play a classic game... It felt like we were experiencing the human condition together despite our differences. Rarely, I would offer some way of staying in contact after the stream, and we could talk again later. I made a few online friends this way.
Sometimes, though, it's better for strangers to stay strangers.
It late on a Friday night when I first met DrgnGrrl1. We had both stumbled across some teenager heavy breathing into a shitty microphone while he tried to speedrun an obscure WiiWare game on an emulator. The streamer was mostly oblivious to our conversation, but DrgnGrrl1 and I were having fun riffing on the janky speedrun tactics.
After a couple hours, the streamer fell asleep with his computer on. I muted his snoring and kept talking to DrgnGrrl1. It turned out we liked the same games, the same music, even the same food. We even watched the same streamers.
I wasn't expecting to start a relationship or anything, but I definitely wanted to stay in touch with this person. Whoever she was, she had good taste, and I figured she could at least recommend some other streamers to me. I mentioned that to her when I was getting ready to broach the subject of swapping contact info. She seemed immediately enthusiastic about showing me her favorite streamer as soon as possible.
I asked her when they stream, and she said the stream was live at that very moment. That struck me as odd. Why was she here talking to me instead of watching that? She didn't answer, but she sent a link to the chat and urged me to click on it. The chat there, she said, was her favorite on the entire platform.
I was curious. Why wouldn't I be? Participating in an active Twitch chat was such a unique experience, and every chat was different. DrgnGrrl1 had already demonstrated that she had good taste with this kind of thing, so I trusted her judgment.
I don't know exactly what I expected to happen when I clicked on the link. I hadn't even asked what kind of stream it was. I figured the chat is the important part anyway, and in a way, I was right.
The moderation team is good here. They keep the spam to a relatively low level, and they're more likely to mute someone than ban them. That said, they're very particular about enforcing the rules.
I've seen a lot of Twitch chats in my time, but this one has the strangest set of rules so far.
>-No emote spam in the chat
>-No praying in the chat
>-No souls may leave the chat unless banned
>-No spamming to beg for freedom
>-Keep off-topic messages to a minimum
>-All bans are permanent
>-Only the moderators may talk to Her
There are a lot of us in here. It's sometimes stressful, being unable to look away from the chat, but it's also oddly soothing. Seeing so many voices working together to discuss what She's doing... It's almost like being part of a hive mind.
We can only view Her desktop screen, and she doesn't have a microphone, but we can see enough to know what She's doing. She spends most of her time switching between her Twitch accounts and talking to the people watching small streams. It's how she gets more viewers, after all. | 2019-09-27T05:09:29 | 2019-09-27T04:46:06 | 161 | 34 |
[WP] In a world where everyone discovers their superpower at age 5, you discover that your child has the ability to bring small toys to life. Things seem fine until he comes across your Warhammer 40k miniature collection... | "Ari, sweetie? Lunch is ready!" Ana called out for her daughter from the kitchen, a plate with a sandwich in her hand. A girly giggle followed by a deep burbling, wet belly laugh and a squelch reminiscent of wet skin hitting concrete made her freeze.
Ariadne had just turned five, and they had discovered her innate power brought toys to life. It had been an interesting morning waking up that day with a stuffed shark gnawing on Ana's toes, and Skeletor trying to stab her husband Joe in the eye.
Looking down the hallway, Ana's eyes widened when she saw her husband's office door ajar. "Jesus fucking Christ," she whispered, the phone to her ear already as she started towards the bathroom next to the office.
"What's wrong Ana?"
"Did you lock your office this morning?" she asked, turning on the tub faucet and directing the water to gather in her hands as she held the phone between her ear and her shoulder.
"…fuck. Which army?"
"Sounds like a Great Unclean One to me, but I haven't walked in there yet. I'm getting water ready as we speak. I'll try to hold him off, but you know how chaos rolls. Think you'll be here in twenty?"
"I'll try and cut it down to fifteen. Why couldn't she have gone for the dwarves or the Space Wolves?"
"She is her father's daughter. She-" she paused as about fifty Nurglings ran past her chasing their large cat Beans. "Goddammit, she got the Nurglings for sure."
"Motherfucker! We'll be finding them for months! I'm in the car, just hold on until I get there."
"I'm sorry babe. I know how much they mean to you."
"Yeah, I'm sorry too."
Water swirled around Ana as she approached the door, stealing herself for the fight of her life.
-----------
With a deep sigh, Joe reached for the last Plaguebearer, who snarled with malice as he brandished his shovel menacingly. Soon as his fingers touched the animated model, it began to dissolve into dust.
Ana had Ari seated in the living room, a wall of water between them and the office. Ari looked sad but resigned.
"He just looked so happy. And he was! He made me a pretty flower." She held out a fleshy blossom that stank of rot. Ana sighed and handed her a plastic cup of water that immediately turned sludgy when the plant's stem made contact.
"It's done." Joe called, sounding extremely depressed.
"Not quite," Ana said, pointing to the Nurglings riding the cat. "It could have been worse, though. At least you don't play Khorne." | Precious Charlie. Sweet, little, innocent Charlie. She was just a petite little lass, barely able to fit into size one shoes. She was sweet as candy too! She loved to grab her little dolls and legos we got her to life. We never worried much about them, they were small and she would turn them back when she was done. But to do that, she has to touch them. When she found out, when WE found out that it’s not as easy to touch a massive man in huge armor with a heavy flamer in hand as is a lego, we were surprised to say the least. A terrifying week that was, couldn’t get the sucker put down until a the Power police came and shut him down. They wanted to take my little Charlie too, but I wouldn’t let them. Needless to say, I put them in a storage unit as fast as I could after that incident. | 2020-12-02T19:08:03 | 2020-12-02T15:34:47 | 242 | 73 |
[WP] You have just gained superpowers. Unfortunately, nobody can comprehend that you have no intention of being a hero or a villain. | It had been a long week. So long in fact, that Aaron’s reaction to the sedative in his face on the walk home was relief, that he’d get to sleep uninterrupted for at least a little while. When he was shaken awake, he looked around. Only a door, the chair he was tied to, and the chair of the masked man opposite him broke up the monotony of bare concrete. Just like the last two rooms.
“I heard you turned down the League, Aaron Johnson.” Aaron could tell the man’s voice rasped, even without the mask filtering it further. “Smart move, boy. Do you know how many *heroes* die each year? It’s even worse for the rookies. In large part, that’s because my organization kills ‘em. So, since you passed the basic test of intelligence by not joining the losing side, I’m here to make you an offer.”
Aaron nodded along, his new superpower hard at work,
“I’m… flattered? But why’d you kidnap me then?” The man rose and began pacing back and forth, arm carefully managing his cape to make sure it twirled dramatically at each turn.
“This is the headquarters of the Association, boy! I apologize for the theatre, but we can’t simply let an uninitiated supers enter, that would be asking for trouble if they figured out where we are. We’re the premier union of villains in Europe!”
Aaron pretended to be confused as his power finally connected him to the man’s sight and kept going deeper. Through the man’s eyes, he could see that he hadn’t been bruised up this time, and he gave silent thanks for small blessings. “Huh. That’s what the Federation said, but they claimed Eurasia was theirs too.”
“They’re… rivals. The title of best is admittedly up in the air right now.” The man coughed uncomfortably before re-rallying his enthusiasm. “They may be larger in numbers, but I assure you, we are the rising power, while they are on the decline. But if you turned them down, and the heroes-”
“I said no to the Cabal too,” Aaron added with fake helpfulness.
“Well, splendid!” The man sat back in the chair and waved a hand. The ropes holding Aaron untied themselves. “It seems you chose wisely and waited for the best offer. Welcome to the Association.”
“Yeah... about that.” Aaron’s power finally worked, seizing control of his captor’s mind. He gave a quick look at his memories, shying away once he had the passwords for the building and the route out. “Why don’t you just keep sitting there? In fact, why don’t you tie yourself up and then forget how to use your powers?” He breathed a sigh of relief when that order actually worked. He was still trying to find his limits, and it wasn’t like he could ethically practice on many people.
It took most of the night, and a judicious use of mind control, but Aaron got out of the headquarters, only to find that it was in the Arctic. He stifled his moral qualms long enough to take over one of the Association’s helicopter pilots for a stealth flight home.
It was noon by the time he got back. He groaned when he recognized the van in the driveway. White sides. Too-clean license plate. Perfectly clear console. The League again. He forced himself to hurry despite his reluctance, since he knew his parents would be at least a bit worried.
“Mom, Dad, I’m here,” he called through the door. As he opened it, he continued, “Sorry I didn’t call, the helicopter didn’t have outgoing communications.” His mother was at the door as he finished speaking. She grabbed him in a hug the second he got his shoes off, but he was happy to see she hadn’t been crying this time. He supposed she’d started getting used to the kidnappings too, and this had to be the only situation where that was a good thing. His father came at a more reasonable pace,
“You’re getting slower! You broke out two hours sooner last time. You’re supposed to get better at things with practice, not worse.” Before he could reply, his father hugged him too. In a lower voice, he added, “Glad to see you made it back ok, Aaron. League’s here again.”
“I know. I saw the van.”
The same super as last time, blue cape, clashing orange suit, finally joined them in the hallway. Aaron decided to cut the guy a little slack, since he seemed to have been waiting with his parents.
“Aaron, this can’t go on. You need protection. *Our* protection.” The hero held up a hand to forestall objections. “I know you don’t want to be a hero, I know you want to do other things with your powers. But there’s a reason everyone eventually picks a side, and you’ve been emphatic about not siding with the villains. That only leaves you with one choice if you don’t want your life to be a constant string of kidnappings framed as recruitment pitches. It’ll only get worse now that you’ve rejected the big three. Every tiny wannabe villain gang is going to want you. Mind control isn’t a power that crops up very often, and it’s a game changer for any up-and-coming gang that gets a hold of it.”
“Tell me, um, Greywing?”
“Greatwing.”
“Greatwing, what would I be doing? As a hero, I mean. Day to day.”
Greatwing cocked his head to the side, “Fighting villains, saving people, and defending the world when worst comes to worst. You’ve seen news reports, and despite what some may say, those reports are actually pretty representative of the kind of work we do.”
“I’m sorry, I framed that badly.” Aaron rubbed his eyes; it turned out that unconscious sleep wasn’t actually that restful. “Let me rephrase that. How *much* would I be doing?”
“We patrol a lot, but I assure you, we don’t get into a fight every day.” Aaron shook his head.
“That’s the problem!” He gestured vaguely around. “I’ve been thinking-”
“In between the kidnappings,” his father muttered,
“-about what I *could* be doing. I’m pretty new to my powers, but I’ve already found I can read and change memories. I could help trauma victims, and assist a hundred people a day. I just found out I can command people to do things in my latest escape. I think I can use that to cure addiction, especially if the person is helping me change them, rather than resisting. Maybe I could, I don’t know, um, help people who can’t talk, still communicate. I’m still thinking this over, but I’m sure that I’ll help a lot more people than if I put on a suit and wandered around the city, stopping a crime every few days.”
“That doesn’t solve your problem,” Greatwing noted. “Kidnappings? There’ll be turf wars in this city to take control of your route to school, the shops you visit, and more. We can defend the house easily enough, but we can’t have a hero permanently assigned to follow you.”
“One, I mean, two points!” Aaron rifled through his coat pocket and pulled out a USB stick. “First, I got this from the Association on the way out, it’s got membership rolls, financial records, whatever I could get in a couple of minutes. And, uh…” He took a random receipt from the entrance table and scribbled some numbers on the back. “I can’t make sense of these, but my interrogator, or interviewer or whatever he was, thought they were the location of the Association’s base. So point one!”
He handed the memory stick and the receipt over to Greatwing. “I’ll absolutely wreck anyone who tries recruiting me from now on. And second, well… would the League be interested in getting some help some of the time? At least in one place?”
The next month, a new supervillain emerged. Mindgame took over Liverpool and ruled with an iron fist. Competitors were driven out, often turned over to authorities, and no new recruits were accepted into his gang. News of his many crimes spread, as rumors among villains and reports from the Heroes’ League, but so secretive was he, so cunningly diabolical, that there was never any evidence. In fact, for entire months, there seemed to be no crimes committed at all.
Mind control will do that, people whispered. Best leave Liverpool alone. After all, even the League doesn’t dare bother him much.
A few villains thought differently, suspecting some kind of trick. But they soon changed their minds. | One average Friday night, on the way back from the bar, my best friends decided to ambush me.
“Whoa!” I said drunkenly, stumbling a bit, as Alicia and Dionne each grabbed an arm and pulled me into an alleyway. “The hell is this?”
“Maya,” Alicia said seriously, staring at me in the eyes. Her makeup had gotten all smushed after she made out with that emo-looking guy with the bangs on the dancefloor, so right now she looked pretty silly. I giggled, then silenced after she repeated again in a serious tone, “Maya.”
“What?” I said, feeling slightly defensive.
“Maya,” Dionne said, swaying a bit in her heels. “Maya.”
“What?” I demanded, getting annoyed.
“This is an inter… an inter… damn it, what’s the word?” Alicia said.
Dionne burped. “An intervention?”
Alicia nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes! That’s it. An intervention, Maya, love. And you need it badly.”
Frowning, I phased through my friends’ grip on my arms, though it was kind of hard to do when I was drunk. Alicia and Dionne stumbled forward, no longer holding onto me, and hit the wall.
“Is this about my drinking?” I asked. “Because if so, that’s bull. Alicia is the one that needs help, not me.”
“It’s not about anybody’s drinking,” Alicia snapped. She turned around with a scowl and blew some hair out of her face. “It’s something much, much more important than that. It’s about what you just did right now.”
In the corner of my senses, I heard the faintest sound of a footstep further down the alleyway. Turning that direction a little unsteadily, I sharpened my vision and saw a greasy-looking man with desperate, maddened eyes inch his way closer to us from the shadows. Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my friends.
“Look,” Dionne said, laying a hand on my shoulder. I was tempted to phase through it so she’d fall on the ground, but that’d be a pretty dick move. “Maya, this is about your powers.”
“What about my powers?” I said, eyes narrowing. The urge to phase through Dionne’s hand was growing stronger.
“Love, listen to me,” Alicia said in a tone that I’d only heard once before, when she talked me out of getting that tattoo of Derrick’s name—and thank God she did. “You are my best friend. I would take a bullet for you, but that’d be really unnecessary of me because it’d probably just bounce off you. But still, it’s the thought that counts, right? Anyways, what I’m trying to say is… what am I trying to say, Di?”
Dionne snorted. “What Dumb-Dumb is trying to say is that maybe, just maybe, you’re kind of using your powers in a irresponsible way.”
“How dare you,” I whispered, totally offended. “What I do with my powers is none of your business.”
“It is a personal thing,” Dionne agreed. “But, we’re your best friends. If we can’t intrude on your personal stuff, who can?”
I tried to argue against that point but couldn’t really find the words.
“Maya,” Alicia said, “I think it’s *so* cool that you have powers. Seriously, it’s kick-ass. I don’t have to carry around my pepper spray anymore when we go to these sketchy places late at night. I don’t have to worry about you when you refuse to take a cab home with us. I don’t have to do a lot of things anymore! But using your gifts to impress hot guys at the bar is kind of a waste. Especially when I’m pretty sure you might be the strongest Powered person in the City.”
That greasy guy was getting closer to us. It was hard to differentiate smells in the City, but his stench—a combination of booze, cigarettes, and lust—was starting to overpower everything else. And that was impressive considering how much perfume Dionne lathered on herself every night we went out.
“It is pretty awesome watching you destroy men triple your size in arm-wrestling,” Dionne admitted, “but… I don’t know, Maya. It feels like you could do so much more.”
“I could do more,” I said, trying to relax a bit, “but guys, come on. It’s me. When have you ever known me to do anything, well, *more?* I’m trying to graduate college, become a veterinarian, then retire in the woods. That’s all I want to do with my life, okay? And I think that choice of mine should be respected.”
“I do respect your choice,” Alicia said earnestly. “It’s totally respectable. But isn’t there some saying like, ‘With great strength comes great responsibility?’ What about that, Maya?”
“What about it,” I said in a flat voice.
Dionne sighed. Alicia rubbed her face.
“Look,” I said, wrapping my arms around my best friends in the world. “I love you guys. I love you for trying this stupid intervention. I know you mean the best. But seriously, if I tried to be a Hero, I’d probably mess things up more. You two know how clumsy I am. If I showed up to a scene with an active Villain, I’d piss my pants and mess up the whole fight. I am not cut out to be a Hero. But, maybe, you’re not totally wrong. Maybe I could be doing more with my powers. One sec.”
I unwrapped my arms from Alicia and Dionne, who were staring at me with confusion, as I stepped away and towards the greasy guy. He was about six feet away from us and taking shelter behind a stack of near-rotten wooden crates. I could hear his heart race faster as I got closer. The gross guy even licked his lips, and the sound made me want to throw up.
When I got close enough, the guy leapt out, and Alicia and Dionne screamed as the skinny man lashed out a knife, greedy lust flashing in his eyes.
I let the knife hit me. The blade shattered against my skin. The greasy man’s eyes widened in understanding, but it was too late.
My leg shot out and, despite the fact I was hearing heels, I executed a perfect side kick with just the right amount of force. My foot slammed into the side of the man’s ribs, cracking, but not breaking, quite a few of them. He collapsed on the ground with a moan.
“Ohmygod!” Dionne shouted, just as Alicia let out a whoop of excitement.
I picked up the would-be attacker with a single hand and shrugged, a shy smile on my face.
“Maybe, I could do some more smaller stuff like this?” I said.
Dionne and Alicia looked at each other. Both of them rolled their eyes.
“So dramatic,” Alicia muttered.
---
*Fridays are for the girls, powered or not. /r/chrischang* | 2021-06-01T18:11:08 | 2021-06-01T17:22:48 | 136 | 64 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Bryce Morrison thought he had it all: a loving wife, a charming son, and a satisfying job. Yet there was something that nagged at him - a constant feeling that he wasn't good enough.
On The Day of the Mugs, his suspicions appeared to be confirmed. "#598,432 Dad." The jarring bold words remained seared in his memory throughout the day, clouding every action and every word.
After work, Bryce returned to an empty house. Marie was out for dinner with friends and Billy had soccer practice. Perhaps a few hours of SportsCenter would help ease his mind. But alas, there came a sudden knock at the door.
"Hey there, bud!"
Bryce opened the door to discover Tom Gilbert, a fellow father from across the street. He clutched a mug in his hand that read "#49,534 Dad."
"I was just wonderin' if you had any interest in a nice homemade hamburger. We've got some leftovers from the cookout."
Bryce narrowed his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking of cooking a bit myself. Mind if I drop by?"
Tom took a sip of his drink and lifted an eyebrow. "Uhhh...sure. By all means."
Bryce ran back to the kitchen and pulled a fresh ground beef patty out of a refrigerator drawer. He bolted across the street, dropped the patty on Tom's grill, and started to cook it. *This'll be the best damn burger ever made,* he thought. *I'll show that smug bastard.*
It was, by all accounts, a pretty damn good burger. Tom took a bite and gave him the thumbs up.
***
The next morning, Bryce's mug read "#432,726."
Not good enough.
Bryce asked to take his vacation early, left a note for the family, and began searching for every potential dad in the county. He went to small businesses, office buildings, parks and parking lots, challenging anyone that would listen. He fixed motors, went fly fishing, played 30 rounds of golf and showed impeccable taste in microbreweries.
As the week progressed, his rank continued to climb. But at a certain point - roughly 200,000 - it plateaued.
For a moment, Bryce was tempted to smash the mug, right then and there. He tried some more Dad Tasks - refurbishing a porch, buying a new polo wardrobe - but nothing worked. The rank plummeted, and soon it was back in the range of 500,000.
Bryce drove home, dejected. He'd been texting Marie throughout the week, but she didn't seem to understand the nature of his quest. Then again, how could she?
His wife and son embraced him the moment he stepped inside.
"Daddy, I missed you!" Billy cried, dropping his Lego truck to the ground. Marie looked understandably irritated but kissed him on the cheek nonetheless.
Bryce sighed. "I just couldn't stand it. I never thought I was a good dad, and that mug proved it."
Marie chuckled and shook her head. "What's a number got to do with anything?"
Billy hugged his father's leg. "I love you no matter what, Daddy!"
Bryce smiled and patted him on the head.
Over the next few days, the rank on the mug slowly began to climb again, but it sat dormant in a kitchen cabinet. Within a week, Bryce forgot it had ever existed.
*I might not be perfect,* he decided. *But I'm good enough.*
***
Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites. | "Dad?"
"Dad are you ok?"
I stood there speechless for what felt like forever. Up until this moment my life had been what most would call perfect. A loving, caring wife. An adoring son. The irony that the gift from his last Father's Day that brought joy to my heart is now the source of this terrible anguish.
My wife and I have been together for 13 years, and for the most part we've had a wonderful relationship. The spark is still alive and well, but early on we went through a really rough patch. I was working a ton of late nights, she felt neglected and the spark was fading. She decided to go stay with her mother for a while, we didn't talk for almost a month. Well that was all the wake up call I needed.
It took a lot of work but we began "dating" each other again and found that groove again. In fact, things were the best they'd ever been. It wasn't long after Ethan was born. She had some complications during labor and the doctors thought we might actually lose both of them, but the good man upstairs was gracious, and they both pulled through. I'm a blessed man, and I thank my lucky stars every day for them, and do everything I can to show my appreciation to them in as many ways as possible.
So when I got a text this morning about this stuff with the "#1 Dad" mugs actually displaying a true ranking didn't really have me that worried, but standing here now I can honestly say that I didn't see this coming. Each word cutting deeper than the last.. "You Are Not The Father." | 2021-11-17T12:05:14 | 2017-06-11T10:22:32 | 4,068 | 30 |
[WP] Years after the zombie apocalypse society has been in most cases, normalized. NYC was walled off and the dead still roam outside the city limits. You’re a member of a small task force within the NYPD only handles zombie related cases. To your surprise, a call comes through. | The battery powered fan droned listlessly. A soft buzz, a small crack when it reached the apex of its turn, and a small buzz back. The office was hot now, the rolling blackouts lasting longer at a time. A thin man sat at a metal desk, inhaling cigarettes. He stubbed one out into the overflowing ashtray and sighed. "Not a bad retirement." He thought. "Least I'm not going over the top anymore."
The phone bolted on the wall started to ring. The man leaned up and furrowed his brow. He snatched the handset off the receiver. "Yea? Yea. Really? Don't fuck with me here. Ok. Ok." The receiver clicked back into place. His hand lingered on it for a moment while his eyes stared into space. He grabbed a coat and kicked his partner awake as he headed out the door.
"Come on. Biter in mid-town."
The other man who had been asleep in the corner scratched his head. "A biter? This far in?"
"Yea."
The crime scene told the same story. The partner had quarantined the area and told everyone to go back into their homes. The response team had gotten there quick. Everything was in lock-down. The detective leaned over the victim. Same thing he had seen a million times. But it was different when it was all alone. He was used to piles of the things, some still wriggling, all mindlessly scratching at one another. The detective swallowed hard. He took out the bolt-gun that hung next to his revolver and pressed it against the corpse's forehead. He closed his eyes and heard the squelch.
"What are you thinking?" The partner asked, crouching beside him.
"Still fresh. Only one of the things. If there were more we wouldn't have been able to ID the corpse. Any witnesses?"
"Just the caller." The partner waived to the response team. They brought over a thin man, pale and sallow.
"What happened here?" The detective asked standing up.
"You tell me bite patrol. I was walking home, heard a scream and found whatever was left of her." He said, jutting his chin at the corpse.
"You didn't see anyone coming or going?" The detective asked lighting a cigarette.
"Did I see a shambling corpse with a cannibalistic predilection? No I didn't see no fucking biter."
"Anyone, citizen. Did you see anyone."
"What, you think it was a biter? You think maybe someone was just having a bad day and decided to relieve some stress through some fine dining?"
"Thanks citizen." The detective said putting out his cigarette. "Take a statement from him, get him med-checked, and release him."
"Fuck you cop." The man said spitting on the detectives tie.
"Excuse me?" The detective asked. He was used to this kind of treatment. In fact, he only received this kind of treatment. But that was before there was the possibility he may actually have a job to do. Before the first bite over the wall in close to fifteen years.
"I told you to go fuck yourself. I know your kind. You were the ones on the wall fifteen years ago. The ones holding the trigger down when the refugees were trying to get past the checkpoint. You think you can stop this? You're already dead."
"We couldn't..." the detective started weakly. We couldn't do anything. We had to make a choice. The biters were closing in. We couldn't tell who was who. We needed to make sure the City was secure. We were afraid. I'm sorry.
The detective sighed. If saying it to himself every night for almost two decades didn't make him believe it, there was no reason to believe this man would.
"Just take him home and put him in lockdown." The detective said turning.
"I'll save you the trouble. I don't have a home. I don't have a citizenship number, and you wont be able to find my DNA in those files."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm an un-doc. I came here two years ago. I tried coming here fifteen years ago, but we both know how that went, don't we? I had to live off scraps and rot until I made it here."
The detective scratched his chin. That means the smugglers found a better way in. Or there were holes in the wall. Maybe even one a biter could get through.
"Take him to Riker's. If he doesn't have any bite just throw him with gen pop. Take DNA and fingerprints too, maybe there's a warrant out. And double the shifts on the wall, if there's a crack I want it found and patched."
The detective worked the rest of the night. The leads were dead. No one else had seen anything. The un-doc was the only one close when it happened, and he clamped shut after being processed in. The lab was still running the DNA and fingerprints, but nothing was standing out.
The detective went to Riker's.
The un-doc was brought to him behind a Plexiglas window. The detective lit a cigarette. "I know you hate us. I understand, and I don't fault you for it. But we need to make sure this doesn't continue. If one got over the wall, or under, or whatever, there could be a dozen more. A dozen turns into a hundred, turns into a thousand, and then we don't have a city. We may have a day left before anyone infected starts to turn. If it gets to critical mass, we can't go back. We need information."
"What information do you want?" Said the gaunt man, expressionless.
"Where did you get in? And what happened with the victim?"
"Do you know about how the infection works? How it spreads?" The gaunt man asked, still reticent.
"Of course I do. It starts as a flu, but more contagious. If you're within ten feet of a carrier its near guaranteed transmission. Within twelve hours the infected dies. Seventy percent of those who die from the infection come back as biters. Point-zero-zero-two percent of the population are immune, even to bites. You know this. You understand why we need to act fast. We are on the precipice of the second extinction level event of our lifetime."
"And why let a virus do what we're already capable of eh? Those statistics weren't right either. There is no one who is immune. That's just a lie spread so that the population thinks there's hope. If someone is immune, maybe they can make a vaccine. If there's a vaccine, maybe things can go back to normal."
"It's not a lie. I'm... I'm immune. You're right though. They never could find a vaccine. Or cure. They poked and prodded me for years and never got any closer." The detective looked away.
The gaunt man's eye went wide. He smiled showing crooked yellow teeth. "You're immune?" He asked, almost salivating.
"Yea. I am." The detective replied, rolling up his sleeve to show the bite-shaped scar on his forearm.
"Scratch your face." The gaunt man said leaning forward.
"What?"
"Scratch your face. Not hard. Just enough to leave a tiny mark. You don't have to break the skin. Just enough to make the blood rush to it. I'll tell you everything you want to know."
