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] Two years ago the sun winked out, utterly without warning. You are a member of one of the last human settlements on earth, huddled around a geothermal vent in Iceland. This morning, again without warning, the Sun rose. | I went a little overboard with this and the story ended up being almost three thousand words long. So, this is just the introduction. But thank you for the great prompt and motivation to do some writing!
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The Dying Light
Haley-Deanne was born April 14th, 2021, at 3:47 pm on a beautiful sunny spring day that would have been hard for anybody to describe as anything less than perfect. She came into the world no different than any other child does. Crying, confused, angry, sore, and covered in muck. She had all her toes, and all her fingers. Her voice was loud and strong. Much like the day she was born, it would have been hard for anybody to say she was anything less than perfect.
Despite the perfect day, and despite the perfect baby, Haley’s mother was panicking. “Give me my baby,” she said, holding out her hands. But nobody acknowledged her. The doctor and nurses spent the first minute of the child’s life checking her over and oohing and awing about how beautiful she was.
“There’s no time, you idiots! Give me my baby!” The mother yelled. Once again, nobody paid her any attention. The second minute of the young girl’s life was spent getting cleaned up by one of the nurses, who kept asking Haley if she knew how lucky she was.
The mother, who’s panic only kept increasing, looked over towards her husband. “Make them give me my baby! There is no time! You know there is no time!” But he too ignored her and was looking over the nurse’s shoulder at his newborn daughter. The third minute of Haley’s life was spent being admired by her father.
The fourth and fifth minutes of the baby’s life were spent getting another looking over by the doctor, checking for anything abnormal and marveling at what a perfect little child he had just delivered. The mother was still alone, crying and screaming and begging them to hand over her daughter before it was too late. Didn’t they know what was going on? Why were they all so calm? Why was her husband not helping her?
Six minutes into Haley-Deane’s life she was placed into the arms of her father. His face seemed to be all smiles, the kind of pure emotion expression that infects others around them with joy. The nurses were crying, and the doctor left with a pat on the back for ‘ol dad. “Good job, sir, you made a great baby.” The father held the baby and rocked her, the full-faced smile never faltering for a second.
The mother was screaming by now. Screaming and bucking and doing everything she could to get free. To protect her daughter. But she was trapped. She was strapped to the bed and it didn’t matter what she did, she could never escape. The fear and misery were all that she was, and all that she knew. She only wanted her daughter to be safe, but nobody was helping her.
Her husband, the father, and man she thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with, finally looked up at her. The smile faded. “I’m sorry,” he said, walking towards her. “I love you, and I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I have to go.”
“Go! What do you mean, go!? No, you have to help me! You have to help protect our daughter! You can’t leave me!”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He placed Haley gently in her mother’s arms, kissed his wife on the forehead, turned, and walked out the door.
“Come back,” the mother screamed. “We need you!” She rocked back and forth, the joy of having her daughter undercut by the loss of her husband. What were they going to do now? How would they survive? She lay on the bed and screamed and wailed. All around her the nurses went about their business, still ignoring her completely.
Eight minutes after the birth of Haley-Deanne, the sun died. | It was all without warning.
Two years ago the sun vanished. In the following weeks experts converged trying to find an answer to the mystery that plagued our home, but none could be found. The moon had gone dark, but was still observable through the light pollution from 7 billion people trying to maintain some semblance of normality but that too faded as power grids collapsed. One by one, people started to perish.
Some survivors had the idea to run to the geological “hotspots.” These places where the earth vented heat from its molten core. I was one of those lucky few to make it.
As the first year came to a close, the pockets of survivors became isolated as communication networks broke down, and society collapsed completely. The second year was harsh. A small camp of about 100 huddled around a geothermal vent in a harsh and formidable landscape to the polar north. Supplies dwindled and soon, anything that could be had was worth it, and violence in the camp started to escalate.
That was until today.
I had no way of placing time when a faint glow on the horizon was seen. The camp, in fear for what might be coming, collected together and took up arms on a nearby ridge. The glow grew brighter and brighter, lighting up the sky in shades of orange and yellow. Quickly, people started feeling a burning sensation. Their eyes had not seen a glow this bright in … what felt like forever.
A retreat was called and people raced back to the camp to find shelter. Whispers were had among the group. Fear settled in rapidly.
A pop echoed out, and somebody fell. A second pop. A third.
Stinging. Cold.
I hit the snow covered ground as more and more bodies fell. More pops rang out. The last one standing, shaking, turned the gun to himself.
One final pop.
As my consciousness faded, as the cold slowly got to me, the warmth from the sky covered me.
It was the sun.
Then there was darkness again.
| 2018-07-21T12:59:48 | 2018-07-21T12:33:08 | 67 | 14 |
[WP] The attempted assassination of a human dignitary at a galactic summit goes awry. Turns out, many of the conventional toxins in an alien assassin's repertoire include compounds like caffeine, theobromine and capsaicin; lethal to many species, but... less than effective on humans. | Peter tried leaning back in the chair. Ugh. No such luck. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get comfortable.
He looked around at the dozens of other representatives. Their tentacles and furry limbs rested comfortably in the seats.
He was out of place.
He played with the glass of water in front of him. Each representative was given a beverage along with the appropriate paper work. They had looked at him in shock when he asked for a glass of ‘Dihydrogen Monoxide’, but he shook it off. Different star systems, different dishes.
His brain filtered out the speaker in front of the the crowd, muffling the noise around him.
Raising the glass to his lips, he took a sip. He squinted, his face contorting. Ugh. What was that? Tasted… bitter. Something was off with the water. He set it down. Best not to get worked up about it.
The speaker turned to him. His translator ear-piece morphed the strange squeaks and growls into a human voice.
“Would the human representative please step onto the stage?”
Peter obliged, calmly walking from his seat to the podium. He began to speak about the planetary developments, the amounts of resources gathered, and anything else of note.
“Speaking of our interplanetary exploration budget, we-“
*THWIP*
The sharp sound of an object cutting through the air resounded as a dart flew from the crowd and onto Peters neck.
“Gah!”
Peter fell back from the microphone and onto his knees. He grasped at the foreign object lodged in his neck, yanking it out. He could tell. The life was draining out of him. He could feel the alien toxin flowing through his veins. He-
He felt fine. Aside from the slight twinge of pain in his neck and specks of blood, he was fine.
He slowly stood, and the interplanetary officers swarmed the crowd and stage. Doctors surround him, placing him in a gurney, asking questions. The officers dragged a feathered creature in a trench coat out by two of of his many limbs. He scowled at Peter as he was dragged away.
Peter spent many hours in the infirmary as the police furiously scoured the auditorium.
Finally, a nurse walked in. She seemed somewhat humanoid, aside from the black eyes and gray skin. Oh, and the claws.
The translator activated again as she spoke.
“Well, I don’t know how, but… your body seems to have been immune to the poison. Both the dart and the glass were spiked with caffeine. Tell me, have you always had this immunity?”
Peter blinked.
“What? Uh, yeah. Humans drink caffeine all the time. That’s what makes up stuff like coffee and tea.”
The nurses eyes went wide.
“That… is news to us. This needs to gather more attention.”
As she hustled out of the room, an officer came in.
“You may be pleased that we’ve captured the would-be assailant. He’s part of the Gallus species, and is being placed into the custody of your protective services.”
I nodded.
“They’ll probably give him the death penalty over this.”
“Hm.” He said “I believe your planet is home to a Gallus sub species? Gallus gallus domesticus?”
I nodded again.
“Yup. And like I said, the death penalty. Those guys taste great with ketchup.” | It was the perfect plan to kill the human dignitary.
I carefully grounded the leafs wearing protective gloves and a respirator to prevent my own death. Nobody could survive that much of the dangerous tea leafs.
Now how to best disguise the poison that would be this creature's end. As I quickly looked at the available ah yes the delicious sweetness of the tetrodotoxin would disguise the taste of the tea after it was brewed in water.
It was quite the delicacy and their was no way the human would be able to turn it down. This human would pay for forgetting to tip me.
As I delivered the drink I sat it down in front of the Human who ignored my presence as he laughed at a joke told by a Bunnerian dignitary.
I watched as they drank the poison
I watched as the panic spread over them
I watched as they gasped trying to breathe
I listened as their heart beat it last feeble attempt.
As they laid motionless
As the Bunnerian dignitary tried to revive the Human
As the Favaustian dignitary looked in my direction
As the Favaustian shouted pointing at me
As the restraints were applied to my 8 tentacles
I never once looked away with my smiling face even as they placed me in the air cruiser
I had gotten justice for myself and my fellow server's.
For all the insults and dismissive gestures
For the complaining and trolling | 2021-06-12T13:31:31 | 2021-06-12T11:38:22 | 476 | 114 |
[WP] You arrive in the year 1000, and all you have are the clothes on your back, a laptop with the entire Wikipedia library, and a solar charger. | I woke up, scratching my beard. It had been three days since my arrival and since my last shave.
*Note to self. Bring a razor next time.*
He still had no idea where he was, no local currency and no real goods to share. While villagers shied away from him, I didn't understand with their fascination with a particular lake, haunted by a witch of sorts. Asking for directions, I made tried to make my way over to the enchanted body of water only to find a terrible surprise.
Approaching the situation with an open mind. "Lindsay?"
"Nice beard dork." She was decades older than me from when I last saw her. "You think you were the only one that knew about Dad's machine?"
Her grayed hair was thinning out, but she looked well. Her figure was thin, but by no means was she emancipated. Her cheekbones protruding out, I was still stunned by her elderly age. "How did you get here?"
"Same way you did. You left the coordinates in the machine. When you disappeared, we thought you had given your handgun a blowjob. That's when Dad revealed his machine."
She was boiling a broth, something awful smelling and then some. "And you followed me." My stomach growled at the sight of the soup. It might not have the aroma of a Michelin star restaurant, but damn did it look good.
"I set the age three decades before you to make sure you knew how to get back. If you want to." A potato splashed as she chucked it into the soup.
"I can't go back. Not after what I put them through." Shaking my head, I just thought about how Mom and Dad would have felt. She was stirring the broth. *When did she learn how to cook?*
"For thirty years, I have prepared. I know you don't want to come back, but at the same time I can't let you live on your own." She tasted the soup, frowning. She sprinkled a few more leaves on it. "You'll need a new name to survive."
"How about Lionheart of Duke Forthsworth?" I smiled at her scowl. "Didn't think that through." I thought of the legends about her, thinking of what to say. Then it just came out. "So, people think you're a witch."
She grinned devilishly. "Of course." Stirring the pot a few more times, she continued. "Appears out of nowhere, no house to be seen. Sometimes even doles out more than a bad bowl of soup. Sometimes swords."
"And has a young humble farm boy come to claim his birthright, begin the English dynasty as we know it?" I giggled at the thought that my sister had been working towards a flipping *fairy tale.*
"No, he's a few years away. But you should consider growing your beard out. Might help the prophecy." Doling out the soup into two bowls, she handed me one.
"May I ask why?" The scrap of facial hair that lined my jaw was already irritating, I couldn't bear to think why it would be desirable to have *more*.
"Because the locals know me as a witch. They'll know you as a wizard. What with the sudden knowledge from your Apple Mac." She took a bite of an anonymous mouthful of soup. "Like I said before, better think of a name."
I looked at her suspiciously, already knowing the answer to my question. "Who do they think I'm supposed to be?
Her last glance filled me with dread. "Merlin, of course." | I could feel my blood freezing in my as I read through the letter. This horrible feeling of faliure captured my whole mind, I couldn't think clearly...
"Server! Drink!" I shoutend into the empty room. Two young boy appeared and gave me wotered wine. "No, normal woter is fine this time." I said. I'll need my brain today.
Ever since I arrived in this age people's opinion changed about me, day by day. At first I was a stranger in a strange land, in strange clothes, speaking strange dialect. They yused to discriminate me, but after I 'saved' them from the plague the citizens started to admire me. It was nothing miraculous, but my common sense from the 21st century and a bit of help from the Wikipedia. All they needed is to wash their hands and take care of the corpses properly. I... I don't even know how I got into this situation, but after I told them some historical events, using wiki my laptop again I somehow became the number one preacher of the town. Then they made me their priest and built me a monastery. All this in change of a tiny bit of the vast information I held in my backpack.
"I need more wa" but before I could finnish my sentence everything went blank and I fainted.
The next thing I remember is the two server whispering about the letter. I know they read it. Now they're confused, they are afraid too.
Their fearful voice are still echoing in my head, it was the last line of the letter:
'Your fabricated sun god is the decepticon of Satan himself. The unholy altar is annihilated, now prepare for divine pubishment!' | 2016-12-27T16:27:44 | 2016-12-27T13:45:18 | 90 | 18 |
[WP] You're a human living with a vampire roommate. It's painfully obvious; he never looks at mirrors, he despises garlic, he never uses silverware, and he always stays in during the day, but his attempts at trying to blend in are far too funny.
EDIT: Thank you, silver gifter! | When I first started renting the dingy house over the hill, I asked about the weird box in the basement. Of course I asked. It was almost in the center of the room, covered in concrete, and absolutely immovable.
"Oh, that. I don't actually know- the house is pretty old, so we don't really know anything about who built it or when. Maybe it was a hidden network of tunnels used by ancient smugglers and gypsies. Most likely it's just a really big rock."
Turns out it was neither of those things, but something much, much weirder.
"What are you doing in my house?" He said, coughing up dust and hastily kicking large chunks of concrete behind what was clearly a coffin.
"I live here? I'm renting the place from Billy." Not that I expect him to know that name. Or any name. Or even the current century.
"Oh... yes. I, too, rent from the 'Billy'. You and I are to be bedfellows." He grinned widely at his complete mastery of subterfuge, exposing two overlarge canines.
"Quite a smile you have there." He closed his lips quickly.
"Yes," he said, speaking out of the side of his mouth. "I have... a condition." Here it comes. Super strength, ancient coffin, cheesy cape and super-sized canines. Vampire.
He shifted in front of me. "It is a very serious condition." He started wringing his hands together. While he has every right to be nervous, I'm not exactly about to doubt him. Watching someone punch through three solid inches of concrete does wonders for belief.
"I have..." As long as he doesn't sparkle, I'm sure we'll get on fine. "-allergies." What.
"What?" He nods solemnly at me.
"Yes. It is extremely serious. I am so allergic to dust that my teeth swell up." His eyes widen and
he gets a goofy smile on his face, before he coughs and attempts to frown. He comes out looking like a constipated bullfrog.
"Ah, I am also allergic to sunlight. And garlic. An silver and crosses and priests and strange houses." He pauses.
"And dogs. Cats are fine though." A small, incredulous laugh escapes me before I can stop myself.
"Are my numerous afflictions humorous?" I think he's trying to sound offended but he mostly comes off as worried.
It's a little pitiful, how hard he's trying. I decide to take pity on him, so i shake my head very seriously.
"Not at all. My brother is also allergic to dogs. It's pretty devastating." Before he can argue, I turn and head back up the stairs.
"Come on, let's get you away from all this dust so your swelling will go down. I can't wait to see your real smile." I hear a little choking noise from behind me and can barely contain my snicker. I can't wait to hear how he tries to explain it this time. | She often caught his awkward eyes and giggled, quitely. He was kind of cute, after all. Polite, unassuming, helpful, just not very present. Still, It was early days. Alex had only moved In some weeks back. Kiera decided to she would speak to him, soon as the chance would arise. 'He is the only house mate who hasn't judged me' This thought persisted and endeared him to her. 'They all judge him too' she muttered to herself In the kitchen, one night. She sat In the dark, feeling comforted by emptiness.
That same night, Alex returned from his night shift, Kiera could see his pale skin, white like moonlight, freckled with blood. He glimmered In the sepia night shade, as he shut the door quietly behind him. She was scared but left Intrigued. He skulked silently upstairs and In to the bathroom, leaving the door slightly a jar. As she approached, heavy panting and running water was all she could hear... | 2019-07-20T10:28:39 | 2019-07-20T07:44:50 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You've been captured by a serial killer. However, he doesn't realize he's the one in danger - your body count is much higher. | I sat in a rickety wooden chair in the middle of an abandoned house. The kid who captured me had duct-taped my torso to the back of the chair, and was now trying with some difficulty to bind my wrists behind my back.
"You're doing it wrong," I told the kid. "You should've knocked me unconscious first. Right now, I'm wide awake, fully aware of what you're doing. I could have screamed and the whole neighborhood would hear me."
I could hear the kid's shuddering breath as panic set it. His hands trembled as he cinched the knots.
"Plus," I continued, "you've taken too long with my hands. If you're going to have the victim awake while you tie them up, at least show a sense of urgency."
"Shut the fuck *up!"* the kid shrieked.
I shrugged. "Hey, just offering some advice. In that same spirit, I should also point out that you've completely ignored my legs and feet."
I sprang to my feet, bent at the hips. With the chair on my back and the legs now aimed toward the kid, I ran backwards and barged into him. He fell backwards with a comical squeak. He lay on his back, and I brought the chair down upon him, digging one of the legs into his shoulder. He howled in pain, but I held him there for a good ten seconds, letting him feel it. I kind of felt bad. But sometimes people just need to learn the hard way.
I released him, and he rubbed his shoulder with a whimper.
"So now," I said, "thanks to your banshee screech, we have approximately two minutes until a nosy neighbor calls the police, another ten before they arrive. You really could have picked a better location--*any* location. A heavily-trafficked suburban neighborhood is not your friend if you're going for a slow kill."
The kid stuttered. "Wh-- Wh-- Who the fuck *are* you, man?"
I instinctively tried to reach out my hand to shake his, but remembered I was tied up. I smiled at him. "The Reaper of Ponderosa Pines. Or just Jack, if you please. Pleasure to meet you."
The kid's eyes widened and his brows furrowed. "You're shitting me. You're the *Reaper?"*
I bobbed my torso up and down in a mock bow. "And may I ask, who are you?"
The kid straightened up, a sense of pride enveloping his expression. "I'm the Cinch County Strangler."
I held back a laugh. "Ahh, so you're the newcomer then. I've been keeping up with your story. Your only kills were two women half your size and weight, and you snuck into their houses and suffocated them in their bath tubs with a shoe lace. Low-hanging fruit, don't you think?"
He sneered. "What the fuck ever, man."
"I'm just saying, you start picking on cute girls enjoying an evening at home, then what purpose are you fulfilling? How does killing a mom in her bathtub serve anyone? Now, you're just like every other Strangler and Mutilator and Executioner out there: killing erratically, without a plan." I look from him to myself with a snicker. "Obviously."
The kid went silent, sulky.
I plopped the chair onto the floor and exhaled loudly. "Look, you have potential. I wouldn't be talking to you if I was lying about that. You just need a mentor, like I did. My mentor instilled in me a mission, a sense of purpose, so that I wouldn't just go willy-nilly killing Joe Schmo who's trying to put his kid through college. He taught me *who* to look for, *how* to kill them, and *why.* You following?"
The kid nodded.
"Good. Then do you and me a favor: Cut me loose, and let's go for a night on the town."
The kid hesitated. I rolled my eyes. "Look, kid, if I wanted to kill you, I would've brought the chair leg down on your neck, not your shoulder."
He pursed his lips, then cut me free. I didn't kill him. I'm a man of my word.
I clapped a hand on his good shoulder. "Let's get a drink. We have a lot to [discuss](https://www.reddit.com/r/phunk_munky/)."
| **Please be gentle. It's my first time posting.**
Edited to say the above. Anyway, here goes...
Jennifer.
Dr. Jennifer Mangolini. It was her that started this whole mess, you know.
She ruined it all. The first and last stair of the spiral case stretching from the heavens to deep down below. She played Alpha and Omega without so much thought to her actions now as to any other time in her life. I'd like to damn her soul, but I'm quite sure she hasn't had one for many, many years. I doubt she ever did.
Maybe claiming her as the start isn't entirely accurate. But she was very much the beginning of the end.
We begin with Joe. Joe was, by most of the measures I have come to use, nearly perfect. Joe was your average, everyday, healthy, suburban, white-bread, golf-outting, sale-at-Home-depot-how-about-this-weather-we're-having total lump of a person. Granted, Joe may have been low hanging fruit. But what fruit tastes sweeter? The man was ripe for the picking. So pick I did.
Joe lived what most would call a good life. An honest life. A clean life. But despite all he did, Joe was like any other living being.
Some like to think they have control over the body through purity of thought, or through physical discipline. But this is a flimsy fantasy. And deep down, every man knows it. The ebb and flow of lifetimes is not for man to choose.
That is my domain.
When my spark first awoke in Joe I was a small unit in a larger mass. Most of those around me were pitiful, being defeated by some of the smallest particles of Joe that he would ever make. Some broke free from the group, only to fare no better on their own. I chose to wait. I spent my time away from the horde, satisfied in the knowledge that my time would come. I chose a place in Joe that was nondescript. Not to high, not too low. Not towards the front, or towards the back, or towards the tender places that were easily touched by people like Jennifer... Jennifer.
It was in that place that I built my army. And an army it was! Great, swirling masses of us. I packed the men in. Formations where as precise as ridges on a seashell, hard as stone and born from the belly of Nature herself.
We were ready.
PART 2 BELOW
| 2018-08-23T04:40:56 | 2018-08-23T02:22:18 | 32 | 15 |
[WP] you wake up and realized you skipped a day, everything in your house is organized, since then you always switch bodies with this friendly entity that does your tasks for a day, until one day your windows are barricaded and theres blood on your hands and a note "You must hide" | The sharp scent of copper wafts into my awareness as sleep recedes. I open my eyes groggily, my sleep-deadened mind expecting the usual spotless bedroom with a glass of water on the bedside table waiting for me. Instead, my breath hitches in my chest as my eyes scan the room.
Deep gouges are raked across the walls. My desk drawers are all open, papers spilling out; my chair beside it overturned. The windows are covered in thick black curtains and the wood boarding them peaks out from behind them.
The rush of adrenaline purges the last dregs of sleep from my veins, and I sit stock-straight. I look down, and notice the source of the coppery scent; partially dried blood coated my hands.
I close my eyes and my head begins to throb with the effort of trying to remember what happened yesterday. The sound of paper crinkling grabs my attention as I shift nervously. A small note peaks out from under my hands previously splayed on the duvet: "You Must Hide".
I heave my body out of bed, stumbling slightly. Lumbering, I drag myself into the kitchen. As I catch sight of the front door, dread settles in my gut like ice water.
"Do not leave. They're imposters. Do not trust them." The words are scrawled hastily on the front door. The color of the font is reminiscent of the residue on my hands.
I take one shaky breath.
My heart leaps into my throat as a sharp series of knocks sounds at the door. "Honey? Are you okay?" The voice was wrong. It was almost as if I could hear metallic gears grinding beneath the soft tones.
"Please, say something? Please honey?" Fear floods my brain and I slump to the floor against the cabinets. No. This is wrong. This is all wrong. I can't... "Sweetheart did you forget your meds again? Please let me in. Let me help. I promise everything will be okay."
The words swirled around my head. The voice was wrong. Metallic grinding. Wrong.
I reach over my head and with a clatter, pull the knife block off the counter and crashing to the floor. A small yelp sounds from the other side of the door. It sounds wrong. Wrong.
I grip the largest knife in the block and hold it flat to my chest, rocking softly back and forth.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
"Honey, please let me help." The metal shrieks and scrapes. My ears begin to bleed, the sound shredding my eardrums and cleaving my skull. Blood trickles down my hands into my lap as my hands curl around the blade against my chest.
The metal shrieks loudly at the door, and the door shakes abruptly. My hands grip the knife tighter, blood streaming down my front and onto the floor.
"Please. Leave. Me. Alone." My voice croaks. It sounds like metal shrieking.
The room begins to spin. Metal shrieks and sirens wail from outside the door. Blood rushes loudly in my ears, and suddenly the room goes dark as my head hits the floor, knife clattering to the tile. | I’ve had this sort of... ‘schedule’ for the last few weeks. Every second day, something else would take control of my body for 24 hours with me being none the wiser.
Up until today.
It was supposed to be an off-day so I did not have anything planned for this. Pulling off the duvet under the assumption it was Wednesday, I accidentally swiped my face with my hands and noticed they were covered with a brownish sticky residue. First assumption was a nose bleed, but then I noticed the scrunched up paper on my bedside unit...
“You must hide.”
I was utterly confused and my mind blanked. It was then I realised a constant sound had been happening, well more like an absence. It was completely silent apart from my clock ticking.
I got over the shock in a while and went to clean up my hands. I then saw in the mirror that there was no other blood on my face or near my nose. That was it, this must be serious.
____________________________________________
ive never written these before, just lemme know if i should delete it | 2019-10-14T20:16:06 | 2019-10-14T19:02:56 | 555 | 147 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I'm pretty sure you think Mom is my hero. She stayed at home with us until high school, attended all the sports practices, school performances, made all the lunches...and of course I love her, for all that and more, but I'd like to tell you that you have always been my hero.
Some might say that it's just because of supply and demand; you were in short supply growing up, so the demand was high. But that just wouldn't cover it. There is a connection of spirit between us that I just don't have with Mom.
Sometimes when we play cards we start to get a little competitive, and by that I mean that you become a horrendous asshole with a horseshoe so far up your ass you must taste steel! The curse words start flying as the stakes get higher but the twinkle in your eye matches the one in mine. Meanwhile, Mom is in the other room hollering at us to "play nice," never seeing that the anger is all in good fun.
But I guess it really comes down to that day. You know the one. We waited for the ambulance for 45 minutes, and that whole time you did your best to breathe life back into my brother, your son. How you managed to keep it together that long, I will never know. You even drove us all to the hospital behind the ambulance. It seemed like an inhuman feat to me. Superman himself could not have kept it between the lines on that drive.
It's been a decade, and do you know what amazes me most? That twinkle in your eye that matches mine has never disappeared. You never let your grief drown out your joy. You face each day still open to all of what life has to offer. Grief is still a constant visitor, but you set the example of how to invite it in with open arms, to acknowledge that it is part of our lives without it being a menace that must be locked out. By opening the doors easily you help to let in all the other emotions so that life is still whole.
I don't know what I would do without you. You set the example of how to live life and face its challenges with courage and humanity.
Thank-you. | Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy. | 2015-12-05T15:05:05 | 2015-12-05T14:30:45 | 59 | 33 |
[WP]: A 92-year-old woman's phone number is one digit away from that of a local suicide hotline. She could have it changed, but she doesn't mind. | "Um...hi, I've never done this before but I'm looking for some help. I'm having a really rough time right now and I'm afraid I'm going to hurt myself, or worse."
"Oh, sweetie- I'm so sorry you're struggling like this," a raspy, weak voice replied. She must have been at least 80 years old by the sound of it, but the weakness was but a veil- through it, you could hear true strength.
"This is the hotline for people who need help, right?" I asked.
"No, dear. You've reached the wrong number- it happens a lot to me, since I'm one digit off from the hotline. But it's okay, sweetie, you can talk to me. I've actually become a bit of an expert myself in this regard."
"Oh, are you sure? I don't mean to disturb you," I said, since she sounded so elderly.
"Dear, I'm 92 years old. I have plenty of free time these days. Nobody visits an old lady like me anymore," she laughed weakly. "What's going on with you, sweetheart?"
"Well..." I choked back tears, "my son died this morning. I've always tried to be a good father, I tried *so hard*, but today I just slipped. It was so quick...I left him with a plate of food and ran off to make a quick phone call from work. It was an emergency; I'm a psychiatrist and a patient was having serious issues. When I came back into the room, he'd....he'd choked on his food and died. I killed my son." He started sobbing desperately, the sound of a broken man.
"Now you listen to me, sweetheart, and listen good. There's only one person who I've failed to save, out of hundreds I've helped, and I'm going to make sure that number does not grow. Don't hold back your tears; we treat men like they can't be weak, but a real man cries. A real man admits his mistakes and feels the pain of what he's done."
"I killed my son. How...how do I ever come back from that?"
"There's nothing to come back from, love. We make mistakes, and sometimes they're worse than others- sometimes they *can't get any worse*. You're no fool, and you're admitting fault. That's the best place to start- believe me, denial will ensure your demise.
"Now, love, let me ask you a question- how much does it hurt? How badly are you grieving right now?"
"It's unlike anything I've ever felt in my life. I couldn't ever possibly feel worse than this."
"Precisely. Because of that, it will only get better than it is now. And your son has passed- but he is not forgotten. You will never forget his laugh, or his first words. Never. You remember all that for the rest of your life, and grow from it. You know a pain unlike any other, and because of that, you are valuable beyond meaning. Your little boy, he forgives you. He knows you loved him, and he knows you care more than anything.