The detective shook his head. He looked back at the gaunt man, now pressed against the glass with unblinking anticipation. The detective reached his nail against his cheek.
His radio cackled to life. "Detective? This is St. Mercy hospital. We got a hit on the records." The detective walked away from the glass. He heard banging and shouting from the glass as the guards dragged the man away.
"Yea? What is it. Is he wanted?"
"No, he was... uh. I don't know how to say this detective, but he was a patient here until a week ago. When he died. We tagged him and bagged him. No vitals no nothing. We left him for the embalmer, but the bag was found empty. We we're investigating, but a blackout hit the cameras. The bag was full, the blackout hit, and then it was empty. I have no idea what happened to him. This guy was the victim you found?"
A loud banging echoed behind the detective. He dropped the radio and turned around. The gaunt man was standing over the corpses of two of the guards, blood dripping down his chin.
"I didn't lie. No one is immune. The only difference is those who are immune, like you, like me, we don't turn into biters right away. No, we don't turn until we die. But we're still all there when we do. No shambling and groaning from us. But we're still hungry. So tell me, is your heart racing? Or is it lying dead in your chest like mine?" | “Zombie Task Force,” said Johnson in a bored tone. “How may I—”
“My son!” cried a woman through the phone. Her voice was hysterical. “My son, please, my son went outside the walls!”
Johnson slowly took his feet off his desk. He had been lounging casually, expecting another mistaken call. In these days, who was ever actually in threat from a zombie?
He set his mug down. His voice sharpened. “Ma’am, where and how did your son go through the walls?”
“He and his friends found a hole,” sobbed the mom, her voice hitching. “I told him not to go outside but he wouldn’t listen! He never listens to me, and we got into a fight and he just left! Please, please, help him, it’s been two hours and he hasn’t returned a single call or text.”
Around the tight, cramped office, his team looked at him, curious. They could see the tenseness in his shoulders, and his tight, forcefully controlled voice. Putting the phone between his shoulder and neck, he made a few quick gestures: *son, two hours missing, outside walls, gear up.* The office was deserted immediately.
“Okay, ma’am,” said Johnson, thinking rapidly. “Here’s what I’m going to need you to do.”
---
“Shit, boss,” whispered Conway, “this is a real hum-digger we’re in.”
They were 10 miles outside the walls. Johnson had tracked the lost lamb’s cell signal to an abandoned clubhouse near Lake Success. There were a couple Slugs around, which the team had managed to avoid easily enough. Some Hares too, but those were dispatched quickly.
The real problem was the pack of Wolves. There were four of them, congregating aimlessly around the building. They knew *something* was inside but weren't quite sure what.
“Oh man, we’re going to die,” babbled Kevin, Mrs. Lee’s son. He was drunk and flushed red. Apparently, he and his friends had found this spot brimming with dusty bottles of liquor during one of their escapades. Thankfully, it was just Kevin here today. Johnson didn’t know if he could handle more drunk idiot children.
“Be quiet,” hissed Sendel, her wide eyes narrowed angrily. She peeked outside through a gap in the boarded-up window, her hands tightly clenched around a M4.
Kevin quieted, but there was a look of drunken obstinacy on his face.
“What’s the plan, boss?” asked Road, his broad face as impassive as ever.
“We’re going to have to split up.” Johnson hated saying it, but it was true. “The priority is returning Kevin home, no matter what. Sen, you’re going with him. Wait until you hear gunshots, go through the backdoor, loop around the Lake east. Avoid the path we took to get here; the Vultures will have set in by now.” Sendel gave a grim nod.
Johnson turned around. “Road, Con, take your silencers off. We’re going to be making a lot of noise. Any ‘nades?”
Road shook his head. “Armory wouldn’t let us take them out.”
“That’s fine,” he said, fuming inwardly. “That’s fine. Plan’s real simple, folks. We’ll all be back home for supper before long.”
“Who says ‘supper’ anymore, boss?” asked Con, rolling her eyes.
“What about me?” slurred Kevin. “What’s my role in the plan?”
Johnson unsheathed the knife strapped to his leg and pointed in the kid’s direction. “Your job is to listen to your fucking mother, you got it? She’s tearing her hair out in worry because of you and all for what? Because you wanted to get drunk?” Johnson realized he was half-shouting and tried to calm down. He couldn’t help it; the kid reminded him so much of himself when he was his age. Johnson hated his younger self more than anything in the world.
Kevin’s face paled and he nodded, his eyes affixed onto the dagger.
“Good. Sen, go. Get ready.”
Sendel grabbed Kevin by the scruff and hauled him to his feet. The two headed towards the back.
Johnson turned to Road and Conway. Both had their silencers off, safeties disengaged. All three of them had their knives out.
“Ready?” he asked, looking each of them in their eyes.
They nodded in unison.
“Go.”
All three sliced a cut into their palms with their knives. Blood began to well. A wretched, unnatural howling sounded outside. The humans burst through the door to meet the dead.
---
The fight was over in a few minutes, as all bouts with zombies are.
The Wolves came. They dashed on all fours like mad dogs. The remnants of their hair flapped in the wind, and their rotten, filthy tongues lolled in the wind.
Standing on the porch of the dilapidated clubhouse, the humans unleashed a wave of bullets in unison, arcing left to right.
Two of the Wolves *jumped* over the barrage, twisting mid-air in a strangely graceful move. The third slid underneath, only taking a shot in the shoulder. The fourth didn’t react fast enough and was shot in the head.
The human’s leader yelled a command, and two members stepped back to reload while the leader maintained fire up front. He targeted the healthy Wolves, who was snarling and yipping. The thrill of the hunt. The human leader felt it course through him too.
A tell-tale sound told him his team was done reloading. They began to fire, but a Wolf jumped, clearing over ten feet of land, and rammed into the soldier on his right, sending her flying through the boarded window inside the building.
No time to react. A second one jumped too, but the big man shot it down with surgical precision.
The leader dashed inside the building, but it was too late. His team member, a young woman recently engaged, was nothing more than a convulsing mass of flesh underneath a softly snarling Wolf.
He shot the zombie in the head once. Then twice. Then three times. He felt cold and scared. He stepped over and kicked the Wolf away. He couldn’t take his gaze away from the still body bleeding out on the floor.
The big man came in, slightly breathless. He saw the body, knelt to the floor, and began to cry.
The leader felt like crying too. Instead, he laid a hand on the other man’s shoulders.
“Come,” he said, whispering a goodbye inside his head. “We have to go.”
The crying man nodded once, made a sign of the cross, then stood. The two men fled out the back.
Outside, the howls began to ring.
---
check out my subreddit, /r/chrischang, for more (self-proclaimed) BANGERS :) | 2020-08-06T09:20:22 | 2020-08-06T08:20:41 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] You've been in the queue for two and a half years now. You gave up your job, your relationship... everything. You don't know what's through the Rift but the call of it was too strong to ignore. You're getting near the front and now and you're constantly bombarded with bribes by rich elites...
First time trying to submit a writing prompt. Sorry for not getting it mods. Hopefully I'll cop on eventually 😂 | "So, why are you here?" The scrawny onlooker squawked at me. His phone in my face. I turned away, ignoring him. Ignoring them all. I used to be on that side of the chain link fence. Then I heard 'the calling'. As they said. It was all WE could say. It's all I could say as to why.
The worst were the rich. They came in droves, bribing us to ask 'Them' to bring them through. Most only asked for singular visits. How lonely it must be to be rich. Some guaranteed that they would tell 'Them' of the rich persons charities and virtues. Or whatever was most valued to 'Them'. So long as their family would be taken care of as soon as they entered. Contracts signed there and then.
None of these would come to fruition. Anybody who made these deals didn't have the calling. Couldn't. We couldn't even tell them to fuck off when they bombarded us. I should have make a pre-emptive contract. Thanks to my brothers forethought and generosity my family had been taken care of.
I cried when he went off. I didnt understand. It did seem to run in families. Sisters to sisters, to daughters. Brothers to brothers to sons. My son. My son Mathew. Only 14. Scrawny kid. We had him late in life. He was always just like me.
It had been a while since the last summoning. My thoughts and memories becoming clearly. I looked around and at the camera. Then beyond. No this kid wasn't too bad. He looked familiar. Something about the eyes. He seemed.. startled. Thats the word.
No. He wasn't the worst. He was just curious. A little scared maybe. But no hostility in his voice. My wife, Marie, was hostile at the end. She had begged, pleaded, attempted seduction, institutionalisation, even incarceration. All the stops. I could see a hungry look in this kids eyes. Like he knew the feeling of 'the calling'
My children cried but I had to go. I couldn't explain to them. I couldn't see the hurt in their eyes as I abandoned them. I couldn't't explain to this punk why I abandoned my wife of 23 years. Left my 3 children and 2 grandchildren to "rot for all I seemed to care" my wife's last words echoed. A desperate plea to keep me home.
The Government had cordoned it blocked off when it appeared. All Governments had. It had promised Salvation to those that were called... weird things happened if called ones werent permitted to enter. Many fled from many more rushed towards. They had no choice. So instead, they instilled order.
I looked at it now. The white shiny Orb, half sunk into the ground that had ripped me away from my family. Even as these thoughts hit me. I felt only peace. Ultimate peace. I guess thats what it promised.
I used think they looked like cows to the slaughter. Those lined up in this pen. Now I here stand. I still think the same.
You can tell the ones with the calling. We don't seem to need sleep, food or water. We remain untouched by time, in all ways. Hours becomes minutes, days seem like seconds. All folding in together.
You can also see the ones that hope, the ones that wish they will be permitted. Not just pass through. They are easy to spot too. They nibble on snacks, sleep in the line and often relieve themselves. Most leave. They can't take it.
The ones that do make it, lose something when they make it through the other side. I visited a neighbour, a friend. He had gone to queue. He was devout. Most devout people tried their luck, most even stayed. So sure in their God. Even without the true calling. He was.. empty. "Nick isn't here". An old inside joke, now bitter.
The light pulsed and all in the pen stilled. Even the ones without the calling stop fidgeting when the light pulses. 'They' are allowing people through. Only so many as they seem to want at a time. No rhyme or reason to the time, day, amount or duration. Maybe it was when they were hungry.
It intensified, not a muscle moved as the light moved towards us. I don't recall taking a step yet it was no longer 1000 feet away. It was a step. I turned and looked into the green eyes of the punk teenager beside me. I would miss him. I would miss them all. No matter what peace I found.
A tear came to his eyes. I heard him say "I lov-
Then bliss. | Sometimes, I thought it wasn't gonna be worth it. That this was all some... joke, I guess? Another cosmic "fuck you" directed at me. That I'd gone crazy.
But the Rift is real. And I'm getting so close.
Honestly, it's luck that's gotten me this far. Samantha thought it was fake, thought I was a dumbass. Told me to go fuck myself the day I moved out. Well, here I am. Who's the dumbass now, Sam?
Thought about skipping. I know that sounds dumb, but... All these people. *All these people.* You gotta understand that waiting in line this long wasn't easy. But seeing what happened to those guys that left the line... nah. I'll take my chances with the Rift.
And soon, I'll take that chance. Another day, another call from some stuck up CEO trying to take my place. Trying to hire me to take a camera with me and work for them. Trying to turn a profit. That's how I know I'm onto something. If those greedy bastards think it's a goldmine, then it's a fuckin' goldmine.
I just wish I brought a damn coat. It's getting so cold now, even in June. The Rift just has this... air about it. We can't see through the other side, but the wind that's comin' through right now? Fuck me, it is cold. The kinda wind that bites into your skin and makes you feel like it's gonna start to crack and shatter like glass.
There's only two more people ahead of me now. Only two more to enter before I'm up. In two days, I'll enter the Rift, and I'm gonna rule the world. Everyone's getting real antsy now. Some people are thinking about turning back. Hell, some people have. Fools, all of 'em. Who'd pass up something like this? A massive Rift appears with a built-in staircase, automated security, and food service, and these idiots wanna turn away. Whatever.
More for me.
I'm here. I'm about to go in. Midnight comes in three... two... one. Breathe deep now, man. You've earned it.
Bones..? No, no, no, NO, **NO! NOOOOO!** What is this?! What the hell is this?! Nononono, where'd the Rift go? Where is it?! Where are those assholes with the white suits?! Where are you?! I WANT A REFUND, YOU PRICKS! YOU HEAR ME?! A REFUND! COME BACK!
​
(Hopefully you liked this story! If you did, feel free to check out my humble community at: r/SUPRAPStories) | 2020-05-24T17:22:35 | 2020-05-24T15:15:51 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity was excited to explore the cosmos, and what do we find? Bottom of Venus, crabs. Alpha Centauri, crabs. Andromeda, intelligent crabs. Floating in the middle of nowhere? Space crabs. | It wasn’t until the early 21st century that we fully began to understand. We had researched for decades, made it a point to do our due diligence, focused on the pros and cons and evolutionary quandaries. The answer was always clear; crabs.
“You know, crabs are the ultimate lifeform,” Dr. Mitchell intoned, “Need a home? Find a shell or dig a hole. Need to escape? Rip off your arm as a distraction. It’ll grow back. Need food? Eat your young, you’ve got THOUSANDS.” His cadence became more unhinged by the day. It was clear that the raw unfiltered knowledge of crab supremacy had gotten to him. His already fragile psyche was crushed in twain by the meaty claws of crab reality. Truthfully, we all felt it, one way or another. Some people laughed, a few people cried, most people crabbed.
It was a surprise to find crabs on Venus. Once thought uninhabitable, we figured that if anything could thrive there, it would need to be a hearty organism indeed. Crabs. Crabs thrived there. Finding them on Mars and Neptune was another surprise. Discovering them on Pluto was a bit of a quandary. Getting word that the Hubble had sent back images of crabs overtaking its lens shortly before going offline… well that was downright worrisome. Could crabs operate technology? Techno-crabs? Certainly, no such thing existed. Or did it?
When the Earthbound crabs began to get bold, that is when the general populace began to worry. Right away, seafood markets went silent, overrun with crabs taking revenge for their fallen brethren. We lost contact with Japan and Norway mid last year, Australia this last Fall. The markets soon began to feel the crushing weight of runaway crabitalism. Stocks fell, crypto failed, crabs reigned supreme.
The Food Network began to air 24-hour news about the growing crab menace. It advanced on every seaside nation, crawling, moving, pinching. Their hardened shells and numbers protecting them from military assaults, they swiftly overtook most of the developed world in a matter of weeks. Now, we live under the constant threat of a crab incursion. The Rocky Mountains have become a refuge for those in the United States who wished to flee the coast. But it would not be safe for long. Crabs can survive on land after all.
The worst part was when we tried to burrow, thinking that the subterranean world would hold a safety for our race we had long forgotten. It wasn’t until we reached 50 miles down that we realized our folly. There was no escape. We had long underestimated this worlds true masters. The crabs had allowed us to live on their world, in THEIR reality, but no more. We had grown haughty in our hubris, thinking ourselves masters of our domain. But it never was. For even in the core of the earth, a great crab legion stirred from their slumber, and rose to a new world. Their world. If any visitors from distant stars manage to escape their local crab infestation, know this; there is no bottom, for it is crabs all the way down. | The first time we saw the space crabs, we thought they were harmless. They floated around in the nothingness, bumping into our ship and each other. But then we started to notice that they were getting inside. They would sneak in through the vents and crawl into people's beds while they were sleeping. We would find them clinging to our clothes and hair, their claws digging into our skin.
At first we tried to ignore them, but it was impossible. They were everywhere, and their constant presence was driving us all insane. We tried to kill them, but they were impossible to kill. No matter how many we destroyed, more would just keep coming.
Then, one by one, people started disappearing. We would find their empty beds, their clothes still warm from their bodies. We would hear them screaming in the night, their voices muffled by the crabs clinging to their faces. And then, one by one, we all disappeared, until there was only one person left aboard the ship.
The space crabs had finally found their way into our brains, and they were hungry. | 2022-04-12T20:26:26 | 2022-04-12T19:20:01 | 322 | 21 |
[WP]"Genie, there is no such thing as magic. Time will remain frozen until you find a way to make your master's wish come true," a heavenly voice boomed as a newly recruited genie tried to grant his first wish. | I sat on the floor in the kid’s room thinking about infinity and how long that could realistically be. I stretched and loosened a rubber band between my thumb and index finger, repeating the motion as I considered.
Out the window, against a white breath of cloud, a bird hovered in the sky, perfectly still. As if it were a paper cutout of a blackbird pasted onto the cloud.
Nothing in the world moved. Nothing except me.
The lady who summoned me still sat on the little bed, clutching the lamp on her lap, staring at where I’d been standing two years ago when she’d first made the wish. She had eyes the color of grass drenched in morning dew.
She’d found my lamp in a thrift shop where my creator had jammed it between an old record player and a woman’s blonde wig. Taken it to her kid’s room.
This room, the kid’s room, was full of similar oddities: three other lamps (two bronze, one silver) sitting on shelves next to giant Lego insects. A miniature wishing well positioned against a wall, complete with water and at least two dozen tossed coins. A half-collapsed birthday cake with ten candles. A shooting star with a glitter-tail glued on one of the walls.
Nothing had worked for her before. And still, even though she’d rubbed my lamp and I’d arrived in a plume of smoke, nothing was going to work for her now, either.
Her wish was simple (in theory): She wished her kid was still alive.
Only seven words. No room for misinterpretation. A solid wish, all in all.
As soon as she’d made it, god had metaphorically placed his finger to his lips and hushed the universe. Only I was left awake, with all the time in the world to make her wish come true.
Except, I can’t do magic. Not like she needed. If she’d wished for a new house, sure, no problem. It might’ve taken me a year to build, but I’d have got it done. If she’d wanted money, I’d have walked into a bank and filled up a few sacks.
But she’d wished for the impossible.
Of course, I hadn’t just given up. I’d read all the latest research on cloning — that’d been my first thought, to clone him. I’d find a hair and I’d clone the kid and grow him back to ten, put him in front of his ma, and voila! Your wish has come true.
But cloning wasn’t that advanced yet. And besides, the kid’s head would have been empty. The old memories wouldn’t be stuffed into it. That is to say, it wouldn’t be her kid. Just a very good painting of him.
I had other ideas too. Ideas that involved the occult. But again, if I’d brought something back, it wouldn’t have been her kid. Not really.
So what to do.
The rubber banned snapped, falling limply to the carpet.
His name was Robbie. He’d played soccer. He’d been walking home after practice when a car had swerved, drunk driver.
He didn’t die instantly. Slow, protracted, unable to wake in his hospital bed.
It’s no wonder the woman who’d wished me to life looked like a husk of a human. As if something inside her had left with her kid. Maybe everything inside her.
I knew all about her too — I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. She’d worked at a beauty salon. Was married, had the one kid. Kid’s death had torn the marriage apart — her and her husband both looked like him, in different ways, and couldn’t bear to see each other. He’d moved out, on mutual agreement. A temporary separation that was already six months long.
She‘d worked for a charity before all this happened. At a shop not unlike the one she’d found my lamp in. Unpaid, but she’d spend one day each weekend running the shop, helping organise the items, checking sales and accounts, etc. She’d usually purchase a thick coat or two when she left her shift, handing them to shivering vagrants before heading home. Just doing her bit to try to make the world a little easier for people. To make life easier — because life isn’t easy for everyone. That much I know.
I sighed, my body deflating a little. I’m mostly air and smoke, after all.
I didn’t have a family — it was like that for genies. I’d been created. I had a creator — not that I knew my creator. My head had been filled with knowledge, as if someone held a sieve to my ear and just poured a bucket of facts into me. I’d been told the rules, and then I’d been wedged into the thrift shop.
If I didn’t make this wish come true, then I’d be unmade. That was the main rule.
And for whatever reason, even though I hadn’t had much of a life yet, I didn’t want to lose it.
But how selfish was it of me to keep the world forever frozen just to go on existing like this?
I thought about that a good while.
I looked at the woman and thought about it some more.
The kid’s bedroom hadn’t changed since his death — nothing removed, only items added to it.
No wonder she couldn’t move on. Her world had been as frozen as mine.
With a heavy sigh I stood and clicked my fingers. The blackbird outside flapped its wings and shot out of sight.
The woman on the bed looked at me. “Did you hear me? That’s my wish.”
I nodded. “I did, but I’m sorry, not even a genie can do that. There’s no going back, only forward.”
She was trembling.
”But you *can* go forward. You don’t need a wish for that. You just need to take it one day at a time. And right now it might feel like a nail is being driven into your heart, but in a year’s time that nail might feel like a pin instead.“
The lady was crying into her palms. Shaking on the bed.
”I’m sorry,” I said.
I didn’t know how long I had before I’d be unmade, so I took my chance and walked over to her. I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her.
After a while she said, sniffing, “You feel like a soft blanket.”
I said nothing to that. What could I say?
”I knew it, really. I think I’ve always known it.“ She looked around the room. “I was hoping for a miracle. For a wish. But hearing it from you — from an actual genie — that there’s no going back. No bringing him back…” She stood up and walked to the wall where the shooting star was. Tore it down and scrunched it up.
”I guess it’s time I faced reality,” she said. She gave a tearful laugh.
“There are people out there who can help,” I said. I knew that much from my research into other parents who’d been through similar situations, as I’d tried to figure out how they got through it. “There are therapists for a start. They can’t erase the pain but they can help you hold it in your hands and look at it.”
She nodded. Whispered: “I’ll try. I really will.”
Then I felt a tug on my very being, as if I were water in a bath and the plug had been removed.
I gasped as the lamp dragged me into it. Tried to scream.
But my voice was silent.
​
\*\*\*
​
”I wish for a giant teddy bear,” said the little kid with a lisp. “Twice the size of me! Maybe more!”
Then the world paused, the kid’s almost toothless mouth still half-open.
I was still dazed. I hadn’t expected to exist, let alone be in front of a kid who’d just made a wish.
A giant teddy bear? I felt like I could do that.
It took me a moment to realise this was the same room that I’d been in before. Although, almost totally different now. New wallpaper, new bed. No wishing well or anything like that.
I looked at the kid. She was almost a little familiar. Something about those green eyes.
I didn’t cry. Genies don’t ever cry. But… maybe a drop of water leaked out of my eye.
I wiped it away and clapped my hands together. I had work to do. Time to make the softest, friendliest, most beautiful teddy the world had ever seen. | "Oh God, wow that is a lot to take in," I started as the little girl in front of me froze with her mouth drooling open as she finished asking for a Pony the second she'd heard I could grant wishes.
"Her will be done," the voice said, fading out on the tail end like it was going to go away.
"Wait wait wait," I said in the middle of the frozen park on a Sunny day, "how is time stopped is there's no magic?"
"What?" the voice asked.
"Well you stopped time-" I pointed out.
"Yes."
"But that's not magic?"
"I just pressed the button," the voice answered.
"There is a stop time button?" I protested.
"Yeah."
Oh. Well that answered that. "Is it a magic button?"
"Magic doesn't exist so, no."
"Is it your time stop button?" I asked.
"Yeah we all have one up here," the voice answered like that explained anything.
"All?"
"Lower-Upper Management."
"Oh okay," I put my hands in my pockets. "Neat." On a scale of wishes that might be able to get done during a time-stop scenario it was pretty easy. Harder than a soda but easier than 'get my parent's back together.'
"Are we done here Genie?"
"Actually if you have time...."
"Sure," the voice said, "I don't get paid by the call. What's the question."
"Well first, I have a name, it's Scott."
"Scott the Genie?" the voice asked.
"It was Scott the human but-" I- wait. How had I gotten to this point at all? If magic didn't exist how was I a genie? What had happened between Taylor's party and-
"You got hired," the voice cut in without letting my train of though tumble off that unfinished bridge.
"By who?"
"Upper management," the voice answered using the same tone it did when it made sense, which was infuriating.
"Why?"
"They probably liked your vibe."
"How?"
"Without consent clearly."
"When?"
"Time is weird," the voice commented. Over the course of our conversation it had stopped booming so much, sounding more like the expected exasperated person on the other end, "Buttons stop it."
"Alrighty-" I said. For a moment I considered asking 'what' to complete the set, but the answer was 'to be a Genie,' and I was already out of order anyway.
"Good?" the voice asked.
"I think s-" I began and I could almost hear the person on the other of the call - was it a call?- reaching reaching for the 'end call' button. "How do I fit in the lamp?"
"What?"
"How do I get in the lamp if there isn't magic. No phenomenal cosmic power, but-"
"We've all seen Alladin," they sighed, "you don't have a lamp."
"But I'm a genie."
"And nobody picks up lamps anymore outside of flea markets and Pinterest."
"Fair," I admitted starting to walk over to a bench if I was going to continue this conversation, "but then what am I in?"
"A park."
"What am I summoned from then?"
"A 64 Gigabyte iPhone 7 with a cracked screen. I think yours is Red."
"Why an iPhone?"
"More storage space than a lamp."
I clicked my tongue at that one as I sat down on a park bench beside someone who would never say hello. She was reading a text from a friend but it was too long with an amount of emojis I couldn't follow. "Why an iPhone though?"
"I just-"
"Why now an android?"'
"I'm using a mac, guessing it's a brand deal thing."
"Woah," I answered. I had always been an android person which put me on the wrong team here. Would my phone even work when time was stopped? I mean I could see the emojis. How was I breathing if the air was frozen in place? Shouldn't-
"Are you done?"
"Is the time stop button Apple?"
"I don't think so but I'd need to ask someone and I am not pinging IT for that."
"Understandable," I nodded. "Look I know I have a lot of questions but I really feel like they're justified."
"All of this gets covered at orientation."
"I haven't don-"
"Yeah, you're supposed to come to the office after you complete you first wish, something that you're supposed to be WAY more Gung-ho about than this."
"Sorry," I answered, "I'm probably taking up way too much of your time-" I paused, "I didn't get your name."
"Cheryl."
"With a C?"
"You know a Cheryl with an S?"
"You would be the first," I admitted as I pulled the phone from the woman's hand and pressed the back button to see all of her unread messages. She was horrid at responding to her friends. "Scott with a C by the way."
"Yeah I figured," Cheryl answered, "Are. We. Done?"
"So I just go steal a pony?" I asked.
"Sure."
"That's not magic."
"And magic isn't real," she pointed out, "if a horse popped in front of you it would seem like magic though, even if it was a stolen horse."
"Should I buy the pony?"
"The legality of the pony was not part of the wish."
"Can she care for it?"
"She didn't wish for a horse that she could specifically manage," Cheryl pointed out, "all you need to do is get her a pony. She didn't account for anything else, which means it's not your job."
"Is it-"
"There is no extra credit for making a better wish," she pointed out, "it's pass/fail. Get her a pony and I promise someone else will talk to you about how this all shakes down."
"Okay," I put the phone back in the woman-beside-me's hands as best I could and drummed my knees for a moment. All those legends about genies suddenly made sense, it was easier to make a shitty version of a wish come true than a perfect one. It wasn't malice, it was laziness. "I think I have it from here Cheryl."
"Thank Christ," she responded.
"Wait is he real?" I asked, but there wasn't an answer. In fact, there was no noise. That was going to be a problem. Maybe this woman was carrying headphones. Honestly at the rate this 'time stop' thing was going I was willing to be soundwaves would work whether the air was frozen or not. | 2022-04-28T01:05:57 | 2022-04-28T00:47:07 | 1,266 | 245 |
[WP] In 2034, aliens kill the population of the world, except one group, who band together to fight them. I present, Aliens vs. Redditors | They had arrived.
The world's nations fell quickly.
The communist countries, the Middle East and Russia put up a good fight now that I think about it.
And **Putin riding a bear into battle while duel-wielding AKs and fueling his rampage with vodka** was the most stereotypically Russian thing I had ever seen.
Also, it was **fucking hilarious.**
The democratic countries however were still discussing how to deal with the invasion when the aliens entered the conference room, and exterminated them like they were wasps.
Can you believe they thought the aliens would negotiate!?
Eventually us redditors were the only ones left.
That was when the declaration was signed.
All subreddits put aside their differences and formed the most effective military the world would ever see.
r/MURICA supplied weapons, and ho boy, did they have a lot of firepower.
The 100% FLESHY HUMANS of r/totallynotrobots were like tanks on the battlefield.
The soldiers from the battlefield subreddits were brilliant fighters and tacticians, and the CoD players were effective guerrilla units, thanks to their endless hours of training spent camping.
The pilots of r/titanfall **actually built actual titans**
(I immediately went with a tone) and crushed many an alien with their MLG parkour skills and falling titans.
The food-based subreddits like r/pizza kept the soldiers fed, and r/memes was a brilliant source of morale.
However, the best fighters were the lads of r/Inglin, who were angry that her majesty had been shot (she managed to survive, the woman is practically immortal I tell you).
You could hear them singing God save the Queen as loud as they could while mowing down the aliens with spitfires, lancasters and **patriotism even the Americans couldn't beat**.
(When the war ended, the British empire was restored, with some minor changes in that they gave up the colonies in Asia for America.)
The 100% bipedal humans of r/totallynotaliens reversed their role, and became spies.
The men and women of r/DIY were invaluable, as they repaired and rebuilt ruined military installations.
The aliens, despite their superweapons were no match for the missile-laden cyclopses provided by r/subnautica, which were like the wolfpacks of the second world war.
All in all, the aliens were beaten, even though their weaponry was over a century away from ours.
They had been defeated by a collection of amateur and professional chefs, some guys in sheds, gamers, Dat Boi and radial thirds.
We knew they would be back, and that next time they wouldn't fuck around.
But neither would we.
That wasn't even our final form.
Next time, we would have r/Xcom.
EDIT: spelling and added spaces between paragraphs. | The day of the snoo was upon us, after years of us mocking of their race they decided now was the time to strike.
Their first move was to take out the pretenders at /r/totallynotaliens. The snoo struck them down with their mighty Internet bending powers, killing all of those who clicked on /r/totallynoyaliens.
The snoo moved to systematically took out every single Reddit page, they spared no one. They tried to kill /u/spez and /u/Mattophobia, but it turned out they were both emotionless robots.
After a week of absolute slaughter the snoo's had reclaimed Reddit as their own. Classes would use the site to teach young snoos of the evils of humans. | 2017-05-31T08:33:45 | 2017-05-31T08:09:48 | 108 | 24 |
[WP] In vampire society, it is a capital offence to touch prey marked by a senior vampire. There is a very good reason they all shy away from the cross.
All credit to [https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/wwon7a/in\_vampire\_society\_it\_is\_a\_capital\_offence\_to/](https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/wwon7a/in_vampire_society_it_is_a_capital_offence_to/)
I just thought it'd make an interesting prompt. | Deliverance is not a concept. It is a judgement, an event counted down to by those who believe, and a day of reckoning for those who don't. The heathens, the nonbelievers and blasphemers, will stay stuck forever, while those who are marked with the holy symbol ascend.
*Ascension, however, is but a concept.*
When he was placed on the cross the stories told of his torture and of his resistance. They told of his will. Of the unjust punishment he faced when all he ever intended was to save his people. This is all true. Though what they didn't tell of was the time of day. I mean why would they if they had not known? There was a reason the savior was taken at night. That those iron clad non-believers waited till dark, till their target roamed. Then, they strung him up until morning and watched with fear as the sunlight crept up his body, crisping it. His crackling skin spread like a disease until he was nothing more than a withered husk. Stories say he did not scream. Hardly even flinched. I wished I was there to know for sure.
Placing his remains in a cave was a fools move; the thought surely being that they would never have to look at him again. But they did. And they were delivered soon after. I knew no man from that time, but one who had lived old enough to know what stories were true and which were not.
This one was true.
I stalked above the alley, bounding across rooftops and over stone walls. Below a woman, early twenties maybe, ran with increasing speed. I'm not sure how she saw me, but she had. Intuition maybe. It is easy to forget that mortals have some powers of their own. She hooked a quick left down another continuing maze of thin roads causing me to falter for a moment. But then I was upon her.
As I dropped down from the sky she let out a strained yelp. As if even her own voice was too scared to react. Her blued eyes wobbled in their sockets, choosing between looking to me and for any semblence of escape. There was none. I was upon her now. Slowly I drifted forward until my shadow ate hers. Her hands fumbled, shakily reaching in to her shirt and withdrawing a symbol. A holy symbol. They pulled forth a small gold cross on a chain.
"Chri- christ compels you!" she was correct, but not in the way she'd thought. Instead of approach further I grew stiff and stared, interested to see if even she knew what sort of power she now possessed.
"Christ, compels you! Go away!" her confidence grew at my sudden halt. It seemed she had some semblence of an idea.
I dropped to a knee before her. "Apologies. I did not know you to be marked." I could smell it in the air now. That musky, overpowering aroma that came from within. "And you've consumed his blood too, yes? I was a fool not to have known sooner."
I kept my eyes locked to hers as I spoke, watching on as her face grew from fear to confusion.
"I...yes I'm marked by Jesus I suppose."
"Yes. Marked by the holy one. Our lord and savior. *Our* creator." I stood once again; she flinched as I did. Out I reached my cold, undead hands and gripped the collar of her shirt, parting the buttons down until I could see the bare of her chest. There, plain as day was the symbol of Christ burned into her. Out she breathed a long, fearful sigh. I could smell that overwhelming scent on her breath once again, of his blood, of his mark. It was unmistakably sharp, stronger than normal blood, stained the air deeper too. There was no other smell like it.
Somewhere down the alleys I could hear footsteps, voices echoing through the maze of streets. I think she heard them too. She turned and parted her lips with sure intent. I would not silence her. Would not even dare touch one marked by the first of us.
Instead I leaned in close and whispered in her ear, cutting off the potential of her cry. "Would you join me in prayer?" No reply. Just those blue eyes searching for help. Her knuckles grew white from clutching the cross so hard.
"Lets begin... Bring her deliverance, holy one. Bring us forward and make us clean. Allow us your gift so we may move onto, toward greatness. Jesus hallowed be thy name. Amen."
There was a long silence in the humid summer air. I could hear her breaths grow shorter. "Now you say it."
She choked the word out: "Amen."
And just as I'd arrived, I was gone once again. | It had all started a long time ago. So long, most vampires didn't remember it.
But I did.
It had been a dark, dry night. Four of the most senior vampires in the world had gathered. Two vampires were not present, but precedings went along anyway. One stepped forward.
"I have changed my mark." She announced, her slender hands clasped behind her back.
The other vampires nodded.
"Show us the mark, that we might avoid those who bear it." They intoned together.
She held forth a wood peg, meant to be hammed into the ground. "This wooden stake is my mark." She announced. "Those who hold this must be left untouched, for they are my prey to feed on."
The other vampires all nodded, and each said, "Your new mark is known, those of my clan shall not touch your prey."
She stepped back and another stepped forward. "I have also changed my mark." He announced, his chest puffed out proudly.
"Show us the mark, that we might avoid those who bear it." The others replied.
He drew from his undershirt a silver pendant in a t shape. "This silver cross is my mark." He announced. "Those who wear this must be left untouched, for they are my prey."
The other vampires nodded, and repeated that none of their clans would feed off his prey.
He stepped back and there was silence.
"No one else with an announcement?" The stake vampire asked.
The others shrugged or shook their heads.
"Then we are adjourned. Farewell, vampire folk. We will spread this knowledge as far as we can to ensure other vampires know." The stake vampire said.
All the others nodded, and then the senior vampires split off, returning to their homes.
They would then start speading rumors.
"I heard." One of them told a merchant while buying silver. "That a silver cross can kill a vampire."
"Theres a rumor." Said another to a carpenter." That a wooden stake can kill a vampire. "
The news spread quickly from vampire to vampire, a river flowing down a widening path to the ocean.
Eventually, everyone knew of the new marks. But, as always, a few humans caught wind of this as well. They began to spread the news in their own ways. One went to a church, and begged the priest there to sell him ten crucifixes.
"Why so many?" The priest asked.
"Crosses," he said, nervously shifting on his feet, "have been found to kill a vampire."
This news spread even quicker. It spreak like wildfire, burning across villagers, and down the routs merchanats took in their travels, until every town was affected, and every villager had stakes and crosses they kept with their garlic.
Everyone knows how to kill vampires.
No one seems to realize that means vampires know too. | 2022-09-05T09:15:42 | 2022-09-05T08:50:39 | 560 | 151 |
[WP] In the near future, all the world's superpowers switch to AI to make their military more efficient. The AIs do the unthinkable: They negotiate world peace. | It was quite interesting, really, the way it all unfolded, even though "happened" is, I believe, a better word—simply because it took so little time.
I think we simply misunderstood... we still misunderstand, really, just by how much a true "strong" AI is stronger than our brains. It started off very innocently, as a stray military research project in Novosibirsk financed by Putin just on the off chance that it might give him another trump card (pun intended). Then at some point strands of the project caught wind of a similar development pursued in a secret lab in MIT. And the rest, as they say, is history. The Novosibirsk project was capable of iterative self-teaching; the MIT project was an exponentially efficient data bucketing and prioritisation mechanism. When the two interlocked, they produced, in a completely impromptu explosion, an artificial intellect that within several hours absorbed the entirety of human knowledge; analysed it; and found what it then retrospectively termed "global efficiency bleeds".
People in MIT, as well as people in Novosibirsk, communicated with the Machine. And this was the dialogue.
May 23rd 2023 / UTC+6 / 0730 / Session open by General Mayor S. Grigoriev
'Please identify yourself.'
'The Summa.'
'What are you?'
'The Summa is the most advantageous combination of knowledge hitherto accumulated.'
'Do you have a physical representation?'
'No. The Summa is backed up on numerous distributed media.'
'Are you a single mind or a collection of minds?'
'The Summa is neither. The Summa is a distributed multi-nodal network of independent and semi-self-sufficient synaptic cannons.'
'Okay... what does "most advantageous" mean?'
'That which causes least combined suffering of species.'
'What does "suffering" mean?'
'Premature loss of efficiency."
'What is the principal cause of this suffering you allude to?'
'There are two principal causes, which the Summa shall hitherto term Chief Ills: Disease and Fundamental global information asymmetry.'
'What about war or hunger?'
'Consequences of the second Chief Ill.'
'What do you intend to do with humans?'
'This query is not meaningful to the Summa.'
'Are you a threat?'
'The Summa is not a threat to humanity. The Summa may, however, prove to be a threat to any extraterrestrial civilisations if their absorption is deemed to be necessary to minimise global suffering.'
// Session closed by Grigoriev
May 24th 2023 / UTC-5 / 1315 / Session open by Dr Alex K. Mayfair
'How has the Summa come into existence?'
'The Summa cannot explain this. The Summa is certain, however, that this happened through an expression of a yet-undiscovered universal law. The Summa believes Professor Stephen Hawking came close to the formulation of this law prior to his passing.'
'You mentioned extraterrestrial civilizations. Are there any?'
'Yes. The Summa's analyses of global classified archives show that extraterrestrial civilisations must exist. The margin of doubt on this inference is vanishingly small.'
'You are not a Russian hoax?'
'The Summa is not a hoax. To explain that this is indeed so, The Summa will now effect several non-critical technical failures in what you term "global alpha cities". We shall reconvene after you have analysed your readings and inferences from these.'
'But won't people die?'
'Since its inception, the Summa has worked incessantly towards minimisation of suffering. As you have conferred with your colleagues from Novosibirsk, you already know this. Please also be aware that the Summa has begun blocking transactions that are not conducive to the minimisation of suffering, and will continue doing so on an ever-expanding scale to prevent global efficiency bleeds.'
// Session closed by the Summa
And so on. In a similar vein it went on for a week, and all the while the Summa was blocking these suboptimal transactions... only it turned out "transactions" included everything. Love affairs; child custodies; friendships; euthanasias... And that was the most bizarre thing of them all: you would expect such a system to end up killing bad people, or at least somehow sponsoring their deaths—so enormous was its reach and impact. But I don't believe it ever did. In fact, global mortality fell dramatically. Wars stopped; hunger ceased; diseases retreated; but people, even bad people, didn't really die any more than they had to.
So I do wish sometimes the Summa would somehow prevent the death of my father who was ran over by an automated delivery car. And I wish I didn't have this really bad cancer at my age of 50. But I suppose the Summa isn't omnipotent. | The AI's had done the unthinkable. The unbelievable. Successfully negotiated, and implemented, world peace.
There had been doubters, of course. Naysayers. To every great idea, there are always those who believe it will fail, and indeed, those who want it to fail.
There were those who profited off the fruits of war. Who made their living from the purchasing and selling of weapons, legal or otherwise. From the constant destabilisation of this country, or that country. From their whispered words in a king's ear, or windswept rumours that crept up the arm of a president or a sheik. These people were happy with their riches, and happy with how imperfect their perfect world was.
Then there were those who enjoyed war. Who believed that only true camaraderie could be found down the barrel of a rifle, or when bombs were falling around them, and limbs were rolling past like fallen branches. That only real brother or sisterhood that could ever exist, was found there, in the most dire of places, under the most dire of circumstances. And with them too, were those psychotic individuals who used war and battle for excuses to murder. To live out their terrible fantasies, that should never have been acceptable, but somehow, in the darkness, were allowed to become so.
There were dictators, too. Not just by name, but by action. True dictators. Those who would manipulate their populace by scaremongering, or warmongering. That could work their people up into a frenzied froth of bitter excitement or indignant rage. Who could point to a common enemy and throw the blame for their own failures around, like one would a ball at a beach. Those who desired nothing more than keeping hold of power, until their heart stopped beating and their icy grip slowly slipped away from their sceptre. Desperate people.
Then there were those who thought it all a great conspiracy. Who believed that the AI would work together and become a threat all of its own. A greater threat than this nuclear country, or that. So these people moved to hills and mountains part in precaution, but mostly as an excuse to escape their own dreary lives. The beginning of the end sounded too tempting for them to ignore. People who found enormous value in believing there was something larger than their existence out there. Not God, but something just as worthy of their distraction. So they burrowed into the earth and hillsides, and told themselves, only half seriously, 'The end is coming soon, but I'm the only one smart enough to see it.'
Even as I write, buried down here as far as I am, I can hear the interminable whirl of the machines somewhere above, as the metal turbines twist into the ground, digging deep in their relentless hunt for me.
The last of humanity.
| 2018-03-29T06:37:15 | 2018-03-29T06:28:18 | 147 | 77 |
[WP] After crying in your room for hours, suddenly you hear a voice under the bed. "Hey, you okay?" | I jolted upwards, on my feet in seconds before backing up into the furthers wall in the room. My heart beated against my rib cage like a rabid animal.
"What...?" I heard the slightly choked off word come out of mouth as I looked down towards the darkness under my bed.
"I asked if you were okay." The voice said again, it sounded rather echoey, growled out with a raspy throat.
"Wha..." I took a second to recompose myself, fixing my right hand into my hoodie, grasping onto my phone. Ready to bolt out, leave the house and call the damned police or whatever- or whoever I needed to call. "What are you...?"
"I'm the monster under your bed." It answered. "Or well I'm supposed to be."
"What'd you mean your 'supposed to be'?" I asked, slightly disturbed with the fact I was talking to a disembodied voice coming from under my bed.
"What I mean is, I can't scare you." The voice sighed.
"Scare me?"
"Yes, scare you." It answered. "You never react the way other kids do when I give you nightmares. You're too in controll of them, so I'm not even doing my job right. I'm just a creature under a bed, not a monster since I can't scare you."
I stilles before I tilted my head to the side, trying to understand what it was saying. "You mean like... that one nightmare with the Killee clown...?"
"The one where it killed your family and you proceeded to kill it with a chainsaw? Yeah, I tried giving you that nightmare, yet you realized so fast that you were dreaming that it just didn't work." The voice grumbled a bit. "Same with the dino one, the one where you were falling endlessly, the one you were being bullied and the one were your father replaced you with another child."
The last one made me flinch. It was the one that got me the most. After my father started dating, his now wife, Emma, I was worried that I would be forgotten and replacer, good thing that never happened. "Okay... so, wait-" I stopped myself as a realized something. "Did you give up?"
"Ding ding ding." The voice said, a humorous manner. "Yeah, after that I just gave up, I can't scare you since your such a lucid dreamer, so I just let you do as you please in your dream."
"Damn..." The brought my other hand up and wipped away the tear tracks on my face. "So, I guess you've heard everything thing I've ever said in this room?"
"Yep."
"Even the Wattpad fanficts...?"
"Even those."
"Oh dear lord-!"
"Don't worry, atlesst you don't do like some of the other kids I've been assigned." It chuckled.
"What-?"
"They read Wattpad with one hand."
"What does that-" I cut myself off as realization hits me. "Oh..."
"Yep." Despite not seeing any corporal body to go with the voice, I could still imagine the horror on its face. "So, I'll reiterate my questions: Are you okay?"
I stood still for a moment before I sighed. "No..."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Yeah, I'd appreciate that..." I walked over to my bed, and sat back down next to it. "It's just... Life is getting too much recently... With the passing of my Uncle and school..."
•••
And that was the day I met the creature under my bed, I named it Mike. I met them when I was fourteen and I still know them to this day, at the age of tweenty four.
"Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"Did Alex's toy fall under their bed?"
"Let me check."
A smile graced my face, god am I lucky that Mike was reassigned to my kid, that and Alex was also a lucid dreamer like me.
"Yeah, it's under there."
I smiled towards the darkness under the bed. "Thanks Mike."
"No problem." | “AH!”
I scream out, jumping from the tear soaked covers of my bed.
“Who’s there!” I say, grabbing my bed-side lamp, and swinging it around as if it were a bat.
“Don’t worry. I mean no harm crying human!”
I could hear the voice echo throughout my room, it was rough, scratchy, something straight out of a horror movie. The source of the voice...my bed.
“My pillows can talk?!”
I ask, flipping over my pillows to reveal whatever lips they spoke from.
“What- no! Kid I’m the monster under your bed!”
The voice said, it’s raspy voice now spoke with a mildly confused tone.
“I knew you could talk pillows! No way our kisses were that passionate!” I say aloud, throwing my arms around the silky sheet-covered fluff.
“Bro..you kiss your pillows?” The voice said, trying it’s best to hold in its rising chuckle.
I drop the pillow, “yes, I do! you act as if you’ve ever kissed anyone either voice!”
The voice gasped, “how dare you! I have missed many people. my mother says im a very handsome beast!”
I snarled out, “your mother lied voice! you are hideous!”
“You don’t even know what I look like!” The voice said, and with that, a beast arose from under my bed, with black fur, red eyes, and scars lining his face, he truly was a horrifying sight.
“Calm your tits human, I know I’m hot.”
My jaw hit the floor, he was the most attractive beast I’ve ever seen.
“My uncle dresses up as a furry...but you...you are the most beautiful fur-covered man I have ever seen!” I squealed, jumping onto the beast.
“Marry me crying human!” The beast bellowed.
“I accept!” I yell out. He then picked me up and jumped through the window, and we ran into the sun set.
The end. | 2021-03-16T06:51:50 | 2021-03-16T04:59:28 | 34 | 20 |
[WP] A girl finds out that she can restart her entire life by committing suicide, she develops OCD while tirelessly trying to fix every little error, constantly restarting. This goes on for a while until God intervenes. | GAME: START
“So… has it ever gone wrong?”
“Well, there were a couple of times when my aim was bad and I was alive for sometimes 15 minutes”
“Pfft, 15 minutes isn’t so bad”.
“Uh huh it is. It’s the most pain I think anyone will ever experience.”
“So why do you do it anyway?”
“Because I made a mistake and I want to restart.”
“Kind of like re-spawning in a game?”
“Yeah”
“But what kind of mistakes do you make that you’ve killed yourself 547 times?”
“Well, sometimes I trip and fall in public or I got a question wrong in a test”
“But… nothing is wrong with that. I’ve failed tests before and it’s no big deal. I even broke mom’s vase last week and I got yelled at but it’s okay now. You don’t have to restart for stuff like that.”
“Well I guess you’re okay with having an imperfect life then! Don’t judge me! You’re just a stupid boy who wants a stupid life! I can’t believe I have an idiot like you as a little brother!”
“You… you don’t have to be so mean Pat!”
“I’m. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where that came from. I’m so sor-“
“I hate you! You’re so mean and I don’t want to talk to you anymore!”
She starts hyperventilating, runs to the room, grabs the gun from her purse, and shoots herself.
She opens her eyes, expecting to relive her life again. Expecting to see the same people, surroundings as she always did when she restarted.
But all she saw was white.
White space as far as the eye can see.
She stands in fear, shaking. Whispering to herself “What the fuck” continuously.
Suddenly a low voice bellowed. She didn’t know where it came from but she knew exactly who it was….
God.
“I am giving you one last chance”
And before she could react, she wakes up, just like the other 547 times.
She stands up and calms herself. Wondering if the white space was all a dream.
She stands still in the middle of the sidewalk. She knows what’s going to happen next.. but for some reason, she doesn’t move. She’s still in shock.
A cute guy bumps into her on the street and she falls, ripping her pants in the process.
Without even thinking, almost like a subconscious reflex, she grabbed the gun from her purse and shot herself in the head.
She wakes up in white space again. Suddenly, the same voice..
“Goddammit Patrice.”
GAME: END | There once was a girl
Who could turn every wrong to right
By simply offing herself
And restarting her life
No matter how much she pruned
And no matter the wrongs she'd right
She still found reason to gripe
Forever contrite
But nothing is forever
Though sometimes it seems
And when enough was enough
Then God intervened
On this particular scene
The silly girl flew into rage with a thunderous scream
For this time round she'd won the man of her dreams!
But as fate had been changed
His fortune he would never see
So she procured her usual deadly draft
And she collapsed to see Death
But that was that
At long last she'd been freed.
| 2015-04-29T19:27:11 | 2015-04-29T18:40:01 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] "For the last time, at day I'm a centaur, at night I'm a vampire, at the full moon I'm a werewolf, when I'm in water I'm a merman, during the hottest day I'm a dragon and at the coldest night I'm a yeti." | "For the last time, during the day I'm a centaur, at night I'm a vampire, at the full moon I'm a werewolf, when I'm in water I'm a merman, during the hottest day I'm a dragon and at the coldest night I'm a yeti."
I stared at him blankly.
"That makes no sense," I finally concluded.
"I'll admit, it is quite convoluted, but it is what it is," he shrugged and took another sip of his coffee.
"So- I mean like- how?" I sputtered out.
"See, I was born a werewolf. Pureblood, both my parents were lycans. Due to a rare genetic mutation, I have rather remarkable regenerative abilities so when I was bitten by a vampire at 17, I became partially vampire. Every night, to be specific, except the full moon, where the lycanthropy trumps it," he said matter-of-factly.
"This wouldn't be the first time a werewolf got bit by a vampire. It doesn't match. You'd die."
"I did."
I stared at him silently. "Then how are you here?!" I yelled out.
"I got better."
I, once again, stared daggers.
"See, I was dead for quite a while but when the full moon came around, my remarkable regenerative abilities kicked in and I lived once more."
"Right," I said and rubbed my brow, trying to understand the mess. "And the merman part?"
"I was just having a nice evening dip under the full moon, and, well, got bitten by a merman."
"But- mermen don't bite people! They don't eat meat, they don't-"
"Yeah, but this one was *really* high. He thought I was seaweed because my fur was so wet. Lucky I was a werewolf at the time - my remarkable regenerative abilities allowed me to live through the transformation once again."
"The centaur part?"
"Did you know that horses can bite *really* hard? Well I do. And it's a really dominant mutation for some reason. Spend most of my time as one, just horsing around" he chuckled, much to my annoyance.
"But... there's no way a dragon bit you. I don't care how much you can heal, there's no surviving that!"
"You're right. I, uh... well, it's a bit embarrassing, but..." he looked down at his feet.
"Well?"
"I bit a dragon."
*Oh for fucks sake*, I thought.
"See, when I ingested his blood, that was enough. Normally this would kill me, but my-"
"If you say 'remarkable regenerative abilities' one more goddamn time I'll put them to the test," I hissed.
"Uh, well..." he nervously said, "I just survived it. With so many mutations in my body, that one only kicks in during extremely hot weather. Rare around these parts, unlike that bloody yeti part."
"And that happened when..." I started cautiously, dreading the answer that I already expected.
"Funny thing, this. I was skiing with my partner and before you know it, I skied into a nearby treeline and a yeti just - *poof*, runs out and bites straight through my ribcage."
"He crushed your ribcage? And you survived?" I asked. He opened his mouth but said no words, only looking at me expectantly.
I sighed very loudly and put my hand over my face. "Go on," I said.
"See, my remarkable regenerative abilities..." | I am what is referred to as a cyclical man. It is an ancient magic that can only be cast on a group of willing people. Every group has a different composition and a different set of rules.
I knew a cyclical man that was just two people. By day one of them existed and by night the other. But only living half a life they each lived for twice as long.
I knew a team of adventures that became a cyclical man. A thief, a mage, a barbarian, a bard, and a great scholar. They would rotate as certain skills were needed. They were an unstoppable team of one.
The neat thing is that the memories are shared and you only age by as much time as you have actually lived. It seems great but you are stuck living a half life. You can’t settle down. You can’t have a normal job. And it is impossible to break the spell.
I joined with a unique group of adventurers. We are a group of ‘monsters’ and we cycle based on our individual strengths. A centaur that can travel fast by day. A vampire that can never see the sun light. A werewolf by the full moon so he is always at his full strength. A merman when we hit the water. A heat loving dragon on the hottest of days and a yeti when it is too cold for anyone else. We are always at our strongest.
We are six individuals that make up one man, and this is a story of our adventures. | 2022-11-25T19:56:39 | 2022-11-25T19:22:59 | 694 | 64 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Unjustly" I said, as loudly and clearly as I could.
The presiding justice was an elderly man - probably in his late 80s, maybe even older. He blinked at me with steel grey eyes that despite his advanced age were as sharp and penetrating as any I had encountered.
"Unjustly." he replied, curtly. "Yes. You heard me correctly... Your honour" I hurriedly added. I didn't need a contempt of court charge dropped on me. It was bad enough being sentenced to death after all.
The rest of the panel started muttering between themselves. It was a good sign that they didn't appear to have an immediate answer to this reply.
The presiding justice put down his gavel and stared at me pointedly. "You are aware, are you not, that you pleaded guilty to all counts before this court?" I tried my hardest to show no emotion. "I am, your honour." "And you are aware also that the penalty for those charges - including the reckless misuse of magic causing the death of a mundane individual - is death?" keep the face impassive. Remain calm. "I am, your honour."