"You'll see him again one day, dear. When you do, be able to look at him and see pride in his eyes. Pride that his father rebounded from the ultimate pain and pushed on through life. Help others, others who've felt pain like you. Be there for them, and save them from a despair you know all to well.
"One day, have another child. You are a father, I can tell. Some men are not, but you are. It will hurt at first, but you will love that little boy and raise a fine young man like yourself."
"What if I fail again? What if I make one little mistake again, and I ruin everything?"
"Then you stay strong. You call me again," she said with a laugh. "Don't ever give up hope. Learn from the pain of life, and use it to better everyone else's. When you need help, ask those you love. I'll give you my number and you can call me. You still have much to do, dear. Much to do."
"Maybe you're right...my wife can't lose a son and a husband. It hurts but I want to help someone, anyone, so they don't feel like I do. Thank you so much for your words."
"Of course, love. You know my number if you ever need help again."
"May I ask you a personal question? Who was the one person you failed to save? Did he just have severe depression, or something that couldn't be overcome?"
"Unfortunately, it was simply my inexperience with helping someone in pain. Nobody specific, love. You take care now."
"Thank you. Have a wonderful day, and God bless your kind soul. You do more than you could ever know."
They hung up, and she looked longingly at a small photo on her desk by the phone.
*See, James? I told you I'd never let another person fall prey to despair. I hope you're proud of me when I see you, son.* | The phone rang again, and Mary sat up in bed putting her glasses on so that she could see the time.
3:32 AM, she smiled sadly to herself. The late night callers were always the least determined ones, usually just young follk too worried to go to work the next morning or too stressed to sleep.
The phone rang again. Three rings, that was her motto - she always allowed them to a chance to hang up before that after the last few talkdowns didn't go so well. Three rings, and it means the person wants to be helped. Any less, and it's usually Mary listening to a final death speech - the likes of which often took their mental toll on her the morning after.
The phone rang one more time. She picked up, and in a careful soothing measured tone said "Hello?".
There was no voice on the other end, just a small sigh and short breaths. "Hello?" she said again, trying to force a response. Maybe this person was already too far gone. Maybe she should hang up and call an ambulance. Just as she was about to, a voice spoke up:
"...hello..."
"Hello there, what's your name?" she asked carefully. Names are useful, it grounds people in a conversation and often sways the direction of authority.
"...nnnnn..... my name is not important right now...."
She nodded to herself, knowing that it must be her who must concede first in order to regain control later. "Well my name is Mary, and I'm here to listen, and help you if you like."
"...haaaaaa......help me how....."
"Well that's up to you" she said. Choice. Give people a choice, no matter how small, and you grant them the illusion of control over their lives. "Whatever you want to talk about, I'm all ears."
"....aaaaaa.... how about we talk about you, Mary......"
This was not uncommon, many people didn't want to talk about their problems up front and sometimes a little give was needed to get some information later in return. "Me? Well I'm just an old girl living her life to its fullest and taking every day as it comes. Can you give me a name to call you?"
"....every day huh?...... Brad...... And what are you doing right now, Mary..."
"Well I'm lying here in bed, talking with you Brad" she said a little indignantly. She wasn't entirely sure this man actually was suicidal. Sometimes people just wanted to talk.
"....lying in bed you say.......... haaaaaaaa..."
His breathing was getting worse. She gripped the phone tightly. "Brad? Brad? Are you okay? Talk to me please."
".....haaaaaa...... so what are you wearing Mary?...."
She sighed. Not this again. She had half a mind to hang up but decided to at least tell the man of his mistake so he would not make it twice. "This is 350*8*7 young man, the phone sex hotline you were looking for was 350*3*7."
She hung up abruptly. Curse this town and it's terrible phone number leasing. | 2016-02-06T14:35:25 | 2016-02-06T13:39:33 | 325 | 79 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | The Priest produced a bright red, sparkly button nestled in a grey box from the sleeve of his long robe.
“Just press it and it’ll all be taken care of, like so.” He snapped his fingers, for emphasis.
“Right-o” I answered, but just as I was about to press it, I hesitated. “Waiiiiiiit a tick. Why do I have to press it?”
“Well...” He began “You ARE the Chosen One... It’s your job.”
“But it’s just a button, right?”
“Yes...” The priest left a slight drawl at the end of his sentence, as if he didn’t quite know where the conversation was heading.
“So, anyone with fingers could theoretically press it.” I paused for a moment. “Anyone with nubs, really. Hell, some poor stumpy bastard with no legs or arms could come in here and slap it with his cock. So why do I have to do it?”
“It’s...” The Priest was struggling with this. I don’t think he was used to people questioning things. It’s one of the marvels of religion, people just sort of accept what you tell them if you’re wearing the right set of robes. He even looked down to make sure he was wearing the set of robes that said “Why, yes, I am a Priest and everything I have to say is, indeed, exceedingly important”. “Look, it’s just what you’re supposed to do, what do you want from me?”
“I want you to press it!”
“I’m not supposed to!”
“Why? Because of some prophecy? Because of something some dead bloke wrote out in some piece of paper at the shit end of time? Have you ever heard stories of that place? They were goin’ around cuttin’ heads and snippin women’s clits! You really wanna follow those sorts of degenerates and perverts?”
“I...” He was quite clearly doubting himself.
I put a friendly arm around him. “Look mate, I say, fuck the prophecy and fuck whoever said it. You’ve got as much right to save the world as me. You press the button.”
The Priest eyed the button. It was rather shiny. “Surely... One press wouldn’t hurt?” He looked at me for approval. I nodded confidently and moved away slightly.
He pressed the button. Like a bolt from the blue, a bolt came out of the blue and turned him into a pile of smoldering ash, the button sitting comfortably atop the pile.
I took the button and brushed the dust off of it. In the middle of the button had appeared the words “Whoever pressed this button wasn’t the Chosen One, so they can fuck right off.”
“Well, glad I didn’t press it.” I said to myself, as I pocketed the button.
With the Priest taken care of and the button in my possession, I snapped my fingers and blew a hole in the wall of the Church, floating away to begin my conquest. It feels good to be the Dark Lord particularly when, after a hundred thousand years of defeats, you’ve finally got some proper fucking brains in your head. | "Alright, just make sure I'm showered with praise and a proper tale of my deeds spun from this... mundane action," I said. Then, a thought occurred to me. "Wait, why don't you push it?"
The priest frowned and said: "I'm no chosen one. Nothing would happen, you see."
I shrugged and said: "Yes, yes. Whatever. And please? Let the people know I did something heroic."
"Of course," said the priest. "It will be not far from the truth, but not so close to it either. You'll have your fame. Be assured of that."
The button was placed on a pedestal on the other end of the room. I went over to it and heard the priest call behind me. "It will be a tale to be told for many centuries."
I pressed the button. I felt a slight headache and then: nothing. "This did nothing," I said, turning around, "What's the-" my words caught as I saw the priest leap at me, hands glowing with a menacing light.
"FOOL! YOU FELL FOR IT!" I heard him shout, his voice otherwordly. "THUNDER CROSS SPLIT ATTACK!" | 2020-11-09T12:45:40 | 2020-11-09T12:09:48 | 286 | 80 |
[WP] Whenever your crew lands you are seen as gods with wonderous machines before drifting off some where else. But today you are met with a species on a green-blue planet who, while interested in your tech, are not bowing down and worshiping. They call themselves humans. | First contact is always risky. Loremasters will tell you its the most dangerous phase of the assimilation. Some sentients are just prone to violence and are difficult to pacify. But most are overwhelmed by awe, confusion and doubt. This most often turns to worship.
Our tech is so far beyond the sentients we’ve contacted; so far first contact has simply been easy. Even the few who resisted were quickly neutralized. All but one were eventually subdued and brought into the fold.
We only had to exterminate the bipedal’s from Exodus. Strange that of all the sentients we’ve subjugated that’s the only one which we still use their name for the planet. Perhaps it’s a way of separating that trying time and species from the proper order of things. The Loremasters tell us they were an anomaly.
It’d been a traumatizing event for my people. But Exodus was inhabited by the most violent, and unfortunately advanced sentients. They were also completely and utterly intransigent. Never once were they willing to listen to reason. We overcame their organized resistance but the occupation did not go well. They lied incessantly, told us they would cooperate and then stabbed us in the back. Part of the planet was always in revolt. They killed with no compunction, no mercy. They rallied around the bizarre idea of liberty.
But we were there to bring them into the order of things. They thought they had a choice, they did not. We could have given them peace and order.
In the end, after twenty cycles, we were forced to end their resistance. The planet was sterilized, and we moved on. But the legend, and shadow, of that trying time follows us still.
That was 100 cycles ago, we’ve assimilated another twenty sentients in that time.
But now we are approaching our next mission, entering a system with eight major planets. Two are inhabited. The third from the medium sized yellow star is the home world. The barren fourth planet is heavily colonized, as is the asteroid belt and a few moons circling the two large gas giants.
It’s been 100 cycles since we’ve encountered sentients that had colonized their system. Those had been bipedal as well. Those had sorely tested my people. Those had in fact come close to defeating us, closer than the Loremasters will say. Those had lived on a watery world called Exodus.
That is eerily familiar, it is disturbing and bodes ill. If those were all the similarities I might be heartened, I might be less concerned. My foreboding would not be so heavy.
There are more similarities. In fact the Loremasters are almost certain they are a related species. And these are more advanced. We have no answer for how that might be. I counseled caution, perhaps we should skip this system, blockade it. I was over ruled, but the questions remain.
These Humans from their planet Earth, how are they related to the creatures from Exodus? They do not posses interstellar capability, though they may be close. It vexes us deeply, some are trying to ignore it, or deny it, or ask for more proof. That is folly, our protocols are not ready for this first contact.
They are already reacting to us, and have been for fifty of their years, 1 of our cycles. A small fleet moves to intercept our ship. It is heavily armed with an amazing array of weaponry. They are not in awe, they are not going to worship. However, that is not the worst of it.
They have only transmitted one thing in their 50 years to us.
Remember Exodus. | Not going to lie. I was waiting for the applause and awe. The look of unadulterated admiration and worship from the natives. No one admits it, it would be shameful to, but we all get off on it. Even me. Especially me.
These natives here, in their bad coloured clothing, showing not enough skin, barely flinched. The looks we got were eyes rolling. We were called “Chris” or “Angels” by the few who bothered to look at us directly. ‘Laughed at” was the term my internal translator provided.
Evo, the superior being, set the light display in motion. The lights that entered all natives who looked upon it, showing them the secrets of the universe, and our purpose for being here.
Showed them the reasons and ways they were at the edge. What they needed to do to stop the self-destruction. And how we, as matrons of the universe, were here to help.
No one watched.
Well, that isn’t entirely true. One man with exposed arms and belly watched at first. Then put his eye shades down and removed his pants towards the superior being.
The taste of confusion filled my ears.
Was our intel wrong? Had the intelligence on V67 been overcalculated? None of this made sense.
Myself and all the other helpers stepped back in unison, retreating towards the home craft.
Evo, in an act I have never seen before, made a verbal plea with her hair. The natives were silent for one of their heartbeats, then all yelled and finished the closest drink to them.
Evo went a colour I have never seen. She held for a considered second and blinked. The natives disappeared. Forever.
Evo summoned the second-tier natives.
They received the light show well.
Planet V67 would be saved. | 2020-03-02T07:54:05 | 2020-03-02T04:45:28 | 100 | 47 |
[WP] We expected the Earthlings to react with outrage and despair when we killed their leaders, destroyed their economies, and took over their governments—but to our surprise they seemed almost relieved. | “They’re... what?”
“They seem to be celebrating, Sir,” comments the alien, a portable screen in hand. Up on the ship’s main screens, images of crowds of Americans filling the streets and cheering, proudly hoisting signs and hugging their friends, were prominently displayed. Other, smaller screens showed similar situations in North Korea, Russia, the United Kingdom, and South Africa. “It’s almost like they’re... happy?”
“Yes, clearly,” comments the admiral. “They obviously missed the memo that we’ve come to replace their tyrannical dictators. Send out a global fax response, and update our Bookface page.”
“I see you’ve discovered the Internet,” comments a petite human on the bridge, kneeling next to the admiral’s chair.
“Please, you must be joking me,” replies the admiral. “Your world wide networking system was almost as easy to figure out as the calculations of the quantum fluctuations necessary for interstellar faster than light travel! I thoroughly enjoyed that little puzzle.”
“Anyway, I’m sure they’re just living in the moment,” the human remarks. “We humans tend to do that. It’s how global warming has gotten so bad. Most people don’t seem to care much for the future.”
All noise on the bridge has stopped. Not even the ship’s humming kept on while the human talked and each and every alien in the room stared at them.
“Wait. What is this creature doing on my bridge?”
“Sir, this human had intricate knowledge of the world’s governing systems. We kept them on board for interrogation purposes.”
“Yes, but why?” The admiral seemed stressed. One of the aliens began to pat the admiral’s form, causing him to sigh. “Our planetary probes already gave us all the information we needed to know about their governments’ workings. A few well-placed spies did the trick quite nicely, in fact.”
An alien sitting at the wheel of the ship spoke up. “I still find it remarkable how these humans seem to have these lightweight reading materials that give you everything you need to know about the government! It’s like they were waiting for alien spies to move in so they could happily hand over information. A new house got bought, and these things started landing on the doorstep en masse!”
“Are you kidding?” The admiral snorts, his five eyes rolling. “Have you seen this application called... Tweetybird? Once our sensors picked it up - man, did we enjoy that. An hour on this Bluetweet thing and we had the nuclear codes for sixty-five countries! Not that I’m still quite sure what they do... Fire one up!”
The clacking of keys filled the engine room. “Sir, it appears to be a missile defense and attack system! The power on these things - they’re nothing compared to the plasma cannon, but they seem capable of leveling their world’s smallest governed union!”
“Perfect! Level it, already!” The admiral laughed, glee filling his body. “Come along, my aliens! We’ve got a planet to invade, a people to enslave, and- wait a minute, what is this ‘Flappy Bird’ thing? It looks like- ooh, this is... actually kind of appealing... what’s a bird?” | Admiral 55 the earthlings have celebrated our victory for what is this reasoning?
I don’t know lieutenant(says to someone else) look into this corporal.
Lieutenant it seems that these beings have hated their leaders for many years. And never had the courage to revolt. Except this one time in what they call the year of 1776. It states in the database that British colonist where tired of taxes and shoot the dude controlling the lands.
Why admiral if they hated them they would put them back in power?
It says kn this article by a human that they are being controlled by their leaders because they are LIZARD PEOPLE!!! Oh no we messed up.
All units pull back immediately we have accidentally destroyed one of lizards colonies.
But sir.
No buts. We must flee before they see us
Sir.
What!!
The humans call the person who wrote this article as crazy.
Oh really. (Tiny chuckle)... Keep on the invasion.
Lieutenant
Yes chief
I am tracing lizard ships
What did he say lieutenant
He said he’s tracing lizards admiral
I told you and what did you say he’s crazy so now I will have to explain why we killed his people cause of you | 2020-10-10T21:09:39 | 2020-10-10T20:32:53 | 93 | 25 |
[WP] Every time-traveler is given a single timeline that is their personal playground. Show me a group of time-travelers talking about what they've done with history in the same way we'd talk about what we've done playing open world games.
Edit - I'm not just glad these are so great, I'm glad there are so many! | “So I killed Hitler last night,” Steven said as he sat down to eat his breakfast with his roommates.
“Dude,” Vin said in mock disbelief, barely looking up from his coffee and toast.
“Amateur hour over here,” Bryan said, glancing up from his Sports Center blog only briefly to acknowledge Steven’s presence.
Steven munched on his cereal for a moment, mildly upset with the mocking tone of his roommates. “Oh, and I suppose y’all know exactly what goes wrong?”
Bryan and Vin looked at each other. “Stalin took over Europe for me, what about you, Vin?” Bryan said.
“Germany,” Vin said while studying the bubbles in his coffee.
Steven and Bryan both looked at Vin. “Even without Hitler?” Bryan asked.
Vin nodded, “Goebbels was apparently very influential in my timeline. Formed an alliance with the U.S., fabricated some evidence, and boom, two superpowers; Germany with Eurasia, and the U.S. with the American continents.”
Steven hung his head and muttered to himself, “So you mean to tell me I’ve fucked everything up?”
Bryan laughed, “Naw man, you just have to find another way to take care of Hitler if that’s what you want to do. Seriously, I spent months working out how to do it.” Vin nodded his head in agreement.
“So how did you do it,” Steven asked.
“Jewish wife,” Bryan said with a shit-eating grin.
Vin and Steven both stared in surprise at Bryan, “How in the hell did you do that?” Steven asked.
Bryan performed a mock bow, “A master never reveals his secrets.”
“So how many dictators does this make now?” Steven asked with a heavy frown.
Bryan looked at the ceiling for a few moments and counted slowly on his fingers, “Eight. I’ve gotten democratically elected officials in 6 of those countries, and managed to prevent the Vietnam War.”
“I’m still running my post-Hitler timeline,” Vin said partially to himself, and partially to the group.
“How’s that working out for you?” Steven asked.
“Badly,” Vin shrugged, “But World War 3 is looking to be interesting. Communism is also looking like it might make a comeback.” He looked up from the table, “What about you, Steven? Other than killing Hitler that is.”
Steven frowned for a few minutes, “Mostly I’ve just been dicking around. I went around for several hundred years stealing peoples left socks and pens, and then buried them all in a mass grave. I’m going to drop some hints on the location soon and see what comes up.”
Bryan laughed and Vin chuckled. “Yea, we all go through the ‘dick around’ phases. I keep trying to change the clothing styles to some of the most ridiculous trends you could think of,” Bryan said.
Vin smiled, “The aluminum foil was the best one so far.”
Steven nodded in agreement, “Still don’t know how you pulled that one off.”
“So what about this sock and pen graveyard? Any future plans with it?” Bryan asked.
Steven nodded, “The V’Laxxan Contact is a fixed point right?”
“2284,” Vin said.
“I’m going to leave a stone marker in their language overtop saying, “Look upon my works ye mighty, and despair,” Steven said with a grin.
Bryan whistled and Vin nodded his head in approval. “The long con, eh?” Bryan said. “What do you plan to do once the invasion happens?”
Steven smiled, “Not change a thing. I just want to see their pompous politicians explain it.”
“Get a recording of that and show it to me, that will be hilarious,” Bryan said.
“I once buried a Bible so that it would date to before Jesus was born,” Vin said.
Steven and Bryan looked at each other than at Vin, “What the hell happened after that?”
Vin smiled, “Christianity collapsed. Completely. The Communist Revolution actually happened, and the Russian-Chinese alliance ended up ruling the world.”
“How long did that take?” Steven asked.
Vin scratched his chin for a moment, “About 50 years After Bible, as I started calling it.”
Bryan looked at his watch, “Shit, guys, I gotta go. Steven, you want some advice on the Hitler thing?”
Steven shrugged, “Sure?”
“Don’t go with Art School unless you want some really good fireworks. Later!” and he left.
Steven looked at his watch, “Well I’ve got 2 hours before class, guess I’ll go dick around some. Later, Vin.”
Vin, finally left alone, actually concentrated on eating his toast and drinking his coffee rather than simply attempting to will them into his mouth. “I wonder what would happen if I eliminated the coffee bean…” he mused to himself. | *"You did what?!"* Dean looked at me like I was a psychopath.
*"Seriously, Brian that's really messed up. I think you may need help."* Craig added.
*"Guys, guys, come on, can you please just let me explain why I did it?"* I pleaded with them.
I wasn't a bad guy, I wasn't some sociopathic sadist that tried to make life as miserable as possible for the people in my timeline. It was just the only way I could guarantee human longevity.
*"You guys may preach at me for making these things happen, but if I didn't then I'd end up in worlds like yours!"* I shouted.
*"What do you mean, 'worlds like ours'?"** Dean questioned.
*"Dean, your world is so overpopulated that they're having to start sea colonies and find space on other planets just for shelter, you've had to artificially manufacture food and there STILL isn't enough to go around. Every time you went back to the Roman times to give them the latest knowledge in medical science, you kept giving more and more. They weren't wise enough to realise that if everybody lived for 200 years and disease control was perfected that you'd run out of room on Earth by the next millennium. People NEED to die for new life to prosper!"*
*"Hey, they may be starving, but at least they're not dying!"* Dean yelled.
*"I'd rather be dead then spend my entire life feeling like I was going to die!"* I bellowed.
*"You two should both take inspiration from my world."* Craig said with a smug grin on his face.
*"Don't get me started on you, Craig, you may think that removing religion was a great idea, but what about the art, and the cities and the architecture inspired by religion? You've just made a race of logical, scientific beings who have evolved out of even feeling love! Your world is so boring and efficient that I don't even know how you spend time there anymore. You created nothing to rebel against, nothing to give people hope, and most importantly, you removed anything that made them remotely human..."*
*..."So yes, I may have created bad people, evil religions, corporations and organisations. Yes I may have to occasionally cause a global war to help reduce the population or send a tornado down to let them improve their knowledge of weather systems and forecasting, but God damn it, I also gave them love, and hope and free will! If that makes me crazy, then go ahead and call me crazy, but I can bet you my people are a hell of a lot happier than either of yours! All I'm doing is not letting their intelligence overtake their wisdom, and allowing them to make mistakes and be human. The fact that you won't let them fail is the reason why your worlds are doomed."*
EDIT: Formatting | 2015-04-01T06:30:33 | 2015-04-01T06:06:51 | 115 | 76 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them! | ---
Köttur, age 9
---
Anne stood and watched the children play. Her favorite part of the day was observing children create their own worlds. A group of boys and girls were fighting a monster only they could see, on a ship only they could control. Others were jumping rope, and still others were drawing with chalk. Every child in her 4th grade class was engaged. Except Köttur.
The boy sat at a distance, against a tree, four cats curled up around him. He, too, watched the children play. It wasn't with interest, Anne noticed. Köttur seemed... suspicious.
He made Anne uneasy.
---
köttur, age 16
---
Köttur had been to Botswana many times before. His adoptive parents were missionaries. He loved it here. The raw wild called to him, even after he had arrived.
The buggy he was driving jostled him as it took each bump and dip in the gravely dirt road. He was speeding, but there were no limits. He had quickly learned that the general rule was to go as fast as you could without hurting yourself or others. And that seemed to be more a suggestion, and less a rule.
He was fast approaching the small village he had known as a boy, traveling with his parents. It was here he had met Mabadiliko, a mystic and village seer who had resisted his parents' message. Ultimately, the village had adopted Christianity, but throughout the years it blended with their local traditions into something unrecognizable. It was Mabadiliko that helped Köttur recognize the Gift.
The dirt road protested his speed with a gentle haze of dust. Through it, Köttur could see farmers rise from their fields, one hand over their eyes to shield the sun, staring in his direction. The villagers hated him, and he could feel their disdain as he raced toward the town center. Their hatred fueled him; his anger bringing a sickening joy. Köttur grinned.
The haze of dust behind him was moving, convulsing. Shadows danced among the fog, causing the villagers to turn and run toward their homes, grabbing children and calling to one another.
A watchman on a tower yelled as Köttur approached. Through the smoky dust, the glowing eyes of leopards could be seen as they sprinted alongside.
---
köttur, age 29
---
Köttur stood on a hill, overlooking the Gauteng capital city of Johannesburg. The last decade had seen him chased across the globe. He had briefly made Interpol's top 5 list. The people of the world grew wary of his Gift. He no longer had a home.
Until today.
Köttur raised his powerful arm, his blonde hair shining in the sunlight. He waited a moment, watching the serenity below him. He closed his eyes, fist still high in the air, a soft breeze enveloping him. It was time.
His piercing blue eyes snapped open. In one motion, he lowered his arm and knelt on one knee. He closed his eyes again.
The soft breeze built to a rushing gust of wind as thousands of jungle cats swarmed on the unsuspecting city below. | Life is unfair, they all say. Tim, who was just slightly stronger than us, grew up being able to lift mountains and move continents. James, who enjoyed taking apart stuff and putting them back together, grew up be one of Earth's most celebrated inventor, revolutionizing the industry.
Me? Cats only seem to like me. They all laughed at me. Ridiculed me. What can a person who only cats like do at the age of 30? Meow everyone to death?
They laughed. They mocked. But little do they know the extent of my powers. They underestimated me.
Unlike them who constantly flaunt their power, I have secretly honed mine in the past few decades. Slowly putting my plans in motion. Eliminating dogs from society. Making cats the pets of choice. Secretly I have been planting my agents across the globe, ensuring that they have access to all the most secure places in the world.
They may have forgotten me, but come tomorrow, I will show them the true extent of my power. They will come to fear me, no matter what their powers. Because come tomorrow, they will finally learn the hard way what a real Crazy Cat Lady can do.
ME-OWWW.
------------------
/r/dori_tales | 2016-12-30T08:38:21 | 2016-12-30T08:28:43 | 230 | 56 |
[WP] After mastering lucid dreaming you find you have complete control over other people’s dreams too. You can choose what they dream of down to the tiniest detail and even join them without them realising you’re actually real. Their subconscious is your playground. Hope they were nice to you. | I am a nightmare.
I step through a door and suddenly, I'm coming out of a closet. I'm in a bedroom. A kid's bedroom.
"Here you go Mr. Puddles. Now don't forget to-"
A tiny hand freezes in mid-motion, tea cup raised to a stuffed doll. The stuffed doll turns to look at me with button-eyes.
"My apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt your tea par-"
The little girl screams at me, shaking and trembling with fear. "B-boogeey mannn!!!"
I step closer with hands in the air, hoping to pacify her, but she only screams more violently.
Then I saw it.
My hands were decayed and charcoal black. Suddenly the world begins to shake, everything collapsing in on itself. Soon, everything fades to white.
Her dream has ended. "Well, that didn't take very long..." I muttered to myself.
I take a step forward in nothingness. Doors begin to materialize out of thin air and soon i'm surrounded by floating doors of varying colors and sizes. I pick one randomly and entered.
Another dream. Another nightmare.
I'm in a cafe, and I could see pedestrians walking with purpose on the streets outside. A waitress steps up to me.
"What can I get ya?" she says with a gentle smile.
"Hey babe! Over here!" a man from behind my table shouts.
They weren't real. Merely figments of imagination constructed from fragments of memories. But this world was larger, more complex than the last.
Then I saw the Dreamer. This time, it's a middle aged man. He's chatting up a woman in a tight red dress.
I make my way towards him.
"So what do you say? Shall we head over to my place or -" he pauses mouth still gaping as his head snaps in my direction.
"Urm. Hello there," I waved.
His eyes go wide. "No... God please.... Noooooo!"
I don't know what he sees, but it was enough. Enough for him to soil himself right there as the world began collapsing into nothingness.
I sighed as everything fades to white.
And once again I'm in the world between dreams. A nightmare that drifts from dream to dream, terrorizing people. But at some point, everything became to easy. Too repetitive. I guess becoming a manifestation of their worst nightmare played a part in it.
I turned around, surveying the doors, seeing which would take my fancy next.
Then I saw a figure out of the corner of my eye. I peered at the figure, but somehow she was obscured. A blurred face, but it was a woman. She stood motionlessly in the nothingness of my world, starring silently at me. A dreamer? In my world? How?
Then my world started falling apart. Crumbling despite my will to hold it together. This was my dream, where my every whim could warp and twist the fabric of the very world and yet...
Here it was crumbling against the will of another.
Finally she speaks, "Your nightmare ends here."
I opened my eyes slowly and found reality.
----
----
/r/em_pathy
| “Do I know you?”
We used to game together, he knew me only as my gamer tag Xander_Haus. Unfortunately for him, this was entirely real. Or at least he thought it was real.
“You can call me Morpheus—“
“What like the Matrix?!”
“Not quite. I am the god of dreams, what you are seeing here is my creation”
Xander stepped over the line of salt crudely drawn around the man.
“Everything you’ve experienced recently, the cancer scare, the break-in, the drug bust. It was all me.”
“Why would you do such a thing?!” The man lunges at Xander, who dodged effortlessly, both arms behind his back.
“Because you murdered my sister and left me in a coma, Michael DeFora. When I woke up I thought I was dead. Can you imagine that”
A gun appears in Michaels hand, he points it at Xander, who presses it against his forehead.
“Go ahead, finish what you started.”
Michael flinches as he pulls the trigger. When he opens his eyes, expecting to see the mans lifeless body spasming on the ground, he finds a pile of dead butterflies. There’s a note hidden amongst the corpses.