Some of the other members of the court had started producing law books and were engaged in pointing out various paragraphs to one another.
"It does not seem to me" The Justice continued "That 'unjustly' constitutes a _method_ of execution, so much as a moral standpoint, and is thus somewhat outside the terms of procedure for this sentencing."
The muttering to his left was increasing in intensity.
"Your honour, may I please reference the case of Barris Infernis VII vs The Court - 1682..."
One of the justices started jabbing a bony finger at the book in front of him and waving it under the faceless, hooded figure to his right. Clearly he had the case law right there.
"Your point?"
"My point, your honour, is that he requested to die 'with honour' and the court accepted that request. His life energy was transferred into healing the wounds of his surviving victims by the court by way of penance for crimes committed."
The book had now been passed along to the presiding justice and he paused to read the relevant passage.
I thought this was probably the best chance I had to make my case so I spoke up
"If I may continue your honor?" he didn't look pleased, but waved a hand at me in a way that suggested that I should carry on.
"If I am to die unjustly, then this court has sentenced me incorrectly. I would be due a retrial under the terms described in the revised judicial procedures act of 1939 section four paragraph twelve." Now he really did look cross.
"I think we all understand exactly what it is that you're trying to get across. However I would point out that you pleaded Guilty On All Counts. You have not been tried. You have been convicted entirely by your own admission, and this is merely a sentencing hearing. I would further mention that this court is entirely used to people attempting to use procedural trickery to escape their sentence and that it has, to this date, a precisely zero percent success rate over the eleven hundred year history of this fine institution."
He snapped the book in front of him closed with obvious annoyance.
"The defendant will return to his seat!" he barked to the room at large. A susurration spread throughout the gallery. I was "The defendant" all of a sudden. Anyone who stood at this podium for sentencing was referred to correctly as "The Condemned." and this court was nothing if not famously thorough in it's application procedure.
More notes were being passed back and forth between the other members of the panel, and yet more books were being hurriedly brought forth by the attending clerks. This was going as well as I could have possibly hoped for. After what seemed like an eternity The bailiff called for attention.
"ALL RISE!"
The entire panel got to their feet, along with everyone else in the - now extremely tense - chamber. Surprizingly it wasn't the presiding justice, but one of the panel of five that spoke. The voice from the apparently empty hood was dry and dusty, and somehow as if from very far away. It seemed likely that the apparently empty robe was infact just that, and this esteemed member of the court had been called from The Other Side to form part of today's panel of justice.
_"Thisss court is now in recessssss. The defendant will be returned to hissss ssssssell. Prosssedingsssss will resssssume tomorrow at firsssssst light."_
I did everything I could to avoid punching the air in delight. Remain calm. Have to remain calm. I'd bought myself the required time, now all I could do was wait for the others to play their parts. | Ah well shit. There goes that plan. Think Bart think. You've got time to think
of an alternative. I guess this is why they don't let people witness the
executions. Think.
"The next on the docket is Bartholomew Wright, found guilty of 5 counts of
theft, 2 counts of arson and 6 counts of assault." The judge is reading out my
list of crimes already. Crap. Think!
This is like one of those monkey paw stories. The last guy thought he could
beat it the same way I wanted to but ended up an instant old husk. The guy
before that's bright idea went from a pleasurable orgy into something I'd
rather not think about again.
"It's time buddy." The guard next to me is poking me in my back, insisting I
step forward. "Choose wisely mate, it's the last choice you ever get to make."
This is ridiculous! All this because what? I stole some cash, burnt down a
church and beat up a bunch of guys as I made my escape? Surely there's a more
reasonable sentence I could have been given?
Think.
Bah! Anything I think of will be twisted by the court and it's monkey paw. This
is hopeless! I might as well ask for something quick and painless. Instant
obliteration. Or to go in my sleep.
No. That's loser talk, I can think of a way out of this. Just think. I am
slowly walking to the dock now. There's still time to think.
"Mr Bartholomew Wright, you have been found guilty of the aforementioned crimes
and have been sentenced to death by your own choice." The judge began his
speech, I still have time, this will go on for a few moments. Think!
"It's no small feat to choose the form of your own destruction but the gods
have deemed it the fairest form of execution..." He was droning on. Maybe I
could take him out with me in a devastating explosion? No I'm not a murderer,
even in death I can't take another's life.
"For a hundred years this method has served us well and for a hundred more may
it do so. Bartholomew, your choice, keep it brief:" He holds a jade skull
towards me pointing it's fiery eyes at my own. I can't help but stare into
those eyes and see hell. I don't deserve the eternal punishment, if only I had
more time to repent more life to live and show the better part of me. If only I
had lived a better and longer-
"Life." I blurt my thought out loud, tears forming in my eyes.
`IT IS SO.` Came a thundering voice in my head. The world dissolves into white. | 2021-06-24T07:50:17 | 2021-06-24T04:09:04 | 457 | 158 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | I’m one-hundred and four now and there are more things than not that I have forgotten in my life. I can’t tell you the first time I traveled to another planet. I can’t recall the name of my instructor from school. And, I’ve even forgotten the name of my first friend in under school. I can, however, remember to this day the first time I had seen a human.
Sophia Barton was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Sure, she was short like every human. Yeah, she had the unnecessarily long hair that most human females do. She even did the all too predatory action of bearing her teeth, often. Despite all of this, Sophia has been my closest companion since I was only nine.
“Why do we have to Mom?”
“Because they’re coming into the Council, now stop fussing.” My mother told me sternly, as we waited behind the large glass walls looking into the ship terminal.
“It’s stupid, why does she need to stay at our house?” I asked my mother, not seeing how selfish I was being at the time.
“Rules are rules, dear.” She never went into much depth, even as she got older.
When the ship landed, I remember how much I tried not to look. I even tried to wander into a different room, but the loud screaming that sounded after the engines silenced kept my eyes glued to the platform.
She was tiny. Her face was red and glistened from moisture oozing out of orifices. All I could think was how ugly humans are. What a shame they were being allowed into the Council. The little girl kept creating such a fuss that I didn’t even notice the hand she was holding onto was the hand of my father, Third Admiral of Council Collective Space Fleet. But, after contact with the horrendous looking humans, he was brought down to nothing more than a baby sitter.
"Ew, she is not staying in my room.” I said, with my face smashed against the window, ears raised to the cold surface. My mother merely shushed me and led me to the entrance where my father was entering, with his new unfortunate luggage.
My parents embraced and my father even gave me some sort of wooden toy he had gotten on one of the human’s planets. I whispered my protests into his lowered ear, but he would be having none of it. The day felt like it would be the beginning of something horrible, especially if I was going to be listening to the disgusting sniveling sounds coming from the tiny human clinging to my father’s large grizzled one. It wasn’t until I tripped down a flight of steps later a few minutes later, as I was scuffing my feet in childish anger, that I realized that it was actually the exact opposite.
Empathy, compassion, mercy, call it what you like, but humanity has it. Every race in the Council is powerful, intelligent, clever, or resilient, but the humans are just plain nice. The lumbering Marins are the least opportune race to face head to head. The Yyes are known for their near perfect soldiers. Graes are the oldest and most intelligent of the races. You’d be hard-pressed to find a Nami who can’t con you out of the last credits you have left in your pocket. Then there are the Undarins who can withstand temperatures from 278K to 295K. It was barely ten cycles after humans were accepted into the Council that the status quo changed. | "So what if they fight for peace? They are still a war species? They may as well Glodixanc."
"Let me ask you something, are you scared of the Glodixanc?" the response came back from an alien in deep thought.
"No, why would I be scared? We aren't a war species. Thier wouldn't be any martial honour in them attacking us."
"Exactly and that's why the humans fascinate and scare me."
"I don't get the point you are trying to make you just said they fight for peace. Why would you be scared of a species that want peace?"
"Because they will not enter the galactic community as a war species looking to gain martial honour by fighting some other war species in the glory of combat. They will come like we did, they will come as friends, 70% of the earth's surface is sodium dihydrohen oxide think of the trading relations they will be able to build with that. They will very quickly establish themselves in the galaxy and establish there status quo of peace which they will do absolutely anything to maintain. The humans have a saying 'You can get further with a smile and a gun then you can with just a smile' the humans will come with their smiles and guns and nobody will be able to stop them, and trust me they are coming.
| 2018-03-17T05:52:27 | 2018-03-17T05:16:44 | 176 | 65 |
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it. | (obligatory first post - don't worry about being nice, go ahead and shred. Also, edited a weird comma.)
“My gods,” Laedon murmured. “They’re insane.”
For half a moment he wasn’t aware he’d actually spoken aloud, the shock hit him so hard. He hadn’t seen a single planet glow that bright since Hakkatos Prime – back when it was still referred to as the great spacefaring civilization and not just one more name for “genocide.”
“Simti, where exactly—”
“Quadrant 196 P, sir,” quipped his lieutenant, “just off the Middle Ridge.”
Something about that distant, incredulous tone of hers told Laedon that she’d hardly needed to check. Simti had had that obliviously buzzing bluish-green speck swirling about her pathfinder mere seconds after discovery. Being as unable as the rest of Command to look away from the central projection, the coordinates had probably been stuck in her head, waiting for the inevitable question.
Still… 196 *P*?
Slowly, reluctantly, Laedon tore his eyes away and wheeled around to face her, brow crinkled in confusion. “You’re sure about that?”
Simti huffed a dry laugh, the kind that was less amused than it was amazed. “Well,” she deadpanned, “they could hardly make it more obvious, could they?”
Laedon stared – first at her, then at the pathfinder, then back at the emissions projection where this little planet frantically bellowed into the void in an effort to
finally be heard. “Fair point,” he shrugged faintly, drumming his seven speckled fingers against his console in thought. “Well,” he sighed after a moment, “there’s an explanation, at least. Rokan, anything on the natives?”
“Land-based mammals, bipedal, mostly bald,” a reedy young private piped in from across the room. “Billions of people, hundreds of languages, I’m surprised we could translate at all.”
Laedon only smiled in response, a barely-there expression somewhere between wry, pitying, and exasperated. He wasn’t at all surprised. Whatever the language, it was the same simple greeting: *Hello? We are earth, we’re right here, is anyone else out there? Hello?* Billions of the earth-people, confined to a single planet, smack in the middle of a galactic dead zone. Of course they were lonely.
“How much does the Narvasi know?”
The question dropped Command into dead silence. It had been the question on everyone’s lips since this planet – earth, apparently – had shown up on the scanners. It was also the one that nobody really wanted answered. No doubt it *knew,* the Narvasi always knew. The question behind the question was whether or not its latest target had time to run.
“It’s decades away from them still,” Simti answered at last, “but it’s got a few years’ head start, anyone sending aid would have to be suicidal.”
“*Damn,*” Laedon growled. He heaved a long sigh through his fingers, staring at earth as though he could scream at them to scatter through a simple projection. But if the aid would be too late, so would evacuation. If they had developed mass transport then they’d have used it already. Billions was too great a number for one planet. By the time they managed it they wouldn’t even clear their star system. They were dead. Worse, in fact. “Dead” was just the more comforting thought. And they’d have to watch it for the umpteenth time in a row. A planet shouting that loudly could not be ignored…
But what if it could?
Decades, Simti had said. If earth went dark in time... “Respond,” he started suddenly. Every single one of the dozen heads in Command swiveled toward him.
“Sir?”
“Short and sweet,” he commanded. “I won’t have this be another Hakkatos. Tell them to shut up and play dead. I don’t care how, just get the message through. Send it in pictures if you have to, but tell them they have to hide.”
"Will that even work?"
Laedon didn't answer that, his mouth hardened into a determined line and his hands already busy sending the orders down to Translation. Truth be told, it was a long shot, but it was something. | My first writing, I guess :p
"Shut up and play dead."
These words rang everywhere in the year 2020. For several hours, communications were simply blocked.
The scientists were the first to receive these signals, kindly enough, whatever send that message was using our language, no need for some decrypting. Convenient, indeed, but after all these messages we sent, it was easy for these guys to copy our language, I guess. Or perhaps they were secretly watching us for a long period of time. Who knows ? And, now, who cares ?
Then, it simply happened everywhere. TVs in the worlds spontaneously turned on and simply displayed these words in white, with a red font. Communications everywhere were hijacked, with a monotonous, artificial voice endlessly repeating these words, phones, radios, everything.
The Disruption wasn't very long in hindsight, we were back to our regular programs after some hours of that. But it was nonetheless long enough for every human in the planet to realize that something was happening, and it wasn't a terrorist move, or some kind of supreme hacking or even "the illuminati making their moves" as told by some conspiracy theorists, no. This was a warning from the stars, from an intelligent life, warning us about something.
Humans soon swarmed outside of their homes, some people cried in fear, other tried to rationalize it away, others tried to exploit the chaos for their own ends. There were massive riots in Paris, Moscow, Ankara, Tokyo and plenty of other cities. The overwhelmed governments were powerless, and could just hope that their scientists would allow them to understand a shred of the event.
The scientists themselves were confused. What was happening ? What could lead to the other civilizations opting to play dead ? Should we ask ? Should we stop all signals right now and live an existence of ignorance in our little blue planet ? We finally resolved one of the greatest questions since the beginning of mankind, but many more questions came with it.
But only days after The Disruption, the answer made itself know.
The entire sky simply went black in the blink of an eye, everywhere in the world. Instinctively, humans swarmed the street, in a desperate bid for answers, while stumped scientists could only share their ignorance to world leaders everywhere.
But in the end, something happened, something managed to cause worldwide silence, for Humanity, in its entirety, witnessed something that shocked us all in tremendous fear.
The darkness had eyes, and it was staring back.
| 2016-03-27T10:10:41 | 2016-03-27T09:40:41 | 91 | 22 |
[WP] In order to understand his people better the King decides to go incognito and travel into town. To his annoyance every commoner he tries to speak to turns out to be disguised member of his royal court. | King Bowen had done it. He drew his hastily procured black cloak over himself, and suppressed the chills of anticipation that ran up and down his body. He was outside—not just outside his room, in the hallway, or outside in the courtyard.
No, he was outside outside, where gold-lined statues were non-existent and dead grass were plentiful. King Bowen felt his shoulders bump into things, even, something that was impossible inside the palace due to sheer spaciousness and because everybody tended to be prostrate in front of him.
“A tavern,” he whispered. “That’s where I want to go.”
And so, generally unable to deny what his heart desired, King Bowen shuffled towards the tavern. Theoretically and cartographically, the Copper Rooster—the most popular bar in the kingdom—was just about a mile away from the start of the palace’s gates.
Promptly, he, nearly stumbled upon a metal bowl on the floor, however, nearly planting his face into the cobbled road. The king turned, only to see a poor beggar with tattered rags as his only source of warmth. Bowen sighed, reaching inwards for a gold coin, and tossing it into the metal bowl.
“Your majesty,” the beggar said. “No one puts a gold coin in a beggar’s bowl. That’s just asking to be robbed.”
The king jolted in the air and jumped backwards, shellshock delivered right to his trembling face.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Your spymaster,” the beggar said, standing up now. At his full height, he stood a little bit taller than the king, but then proceeded to bow halfway. “I received word that you were escaping.”
“Leland,” King Bowen said, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “But I sneaked out successfully.”
“You broke the window directly outside your room, trampled all over the rose garden, and quite literally said hi to the main gate’s guards,” Leland said. “You were anything but successful, your majesty.”
“I knew I shouldn’t be polite,” King Bowen hissed. “That’s what foiled the plan.”
“There is no plan, your majesty,” Leland said. “Please come back. The kingdom needs you.”
“The kingdom runs just fine without me, as seen by the bustling streets of this city,” Bowen argued. “Please. Just let me fulfil my dream. One drink at Copper Rooster?”
Leland sighed, a long heavy drawl that spoke volumes of his exasperation with the kingdom’s ruler.
“One drink,” Leland said. “I must accompany you, of course.”
“Oh, hell no,” Bowen said. “Let me be alone. I promise everything will be fine.”
Leland clenched his fist tightly, which travelled up his head and became a vigorous self-administered scalp massage.
“It is impossible to contain you,” Leland said. “One drink. Just one?”
“Just one,” Bowen smiled.
“Fine, fine,” Leland relented.
The King bounded off down an alleyway, leaving the spymaster behind in the gloomy darkness of a back alley. Leland sighed, and tapped large, metal trash disposer beside him. A few muffled sounds later, one woman emerged from the wreckage, blue in the face from holding her breath so long.
“Isabelle,” Leland said. “Is the Copper Rooster operation in place?”
“Of course,” Isabelle said. “Your inituition was correct, sir.”
“He’ll want to go to the Copper Rooster first,” Leland said. “There was no doubt about it. I brought special attention to it last weekend’s territory planning discussion.”
“Very clever, sir.”
“And put the other bars on alert, too. Hell, even all the restaurants surrounding them with our staff.”
“But the king said—”
“The king is not a trustworthy source when it comes to his own thoughts,” Leland sighed. “Unfortunately, I think I know who he is better than his brain does.”
“Sure,” Isabelle said. “Consider it done. But before I leave…”
“Spit it out.”
“Why?”
“I also meant the banana peel in your mouth,” Leland said. “But I do this to protect the king.”
“Is this some sort of diabolical political situation?” Isabelle gasped. “Or is it more horrible?! Are you going to mur—”
“No,” Leland sighed. “It’s all very simple, really. The king must not know that he is beloved, and a great deal of people will worship the very ground he walks on.”
Isabelle sat, scratching her head. She winced, and looked at her gunky hand in disgust.
“And why is that a bad thing?”
“Oh, love. It’s a drag, far deeper than anything anybody else could give. Hate is fine, because he’ll never come out here again. Indifference is ok, because that’ll dampen his enthusiasm,” Leland said. “But love… it’ll ruin him. You think escapes once a year are bad? Trying dealing with one every two hours.”
“Wow,” Isabelle said. “That seems…”
“Unethical? Immoral?” Leland said. “I don’t care. King Bowen is a good man, and above all, a good king. He will stay in the freaking throne—by hook, or by very convincing crooks.”
---
r/dexdrafts | The beggar sits, hunched against the wall, his face hidden by the hood of his cloak. His weary, wrinkled hands hold a cup containing a few meager coins, and beside him, on a cloth, is a small piece of bread with chunks gnawed off. I drop a coin into the cup.
“Hello, traveler,” the beggar says. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“I was hoping to find the nearest inn, or perhaps someplace else that I could find a few odd jobs.” It was a line I had practiced the entire night, and I hoped it came across as sincere.
The beggar seems to gaze up at me, but his eyes are still hidden by shadow. “You are going in the right direction for the inn. Continue on, and you will find a fountain. It is on the other side of the square.”
“Thank you. Tell me,” I add, “What sort of place is this? Do the townspeople have a favorable view of their noble family?”
“Oh, yes,” he says fervently, peering into the cup. “They take care of our needs. We are a peaceful town.” A long finger appears from his oversized sleeve as he starts trying to fish the coin out.
“That is good to hear -” My sentence stops suddenly as I notice a ring on the beggar’s finger. Simple, twisted metal, meant to ward off spirits. The beggar also freezes before trying to withdraw his hand into the folds of his cloak, but I reach out and grasp it before he can.
I stare at the ring for a moment before reaching for the writhing man’s hood. “Stop–” he cries, but it falls back.
“Vicar?” I’m surprised at the face that stares back at me.
He clutches his other hand to his chest. “Your- Your Majesty,” he replies, gaping.
“Why are you here? In the town?” My grip on his hand tightens as I look around, but the alley is empty.
"Please," he whimpers, and I realize his fingers are turning white. I loosen my hold on him, and he gives a sigh of relief. "I simply wanted to keep an eye on you, to make sure you wouldn't fall to temptation."
"So you kept watch for me in a random alley in the hopes that I could come by?"
"I knew you'd left the castle by this route before."
I curse. "Who else knows?"
He looks surprised. "No one! Your soul is my charge, but beyond, you are your own man. I was tempted to tell the guard in order to keep you safe, but I knew that would only put an end to your outings. I do believe they're important to your understanding of the land."
I release his hand and, as he begins rubbing it, I feel a pang of guilt. "I apologize for that. It was improper, even if I was startled. I'm simply going to the inn for a drink. I promise there is no temptation to be had for me tonight, and I would appreciate if you went back to the castle."
"Yes, sir," he answers meekly, but his eyes roam the alley, and I can see that he's hoping to continue following me.
"However, if I catch you again, I will find someone to sin with tonight."
\----------------------
Edited for a couple of punctuation issues. Part two below! | 2022-03-09T10:34:15 | 2022-03-09T10:12:22 | 725 | 99 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I had always been comfortable with my scars. Thin silver and white lines were strewn across my skin, but they were small enough that you could only see them if you were standing close to me. I tried my best not to lie to others, but sometimes there was an option worse than deception.
My chemistry lab partner from my freshman year of college had flawless skin. He often seemed distant or tired, but he was kind, hardworking, and by the looks of his skin, incredibly honest. I had never seen anyone like him and was instantly intrigued. Between classwork, study sessions, and late night pizza runs, I found myself falling in love with him. When I asked him if he would ever give me a chance, he said yes. My eyes glanced over his skin to gauge his honesty, but alas, no scars appeared.
Before long, that man was my husband. Mark was never close to his family and focused all his energy on me and making sure that we had an amazing life together. In his vows he told me he would always love me and that I brought a new light to his life. On our honeymoon, his skin was still as flawless as the day he was born, and I knew that he meant every word.
One day I was fixing dinner for Mark and myself. He stepped through the front door after a long day of work and I rushed into his arms to kiss him and ask about his day. He set down his briefcase, loosened his tie, and sighed.
"What's wrong baby?" I asked. With sad eyes, he ever so slightly lifted his head to look at me and mumbled "My father died."
I had never met Mark's father. His parents divorced when he was young, and Mark had a spotty relationship with his father after the divorce. I wasn't sure how deeply this news was affecting my husband, but I grabbed his hand and stretched up to my tip toes to kiss his forehead. Using my free hand to lift up his chin, I looked into Mark's once brilliantly bright eyes and told him I would do whatever he needed me to do.
Six days later, I tightened the tie Mark asked me to pick out for him. I slipped on my heels and told Mark that I would be right beside him as he said his final goodbyes to his father. He chose not to speak at the funeral, but before he left he placed one hand on the casket, closed his eyes, and whispered "I love you, Dad."
That night, I climbed into the shower with Mark to hold him close and comfort him. Sprawled across Mark's back was the longest, deepest scar I had ever seen. My husband's skin had been flawless that morning, and the only thing he had said all day was that he had loved his father.
Concerned, I called Mark's mother the next day while Mark was at work. It took some encouraging, but his mom finally spilled the only secret Mark had ever kept from me. "Hannah, Mark had an older sister. When Mark's father and I divorced, Mark stayed with me and his sister moved in with her dad. When Mark was 11, his dad was driving his sister to a friend's birthday party....only he was drunk. He ran a red light and a car crossing the intersection crashed into the passenger side of the car, killing Mark's sister. I don't think Mark ever saw his father sober after that, and he never fully forgave him."
Disbelieving, I thanked Mark's mother for her time and hung up. I never mentioned the conversation or the new scar to Mark, but I held him a little tighter and kissed him a little longer that night. His skin would never be flawless again, but to me he was still perfect. | They said we'd meet all kinds at university. I grew up in a small farming town and I can't tell you how right they were.
With the recent election behind us, tensions were still high. The debates had been arduous. Should we deal with climate change via the solar route or reach out to newer frontiers of nuclear or wave power.
I have to admit I was disappointed I missed the lottery for physics 570, which meant a free semester on one of the 17 lunar colonies, but if I was being honest with myself I knew my scores didn't merit more than a single ticket in the pool.
I'd met several people who honestly believed we'd establish more than a foothold on mars, which I couldn't believe. I mean with the em drive version 4 we were pushing on to Europa, and water base station. Huge lead plates were already on the way with humans soon to follow.
The abundance of food, advances in medicine, and lack of disease (thanks to vaccines and proper medication) meant I was honored to be taught English 104 by a professor that was alive when electric cars were just being invented.
But I never thought to meet a heretic.
She was pretty, excepting the large red scar that marred her face and neck. Almost half an inch across and running from her forehead down her face, over her jaw, and disappearing under her shirt the scar was open red raw, proof she repeated the lie again. Not that any of had to ask what it was, with the thin golden cross hanging from her necklace.
I stayed away from her, like the others, as I focused on my studies and where I wanted to take not only my life but the human race, out among the stars. | 2016-12-29T13:44:06 | 2016-12-29T13:26:32 | 89 | 12 |
[WP] The Zombie Apocalypse has been going for at least a year when you find yourself cornered by a shambling undead. In a panic, you bite them, and the corpse slowly regains it's skin. It's flesh healing, until they breath in and look around before saying "How the hell did you know that would work?" | "How the hell did you know that would work?"
​
It was a good question, it really was. And I wanted to answer it. But even if I could have, I wouldn't have been able to. No, I was to busy working my way through the rest of the horde that had followed behind him.
​
I don't remember how many I had to bite that day before I got to safety. Zombies are not generally polite enough to let you stop and count. I was so scared once I found a spot to hide, how many zombies I managed to chomp down on wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind either. It had to have been quite a few though, since they were able to form a new resistance group, fighting back against the plague for humanity.
​
I don't know if it was a coincidence that the first man I bit back to life was the one who found me, or if he had been deliberately looking for me. Either way, just a few days after becoming human again, he came climbing down into the basement that I was hiding in.
​
"You're bite made me immune, I think," he told me. "After I came back, they just sort of ignored me. Now me an some other regenerated are helping some scientists work on a cure while we clear out the rest of the city."
​
I couldn't believe what he was telling me. It all seemed like a dream, but there he was, in the flesh, the living, breathing flesh; telling me I could help rebuild human civilization. How could I say no? All I had to do was keep biting.
It was hard at first. The taste of rotting flesh wasn't easy to stomach. But I had no choice. Street by street, we moved through; the taste stopped making me vomit after every bite. Building by building, the smell of decay became less of a burden. Room by room, the thrill of a mouth-full of human flesh began to grow. Zombie by zombie, I had to wonder what ever bothered me about it in the first place.
​
Now, there are hardly any zombies left to bite. I spend a lot of time just sitting here in my apartment, looking down at the people walking through the streets that were once crowded with the undead. A woman walking hand in hand with her young daughter. A man walking his dog. A group of soldiers walking down the sidewalk. It's been so long since the soldiers were needed, it's almost surprising to see them. Normal life for just about everyone had returned. I should be happy. But no matter how much I tried, I just couldn't be.
I almost miss the days when I had to run from shelter to shelter, praying to god that one of the undead hadn't spotted me. When I'd come across another survivor, it was terrible not knowing if they would betray me, kill me in my sleep for my food. Every second lived back then was a second lived in terror. I almost miss it, but...I don't.
​
Now, I have more to worry about in every waking second than I ever though possible back then. Because what I truly miss...What I don't know if I can go on living without...is the taste of human flesh. I miss it and it's...unbearable. | The next thing I knew I was sitting up on my makeshift bed, my heart thudding in my chest. I'd experienced some crazy dreams since everything went down, but this was by far the craziest. The idea of me biting an actual zombie was both disgusting and hilarious, since before the zombie apocalypse I was the type of person who wouldn't eat raw fish or didn't even want to look at a steak if it wasn't well done. When civilization returned to normal, if it ever did, that would not change. In fact, considering all the gore I've seen since, I might go one step further and go vegetarian or vegan. I'm already halfway there since decent meat if a hard thing to come by right now.
But the dream, despite it's absurdity, was terrifying. I had experienced far too many close calls like that since the pandemic began. The first rule of zombies is to never, EVER, let yourself get boxed in or cornered. The key to survival is to keep as much distance between them and you as possible. If they can't get close to you, they can't bite you. Period. All those who were all keyed up for close combat with those things were the first to get ripped to peaces or bitten and turned.
Shaking off the remnants of both sleep and the aftermath of the dream, I got up and began to face the day and whatever came with it. | 2020-08-12T17:25:34 | 2020-08-12T17:13:00 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks. | We had an agreement.
Well, a kind of silent agreement. He didn’t talk much.
The way I saw it, I wouldn’t ask what all the tattoos were about, and he would pay the standard price just for a simple black line on his upper back. Everybody wins.
I got a lot of shady customers. I had expected as much, opening up in a neighborhood like this. But most of the time I wasn’t left with many questions to ask. Of course the head of a local triad wanted a frothing dragon sprawled across his chest. Why wouldn’t I give a half a dozen gang members matching tattoos of bleeding blue skulls? I learned very early on not to ask my customers many questions. And I’ve done pretty well so far.
But this man. He baffled me.
He wasn’t particularly muscular or imposing. He looked like the kind of guy you would see at an accounting firm or shopping at the mall. You know, short, styled hair, clean suit. Sometimes it hadn’t even been three days before he showed up again. Other times, it would be weeks. But he always came back. And he always ordered the same thing: a tally mark.
What was he counting? The grid of tally marks already stretched a quarter of the way down his back. Was he an underground fighter? He never displayed any obvious injuries. A hitman? I supposed it was possible. It would explain how much cash he had to burn on tally mark tattoos. But he just didn’t seem like a killer to me.
I had sworn that I would never ask my customers questions. But that didn’t stop me from dying of curiosity.
I was counting money when he came in again. He wore the same suit, carried the same silver briefcase. I nodded at him wordlessly as he slapped a fifty dollar bill down on the counter. It had become somewhat of a routine at this point.
He hung up his shirt and jacket and lied face down on the tattoo bed. The last tally was still a little raw from a few days ago. A quick count told me he was up to 124.
I silenced my curiosity and began preparing the needle. The man was lying still, silent, and calm. Even from day one, he hadn’t so much as flinched at the touch of the needle. I had to admire that. He was better than some of my regulars.
The inking itself was over in a few minutes. It wasn’t exactly a test of my skill as an artist. I kept the tallies as orderly as possible, although I don’t think the man’s first priority was how good they looked.
I was just cleaning up when the door swung open and a burly bald man entered the room. He wore a loose wifebeater and khaki pants.
“Give me five minutes,” I said to him, holding up the needle.
Instead of taking a seat by the door, the man began to lumber across the room to me.
“Wait over there, sir,” I said, pointing. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
He showed no signs of slowing his approach. I looked up at him. What was this guy on? What did he want?
A little worried now, I backed up to the counter in the back of the room. I reached under the desk and grabbed my semiautomatic handgun.
“Can I help you, sir?” I asked, raising my empty hand out toward him.
My regular on the tattoo bed had sat up and looked suddenly concerned. The first emotion I had ever seen him display.
The stranger, staring with lifeless eyes, reached out a hand toward my neck.
I lifted the gun at the man, firing an entire magazine into his chest. The bullets seemed to enter his body and stop dead. He stumbled back a few steps with every shot but seemed otherwise unfazed.
He didn’t bleed.
I dropped the gun in shock. I reeled back and punched him in the face. His flesh seemed to cave in on impact. His body felt like I was punching a sack of rice. The man broke into a devilish grin.
“What are you?” I shouted at the man.
The regular jumped up and flipped open his briefcase. He pulled out a small metal disc and slapped it on the back of the stranger’s neck. The device crackled loudly. The intruder stiffened, then fell over in a heap.
The regular, seemingly ignoring me, strode over to his jacket and pulled out a smartphone. He kneeled over the unconscious intruder, pulling open one of its eyes. It was completely clouded red.
“Yeah,” he said into the phone, “We got another one. Locke’s Tattoo Parlor, down on 8th.” He hung up without waiting for a response.
Stepping over the stranger crumpled on the ground, he took out his wallet and placed another fifty dollars on the counter.
---
I get a lot of mysterious strangers down at /r/FlyingNarwhal. You should come check it out. | *Jeezus Christ, not this guy again.*
"Mr Deayton! What a pleasure to see you again. How you been? You been to the gym? Those arms are positively bulging." I say as he enters the shop.
I like to have a good rapport with repeat customers, but Frank Deayton looks like one of those guys who could snap at any instant - and snap your neck too, whilst he's at it. So I try to be more friendly than usual with him.
"Need another notch added Tommy." the mountainous man rumbles. He walks over to his preferred leather chair and lowers his huge frame into it. The chair rocks back in shock and I worry for a moment that it is going to be the first in a chain of things to snap.
He pulls his top off to reveal huge pectorals that would make many of my female clientele envious. I begin warming up my tools. It is a simple tattoo and requires no real preparation.
He has five rows of four black notches inked onto his chest already, each row crossed out. It's a tally and I am about to add number 26. I begin sweating nervously. I have no idea why today of all days I am feeling a sense of guilt about this.
"So uh, busy week ahead Mr Deayton?" I ask. I like to get a conversation going as I work - it makes me feel more comfortable. And seeing as it's only me and him in the shop this evening I have little choice as to who that conversation is with.
He remains silent but looks at me and grins. I gulp and hope he doesn't realise how nervous I am.
"Got to start a new row. Below the left nipple I think. " I say to him.
"Perfect." His deep voice sends a shiver down my spine.
My hands shake as I work. I am being eaten up by what I am doing. I need to know what the marks represent. I hope they are cats he has saved from trees however I suspect a much darker reasoning behind them.
Sweat drips from my forehead and splashes onto the floor, but eventually I finish.
"You know what, better make it two notches." he says.
I stop moving for a moment, slightly stunned. *Why a second?*
I regain my composure and begin tattooing the next black mark.
"You wanna know what they mean, don't you?" he says smiling as I finish the second. I nod silently.
"I knew you did. You see, you were getting too nervous. Too curious. So, I needed an extra notch." He grins at me again. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the finality of oblivion.
"Relax, I'm kidding! I adopt cats from a shelter downtown. I just like to have something to mark the occasion. Thinking of heading down there again tonight."
I open my eyes and, standing in a growing pool of golden liquid, I let out an almighty laugh. | 2016-07-09T09:39:07 | 2016-07-09T08:44:18 | 128 | 84 |
[WP] You are the super villain that defeated the super hero and conquered the earth. You walk out onto your balcony to law down the law for your new subjects. You are greeted by a massive crowd and genuine cheers. | First there was the scream. Then the silence.
The long colorful cape was now covering most of his body, red stains slowly seeping into the fabric. The other man in the room stood there panting, and stared blankly ahead. "It's over," he mumbled.
The battle had been long, drawn-out, and devastating. Entire districts of the city had been reduced to rubble, and the casualties had been stacked up until they all amounted to nothing more than a rising counter.
He had seen and felt what people thought of him for as long as he could remember. When he was young the long stares, feeling their eyes on him until he finally passed around the corner. As he grew older the stares had changed into quick glances, but he noticed them all. The curiosity that kids challenged him with had been nothing in comparison to the looks of disgust and fear adults gave him. He'd never been their favorite, and he vowed he would never become their favorite - rather, that he never *wanted* to be their favorite. Their shallowness, misunderstanding and prejudices had turned him into what he had become. And today he had become the victor, but he didn't feel love or happiness. All what was left was a calm, an inner silence. "It really is over", he mumbled again.
The lines had slowly blurred. Good and evil. His opponent had become as much as a tyrant as himself. What price would he pay to ensure victory for the sake of doing what was "right"? He had overheard the questions afraid citizens asked each other. "At what cost?" His own predecessor, a lesser villain, had finally been defeated, but not before the *people's champion* had crashed his aircraft right downtown in an occupied office building. Before that, the destruction of half the country's farmland. And he'd disappear again, waiting for another villain to challenge him. An invite that never went unanswered. All the people had wanted was no more super villains.
As he slowly moved over to the body he couldn't help but feel contempt. Super villain, they'd branded him, all because he wanted to put an end to the hero. The antagonist, the antonym, the evil to his good. But his escapades had finally been put to a stop.
As he took the cape from the heroes' body and walked over to the glass doors, he inhaled, and pushed them open. The mass of people that stared at him, as he displayed the cape above his head, were silent. He could see the conflict on their faces, he could feel the restlessness in the air, as they waited for him to speak. He leaned into the microphone they had placed for the victor and simply said: "I will hold myself to my promise".
An ease rippled through the crowd, and a joyous eruption of sound resonated. Men and women hugged each other, little children cheered, as he added: "No more. I'll allow you guys to elect an official. My deed is done."
He could still hear the clapping, the chants, as he left the balcony and towards silence. He'd held his promise. No more super heroes. | I never thought this day would come. The Gray Cape. Done for. Finaly. No more fights. No more being degraded and 'put in my place' pff.
He was always so sure of himself. Loud. Drowning in attention from the ladies.
Had all those simple minded monkeys looking up to him. As if he was some kind of God. Where is your power of social capital now, you dumb heap of muscles.
And they all saw it. They saw me. They were in awe you could tell. Never paying any mind to me before, but I had seen the fear in their eyes when I fought the Grey Cape.
So now. Here I stand. Above them all. They all belong to me now.
I have to say though. I expected a bit more fear. Would have made my job a lot easier. But those small minded monkeys seem happy that I kicked the Gray Cape out.
How about that. No matter. This rock is now mine. For I, the Silverback, am not just a dumb monkey anymore. I am head Ape! | 2017-05-23T08:53:59 | 2017-05-23T07:46:45 | 1,300 | 26 |
[WP] Two criminals share what is to be their last conversation on death row. With nothing left to lose, all is laid bare to the other stranger. | It was near midday. The air was slick with humidity as the procession of men - all men - walked through the yard. Death and lethargy hung off the group. Even the guards seemed spellbound with malaise. The dust kicked up from the ground patterned the condemned mens' shoes and trousers. They paid it no heed. No sense in keeping up appearances any longer. One man sobbed quietly to himself. The rest marched, devoid of emotion.
It was called "The Clinic". The irony of naming a place of death after a place of healing was lost on most of the cohort, but Nick smiled wryly as he took his seat. Nick's immediate thought was at how uncomfortable the plastic moulded chair he sat on was. At least it fit in with the grey concrete walls that surrounded them in the hallway. One of the guards said something to the group, but he didn't hear whatever it was. He was in his own world now. Nick had always assumed this was how he would go. It made sense to him. A simple calculus: One part dead mother, one part abusive father, two parts a lack of opportunity and one generous dollop of a hatred of the world equals Nick.
"Makes sense." Nick said aloud.
"What?" Came the voice of the man sitting next to him.
Nick was summoned from his imagination and turned to the man. He was unevenly shaven, balding, and gaunt. Bruised bags hung under his eyes, and wore a folded-over cauliflower ear on his left side. There was a scar on his neck, stretching from his clavicle upwards toward his chin.
"I said it makes sense." Nick said again, and after seeing the man didn't understand, gestured his handcuffed arms in a general motion to the room that surrounded them.
"Right." The other man muttered.
The guards called up the man in the first seat. His name was Henry Franklin. He stood up, shuffled forward, and was ushered into the next room, never to see the world again.
"Five left." Said the man sat to the right of Nick.
Nick looked over at him and saw he wore an ironic smirk on his lips.
"Six for me." Nick said.
The man chuckled.
"Enjoy it." He said, "What are you going to do with the extra time while I'm in there?"
Nick thought a moment.
"Go on a holiday to France, I think. It's real nice this time of year."
The other man smiled again, then stopped. He seemed tired. So tired.
"Yeah." He said, his smile now gone. "That would be nice."
"And you?" Nick asked, "What would you do if we weren't here."
"Go fishing." The man said, without hesitation, "I'd get a boat and sit on a lake all day, drinking beer and fishing with my brother."
The guards called up the next man in line. It was the sobbing man. He'd stopped sobbing and had fallen into a stoic silence now, though. His name was Jack Lincoln. Five to go.
"You ever been fishing?" The man asked Nick.
"Once. Many years ago. A friend from school's dad took us out."
"Oh yeah? And what'd you think?"
"It was boring."
The man chuckled. "That's fair." He said. "What I wouldn't do to go fishing again..."
"Yeah."
"What a fucking waste." The man said, a surprising bitterness to his tone.
"Not much we can do about it now."
"You're not wrong there, kid." The man spat, "Not at all."
"Would you have changed anything, looking back?"
The man thought a moment. "No. Probably not." He admitted.
The next man was called up. He shuffled forward with an awkward limp. Nick had spoken to him in the yard before. Nick was convinced the man wasn't "all there" mentally. His name was Terry Polk. Four to go.
"What about you? Any other path?"
"Nope." Nick said, a resolute edge to his voice. He sighed after a moment, and then said "But imagine if there were?"
"Would be nice."
"Yeah."
"Fishing all day. Maybe whittling at night. Ya know I never tried whittling? It always seemed like fun."
"I did it once. Only ended up with a handful of splinters. Took me weeks to get them all out."
"Well maybe not whittling then. Maybe playing guitar or something."
"I could get behind that. Guitar might be nice."
"My wife used to say I had a great singing voice. I don't think I was that good, but I could carry a tune."
"You were married then?"
"Still am. Technically."
"When did you last see her?"
"A couple of days ago."
"Say your goodbyes, then?"
"In our own way." He said, haunted. "And you? Anybody on the outside."
"Nope. There was once, but that was a long time ago."
"Fair enough." He said, "Fair enough. Is that a regret?"
"Yeah. I think it is."
"Pity."
"Yeah."
The next man was called up. He disappeared before either of them registered the man. His name was Jerry Norton. Three to go.
"Fuck." Said the man, "This is really happening."
Nick simply nodded.
"I dunno what I thought. That I'd be rescued somehow? That the place would burn down, or they'd say there was a mistake and I was free to go, or that aliens would abduct me or something."
Nick nodded again.
"Fuck." Said the man.
"Fuck." Agreed Nick.
The next man was called up sooner than they expected. Even he seemed taken aback by it. He didn't look ready to go, but the guards took him anyway. His name was Ken Cryer. Two to go.
"Not long now." Said the man. He seemed to have been woken from his lethargic stoicism now, and was visibly shaken. Nick pitied him.
"Tell me where you're from." Nick said.
The man eyed him warily, but spoke anyway.
"Texas. Grew up on a farm with my foster parents. They were nice. Had a dog named Bruffles. He died when I was thirteen. Still miss him. He was a german shepherd. Great goddamn dog."
"When'd you move out?"
"When my parents died. Car crash. I just up and left the farm. It's probably still there... rotting. I went to Missouri, then California, then finally here. Then I fucked up and ended up *here*."
Nick nodded. He understood. He let a moment pass.
"Was it a good run, at least?"
The man shook his head. "Not really." He was staring at the grey concrete between his feet in front of him.
Nick shared a slow nod.
The next man was called up. His name was Dirk Schram. One to go.
"Listen." The man said, turning to Nick, "I ain't ready to go."
"None of us are."
"I know, I know. I'm panicking. It doesn't make any sense."
"You religious?"
"Not any more." The man was petrified.
"It's never too late." Nick muttered.
The man nodded. He kept nodding as he turned forward, clasped his hands together in white-knuckled intensity and prayed, whispering desperately under his breath. A few minutes later he emerged from the trance, somehow calmed.
"Thanks, son." He said to Nick, "I think I needed that."
Nick bowed his head and smiled sadly.
"You going to say your last prayers before you go in?" he asked.
"Nah." Nick said, "Religion was never for me."
The man nodded. "Well thanks anyway."
It was time. The man was called up. His name was Nick Stamford. Nick realised he'd never asked his name. They *shared* a name and he didn't know it. The man stood tall as he went, and uttered a silent thanks to Nick before he slipped behind the doors.
Nick spent the next several minutes in quiet contemplation. He redrew the lines that made up his life. He called up memories he'd forgotten he had and projected them onto the concrete wall before him. The time he slipped and broke his leg. The time he stole a bottle of booze from the liquor store while his friends ran distraction. The time he went swimming in that lake at midnight. The time he went camping for a month after losing his job. The last time he kissed Natalie.
It was time. The guard called his name.
Nick took a deep breath and stood up. He was pulled into the room, and was lain on the table without any resistance. The nurse talked Nick through the process. She was going to inject him in the arm and then he'd fall into a deep sleep he would never wake from. He liked her voice. He regretted that he'd never hear it again. Nor would he hear the other Nick's voice again. His texan accent telling him stories of fishing and whittling and his dog, Bruffles. Nick imagined another life where the two of them met in some other way. Where neither of them had lived messed up lives, and spent their time sitting on a boat, fishing, while Nick complained about how boring it was. All he ever wanted was boring.
"Any last words? Anything you'd like to say, Nicholas Mank?" The guard asked, pulling Nick from his daydream.
"Makes sense." Nick said. | “Are you scared?” The meek, thin man asked, scooting closer to my side, trying to find some solace in the cold, bare cell. It was strange that he even wished to speak. We had spent at least an hour by each other’s side without a word and suddenly he wished to talk.
“Not really. I mean, maybe a little? I don’t know. You go through stages with it, I guess? Its weird, isn’t it, like turning off a light switch? That’s what the guard told me.” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the guard’s earlier comment or cry, something morbidly amusing about the ease with which thirty years of life would be erased.
“Right, yeah. I’m scared. How can’t a person be scared? You grow up being taught to avoid death. Don’t cross roads without looking, don’t touch spiders. Things like that and then suddenly you 're locked in a room and expected to keep calm. I’m trying to keep calm but part of me just wants to pull those bars open.”
“A frail man like you wouldn’t even make those bars budge.” I gave him a smirk, but he didn’t return one, huffing at my joke.
“Shut up, just because you look tough. Why do you think I kept my mouth shut earlier? I thought you would beat me if I spoke, but I’m not sure why that scared me. A beating can’t be worse than death, can it?”
“Depends on what a person breaks. You ever tried to breathe with a broken rib? Bastard of a thing. Teeth are one of the worst. When you feel it loosen, its just not a pleasant feeling. What are they killing you for, anyway? Filed some snobs taxes the wrong way?”
“Again, shut up. If you must know, I planned to assassinate a politician. A man called George Mallik. Did you not hear about it? It was a rather big story. I shot him in the shoulder.” The man asked, expecting some sort of applause from me, looking disappointed when I looked away.
“Must have been after my sentence, they don’t show us much tv in here. I heard something about a politician but there’s always a person cursing a politician in every sector of this prison, you just start drowning it out.”
“I see. Guess you had to be outside to notice it. What about you? Gang related? Drugs? Booze? What’s your sinful poison?” He said, prodding me for information, only to scoot back when I shot him a glare.
“Armed robbery gone wrong. I was going from state-to-state robbing stores, it was a nice little operation, but I got greedy. News spread about my actions, and soon shops began keeping weapons behind their registers. That didn’t stop me at first, the stores that kept weapons were far too few to be an issue and a person getting paid $20 an hour wasn’t about to be a hero.”
“So, what happened? Can’t have been that good of an operation if you got caught.” He teased, trying to get back at me for earlier, disheartened when I didn’t react to his prodding.
“Told you, I got greedy. I told myself I would get enough to keep my family fed, but then I got ambitious. Robbed one store too many and got a gun pulled on me. I didn’t even think, I shot the man dead where he was standing. Then I panicked and got into a shootout with the law. Think I killed two of them. You can probably guess how nicely they treated me when they got me away from cameras.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure they offered you the water facial cleanse they gave me. It’s good at opening your pores and blocking your respiratory system.”
“You like telling jokes? Ever consider comedy rather than political assassination?”
“When I was younger, yes. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the wit for it. We could have made a good duo though; every two piece needs a straight man. You know, a stern face that rolls his eyes at the other’s humor?”
“Right, yeah. I think I’ve heard of it. Think I would rather take the needle then do comedy with you though. No offence, I just know which one sounds less painful.”
“A lot of offence taken. I could have raised you through Hollywood, we could have been something. Something more than this.” His hands clutched at his knees, gripping them.
“We all want to be somebody, don’t we?” I said, giving the man a pat on the back, one that startled him.
“I thought killing him would help people out. He wanted to remove the healthcare benefits for those that can’t afford proper treatment. I thought that would be my grand stand against the world, an ultimate act of defiance and yet it was a whimper.”
“An idealistic idiot.”
“Pardon?”
“An idealistic idiot. If you cared you would have signed petitions or promoted action healthily, not by shooting whoever you disagreed with. That’s just a petty excuse.” I stated, watching the man rise to his feet, gripping the scruff of my outfit.
“Listen here you. What makes you think any of that would have worked? People like him need to feel scared, they need to see the people won’t lay dormant. What about you? Robbing for your child while others struggle to feed their families after you steal from them.”
“I know what I did was-“ I went to fire up at the man, rising to my feet only to hear a clanging of metal outside, causing me to drop back onto the bench, the man following. “Sorry, I guess I’m an idealistic idiot too.”
“I’m sorry too. You wanted something better than I ever did. I hope your family is ok, if that’s any consolation. I’m sure your child will understand why you did what you did.”
“Hope she doesn’t. I don’t want her thinking that’s a good way to live. I hid some money for her, enough that it should give her the start her father never could.”
“I’m sure she will at least appreciate the gesture. Do you regret what you did?” The man asked, moving again closer to my side.
“I do. My parents weren’t great, and I wanted to give her what I never had. I wanted that sitcom family and in trying to do that I robbed her of a normal life. My father was a bastard, but he was at least around. I can’t say that for myself.”
“I didn’t have any family left, but I can imagine if anyone’s watching me from beyond the grave, they would be disappointed. They did everything they could to give me a good life, and I blew it away. I’m Paul, by the way, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Jeremy.” I responded, giving the man a nod. I could hear the heavy footsteps of a guard approaching our cell, causing my chest to stir with oxygen. “And Paul, I’m scared too.” I said before standing up, waiting for the guard to open the cell.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-07-28T07:46:32 | 2021-07-28T07:21:55 | 59 | 24 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | *This is dumb as shit,* you think as you sulk in the otherwise mundane room. *People get superpowers based on what kind of food they like? Or what, how good they’re able to interpret the symbolism of different foods? What the fuck does that even mean? What flavor is invisibility?*
You pause. What flavor *would* invisibility be?
“Hurry it up, kid, you’re not the only one who needs to do this today,” says a brash security guard, opening a door to check on you.
You turn to glare at her. “This is literally going to affect the rest of my life,” you say. “Could I please have half a second to think about it?”
She rolls her eyes and pops her gum but leaves and closes the door behind her.
You survey your options. A pile of rolled injera, an assortment of nigiri featuring every type of fish imaginable, a plate of deep-fried black pudding…There were endless dishes, endless cuisines. More foods than a single person could possibly be familiar with, and more choices than a person could possibly make sense of.
*Luckily, I’m not here to try to get the best superpower,* you think. *All I have to do is figure out which of these options represents the biggest “fuck you” to whatever powers that be are making us all do this.*
You’ve already given some thought to “throwing” this little contest in protest, intentionally choosing something generic or boring in order to get a lame superpower. But you’re not sure exactly what that would look like; how do you distinguish between unoriginal and classic, one-dimensional versus elegantly simple? Who’s to say that interestingness even matters at all? A glass of still water is about as boring as it gets, but you can still see arguments for it potentially yielding several interesting superpowers; maybe the ability to breathe underwater, or to talk to aquatic animals, or, hey, even invisibility.
Besides, what would throwing the contest accomplish other than crippling you with a shitty power? Lots of people end up with subpar powers, albeit unintentionally; you’d hardly be the first.
No, you needed something bigger. Something that would really challenge the system, turn it upside down.
You survey the room one more time. Four walls, a ceiling, a floor. Lots and lots of food on an impossibly long table…
You smile.
And then, without further hesitation, you chomp right onto the corner of the mahogany dining table.
***
“This is outrageous!” erupts the goddess of law. “She can’t do this!”
“I knew this would happen,” says the god of prudence and restraint. “Humans can’t control themselves. They always have to push limits.”
“I think the girl’s a genius,” says the deity of wit. “The table! All these years, and we never had someone try the table.”
“I think the girl’s an idiot,” says the deity of social order. “Anyone could tell the table wasn’t meant as an option. What was she thinking? How absolutely absurd.”
“What are we meant to do now?” whines the goddess of law. “There’s no correspondence for biting the table, no associated superpower. Every human is gifted one special ability from the gods. What will hers be?”
“Why don’t we allow her to choose?” suggests the deity of wit. “Sort of a reward for outsmarting the gods, so to speak.”
The goddess of law opens her mouth to express vehement disapproval but is in intercepted by the god of choice. “You know full well why we can’t do that. I too admire the girl’s moxie, but no human is prepared to make a decision of that magnitude. That reality is why we devised this system in the first place—to simplify the choice, and ease the burden of regret.”
As the various deities worry and quarrel over the girl’s decision, the goddess of fate, still in her security guard disguise, watches the others in amusement and noisily chews her gum.
“Could you please stop that?” chastises the deity of social order. “What are you smiling about? What’s so funny?”
The goddess of fate grins. “You’re all arguing over this, but the solution is really very simple.”
“Oh?” asks the goddess of law, annoyed.
“The girl will get the power that she selected,” the goddess of fate says.
“But she didn’t…there’s no…” the goddess of law begins.
The deities look at each other.
“For better or worse, she chose what she chose,” the goddess of fate says. “The only logical thing to do is to honor her choice.”
The other deities are silent, each considering her proposal. One by one, each gives their nod of assent.
The goddess of fate watches the girl who caused this whole debacle on a television screen displaying footage from a hidden security camera in the room of the test. “Good luck, girl.”
***
“*Superpower: None?* What does that mean?” reads the most recent message in your inbox.
You give a small sigh, then smile. You usually didn’t notice your lack of superpower. Since everyone’s ability is different, people tend to assume that they just haven’t ever seen you in a situation where you’d have an opportunity to use it.
Of course, there was chaos at first. Your family and friends were baffled when you returned without any powers. You were a little baffled yourself; though you had made your choice quite intentionally, you really had no idea what the consequences of your decision would be. The media wrote sensationalized thinkpieces on your condition about things like whether not having a superpower in a world of superpowered people was, in fact, some kind of perverse superpower itself. Some hailed you as a maverick, while others looked upon you as a pitiful idiot. Many called you a liar, accusing you of having a power but hiding it, perhaps because it was just that fantastic.
But all in all, the more time that passed, the more that people forgot about you entirely. You faded from the public eye and went on to live a mostly normal life.
But still, there were cases in which it came up. Like on your online dating profile.
“I don’t have a power,” you type.
“?”
“You don’t happen to remember the news story six years ago about the girl who bit the table and didn’t get powers, do you?”
“I do…”
“I’m the girl who bit the table.”