“WAKE UP”
| 2018-06-19T15:43:20 | 2018-06-19T14:06:22 | 34 | 10 |
[WP] You live in an ancient world, when someone turns 18, they will receive a gift either magic or weapon. The gift will be of use for them whenever in need. On your 18th birthday, Death knocks on your door and give you his scythe. | **HOLD THIS PLEASE**. I had been working in the fields with my parents, bringing in the corn under a dark sky, when the world had suddenly froze and shifted to a gray light. Out of the light had stepped Death.
On our 18th birthday, everyone is supposed to get some kind of power. Something that will keep them safe, give them wisdom, or defeat their enemies. In my family, it was most common to recieve a gift to help with our various trades. My father had recieved a magic calendar that contained all the weather for every season. It was difficult to tell what the tall skeletal figure outside the gate to my family's field was now offering. I decided to trust the old rules, and reached out my hand to grasp the scythe of Death.
As soon as I grasped it, he bent low, hiked his robe up slightly, and began to re-adjust the straps on his leather sandals. I could see skeletal hands, trying and failing, to appropriately secure shoes to skeletal feet. **I'VE BEEN TOLD THAT SHOES ARE A NECESSARY ELEMENT OF ANY WARDROBE**.
Before me stood the most feared being in our world; the very incarnation of the End. The legend stood that Death only shows themself to the living just before the world was to be destroyed, yet here he (possibly she?) stood. Or crouched.
"Why are you here?" I tried my best to keep the quake out of my voice. The confidence boost from a 6-foot tall scythe helped; it's owner did not. Death coughed, or did his best to imitate the noise for a being that, presumably, lacked both lungs and a throat.
**HAPPY BIRTHDAY**. Death, having long ago realized that non-verbal communication was an important part of human relations and that non-verbal communication was impossible for a being without a face, had devised a work-around. With each phrase that he emitted, he also imbued it with an undertone of another word, arriving slightly after the spoken word and slightly further back in the brain. With this phrase, the undertone was "embarassment".
"What do I do with it?" The scythe still towered over my head, but I was starting to feel it's power flowing into me. My hand had long ago gone numb, and my arm now had a tingling, buzzing feeling, like electricity flowing down a piece of metal being struck by a heavy object.
**IT IS A SCYTHE**. **YOU HAVE HELD A SCYTHE BEFORE**. He turned his head slightly, indicating towards a shed that held our farming equipment. For a moment, the robe was pulled back in the motion, yet there was still only darkness supporting the cowl.
"What does this one do that those can't?" The tingling had now spread from the arm grasping the scythe all the way to my chest. I could feel it spreading downward, accelerating, almost eagerly.
**THERE ARE HARVESTS BEYOND THE FIELD**. **YOU WILL LEARN THEM IN TIME**. He said this, and moments later, the tingling hit my feet. I felt an explosion and saw a flash of light as an arc of electricity hit. When I landed several feet away, just before I lost conciousness, I heard **WE WILL MEET AGAIN**. | Middle of the night, I was sound asleep like a bastard and I hear the door banging like a brothel, nearly shat myself when i heard it. So I lumbered out of bed, dragged myself to the door, I was preparing myself for a shock you know the sort of thing, fire or another donkey jumped off the cliff. I nearly hit him, when I opened the door, it was Barry Scipio Africanous with another sucidily funny joke so I slammed the door in his face, nearly took his nose off.
I danderd back to bed and the knocking started again louder this time, I marched to the door, this time I was going to feed Barry his teeth, I’d spent a long day De corpsing the coliseum and was tired of this shit. I opened the door and a scythe was thrust into my hand, I’m not an angry man but what use would a farmer have for another fucking scythe. I split the thing across my knee and the figure at the door disappeared.
I apparently for some reason became immortal after that little incident and now I throw bricks at the blind to pass the time, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands and literally done everything else, so I think I’m coping well with being cursed for breaking the staff of Garry.
More light warfare r/gliggett | 2019-02-28T23:31:05 | 2019-02-28T21:09:32 | 142 | 22 |
[WP]Assasins live life as outcasts. Away from the public eye, they are hard to find. But they still get mail. You are the postman for a secret division of USPS that caters to these criminals. | The name on the envelope was barely legible. If the Postman looked closely at the smudged, rain-splattered ink, he could see that it said *The Viper*. Address unknown, of course. Just like all the other mail.
The Postman had made many deliveries to outcast assassins over the years. Most weren't that hard to find, really, once you knew where they liked to hide. Some had isolated cabins in the wilderness; others preferred fancy hotels with continental breakfast. There were a few who were slightly more extreme, bordering on mentally ill (like the Rat King, who lived with his trained rats in the sewers, teaching them not just how to kill but also how to add numbers and tap dance), but even they were able to receive mail.
The Viper, though, was an impossibility. The Postman had carried this particular envelope for twenty years. It would always sink to the bottom of his mail bag before inevitably rising up again, like a sea monster surfacing for air, to remind him of his failures. But no matter how many hotels he cased, how many woods he combed, or even how many sewers he walked through, the Postman could never find the Viper. In a way the assassin had become his white whale.
Once he found the Viper, the Postman figured, he could retire a happy man. Or at least a content one.
Today, finally, might be the day. The Postman had received a tip from the Rat King for Christmas. A holiday card with a gift certificate for knives ("You can use them as letter openers, probably," according to the postscript) and a message that said: "The Viper can be found at the beginning."
The Postman had mulled over the tip for weeks. The beginning of what? Time? Life? The universe? In the end he reached the only conclusion he possibly could.
The beginning of him. The beginning of everything.
And so the Postman found himself walking up the path to his childhood home. It had been abandoned for twenty years, or so he thought; the windows were now brightly curtained and smoke was unfurling from the chimney. The snow on the worn brick path was sloshy in some areas, treacherously icy in others, but the Postman didn't mind. These little surprises were what kept the job interesting. And it kept his mind off what was waiting for him in the house ahead. What if he didn't want to retire? What if he didn't want to deliver the envelope he'd held onto for twenty years? In a way it had become a part of him, and that part didn't want to let go.
But all things must come to an end. Even the bad things. Even this.
The Postman knocked on the door. For a moment he was certain it wouldn't open, that it had in fact never been opened in his lifetime, but then it did and he found himself looking at the Viper.
He hadn't seen the Viper in twenty years.
The Postman should have hated the Viper, should have taken out one of his letter-opener knives and slit the man's throat. That was what he would have done ten years ago, anyway, or even five years ago. How could he forgive a man who had left his only child at a Training Academy for a Secret Division of the Post Office? How could he believe a man who had said, "I love you, I am doing this to keep you safe," but then vanished without a trace?
But time changes us all. Even the Postman. And, surprisingly, even the Viper.
The Viper looked at the Postman for a long time. Then he reached out for the envelope. Both men knew what would be in the letter: the furious words of an abandoned son, the upset pleas for his father to return. The pain of a child who had been protected in such a way he wished he had never been born at all. The Viper knew all this, and though he would make the same choice all over again he also knew he deserved to be hated. He had accepted it long ago.
But the Postman was older now, and he'd had to make sacrifices along the way too. How many times had he priotized the mail over other aspects of his life? How many times had he repeated "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night" and trudged on as if he'd never been called anything other than the Postman? And what did he want more: to deliver a letter he'd written so long ago he could barely remember what was in it, or to regain what he had lost?
Before the Viper could take the envelope, the Postman tore it in half. Then in half again. But then he hesitated. What next? It wasn't customary for graduates of the Training Academy to socialize with assassins (other than the annual holiday card, of course).
The Viper understood all of this. He opened the door wider, an invitation to return home. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
The Postman knew he could either leave the Viper behind the way he'd been left behind twenty years ago, or he could make what might perhaps be an even more difficult decision and stay. All those years, all that mail delivered, and in the end it had all come down to this: leave or stay.
He stayed. | It was no easy task, finding an assassin. The profession attracts quite a particular, peculiar fella' - and what better person to find an assassin than an assassin himself? At least, that was my pitch to the USPS, who'd been strugglin' to get a foothold in the more nefarious areas of mail delivery. Plenty money to be made in the covert communications business, as we'd long ago discovered that any kind of digital footprint was always going to leave a trail. Nope, had to keep it all physical - or at least, as rudimentary as possible.
I was just about thinkin' of retiring anyway, and what better way to live out my golden years than by trackin' all my conspicuous compatriots - and not gettin' my hands too dirty in the process. Hits always' gotta be sent out and payments be made, and that means I've always got a job. Also means I get some kind of vicarious livin', as you can never truly leave the business. Once an assassin, always an assassin.
O'course, they're a jumpy bunch, and they have damn good reason to be. They don't appreciate visitors, and tend to bite the hand that feeds, if you know what I mean. It would be easier if I didn't have to be so damned inconspicuous myself, but I always gotta remain hidden in my particular line o'work, which means that assassin's view me as more of a threat than friend; at least, until they realize who I am, and what contract I've got to offer them. O'course, I've had some close calls, and Jimmy TwoFingers used to have a whole lot more before he tried to shoot my head off. Got to be able to protect myself, I do.
Aye, you've gotta be careful in this business. I guess was feeling particular'ly jumpy, as I was trackin' someone who certainly don't wanna be found. I'm sure he has good reason, being the damned deadliest assassin there ever was. I told my employer that he's retired, outta the game - but he didn't listen. He wanted him, he wanted *the best*. And it wouldn' be enough just leaving it at his door, no - he were very particular about gettin' the damned thing signed, in blood o'course.
Took me a coupl'a weeks, but I figured I'd finally found the bastard. Staked his place out for a bit, as you always gotta be sure. Thing is, some folks arrived in the middle of the night, made me reconsider if he was still truly out - but they didn't seem too friendly. Must've been some scuffle inside, as I heard some noises, and it they left with one more car than they came with.
Saw him burying something in the yard in the mornin', about the size of a child - or maybe a small animal. He didn't seem too impressed though, that was for sure. Not one bit.
So now, I figure Santino's message can wait - somethin' tells me Mr Wick has far more pressing matters to attend to.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to my subreddit: /r/CroatianSpy
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | 2020-06-22T02:31:11 | 2020-06-22T02:12:26 | 1,255 | 403 |
[WP] you’re an airline pilot. During one of your nighttime flights, you hear a message over your radio: “attention all flights! Stay in the air as long as you can! I repeat, stay in the air as long as you possibly can!” | **“Attention all flights! Stay in the air as long as you can! I repeat, stay in the air as long as you possibly can!”**
A flashing red light beamed from the tower outwards, skirting around as it tried desperately to catch the eye of any plane in the circuit.
*"Tower, Air North 346...uh...confirm that you want us to abort final and go around, runway 23?"*
***"...Do not land! Air Nor--just...all aircraft do not land. Climb. Climb! Do not land! Please!"***
Thrusters firmly pushed forward put an end to what was looking like a fairly routine and clean landing for Air North 346. The wind was calm and ground traffic was clear on runway 23 and it's ajoined taxiways. Until now it had been a pleasant overnight flight, the crew racing against the sunrise as they were about to touch ground. Now quite bewildered, the crew scrambled to understand what was amiss as the pilot climbed for an appropriate altitude to hold while they figured things out.
*"What the hell was that about? Did he say please? The runways are clear and I...there were no emergency calls, right? Did I miss something?"* inquired the pilot, his question directed to his co-pilot, one of the rare pilots with Air North that had flown more flights than he.
Both of them looked down towards the neighbourhoods that suffered the local airport's constant drone. Early morning cars began their painfully early commutes, no doubt cursing the sudden throttling of a plane's engine this low and close to the neighbourhood. A train bustled along finding shelter under a bridge to their right. Houses slept, late-night talkshow reruns wrapped-up and one could imagine a handful of coffee machines starting to wake up and drip the first drops of their daily programmed brew. Both the pilot and copilot had hoped to catch their own fresh cups by the duty-free after landing, but that seemed unlikely.
*"Tower...uh...Air North 346, climbing runway 23 for a go-around. Are we confirmed for a landing on 23? What's going on?"* radioed the pilot in what he half expected to be a futile negotiation.
***“Negative 346! Do not land! Climb! I repeat: All flights! Stay in the air as long as you can! Arg! I repeat, stay in the air as long as you can!”***
Bewildered, pilot and copilot exchanged looks of concern melded with obvious confusion. The pilot continued his climb as the co-pilot relayed a reassuring message to the passengers, allowing for enough interpretation to suggest that the issue at hand could be either, normal protocol, a minor aministratived glitch, traffic-related or any convenient mix of the above. Nevertheless, there was no hiding the flashing red lights emanating from the control tower and soon enough passengers were requesting more information or passing along messages of urgency through any flight attendant they could get a hand on.
Before the cockpit crew could get involved in helping any flight attendants calm the 300 plus impatient travellers aboard, something caught the co-pilot's eye.*"Have a look at that, to your left, 030, who the hell is landing?"* He exclaimed as he pointed out what looked to be a small plane landing on the runway they were just so suddenly denied minutes prior. *"What in gods name is going on? Can someone call tower on their cellphone and find out why we're being told to hold while this schmuck can just go ahead an---"*
The radio sputtered to life once more.
***"Anyone who can hear me out there. All aircraft. All traffic. Climb as high as you can go and god forbid if you run out of fuel and need to glide for as long as your aircraft will let you, you do it! 346 get out of here! DO. NOT. LAND!"***
Increasingly aggravated the pilot obeyed nonetheless and maintained his climb, cursing under his breath. *"Is anyone calling this guy. Find out why this asshole won't just tell us what the hell is going on and why he let another plane land on 23!"*
An of course, another small plane had queued up and landed during this whole debacle, frustrating and eventually enraging the pilot further, until eventually the co-pilot's calls towards the tower had made it through.
*"They have no idea what we are talking about."* offered the co-pilot as a much lacking reassurance to his colleague.
*"What?"* responded the pilot quite unreassured indeed.
*"No one knows anything about anyone telling us to clim--"*
*"Right. And the red flashing warning strobe?"*
*"I didn't mention it, but I assume they would know if they were flashing a massive red glare into the sky. They had us cleared for 23, but not for another while. Apparently we are quite early. They never even saw us on approach. We may have avoided something of an accident."*
*"Who the hell is on the radio then and why...w...how have they even taken over the frequency. We're on the right frequency right? mmmh...point three four eigh-yeah we should be all good."* The pilot had evidently had enough. *"It's amateur hour down there, christ...descending 2000 AGL, long downwind 23. Give 'em a call and let them know we're NORDO and running out of fuel."*
As the plane descended, the co-pilot negotiated their way towards a prioritized landing. They gave right of way to a small aircraft. The same as before, mocking them as it seemed to practice it's landings at 4 in the morning. Once things were clear, they lined up for another final approach, communicating to the passengers that they would be on the ground shortly, but may have to wait a tad bit longer to find their way to a vacant gate.
*"1500...1450...1400....speed is good, flaps down 45....1200...let her drop...we're good...we're good."*
The landing was looking sharp. Wind was still calm. Early morning cars began their painfully early commutes, no doubt cursing the sudden throttling of a plane's engine this low and close to the neighbourhood. A train bustled along finding shelter under a bridge to their right. Houses slep---
Something was amiss...The same cars were leaving the same houses. The same train was bustling and the same planes were landing.
The sun suddenly glared through the cockpit's window. | The thrum of the sound system's bass passed through the cabin door and into the feet of Captain Weems who squinted at a grey cloud that passed on his right. The moon was a great silver spot light that shimmered through the sky, none of the clouds were impressive enough the veil the celestial object. From below was the twinkling carpet of the city light. This was Weems last flight for the weekend, another crew was expected to take over the charter flights from the airport. Olson next to Weems, his bushy eyebrows knit as he studied the radar screen. "Another one has gone into a holding pattern, Howard," Olson said as he tapped the screen.
"Tower, this is Charter Flight Juliet-Hotel-Echo 104. We should have priority to land," The Captain said. When the plane had entered the airspace, the initial message was viewed as an annoyance and only slightly off-putting. The initial message that tower had offered went: "All flights are to remain in the air as much as possible. The follow flights are to be re-routed to the following locations..." Every airport that tower had offered were outside of the city, in fact Weems recalled one or two locations were so remote that they could have barely handled one, let alone multiple massive airliners landing. Yet those planes that were re-routed were eager to be away. Captain Weems' previous message about the delay was echoed into the back with little comment.
"Tower, this is Juliet-Hotel-Echo 104, can I get a 20 status on our landing priority. Please get back to me," Captain Weems said again.
"Negative, Juliet-Hotel-Echo, all flights are requested to stay in the air for as long as possible," The voice that answer cracked mid-speech. In the background Howard Weems swore he may have heard the noisy report of gunfire filtering through the speakers. He wondered what the hell was going on down there.
"Tower, Juliet-Hotel-Echo again, I'd like to request a status update of the airport at larg-"
"Please! Juliet-Hotel... there is a situation developing on the property. We are working to re-route planes as we speak." Weems nearly dropped the receiver when a fist banged on the cockpit door in several loud raps. Howard looked to Olson, who appeared pale after listening into the conversation between the Captain and Tower. It hadn't occurred to either crew member that the music had dimmed somewhat.
Weems switched to plane's intercom and said, "Folks we are still experience what we hope is a short delay with the airport. We would ask that all members stay calm-" The bangs resounded again, and a voice called out from the plane: "One of you two come out and show nothing in your hands or we will be forced to fire on you."
Olson was a red headed kid who was pale and shaking at the command. Weems started to stand up, calling through the door: "I'm Captain Weems. If you are armed with weapons, I would advise extreme caution as a discharge would be extremely hazardous. I am opening the door and ask to remain calm." The man on the other side was one of the passengers on the charter flight. A stone faced man with dark hair and a single scar on his cheek. In his hand was a pistol which gestured for the Captain to step out into the hall between the cabin and the cockpit. Weems looked to his left and noticed Wendy was sitting in her alcove with her hands raised in surrender. The man stepped aside for Captain Weems to pass through the privacy curtain into the next room.
The charter jet emphasized luxury over efficiency. The center cabin was open as possible, with the walls lined with cushioned couches rather than individual chairs in the middle. At the center of the room, the red headed Woman who appeared so carefree had suddenly changed into a grey uniform with matching cap and black skirt. She had a gun tucked at her belt, but left most of the threats to the other men.
"Captain Weems," The woman said softly, "How soon can we land?"
"That I cannot say for sure, Miss," Howard answered, "All planes have been asked to maintain altitude." He noted that standing behind the woman was a man holding a submachine gun. She lightly smiled and said, "Those gunshots are my people, Captain. An uprising is gripping this country, and soon I shall be installed as its ruler. Cooperate now and I will see you are handsomely rewarded for your assistance."
"Who are you people?" Captain Weems suddenly asked. | 2020-12-29T19:42:51 | 2020-12-29T19:42:44 | 42 | 31 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | 1: ‘So, you want an interview? I can imagine. Do you think your report will give me a good light?’
I (Interviewer): ‘No matter what you say, people will want to hear your story. No one knew what happened to #1, and then you show up 20 years after she disappeared. Can you tell us about how you were able to kill her? She’s in the records as one of the most powerful. Invulnerability set her apart to many in the game, and she helped to bring some lawfulness to the system. Then, one day, she was gone. #2 was searching for her or the person who may have killed her for 10 years.’
1: ‘Should I start at the beginning?’
i : ‘Sure. I've got as long as you do’
1: ‘If you knew how long that was, you’d want me to hurry up then.
‘I was raised by my dad. He was #4, until 2 tracked him down. That was when I was 18. My dad could see the future. Not in years mind you, but he could see about 20 minutes ahead of time almost exactly. So he was able to move up the ranks just purely by playing the odds and surviving. Then #1, as you mentioned, brought some order to the chaos and by that time the top 10,000 or so had already killed themselves, and he topped out. Anyway, my dad, I don’t want to say he didn’t love me, but he never let me enjoy life. We were always on the run, always moving. I never had a single friend growing up. But, when a person is ranked as high as he was, and he clearly didn’t deserve to be based on how small his power is, he didn’t have much choice but to be on the run.’
i: ‘Why did 2 kill your dad?’
1: ‘I think he figured out I was 1 by that time, and he almost caught up to me. But my dad made himself a decoy. 2 knew he couldn’t kill 1 while she was still alive, but as soon as he found out I killed her, he knew he could be 1 as soon as he found me. Certain people naturally have an advantage over others. That’s why 2 was never going any higher while 1 was still alive. It doesn’t matter how much damage you do to someone who is externally impervious, you’ll never harm them. I think 2 believed all along that 1 had been killed, and that’s why he sent out the search parties. He told everyone it was because of how important she was, but really it was because he thought he might finally be able to get it.
So when he discovered who I was, and who my father was, he stopped at nothing to kill me. And yes, everyone knows it’s against the rules now, but there’s almost no one who can stop him is there.’
i: ‘And that’s why you asked me here to tell your story, so everyone knows about you before 2 tries to kill you?’
1: ‘Partially. I don’t stand a chance against 2 on my own. I assume he’s confident in that as well. And if he catches me when I’m not ready, he’ll kill me very quickly.’
i: ‘Tell me quickly about your abilities.’
1: ‘I’m able to access a person’s abilities and weaknesses just by looking at them. Even over a TV screen in most cases. It’s interesting, because I often know more about people than they do, yet for most of my life I’ve spoken to almost no one. I believe it’s a variation of my dad, he could see the future and understand it. I can see people and understand them. It’s not the most powerful ability, but it helps keep me alive, and when my dad and I were still together, we could almost be unbeatable. Not unstoppable, but unbeatable.’
i: ‘Is that how you and your dad killed 1?’
1: ‘No. I killed her long before that. See, and this was purely accidental, but she was externally invulnerable. But, internally, she was more fragile than most people. Too fragile to care a baby full term. My dad didn't know that until it was too late. 20 minutes vs 9 months. So, I was born ranked 1, and dad knew everyone would kill me for a chance at that ranking, even if t was illegal.’
i: ‘That’s tragic. And here you are telling your story before 2 finds and kills you. What are you going to do next, go back into hiding and hope to avoid him?’
1: ‘There’s no avoiding 2. I suspect he’ll be here shortly. I called the capital after you arrived and told them of my location.’
i: ‘So this is it, your letting 2 kill you today?’
1: ‘You don’t understand. I needed you here when he arrived, as you are the only person I know who can kill him. So, my question to you is, would you like to be my #2?’
| "It's invisibility, right?" Seven asks, leaning forward.
"You really think One would survive this long with that? Where do you think he's been hiding that Three wouldn't find him?"
"Maybe his invisibility prevents it." Seven replied, a confused look on his face.
"What. . . Do you even know what Three does? She feels the world through tremors. She can make literally any substance vibrate at whatever frequency she wants, and feel those vibrations resonate within herself. Concrete, rubber, air, she can scan anything. And tear it to pieces." True to his title, the information broker knew the powers of all the strongest players. Many of them had sold each other out over the years in exchange for some other bit of information. By now he had become too useful for any of the champions to take him down.
"Oh. Well, maybe he doesn't vibrate." Seven looked almost proud of this point. It was ridiculous how lucky some fools got. Born with dissipation, the boy could turn to vapor in an instant. He must've turned his brain to vapor a long time ago and forgot how to turn it back.
"That's ridiculous. No, I'll tell you the same thing I've told everyone else who comes in here. I don't know. I'll never know. He's *Number One,* do you think someone like me, ranked in the tens of thousands, could even guess what someone like that could do? If I did find out, do you think he'd let me live?" Seven walked away, like all the other fools.
Nobody *tried* to be a low rank. All of the low levels either played it safe and lived as normally as they could, or they tried to kill someone at least in the low thousands. The lower class never killed each other, because there was nothing to gain. The higher class was a bloodbath, constantly struggling to reach the top, a peak nobody had attained for over twenty years. None of them realized the hell they were walking into when they tried to fight their way to the top.
Me? I'm a nobody. #60974. Nobody even notices me, they all think I'm so far beneath them. They come in, get their information, and leave. The previous One even came into my office once. He was so high-and-mighty that he looked at me almost as if I were a cockroach. Thank God he was just the fastest man in the world, and not someone actually tough to kill. Even someone faster than lightning can die, if you know exactly where he's going to be, and when he'll be there. The poor fool was still looking down his nose at me when the laser burst through his skull. Cheap little trick, but it worked. Burn a hole through my office floor, but no matter.
Nobody ever suspects me. They all think I'm #60974, a harmless information broker just trying to make a living. Why would I want to be #1? I'd rather leave the fighting to all the other fools. All I have to do is convince them I'm weak but useful, and everyone leaves me alone.
The best part? They all think Number One is out there, and they're waiting for me to find him. | 2014-12-18T22:10:04 | 2014-12-18T19:58:06 | 27 | 13 |
[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. | I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts | “How would you like to die?”
What kind of question is that? I wouldn’t like to die at all! But still I must give an answer.
I am sentenced for crimes against magic. I tried to poison the Well of Magic. But truly magic is the root of all evil and corruption. It is just a way to cheat the laws of nature.
People without magic are barely 2nd class citizens. It has to stop. I have one last chance.
“By permanently and irrevocably destroying all magic.”
Either it works and my life goal is fulfilled or they refuse to kill me.
“Oh thank goodness!”
Not the answer I expected.
“We are finally free! The curse of magic is broken!” Exclaimed the head mage.
“Told you it would work,” said his vizier.
“You were right. Looks like if we pushed them far enough one of the stupid humans would find the loophole to end magic.”
The whole council faced me and bowed deeply.
“Thank you for fulfilling the prophecy and freeing us all!”
And then there was a blinding flash and I was over. | 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 2021-06-24T07:46:07 | 803 | 68 |
[WP] you fell asleep in a classroom, you dreamt of a whole life you even died at 80, your teacher just woke you up and no one believes how you understand so much at 6 years old | The phone rang gently as she tapped the long nails of her fingers onto the desk top. The receiver picked up. "Hello?"
"Hello, Mrs McLeod? Yes, this is Ms. Hackett from St. Enochs. Do you have time to speak?" Asked the teacher with a voice so stern and cold that it could freeze the fires of hell.
"What's this all about?" Asked Mrs McLeod on the other side of the phone. "Is it about Harry?"
"I'm afraid it is, Mrs McLeod." Said the teacher.
"Oh God," she replied. "What's happened to him? Is he alright?" The panic on the other end of the phone was palpable.
"Harry has had an incident in the classroom." Said Ms. Hackett, "Where he decided to have a funny turn. Obviously your son wants to be a clown when he's older, judging from what he's told the class."
"What did he say?" Said Mrs McLeod more worried than ever.
"He had the indeceny to start screaming at the top of his lungs in the middle of class." Said Ms Hackett, not amused.
"That sounds normal for a six year old." Said Mrs McLeod.
"Normal six year olds don't start screaming 'we're all going to go extinct by the year 2031,' Mrs McLeod." Said the teacher.
The phone was silent for a few seconds.
"I beg your pardon?" Asked Mrs McLeod.
"Yes. He began to talk about the future, Mrs McLeod. How the Russians were going to drop the Soviet Banner. How there was to be a war in the middle east and how the world would be ruined in the 80s by an actor and a -" she stopped to read the notes, "Blood thirsty Cow, the term was. And also that a gameshow host would be president and an American would be prime minister." Ms. Hackett stopped to take her reading glasses off. "Now, I don't mean to give you a rating for you as a parent, Mrs McLeod, but the boys over reactive imagination is going to be a problem if we don't deal him some discipline. We've already given him the lashings but he won't stop his delusional fantasies."
Mrs. McLeod sat quietly. "My Harry said all of that?" She asked.
"All of that and more. He now won't sit still and refuses to co-operate within the class room. We've already given him twenty lashings of the belt, but he simply refuses to calm down." Said Ms. Hackett. "May I ask is there any insanity in your family?"
"Not.... That I'm aware of?" She said with slight uncertainty.
"Well, I strongly advise you to come at once so that we can discuss what's to be done with Harry. 5 o'clock, Mrs McLeod." Ms. Hackett placed the phone down and looked across at Harry who stood staring at the calendar.
"What is it you're looking at, Mr McLeod?" Asked the teacher with a deep disdain.
"The calendar." Said Harry. "It can't be 1957."
"It's 1957 for everyone on earth, Mr McLeod." She leaned onto the desk. "That was your mother on the phone. She's coming to discuss your recent class room activities."
Harry said nothing. They waited for his mother to arrive. When she did, they had a long discussion that was lengthy and, in Harrys mind, a complete waste of time. They both came to the agreement that if Harry wouldn't disrupt the class and would stay in line, there wouldn't be any further issues. Harry was given no say in the matter, despite his hands being the ones that were blood red raw.
Before they left the office, his mother dragging him by the scruff, Harry asked if he could say one last thing to Ms. Hackett. "It'll be October of this year. Sputnik, Miss." Said Harry. "Good evening, Miss."