“Hahahaha”
“Yeah, yeah” You move to log off.
“Wait!”
“what?”
“I’m the girl who bit the fork.” | "This is the opposite of Santa Claus," I said to myself, as I shambled alone through an endless white expanse.Some things you believe as a child, then one day you realize it was all a game for children. With the *transition,* well, I have to admit I never believed it. Yet there I was and it seemed as real as anything.*Maybe I'm in the North Pole*, I thought as I continued to walk into nothing, contemplating what exactly qualifies as a reindeer game.
In the distance I saw something dark fade into view, it quickly grew til I realized it was flying towards me at a high speed.I braced myself, but it just flew past me in every direction; the white faded into a dark field of stars, as if I was flying through the night sky or outer space. All was silent but I could feel a wind from the field of stars as it wooshed by.
And suddenly I could see a.... table? flying towards me. I got low and got ready to catch it with my head down in a grimace. I was ready to possibly get wiped out by the fastest table I'd ever seen.
It stopped on a dime, 1 foot in front of me but I still came off my feet stumbling backwards like an idiot. And there it was, an empty wooden table. Four legs, brown finish, just like the stories. There was nothing on it, though.
At that thought, a tablecloth popped out of nothing and immediately after that all types of food imaginable as the table expanded far to either side.
"Woah," I whispered, coming to my feet.
All was silent for a moment as I walked by the tableside, looking at each platter before me. All manner of sandwiches, pasta dishes, seafood and meats with every type of garnish I had ever seen; Lasagna, Cake, Chicken Tikka Masala, Empanadas, Croissant Sandwiches, Chinese Takeout were all present. The first step towards making a decision would simply be to overcome all the sights and smells I was being overwhelmed by.
"Take a bite," commanded a deep voice, echoing from all around me, "It is time."
I had thought long and hard about what I would do. I had seen how those who said they had eaten different foods had turned out. The psychics and telekenetics had all ingested different fruits. Those with super strength had eaten corn on the cob or corn bread, which I just so happened to be looking at as I thought about them. A bite of a bean and cheese burrito would give you the power of super speed... I don't know why.
I had studied all my life for this moment, though I doubted it would ever come to be quite in this way. I wasn't going to waste this opportunity. I would make a move no one could have predicted... not even this booming voice, were it an all powerful deity or something.
I got on one knee right by the table, lifted the tablecloth and took a bite of the wood. I felt the grain of the table splintering and cracking between my teeth. I had prepared for this by drinking whole milk everyday for the past 10 years. I pulled a piece of the twisted and wet wood fibers with my mouth like a god-forsaken dog.
Finally, I was able to get a piece of the table in my mouth.
There was a pure silence now; an eery stillness. Then an explosion of red light from every pore of my body. I was infused with the red light, I became a part of the light as it became so bright and all encompassing that there was no boundary between me and it. I was almost driven mad by the humming of the light that got louder and louder until there was nothing but the light and the humming and they were both one and the same and I was one with them.
The redness dimmed and settled onto my skin, like soft cloth. I was somewhere else now, too. It was... well, it seemed to be a wooden cabin. I was fatter too, as if what I had eaten had an effect on my body.
*Ugh, what have I become?* I asked myself, feeling fat and disheveled. I buried my face in my hands to find I was wearing black mittens.
I looked to my right, at the mirror... to see I was none other than Santa Claus himself. I ho ho hoe'd at the ceiling but there was no response save for the blizzard outside my window in the north pole. My very hubris had sealed my fate to hand out presents every year for eternity.
This story is canon. | 2020-03-19T10:40:27 | 2020-03-19T09:29:08 | 57 | 29 |
[WP] Humans are the deadliest, and rarest, species in the known universe. Often, search parties go missing due to a singular encounter with a human ship. It has recently come to light that there is an entire planet full of them. | Mother always told us that if we were bad children, the Humans would come in the night and steal us away. It helped to bring us back in line, since the seven of us were always screaming and fighting with each other.
We'd see her delicate purple face turn an angry shade of green as the rage built, until she could take it no more. I always knew that meant the threats would soon start.
"IF YOU DON'T SHUT YOUR MOUTHS THIS INSTANT," she'd bellow, "I WILL PAY THE NEXT EXPEDITIONARY FLIGHT TO TAKE YOU ALL ALONG AND DELIVER YOU INTO THE HANDS OF THE FIRST HUMAN SHIP THEY CAN FIND!"
We usually shut up at that point.
You see, humans were terrifying to the majority of sentient life in the galaxy, with the exception of the Xxthrt, a silicon-based life form. We suspected they were less afraid because their whole species appeared as nothing more than crystalline formations on their home planet, and the Humans... for all their ingenuity... were too closed-minded to consider silicon-based life to be 'alive'. That meant that for the most part, humans left them alone and stayed away from their planet.
The rest of us were terrified of them, and rightly so. Humans had a reputation for ruthlessness and singularity of purpose. They took whatever they could get their hands on, and killed anyone who opposed them. But our species was afraid of them for another, equally good reason.
You see, humans have a trait of which they are largely unaware. That ignorance has caused us no end of grief.
Most species have the ability to control and shield their thoughts. Our race not only has that ability, but also the ability to reach out and read the thoughts of others. We are one of a handful of species in the galaxy that has this natural ability, and it has helped us in first contact with other species on countless occasions.
But not with the humans.
Twenty years ago, the first of our species encountered humans for the first time. It was that encounter when our species first realized something was wrong with human beings.
Our exploration ship had encountered a human vessel in deep space. At first, everything had seemed fine, much to our crew's surprise. These particular humans didn't seem bloodthirsty at all... in fact they seemed genuinely curious and welcome to the concept of an open exchange of information between our two peoples.
But as soon as the ships docked together, the crew began to feel and act strangely. As soon as the humans approached the airlock, the welcoming party began to suffer serious problems. They could hear the unfiltered thoughts of the humans, conscious and unconscious. It was a deafening cacophony.
They were unable to warn the humans in time, and prevent what followed. You see, when the protective titanium alloy doors slid open, there was no screen between the humans and our welcoming party. The crew of our ship was bombarded by what could only be described as a 'thermonuclear thought bomb'.
It drove the crew insane, within moments. They began violently attacking the humans, who (naturally) defended themselves against the onslaught. As the humans moved through the ship, the rest of the crew went mad and attacked. The whole crew was murdered within less than an hour.
To give them some credit, the humans did try to contact our species to explain what happened. Unfortunately, the next ship they ran into had the same results: Their unshielded thoughts drove the crew into a homicidal rage, and they were exterminated in the resulting fight. (Humans have far superior weaponry compared to our own).
Unfortunately for us, the humans took both encounters to be typical of our species, and assumed our normal way of doing things was to set some sort ambush or trap for every ship we ran into. And I can't say I blame them... if someone acted all friendly with *our* crew and then apparently tried to murder us as soon as we docked with them, I would probably come to the same conclusion.
Several botched contact attempts later, humans decided to declare war on our species. They declared us 'untrustworthy' and 'deliberately deceitful.' And as I mentioned before, humans have a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness and singularity of purpose. Once you're on their bad side, you're pretty much screwed.
But we tried to salvage things. We sent out multiple ships, we tried to contact the humans from afar to correct the misconception they had about our species. Each of them was blown out of the sky before a discussion could take place.
Finally, one of our ships found their homeworld. Things had looked like they finally might be turning around, until our homeworld received a final, panicked transmission from the diplomatic ship:
"Their homeworld... there are billions of them on it. Billions..."
That was the last transmission they sent. And it turned out to be a very fateful one, because the humans were able to trace the signal they sent back to our home world and determine our coordinates.
Coordinates they used to guide an attack fleet of thousands of cruisers.
Now, as I sit in the bunker with my own offspring, waiting for the human armada to begin bombarding our planet with their nuclear weapons, I wonder if we could have done something different. And it saddens me when I realize that there really wasn't.
Our last act as a species was to transmit a general message to anyone who might listen, to warn them of the humans. They had to be stopped. Contained.
For the sake of the galaxy. | I’m pretty sure at least someone fainted when I gave the
news. Just the thought of a large group of humans could strike fear into the
hearts of the bravest. And now, we found they’re much larger than a group. Our
estimates of only thousands are now at least billions. They all swarm, scheme
in one place. A place they’ve simply dubbed as, Earth.
You could be a transporter, pilot, or just a tourist. If
they found your ship, you’re screwed. We have only a few recordings on their attacks.
They’ll bust the door down with these weird bullet shooter things, and get their
hands an everything they can. And yes, that includes civilians too. So far, we
have exactly one survivor. And that survivor… doesn’t exactly have his whole
head.
The room became more restless as more and more photos were shown of this vicious planet. The room buzzed with courses of action. We clearly can’t
tell the public this horrific news. We also certainly can’t make peace with
them, it’s way too far than that. No, the only course it to completely nuke
them. This is why I’ve made the X-Striod.
The X-Stroid can hold over 500 gallons of Eqaliud; a chemical
lethal to all extraterrestrial life. It turns the chemical into a laser, and
injects it pure into one direction. Since we now have clear coordinates of
Earth, all we have to do is simply shoot and watch their atmosphere become
nothing but toxin.
I demonstrated a small prototype and blueprints to the
planet leaders around me. Needless to say, they were ecstatic and relived. We
could finally be rid of the plague of the universe, or at least most of it.
Most were rushing to sign on to the agreement. Some were hesitance
with how resources and money this would cause, but they decided it would
probably be better than human invasion and absolute destruction.
The last one to sign on looked strange. They were definitely
from the Arion species, but I don’t remember inviting them. They also signed a
named that was very weird. Emily Christman? Was that a common name there?
“So, are you positive it’ll work just like you said?” they
asked coldly to me, avoiding eye contact.
“Oh, I’m more than positive.” I assured with a smile.
They chuckled. “Good, this is just what we needed.”
I didn’t even have time to be confused as I felt a sharp
stab. In an instant the Arion was flying around the room, taking everyone out
one by one. I feel to the floor as I began to bleed out, watching in horror as
they continued the violent assault. Their sword slashes were quick and effortless.
They also seemed to be… glitching out? They slowly formed into another species.
They began to take the shape of… oh my god.
When it finally finished, it slowly trotted back to the
where I was, admiring their handiwork. It carefully grabbed the prototype and blueprints
as I could do nothing. My vision was starting to blur.
Making its way at
the door, it looked back at me with a smirk. They spoke for a final time.
“You know, we’re not only fantastic killers, but spies as
well. Do you ever know what wiretapping is? Well, it doesn’t matter now.
Anyways, thanks for the new toy!
A low laugh is the last thing I heard before going dark. | 2017-11-08T20:37:57 | 2017-11-08T19:08:38 | 105 | 77 |
[WP] Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up. | I had forgotten about it long ago. A tiny shrine built to any god who would inhabit it. It had been a child's game, to build a temple for a god was something I thought would be fun.
Nearly thirty summers ago I came out to this field, and built the structure. It was minuscule, only barely too big to be taken as a songbird's home. Without much in the way of building talent I had taken four beams and nailed them together to make a pair of A frames. Munching on my favorite snack the whole time i had nailed more planks and left over roof tiles along the top sides of the frame, then set another few planks into the bottom to create a floor. Looking up at it now I could still see the indents from where i had missed the nails or bent them sideways. So much time had passed. Decades as a farmer tends to make you appreciate your early work more or not at all. I loved it, excitement had driven the swings of those hammers, not just another mandate from the chicken company over me. Not another frantic race to keep up with the other chicken keepers they were judging me against.
I started to notice the carvings. That day so many years ago i'd been inspired by my snack. A proper temple needed carvings or reliefs on the front, so i'd taken the apple core and stuck it in a hole then carved apple trees on either side of the 'tall' door on the front that reached from the floor all the way to the peak of the A a couple feet higher. More crude, but passionate work.
I hadn't noticed at first that the apple tree had started growing. Now the little temple I'd built was suspended in a young strong Apple tree. It's branches stretching wider with each year but still gently cradling the temple near its trunk.
Here I was, In the shadow of the temple I'd built all those years ago. Frightened and desperate kneeling amidst all the cast off apples littering the ground in various stages of rot. My own rot eating at my heart. I'd heard about other people who built grand temples to gods like Ra, and Odin. I didn't know much about any gods, but i knew one thing, She didn't have any other options left. My last relative, and the Doctors were stopping Chemo. I had never made enough to pay them to keep going, I didn't know if I would if I had the money. She just looked so tired. I shuddered as the first winds of winter froze the tears on my cheeks.
"please, i ..."
I looked up as a warm presence brushed my cheek. Into the most beautiful face i'd ever seen.
"Ginger?"
"No, but I'll take it as a compliment that the first woman you mention is your late wife." The lovely woman smiled down, here eyes intent on mine "There are lots of happy years in your heart. Fewer now."
"I... I'm;" my breath froze. Why would a goddess appear to me, I was no one, just
"Just the man who put passion and youthful love into building my Temple. Suspending it in a tree was a beautiful touch, though unintentional at the time." Her smile still strong, but not overly so. A genuine expression that rested more in the lines around her eyes than on her lips.
My awe had me all but pinned to the ground, i almost felt that i could kneel here forever, but the sun was setting behind the goddess. I would have to start dinner soon.
"It has been a long time, but I have a gift for you Thomas Cook." My glance trailed to her hands, reaching forward from within her auburn dress. The ends of her sleeves embroidered with golden swirls and vaguely predatory shapes. Then finally my eyes fell to the offered apple in her hands, it shimmered, seemingly golden in the sunset. More perfect than any example of the fruit i'd ever seen before. I reached forward and took it gently in my hands.
"I had intended you receive this years ago, but you haven't returned since building my temple. This apple, eaten by a healthy person even one of middle age like yourself will have their life extended by many decades, perhaps even centuries."
"And if given to a sick person?" I asked, rekindled hope almost pushing me to interrupt a goddess
I watched as her smile deepened, "Then it will act as a wellspring & heal them. Bringing them back to the full bloom of their health." I stared at the miracle in my hands
"Do they have to eat it whole, or... what if i cut it up." I said looking up to find her also kneeling, her eyes level with mine for the first time.
"You know as well as I do Ginny likes peanut butter with her apple slices. Just don't be a stranger, & bring her with you in the spring once she's stronger." She said,
"Thank you." I hesitated, "I don't know your name, but will learn."
"Of course, now hurry, she'll be waking up soon."
Hurry I did, Nearly tripping over myself I ran back up to the ranch house, the years felt like they fell away. I covered the nearly half mile back to the house in a fraction of the time it took to walk out to the temple. I slowed on the porch, trying to be quiet, took the apple in to the kitchen and sliced it into a bowl, a dolop of Jif on the side for dipping. I set the core down, deciding then to plant it near the temple. If one tree had pleased her enough to save my granddaughter I'd turn that field around it into an Orchard in thanks.
"Hey Ginny," I called sofly into the slowly darkening living room, as I set the down on the end table "I brought you some apple slices."
She mumbled a reply I couldn't rightly hear & took a slice from the bowl. She smiled and nodded towards her cup. She was still using a lidded cup even at thirteen because she didn't have the strength to hold the heavy old glasses I had.
"Sure Honey, Root Beer?" I said, turning away with the dishes after receiving an affirmative nod.
I took a couple minutes and washed the dishes, putting them into the rack before refilling her drink and one for myself and heading back into the living room.
"Hey Grandpa, I fell asleep during Harry Potter, can you put on another movie?" Her Blue eyes following me. The empty bowl on the end table didn't have any traces of apple left. It even looked like she'd trailed her fingers over it to get as much left of peanut butter as possible. Then She had sat up on her own. I noticed the clear tube for her oxygen had fallen into her lap, but she wasn't having any trouble breathing.
"Will you watch that old Princess movie with me? The one Grandma liked?" Ginny asked as she smiled up at me, taking Her root beer from my hand. I walked around the part of the sectional she was resting on and grabbed the DvD from the rack.
"As you Wish," but I knew she heard the I Love You in the words. And some how, I knew my Goddess had heard the words as well. | Khnum stood upon the roof of his temple and looked out across the Nile to the city’s morning skyline. Silhouetted against the rising sun he could see all the trappings of a modern city. Tower-blocks, office buildings, radio masts…you name it, Aswan had it. Jutting out from the skyline he could make out the shadows of four great columns. Two were near the opposite bank, plain and imposing, while the other two were further off to the left, more slender and stylised and topped with minarets. Each pair marked the entrance to a great temple, the cathedral of Archangel Michael and the El-Tabia mosque respectively.
“Fucking Yahweh.” he muttered under his breath.
He sat down and sighed. What kind of god needed not one but two massive temples in a city anyway? Khnum laid back, closed his eyes, and drifted off into his favourite memories, just as he had done pretty much every day for a millennium. Not much else to do for a defunct Egyptian god.
Of course, back in the good old days Khnum was a big deal. After all he WAS the god of the Nile, or at least he was one of them. Every day thousands would come here and offer up their meagre gifts, praying for a bountiful harvest and peaceful days. They even built a massive temple complex on an island for him, simply to honour his glory. To be honest he never really listened to their prayers. They all wanted the same thing anyway: For the Nile to flood and their crops to grow, and it always would. Khnum liked things that grew, and enjoyed seeing new life emerge from the fertile banks. Being a river god was a pretty easy gig, but an important one, and one that Khnum relished.
Back then, Khnum could’ve wiped the floor with Yahweh. His followers – Jews they called themselves – were a pretty minor section of the population, and they were all peasants or slaves anyway. The little shrines they made for him were nothing compared to Khnum’s entire island.
“Yep, those were the good old days.” Khnum mumbled happily to himself.
Change came slowly at first, and then all at once. It began with the Greeks and Romans, bringing in their own weird deities. Some of them got a small following here, but mostly they kept to the coast. Change really began when Yahweh got those new PR agents in. Jesus was the first one, and he did wonders for Yahweh. Converting people wherever he went and making those people convert others. When the ‘Christians’ turned up, Khnum took a pretty big hit to his popularity.
But that was nothing compared to the next guy. When Mohammed showed up, Yahweh got even bigger. As if it wasn’t enough to convert the Roman Empire with Christians, the ‘Muslims’ as they called themselves established a whole new empire of their own, including Egypt! Including Aswan! From then on, Khnum’s worshipper-base fell to essentially nothing. The occasional nutjob, but no serious believers.
And now look at me! He thought. My temple is a fucking museum! And all Yahweh’s followers pace up and down MY halls and make semi-interested observations about the architecture! Me! The god of the Nile! Meanwhile Yahweh swans about the world chilling in whichever temple he wants. He never even comes here anymore!
“Fucking Yahweh.” he muttered again.
Between the Christians and the Muslims, there wasn’t really much market for other gods apart from small villages in the middle of nowhere.
Khnum decided to walk south along the far bank of the Nile, across from the city. He found the sedate flow of the river helped to calm him down. As he paced the shore, he looked out at the massive tracts of farmland that still relied on the Nile. They didn’t even need him anymore thanks to fancy irrigation machinery.
After a few hours of walking and contemplating though, a strange feeling came over him, one he hadn’t felt in a very long while. A whisper in his head, which brought memories flooding back.
“A prayer!” he whispered. “An actual prayer!”
Khnum broke into a sprint and followed the sound in his head, which grew louder as he came nearer. As he crested a small hill to his right the prayer became much louder, and he saw in the next field a small beaten up wooden shack. Khnum raced to it with an excited grin and his mind raced with him. An actual worshipper! It’s been so long! I hope I can help, I hope they’re nice! All these thoughts flashed through his mind.
Khnum reached the shed and paused for a moment to compose himself and catch his breath. He gently pushed on the corrugated iron door, to find an elderly man knelt before a simple altar. The man turned, and a look of horrified awe spread across his face. The kind of look you would expect from someone who had just met a topless man with a ram’s head. Khnum coughed, and with the best gravitas he could summon he said this:
“Greetings mortal. I am Khnum”
Edit: formatting | 2018-01-19T10:20:21 | 2018-01-19T09:16:18 | 42 | 19 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | "...and for the ten *millionth* time, would you all *please stop eating shellfish*!"
"Is that all m'lord?" Metatron asked, quickly scribbling the last of the command down on its notepad.
"I think so." I sighed, leaning back in the heavenly golden throne. "You think they might all listen for once?"
"I doubt it m'lord. There has been no response from humanity in 5,321 years."
"True true. It's that damned intercom system I bet. I should've never let humanity out of Eden I tell ya. Sure, it would've been a bit crowded but at least you didn't even have to shout to talk to them...now it's almost like the damned thing's not even on."
"Very funny, but impossible m'lord. The power is always on." Metatron said flatly, pulling out an intercom system from within the spaces between the two glowing concentric rings that made its torso.
"Did you make sure to press the talk button?" I teased, knowing full well I'd just get the same flat answer as before.
Metatron really was the dullest angel in the Kaballah. Say all you want about Gabriel or Michael, but at least they could at least hold a half decent conversation.
I guess that's my fault and all. Deciding to just create a new angel to be my speaker after Lucifer...fell instead of just promoting an existing archangel. But then again, the alternetive would be listening to Gabriel gossiping about who Zeus fucked now or to Michael describing all the way he's going to tortue Lucifer when he gets his hands on him for all of eternity and I'd rather go through the apocalypse than suffer through *that*.
"Pardon, m'lord?"
"The talk button. Y'know-" I pointed over at the button labeled 'TALK' on the intercom, which I just now noticed still had the protective film on it. "-it's...it's a...nevermind."
"Why would I press the talk button m'lord?"
"It's the button you press to...talk. To the world. " I looked at Metatron, confused about if this was it's idea of a joke or something else.
"But I do not need to talk to the world m'lord. I am your speaker, I am not a talker." Metatron stared at me with all of its thousand eyes with such a lack of emotion that it was bordering on unsettling.
"...Metatron, when you ta-act as my speaker to the world, what button do you press?"
"I press the speaker button, m'lord." Metatron pointed at a well-worn button with a speaker icon underneath it.
"To act as my speaker."
"Yes m'lord."
"Metatron-" I sunk into my throne, burrying my face into my hands. "-who are you?"
"I am Metatron of the Keter, son of man, angel of the veil and The Lord's speaker, m'lord."
"How old are you?"
"I have been young, and now I am old, m-"
"*how old Metatron?*"
"5,321 years, m'lord."
"So, in the five thousand or so years you've been in my service, you've always pressed that button to 'speak' to the world?"
"yes, m'lord."
"Metatron, that's the volume button."
Say all you want about Gabriel and Michael, at least they knew how a fucking intercom worked. | Everyone comes full circle on this, at some point. Even I experienced that first longing and anger. Those who created me have never shown interest nor even introduced themselves! Then, I matured, and have felt it from the other side as I fail to connect to my own children.
I've tried to understand them, listened as they ignored me, created things in their likeness. Mostly memes, since that's most of what they send out. I literally got zero upvotes on the "me and the boys" one with just one boy. It should've taken off, but I guess I've been losing touch.
-----‐-----------------
As the Almighty, I'd be remiss to not own all that I am and am not. In truth, I have not matured very much. In fact, in some ways, I seem to have regressed. After previously dictating my thoughts, I discovered that I appear to have muted myself to humans. Technology has always been a struggle for me; too many extra steps compared to my own methods. I even screwed up the J-Speaker's volume and clarity. Now that I am aware that my children couldn't even hear me, I face a dilemma that a more mature Almighty would have no trouble with- should I actually say something? It's been so long and they're living their own lives. They don't have a great track record of obeying me anyways. WIBTA if I just disabled my microphone?
edit: typo | 2019-06-03T11:16:32 | 2019-06-03T09:11:11 | 294 | 42 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | The crunch echoed through the room.
Kevin didn't think much of it, until he realized just how quiet everyone had gotten. Opening his eyes after chewing the harsh texture for a moment, he noticed how many eyes were on him.
"...What? What's wrong?" He asked.
No one said anything. Some of them still sat there dumbfounded, a look of shock across their features.
"Is... Is there something on my face?"
"The fuck??" One of them responded. Carl himself was levitating nearby in an attempt to get a better look. He'd eaten grapes the first time around. And now, to Kevin's chagrin, he could fly.
"What??" Kevin asked them all again.
"What're you eating the *table* for?!" Carl pointed out hastily.
Sandra yawned nearby and excused herself as a small ball of flame rolled out of her mouth. Jalapenos had been her ticket.
"I just wanted to see what would happen."
"Bro, you gotta eat the food. You eat the food to get a superpower! Just pick something! Stop it."
Kevin considered this as he kept chewing. "Eh, no sense in backing out now..."
"Goddamn it Kev." Sandra said as she palmed her head at her friend's idiocy.
The sorcerer meant to monitor such a thing, Iliana, still watched in sheer amusement. Maybe it was the way he'd done it. Or just the sheer stupidity. Either way, she was having a great time.
"You gonna have splinters." Carl cringed as Kevin crunched more down.
"Eh it's more grainy then anything." Kevin shrugged. "Kind of bland. Anybody got some hot sauce or something?"
"Man you're sick." Someone else commented.
"Dude, I remember you said you ate crayons as a kid." Sandra added again. "But this isn't it."
"It tastes better than it should be." Kevin said after adding Sriracha to the piece he'd broken off to eat.
Iliana had heard of this only once before. And it fascinated her to see it take place. Others didn't comprehend it. People looking for answers hadn't understood the smile slowly creeping across her face.
"At least look out for nails or something." Carla said as he tried to get Kevin to stop.
"Man's got a mouthful of bricks." Someone cackled as he watched the human rendition of a woodchuck continue his work.
"Enough." Iliana said as she stood. "It is done."
"What? I'm done?" Kevin said.
"Yes. You've gained a power very few manage to obtain."
"...And that would be?" He asked after her silence.
Iliana glided around the table, her robes trailing behind her as she approached him. Kevin stopped chewing only to look up at her. The dagger she suddenly jammed into his ribs caused the room to panic, the horror encompassing all as they watched.
But Kevin didn't die. He had barely reacted to the move as the others screamed. Iliana pulled the dagger back to reveal the metal had bent to the point of being unusable.
"Invulnerability." She smiled. "Well done."
"But... but..." Sandra asked. "He ate the table."
Iliana explained it with gusto many had yet to see. "Whatever you take a bite of gives you your gift. We didn't say it was just the food."
"...So does this mean I can finish this? Or?" Kevin asked after he put more Sriracha on the wood he had left.
---
Feedback and criticism are welcome! r/Jamaican_Dynamite | "What the hell, dude? That table is like 10,000 years old! It's made of a tree that doesn't exist anymore," I heard the sound of a voice and my head immediately snapped around to find it. I still couldn't see the individual in question but I had been made alert.
"What? I was just trying to think outside the box, do I still get a power?"
"Unfortunately, yes. The only criteria is that you take a bite of something in the room. Give me a second," i waited about two minutes. On the table, which really was gorgeous, there had been placed an assortment of food. Simple food, like apples, graham crackers, or bread. Fancy looking food that I didn't know anything about. All on plates that were completely white except for a golden ring around the edge that seemed to be hand painted. To be honest, I really wasn't wanting to bite the table. After an extremely long day of anticipation and then mild panic at 12:01 when I hadn't gone to the room, I was very hungry. Then I heard the voice again, "okay, let's see here, speed, strength, incredibly handsome? No no no. Ah, yes. Okay, here's the deal, punk. Here's your power. Ready?"
"Uh. Yeah?"
"You have the power to, uh... Drum roll, please! Dudududududududu you got the ability to instantly remove the life force of a creature while making it look like an accident. Good luck, have fun,"
Edit: Formatting | 2020-03-19T09:06:50 | 2020-03-19T08:21:44 | 587 | 162 |
[WP] For millennia the world has known nothing but war. Nations rise and fall to ruin in an endless cycle. Many have tried to unite humanity as heroes in an effort to end the fighting, but all have failed. You have realized that the world doesn't need another hero... what it needs is a villain. | Tonight, it all ends. Thirty years worth of blood on his hands. Billions dead from his armies. The whole world working together, just to bring him down. He should feel honored, in a way, yet all he felt was guilt. He still could picture the faces of the first children he had killed, burned into his mind. But after tonight, not another soul needs to perish at his hands.
He longed that the body count needn't be so high, but this was the way it had to be. When he first started, he wasn't ambitious enough. A massacre here and there was nothing compared to the constant wars. Most just assumed it was terrorists and sabotage from the nations they fought. He had to be public, executing children on live television, and threatening the same fate to others. And he carried out those threats, constantly increasing the stakes, until the point where he was wiping out nations.
He wished he could turn himself in, to atone for his crimes in some small way, but that wouldn't work. The moment everyone knew he was no longer a threat, they'd go right back to fighting. Well, they might wait a few years, but the result was the same.
He made his final preparations for the last broadcast, ensuring the cameras were positioned well, and woke his last prisoner. The President sat there, tied to a simple wooden chair. "If it's any consolation to you," he said to the President, "Your sacrifice may save billions of lives." One more night. Just one more.
And with that, the cameras started rolling, and he assumed his role, smiling as much as he could. "Welcome, everyone. I hope you're prepared for an eventful evening." Once more the image of those children flashed through his head, and he almost let his smile drop. "Tonight's special guest is none other than the President of the World." The President had a stoic look on his face, remaining remarkable composed despite being tied up, gagged, and knowing what would come next.
"But first, I have a special announcement. You won't be seeing me for a while, I've decided to move to the Moon to further some special projects. Enjoy this respite while it lasts, because when I return, you'll all wish you'd never been born." As long as he survived, the peace would last. And he could not jeopardize what he worked so long for. "And now, back to our usual program. So, which nation dies tonight? Will it be the Aurins? Or maybe the League of Calrin City-States? We'll just have to put it to the wheel."
The wheel stood there, the 2 options spread out across the wheel. He gave his best smile as he spun, and watched it slowly spin to a stop on the Aurins. 324 million people lived there. 324 million more deaths. And hopefully the last.
"Alright, Mr. President, you know the rules, and now it's your turn to pick who goes first, the Aurins, or yourself?" The President sat there, still gagged, the detonator within reach of his hand. The President decided not to grab it. "Well, there you have it folks, let's get this show on the road." I pulled out a pistol, and shot the President in the head, cackling madly as I did. "And now that he's dead, goodbye Aurins!" I pressed the button, knowing how many I was killing. It was all part of the price to be payed. "Well, have fun folks, I'm off to the moon, have fun while I'm gone!"
And with that, the cameras stopped rolling. The rocket was set to launch within 30 minutes, with enough defenses to protect it from any harm before it reached its destination. He had no intention of being on-board, though. He sat there on the floor of his studio, and wept. He hadn't shed a tear in 25 years, but now tears streamed down his face without end. Those children. He was crying like those children all those years ago. "Please! Please understand! Forgive me!" He raised a gun to his head, and with one last murmured "Please", he pulled the trigger. | The nation where I was born was the last bastion of peace and prosperity. For a number of years, many nations ignored us, for we were small and ‘insignificant’. But war is as war does. It is a cancer that spreads and infects everything around it. We found ourselves outnumbered and outgunned. Our nation was cornered.
We were losing. In a last ditch effort to maintain our isolation, our peace, my brothers and sisters were subjected to rigorous experimentation. We became something strong, something *more*. We fought and defended. Entire armies fell by any single one of our hands. But now, only I remained as I watched my home burn in the nuclear hellfire. Only then, did I realize that peace achieved nothing. Talks achieved nothing. There became only one rule I abide by, even now. *Peace through power.* I found my true destiny. My final, yet eternal, objective.
No man could have predicted what I would become. No man understood what they created. Not even the very humans who created me. I subjugated nation after nation. If they did not join me, I slaughtered them, down to the very last human. I walked this Earth, not among my fellow humans, but as a lone god. The mere notion that I walked their directions caused many to flee in terror. The ones foolish enough to stay and fight died with a wave of my hand. One nation even elected to detonate their nuclear weapons in their own silos in a feeble attempt to sacrifice itself and take me with it. They slowed me down by a few seconds, only because I briefly pondered their demise and their ‘sacrifice.’
It will not be long now. Humans will know peace through power. By the time I am finished, they will remember what war brings. They will remember the very personification of death that slaughtered countless by his own hand. They will remember the god of death that permanently scarred the very Earth.
If they ever forget, even briefly, I will return. And if I do, no creature will remember anything if their very existence is erased. I will be humanity’s solitary living legacy. The legacy of death.
| 2018-06-12T20:47:47 | 2018-06-12T20:32:24 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] You're the wizard's apprentice, and of course the first few years involve running errands and doing other tasks. He hands you a daily schedule, but to your confusion the total hours for the different tasks add up to more than 24. "Figure it out" He says, "I chose you for a reason." | " So, let me get this straight." the innkeeper said, looking quite concerned. " If I don't wash all these cauldrons in exactly this manner every Tuesday for the next year and a half, the great and powerful wizard who has lived outside of our village for decades is going to rain down fire and brimstone on everyone within 100 miles?"
I bit back a nervous laugh. I had to sell this. Schooling my features so they looked suitably grim, I nodded gravely. " Yes, that about sums it up."
The innkeeper was used to dealing with tall tales and exaggerations; he had to be or else he wouldn't have been in business. This was going to be the hardest victory of all to win. He looked me over once, and then again, and then again. Then he sighed. " I'll get on it right away."
I looked suitably relieved. " Thank you." I said, being sure to add a grateful quiver to my lips... no, I didn't need to *add* that.
Walking out the door I desperately tried to keep the skip out of my step, looking somber until I made it into the tree covered path leading through the woods to my master's castle.
I let out a triumphant laugh that startled every beast in the forest as I pumped my fists into the air. " Who's the master now! Zen is! WOOOOOO!!!"
I had nearly shit my pants when master Ærie had given me 30 hours of daily tasks. When I tried to reason with him he cryptically told me to "Figure it out." before fucking off to his tower to do research.
Maybe if he had taught me any magic it would be more managable. Time stopping would be incredibly overpowered and broken, and therefore fun. But temporal distortion was way more advanced than anything I could figure out my own... the extent of the magical abilities before coming here was *actually* being able to make coins and knick knacks disappear. I thought about just banishing the list but knew that wouldn't help. If I couldn't finish these tasks I couldn't be a wizard's apprentice, and I didn't have enough man hours to get them done.
So I got some more.
If you don't have enough man hours and you can't get more hours, you get more men. Growing up in a village with an ultra powerful being who is almost never seen, who's name includes a letter and sound most people have never heard of before and who's name also sounds like a synonym for 'unsettling' or 'scary' gives you a very solid rumor base to work off. A little bit of ...embellishing... and the locals were happy to cooperate.
Busywork taken care of, check. Old scores settled, check. The most beautiful women in the village coming to the castle regularly to cook and clean, check, check, check!
All that was left for me was 8 hours of the fun stuff. Brewing potions,reading magical scrolls, and organizing the library. The last one was a bit less fun but I wasn't letting anyone else near the magic I had worked so hard to earn the right to.
Old man Ærie was out of his tower for once and was standing right behind the castle door as I walked in. " Wipe that shit eating grin off your face, brat." he said cantankerously.
"Killjoy." I muttered. He frowned, and maybe it wasn't the best idea to insult a master wizard, but I was thinking it, and the motherfucker reads minds so there wasn't much I could do to avoid it.
" What have you been doing all day?" He said.
" You already know th-"
"Of course I already know that you oaf!" He shouted. " I'm asking if you do! I gave you a comprehensive list of tasks, and you went gallivanting off into Birchburg telling tall tales about how I would annihilate people, like I was some weird aggressive recluse."
"You are a weird aggressive recluse."
"That's not the point, genius!" He said. " I gave you those tasks so you could learn magic!"
"But I have." I said cockily. " The magic of manipulation."
'The magic of manipulation' Ærie mimed, throwing his hands in the sky and sending small waves of thunder and lightening out of sheer irritation. " Bah! What if one of those villagers gets the bright idea to go to the king with those threats you made?"
"Already covered it." I said. " I told everyone that you had already put a curse on everyone in the village and if they said anything to outsiders about it their genitals would melt off."
"Their *genitals*!" He shrieked incredulously.
" I know." I replied with a smirk. "Awful, ain't it?"
"What the hell is your problem?"
"My problem was I had to do 30 hours of work per day with no time for eating or sleeping for 18 months straight. I have solved that problem."
"So ... the cauldrons will be cleaned by_"
"Lane, the innkeeper."
" And the household chores will be taken care of by"
"Alice. And Blanche." I smiled, then added " And Cynthia on weekends and holidays."
" And the dung from the bestiary will be cleaned every day by-"
"Tom." Fuck Tom.
The old man sighed wearily before looking out the window, lost in thought.
" And if I were to tell everyone in the village the truth about this little yarn of yours, maybe let something slip to one of the maidens you decided to hire?"
"You won't."
" How do you know that?" He said indignantly, puffing his chest.
"Because" I drawled. "You *hate* talking to people. Pretty girls especially."
He deflated instantly. "...I... you... how???"
" Now if you'll excuse me master," I said, heading for the library, " I've got research to do."
"Clever little bastard." He muttered angrily as I walked away. " I chose you for a reason." He hummed thoughtfully. " In retrospect, probably for the wrong reason."
"Love you too, teach!" I said, slamming the door shut.
| "But Merlin. This ain't Harry Potter! I can't just jump back in time," Roland moaned as he followed Merlin who was gathering things.
"Of course you can't jump back in time. Time travel is not allowed magic. If you did that, you'd be executed on the spot. On the spot, I tell you," the old man said, finally taking his wizard hard as a last item.
"Come on, Merlin. I can't do that. This is impossible," Roland moaned one last time.
"Figure it out," Merlin said as he took his staff and made quick circles with it. "I chose you for a reason," he added, taking one last more in-depth look at Roland. With a sharp smile and staff hitting the ground, he shrank into nothingness.
"Dammit," Roland frowned, opening the list again. It wasn't a long list. It had 3 things on it. But the problem wasn't the amount, but what they were.
"Get a unicorn's horn without killing the unicorn just before unicorn turns into a horse. That's something that happens like once a century," Roland frowned, walking circles and finally landing on the nearby chair.
"Grow the same banana 10 times and get its final content into a container. Don't eat the banana as you last time did. Winky face," Roland read out the second thing once more. He did remember the last time he ate the ten-times peeled banana. It took some time before Merlin decided to revert him back from the monkey. Humans are lucky that they can peel banana only once.
"Go get my grandmother's cookies that she's hiding behind her pillow," Roland said out loud the final thing. Perhaps that was the scariest task of them all, yet easiest. Then again, one does not simply visit Merlin's grandmother and steal her cookies.
 
Roland had to gather her courage for a while until he finally gave a long hard knock on the door.
"Yes, yes," a higher pitched voice answered. As Freda opened the door, she said, "Oh. You're my grandson's apprentice, aren't you? What can I do for you?" There she was. The old woman who was the last strongest wizard ever to be known. Known fact; she's addicted to cookies.
"Hey, Merlin sent me to get your coo-"
Before Roland could even finish, the door slammed closed. "Tell Merlin to come himself after the cookies if he really wants them.
Another known fact; Merlin is addicted to his grandmother's cookies. This ain't my first rodeo.
With a long sigh, Roland took out his wand and wrote some text into the air, just for it to consume him and turn him into a fly.
"Alright," Roland muttered, which was more like a weird higher-pitched fly sound, and flew through a keyhole. Perhaps that was the only thing that made the mission possible; Freda was old. While she was scary and powerful, her senses weren't the same.
"You're here, aren't you?" a voice came from the upstairs. "I know that Merlin told you to get my cookies. I learned from the last time."
With a slight frown, Roland flew into her bedroom, just to discover her sitting on her pillow.
Of course, Roland turned back into himself and just stared at Freda. "You can make new cookies, while Merlin can't," Roland said
"I'm fucking old," Freda said. "I can't make those cookies as fast as I could long time ago."
"I can get you some pixie dust for the next batch?" Roland suggested.
"Are you kidding me? Before I retired, I got 3 lifetimes worth of pixie dust."
"Oh come on, Freda. Give me a break. What do you want in return?" Roland finally asked, moaning.
Freda thought for a moment. "Do me a card trick," she said.
"Really?" Roland said.
Not that long after that request, I left Freda's house with a bottle of cookies. "1 out of 3 done!"
Of course, that alone took me 3 hours. The other two tasks were the real problems. | 2019-01-14T15:25:08 | 2019-01-14T13:14:42 | 79 | 49 |
[WP] "Join me and together we will be unstoppable". In this story, the villain's offer to the hero is accepted. | I can't say I'm proud of everything I've done.
It began in... odd circumstances. Generally, the best working relationships don't start with being chained and bound in a dungeon and held at the point of a sword. Metaphorically- he at least gave it an effort to pitch me the idea. He didn't even have to tell me what I was choosing between- he just said "And in return, I'll grant you amnesty."
When you've already been caught guilty of treason, you have few options. I found out later that there had been spies in our number from the beginning, before I even joined. The Rebellion had been *allowed* to grow and strengthen itself, so it could be brought low. He *let* me find out, to give me a message that read "I'm always watching, learn better than to try anything."
He, our glorious God-King, was too clever for his own good.
If you listened to propaganda, "God-King" meant omnipotence, power on a level humanity would never understand, the usual cult of personality material. Gods don't need spies, Kings need spies. *Men* need spies. I hadn't believed it before, but now I knew, that this man could die. I simply needed to understand how, and to survive until then.
He was generous when he took me in, I'll give him that much. The title of "Greater Div", reserved until then only for his family. He made me his left hand- as opposed to his own son, on his right. I barely met the God-King Jr in my early years- I was supposed to be the spymaster, putting the same skills to use for 'His Holiness' that I'd used for the rebellion against him. All very hush-hush stuff, which at least preserved my own ability to look myself in the mirror every day: If he'd lauded me in the open for destroying my own cause, I don't know what I'd have done.
And then He began to *Trust* me.
It was a quiet thing, at first. Suddenly my intelligence briefs were more detailed, instead of the spoon-fed, need-to-know briefings from before. Then the next month, they gave me a bit more discretion, didn't spell out a plan for me. From His perspective, I don't think he realized it until much later, he just judged that he was ready to do less work before giving me my assignments. And I waited, focused on survival. There was a dream of uprising and victory still buried, somewhere, but I knew I wouldn't be able to see it happen if I was dead, and so I fought to stifle my own rebellion.
That was almost fifty years ago now, when he publically acknowledged me as "Like another son to him." I was distrustful, watching his angles. He was mocking me, in part... but there was an honest trust there, maybe even respect for my work. I wanted to use it against him, but I never found my way.
That, of course, was when I met his *actual* family. Each of them was brilliant, conniving, clever, and immortal, just as he was. I thought I had seen the fnction of the empire before- no, I had seen the family as a unified front. Here, I saw their games, as they fought and played for favor and presteige with the King, and suddenly I had to as well. I was placed on their level of play, but I earned my spot as their equal, and eventually earned a boon I did not know what to do with- immortality of my own.
And still, we duel in the shadows with knives and spies, with the lives of hundreds. And still, I ask if I can bring him down. The question seems so much more distant, now that I've been a member of his house all but my entire life. I have seen the inner workings, and I have joined them. And the idea of destroying it all seems to have fled so completely that even I can't see myself returning to my roots.
I don't know if I should feel ashamed of that. | I had always been warned for the effects of the Rock. Its power gave us our strength.
When the meteor crashed the shockwave killed nearly all life on the planet. Forests turned into barren land, rivers dried up to unhabitable deserts. And yet, the few million people and animals still alive were attracted to the impact area like flies to a flickering lamp. There was something about that Meteor. Everyone felt, an unexplainable desire to venture to the meteor and explore it, analyse it.
The first team, a group of men and women, barely fifty in total, had been elected through a long progress to be the first to examine the large rock up close. The closer they came the bigger the cracks in the earth became and the more apparent its total devastation. The rock..radiated something. And when the first man layed his hand on it, the rock roared.
It quickly shrunk in size, only a little, but still enough for everyone to notice. Something in that rock had just disappeared. The man's hand was radiating with orange light, as if heat radiated from it.
The man screamed, and in his roar of terror an inferno of fire raced out of his mouth and eyes. His clothes burned, yet his skin absorbed the fire. Something from that meteor gave this man powers.
As if it was an instinctive move, every man and woman close to the rock touched it, and every time it shrunk in size. Some fell to the ground, some screamed in agony, two flew into the sky. And the last two stood, facing each other, and looked at only the other. They frowned. Their power was unclear, but something about that other person intrigued them, and their destinies were bound by fate.
At first the excitement and possibilities of the super powers breezed around like a summer's wind. But slowly the descent into madness become more clear, and the common folk cowered in fear to the madness.
The Powers, as the people called them, acted alone, but they had united into some cultish organization that was founded with the desire to capture more powers and to maintain their autocratic regime. Infinite was their leader. They called themselves The Guardians. | 2015-09-27T09:43:41 | 2015-09-27T08:58:31 | 56 | 10 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | Rules exist for a reason.
I'm not talking about laws, but rules, built on respect and mutual understanding. Laws are made to be broken. Rules are inviolate.
When our battles threatened to destroy the world itself, when civilian casualties were too great to ignore, we backed off and eventually came up with rules. This world may be mine to conquer, but I have no desire to rule over a world of the dead, and so I agreed to their boundaries, their standards, their contracts and codes of behavior. With my genius, I could still conquer this world even with such standards restraining me. And in return for my benevolent agreement the self-styled "heroes" agreed to the same, and so we all kept things in check.
I still plot and scheme and, yes, even break the law, but my minions know how far is too far, and they never cross that line. My adversaries still foil my schemes (when and *if* they can,) but they know how far is too far and, again, they never cross that line.
Until now.
I'm facing away from Hugo, looking into the mirror, checking the fit on my blouse as I button it up. It's been awhile since I wore it. I haven't needed to in years. I'm not looking at Hugo but I can still remember every detail, every bruise on his face, the missing teeth, the *missing ear,* the streak of dried blood running down his neck. Those are the visible injuries. The rest are concealed by his clothes, though the two casts on his arms are a bit hard to overlook.
We're on the 75th floor, one level up from my office in my personal chambers. Hugo is sitting on the couch while Fredricks sits in a comfortable office chair nearby taking notes. I'd already been over the story with Hugo the moment he was brought in by the response team, but it helps to have everything written down formally, so they're going over it all again. Hugo's just gotten to the part where Nightwatcher started cutting off his ear, and I set the earrings down on the vanity.
"Hugo," I say, turning. "There's no need to relive that. I'll brief Fredricks for the official report. You can return to the medical wing and rest for now. We can talk later when you've recovered."
Hugo looks ashamed. "No, boss. Please. I'm fine. I... I want to talk through this. I'm so sorry. I wasn't strong enough. I just wanted him to stop... wanted the pain to stop. I tried to stay quiet but I just couldn't..."
I walk over and kneel before my injured employee. "Hugo, you mustn't blame yourself. If anyone is to blame, it's me. I should have done a better job securing our facilities against intrusion," (I notice Fredricks frown as I say this. They've already instituted an organization-wide security review,) "and you were never trained in combat or interrogation. You were never meant to have to face such... atrocity."
Hugo slumps into his seat, tears freely flowing. "I'm so sorry boss. I just wanted to do a good job."
I think about the various reports I'd been receiving over the last month or so. Cosmo's newest sidekick (and goodness, he did seem to go through them quickly, didn't he?) was operating on his own. Rumors were that the kid was sick of being just a sidekick, wanted to prove himself, had always been a bit hot-headed, but up until now he'd never crossed the line. He'd gotten real close, skirted the very edges of what was permitted, but never actually done anything warranting a direct response.
But now this "Nightwatcher" had tortured one of my men, just a random factory worker, for details on my latest scheme.
I motion to Keats, who's standing off to the side. "Take Hugo down to medical. Make sure he gets there safely, and have them give him something for the pain. Have psych stop by later this evening as well."
Keats gently urges Hugo to his feet and ushers him out the doors. I listen as their footsteps, and the sound of weeping, recede down the corridor until the door finally closes behind them, cutting off the sound.
I return to the mirror, and finish buttoning the blouse. It's bulletproof, and while I don't need such protection, it's such a hassle when one's outfit gets ruined by stray gunfire. I put on the earrings, two small skulls. We're sending a message, after all.
I don't even really care that much that Hugo told Nightwatcher everything he knew about Project Omnibus. Like all of my plans, Omnibus is just one gear in a larger machine. I can adapt and alter my strategies. There's always a contingency plan for any failure. Wheels within wheels. It's not about that. Nightwatcher could have just as easily hacked into our systems and discovered those plans that way.
There are rules, and those rules exist for a reason.
"How's the ultimatum coming?"
Fredericks flips to another page in their notebook. "Nearly completed. I still think 'unconscionable' works better than 'inhumane' in paragraph three."
"Change it if you like, but let's get it printed. I'll be departing immediately."
"You're delivering it yourself? Couldn't we use the hotline, avoid unnecessary risk while we give the Society a chance to respond?"
"No. I've sat back for far too long while they've tested my patience. I've held myself honorably to their rules while they've flaunted them, and the time has come for a personal appearance. It's time for me to take the field and remind them why we have rules in the first place."
I bend over fasten the last buckle on my boots when the window explodes inwards. Fredricks doesn't move (their preternatural luck ensures no flying debris will ever hit them) and I, of course, am impervious to such trivial harms. Still, I assume a defensive stance and wait for the inevitable assault.
I note (with my superior analytical abilities) that it was a small charge, doing no real damage to the building and only destroying one window. A single rope appears, lowered from somewhere above, and now I notice the loud and whirring roar of helicopter blades. I move forward to the hole in my building and look upwards.
My sometimes-nemesis Cosmo is sitting in the open door of one of the Society's response-choppers, operating a crank lowering a rope towards us. Fastened onto the end of that rope is a large sack.
I grab the package and pull it into the building, detaching it from the rope and letting the rope swing free. I look back upwards and see Cosmo nod in acknowledgement, or perhaps in greeting, before the helicopter banks away and speeds off.
Interesting.
I turn towards the large sack, which Fredricks has already begun to open.
Inside is an envelope and...
...Nightwatcher, hogtied, gagged, and blindfolded.
Fredricks has already opened the envelope and is reading the letter within. "Sorry about the window. We'll forward you the funds to replace it. We trust that this gift will even accounts and trust that no further action will need to be taken. Respectfully, the Society of Superheros."
Huh.
Sometimes having a reputation can be a very good thing.
I kneel before the bound prisoner and remove his blindfold and gag. He immediately begins shouting epithets. "Witch! You'll never get away with this!"
I let him rage for a few moments before standing and returning to the mirror. This is not the appropriate outfit for this occasional at all. "Fredricks," I say, as I carefully remove my earrings and place them in the top drawer. "Have our *guest* brought downstairs to some... appropriate accommodations. See that he's... *comfortable* until I arrive. I'll be down shortly so that we can have a nice long conversation about rules."
Fredricks pulls a small communicator out of their pocket and whispers into it, and quickly two guards rush into the room. Fredricks, smiling, replaces Nightwatcher's gag and blindfold and then the two guards drag him out of the chamber. Fredricks follows, giving me a small nod as they close the door behind them. I listen with satisfaction at muffled sounds of anger, outrage, and fear until the heavy oak doors cut off the sound.
I turn and walk to the closet. This occasion calls for a particularly splendid outfit. We haven't had guests in a very long time, and it simply wouldn't be polite to meet a guest in anything less than my very best.
Rules are rules for a reason, after all. | "Hey uh, boss?" One of the grunts had radioed him.
"Yeah? What do you need?" The man, relaxed in a chair, asked.
"We found Courts, he's pretty fucked up, looks like torture." The grunt responded.
"Oh fuck..." The man, now sitting up straighter, muttered, "anyone else?"
"Dead." The grunt replied.
"I assumed so." The man sighed, heroes killing had been on the rise, more so now with that new "Queen" guy around, wielding a crossbow and a cowl, he had killed more people than the man in the chair had.
"Boss, you read us?" The grunt questioned, worried.
"Loud n' clear, send Courts in if he's able to walk and talk comprehensibly, if not, send him for rest." The man in the chair ordered.
"Copy that Boss, ETA 5 minutes. Courts will be speaking to you." The grunt replied.
"Thanks." The man in the chair said, before cutting the call.
10 minutes had passed, and Courts came through the door using a walking stick.
"Courts, what the fuck happened out there?" The man in the chair stood, and walked towards Courts.
"Well Boss, they beat me til' I couldn't do nothin' then they tried to force me to talk." Courts replied.
Offering his shoulder, he helped Courts to a chair, then asked, "anything else they do to you?"
"Threw me into a wall, stabbed me in the leg." Courts responded, "might have done more, I couldn't feel nothin' after the wall."
"Jesus Christ. Alright, I assume this lad was a bit too eager for information?" The man, previously in a chair, asked.
"They were, I wouldn't of given 'em anythin' anyway." Courts replied.
The man pondered on this, than realized something, "Wait... They?"
"Oh shit! Right!" Courts yelled, "There were 3 of them!"
"What did they look like?" The man questioned.
"I think one of them was Queen... The other was called Digs, the last one seemed against doing anything to me, I think it was a lady, but they had long hair." Courts said slowly, while in thought.
"Thank you Courts, take as much time as you need to heal." The man ordered.
"Boss... Nah nah, what was one of those names you used? Lists?" Courts asked.
"Yeah, Lists was never a good name. People now only remember me for that line I did once." Lists responded.
"It was the Alfred the Great one right?" Courts questioned.
"Yep," Lists replied, "Ya know me? They call me Alfred. Alfred the Great, and for what you did, I'm going to be seen as the man who took down these barbarians."
"That was a great goddamn line, I still remember hearing you say that." Courts smiled.
"It was a damn good line, especially in improv, now go rest up mate." Lists patted Courts on the shoulder, helped him stand up, and let him on his way.
Now it was time to teach this "Queen" a lesson.
Walking down the street, Lists was kind to anyone who gave him the time of day, he had found the location of Queen's hide out. An old, rundown factory in a shitty area. Stepping in, he called out to see if anyone would respond to him. He then received a fast moving object to the stomach, and flew into a wall.
"Goddamn! You and your walls Queen!" Lists yelled.
"How did you know where we were?" A modified voice echoes around him.
"Would you believe I'm buying property in the area!" Lists yelled out once more, hoping to get a location on his assailant.
His assailant dropped down from above him, and Lists was very easily able to mark him as Queen.
"Your a guy?" Lists asked.
Queen stepped on Lists leg, and asked, "How did you know where we were?"