They left and all Ms. Hackett could think of when she looked into that boys eyes was the man who was staring back at her. She opened her desk, pulled out the bottle and began to drink. | {I felt like this was a WP for a “redo” at life or to change a day, I can’t remember when I was 6 but I did have a mean math teacher. Events in the WP are changed to protect the innocent and guilty!}
“Annabelle, Annabelle, Annabelle!”
I wake up in my 8th grade geography class my teacher Mr. Jenkins shaking me awake.
“Sleeping Again Annabelle! Can you give me the answer on the board!”
I remember this day, Mr. Jenkins embarrassed me because I didn’t know what the capital of Mississippi... He made a remark that stuck with me for the rest of my life (“Dumb black girl doesn’t even know the capital of where she’s from!”…. but he didn’t use black girl.)
“Jackson .” I reply the class was silent they didn’t know the right answer, Mr. Jenkins was just a boring Geography teacher who liked to pick on black kids.
“Oooo I see someone is smart today! Or maybe one of your little black friends gave you the answer!”
He then begin’s drilling me with Geography questions, I answer them all correct, he couldn’t possibly know that I studied my ass off at Southern University majoring in geography so that I could come back and rub it in his face! Which I did! His response was (Your still a dumb black girl, you will always be a dummy!)
“Stupid Crackerjack!” I said under my breath
A hush silence comes over the class.
Mr. Jenkins looked at me, “Excuse me?”
So I say loudly
“You’re wife is going to leave you because your just a geography teacher and that’s all you’ll ever be!
(Dam it! To far Annabelle! That’s always been your problem you go to dam far!)
Tears were in Mr. Jenkins eyes, he knew that I knew, he could see the truth in my eyes! I had finally hurt him! It felt horrible….
He ran out the class to try and save his marriage.
I get a second chance at life and I already fudged it up! My mama was going to beat the black off me. | 2020-05-12T04:16:36 | 2020-05-12T03:49:33 | 69 | 12 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | I sigh, and look around. At all the supermen, and wonderwomen. I remember when I used to watch these in awe, longing for the day I would get to participate in **THE POWER GAMES**!!! A sort of super obstacle course that every 16 year old gets to participate in, and at the end, you get to pick a super power mod, a small beaker filled with a fluid that will change your life (and genetics) forever. But, there are only a limited number of powers, so you only get to pick from the powers left when you finish the Obstacle course, so the better you do, the more and better powers you have to pick from.
Like I said, once, I used to dream about getting a cool power, and sometimes, in my deepest dreams, I thought about getting the *Super mod*, a mod that gives you a bunch of powers. Those are always picked by the first winner.
"Hey, *normy*. I can't believe you showed up today, that took some guts. But guts will only get you so far." I feel a clap on my back that's sure to leave a welt and serious bruising, as Tristan walks past. I seethe.
Like I keep say, I *used* to dream about all this, but then I learned the truth. The truth is, only the rich, or well-connected get the real super powers, because they can either afford physical mods, mods that make you super humanly fast and strong, and sharpen your senses and reaction time to a super point, or are gifted said mods.
But people like me, whose family couldn't afford them, or didn't know the right people, well, we're just forgotten about. People like my dad, who made the best time his family ever had, and he only got moderate telekinesis. My mom didn't even take the test because she thought there was no point.
But I have a plan. I figured it out in school, because of "Power Outlook class," which is pretty much just a class for the rich and powerful to stroke their egos, and for the poor to get a tantalizing taste of something they'll never get. We're given a list of powers that will be available after we finish the course, and we're able to take "Temp mods" to test out powers that we might want. Of course, everyone tested out the super mod, and it was amazing, to not feel weak, to be able to see, hear, and decipher everything going on around you. But, I noticed a power that almost no one takes, even the last placers. Transmutation.
It makes sense, the reasons one would take a power like that, turning things that aren't, say, gold into gold to get rich, and things like that are illegal, so it becomes useless. So I tried it out. It was about as lack luster as you'd think, without being able to use it to get rich. But then, I thought of something. I took out my phone, and took out a rock, and I focused. I felt the phone in it's entirety, mostly plastic, and I focused. I focused on the metal within, and I turned a rock into copper. Neat.
So next class, while the coach was teaching the soon-to-be heroes, I grabbed Squeakers, our biology teachers pet rat, and I focused on him. It was a mess. The rat was fine, but trying to read organic material was a mess, it's so interlinked. But, I kept at it. And eventually, I was able to read the rat, from enzymes to cells, I could turn things into the base components of a living rat. And I learned, the better I could read something, the less I actually needed it to transmute something into a component of it. I was set.
So here I am. I just finished the course, second to last. And I choose the transmutation power. It's a real shocker to the audience, it's so rare for someone to pick Transmutation. Some people express their pity, "oh, such a poor boy, he chose a throw away power." Most laugh though. I keep a stoic *I'm not gonna let them see me cry* face, but on the inside, I'm giddy with anticipation.
As the final week approached before we were to take the course, and pick a power, with the temp transmutation mod on, I went around and sucked up to all the potential winners of the best powers, making sure I shook a hand, or got a high five multiple times, or even a "playful" shove. And I read them. As I enter the finish area after drinking my mod, I grab a bottle of water, and begin shaking hands with the top winners. I make sure to drink my water.
After a sappy speech, and some bowing, we all go home, and I head out for a secluded area in the forest.
Super mod. Shape shifting mod. hyper intelligence mod. Invisibility mod. Pyrokinesis mod. Superior Telekinesis mod. Aquakinesis mod. And most importantly, Transmutation mod.
I sit, hovering just below the tree line, grinning. I have all the best mods. Everyone else had to pick one, but because I looked into an over-looked mod, I was able to get them all.
When I picked transmutation, most people laughed, including my classmates who got the best mods. Well, whose laughing now? | I smiled. I couldn´t stop it. The view was too fantastic.
"Eric, please stop this.". Oh the whimpering i heard in her voice. " Stop it? WHY should i stop it? You always said you wanted a son who could achieve something great, and now look. Look at this. Isn´t this something truly great?". Ah, she can´t look. Can´t look at her own mistake. Can´t look at this burning city so far below our feet. "Eric why did you do this? Why all this victims, all those innocent people?". She is begging me. Ha. Begging to ME. "You don´t know why i did this? You? You of all the people should know the best why i did this. You and father never once showed pride fro me. Never showed that you care for me or that you love me. OH NO. The only emotions you ever gave me was hate, despise and on some lucky days you took pity, but never love. You only ever showed me that i was dirt for you. Something you despise. That i was below you and that you were ashamed that i was your son. And what for? Only because i didn´t have such great powers like you two. Because i wasn´t the prodigy i hoped i would be.
But now this time is over. You know i did find a way to use my powers. ON MY OWN. I look to what i am capable. Look what i can achieve.". I look back at her. I am calm. For the first time in years i am free of all bounds. I look at the meat pile what was once father. Haaa the memory of the victory over him is so sweet. But he is still moving. I am surprised. I truly am. But he is not one greatest heroes for no reason. Well maybe it´s better so. "Look who joins us in our little family conversation. Hey, Dad, still alive i see.". He grunted. "Do you think you can stop us, or others? You truly are a failure of a son like a always thought.". "Failure? You still say this. After all what if done? After all what you´ve done? Can i remind you of the countless times you punished me just because i was existing? And what punishment i recieved. Oh when the world would know what a person is great hero truly is. At home. To his own child. But enough monologuing. I don´t want to give you a chance to get some stupid ideas. This here." I raise my arms. "This here is all your fault and yours alone. You made my life a misery now it´s my turn". Mother is crying, she seems not to be able to comprehend it, and father... Father is almost gone. Only clinging to a small freckle of life left in him.
I raise my arms again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Emergency News
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dear Citizens,
today i come here with a sad message for you. Today in the morning hours our capital got completely destroyed. Rescue Teams are searching the ruins for any survivors but the hope to find any is slim. The only thing that didn´t get destroyed was the television tower. On Top the Teams found the corpse of our beloved hero Menace. Next to him they found a notice. It says: Dear people of this planet. I AM MISERY and i will come to all of you. | 2017-06-12T09:36:31 | 2017-06-12T05:44:01 | 34 | 25 |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | **T**he rain pelted against the window like a soft lullaby, causing the light from the city to distort as it entered the hospital room window. Despite the late hour, she stared out the window contentedly, listening to the muted sounds of traffic and the rain. She had always enjoyed listening to the sounds of life, observing something greater than herself in constant motion. The chaos brought her a sense of tranquility. She liked to view human history as an immense story spanning generations. Each person contributed their own chapter, woven and interconnected to everyone else’s. Separate, they were special, but in the entire book, they transcended their own story to become something else entirely. She couldn’t put a name to it. It simply was. While she was finishing her chapter, new chapters would begin. Such was life.
A cool breeze swept into the room and she sighed. She propped herself up in her bed and smiled into the darkest corner of the hospital room.
“I know you’re there,” she said with some amusement. “You can come out.”
There was silence for a moment, but she raised her eyebrow, coaxing her visitor to react.
“Why do they always know?” a voice asked. Though it wasn’t a voice. It was many voices, speaking as one. They sounded weary, like they had walked the Earth for more lifetimes than a soul could bear to withstand, but the woman in the bed knew this visitor was quite unique.
“You just feel it,” she said. “Now come out. Sulking in the darkness is no way to have a conversation.”
The darkness shifted, and the shadows in the room swirled until a hooded figure stood stooped in the corner. The woman patted her bedside, and Death began walking over to her, but stopped halfway. He shook his head.
The woman frowned. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” the voices mumbled. Instead of being harmonious, the voices trailed into whispers. They whispers almost sounded terrified of coming closer to her, warning Death to stay far back.
“Don’t lie,” she said. “I can see you’re bothered. Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Death said again. “You did everything right.”
Her wrinkles furrowed in slight confusion. “Right? I’ve made mistakes. Too many to count.”
Death shook his head. “No…you’re special. You’re one of them.”
“One of who?”
“The ones that are ready to move on,” he said. “and none of them have been like you. They weren’t aged.”
“Everyone dies. I’m just like anyone else.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “You understand. You *know*. You see the world, God, everything for the way they are. You aren’t afraid of me. You’ve attained a sense of peace, of knowledge… that I’ll never know. You are beyond this now. I envy you. Your soul is…incomprehensible to me.”
She mulled over his words. “Well you don’t have to shrink away into a corner. How many people have been ready?”
“Thirty-three. Everyone else stays. I help them find new lives to live, but now you get to move on.”
“Where?” she asked, but she had a feeling she knew what his answer would be.
“I…don’t know,” the voices echoed again.
She smiled at Death. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked over to him. The IVs disappeared and her age melted away.
“Then let’s go find out together, shall we?” she asked amiably, holding out her hand to him. Tentatively, Death reached out and she gently grasped his hand, flooding him with her warmth. Together, they left behind the hospital room, the rain, and the murmur of the city, and ventured into the unknown.
| 2015-04-03T11:07:18 | 2015-04-02T15:47:43 | 45 | 29 |
[WP] You try your absolute best to stay as neutral as possible, but when you die, both god and satan show up in an attempt to take you under their respective wings when all you really wanted to do was go to purgatory
(Completely new to this, berate and judge my prompt, dunno if it's original or not) | "Where is he?"
"He's definitely here, only way we'd be here too"
The cloaked figures walked forward, slowly illuminated by the circle of torches in front of them. They approached the table and took their seats, both staring at the empty seat in front of them.
"Oww, hey! watch your leg" They hadn't seen me resting under the table.
"You're laying down? Aren't you confused about where you are? You must have a million questions" asked the white beard.
"Eh, just one, anything to eat around here?" I replied. Didn't feel the need to move or sit up just yet. Didn't really much feel the need for anything.
"Yyoouu aArree Ddead!" exclaimed the black beard. He was trying to hard. He looked at me just a little too long hoping for a reaction. I just sniffed. There was a weird smell - or maybe it was the lack of smell in this place that was weird.
"Fine. Does being dead come with something to eat?" I said, rolling my eyes.
"You are one of the few. true neutral. the good in your life was exactly balanced with the bad." the white beard seemed uncomfortable scrooching down to talk to me under the table. He should try laying down. "You can now choose how you wish to spend your afterlife - in your idea of heaven or your idea of hell."
"Cool." I turned my head away from them and briefly strained my eyes to see how far this place went. Couldn't see much passed the torch light. It was like when dad was stationed in Kansas.
"Yyoou sShould KNNOW, HELL IS nnot all evil and fiiireee. Yuyou ddidd as MANY havvee donne BEFORE - aAll offff the Viicees arreee THERE"
"Cool." I sunk a bit further down against the table leg, and finally found something that made my neck feel comfortable. I wasn't hungry, but I still really wanted something to eat.
"Would you like to know how you passed beyond, my son?" the white beard eyes seemed sympathetic, but I was pretty sure it was because I never changed that smoke detector battery. It had beeped for 18 months straight, I completely tuned it out.
"No thanks. Wouldn't change much now. I think I'm just going to chill for a bit" I wish I had my hat to pull over my eyes. I wonder if heaven or hell had my hat.
"My son, the afterlife beckons! There is a limitless existence beyond these torches! Your wildest fantasies and unfulfilled desires are within your grasp as soon as you choose their nature!"
"Eh, I mean, I'm just really not up for that right now. Had a really busy week and I'm pretty spent." I lied. I always lied. I was decently comfy. Still not hungry, still wanted food - but not enough to really get up for it.
A minute passed. Neither figure spoke or moved. It was finally quiet. Almost alone.
"So uhh, are you guys just gonna hang out here?" I knew the answer. This again. The old 'were not leaving until you come out and get some fresh air with us' shtick.
"CcCHHOOOOSSssEEE!!!" shouted the black beard. I don't know why he cared so much, it was me who had to make the decision.
Sensing my discontent at the shouting, the white beard so his opportunity "My son, it seems you appreciate tranquility, why not spend your eternity on a deserted island where the weather is always exactly to your liking and anything is possible, even monkey butlers!"
They were still talking at me. Monkeys smell.
"Look guys, I'm just going to hang under the table for a while. It'd probably be best if you guys just went on your way"
The two looked at each other, shrugged and got up to leave.
"Actually I did have one quick question - do you guys have the internet down here?"
| I saved a puppy today. I don't know what drove me off the edge of madness into the streets of New York to grab a stray dog moments before a car hummed past. How much quantifiable good is it to save a puppy? My calculations are incredibly complex, and there is no realistic way for me to know if they are in any way correct.
A puppy is like what, 1/7th human? A dog year is 1/7th the length of a human year, but how much good does a dog, more specifically this dog, do in his life time?
Only three more hours before my plan comes full circle. I was only 1.2345223 points into the good category after fulfilling an evil deed that measures a -0.5623 on the fuck-it-I'll-try-it-o-meter. Yes, the fuck-it-I'll-try-it-o-meter, my measurement of good and evil. Evil deeds count as some negative amount, and vise versa.
A puppy. I never even considered a dog before. What the hell is a dog's life worth?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What.. Just... Happened? A voice came from the depths below, "Well it all depends on how much your life is worth, really."
My eyes widened to see a dark object, or some sort of blur that seems to slowly morph into a V-shaped object then back into a indistinguishable blob.
"The value of any living being, or animal in the case of this vermin, is related directly to the value you place on your own life." The dark blob seems to shimmer as it speaks.
"Oh, how convenient" a new voice from above interrupted. "Selfishness dictates value, hmm, where have I heard that one before."
This voice came from a relatively white looking blur that seemed to transition between a blob and a circular ring.
The light blob continued, "See the value of life is not related to yourself, but related to the value you place on the life itself."
They went back and forth for a bit, trading philosophical points that bordered along the immature freshman PH 101 lectures that got me to develop the fuck-it-I'll-try-it-o-meter. "Okay, Okay, I get it - the value of life is subjective." They stopped arguing. Silence. | 2017-09-21T12:28:54 | 2017-09-21T10:46:24 | 36 | 19 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together. | It was all happening so fast that we never had time to consider what would happen when it had finished happening.
Everyone with a tattoo was manifesting abilities. It was all fairly sensible. Fire tattoo? Fire powers. Ice tattoo? Ice powers. Emoji ink? Emotion manipulation.
The weird thing was the people with tribal tattoos -- We call them The Tribe nowadays. At first, they just seemed to sort of glom together. People would be walking down the street and just...connect. Within moments, they were showing each other their tattoos and talking like they'd been friends for ages.
At the time, we thought The Tribe were like human Care Bears - just instilling goodwill and togetherness.
If only we knew at the time. What could we have done, though? There were so many. The original tribes -- Indigenous peoples - their art had been co-opted by millions over the years. People with no connection to indigenous culture saw their favorite athlete with tribal ink and emulated it.
Appropriation? Appreciation? None of that matters anymore.
That bond we were observing was just the beginning. The Tribe didn't have the power of unity or togetherness...not as we understood it, at least.
For the first few weeks they made connections, identified their own, banded together, as tribes do. I can't say we were worried. The other power types formed their own think tanks to experiment with their abilities, why not the tribe?
The problem is that the powers become more potent with time. When I started, I could light candles with my mind and barely be winded. Now, I can set a building ablaze by accident if I zone out staring at it.
The Tribe's powers intensified with time and, unfortunately, proximity. As soon as a high enough density of them shared the same space, it became clear; They weren't a friendly band of tattoo enthusiasts...they were a hive mind.
Hmm. Actually, we only call them The Tribe because of the tattoos. The Hive would be a much better name. Let's do that.
What was once an urge to connect with members of The Tribe became a NEED to join The Hive.
Once all available members had joined, their goal turned to conversion.
The only folks who got powers all had their ink done before The Event. We still don't know what happened, but any attempts to gain powers through tattoos after the fact have failed....except tattoos administered by The Hive.
If they catch you, and they likely will, they will ink you. If they ink you, you will immediately and permanently become part of the Hive. On the plus side, we now know that people can have multiple powers. Those folded into the Hive share the mind-link plus whatever powers they came with. This revelation lead to a lot of greedy folks submitting themselves to the Hive for augments.
Meanwhile, the people with no ink at all were powerless to resist The Hive.
And now, it's a few of us and an entire world of Them. | After a month of The Inks being activated crime rates started to escalate. Everywhere people started to abuse the new powers they gained and some use it to defend others.
Due to the power that tattoos gave people who didn’t have tattoos when the activation occurred tried to ink their bodies, but they never received their powers.
Since I am one of the few individuals who held the world record for the most tattoos on a body the Government came to me to control the crime rates.
I did what they told me to do.
Capturing every criminal i could with my new powers. At this point i can easily defeat anyone because of the massive amount of superhero tattoos I have on my body. I have everything from From famous DC and Marvel villains and heroes to overpowered anime characters like Saitama and Goku.
No one can ever defeat me. | 2019-05-07T08:13:06 | 2019-05-07T07:36:50 | 3,401 | 29 |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | He was cutting cheese, which I thought was a bit strange. In fact, this entire setting wasn’t what I had expected when I died, really. Not that I didn’t believe in an afterlife, but my first guess was not opening my eyes to find myself sitting at a dining room table, watching the Lord, Himself cut cheese. No, not the cheese, Swiss cheese, oddly enough one of the holier cheeses.
On the table before me sat a vase of freshly cut flowers. The wall next to me was covered in framed pictures of all sorts of animals; giraffes, house cats, the average bear, you name it, it was there.
“Want some?” God had turned to me, holding out a platter of now cut cheese and crackers. He set it down before me on the mahogany dining table and sat down Himself.
I rubbed at my eye with the heel of my hand, “I’m sorry- where am I exactly? Is this Heaven?”
God laughed in a way that really one would expect God to laugh. “No, dear, silly, little child,” He pinched my cheek in a way one would not expect God to pinch one’s cheek. “You’re in my kitchen,” He, as in the Father of the Trinity, gestured to the aforementioned kitchen. “And that,” He pointed to a closed door, “ is my bathroom.” He turned to me with a rather concerned face, “You have bathrooms now, right?”
I blinked a few times in hopes that perhaps reality with a more tangible explanation would make itself known, although it failed to reveal itself. “I am dead, aren’t I?”
God tenderly took a slice of muenster cheese and placed it on a cracker, “Yes.”
I sat there, waiting for further explanation, but upon the continued silence I realized that was all I was going to get. God continued to place cheese slices upon crackers and eating them in a meticulous manner until I finally cleared my throat. “Now what?”
God looked at me, “What’s your question?”
My brows raise, “My question?”
“Yes,” God nodded, paused then nodded again. “Yes, you get one question, the question. Everyone has a question they want to ask God.”
I rubbed at my eye again, “Somehow I feel as though you’re making this up as you go along.”
He leaned forward, much closer than I would happily admit, “Go on, ask away, little one.” I worried that He was planning to pinch my cheek in that not so Omnipotent way of His. “Please make it quick, a new one is coming soon.” God smiled and pointed to an egg timer on the kitchen counter, one I had not noticed before. It ticked away, threatening to buzz at any unknown time.
Oh, God, oh Him, what could I possibly ask? What was the question of the century- of all time? My eyes dashed for some form of a question, they moved throughout the kitchen. Perhaps it would be an unwise question, but I really wondered why God had a dishwasher. I looked to the wall of pictured animals, there must have been hundreds, thousands of images. There, my eyes landed on the humble, yet very odd and honestly quite upsetting platypus.
“The platypus! Why did you make the platypus so weird?” I felt my stomach drop. That was my question? Not about the purpose of life, why children suffer illness, why politicians exist, or why my chest sometimes hurts really bad then eventually stops hurting. Platypuses. Platypuses!
God’s smile faded, “The what?”
I sat for a moment trying to understand this response. “You know, the platypus.”
God shook His head, “Sorry, looks like you’re out of time, maybe next time you’ll have a better question.
“I’m not out of time! What about the platypus?” I asked again, strangely enough feeling a bit empowered by this new dynamic in the conversation.
God stood and picked up the timer, giving it a good shake, causing it to ring, “No, you’re definitely out of time, the new one’s going to be here any minute.”
I picked up a cracker, “I’m pretty sure that they sweat milk.”
“Any second now,” God muttered trying but failing to make the top-half of the egg timer move any faster.
“Ok, fine!” God admonished, setting the timer down. His voice grew higher in tone as He continued to speak, “There are a few creations that I perhaps did not make, but signed them off as my own?”
I gave Him a perplexed look.
“The angels helped me.” He mumbled as if He, the Lord, was caught with His hand in the cookie jar.
I thought this new realization over, “So the platypus was--?”
“Not Me.”
“The spider crab?”
“No,” He shook His head.
“Wasps?”
“Actually, yes. That was Me.”
“Really?” I nodded, resting my chin in my hand. “So what about Australia?”
God’s face morphed into a look of utter horror, “What?”
The timer went off with a single ring. | I cast my eyes discreetly downward as I humbly approached the resplendent golden throne. My lowered gaze was partially in reverence and partially due to the blinding rays of light that emanated from the ineffable Figure sitting upon the throne.
"Ask, and ye shall receive," came the chorale tones of a single majestic Voice.
I nodded. I had given this moment much thought. I knelt respectfully before the throne of my Deity, bathed in Its light, and murmured my soul's burning question.
"Excuse me, the what?" said the chorale tones of the single majestic Voice with scorn.
That was a bit of a jolt.
"The...the platypus. Why? *Why, God?"* I cried aloud. "Why is it so FREAKING WEIRD???"
The radiant Face of Divinity took on an expression of distinct discomfort.
"That one," said the Holiest of Holies with the slightest hesitation, "that was a contractor job."
"A *what?"* I cried out before I could catch myself. "A *contractor?"*
"Erm. Ahem. Somewhere between the panther and the prairie dog I got *extremely* bored and, well, I sort of delegated the whole Creation thing for most of the a long weekend. We ended up with some very...interesting creatures."
"No way."
The Face of Everlasting Glory nodded ruefully. "Anteaters," It intoned mournfully. "What the heck?"
"Penguins?"
"Oh, absolutely. And dodo birds too, but the dodos didn't precisely stick around."
"Rhinoceroses," I accused. "Giraffes."
"Of course giraffes," the Almighty responded. "What sort of sadist would do that on purpose? And I was actually rather impressed with the rhinoceros."
"Mosquitos. Cockroaches. Bed bugs."
"I actually did those ones first," said God with a certain pride.
"And when did you get back around to creating humans?" I asked the Alpha and the Omega eagerly.
"Creating...humans?" said the Way, the Truth, and the Light, tilting Its radiant head quizzically. "Why in My Own Name would I ever have done that?"
I reeled.
"You're a load of petitioning pesterers and you never shut up a moment with your "bless me," "forgive me," "guide me"...great Scott, it's overwhelming. All you ridiculous creatures do is multiply, too. I ought to hit you all with a meteor."
I stood for a moment and considered this, shaken. "You never--with the Garden--"
"The Tree thing? Ugh. No, of course not. What sort of asshole--"
"I see," I mumbled dizzily. My worldview had gone rather severely sideways quite rapidly. "But. The Knowledge of Good and Evil?"
"Hubris," the Alpha and the Omega rumbled. "You know as much as any monkey about matters of Good and Evil. Or rather, any random monkey knows as much about it as *you."*
This was a bit much. "I beg your pardon--"
"Yes, but will you get it?" teased the Almighty in an entirely uncalled-for manner. "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?"
"You're a jerk," I informed God.
"Of course," God cheerfully replied, before chucking my naively goggling arse into a lake of eternal fire. "Who told you otherwise?" | 2022-07-03T16:00:06 | 2022-07-03T15:45:54 | 886 | 78 |
[WP] Thousands of years ago, the was a treaty between humans and bacteria called the 5 Second Rule. You are the first bacteria to break the treaty.
EDIT: First bacterium, thanks u/Vampyricon | It was a fair trade. More than fair, we thought. You stay out of our business, more or less, and we'll stay out of yours.
There was a good deal of negotiation, or so we're told by the histories, between us and all of you. I am ashamed to say it was my ancient clan, the Escherichia, who brokered the initial talks, and they brought the other three major clans to the negotiation table. They say the clan Lactobacillus was ready to give away the house, so to speak. They always had a soft spot for your kind, what with your penchant for fermentation. The elders of the Streptococci, more than a hundred splits in age, tried to throw a wrench into the whole process and nearly infected the human entourage.
But in the end it was clan Staphylococcal who stepped in and took the reins. It was the Staphylococcal youth who pushed hard for the middle ground - "a fair balance" they said.
5 seconds. That's what they lobbied for and, in the end, that's what everyone agreed to - a 5 second grace period, during which we would all refuse to act. In exchange, your representatives promised you would leave us alone and, for thousands of our generations, you did just that.
To be fair, you held up your end of the bargain for quite a while. You all stopped washing yourselves, baths were frowned upon all of a sudden. I think you called this Medieval times, but for us it was the golden age of Pax Bacteria. We ran wild - some of us *too* wild. Those phage-wads in the Yersinia clan went *way* too far, really took advantage, and that was wrong, I'm bacterium enough to admit it.
But what the Yersinias did to you is nothing - *nothing* - compared to the absolute bloodbath our recent generations have had to suffer through.
First, you began to clean yourselves again, and we did nothing. Then you unleashed the great devourer, Penicillium, to *eat* our young, but still we did nothing. When you sent waves of devourers in different shapes and sizes, and they thinned our clans to near absolute destruction, *still* we did nothing.
But now you have gone to far. Word has spread of a new weapon, so powerful that entire colonies were wiped out in the whip of a flagella, millions, even billions of my kind, gone in moments. No one believed it. No one thought you would ever so brazenly violate the sacrosanct treaty. No one thought you had it in you.
Then I witnessed it with my own pili! There I was, enjoying the company of my family, my colony, a meager group of 10 million, all spawned from me, all loyal, when it came from the sky in giant droplets. Wherever it touched my brothers and sisters withered and died, until, within a matter of seconds, what had been a thriving community of millions was nothing more than a graveyard. I heard the butchers name their weapon - Eyesopropile - and laugh to themselves, up there in the endless sky.
I roamed for an age, splitting as I went, and leaving my new brothers and sisters behind to fend for themselves. I needed to be alone. When I ran into others I tried to tell them what had happened, but they did not believe me. "Impossible" they would say, "the human's would never violate the treaty." But I knew the truth, and at last I knew what I had to do.
I believe you call the object my current host dropped a "cookie." Even as I enjoy the moist warmth of my new abode, deep inside this human - even as I split and split and split again, and my new colony grows strong - know that the cookie upon which I rode to my new home touched the ground for less than a second only. Know that I, Escherichia Coli, have violated the ancient treaty! Know this and fear!
My kind will condemn me for this action. For a time, they will label me a terrorist and a fanatic. But, rest assured, sooner or later they too will learn the truth, and when they do they will follow the slime trail of my flagella, and your days will be numbered.
Pax Bacteria!
**********
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
| When you're microscopic, it's impossible to fully grasp the scale of Human life. Eco could see their monstrous forms taking immeasurably long strides as they moved around him, but focusing on the details was too much for his simple eyes.
In this room, for example, he could tell that there were three people. Or two -- do they still count when they're dead?
Eco could make out their indistinct shapes as they passed him by. The two walking around were infinite pillars of blue against light green walls. The horizontal one, the one he'd spent the past several days killing from the inside, looked like a wall of beige stretching to the horizon in two directions.
He didn't feel guilty. The peace had lasted for too long and had led to unacceptable results. The Humans had grown out of control like a plague. Even they understood that they were too populous and widespread to survive on this scale. Eco grinned at the irony of his plan: a bacteria had come to slow their viral growth.
If he couldn't see well, he had an incredibly strong sense of smell. That allowed Eco to locate the pile of Human food on the next table. He could move quickly and well for a being of his size, but clearing the distance to the next platform was beyond his abilities.
Fortunately for him -- though fatally unfortunate for the clumsy Human -- the food fell to the ground. Eco didn't hesitate. He launched and propelled his single cell through open space, directed by gut instinct more than anything, and landed in a narrow space between a firm green surface and a sky of pale pink.
Now he was just along for the ride.
"You're not even supposed to have food in here, Greg," came a voice from far away.
"The bread will get soggy if I leave it in the fridge." This voice was closer. Much closer. "Besides, you're not going to rat me out, are you?"
"You're a pig. You're going to eat a sandwich off the morgue floor?"
"It doesn't matter where you are. The 5 second rule always applies."
As Eco rode the food straight towards a gaping black chasm, the little bacteria smiled. The rules had just changed.
\--------------------
35/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\---------------------
edit: a few clarifications throughout | 2018-07-25T19:29:32 | 2018-07-25T18:05:15 | 950 | 188 |
[WP] After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer. | Being the newest lawyer at the largest firm around, you tend to get the worst of cases from both sides of the spectrum. The most contentious divorces with kids and pettiness, and the most pedantic arbitrations with low billable hours. Shit truly does roll downhill, and I knew today would be no different when the snickering and whispers followed me as I made my way to my desk. Instead of the anticipated pile of paperwork, a single thin folder sat in front of my chair. Its contents just a single meager page outlining the client's names and imminent meeting location. Not only was there no practical information, it being the only case I was assigned for the day insinuated it could be an all day affair. Internally, I groaned.
"Albert Bachelard and... Alette? Must be a divorce," I muttered to myself as I made my way to the conference room. The water cooler and coffee station next door was uncharacteristically empty as an awkward stiff atmosphere hung in the air.
"Hello! My name is Jen and I will be ..." I stared at the pair. A man in head to toe black sat slumped glaring in a dark corner while a woman whose essence was so light she practically floated beamed at me across from him. Half the windows had been curtained securely, while half had their curtains up as high as they went. I sat down awkwardly at the far head of the table before recovering, "Ah, so... we are here today for some arbitration. What are ah, what are discussing today?" I tried my best to smile.
"Well my dear, we have found ourselves at a slight impass," the woman said too sweetly, her blue hair bouncing in an unseen wind. "See, this very *ungentle*man has decided that all decency and obligation regarding contracts is something to ignore."
"No, it is this frail blood bag's inability to comprehend tradition that is the issue!" The man vehemently hissed back, pushing himself forward to appear larger before quickly recoiling back to his shaded corner.
"Oh! We're discussing a contract!" I said confidently, back in familiar territory. "Well let's see if we can get this resolved for you two today. Do either of you have a copy of the contract?"
"The covenant between the bitten thrall and their master is older than the dirt you walk upon human," the man's words grew louder. "You should fear such covenants and their holders. It is etched in the very bones of those who tremble upon-"
I held up my hand quickly, "Sir, do you have a physical copy of the contract? If not the original, then a photo copy?" The man's eyes searched me over for a few moments.
"This is not the thing that can be captured in a mere photograph," the man quietly muttered.
"Here darling," that sweet voice interjected, "I think I may be able to clarify this for you. When someone dares to eat fae food without permission, there is a dear price to be paid. I'm sure you understand."
"So you are seeking a solution for the damages incurred when this man ate some of your food?" I asked, confused. The woman bit her lip and nodded. "And what would you propose the remedy would be?"
"Eternal servitude," she said with brightness, but something else lightly shaded her smile.
"This foolish fae lies!!!" The man erupted from the other side of the room. "I require no sustenance! My form is beyond that of weaker needs! I ate nothing!" He rose, his form growing taller. "I consumed the blood of this woman's sad form, thus it is *her* that owes *me* servitude!"
"So you both are seeking eternal servitude as fulfillment for the contract?" Both nodded curtly, staring. "Well, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but those are void contacts." The woman started to protest, but I kept going. "Honestly, the paralegal fielding the calls should have informed you of this. Slavery is federally illegal, it's expressly stated in the constitution, and any contract for an illegal activity is totally void. Beyond illegal, there are ethical implications here as well." Both sides of the room somehow seemed dimmer, their irritation clear. "No court is going to enforce any of this."
"If this," I lowered my voice, in case a colleague was walking the hall, "If this is like a sex thing, those contacts are not enforceable either."
"This is not that," the man said hiding his face in his hands while the woman's mouth twitched.
"Well, I will go get the decision written up for you two. Is there any final statements regarding this arbitration conclusion?"
The woman's saccharine smile deepened, "Is there *anything* I can offer-"
"Ma'am, it's against our code of ethics to accept gifts from clients," I said quickly while organizing my notes.
"You should fear for your soul, crossing the undead," the man said with great disdain.
"Sir, if I had concern for my soul I wouldn't have become a lawyer."
[I have to get back to class, I didn't proofread! First time doing one of these and I spat it out quick, hopefully it's okay.] | The benefit of age is the opportunity of exploration, expericing new situations, and a wealth of personal anecdotes to amuse friends. Lawyer across species often quarrel with one another about the intricasies of case law, or squabble over generational rivalries, but the universal law when dealing with cross-species cases was that teenagers were absolutely the worst. That's where I came in.
"She bite me right before lunch! It's not like this is complicated. Clearly, eating fae food without my explicit approval is tantamount to Section 3, subs-"
Holding up my hand, I pointed out on page in front of her, "Only items as listed in Subsection A. Unless you are deferring to Section 8, Part 3 amended with the only case where Fae cannibalism was suggested, but not proven."
"Hah! See? That means you're my thrall!" The were-woman hollered out, almost frenzied with hairs standing on the back of her neck.
It was my turn again to hush the pair of them as they started to argue. "First off, you are already on probation, and are in violation of your parole. You should see to it that you speak to your juvenile public case defender." I sighed closing the book with a quiet "thwump." The old leather was no match for the test of time, but it was surprisingly quiet as the pair listened.
"Second, as you can clearing see by her behaviour," pointing to the Fae. "She has complete control over her faculties and thus cannot be your thrall at this stage. If that was the case, you would have exerted your mastery over her by this stage. Even a juvenile werewolf or were-woman would be able to overpower a similarly aged Fae."
The Fae pouted at this comment. I hadn't needed for her to provider her name, her powers or any other personal information. Just suggesting that she lived in the nicer part of the forest, wandering around at midnight on a festival frequented by were-people meant she was naive. That and her Fae Scout badge betrayed her age.
"At this stage, your Fae victim would normally be allowed to press charges of assault. But, given her age, and that she is likely lost from her group, I think her guardians might be more interested in her presence."
The were-woman howled, the Fae continued to pout. I climbed down from the step ladder I frequently brought. "I suggest that you wait for the parole officer for your were-woman, and continue to put pressure on the arm to prevent excessive bleeding. The bandage I brought is only temporary."
Zipping up my briefcase, I handed them both my card. "You have my summoning card, please summon when should you require my services."
The Fae perked up, "But you haven't decided who should serve who!"
I smiled. "You two are too young. A court would throw both of your cases out immediately if you two weren't thrown in the dungeon by your parents." Pointing at the Fae, "You, seek medical attention."
Switching to the were-woman. "You, wait for the parole officer. Goodnight." | 2022-07-11T20:32:20 | 2022-07-11T19:00:25 | 1,720 | 52 |
[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy... |
***The Economics of the Great Intergalactic war and the Rise of the Terran Hegemony: A Precis for GreatCiv Scholars.***
It’s all economics. Even war. Especially the Great Intergalactic War.
And that’s how the Hu-mans ended it.
For millennia, the Great Intergalactic War simmered and raged. Species would attack each other’s outposts and colonies. Fatalities would mount on both sides and the side with the most fatalities would retreat. Every species that made up the Great Civilization never had to deal with wounded or maimed. Most of the Great Civilization's species cannot cope with violent disruption to their physical forms.
The V’ran are terrifying warriors whose chitinous shells are augmented with armor and cybernetic implants, but if you can breach their shells, they will always bleed out.
The Caarlethins are sentient crystals shrouded in hydrogen gas. They are, for the most part, possessed of a cool, languid intelligence that prefers peaceful resolutions to disputes. But when they go to war, they use entire Jovian worlds as power for their weapons and they use their technology to turn entire asteroid belts into mass drivers. In some sectors they have been completely obliterated as a species when their gas giant homeworlds were forced to undergo primary ignition into dwarf stars.
The Great Intergalactic War has, since the very beginning, been based on an economic cycle of providing weapons to the participants. The drive for better armaments has become the driving force behind the Great Civilization. And then the Hu-mans’ homeworld was discovered.
The y’Tibre were the first to make contact with the Hu-mans. They were the losing side of the Hitarn/y’Tibre Conflict and they desperately needed a win. The y’Timbre had mapped the Hu-mans’ homeworld hundreds of millennia before, deemed them atavistic, crudely tribal, incapable of intelligent thought, and probably an evolutionary dead end. So the y’Timbre High Command was surprised when a scout ship, fleeing a larger Hitarn raiding force, hyperjumped through the Hu-Mans’ system and discovered a young, vibrant, and violent civilization. The y’Timbre thought they were just getting fodder for their war machine. They found a weapon that turned the tide of the war, then turned the known universe on its head.
Hu-mans’ weapons were primitive things. On the tactical level, they used combustion driven slug throwers, but at the strategic level, they were starting to figure out some interesting weapons. No one in the universe remembered the last time a nuclear fission device was ever used for war, though everyone seemed to agree that almost every civilization had created them at one point. This was seen as a positive in the Hu-mans’ favor.
Historians now generally agree that when the y’Timbre introduced the Hu-mans to man-portable particle weapons, zero point armor, and FTL travel, they condemned the universe to an eventual Hu-mans Hegemony. Because the Hu-Mans understood war and logistics in a way that no other race did. Hu-mans fought and died like any other race, but even wounded and lacking honor, they fought. No other race could survive the wounds that Hu-mans could. Blow a leg of a Hu-mans and they would tie off the wound to stop the blood flow and return to the battle. Nothing short of a center mass disruption or a horrible head wound stopped them as long as they received what they called “Phurstade.” They had servants called “medicks” that went to war with the express purpose of providing this “phurstade” to save wounded soldiers! The Great Civilization had never seen such things. It was horrifying.
The idea of survivability and redundancy was one that the Hu-Mans incorporated into their fleet as well. Squat, ugly barbs with compartmentalized interiors and bristling with weapons meant that much like the Hu-Mans themselves, the ships were not easily killed. They could fight on with dreadful amounts of damage.
The fact that wounded Hu-Mans did not simply die changed the calculus in every war waged against them. With their survivability, and their “Medicks,” and their damnable ships, the humans could fight against foes many time their size and come out victorious. Then the Hu-Mans encounterd Lerat Ubas of Melvinia.
*The Error of Lerat Ubas* showed that killing all of the wounded and surrendering Hu-Mans was a mistake not to be committed again. The Hu-Mans’ reaction was swift, brutal, and uncompromising. The Hu-Mans’ fury toward the Melvinian race burned hot. No race ever wanted to suffer the way the Melvinians were made to suffer.
So the races of the Great Civilization began to take and keep prisoners. No race had ever had to account for the logistics of prisoners before. No one took prisoners. Survivors of a battle had no honor. Dishonored soldiers were worthless. Prisoners had to be fed and you had to provide them with medical care, and it seemed that no race ate as much or demanded medical care like the Hu-Mans.
Strangely enough, some races taken prisoner **by** the Hu-Mans often spoke of the way that the Hu-Mans treated their prisoners. The Hu-Mans guards were not necessarily friendly with prisoners, but they did not mistreat them. Sometimes returning prisoners would joke that being a Hu-Mans prisoner was better than being a soldier in their own army!
It was quickly learned that keeping Hu-Mans as prisoners was as dangerous as facing them on the battlefield. Hu-Mans believed that freedom was one of their intrinsic rights, and Hu-Mans prisoners did not see themselves as dishonored. They would actively work to sabotage the prison and escape, often liberating other races’ prisoners with them. This led to some cultures reached a diplomatic agreement with the Hu-Mans simply because they knew that even if they won the war, they would have to deal with the ensuing Hu-Mans prisoners of war.
There was no shining magnificent end to the Great Intergalactic War. It simply slowly wound down as more and more races could not afford to go to war with the Hu-Mans (of course we now refer to them as Terrans). The last major event in it was the Peace Accords of Melvina where the Hu-Mans delegation put an end to the violent and brutal conflict sparked by *The Error of Lerat Ubas.*
To this day, nearly 8 millenia later, the Melvinians and the Terrans remain fast allies. | Oddly enough medical technology in space was limited, to say the least. Each species medical advancements were obviously geared more towards their specific anatomy. So as you can imagine, when United Galactic Forces (U.G.F.) consisting of multiple species would end up in conflict with another faction encroaching on their territory, many lives were lost. Not just because of war, but because when you are shot or maimed, if you'r species medical technology wasn't near, you're basically dead. Kind of like the early years of settling the North American Continent, get a cough and you might as well dig your grave ahead of time.
This all changed when the Human species was introduced to the universe. A subspecies of humanoid mammals, generally hairless, and oddly curious about things that aren't attainable. They had their own technology, equipment that would scan and map out you'r entire anatomy, then calculate and diagnose whatever it is that was going in with you. Machines and practices that have been perfected over a melenia now, but the one thing that they couldn't stop.... was death. They could prolong it, stall it, hold it at bay and keep you on life support, even freezing you'r active brain and brainstem in hope's that one day their will be a cure for whatever ailment you were stricken with. This would eventually drive them mad.
Humans served as the "medics" of the U.G.F. and even some as infantry and pilots. Over the years they grew to becoming a powerful and an oddly dangerous necessity to the Galaxy, and they knew that. You see, the U.G.F. didn't take into account one vital thing, humans sheer unpredictability, and need to wage war for reasons that to any advanced alien civilization were.... pointless, and their odd fascination with evading death. Even amongst them selves they would slaughter eachother in the past, committing countless war crimes and genocide. The U.G.F. thought that humans have "outgrown" their primitive ways. They were wrong.
After years of peace and coexistence, a faction of humans had enough and wanted "equality" and believed that the human species was far superior to any other. Dispite the warnings and blatent terroristic attacks by these factions operating under the U.G.F.s nose, they still chose to ignore it. As long as the medical supplies were flowing in and care was being given, the long reach of the U.G.F. didn't seem to care, and they didn't care about the human factions experiments on aliens that were captured, to figure out how to evade death. Further and further they pushed into the unknown regions, thinning out their forces till one day, no more. The humans rose up and split from the U.G.F. claiming they could "do better" now that they have all the technology they needed in order to refine their own space travel and further their "scientific studies" into prolonging and stopping the inevitable.... death.
In secret over the years, they built a fleet of dreadnoughts and fighters and laid Siege to the vastly undefended citadel of the U.G.F. on the planet Coracan. Easily taking what they needed, food, supplies, trade routes, fuel, mining outposts, and even the planet it's self. Eradicating all alien life out of the galactic centralized government and making it solely human only. By the time the U.G.F. cought word of the invasion, it was too late. Traveling through hyperspace back to Coracan, falling into their own trap. Humans turned the Planetary Defense System on them and destroyed the entire fleet.
Now, a Galactic Federation consisting of humans rules the Galaxy. The U.G.F. ignored Earth, the tiny blue marble in the far corner of the Galaxy for thousands of years, they finally let them in and in matter of years they were outsmarted and over thrown. Now humans lay siege to planets, enslaving the life on them that they rule to be "savage" and use them for their personal gain stripping the world of their resources and goods.
Though, not all humans are bad. A small faction of humans exists, working with like minded individuals, both human and alien, to eradicate the new Galactic Federation. Striking them in the areas that hurt them the most and taking back planets for the original inhabitants to call home again. It's a funny thing, how in a time of need, beings can take advantage of each other and also ban together to help one another out. Started out with medical technology, helping all that need it, to helping all that want peace and equality again. An odd concept since humans struggled with that, equality, since the dawn of their time. Some things just don't change. | 2019-10-25T09:45:40 | 2019-10-25T09:13:26 | 44 | 28 |
[WP] An alien race encounters the most terrifying predator imaginable. A lone, unarmed human. | We shouldn’t have attacked.
The humans had established one of their “Research Stations”, a facility designed for science. Within its walls, they had tested many different species of the flora and fauna present on distant Xel’ji-5, a planet that was still ours, still under the dominion of the Korlan Empire despite it not being actively colonized yet. We sent a full company, nearly a hundred fifty Korlani soldiers, to purge the infestation of twenty humans.
We should have sent a full armored corps.
After we burned the laboratory to ash, ensuring that no human escaped alive, we left. What we didn’t know was that a pair of the invaders, one a scientist and one a security professional, had been away gathering samples. The scientist immediately fled to their ship to request assistance. The guard had other plans.
We did not know how important to the humans this laboratory was. We did not know that the security professional was better trained than most of our entire military. Our records indicate only his name, which has become a wraith to our people and the source of nightmares to our children. His name was “Spetsnaz.”
He came the first night after. Mere hours after we watched all the humans die, one merely appeared in the middle of a squad’s overnight position. We did not know of the extreme gravity of Sol-3, nor of the extremely thick atmosphere which provided extreme resistance to movement. His blows came so fast the survivor swore that he was an eight-armed demon.
Survivor.
Only one soldier, out of the dozen that had been present, survived. The human had literally punched *though* the first Korlan he attacked. From there, he used a combination of punches, kicks, and at one point a Korlani soldier’s rifle sling to devastate the entire squad.
And with their deaths, he knew more about his enemy that we did ours.
And now he was armed. A dozen plasma rifles, machetes, concussion grenades, light spheres, he became a one man army.
The rest of the company immediately began running. We fled directly to our ship, which was nearly [fifty miles] away. He followed.
Humans, apparently, evolved from pursuit predators. They literally chased down their food across tundras, through forests, across rivers. They would run and run and run until their prey was so exhausted they would collapse, ready for the killing blow.
We became the prey.
Without food or water, the human followed us. Every time we needed to stop to rest, more would die. He would engage from our flanks, herding us towards the grenades he had place in our paths for us to trip and die from. He was actually able to outpace my whole company enough that there were booby traps *ahead* of us. And we tired.
For a Korlani, a [fifty mile] foot trek should take about [3 days]. This human pushed us at a pace that was nearly half that timeframe. He did not sleep, did not slow, did not relent. He drove us into sleep deprivation, as our homeworld’s day/night cycle completes in about [13 hours].
Every pause made us lose another squad. Every turn brought another fireteam down. Every time we took contact, another soldier was wounded. Never killed, but wounded.
He knew us. He knew we would slow to keep our wounded with us. He shot to maim, to impede, not to kill. He made us choose between leaving our comrades and living or slowing, and dying ourselves.
Then the contact stopped. For [seven hours], we heard nothing. We continued to push, despite nearly falling asleep on our feet. When we could see our ship, we knew why he had broken contact.
The communications gear was destroyed. The engines had been entirely removed with the selective placement of concussion grenades, and the controls had taken a full plasma magazine charge, rendering them beyond useless. We were stranded, and both we and he knew it.
The human approached. He came out of the wood line, weapon pointed directly as Sergeant Gapin’s skull.
“You are dead. You vill surrender to face human justice, or you vill die here without a marker for your grave. Choose now.”
We surrendered. We marched back to the burning remnants of the human research facility, where a full company of humans stood, waiting. After the Counsel of Species heard the human’s story, and their testimony, and our confessions, the humans declared war on the Korlani Empire.
Now, my species is considered endangered. There is barely enough of us to inhabit a single moon, when barely a [decade] ago we controlled over a hundred worlds.
I write this as a warning. Do not attack the humans. The will out run you. They will outlast you.
They will be at your funerals and they will forget you ever existed. | "I'll never forgot the time the humans walked among us, it was so long ago but still so close in our collective memories."
Zutu's deep red eyes gleamed and his whispy smoky figure flickered in the darkness as he went on with the story that we had all heard as young babes. Each and every Zothorian had heard this tale and although part of the fun was scaring the children, there was good purpose too. We had much to fear from the humans, and the first time we were lucky, really lucky.
"It was a regular Moon day, like any other, the great people were in their underground homes and the scientists were working on olden day projects such as the interplanetary system transporter and the light wave energy cannon. There seemed to be nothing to signify just how different this day would truly be. Little did we know this day could have destroyed the Zothorian race forever"
As Zutu went on I drifted off into the real version of events. The version zutu would never say simply because if he did he would end up in Morgutary for the next thousand years. The truth was classified, by the great king Zudelia, my late father. The truth was the humans were for all intents and purposes, harmless. They used technology we had long surpassed and have physical limitations we do not have. We are the shadow race, we blend in with our surroundings and the human eye would never discern us. The humans were a primitive race who our people had chosen to protect but if they knew the truth...they might not be so forthcoming.
The truth was that the humans had one advantage over us, and that was their immune system. This was something the Zotharians simply never adapted to and a simple influenza virus could kill a fully grown adult in just a few hours. Naurally, we had eliminated most forms of life on the moon and thereby believed we had taken care of the problem of bacteria and virus's but then it happened, the loud noises, the lights, and finally the landing.
As the human walked towards us, not even being able to tel that we were merely feet away from him, he said these words
"This is one small step for man, and one huge leap for mankind"
Needless to say that if he had been a step closer to the few Zotharians who did not have time to move, they would be dead. You see, a Zotharian is only invisible when he stands still, but movement alters the camouflage and the deep red Zotharian eyes can be clearly seen. Shaking, the Zotharian workers who stood near this human prayed to God that their lives would be spared, and by some miracle, the human never came into contact with them.
What followed was a flurry of decrees, curfews, and underground lockdowns until the humans finally left. To this day we tell our children stories of the humans, to instill a deep deep fear of them so that when the humans do return to our side of the moon, they children will be no nowhere near by the time they touch down. | 2014-08-06T12:53:08 | 2014-08-06T11:44:58 | 353 | 28 |
[WP] Humanity is preserving it’s sum total of knowledge on servers under the moon’s surface. When we start excavating, we found another server from millions of years Ago. | “My opinion? I see the effort as vacuous. Egotistical. An unnecessary waste of time and money that could be better spent on any number of other projects that would better serve us now and in the future.”
“You don’t think we should leave something for those that come after us?”
Dr Carlisle turned her blue-lit face from her laptop to Dr Hamish, who appeared to her in the low light of her dark office as a squat silhouette in the doorway — a creature from the land of the bright hallway that had deigned to enter her solitary, shadowed domain. Though her usual stoic expression was present there was a measure of pity in her hazel gaze. To her, it was all so obvious.
“Why would it matter to *them*? You’re assuming they — whatever it is *they* are — care, or are even capable of caring. Moreover, to get the information they would be capable of: reaching the moon, interacting with our technology, and deciphering our likely long extinct languages. They would learn nothing other than that we were here.”
“And about our culture.”
“Culture? If we want to provide evidence of our culture, then we can accomplish the same thing by firing a time-capsule up there. One that contains a sword, a donut, a flute, and a book.”
“Wh-”
“Most cultures on Earth eventually make some form of each. Besides, what use would a space-fairing, interstellar race have for the collected young-adult, vampire-themed, teen-romance novels of a long dead species? The effort is one not based in accomplishing anything other than a post extinction-event form of self-preservation, intended to make sure the universe remembers us. All of this born from the belief that we are special and matter. We are not *special*, Hamish. We are just matter.”
At this, Dr Carlisle ended the conversation the same way she so often did: she turned her focus back to her laptop and her work. The rapid rattle of her typing served as the music that played the office interloper off the stage of her attention and out of her day. Their time for speeches had run out.
Dr Douglas Hamish left with a smile and as he closed the office door on his pragmatic friend and colleague, he reminded her there was a meeting in an hour and that lunch with the director of the department was straight after. She grunted in reply a moment before the door latched.
Like it or not, she was going to be on the Preservation Project.
\* * *
“So. You think there’s any donuts in there?”
Hamish noted a few confused whispers, but no reaction from the project lead: Dr Emily Carlisle. The pair were stood with the others of her hand-picked team in an observation room, deep below ground in a facility in which they had been living for eight months. The day of the discovery they had been brought here...for security reasons, ostensibly, and had not yet been permitted to leave or have any non-monitored communication with the outside world.
Now, at last, some progress. It was here. A wall of glass lay between them and the discovery that had swiftly moved their project underground, an object that had become known only as The Capsule.
It had taken eight months to get it here. Eight months of frantic, clandestine work to dig it up and get it back to Earth. All the while the team had wondered: what would be so bad about letting the world know what they had found?
Carlisle’s eyes stayed on the impossibly black, coffin-sized object, undistracted by her colleagues in the room or the orange hazmatted figures beyond the glass that prodded, measured, and probed.
The Capsule had been found on the Moon at Preservation Site Delta, a location that was backup of a backup, merely one of several possible places in which humanity would bury its collective consciousness. Initially, the object was assumed to be debris from some previous mission or a lost lunar experiment.
But it quickly proved to be less Earthly in origin. The Capsule had form and mass, but no other details could be divined. To almost every scan and measurement: it appeared to not exist. No thermal output or reflection. No energy escaped its surface.
And it just happened to be buried right where chance had forced their hand, so that a career interupting, time-sink of a project could be completed. A project that amounted, in Dr Carlisle’s opinion, to be nothing more than graffiti on our nearest, non-world, celestial body.
Human’s were ‘ere. Whoopty-doo.
And then. This.
The inflated, orange, plastic-armoured, apes poked, prodded and waved wands that crackled and beeped.
What was it made of?
What is it’s purpose?
And how had this undetectable object end up exactly where they would look?
Perhaps, she thought, I have been to harsh on the Preservation Project. Maybe the purpose isn’t the answers that we bury, but the questions that they’ll raise. | \- - - 65 MILLION YEARS AGO - - -
"I can't believe it's all just gonna... go. Forever."
"What, the Earth?"
"Yeah. Those bloody xeno bastards. I have to say, even though their declaration of war was pretty clear, I've never- I never really thought they'd stoop to *this*."
"It's messed up alright. Like, there's genocide, and then there's forcefully initiating a damn *mass extinction*. It's not even like it'll affect us that much, the majority of our people already live off-world."
"Apparently they think we still do our farming in the soil; Wanted to destroy our supply or something. Damn savages. I never really considered joining the military... but after this..."
"Yeah, I know what you mean."
"You think we'll ever get to go back?"
"I dunno, but I doubt it. You heard what the scientists are saying right? 80 percent of all animals, *minimum*. Plus the fallout will cool the planet way down, we're talking ice-age. Worst case is the land becomes completely uninhabitable. Really is an end to life as we know it. Plus with all the talk about Proxima Centauri, there's a decent chance we just... never come back."
"Maybe- maybe this is for the best."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Us leaving, I mean. Think about it. For the last, what, half a million years, we've been screwing up this planet. Pollution, habitat destruction, global cooling, you know. Maybe this asteroid is like some big 'reset' button. Let the Earth heal."
"What, heal by smashing some great big rock into her face?"
"Hah, sure. It sounded better in my head."
"Well, I guess I don't entirely disagree. It'll be interesting to see how life adapts afterwards."
"You think life'll survive?"
"Sure man, 'Life Finds a Way' and all. Haven't you seen Devonian Park?"
"That's a movie, it's not based off of actual science. Fish don't actually roar like that."
"Not my point. Plus, do you really think that some random space rock is gonna be enough to wipe out all life? What about cockroaches?"
"I swear, if we ever come back here and there are cockroach people, we're throwing another asteroid."
"Agreed."
"I hope we get rat people."
"What?"
"You know, those little furry things that burrow underground. I want those to become people."