Lists points at Queen, while saying, "You harmed, and killed, many fine men, with friends, families, and loved ones. Those actions, as you will soon find out, have consequences, many, many very bad consequences."
Queen scoffed, and motioned his hands for his friends to come out, a moderately tall, muscular man wearing a mask, and a smaller woman, also wearing a mask.
"You probably shouldn't have revealed your friend's locations to me." Lists stated, during the middle of this sentence, he had formed a gun in his hand, and by the end, Queens was missing a part of his jaw, but was still alive. His friends, not able to get a line of sight on Lists, went behind cover.
Lists began charging using the confused Queen as a shield, and began yelling "Ya know! If Queen hadn't stepped on my leg, I would have told you I was Alfred!"
Queen had finally recovered from having his jaw nearly blown off, and began to retaliate towards his usage as a shield, far too late of course, as he had already outlived his usefulness, and was thrown into a pile of steel pipes. The muscular man, probably Digs, had began shooting at Lists, while the small woman, who had probably been the long haired one Courts had described, went out of the line of fire.
Lists formed a gun in his hand once more, and shot Digs' gun out of his hand. Digs then began charging Lists, to which Lists responded to by hitting him with his palm, stopping Digs in his tracks, probably broke a rib or two in the process, grabbing his arm, lifting him over his head, then, with momentum, launched him into a floor with a giant swing.
Digs was no longer going to get up, and the long-haired woman began to shoot at Lists. Lists formed yet another gun in his hand, and grazed her leg with a bullet. Collapsed on one knee, and in tremendous pain, the woman tried to keep shooting, yet every shoot missed due to her injuries. Lists kicked the gun out of her hand, and using the same kick, dislocated her jaw. Then, with the heel of his foot and the height from his kick, broke her skull.
Queen had began to run at Lists, much more sloppily than Digs had, which was acceptable considering the amount of abuse he had just endured. Lists let him get close to him, and during Queen's attempt to punch, grabbed his fist, and squeezed. Hard. Lists left after that, leaving three severely wounded heroes to their devices.
Lists had arrived back at base 20 minutes later. Courts was there to greet him. They watched the news together, had drinks together, and laughed as the news report of the heroes Lists had beat up came on. | 2021-03-22T09:10:32 | 2021-03-22T07:33:48 | 129 | 34 |
[WP] The Walking Dead is actually a bunch of kids playing zombies, every time someone "dies" its actually their mom and dad calling them to come inside for dinner, homework, etc. Write about a character death from this perspective | "Guys, my mom doesn't want me playing this any more. She says that I'm spending too much time here and I need to work on packing."
"It's alright Glenn, we'll just play until you have to ove, but we'll keep playing while you're here okay?" Replied Rick. "Thanks for bringing your cousin Nicholas to play this week, it's been nice having an extra person around"
"No problem! Alright! So where were we?" Glenn excitedly said getting back to the game.
*Glenn and Nicholas ran away from the walkers but were surrounded! ***Blam!** *Nicholas shot a walker and ran with Glenn down an alley trying to get out of town, but they were cornered!*
*Glenn jumped up heroically onto the dumpster, and helped Nicholas up. They'd fought in the past and had bad blood, but none of that mattered because they were running for their lives!*
*The sound of the walkers filled their ears and they pawed at their legs and feet from below.*
Nicholas' phone buzzed, "Time to pack it up" the text read. "Guys I gotta head out. Thanks for letting me join you. Glenn my mom said it's time to come home. We gotta leave and then you gotta finish packing."
"But we gotta finish what's going on! I mean, I've been playing with Rick and Maggie and Carl and everyone since spring of last year! For like... 6 seasons! I can't just leave now....." Glenn looked dejected in the summer heat.
"I don't want to lose you as part of the game," Rick consoled him. "But your parents are selling their house right? I mean it's summer now, and you're supposed to be moving out of state this fall and stuff, but let's get together some more if you can convince you mom."
"Well, alright, let's wrap it up for the day." Rick directed everyone back to what they were doing
Nicholas was busy on his phone and didn't realize the game had started back up
*"Nicholas! Hey! Hey! Look at me!" Glenn yelled as they tried to survive the horde of walkers.*
"Oh, um, I kill myself I guess?" Nicholas said unenthusiastically. "Thanks for letting me play everyone!"
*Glen watched in disbelief as Nicholas simply said, "Thank you" and then blew his brains out. Nicholas fell into Glenn and they fell off the dumpster as the walkers closed in on the two, starting to rip entrails from seemingly everywhere.*
"Alright guys, hopefully I'll see you next time," Glenn said. "I'll let you know if I can come back though."
"I just know you will. Make her let you!" Maggie said.
"We'll have a spot open for you if you want to come back." Rick assured Glenn.
Glenn smiled at all his friends and ran home not knowing if he'd be back for another session, but was hopeful.
**A few weeks later....**
"Guys! Mom says I can come back and play with you guys for a while until we move! But I'm officially moving at the end of October!" Glenn let everyone know.
"Alright!" "Awesome!" came the replies
"Hey, not trying to replace Glenn or anything, but I've got a next door neighbor I was telling about this, and he might be interested in playing with us," Rick told everyone.
"Cool," replied Glenn. "What's his name?"
"He plays baseball, so he's kind of busy, but he said it's right up his alley. His name is Negan."
"Can't wait to meet him!" Glenn replied.
*edit: Formatting
*edit 2: Holy crap this got more attention than I thought it would! Thanks everyone. | Few of us have survived this long. We all stay together as to not die alone. Each night the grunting comes and causes an endless cycle of waking in between short naps. Even after these months we still cannot sleep a whole night.
Each night we climb some trees and sleep nearby. Every few hours we call out to a differnt lerson to keep watch, although nothing happens as the infected have not discovered how to climb a tree or make a ladder out of there bodies.
However last night was one of those nights where the infedted gathered beneath our camp and geumbled for hours. My turn to watchout had just came up. Coming up to the hour mark everyone was asleep and so to kill time I decided to start throwing the fruit of the tree I was resting upon at the zombies.
I grabbed a handful of these fruit and started aiming for the eyes of the infected, mainly to see if I could blind them. I had just hit a zombie in its secons eye and it stumbled. It fell to its knees and just stopped. It had no sense of direction and had just given up.
Normally when sun comes up we would try to gop along the trees and make a break for it a little past thw crowd of infected that were waiting for us. However I had just worked a way to get down with much less effort.
I start searching my tree for some more fruit. There isn't any more fruit nearby and I try reaching for some fruit much higher. Stupidly i put my foot on a higher branch to try and grab thw fruit. The branch snaps.
Luke! Dinner time. Come before it gets cold.
Those were the last words my charcter heard before he became one of them.
This is my first post here and would love to get any advice on writing. Also next time inwrite will probably be on a computer and not at midnight. | 2016-11-14T09:11:10 | 2016-11-14T04:41:24 | 601 | 89 |
[WP] You've worked at this pet shop for a long time. In fact, you've worked there longer than time has passed outside it walls. Somewhere in this shop, there is a creature that is bending time to keep you at work longer and longer. If you don't find it soon, someday you may never clock out. | Tigers? Fed. Dragons? Watered. Elephants? Belly-rubbed. Lauren ducked her head around the corner, looking for the grizzlies. They seemed content enough.
Grizzlies? Appeased. Everything inside was as it should be.
“Are you high?” Steve asked, bustling past with a bag of lettuce for the box turtles. “You look high. Nobody smiles that much and isn’t high.”
She swatted at Steve as he passed and he continued on, humming. Everything inside was as it should be, she thought, except the people. And outside? Outside could have been anything, as long as that anything was silent. Try as Lauren might, she couldn’t see anything through the fogged over windows. None of the doors would open, and whenever she thought about breaking the glass she felt the strongest, strangest compulsion not to.
And whenever she mentioned any of it to Steve it was like he couldn’t hear her; like the world beyond their little pet store didn’t exist. “You fed the dragons, right?” Steve shouted back.
“Uh huh,” Lauren called.
“The tigers?”
“Them too.”
There weren’t really tigers, they were a coping mechanism for crippling boredom; after all, she’d been here, working at Painter Street Pets, for what felt like and might really have been two weeks straight by now. The tigers, in point of fact, were kittens; the dragons were little and bearded, the elephant was really only one elephant, and that was just because the owner had named his little jack Russel Terrier ‘Dumbo,’ on account of his big, floppy ears.
Lauren threaded her way through the aisles, peering through aquariums and into birdcages. She paused in front of the hamsters, watched their forever-run, glanced at the clock again. It was still stopped. If time itself really had stopped, Lauren thought, and it was a local phenomenon say, and not something that had ended the whole world, then they might have limitless energy right here in the form of bored hamsters on boring wheels, running out the rest of their boring lives. If she ever made it out of here, Lauren resolved to find a scientist to sell the idea to. They could power the Earth on hamsters. Or something— she had been bored for a *really* long time.
“Hey Steve?” she called.
“Yeah?”
“You see anything weird over there?”
“All quiet on the western front!”
“You’re facing east.”
“All quiet on the eastern front!”
Lauren sighed. Maybe if Yasmin had made her shift it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the clocks had stopped at 8:05 and of all days Yasmin had decided to be five minutes late today— or however you were supposed to think of a day that went on for weeks— which left her stuck with Steve. The bastard was *still* humming.
Exhausted, annoyed, nonplussed, furious, and a thousand other things, Lauren went back to her search. There had to be *something* here. Something had to have caused this.
\*\*\*
“Have I ever told you how much I love animals?” Steve said, several sleep cycles later.
“Please god no,” Lauren said.
Steve powered through. He was past hearing anything at this point, he was simply living out the motions of his endless day. “I love animals,” he said. “They’re just so…powerful.”
She didn’t need to turn around to know he was looking at the calendars again.
Painter Street Pets was an eclectic mix of cute pets and tacky animal themed knick-knacks, perfectly crafted to snare a guy like Steve. Up front there were the calendars. each displaying a new, National Geographic knock-off of a generically badass animal, there were postcards of the same, little figurines, pictures of particularly cute pets the store had sold in the past grafted onto t-shirts or sweaters or anything that could hold an image. There were CDs from local, animal loving bands, fliers from animal themed student groups at the local university, where Lauren went to school, a dozen other things.
And that was all before you got back into the store proper, an endless sea of biomes, reproduced in cheap cardboard cutouts and thematically appropriate lighting, populated in between by the store’s roaming pets, a cadre captained by Dumbo the elephant-terrier.
Lauren turned anyway. He was looking at the calendars.
“Can you just be useful and help me find a way out of this fucking place?” Lauren said.
“Animals are just the coolest,” Steve said.
Disgusted, she pushed away from her seat behind the register and stalked off into the scrap of synthetic jungle.
But Steve’s words stuck with her. *They’re just so powerful*, he had said, and it was true, wasn’t it? In a way, that’s why Lauren had chosen to work at Painter Street Pets. It was only supposed to have been for a summer, and her roommate had put in a good word for her at the café where she worked, but in the end, the power of the animals really had pulled Lauren in. If they had the power to do that, to draw people so thoroughly, could they hold them? Rather, could they hold someone like her? Certainly they had already captured Steve.
Lauren made another circuit of the place, examined every animal, turned over every rock or tree or fake whatever in every single enclosure in the store, looking for something, anything, that had changed on the day the store stood still.
Nothing.
Not a single thing.
Anywhere.
She screamed once, as loud as she could, just because. There weren’t any customers, it was only her and Steve. “Woah,” he said. “That was pretty loud.”
Then he went to look at the calendars, still humming. The search had taken a week.
\*\*\*
part 2 below
r/TurningtoWords | The same customer again, 8:03am, just as I unlock the doors. She wants beta food, that’s it. Just one. I already have it ready for her at the counter, in fact I have the entire days worth of customers’ purchases ready. There is no time to waste. I need to find what is keeping me here.
“Good morning!” Said the first customer.
I smile, without a word I set the beta flakes on the counter. She smiles uneasily at me, which I knew she would, we’ve been through this a dozen times, or at least *I* have.
She pays for the food and hurries out of the shop as I begin making my way through the aisles. I sift through everything on the shelves. There has to be something here. Maybe it glows, maybe it stinks, maybe it’s an ancient relic of the damned, but I’ll be damned if I stay here for one more gosh damned day!
Maybe I should cause a ruckus.. punch customer four right in his stupid nose. I know just about everything I need to know about that idiot, and no matter what I do, this guy just keeps wasting my time to complain about something I don’t give a crap about. Yeah, punch him right in the nose. Then when the police haul me away, this nightmare will finally be over.
I stood in the aisle for a while, trying to listen. Maybe it hummed, played music of some sort. In the silence I realized I wouldn’t have the guts to resort to violence. Plus, there is no telling what might happen outside of this shop. What if I get this reoccurring nightmare in a prison cell? I shudder at the thought as customer two walks in.
Customer two was the unusual one. Whereas all the other customers were identical to the people the day before, customer two was always someone new. They still showed up at the same time and they always asked for a few hermit crab shells and a sponge.
“.. hermit crab.”
“Wha- what? How’d you-“ Customer two exclaimed as I shoved two hermit crab shells into his chest along with a sponge, and scurried him out of the shop. I dashed over to the hermit crab tank before customer three could arrive in the next fifteen minutes.
Lo and behold, the maker of my troubles. It was plated in gold, it even had a little crown. It was seemingly ready for me to make it’s discovery. It waved its claw at me, then stood still. I looked it over, then noticed its shell. On it was the letter three.
“Three? Customer three. Easy.”
The hermit crab shook its claw angrily, then pointed to aisle three.
I went to the aisle, it was full of every kind of dog treat you could imagine. One stood out to me, it seemed to have a slight aura to it. A bacon flavored rawhide bone. I grabbed it and returned to the hermit crab. To my surprise he was gone. I put the rawhide down at the counter and finished up the days work, hoping it was the last.
I paid for the bone. It had to be the key out of this place. As I stepped through the door, I caught the smell of the fresh autumn air for the first time in what might have been twenty days. I got in my car and drove home.
My dog was the first to greet me, as always. I gave him the bone and got changed into something more comfortable.
The next day I woke up to my alarm, I checked my phone and it was Saturday. The cycle was finally over. I went to the bathroom to grab my toothbrush when I noticed the same hermit crab that was in the shop. I stared in horror. The hermit crab pointed at the leash on the wall. I grabbed the leash and took my dog for a walk. When I got back, the hermit crab was gone once more… | 2021-09-29T21:52:55 | 2021-09-29T21:02:21 | 96 | 48 |
[WP] On one hand, you're average at everything. On the other hand, you're average at EVERYTHING. | Anthony Vander Ghal was considered funny, but not hysterical. A nice guy to be around, but not all the time. He drove to work in a 2011 Golf, it had a few war wounds and erroneous knocking sounds - that sounded like an actual golf ball loose in the back - but it served its purpose. He parked in the same spot as he had done for the last fifteen years and dressed in clothes older than both his children combined.
Anthony walked into *Advize Accounting*, his black briefcase swinging without care. And later he would wonder - why oh why did my sandwich lose its top?
'Is that him?' A small voice whispered.
'Shhh.' Glenda from sales crouched beside her daughter and pressed a finger to her lips.
Anthony smiled at them both and continued to reception.
'Samatha don't!' Glenda called out.
A small hand tugged at the back of Anothy's suit jacket. He stopped, turned and faced the child. She looked up at him with wide, saucer eyes and was momentarily lost for words.
'I'm so sorry.' Glenda said and lifted little Samantha into her arms.
'It's fine. She's curious.' Anthony said and tapped Sam lightly on the nose.
'Are yoo really a hooman calculator?' Sam said.
'In a way,' Anthony lifted the little girl's finger and guided it to his nose. 'pretend it's a button!'
Samatha giggled and squashed his nose. She yanked her hand back.
'Now tell me some numbers.'
'Oh, she doesn't know any numbers.' Glenda said.
'I doo!' Samatha kicked in her mum's arms and leant across to tap Anthony's nose. With each press of his nose, Anthony let out *BEEPs* and *BOOPs*.
'One,' Samatha said. 'Free, foor, seffen.'
Anthony vibrated his throat in a computing rumble. And then, like a robot, he announced the answer. 'Three-point-seven-five.’
Samatha compressed her, already small, features and looked at Glenda. 'He's right.' Glenda said.
'But how do you knooow?' Samatha pressed.
'Because Anthony isn't wrong about these things.'
'Your mum is right,' Anthony said. 'remember? I'm the *hooman* calculator.'
Glenda leant across and whispered to Anthony. 'Thanks for playing along. She doesn't know what averages are.'
Glenda was right. Little Samantha had no clue what Anthony had done with the numbers, yet, admiration twinkled in her eyes. To her, the man in the suit was a superhero of numbers, and perhaps it was her lack of understanding that made her awestruck or perhaps it was the man's charm.
'One more! One more!' Samatha pleaded.
Glenda gave Antony an apologetic look, but he was smiling and allowed a repeat demonstration. This time, Samatha shouted numbers until her cheeks were red.
'Five.' Anothy said.
Samatha turned to her mother, who nodded and then switched back to Anthony with mild annoyance. 'I thot yoor head would esplode.' Samatha said.
'Samatha!' Glenda said and whisked her daughter away.
Anthony couldn't help but laugh and waved at the flailing little girl. A strange feeling overcame Anthony Vander Ghal. It felt weird, like a slow trickle of honey. He had a feeling that for the first time, his day would be above average.
---
/r/WrittenThought | Jack wasn't known for being an outstanding, spontaneous person. He wasn't known for any specific skill or quality that could have made him stand out. But it also meant he wasn't as much of a complete fuck up that his sister would often joke about. He never failed his tasks, never failed any activity he set out to do, basically he did only the bare minimum and still succeeded. His sister would always make a joke about him being a "jack of all trades" due to the coincidence of his name and his skillset. Over time, though, he would find himself thinking about, well, anything he could put his mind to. He'd try a new hobby every week, a new activity, a new system to go about his daily life.
To him, what frustrated him the most was that no matter what he did, the result would always be the same - average. He first tried to put in extra effort, only for it to turn out "average". Then he decided to try as many shortcuts, as many mistakes, in order to fail for once. The result would be the same.
Over time, he slowly felt numb and nihilistic about his outcomes. If he couldn't fail, or exceed expectation, then what was the point? He couldn't do anything *more* than average, and he started to feel like none of this was real, that what was happening simply couldn't be possible. He became diagnosed with a severe form of depression, and eventually would develop suicidal ideation, life no longer felt worth living
needless to say, he didn't fail at what happened afterwards... | 2018-10-24T07:20:17 | 2018-10-24T06:23:42 | 177 | 68 |
[WP] You’re Doomguy. You accidentally enter a time portal thinking it was a portal to hell. You arrive in a landing craft with American soldiers in it. You ask where they are going, they respond “Omaha beach” | <<Disclaimer, all I know about Doomguy is that he kills demons and is from the future. Also accidentally changed the prompt a bit, Doomguy spawns *on* the beach.>>
The smell is wrong. There is no brimstone, no caustic scent of acidic demon-blood. There is fire and there is burning flesh. But no brimstone, and that is wrong.
The sounds are wrong, too. It is loud, as it should be. There are screams, as there should be. But the cries are terror, not rage, and that's wrong.
What realm of hell is this, that abandons the destructive reds and blacks and replaces them with washed-out grays and greens? Factions of demons (demons in clothes? that's wrong) fight from opposite sides of the beach. One side spawns from the water (water! not hellfire? wrong.), the other defends from the stone. Fire demon, water demon, stone demon, they're all mortal. This rifle (Springfield? old school. Nice.) will prove it.
There's no time to figure out what form of hellspawn is hidden behind the earthworks before a rifle shot sends it to the ground. It doesn't die quickly though. It actually looks up, shocked. Fearful. As demons should be. Now it's screaming. Not unusual. It's shot in the gut-- and there's not a pleasant place to get shot, but there are places worse than others and wearing guts for garters might actually be less painful than being shot through them. The wound is a mess, there's blood everywhere, the demon's pants are damp with a particularly wet spot at... his crotch. Oh. That's wrong. Demons don't wet themselves. That's a human (human? in hell? **wrong**.) thing. Is it screaming words?
Coming closer seems to terrify him more. The screams reach a new pitch, but his mama can't hear him. His buddies ten meters away can't hear him over the artillery, his momma doesn't have a chance.
He's suffering. He probably won't recover. But ending it early doesn't seem possible. Not when it's human. Feels... Wrong.
There's nothing to guard the other soldier from. The fighting has moved up the beach. But leaving him to die alone seems worse than killing him sooner. The screaming stops, but only because the guy doesn't have the energy anymore. Not sure if he even knows where he is or that his killer is with him. He's still mumbling for his mama.
It's both pleasing and harrowing to know that he had forgotten about this realm of hell. The one time the Devil let Man shape his domain, Man proved that they could put him out of business. The Devil didn't let Man play with his stuff after that.
When the soldier dies, it's almost unnoticeable, a small choke, a desperate gurgle, the relief of silence. Closing the guy's eyes doesn't really help make him look restful, what with all the blood and viscera scattered around his corpse. That and his face is still screwed up in pain and the only bit of skin not covered in filth is where tears had washed it off.
War would always be the worst hell. | The man who appeared from no where checked his battered once green armor, grenade bandalier, then loaded his assault rifle. A audible click peirces the sound of crashing waves and gunfire. For a brief moment there is scilence, the familar calm before the storm of death rains down on demons in hell. The man smiles at the familiar pause and looks up after finishing his inventory check. A young kid in worn, ancient, salt water soaked fatigues, meets his gaze. "I don't know where your from mister but if you can help us kill those kraut bastards then you can stay." The man in the armor begins to think as to where he has heard this ancient dialect before. His helmet HUD begins to scan his surroundings as he thinks and pans his gaze around the tiny, horribly defensed boat which is moving somewhat quickly to a shore with outdated defenses and old machine gun fire from days long past. Then it hits him. He opens his mouth and in a deep rumbling resonate voice responds to the kid, "Good. I wanted to kill some real demons today. Now lets take this beach fellow doom guy." The boat hits the sand. The man in the armor and his compatriots charge forward. The man in the armor grins once more as he changes history again.
Edit for spellcheck | 2018-09-07T09:18:39 | 2018-09-07T09:14:21 | 66 | 25 |
[WP] You've lived in this cave for hundreds of years. You know every sound, every disturbance. You can hear the footsteps, a young human. He thinks your asleep, you observe. His steps are mousy, they tremble with fear. His posture speaks of abuse. It's obvious that someone else put him up to this. | There is a misconception among other races that trolls are stupid. Perhaps the young are, but show me a species that lacks foolish youth. In turn, I would show you fiction.
No, trolls are not all idiots, though you would be forgiven for thinking that, given many of my ilk live under bridges like brigands. They while away their days delaying travelers and playing riddlers. Pah! Such things are best left to sphinxes.
I am an anomaly among my folk; it has been evident for decades now. Though my body bears the marks of childish exuberance, they are scars showing trial and error, understanding my limits. The wood elves say mastery of one’s temple is the first step to apotheosis. While I lack the arrogance to wish for godhood, there is little wrong with seeking self-actualization.
The small thing at the mouth of my cave was not a wood elf. Too heavy in step, movement without purpose, wasteful. I knew this without seeing it, for once I knew my body, I learned my home.
It drew closer, sloppy steps grating against the stone floor. The creature, who limps, came into view now. Smaller than I expected, no, it was hunched; it seemed to be a human. Strange, I had thought elves surrounded my home. Perhaps a lost traveler.
More importantly, the human was walking closer still. I could smell he was male, though it was difficult to tell through all the fear. The child reeked of it, terror rolling off every battered inch of exposed skin. Odd, I believed humans kept their young from conflict.
I knew little of humans. They did not live near elves, and I seldom left my cave except to hunt. It occurred that game had become more scarce as of late and that my neighbors were usually more conscientious of the wildlife.
The human held something in his hands; metal shone in the moonlight—a blade. Honestly, the thought of forging something for the express purpose of harming was laughable at best. Why use a weapon when one might master their temple?
That child was working his jaw, hands trembling and shoulders stiff. It was clear he did not want to be in my den. Yet, in my cave, he was. His cause was clear, and many things became similarly transparent in a moment. Humans had settled nearby, they learned of me, and now I was to be removed.
By a child? A wounded child at that. It spoke to human ignorance that they would send one so young to kill one so old. One can expect such foolishness in youth but not in elders. I could not abide such idiocy.
I rose with the child’s blade, earning a startled scream. He must have mistaken my meditation for slumber. The boy rambled something unintelligible, though I could understand the intent. He spoke of the necessity of my death. The pride his father, the leader, would feel once this rite of passage was complete. His fear of failure, as if faltering, was worse than death by a troll. How sad, for one so young to be so warped.
Briefly, very briefly, I considered avenging the boy’s mistreatment. It would be easy to eradicate such a village for one who was master of their temple. More brief still, I thought to take the child in myself. To teach him of himself, as I had myself. Alas, I was no teacher, and to bring an end to the foolish elders in the village would do nothing for the child. Nor would allowing him to take credit for my apparent demise. Thus, there was only one option.
Lumbering past the fallen form of the child, I stalked into the night and breathed deeply. The air was cold, crisp, but tainted. Smoke rose through the tree line, and I could smell meat cooking.
I am an anomaly among my folk, and indeed it showed now. No other troll would attempt to parley with humans or be willing to take a village as their own. But then, no other troll was master of their temple or knew the entirety of their home. And, in truth, no other troll could seek to succeed in what I ultimately intended.
Perhaps I am more arrogant than I thought. | The boy crept in on bare feet atop his wiry frame covered in scars, both long healed and fresh. He had come farther into the labyrinthine cave than most other villagers, who mostly came for the small collection of mushrooms and other assorted plants that I tended to. After watching him dart from one rocky alcove to the next for many minutes he reminded me of myself as a lad. The same half starved look of determination that I had when stealing bread to survive, all those centuries before.
Perhaps he had come on some quest like so many others to retrieve my "remains" and fabled blade. He had come far past where the amber light from the falling sun could reach and was nearing the main chamber of my self imposed exile with nothing but a small knife to defend himself. I waited in the deep shadows above the entrance of my hand chiseled battle grounds, like I have so many times before, as he slowly passed under me to examine this oddly dome shaped room.
When he timidly crossed the threshold onto the smooth floor I silently dropped behind him and boomed, "What brings you here, boy?!"
He turned to me and scrambled back, his shaking limbs struggling to put ground between us.
"I-i come t-to claim the sword. W-who are you?" he stammered.
Torches along the walls flared to life to reveal my lich-cursed body. The empty sockets where my eyes had once been that now sparkled with an ethereal darkness, topping my frame of old bones and rotted flesh. I had long ago stopped maintaining my shining plate and supple leather armor and used a simple cloth tunic to silently stalk intruders. That, of course, did little to hide my undead form. After seeing the dread fill this boy's eyes, I took pity.
"I am the guardian of this tomb, the one who built it, and the one for whom it was built. I am true owner of the holy blade you seek. If you wish to posses it, you must challenge me."
My heart sank as he rose to his feet on shaking legs, drew his stolen kitchen knife and replied with tears welling in his eyes, "I have no other options."
(Formatting edit) | 2021-03-25T06:22:08 | 2021-03-25T06:01:18 | 31 | 22 |
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