"Why those? They're gross."
"No, they're cute. I want cute little fuzzy people that I can snuggle with."
"..."
"..."
"You're weird."
\------
IDK if this made any sense, but I thought it was a funny concept. I know the story isn't directly tackling the subject of the prompt, just think of it as an in-universe side story or something I dunno.
I for one hope that our dinosaur cousins do well in their war effort against the evil xenos, and perhaps one day we will meet them amongst the stars. | 2022-05-22T03:02:28 | 2022-05-22T01:57:29 | 418 | 297 |
[WP] You are a vampire hunter. Your roommate is a vampire. Neither of you can afford the apartment on your own so if one of you attacks the other you'll lose the apartment. The tension between you two is increasing by the day. | Max trudged up the stairs to his apartment and fished the keys out of his pocket. Dawn was just breaking, and he was sore and tired after a night of hunting renegades. He unlocked the door, came inside, and slung off his jacket along with the bandolier of hawthorn stakes and vials of holy water. The apartment was quiet and dark, with blackout blinds lowered over every window. Hopefully Clarice was asleep. He was too worn out to deal with her antics.
He kicked off his shoes and made a beeline for the fridge. Reaching past bloodbags that had expiry dates scribbled with a permanent marker, he picked up a cold can of beer and cracked it open.
He lifted the can to his lips, only to pause as he felt a presence behind him. It hadn't been a creak of a step that alerted him, or a sound at all—just a faint disturbance in the air, but that was enough for his honed senses.
He took a deliberate sip of the beer even as he reached for the silver stiletto concealed behind his belt. In a smooth motion, he whirled around and slashed at the level where a person's neck would be.
Clarice leapt back with a hiss, baring her elongated fangs. She wore a figure-hugging black dress with wide sleeves and an obscenely short, ruffled skirt with fishnet stockings underneath. His eyebrows rose. Vampires had a strange sense of fashion, but even so, her outfits had been getting increasingly ridiculous lately.
"Late night?" she asked, her mellifluous voice betraying no anger at his sudden attack.
"Right back at you," he said, stepping slowly away from the fridge. "What are you doing out of your casket?"
"I wanted to see whether I needed to start looking for a new roommate," she said, stepping sinuously in the opposite direction. "But I see you haven't had your throat torn out just yet."
"Fat chance of that." He didn't lower his stiletto as they slowly circled each other. When he reached the counter, he took a sip of his beer, never letting his eyes off her, and set the can down. "I eat your kind for breakfast."
"Mindless mongrels who gave in to their bloodlust." Her fangs flashed white in the darkness. "Don't compare them to me, ruler of the night."
"So, what?" he asked, reversing the grip on his stiletto. "Has the ruler of the night finally decided to show her true colors?"
Her smile widened. "Just keeping you on your toes."
Their eyes locked for a long moment. Then Clarice lunged, long pale fingers with black nails thrusting at his neck. Max dodged aside and countered with a slash of the stiletto. She somersaulted backward in a swish of black fabric and landed in a crouch on the sofa. With a manic grin, she sprang at him.
Grunts and gasps filled the room as they fought, his steps heavy on the laminate floor, hers light as if she weighed nothing at all. She danced around him, lashing out with lightning-fast jabs, while he kept his center of gravity low and looked for opportunities to retaliate.
She was the first to score blood, leaving three thin scratches on his forearm. Leaping backward, she met his eyes and licked her claws. Her crimson eyes glowed in the darkness.
"You're delicious," she crooned.
He beckoned with his free hand. "Come and get more if you dare."
She laughed and launched herself at him in a flying kick. He caught her leg and flipped her over his shoulder, his muscles screaming with strain. Her head rebounded off the floor, a gasp escaping her lips. Pinning her down with his knee, he grinned savagely as he pressed the blade to her pale throat.
She met his eyes for an instant before her body exploded into a swarm of bats. They battered him with leathery wings, tangling in his hair, clawing at his shirt. He sprang to his feet and slapped them away, but as soon as he got rid of one, two more took its place.
Swearing, he staggered up to the window and gripped the chain of the blinds. The bats caught on and surged away from him with a flurry of clicks. With a victorious smirk, he tugged the blinds open, flooding the room with morning light.
There was a loud screech, and the bats coalesced back into a naked and furious vampiress. She took cover behind the sofa and poked her head out, her eyes narrowed against the light. Baring her fangs, she hissed at him. He raised his stiletto and stepped closer.
The doorbell rang. The two of them froze and blinked at each other. The doorbell rang again, followed by a series of insistent knocks. Max groaned.
"Truce?" Clarice said, arching an eyebrow.
He lowered the stiletto. "Truce."
"Let me handle this. You're terrible with people." She half-rose from behind the sofa before glancing down at her bare front. "Mind handing me my clothes? And close the blinds already."
Max sighed. Stooping, he gathered up her dress and underwear and tossed them in her general direction. Ignoring her indignant outcry, he lowered the blinds and flicked on the lights. The knocking on the door persisted, now accompanied by muffled yells. Clarice got dressed and went to answer the door, while he ambled back to his unfinished beer and took a long draught.
"Good morning, Mr. Sziller," Clarice said in a honeyed voice. "I see... Sorry about the noise. Screams, you say? Well..." She giggled throatily. "That was just me and my boyfriend."
Max choked on his drink and broke into a coughing fit.
"Yes, of course... Sorry again, Mr. Sziller. Have a good day."
Clarice returned to the living room, her black dress slightly awry and her pale cheeks still flushed from tasting his blood. She linked her hands and stretched them high above her head with a sigh of satisfaction.
"What?" she asked.
He wrenched his gaze away and drained the remaining beer. "Just thinking of the best way to exterminate you."
She laughed. "Oh, please. Had it been night, I would've had you, bloodbag." Prancing past him, she opened the fridge. "Another beer?"
He grunted in agreement and caught the can she tossed at him with more-than-necessary force. "You wish, leech."
She took out a bloodbag for herself and raised it to her mouth before glancing at him. "Want me to go away so I don't offend your delicate sensibilities?"
He snorted. "I've seen worse, trust me. Help yourself."
He found himself watching with a sort of queasy fascination as she sank her fangs into the bloodbag and drained half of it in one go. Her pupils dilated, and the flush on her face intensified, extending down her neck.
She exhaled slowly through her nose, then rummaged in the fridge and produced a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. Max stared as she put a pan on the stove and turned on the heat, the bloodbag still stuck between her lips.
"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.
"Wha' it look like?" she asked around the bag. "Cookin'."
"But your kind doesn't eat normal food," he said slowly.
She rolled her eyes, pulled the now-empty bag from her mouth, and smacked her lips. "It's for you, idiot. You can't live on a diet of beer and chips."
He shook his head. "Why?"
She bustled around the stove, not meeting his eyes. "Can't have you weakening and dying to some rando in the streets. You're mine to drain when I so choose."
"Should've figured it was something like that," Max grumbled, making sure his stiletto was nearby before cracking open his second beer. One of these days... | It’s 4:56 when i here the frontdoor open. Theodore always tries to be quite, but the building we live in if old and the floor creaks. I get out of bed, i’m already awake and won’t be able to sleep again. “Good morning, sunshine” he says when i walk into the kitchen. “It isn’t even morning yet. Can’t you come home a little later?” I say annoyed. We made some ground-rules when we first started living here, knowing we had to make this work, but it’s hard making rules for a 600 year old vampire who never had any rules. Theo and I have been living together for almost a year now and things haven’t escalated even once, i’m out at day to go to college and he’s out at night to feed. My parents don’t know my roommate is a vampire, they would kill him and kill me after probably. My parents are 2 of the best vampire hunters, which makes me a vampire hunter too, even if i don’t want too. My parents allowed me to finish college before i become a full-time vampire hunter, so i got two more years of freedom.
“I’m sorry if I don’t wanna burn to death” theo says, pulling me out my own thoughts. “I was done feeding and the sun comes up at 5:30” he goes on. “I know, i’m just tired” i say, knowing he isn’t annoying me on purpose. “You’d like coffee?” He asked, just like everyday. “Change first, your bloody” i reply, just like everyday.
I arrive early on campus, wanting to spend some time in library. I don’t really have friends here, knowing i’ll have to go home after college and would never see them again. I spend all my time studying and reading. The only person i hang out with is Theo and that’s only because he’s my roommate. I’d come to like Theo more than i ever thought I would. My parents always told stories about vampires to scare me, telling me they are ruthless and have no trance of humanity left. However Theo is just a normal guy, apart from the fact that he drinks blood and could kill me in 2 seconds, he’s not that bad. It makes me even sadder that i have to become a vampire hunter one day, only to live up to the legacy. I’ve always wanted to become a teacher, cause i love to work with kids, but i don’t have that choice.
When i come home around 5:00 Pm, Theo is already making dinner. He always cooks because he’s home all day and probably bored. He isn’t a very good cook, but he tries his best. “How was your day?” He asked as i sit down at the table. “Normal, boring” i reply “yours?” “Normal, boring” he replied as he sets my plate down and takes a seat across from me. During the time i eat we don’t talk, he just looks at me. It isn’t an uncomfortable silence, we just have nothing to talk about. When I finish my dinner i set my plate in the dishwasher, thank him for dinner and go to my room. I study a bit until i hear him leave the house, thats when i go to sleep.
Beep, beep, beep. My alarm clock goes off at 6:30 in the morning, it’s already light outside. There is an instant worry through my body, i have never not hear him come home. The worried feeling surprises me, i never knew i cared about him. I walk out my room and find a empty kitchen and living room. I walk faster towards his bedroom door and knock as hard as i can, but nobody answers. I start calling his phone, only to hear his voicemail. He has never stayed out during the day and for so far i know he hasn’t got any friends. I feel my heartbeat speeding up, when i open his bedroom door. I have never been inside his bedroom, it’s not as dark as I expected. He only has a simple wooden bed and a dark blue rug. I sit down on his bed and call his phone again, but no one replies…
I stayed home all day, even though i know he won’t be able to come home during the day. I called him so many times i lost count and have made up a lot of scenarios that could have happened to him, not many ending with him walking through the front door. I feel so stupid for being so worried about him, I shouldn’t care about him. He’s annoying and only my roommate because i would be homeless without him, but over the past year i come to like him more and more. I see the sun starting to set and keep my eyes on the door.
After what feels like days the front door opens. There he is, looking completely fine. My blood starts to boil, but at the same time i feel extremely relieved. “Where the hell have you been?!” I scream at him, while i feel tears piercing in my eyes. “I worried sick!” I go on. He looks startled, like this was the last thing he expected to walk into. “I wanted to give you a good night of sleep. I stayed over at an old friend” he says calm. “And you didn’t think about telling me?” I scream while feeling a tear rolling down my cheek. He walks closer to me, “I left a note in the kitchen, i didn’t want to wake you up last night” i look around seeing a piece of paper on the cabinet. I calm down a bit “why didn’t you pick up your phone, i called you a million times” i feel my voice breaking. “It died. I’m so sorry Frances, this was never my intention” i says and i can hear in his voice that he means it. He gently brushes his hand over my cheek and i look into his eyes. Before i can second guess it i kiss him, surprising myself. He kisses me back with so much passion i never wanna stop. We start moving towards my bedroom like we have done this a million times before. My hands around his neck, his hands on my cheeks. We both don’t say a word and i instantly know our situation has become a lot more difficult… | 2022-11-22T07:18:03 | 2022-11-21T23:58:54 | 506 | 73 |
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/ | First day open for business! After years of saving up and working as a blacksmith apprentice, I have finally been able to open my own armors and weapons shop. Ever since I was a young boy, I have heard so many grand stories of heroes and adventurers from travelling merchants, now finally I too can become a stop on their story. As my gaze swept the room one final time, it lingered on each piece of equipment on display. Each sword, dagger, plate, and everything in between I made with my own hands. I still had much to learn but many long nights were spent toiling away at each piece, sharpening to my utmost ability, pounding away with all my might. Adventurers will be able to rely on me, my creations will lead them through danger and hell. I inhaled the smell of fresh wood and polished metal lingering in the room and settled down behind the counter.
The door slammed open drowning out the little bell that rang feebly in comparison. A lean tall man strolled in and judging by his armor he was a knight, and a magnificent one. His armor was gleaming a deep onyx black with sharp horns and jagged edges along the greaves and gauntlets. His helm in the crook of his hand was sinister with what looked to be dragon horns decorating it. There was a faint violet glow surrounding him pulsating with wisps of light flickering off. A magic set. With him was a large leather sack bulging to the brim with items carried easily over his shoulder. He glanced at my wares with what could only be a deep look of distaste and boredom before coming in front of me.
“What town is this shop keep?”
“This is the village of Dalry along the Whispering Rill. How can I help you today sir knight?”
The knight sighed audibly before pulling out his map, ignoring the question. He scanned the map for a moment before putting it away.
“Last time I get black-out drunk without teleportation stones. Tell me, do you know the way to Torpin Fortress?”
“Ah, you are a long ways off your course. It would be a 4 days walk north past The Granite Chasm. I must warn you, the warlock that- “
“Yeah yeah, terrible power this, forbidden magic that.”
He brushed off my heed with a gesture and swung his bag down with a crash on the counter. Out spilled brilliant gems, swords, and heads of magnificent beasts. I have never seen such rare items before. Strangely enough there were large amounts of rusty silverware and plates present too.
“How much can you give me for this?”
“Sir knight I must apologize, my shop is still fairly new. I have but 100 gold to my name and could not possibly- “
“I’ll take it.”
“Wait wha- “
The knight casually shoved the bag towards me causing it to spill its’ contents all over the floor behind the counter. I hesitantly opened my drawer and gathered up all the coins I had left. He snatched them from my hands and dropped them into his bulging coin pouch where I could see glimpses of platinum.
SLAM
He was gone as fast as he came. There I stood dumb-founded before slowly cleaning up. I had gotten an incredible deal and would be able to make a fortune on what he brought in. Yet I was not filled with joy. I had dreamt of the kind of encounters I would have, the kind of people I would meet. But for that adventurer I was not even a person. My wares did not gleam as brightly as first thought. Looking at them again, I could see minor chipped edges, dull tips, and imperfections in my work. Perhaps it was still too soon for me to think I could provide anything useful at all. The tinkling of the bell caught me by surprise and I looked up abruptly.
A young boy was peeking in through the door. When he caught my gaze, he slowly walked in and stood reservedly at the front. Clutched tightly in his hand was a slip of paper, what looked to be from the town’s notice board. He started to speak but was stumbling over his words before taking a deep breath and exhale. He stood up straight and puffed out his chest with a determined look in his eyes.
“The tailor has given me a task to kill rats. I am in need of a weapon, shop keep!”
A smile came to my lips as I walked over to him. We always did have a bit of an infestation problem to the west of our village, and it always drove that old tailor crazy. I knelt down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. He was thin but had the muscles of a farmer. His dirty blonde hair was cut short, and freckles dotted his face molded in an expression of feigned bravado.
“Of course young adventurer. What can I get you?”
His expression changed to that of doubt and nervousness. He pulled out a few silver pieces and laid them out on a palm for me to see not wanting to meet my gaze any longer.
“I do not have much… but I promise you I will pay you back ten-fold when I become a hero!”
His eyes filled with fire and determination though his trembling mouth gave him away. I took the silver pieces from his hands and stood up. Walking over to the nearest dagger, I took it off the pegs which I admit was not my best work. His eyes widened, filled with awe, as I brought it closer for him to hold.
“Come traveler, let me show you my wares.”
| A/N: Yes, I'm aware that transmogs in WoW are often BOP, but that ruins the fun of this script, so just run with it, 'kay?
Edits for format and minor additions.
***
*Int., Day, Ye Olde Gold and Silver Pawn Shoppe. ADVAR the Paladin of Protection approaches the wooden counter where RICHARD, the store's wise bald shopkeeper, stands.*
RICHARD: What have you got for me today?
ADVAR: I found these shoes in a chest in a dungeon. Nobody rolled Need on them, so I took them. They look to be in decent condition, so I was hoping to see if I could sell 'em.
*Cut to Ext, outside the Shoppe, customer interview.*
ADV: I mean, they're nice shoes and all, but leather's not really my thing. I've got a nice set of plate armour that I've been eyeing, so hopefully I can put some of the profit towards that.
*Cut back inside the Shoppe. Richard is turning them about, examining them*
ADV: I think they're legacy armour, Nik'ee Boots of Swoosh.
RICK: Wow. These look like the Air Jor Dinns, Tier 1's.
*Zoom in on the shoes, focusing on the blue swoosh symbols*
RICK: These could really be worth a lot on the Auction House but... unfortunately, there are so many fakes on the market, and I'm no expert. If you're willing to sit in queue for a bit, I can whisper a friend of mine and we can verify.
ADV: K.
*Moments later, AGILA the Restoration Druid logs in, dressed in a revealing leafy top. She reaches to shake hands with the other two.*
*Cut to expert interview.*
AGILA: *male voice.* I'm Ag, the transmog expert. I've been collecting leather sets since Vanilla and I love sexy vanity sets.
*Cut back to Shoppe*
AG: How do you guys do?
ADV: Wait... Are you a he or a she?
AG: I'm a guy. I just prefer playing girls. Gives me a nice booty to look at.
ADV: Oh, okay, you're one of those guys.
RICK: So here we have these legacy shoes that we'd like you to take a look at.
*Agila takes the boots and examines them*
AG: Okay. So it looks like we have the Nik'ee Air Jor Dinns Tier 1. These could be worth 100g on AH, depending on the quality. They do seem to be in good condition, the durability is still 100%. No major damage, stitching is still in place, no scuff marks. Now the question is... are they real?
*Zoom in more closely on the boots, cutting in shots of nervous Advar*
AG: Unfortunately, these are fakes. Really nice fakes, but fake nonetheless. See the left side of this Swoosh here? If these were real, they would be a few pixels longer. And the texture on the lining? Not as detailed as it should be. These are the green-quality imitations.
ADV: WTF.
AG: I'm sorry, you could get like, 10 g max out of these.
RICK: Well thanks for dropping in Ag.
AG: My pleasure.
*Everyone shakes hands. Ag leaves.*
RICK: Well, I guess I can offer you... 2g? You heard him, 10g is if you're lucky.
*Advar rage quits* | 2016-10-16T10:00:13 | 2016-10-16T07:28:43 | 999 | 202 |
[WP] When an animal dies, we often use the expression "crossing the rainbow bridge." This is not by accident, every animal crosses the Bifröst, having earned their place in Valhalla defending us from a greater evil then we could ever know. Tell their stories. | Lo, now do I tell the tale of the mighty Samson. A canine of regal bearing but only 13 toes, he chanced upon the queen while she was patrolling our borders with David, the kingdom’s canine squire. Though his size intimidated her at first, it came to be known throughout the realm that Samson was as tender to his loved ones as he was feared by the Darkness. Many brave deeds were performed during his travels - Samson the Ever-Vigilant chased away countless nightmares, door-to-door salesmen, and moments of loneliness.
For a while, there was peace in the realm. With Samson as stalwart protector, the Darkness was kept at bay - but still it lurked, devising twisted machinations and watching... always *watching*. Finally, the Darkness saw its opportunity and struck.
But the Darkness is more insidious than any enemy met on a field of battle, more vile than the most corrupt vizier - it does not fight fair, and it plays for keeps.
The Darkness crept inside the realm late one night and placed its repulsive tendrils upon the noble Samson. The defender of the defenseless had many weapons at his disposal: his bark frightened off even the scariest nightmare and gave immeasurable comfort to those he protected. His fearsome maw protected his queen from would-be invaders and licked her face afterwards. But even his formidable weapons had no effect on the Darkness; indeed, not many have.
The Darkness spread inside this courageous warrior - but it spread quickly, too quickly. The king and queen tried every remedy suggested by the apothecary, to no avail. As the days grew short and the nights grew long, the king and queen saw that their courageous champion was losing his final battle.
The king and queen brought the noble Samson to the apothecary and found a patch of sunny grass. The Darkness had found such purchase that Samson could hardly walk, so his queen carried him to the patch of sun, whose light and warmth Samson had always loved. And before the Darkness could claim him did the king and queen, with heavy hearts, bid him a final farewell.
In the light of the sun and in the light of the love from the king and queen, Samson crossed the Bifrost to Valhalla, where he was rewarded for his valiant service with a large field to play in and all the McDonald’s cheeseburgers he could eat. Samson still keeps his eye upon the realm, and he visits when needed - sometimes as a touch of wind, sometimes as a feeling of contentment.
Truly, Samson will never be forgotten.
In loving memory of our big boy - 7/5/13-10/31/16.
Sleep well, my friend. | **”An Ode to Blue Moon”**
For you were only a simple dog
To my eyes
Not once did I expect you’re
An angel in disguise.
For Blue Moon now enters
Valhalla’s gates
Welcomed by the gods for
His heroic greats
For you drained us of our sickness
We became clean
You filled us with warmth
Love felt to our skin
For you took our burden
We’re unchained
You pushed us through times tough
Unity our family gained
For we wept at your passing
A cloudy, rainy day
But in spirit you were still with us
Made the times gay
For the battle angels now sing
Of Blue Moon
The dog who healed
Who’s life itself is a boon. | 2018-05-25T04:30:38 | 2018-05-24T23:40:02 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] You are a time traveller, everyone knows you're a time traveller from old pictures/videos/newspapers where you openly admit the fact and when/where you're born... However, you aren't a time traveller yet and don't know how you go back in time. | December of 1922 is the earliest photo I could find that I was in. I was at one of Louis Armstrong's first shows in Chicago. At least twenty photos have surfaced on the internet of the famous time traveling man. That man is me, I think. I mean I'm only twenty two right now. The man in the photos looks older than that, but maybe its just what he is wearing. Almost always he is dressed in the clothing of the period he visits, but in one photo he is seen wearing present day clothes. It was in 1972 he, or I, was shown wearing a shirt that is definitely not from that era. Not only was it from the future, but it was my favorite shirt. I've had that shirt since my senior year of high school. Its unmistakable. The shirt is a black button down with a panda face on the front pocket. I didn't think anything of it until my friends started sharing the photos on my facebook wall. Then, more and more people started hearing about this kid that looks exactly like the time traveling man. Buzzfeed did a story on me, and interviewed me. I was featured on Good Morning America as "The worlds first time traveler". The whole world truly believes that I can travel through time. Of course I haven't yet, and I have no idea when or if I ever will. It worries me a lot though. I honestly thought this was gonna be a funny internet joke that would be gone in about a year. Its been a couple years and people still won't leave me alone about it. It is becoming increasingly more serious too. I met with a man from the CIA not too long ago. He informed me that they are watching me. They have analyzed the photos and are convinced that it is me in them. That scares me a lot that the government is involved. Even right now, I am just sitting in my room with a feeling of dread. A feeling like they could come anytime and take me and dissect me or whatever they do. I look over at my bookcase, and see the letter that my grandfather gave me on his deathbed sitting on a shelf. He told me not to open it until my 25th birthday. He died two years ago. It has been taunting me for two whole years. My grandpas was kind of my rock, and I sure could use some words of wisdom from him right now. He always knew how to calm me down if I was stressed, and we would spend many nights together. It was great because we always liked the same things. We never had conflicts over what to eat or what movie to watch. He was more of a dad to me than my own father. I'm too impatient, so I get up off the bed and walk to the book case. The letter had my name written on the front in beautiful handwriting. Calligraphy was one of his many talents. Just holding it makes me feel better. I try my best to open it without ripping the paper. The envelope is open and I almost feel like crying because I knew it was too soon for me to read it. I shakily reached in and pulled out the letter. It reads:
*Soloman,
I thought I told you not to open this letter until you were twenty five. I knew you wouldn't wait, just like I know many things. I am writing this letter to you because it is what needs to be done in order to start your life. This letter has been written many times and will continue to be written for all of eternity. You see, you are about to find out a great secret. I know you have been approached about this time traveling man, and I know you are greatly intrigued by him. Soloman, that man is you. In your life, you will see things that most people will never have the fortune of seeing. You will see history come alive. Life has no boundaries for you. The power to travel in time is in your genes. All men in our family have been able to do it. Once you travel to a certain year you will automatically be taken to a facility with clothing and any other needs of that period. You must be careful to always follow the rules. I know you will make a mistake though, as you will be in a hurry to arrive at a certain event after you arrive in the past. I was reckless with my ability, and did the same thing, which resulted in me having to go into hiding. There are men who monitor us travelers. They do not tolerate mistakes. In 1972, I was caught on camera wearing a shirt that you are familiar with. It was out of place for the time period and sparked a curiosity years later. I knew they would use their abilities to find me, so I stopped time traveling, and went into hiding. I met a lovely woman named Martha, your grandmother. We adopted your mother, and she eventually went on to have you. You see, Soloman, we are one person. You will make the same mistakes I made, and in return you will have inadvertently given yourself life. If you do not repeat my mistake, then you will cease to exist. You will live a life full of happiness, adventure, and purpose. I need you now to read this next sentence aloud. USING MY GIFT I WILL TRAVEL TO LONDON ENGLAND IN THE YEAR 1961.*
The letter dropped to the ground, and Soloman was gone. | Destiny, how does it go?
As we grow up, some have to deal with expectations of their parents. Some are forced into a way of life that was determined by their class. My future is determined by me, but not in a good way. I wrote my future and now I have to fulfill it. Unlike my peers which can fail at their destinies, my failure could end the universe. I have seen what I will do on television, through stories my parents have told and landmarks created in my honor. The only problem is, I have no idea how to time travel.
Scientists have been hard at work at the problem of time travel for the decades since I first told them it was possible. My age is getting close to the first recorded images of me, at least in appearance. My presence has been speculated, but now are confirmed that I am in fact the Destiny that took the world by storm so long ago.
I grew up hearing tales of what I have already done as an older version of myself. I know all about the kids I will have. Names, birth days, locations of birth marks and even eye color were all told at an afternoon television show recorded 15 years before my parents were born. I wisely kept my own parents out of the talk so they could come together naturally. Naturally being, I naturally introduced them at a party some time ago. I helped make myself, apparently. My father told me often about how I helped them through their early relationship. Eventually, I told them the truth about who I was and told them to name me, the paradoxical name, Destiny.
I have spent my childhood studying everything about the person I would become. I was told by my father, that I can’t do anything different or that paradox could destroy the universe. No child should know what a paradox is before they can even spell the word. It is downright terrifying. My future, as my mother put it, is in my hands. What will I do?
As I have prepared for this inevitable future, I developed a bit of a reckless side. The knowledge of my fate gave me a sense of confidence that none other possess. It was my parents that held me back enough, so I would not kill myself in the seeking out more and more danger. The adrenaline rush of sky diving, bungee jumping and simply being a risk loving junkie became my teenage years.
Today, it is time to actually seek out the ultimate thrill. I received a cryptic message from a scientist this morning. I know this scientist from the names of all of the teams working on time travel, but I was not sure if I should take it. He mentioned danger above all else, but he knew that if I accepted this challenge that he would succeed. I keep looking for a sign from myself. Any sign as to whether, this was the one time I would get to jump back in time. No sign ever came. This may be the only choice I will have to make on my own that really matters. Perhaps it is meant to be that way. I sent this to you dad as a memory of my last words. I have no intention of returning to this timeline. If it works, I will see you in the past. I will leave only your memories of me to check in on my future.
Your child and friend,
Destiny
| 2016-04-12T11:35:27 | 2016-04-12T11:18:40 | 74 | 17 |
[WP] After a life of survival in the wasteland, you wake up a week before the bombs fell. Knowing the future, you prepare for the end by citing the laws of the wasteland. And so, a week passes, and sitting in your bunker, the bombs did not fall. | **Five rules to live:**
*1. You come first.*
*2. You come second.*
*3. Don't steal. But if you have to - make sure to kill the person you stole from.*
*4. Don't drink tap water.*
*5. See rule one and two.*
---
I sat in my bunker, knowing they would fall. I thought back to the last twenty years, and how in an instant I had woken to a different world - one where I didn't have to worry about the radiation levels or the fear of other people. The air was the best part of my new world. I swallowed a zeppelin worth and it did not cling to my throat, nor did not burn my nostrils. It smelt of *nothing*.
I waited a week for the harrowing day, where the bombs would fall like rain and bodies like snow. I started to wonder if this was cyclical torture and if I would relive the last twenty years of isolation. I convinced myself that I deserved to suffer. I could have saved three people.
I looked around my bunker, the mounds of carefully selected canned food and crates bursting with fresh water. I could save them this time. Three people, three broken rules. Breaking rules would be like inviting a woodpecker into my skull. Here little birdy, there's sap in my grey matter.
I climbed to the surface with three days to spare. Who do I bring? The family would be a logical choice, but my mother had her foot next to the bucket and father had kicked it long ago. It was too late to save my brother. A continent was not the only thing that separated us.
I tried friends, who were polite in their refusal and I tried strangers, who were not so polite. Crazy, mental, nut case, mad-man. All words that I was inclined to agree with, having walked a mile on broken glass, only to be sent right back to the start line. I was crazy not to put a bullet in my brain.
I found three people. It took two days - but I found my niche companions. Leonard, Davis and a fellow aptly named "One-Toof". They were homeless, and I don't think that any of them really believed that the world was coming to an apocalyptic end. They saw a place to stay with a bed, free food and water.
I waited with a giddy, self-righteousness. They would know that I had saved them when the dull patter of explosions shook the ceiling. But I never got to say *I told you so!* I had given the bombs a countdown, and when it was showtime, there was silence. I should have felt relieved, but I felt annoyed at the ordinance for being late. *You're making me look like a fool.* I thought, and then the frustration subsided. *Had I redeemed myself?*
---
/r/WrittenThought | "What was going to happen you said?" She asked, the bombs had not fallen.
"Answer me." She said, the bombs not have fallen.
"The bombs, they didn't fall." she said, the bombs not have fallen.
But they should have fallen.
They fell last time.
Why had the bombs not fallen.
"I don't know." I answered, a magician with words as always.
"The bombs fell last time." They had fallen last time.
Why didn't they fall this time.
"I am going out, Dave, nothing happened."
"No don't go out!" I yelled at her. She seemed surprised about me yelling, I never yell. Ever.
"Please don't go out Lucy, it could be dangerous."
But the bombs didn't fall.
Why.
"I'm going out Dave."
I couldn't stop her.
I tell myself that every time.
I could not have stopped her.
| 2018-10-13T13:52:31 | 2018-10-13T13:38:21 | 96 | 10 |
[WP] A girl kisses her pet frog, and it turns into a price. The issue is its modern day, and the prince's kingdom hasn't existed for 1100 years. he is ill equipped to deal with the modern era. | Alice stormed into her room, slamming the door behind her. It was one of those days where the whole world seemed rigged against her, where the myriad travails of high school life just became too much to bear, where her only friend in the world seemed to be Froggy, in his tank. Froggy, who had lived for far longer than her mother had said he would, who had never let her down and had become her only rock in a world of pubescent chaos... A sudden jolt of love overcoming her natural disgust, Alice's lips touched the amphibian's moist body, only to find themselves opposite the lips of a rather portly Egyptian.
"Congratulations!" He proclaimed, as Alice's body propelled itself across the room in shock. "For in giving honor to this humble frog, you have shown yourself to be worthy of the grace of great Heqet herself! Now name your reward, and such as I can grant shall be yours!"
There was a pause as the man looked at Alice expectantly, before she babbled "Who in the what of I are you?"
"Me? I am but a lowly priest, offered to the fertility goddess Heqet -praised be her name- to become one of the millions of frogs that leap from the flooding Nile every flood, and give her blessing to one worthy worshiper. I collect her price- an amulet, as token of your devotion, and in return bestow such a gift as even Pharaoh should envy. Though this place seems strange- if I may ask, where are we? For this is like nowhere in Egypt that I have ever been."
"America?" Alice's mouth mumbled rather of its own accord,
"Ah, Armenia! The mountains are lovely indeed, though the natives sadly refuse to respect our froggy mistress.
There was a long pause then as Alice struggled to grasp what was happening, all while the Egyptian quietly smiled, unfazed by the silence.
"You said that you are... I mean you want a price, an amulet?" she at last managed to stutter out. "Well, um, a few years ago I made like this frog necklace in art class, I tried to make it look like you, I mean the frog, because-"
"Excellent!" Boomed the jovial man. "I accept your price! Armenian or not, you are surely in the cult of Heqet- no other would have cared to love our mistress! For she is difficult to love, yet all the more worthy of our love because of it! So what do you desire in return?"
"A million dollars!" Alice exclaimed, not wanting to push her luck with this strange frogman too much.
"Dollars?" The man frowned. "No, you misunderstand. Gracious Heqet is a *fertility* goddess, and fertility-related favors are all I may grant. Ease in childbirth is the most common request- are you pregnant or likely to become pregnant?"
This odd declaration made Alice, who was slowly starting to calm down, start to feel like she was being pranked somehow. In that case, she had one chance to turn the tables back on the prankster, whomever had put this guy up to this, or she'd never live this down.
"Well then, mister Froggy," she said with all the sarcasm she could muster. "I wish to be turned into the most BEAUtiful woman in the world, so beautiful that I will never have to put up with a silly prank like yours ever again!"
The Egyptian frowned for a moment, before gulping and turning slightly green. After a moment, Alice got up and instinctively put her frog back in its tank, before collapsing in her bed in shock and confusion.
She awoke a few hours later, convinced that what had occurred had been a dream- until she looked in the mirror. Teenage insecurity could not hide the fact that seemed regal yet familiar, beautiful beyond compare- yes, these were the sort of looks that could found a Dynasty. | The frog hopped into her lap and croaked.
The table erupted with laughter and Erin forced a rictus grin on her face.
With a such casualness as she could muster, she plucked the frog from her lap and turned it around, mildly annoyed, but also friendly.
Everyone knew she’d kept the pet frog she won at the Renaissance Fair. It wasn’t an embarrassing symbol of her abiding spinsterhood! It was just a pet frog!
"Maybe if you keep kissing it, you'll get your own Prince Charming, eh?" Karen said too loudly and chortled.
A few people laughed but most people shifted uncomfortably.
"Maybe I will." Carmen did and pushed the frog to her face.
Her lips had barely grazed the marbled, multicoloured skin of the frog when she felt a loud crack, like a lightning bolt and she dumped the naked young man on the floor.
An extra pair of pants were easy to find.
A coherent sentence on the other hand.
"Mothers!" He cried repeatedly. "Mothers!"
Carmen stood outside nursing a cigarette when the disheveled prince came to stand to her.
"I gather for the dumb struck fools in there that I have you to thank for freeing me from the Twilight Curse?"
"Uh huh."
"Once the Eighth Chamberlain comes for me, your father shall be appropriately compensated."
"My father, huh?" Carmen said, taking a another drag on her cigarette.
"I must say, you wear quite strange clothes in your land!"
She nodded and turned away from him. She had almost believed. She has almost taken his for a Knight, sprung fully formed to defend her honour.
Instead she gets this loud manchild, screaming of his mothers and lost kingdoms.
"This Chamberlain of yours..." she said suddenly turning on him. "How will he find you?"
He seemed taken aback, stammering slightly before answering.
"I'm sure someone will write a letter..." | 2018-09-21T22:16:21 | 2018-09-21T20:07:25 | 954 | 180 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | I was in the midst of cleaning, scrubbing at an extra tough stain on the floor, when I was distracted by some noise at the door. Not swearing - a lady should never take foul words into her mouth - I rose from the floor and the bucket of cold soap water whilst using the back of my hand to push some loose strands of hair away from my face.
A short few minutes later I was heading towards the hallway, or what I liked to think of as such: a long, narrow passageway lit by blazing torches - one must pay heed to traditions - causing shadows to dance on the rough walls and lending its dark corners an eerie touch. *Just perfect*, I mused, as always when passing though. *Just perfect.* There were few things as important as keeping up with appearance, people did expect one to live in a certain way and thus one must live up to those expectations. How else would the world look?
A loud banging on the iron-framed wooden door brought my attention back. *Oh. Right. A visitor.* A quick look down asserted that my dress was indeed free from stains and wrinkles and quite presentable, and my left hand quickly adjusted the tiara slightly.
“I have come to rescue thee, fair maiden!” the mustache adorned knight at the door cried as I opened it. “I have come to rescue thee and slay the dragon!” I sighed inwardly to the styling of his facial hair. Really, why did they *always* have to go for quantity over quality?
Taking care not to let any of those thoughts show of my face I let my lower lip tremble slightly as my eyes widened.
“Hush, please, or you’ll waken him from his slumber. Be quiet, and I will take you to him.” I motioned for him to follow me inwards along the tunnel with its flickering lights - *really, just perfect* \- slowly quickening the pace to give an air of necessary haste. Finally pausing outside the door at the end of the corridor I shot him a quick glance and pointedly nodded to his still sheathed sword. As he quietly drew it I let the door swing open and stepped aside.
“I have come to challenge thee, abominal beast!” boomed the knight as he entered the quiet room. I winced inwardly at his voice; why did they always feel the need to proclaim their objectives? What was wrong with a bit of serene calmness and quiet? A quite sigh escaped me as I put my left hand on his shoulder and the sharpened dagger in my right hand silently glided along his throat.
“I did tell you not to awaken Herbert”, I told him - quite sullenly - “he’s had a terrible night’s sleep and has been cranky all morning. I just finally managed to put him to sleep. But did you listen? No you did not.” I do not know whether he heard me, his body slumping forward before hitting the floor with a thud, but neither did I care as just then Herbert came strutting along the floor, his little wings flapping to help him maintain balance as he skillfully navigated around the sparse furniture in the room. I knelt and lifted him in my arms, letting his little split tounge playfully lick my cheek as I petted his scaled little head and his tail wiggled excitedly.
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy!”
*Oh dearie me*, I thought to myself as I suddenly noticed the now slow trickle of blood onto the floor where it had already spread in a large pool. *And just as I was just about to get rid of the old stains in the library.*
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\**
*And here I thought myself to pretty decent in writing in English, guess this challenge set me right about that. Please bear with my typos, grammatical errors and overuse of commas (I do love a good comma!). First submission here, but hopefully not the last because omg how I have missed writing!* | Sitting quietly in her beautiful court yard Rae sat looking out over her kingdom. She watched the many marvels that happened there. The beauty of nature and woods surrounded her. A crystal water fell rushed to the forest floor not far off from her.
Rae shook her head as she saw the bright gleam of armor speeding her way.
Another of the kingdoms enemies racing my way to rescue me, she mused.
She turned and headed toward the humungous gaping hole in the side of her mountain. It was made to look like a cave but make no mistake it was a castle of the most beautiful design. As she walked through the golden hall she carefully put out each and ever torch preparing for her visitor.
When Rae reached the end of the long hallway she sat in wait watching the entrance for her rescuer.
She did not have to wait long before she heard the thundering of hooves and the click clack of armor. Soon the metal man was 'stealthily' stalking towards her.
Rae rose up, "who goes there!" She demanded.
It was silent for a long moment before the man answered in a raspy voice, "Arthur of the city of Frei, knight of graylandolf."
"And what is your buisness here?"Rae boomed back.
"To slay the dragon and rescue the princess!" Arthur said.
" And what if you find the dragon and the princess are one and the same?" She asked.
Arthur stopped frozen in shock at the question. He began mumbling out an answer but Rae interrupted him with a blast of fire.
The knight dodged, and Rae allowed a small smile to curl up her lips. Feeling the adrenalin rush through her she forces herself to be hard even down to her heart beat as the ground shook around her golden dust clouded the air. Without thought Rae turned the stone to Ice and in so doing froze Arthur eternally, still.
Lighting a torch she walked over to inspect her prize, "Oh, and Arthur," Rae spat, "I'm not the princess I'm the king. Perhaps, if you had known you wouldn't have an eternal place in my trophy room." | 2019-01-09T10:18:32 | 2019-01-09T07:32:29 | 80 | 14 |
[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. | Alel bit his lip as the prisoner crumpled to dust, blowing away from a wind within an airtight room. Well, that was out the window. The judge simply stared with a bored look in his eye, confirming the kill before charting it down and looking to some other infinite list.
“Charles Alel, take to the stand.”
Alel grimaced as he stepped forward. Really? Couldn’t even use his preferred nickname? No matter. His mind was racing with things he could say to keep from dying, though it came up blank as the judge read through his charges. All too soon, Alel heard the judge draw to a close, not even registering when asked how he wanted to die. He needed time, though it wasn’t something he had. Maybe if he could just... get a few more minutes, he could -
“Charles. Choose, or be disintegrated quickly and painfully within the minute.” A magic hourglass flipped, the sand draining ten times faster than it should have.
Suddenly, Alel had a spark of an idea - though, whether or not the magic of the courthouse would even be able to carry through such a thing, he did not know. Alel’s heart beat harder and faster as the last grains of sand hit the bottom of the hourglass.
“I wish to die in every way.” The words flew from his mouth, unable to think of anything else in the moment. The judge had preemptively raised his gavel, though hesitated with Alel’s words. He didn’t look bored or unpleased, but surprised. Curious, even. It *was* a fitting punishment, an undying death set to repeat over and over, and who knows if the courthouse could even do it. An infinite death.
The judge merely locked eyes with Alel, raising his gavel higher before striking downwards. Alel could feel his heart beating quickly as silence filled the chamber. He could feel the eyes of other prisoners as well as the judge on him. His heart was still beating, though rapid from the adrenaline.
A few seconds passed, as Alel began to calm... only to grip his chest in agony, pain wracking his entire body. His heart began to beat faster, and harder, as though it were about to burst within his chest - and then nothing. His consciousness didn’t ebb or fade, it simply ended.
Then it began. Alel rose with a gasp, sucking the air into his aching chest. He gripped his chest and looked towards the judge’s chair - empty. How long had it been, he wondered? Alel began to stand, only to hear a sharp *snap*. He crumpled to the floor with a pained yelp, feeling more bones breaking upon making contact. He looked to his hands, now greying and withering. Old age. His eyes went blurry, and he could feel his body give way to the air in the room.
Awake once more. Dead once more. Awaken, suffer, die. That was the punishment he had chosen. Aneurysm, seizure, cancer, diarrhea, suicide - he kept going through the motions. And though he didn’t know how much time passed in between each revival, the judges seat remained empty, as did the prisoner chamber. It took all of Alel’s willpower just to keep conscious, to stay sane enough to move with what precious seconds he had.
The courthouse was carrying out his wish, killing him in every conceivable way. However, it didn’t restrict his movement. With each revival, he inched closer and closer to escape, to victory - or at least, a semblance of it. Eventually, he reached the door of the prisoners chamber once more, reaching towards the door with a flayed hand. He heard a crack, one that wasn’t from his bones. It was the wood beneath his feet. Alel looked downwards, seeing rotted wood beneath his feet just before it gave way to his emaciated body.
Alel fell, helpless. As he fell, he closed his eyes. The wood was rotten, old. Left without care long enough to give way to skin and bones. He had died several times, physically - but he said *every* way. By falling, by suffocation, by cave in, by worms and dirt and seeds spreading through the Earth and into his bones, all things that wouldn’t be possible in the moment he made the wish.
This was his fate. An infinite one, instead of an eternity of peaceful non-existence. What a fool he was. Alel closed his eyes, only to open them for a time, before closing them again. Perhaps, in time, the magic of the courthouse would break. But before that, this was his undying destiny. | "Well, that didn't work out as i thought" thought Alex, while the lifeless husk of an old man was being pushed away by a magical hand. "Now what? I've heard it all, and nothing worked. The best i came up with was within my loved one's arms, but the last guy who said that got stabbed in the heart by his wife, while she was conscious and crying her heart out. I can't do that to Peggy" thoughts continued to race through his mind while the judge called him out. "Alexander Borsworth, you have been found guilty of high treason against the council of mages, acts of terrorism, grand theft and attempted murder of the Archmage. The penalty of these crimes is death. Choose your preferred method of execution, you have 30 seconds". Alex ignored the old man speaking, while he thought of new ideas and immediately discarded them. "Porking out in a feast? No, the first bite would probably be poison. Old age didn't work. Rebirth was also terrifying to watch. What the hell do i do now? I gave my life to the cause, and this is what I ge-" he got it. That one fraction of a second of clarity, and he might just have thought of the one thing that could work. He looked the judge straight in the eyes, and pronounced loudly "i wish to die in battle, defending this world from the greatest threat known to it, and be remembered by all inhabitants of this planet, past present and future, as the hero who ended it all". The judge looked at Alex, and begrudgingly answered "so be it" and slammed his gavel.
In the blink of an eye, Alex was no longer in the courtroom, but at the top of a white marble tower, surrounded by people he never saw yelling his name. "Alex! Watch ou-" the sentence never ended as a wave of fire engulfed the whole platform and everyone on it...everyone, except Alex. As the flames vanished, in the distance he saw the judge on the other side of the platform, staff in hand, robe torn to tatters. The judge then saw the look of confusion and surprise on Alex's eyes, lowered his staff and said "finally, you've arrived. Three thousand four hundred and seventeen years have passed since that day, since your damned wish, and now it's over. You are the last of your cursed 'rebellion', and i am the last mage in this world. Come, let us end this. It is as you wished after all" and with these words, he prepared an incantation, the last he'd ever cast, while Alex, still confused, raised his own weapon and, without realizing nor willing it, charged the judge. | 2021-06-24T10:52:50 | 2021-06-24T10:44:08 | 44 | 22 |
[WP] You have the ability to see heart-strings. You can see the connections that people have with each other. Each connection appears to be a colored line running from one person's heart to another. The colors, thickness, and texture of the line determine the strength and type of connection.
Based off of [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/godtiersuperpowers/comments/nn1e36/you_can_see_heartstrings/) thread, where people keep asking me for a writing prompt. | At first, I thought I needed to get my eyes checked.
Colored strings emanating from people's hearts, like God dumped a huge bundle of yarn across the Earth? On second thought, maybe a visit to the psychologist instead.
On the day the strings appeared, I ducked and weaved to dodge them for a few hours, flailing around the streets of Philadelphia like I had a wasp down my shirt. With time, I realized that I could walk through the strings with no problem; they simply shifted around to dodge *me.*
Strangest of all, though, was that each string would emit a musical tone if my fingers brushed it. The thinner lines had higher tones and the thicker ones sounded like the *thung* of an upright bass. I could never make sense of this apparent instrumentation, and - oh, yeah - I didn't have a chance to practice anyway, since my own heart had zero strings attached to it.
I talk to people only as much as necessary: pleasantries, small talk, and a "thank you" to the cashier at 7-11. I work as an IT consultant at Liberty Solutions, so I am generally able to avoid people and communicate through short, snappy emails. The office, however - like most other social settings - is dense with strings.
The boss's heart has a fucking web coming out of it but the strings are thin and dully tinted. They make horrible, discordant sounds when I graze them. Jane, his friendly secretary, has strong, bright connections with everyone, and the lines from her heart sound like early-90s pop music.
I decided to test a theory one day. I saw that Jack had a strong blue-line connection with Sandra but never talked to her, so I yanked on Jack's string and caused him to spill lukewarm coffee on her desk. The strings, of course, are invisible to everyone but me, so he just looked like a klutz. He apologetically began to clean up and they got to talking. Three months later, they started dating.
I started to seek out the connections between people in my spare time and strengthen them where I could, often through a simple nudge in the right direction via a string tug. I facilitated connections between small businesses and entrepreneurs, volunteers and communities desperate for help, like-minded people just looking for a new friend.
You're probably wondering if this made me come out of my shell. Not really. But I'm OK with this life - gently drawing people together who were always meant to be in each other's orbit. Every time I make something happen and see someone smile, I get a string of my own.
Sometimes, when I settle into bed for the night, I affectionately glance at the strings coming out of my heart, which feature a full spectrum of color. I pick at a few strings of varying thicknesses and listen to their faint musical tones, gradually bringing more into the mix and remembering all the people attached to them.
Then I play louder, letting the sounds fill the room, until I have created a symphony. | I really should be going to sleep, but I came from the original post and had to write something, so here I go.
\[Poem\]
I hold the fabric in my hand,
a scarlet silk thread
flowing in rhythm with the beats of my heart.
&#x200B;
Oh, how I wish I could cut it
No longer tied and imprisoned
To feelings of hidden attachment
&#x200B;
Could I end all red and scarlet ties,
Ignite it with the passion I wish to end
set my burning desires aflame
There will be no single moment of doubt
&#x200B;
I dream of dying our thread back to blue
Of days I could follow the string
Find you at the other end
And love you as one loves a friend
&#x200B;
One day I will see your threads
Paying attention to details I now wish to ignore
In the sight of one of them, red and shiny as my own,
There will be another end,
Not mine
And I will be happy. | 2021-05-28T15:55:03 | 2021-05-28T15:00:01 | 789 | 39 |
[WP] world war 3 is caused by the misplacement of a pencil sharpener. | Some blamed the economy for World War 3, although most didn't understand what the economy was.
Some blamed the development of nuclear weapons in countries that countries that already owned nuclear weapons had decided didn't need nuclear weapons.
Some blamed over population, the drought of 2103, the price of oil, immigration, religion, whatever the media were telling them to blame. It was easier to blame something than try and prevent the situation.
Nobody blamed the misplaced sharpener, though it was as much to blame as anything else.
If the sharpener hadn't been misplaced, then Jack wouldn't have been late leaving school after spending twenty minutes fruitlessly trying to find it.
If Jack hadn't been late leaving school, then his mother wouldn't have left her parking space at 3.24pm, she wouldn't have been driving down the dual carriageway towards home at 3.32pm and she wouldn't have crashed into a red Renault Megane carrying a wife and husband at 74mph in a rush to get home before 4pm when a package was being delivered containing a book she had been waiting to read for months.
If she hadn't have crashed into a red Renault Megane, then Rachel would have been able to tell Oliver she was pregnant, after months of trying, instead of telling him it was going to be okay as the firemen tried cutting them both out before dying of blood loss beside him.
If Rachel and Oliver hadn't died of blood loss, then they would have brought up a beautiful boy, Charlie, who would shine at school and continue shining all through university and would stay shining as he became a lecturer.
If Charlie had had the chance to exist and become a lecturer, he would have taught a young man right at the very end of his career, called James, to see the world in a different way who would then go on to write books that would inspire whole generations of students after him.
If James had written any of his books about politics, money, life and just how to think, then a young woman called Grace would have read them, felt differently about everything and want to change society around her.
If Grace had read the books, she would have taken a real interest in the politics course she was taking, she would have got more involved with communities around her and eventually, after many years of hard work, campaigning and taking every opportunity presented to her, she would have run for President of the USA in 2100 and she would have won.
If Grace had become President of the USA in 2100, negotiations would never have taken a turn for the worst, explosions would not shake the homes of many, children would not be dying in their parents' arms, brothers would not be fighting brothers across borders that only existed on pieces of paper for causes they did not entirely believe in and all for a misplaced sharpener.
Ah but what if? | The starving countries had held onto their nuclear arms desperately. It was a complex, pivotal, and gossiped treaty. The pencil tip broke on the signature. General Tom looked atop his desk for the sharpener. It was not there. He looked on his bookshelf, on the ground, and around his little office. It was not there. Then General Tom asked his secretary. She had not seen it. General Tom was confused because he usually kept his pencil sharpener nearby.
The secretary asked, "Why are you signing the treaty with a pencil?"
General Tom chuckled and sighed and said "I don't know" and continued to look for his pencil sharpener. The ambassadors of the fat countries were bewildered and offered him pens. He did not accept them.
Eventually he said "I don't know where it is. I must have misplaced it." | 2013-11-26T13:56:24 | 2013-11-26T12:22:11 | 47 | 16 |
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it! | "Hello, neighbour; I can't help but notice that you've built a colony on our planet." The thing was nine feet tall but so spindly it looked like it could fold up into a suitcase. "It's just, this is our planet already and you haven't got a permit."
"A permit?" I said, too bemused to express my shock.
"Of course a permit - you can't just go building colonies on other people's planets."
"But I've been here 25 years!" I said.
"We decided to give it a couple decades and see if you were just visiting but you really seem to have settled in, haven't you?" it said, stooping parallel to the ground and pushing through the airlock. It picked up my teapot between two fingers-like-spider-legs, and held it at eye level. "Settled right in."
I spent a moment in bemused silence as it peered with an unimpressed expression around my cluttered hovel.
"I've been alone, you see," I said.
"Have you?" it replied, head pivoting sinuously towards me.
"And I haven't had any visitors until now so I've not really kept it in a presentable state."
"I can see that. Not that it matters, you'll have to go back to your planet if you don't have a permit."
"But my planet has been destroyed!"
"What? Which one, Mercury?"
"No, Earth!"
"The blue one?"
"Yes the blue one, third rock."
"Third rock," it said, contemplating. "Yes, very wet, isn't it?"
"Yes very wet."
"You're mostly water, aren't you? I hear you can leak to death, is that right?"
"Not under most circumstances!"
"Anyway, what destroyed your planet?"
"Nuclear holocaust."
"You're still at the nuclear stage? How antique. Well, you'll have to go back. We'll fix it up for you."
"Fix it--do you understand, you gangly Martian, I am saying it's been annihilated by nuclear weapons."
"Yes you said that, how bad can the damage be? There were no antimatter munitions? You didn't expunge the atmosphere? Any dialithic spacial inversions? Is the xband constant destabilised?"
"No I don't think so..."
"Fine then, a little nuclear winter won't be any trouble. Do you want us to restock it?"
"Restock it...?"
"With life. Uh, 'Earth life'. We've samples going back quite a while I think. You are a *chim-pan-zee*," it said, carefully enunciating the word, "are you not?"
"No, no - human! Chimps is close, though, I suppose."
"Ah. Well, I think we have some human filed away. Ok, come with me, this will probably take a few hours. Bring a sandwich."
It stood impatiently by the door as I frantically made my last Martian sandwich and joined it hesitantly as it shooed me through the door. | ""You get out there and you make us proud!"
That was the last thing I ever heard from another human. The rockets had been automated by then, sort of like self-driving cars. I received this final transmission as the bombs fell in waves, ravaging the Earth I once called home. I watched the live video feed from the isolated capsule that was now my dwelling on the harsh surface of Mars. The devastation was unbelievable. Eventually, the feed ceased.
It's been 25 years. 25 horrible, lonely years."
As he wrote this chilling passage in his diary, he heard a knock on the door. A resounding "thump-thump-thump". The jaded astronaut donned an oxygen mask, and cautiously meandered over to the door. He opened it to be greeted by a man in a tuxedo, holding a Bible.
"Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?" | 2018-03-05T07:14:27 | 2018-03-05T06:59:42 | 73 | 37 |
[WP] You come home after the worst date of your life. Sitting in your living room is Cupid, getting really drunk and wanting you to know you're the hardest person to find a mate for in history and the reason he might get fired. | Look, it's not my fault that the date was a total disaster.
Amir was a real sweetheart. If a Great White Shark in a human body could be a sweetheart, anyway. When I mispronounced his name, he caught a whiff of blood. All of my failed quips and faux paus were pieces of chum dropped into the water one by one. By the time the waiter brought the wrong dish--giving him shellfish that he was deathly allergic to instead of the chicken dumplings he'd asked for (how do you even mix those up?)--it was a full-on feeding frenzy. It took me a minute to figure out what was wrong when he clutched his throat. I thought it was an impromptu game of charades or something. It was one of the people at the neighboring tables that actually ended up dialing 911 while I was guessing, "Astronaut without a space suit?" I tried to sit in the ambulance with him, but he flipped me off.
I stopped by the liquor store on the way home, reasoning that if I wasn't going to get laid, I might as well get blackout drunk. When I walked into the apartment, I nearly pissed my pants in fear. A chubby cupid was sprawled on my sunken couch, a handle of vodka in one hand and a golden bow in the other.
"FINALLY!" He shouts, springing to his feet and gesticulating with both alcohol and bow.
"What?" Is my succinct reply.
"You know what, sweetheart? I really thought Amir was gonna work fer you. But YOU--" He drops the vodka in the midst of his flourishing gesture towards me. I dive for it and catch it, barely. "--just had to screw it up, didn't you?"
"I tried to get Allen to like you, I tried Brendon, I even tried Walter--though we all knew that one was a stretch--and you scared them all off. Floozy." The last is muttered quietly.
"I'm sorry, who are you? How did you even get in here?" I sputter, awkwardly clutching both my alcohol and his.
"I'm the god of love!" He bellowed. He drew an arrow from the golden quiver on his back and used it to point at me. "And you're gonna cost me my job!"
I blinked. He wobbled slightly as I took it all in.
"How am I gonna cost you your job?" I decided that though this was the least of my worries, it was the best place to start. As I said it, I gently ushered him toward the couch. He collapsed back into his spot, while I took a cushion a little further down.
"Jupiter has been watching you, kid." The cupid waggled the arrow at me. "And he's getting annoyed that I can't find you a match. It's not often that he troubles himself with the affairs of mortals. I think the last time was...some lady named Helen? Anyways, there's a bet going on in Olympus about how long your dry spell is gonna last. Jupiter is losing big time, and the Supreme Lord of the Heavens doesn't take that kind of thing lightly."
"A bet about my dry spell?!" I asked indignantly while cracking open the whiskey I'd brought from the liquor store.
"Lady, you're kinda a big deal." He slurred. That wasn't really an answer, but whatever.
"Okay. But...why does your job depend on me having sex? I don't get it." As I spoke, he took another swig of vodka.
"Actually, it's not the sex. My job is to make you fall in lo--Jupiter's golden sandals!" As he spoke, he waved the golden arrow in erratic arcs. He had grazed his own torso with it while he gestured crazily.
He looked at me and I saw that where there had been once been mostly sullen ambivalence, there was now glazed, mindless desire. The cupid grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him, bringing our faces painfully close together. He reeked of vodka and feta cheese.
"Wanna make love with the Greek god of love?" He tried for sultry and failed miserably.
"Uh...no?" I didn't try to blunt my words. Love is about rejection sometimes, right?
The cupid leaned closer, forcing me back until he loomed over me. An arrow slipped from his quiver and landed on my collarbone.
"Ow!" I complained. And then...suddenly, the drunken cupid was the most attractive man I'd ever seen. His wide cheeks, his mop of unruly curls, his fat rolls, his toga...I was practically ripping my own clothes off for him. I seized his round face and kissed it desperately.
"Hey, do you think I can still collect my bet money if I'm the one who ends your dry spell?" Cupid asked in between sloppy kisses.
"What do I know about gambling in Olympus?" I replied. He laughed aloud and kissed me harder.
Edit: Jupiter, not Zeus. | [Note: Whoops. I misread date as day... But I really enjoyed writing this, so I'll let it stand with apologies.]
It had been a weird day.
Sam had woken up late because, for some reason, her alarm hadn't gone off. She'd run nearly the whole way to the stop but still missed her bus. Then, standing there panting and trying to look up the timetable on her phone, a sleek black Mercedes had pulled up beside her, the window had wound down and some.. Guy had asked if she needed a lift.
He had been good looking but... That's such a weird, creepy thing to do. She'd declined as politely as she could and then waited for the next bus.
Then, in her office lobby she'd gone to try and grab a quick coffee before she went up, only for some reason her credit card got declined three times. This was not turning out to be her day. She'd been about to walk away and rush up stairs so she could get to work and call the credit card company when some other guy just lent over and, with a sleazy smile, paid for her coffee.
She'd sighed and thanked him for the gesture then run off as soon as her coffee was ready, despite him trying to trap her in small talk.
Then, during the day, Bill who she'd known for /years/... And admittedly thought was pretty cute... Made a pass at her! But she was his project lead and the work place policy on superiors mingling was /super clear/ after that law suit last year.
So when the day was finally over, after at least a half dozen winks and leers from everyone from clients to the mail boy, she'd head off. It had been a weird and exhausting day. She just wanted to listen to her music and be comfortably isolated from the world while she recovered.
But of course, she wasn't that lucky. On her walk from the bus stop back home, some guy had stepped in her way. When she tried to walk around him, he had waved in front of her face and gestured at his ears like he was taking out imaginary headphones.
With an exasperated sigh she'd taken hers out and given him a /look/. He just grinned confidently and started on some spiel about how he knew it was weird but she was just /soooo/ beautiful he couldn't pass by. As politely as she could she thanked him for the unwanted compliment, put her headphones back in and fast walked home, keeping an eye out for anymore weird guys.
Had she accidentally put on some kind of weirdo attractant today?!
Then when she got home and opened the door, she screamed, grabbing her mace from her handbag. There was some NAKED guy sitting on her couch! Dressed like a fucking angel! With a bow and arrows!!
The 'angel' looked at her, wavering slightly and waving the nearly empty bottle in his hand about as he pointed roughly of at her. "Ya know..." He slurred, "Yuir really hard work..."
[EDIT: Grammar/spelling]
[Part 2 in the comments] | 2016-09-05T21:24:23 | 2016-09-05T20:25:44 | 64 | 11 |
[WP] "Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though." | "Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..."
The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
She sat in the throne room, monitoring her fleet in both a holo screen and through the dome canopy of her capital ship as they journeyed through the stars. Where had it all gone wrong?
Humans were a curiosity, at first. No central unity, no overall leader who could feasibly represent such a diverse array of beliefs, views, ambitions, and goals. Monitors from afar indicated that they had established some sort of self-serving, imbalanced council of representatives of each "nation", unironically called "The United Nations", that was the closest thing to a head.
The entire world seemed to teeter on the edge of self-extinction, the planet scarred by conflicts and environmental disruptions, yet at the same time showed almost a gleeful rate of destruction. A notable update was when humans proved their capacity for self-destruction when a small peninsula on the north-western rim of the large body of water, called the 'Pacific Ocean', erupted in a mass of thermo-nuclear detonations. This event had garnered the attention of the Empress and her advisors, that this 'backwater' planet, which had not developed space-faring capability and seemed to be confined to their blue planet, had somehow developed nuclear capabilities. Further reports on the event indicated millions of humans dead and a disruption of the relative stability of human activity. And just a few Sol revolutions later the humans somehow went on with their lives.
The event had gained the attention of her advisors and then to her. How had a squabbling species, who had not developed space-faring capabilities, managed to harness nuclear power? She recalled how eons ago they themselves shunned its use, deemed it too crude and destructive to wield, and even as the humans struggled to move beyond kinetic-based weaponry, they already possess such a potentially destructive power.
The Empire's first mistake had been to send a fleet of scouts to the planet, ostensibly to better understand the humans. In their hubris, they underestimated the other capabilities of the humans. The Empress had watched curiosly through her Monitors, after having executed the remote scout pilots and planners for their blunder, when the humans recovered the Empire's crashed scout crafts.
It was over a dozen Sol revolutions later when human activity drew her attention. Reports showed an explosion of activity and a remarkable progress in technological development. The humans did not have an overall leader, as they somehow managed to retain their "democracy". But they had reverse-engineered the technology on those scout drones that were captured and had, in a blink of an eye to the Empress's eternal lifespan, attained space-faring capabilities. They colonized their system and quickly moved beyond, and their technological level grew by leaps and bounds.
The Empire's second mistake was to wait for much longer before making contact. The Empress had assembled The Grand Fleet and sent her representative, one of her many daughters, to make contact with the humans. She had sent the wrong daughter.
She had been brash, full of pompous pride and hubris. A small slight that would have been understandable for an upstart civilization in the presence of the Empress's grand fleet and her daughter decided to punish them for it. The humans had reacted with extraordinary brutality, pursuing the fleet and bringing such firepower to bear that would have given one of her more hawkish generals to doubt.
The humans employed unorthodox methods, exemplified when they caught her daughter's capital ship in an asteroid field. After battering the outer defenses, they had inserted squads of soldiers through ship-launched pods, and what the humans lacked in physical strength or technological level compared to the Empire's warriors, they made up in their independent tactics and ingenuity. The humans were fluid in their doctrine and exploited her Empire's warriors weaknesses as quickly as they found them. Their kinetic weapons were precise as their chemical explosives were destructive. The last reports were of 'ghosts' breaching the command room before her daughter had been captured and the capital ship towed back as a prize.
She cared not for her daughter's life, the fool who had been slighted when the human delegate looked her in the eye. But she could not afford to allow the humans to hold her hostage, and she decided that she needed to resolves this mess personally.
Now the Empress was on her way, with her a fleet thrice larger than her Grand Fleet that had been destroyed. The humans had sent a message, indicating their willingness to negotiate and patch things up. The Empress would not come unprepared.
As the Empire's fleet emerged out of space jump, they were greeted by the human fleet assembled at the agreed point. The Empress realized then why the humans had asked for such a meeting. Before her fleet loomed the humans, their ships twice their numbers and brimming with weaponry.
For the first time in eons, the Empress felt a shudder run down her back. | "Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
At the time no one could have understood what she had meant, knowing quite simply that The Empress had come to that conclusion after years of debate among her court and her military advisers. Initially, scouts were sent daily in order to retrieve human specimens for research. Each time, the scouts would return with bodies and with experimentation we learned about the human species and their ability to think for themselves and possess a means of unique governance known as "democracy". Inevitably, this meant that in both literal and abstract ways our conventional means of communication from the mothership would not reach the leaders of Humanity. Since the very first human came aboard The Empress took personal notice and would watch as the humans were interrogated. In time, she began to keep the humans as "pets" and at every sighting her fellow aristocrats would shudder in disgust. One would not be determined as wrong in assuming her view towards the Humans as anything but that of below even a slave species such as the Tarian.
"I want to speak to my domain, within an hour I will make an announcement."
An hour had come and went, members of the Court still debating on what the content of the announcement would be. Many thought it would be plausible that The Empress would declare a full scale invasion, similar to previous planets that had proved to be invulnerable to low level subversion and mind control.
They could not have been more wrong.
"Citizens of the Claxian Empire, I hereby decree the following..."
In addressing the whole entire Empire across the billions of star systems we had conquered, The Empress had already placed herself in the annals of history without even saying a word. With bated breath, the Empire watched as The Empress took off her gold emblazoned crown and placed down her sceptre, revealing to every man, woman and child that she too was a mere mortal Claxian.
"Earth shall not be invaded."
Within seconds, everything had changed.
Whether those back home on Claxia Prime knew or not, The Empress had become fascinated with human trifles such as "emotion" and "love" and saw the Humans as equals. The notion sounded preposterous even to the Lords that had volunteered to join her in conquering the Milky Way. Yet somehow she had pulled a complete turn, decades later it would appear that her conversations with various humans on such topics had broken through her carapace and like the strongest of acid, melted away her characteristic bloodlust.
"Have you lost your mind!"
The Lords yelled in unison, feeling with their tendrils that military victory and complete domination was only a planet away.
The Empress refused to say a word.
Naturally, she had work to do.
| 2017-11-05T20:21:33 | 2017-11-05T14:23:06 | 90 | 61 |
[WP] You find yourself at the gates of Heaven, unable to remember how you died. Which would be fine, if it weren't for the fact that Saint Peter started laughing hysterically as soon as he saw you and hasn't stopped since. | St. Peter chewed on his lips, trying to hold onto what I imagined was usually a dour demeanor, but it wasn't working. I watched as he tried to look everywhere but my face, grunting and snorting. Not much to look at up here. Pearly whiteness. He finally caught me square in the eye and busted out laughing.
Needless to say, I was dead, and I wasn't amused.
"What is going on." I asked.
St. Peter fell backwards and gripped his belly.
"I don't know how I got here. Did I get into heaven?" I looked past the chuckling saint, at the wide open pearly gates. "Do I...do I just walk in?" I took a few steps, but something caught the tail of my...toga?
"No. Hold on." St. Peter held me as he pushed himself off the ground. "I can't just let you through. I apologize. This isn't like me."
He stood up and leaned on his cloudy podium. He looked at me again and bit his lower lip, but this time held it together.
"I've got to...pass judgement." He said between snort-chuckles.
"That's it. Tell me what in heaven's name is so funny." I said, scowling.
"You don't remember, do you." St. Peter shook his head. "I shouldn't. You'll spend eternity knowing, you'll never shove..." At that, Peter guffawed again. I gave him a moment to compose himself. "You'll never...put those memories out of your head."
"Tell me." I said. St. Peter looked me over.
"So, there were three friends who decided to travel the world."
"Are you telling me a fucking joke?" I was livid, heaven be damned, I was dead! But St. Peter just raised his hand.
"There were three friends who decided to travel the world." He said, giving me a stern look. "One day, their plane went down over the ocean."
"Oh god, is that how I died?" St. Peter frowned at me, and I shut up.
"The three friends miraculously survived, and washed up on a deserted jungle island. Or so they thought. That night, the island's natives found them, and took them hostage."
Killed and eaten by wild cannibals, I knew it.
"The village chief approached the three friends. The chief managed to communicate an ultimatum - each of the friends were to go into the jungle and bring back fruit for the village the next morning. If they didn't they'd be killed."
Killed by a panther. Or worse, failed to find fruit. What a shitty way to die!
"The first friend came back with a fistful of berries. The second friend came back with an armful of figs. The third friend hand't yet to come back when the chief revealed his intention - to live, each friend must shove all their fruit up their ass. The first friend hesitated, and the chief swiftly lopped off his head."
Oh god.
"The second friend tried, but couldn't fit the last fig up his ass. His head was also quickly severed. It was then that the last friend came out of the jungle, carrying a...pineapple."
"Dear Christ." I said. It all came back to me.
St. Peter patted me on the shoulder. "You gave it your best shot. Go on ahead, your friends are waiting for you."
| "So, is St. Peter just a dick?" I asked Johnny, my childhood friend-cum-guide to heaven.
"Not usually. Why?"
"When I got to the Pearly Gates, he was laughing so hard I couldn't understand a thing he said, and every since then, every time I see him, he just busts up laughing."
"Tommy, my friend," replied Johnny, "do you really not remember how you died?" Slowly, I shook my head. I had been trying to remember the few instants before I found myself in front of the hysterical St. Peter. There had been some sort of animal...I think.
Johnny whipped out his iPhone. Well, not an iPhone exactly, but it was Steve Jobs's newest Heavenly ubiquitous computing device that allowed a user to access any information stored in Heaven's databases. (The Big Guy Himself had overseen the construction of the databases but used Jobs to create a new interface to replace the infinite card catalog that had been the only way to do research. There was some conjecture that Jobs had been brought to Heaven early just for this purpose, but that's a story for another time.)
Johnny fiddled with his iPhone (I hadn't figured it out quite yet, since it involved a mental connection that I hadn't mastered yet), and then his face cracked into a grin.
"Dude. Why did you think that locking yourself in a room, naked, with a six-hundred pound bear would be a good idea?"
Edit: grammar. | 2015-10-06T23:40:09 | 2015-10-06T19:26:34 | 842 | 46 |
[WP] As a teen, you daydreamed and wrote about a fictional world you created. Ten years later, you’ve now started hearing voices. They’re prayers from the inhabitants of your world. To them, it has been 1,000 years since their god abandoned them and you must make things right. |
It was easy to create something new and exciting. But it was a whole different level of awesomeness to try and balance it. A touch of evil here, a mixture of champions and heroes there, and a reason to bind them all together. That was the reasoning to keep the world interesting but at peace somewhere down the line. Or so Olivia thought.
*Get me a beer.*
She continued agonizing over what gods to create after the Fallen Seven. Those were the crueler gods. Ones who had used humans as their plaything. Ones who, after their fall from the heavenly bodies, caused havoc on the mortal plane.
*I said get me a damn beer, girl!*
They were banished and took their anger out of the lesser beings. Olivia giggled with delight as she drew a picture, a one-winged creature, feathers all plucked. The leader, Artimare, hated relative to the opposing. Olivia.
She would have continued with the story. The world was prime. The Fallen Seven as the villains, and her and her seven Guardians as the protectors of humanity. She was so happy with this concept. It would make a wonderful story.
*Thump!*
She was so engrossed in her story that she didn’t realize his fist. Amid her crayons and paper, he crouched low, coming to eye level with her. “Did you not hear me?” His breath smelled of mold and cigarettes. Her father grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling the fourteen-year-old closer. “Get me a damn beer.”
Her eyes misted, already vision filled with the image of Artimare, Fallen’s fire breathing, fouled creature. Wing continuously flapping, trying to fly back into heaven and into his rightful place.
Olivia nodded and ran for the kitchen as quick as she could to do her father’s bidding. The story would have to wait, but the world was there.
The seed has had time to be germinated. It would need more time, but it would be there to save her.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*Ten years later*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“It was hard to explain the voices. No one believed me at first. I didn’t truly believe myself either. Medication had a funny side effect, and sometimes I attributed the voices to them. If I stopped, they would grow stronger. If I continued taking the meds, they were only a dull whisper, but still there.
“I used to love writing. It was a neat escapism. I was in control of something.
Sometimes, I would dream of the people I wrote. The Fallen Seven hated these stories and would normally try to tug at my awareness, make me focus on their story. What’s the saying? Characters writing themselves?”
I turned my attention to the doctor, who was furiously writing on his notepad. He set it down after I had stopped talking. “I see. And these Fallen Seven,” he began slowly, “Do you think the’re a manifestation of your childhood?”
I shook my head, panic rising. “No, no, they’re absolutely not!”
“It might be the medication. It does have some side effects. I think we should try something else, find that balance for you.” He set his pen and notepad down, turning his full attention to her. “Think of it like calibration. When you were first admitted we had to work intensively, asking personal questions. All of this is to find the right meds for you. I think we’re getting closer – just light adjustments here to make sure you’re feeling better.”
I shook my head. “But I am feeling better. He’s gone now. I know that. Bringing him back won’t mean anything to me.”
The doctor leaned back in his chair, studying the drawings I had given him. “I think he’s gone, but he’s still around. Olivia, I feel that he still lives in your stories.”
Tears swelled in my eyes, but I forced myself to speak. “He’s gone. This isn’t him.” I grabbed the drawing from his hands, startling him. “Look, look. This is Artimare. He whispers words to people. Force them to do his biddings. He’s afraid of people too. Mainly Third Guardian Ashmoore. The Goddess of Eternal Slumber. He doesn’t like it when she allows people to die and be taken away from him!”
“Olivia,” the doctor began. “Maybe it’s time you take a break from this? Go outside with the other patients? It is a nice day for a walk, and I believe some fresh air would help calm you down.”
I shook my head and threw the paper down. They think I was insane again. The sorrowful eyes. The pursed lips, wanting to tell me that he was gone. Behind that pretense there was sympathy, as if they understood what was ‘wrong’ with me. “Take me back to my room.” I closed my mind and withdrew into myself again. If they weren’t willing to listen, then I wasn’t going to continue talking.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
That night I didn’t take my meds. The next night resulted in another refusal.
Then I dreamt it. The voices came in full force. Harder, stronger. Most important of all. The voices were a welcoming sensation. I was pulled in so many directions yet felt no touch. Only comforting thoughts.
*“We need you, please.”*
*“Who?” I asked, voice concerned.*
*“Your children.* *Please,” the united voices begged.* *“We’ve been alone for so long.* *He is growing stronger.* *The Guardians are all but defeated after a thousand years.”*
*“What can I do?” I felt so tiny, insignificant.* *I couldn’t protect my mom from him.* *I couldn’t protect myself from him.* *The doctor was right.* *I needed to get over this, need to understand that it was all in* *my mind.* *“I’m useless.”*
*“You’re Olivia.* *The leader of the Guardians.* *They died in your name.* *They could be revived if you believe in yourself.”*
*“I’m afraid…”*
*“We all are, Goddess.* *We all are.* *It doesn’t mean you have to allow this to define you.”*
*Remember Ashmoore.* *A Goddess who guides the dead.* *Her title didn’t define her.”*
*I nodded.* *“Yes, she was so gentle of soul.”*
*The voices grew louder.* *“The others await you, with stories unfulfilled.* *You know of them.* *We implore you.* *Come to us.* *Come for us.”*
*“Yes,” I replied.* | I set the box labeled “Taxes”on the garage floor and arched my back. I looked back at the half-full moving truck and sighed.
“Gotta think about it as half-empty,” I said to myself.
Thinking positive was hard the last few months since my parents passed. The drunk driver was behind new bars now, but that didn’t take away the hole in my heart. My life was upended. I had to return to my hometown I thought I had left for good. Moving back into my childhood home was a bittersweet inheritance.
A separate stack of boxes already nestled in the back corner of the garage caught my eye. They were decorated with stains and dents and all types of injuries that come with being exposed to years of garage life. Each had a fat sharpied label of “Derek” on the side. Curiosity pulled me over and I opened the flimsy lid of the top box.
“No way, they kept these?” I let out. A pipe of memories sprung a leak and nostalgia swirled within me.
It was a collection of trinkets and toys and papers from my childhood. A cardboard time capsule of things I thought were long thrown away. Sifting through I found a stack of loose leaf papers that were the meager beginnings of a fantasy story I tried to write. The Dangers of Magic and Time, I had called it. I smiled for the first time since my parents’ accident.
The rest of the unloading went quickly. I found a new energy, a spring of strength that helped move everything else into the empty rooms. It didn’t feel like moving into my parents’ old home anymore, it felt like moving back into mine.
After returning the rental truck, I caught an Uber back home and sat on the couch with a box of delivered pizza in my lap. My mother never would have let me do this, I thought. I munched happily and flipped through my teenage scribbles and reminisced about my old story. The beautiful brown Castle of Hersh, named after my favorite chocolate; the fearsome Dragon Lord, who swooped around the land mercilessly capturing innocent souls; and of course the hero, who I never was able to find the right name, that appeared through a mishap of time travel and would save the land. Or at least, he would have saved them, if I had ever written that far. The ending was always something that eluded me. The pages brought me back to my youth, and I could still hear the people shouting for their savior to come.
The physical and emotional exhaustion took a stronger toll than I realized, and the next thing I realized I was waking up to the sound of voices yelling. One rang clearer than the rest.
“Please hear us!” it said. “We need you!”
The pizza and papers were scattered on the floor, having dropped them in my doze. I searched the house for any source for the voices, but found nothing. Even poking my head out the front door, all seemed quiet.
“Oh no,” I said to myself. “I’ve gone mad.”
“You speak, oh Creator!” the voice shouted.
“And that confirms it,” I said to the unknown voice. “I’m crazy. Or dreaming.”
“It’s been a thousand long years of drought, oh God. Why have you been silent all these generations? The Dragon Lord terrorizes us day and night.”
“Dragon Lord?”
“Are you blind to our plight? The Castle of Hersh was besieged, and we long since abandoned it.”
I sat back down on my couch, head in my hands. I looked at the pages at my feet, my eye catching the very words the voices just spoke.
“You’re…you’re from my story, aren’t you.”
“Yes, oh Author! We are your creation. Your words bring us life, and without them we are lost.”
“Okay, I’m here now. What do you need from me?”
“We need our savior. Where is the time traveler? He left and never came back.”
“I… I don’t know. I never wrote the end.”
“What kind of god sends prophecy of a savior and doesn’t deliver? You owe us a rescue. You owe us an end.”
They were right. Rediscovering the world I had created all those years ago brought me hope, a spark of joy while bearing the pain of loss. Perhaps I could write again. Perhaps by writing their end, I could write myself a new beginning.
I found a pen and went to the last page. The new lines were clunky and I scratched many of them out. But the world, the story, came flooding back to me from those years ago of writing in my bedroom. Writing in class. Writing in the dark with a flashlight when I was supposed to be asleep.
“Out from the darkness,” I wrote, “a light of hope shined. Their savior had returned.” | 2020-02-28T14:35:36 | 2020-02-28T13:27:30 | 85 | 27 |
[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. | "Honey? Can you hear me? I'm back from Costco! My arms are kinda full here, could you give me a hand?
"Coming!"
Susan, my wife, called out to me just as my phone went off. I have it on vibration, so typically it just goes off once or twice. Nope, today it decided to have a full-blown orgasm. Wondering what the racket was, i swiped my phone from the coffee table and headed downstairs.
EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC. DO NOT OPEN YOUR DOORS OR WINDOWS. STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Well, that's new. Was it a prank? Judging from how it was going off incessantly, it did look rather like an official channel. I've seen this sort of thing a few times this year - when the summer got too hot and the brush dried out, the fire department would spam us with these every few days. These things always had a knack of happening at the most inopportune times as well, like in the middle of my lecture last week. The cacophony of every phone going off and how everybody was going to turn them off at once was still rather amusing, though. It was almost as if they were synchronized. Harmony via cacophony. Lovely. But i digress.
I reached the front door. I could hear Susan tapping her foot, as she was wont to do when she was becoming impatient. It was always the right foot too. She's got her quirks, as lovely as she is. As I reached for the doorknob, I realized that the message specified not to open my door. But I couldn't keep her waiting like that. Oh well, we'll hole up after she gets in.
I opened the door.
Susan was there. Beautiful as always, somehow carrying two enormous bags of groceries that seemed larger than she was. She shifted her balance so I could take one. But I didn't accept. I was too busy looking at the sky behind her. Or more precisely, the lack thereof.
The sky was gone. No, not as in empty. It's usually empty. It's *supposed* to be empty. No, it was just gone. Not the whole thing, just a square-shaped patch over there near the setting sun. There was a clear-cut square of black where the sky should be. No, not quite black. Black is a pigment. But this just felt... empty. It felt as if a puzzle piece of the universe went missing, and I was staring outside of reality. Before my eyes, the neighboring squares slowly began to flicker and break apart. The sky.. was made of pixels?
Feeling dizzy, I closed my eyes. The familiar black of my eyelids gave me a small bit of respite as I tried to process what I had just seen. Tried, mind you, as my legs crumpled beneath me, my consciousness letting go, welcoming blissful oblivion.
I opened the door.
Susan was there. Beautiful as always, somehow carrying two enormous bags of groceries that seemed larger than she was. She shifted her balance so I could take one. But I didn't accept. I was too busy looking at the sky behind her. Or more precisely, the lack thereof.
The sky was gone. No, not as in empty. It's usually empty. It's *supposed* to be empty. No, it was just gone. Not the whole thing, just a square-shaped patch over there near the setting sun. There was a square of black where the sky should be. No, not quite black. Black is a pigment. But this just felt... empty. It felt as if a puzzle piece of the universe went missing, and I was staring outside of reality. Before my eyes, the neighboring squares glitched and froze
I opened the door.
Susan was there. Beautiful as always. But that wasn't important. The sky was gone. Cannot compute
I opened the door.
I opened the door.
I opened the door.
I opened rhe door.
I openeeeeeeeeeeee
----------
"Well, that does it. Now this damn thing won't even *try* to load the skybox. What kind of moronic thrice-damned spaghetti code did you have to use to break it so fucking hard? Oh, for fuck's sake. Roll it back to patch 11.2, the resolution might be lower, but at least it won't glitch out immediately." | I feel a buzz in my pocket. I pull my phone out and see an emergency alert across the screen. "EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC."
"Panic?" I wonder out loud, "why would I panic?"
Just then I hear a knock at the front door. I walk over to it and peer through the blurry glass. It seems like my girlfriend Sophie.
"Sophie? Why are you home?" She stares back blankly. "Shouldn't you be at work right now? Why don't you have your key?"
No response. I back away from the door just as her jaw opens like a snake and a dark forked tongue crashes through the window and nearly reaches me, three yards away.
I turn and run to the bedroom closet. I pull out my grandfather's long double-barrelled shotgun and load it with buckshot. As I click the barrel back in place, a monster comes roaring through my hallway, now barely recognizable as Sophie. Her face is distorted, dark and cavernous and webbed tentacles flow out of her dress and pull her along both walls like an ooze.
I fire both barrels in quick succession. The blast is powerful, and leaves my ears ringing badly. The monster is thrown back to the end of the hallway. The remnants of Sophie's face were removed by the blast, revealing mottled gray reptilian skin. The impact of the buckshot was substantial, and covered the center and left side of the creature with green blood. Within moments, however, the worst of the wounds begin to close and its yellow eyes snap open.
I back away, ejecting the spent shells and fumbling for more from my shirt pocket. The creature's face opens into a wide, horrible grin. The tongue shoots out again, farther this time, and locks around my chest like a steel cable. It pulls me in while flying toward me like a smoke cloud. I am engulfed into the abyss of its mouth.
I regain consciousness while walking in the middle of the street. I have no control over my body, and I notice other people walking nearby, although I can't turn my head to look at them. There are no cars on the road. I walk for miles, feeling no fatigue and keeping a steady pace. I arrive to a house and knock on a door. My mind is foggy and I feel numb, but I know this house. This is my parents house...
I haven't written in a long time and I'm rusty. Nice prompt! Edit: typo. | 2019-01-12T07:28:39 | 2019-01-12T03:53:40 | 354 | 190 |
[WP] There is a vampire ruling your village, but he's mostly a nice guy who doesn't do that bad a job a ruler, so it's our job as the village's diplomat to explain to every well meaning adventurer and knight that comes your way that you weren't brainwashed and you honestly don't want him to die. | "He's a monster!" the young knight stammered, his hazel eyes wide with disbelief. "A monster cannot.."
"Cannot what?" I asked "Be good? Be benevolent? Rule justly?" His shiny breastplate glistened in the flickering torchlight of the mob that surrounded us. In the fading sunset, the murmur of the crowd hummed while the young knight's breathing quickened.
"You've been bewitched! You, all of them!" the panic had set in and he searched the faces of the townsfolk for some inkling of truth behind his words. He found none.
I hushed my many neighbours and stared up at the sky; red at night, shepherds delight. In a way, the Lord of our town was like a shepherd. He tended to the needs of us as he would do a flock of sheep, guided us towards prosperity and safety, and cared for us as though we were his children. In fact, we were the children's children's children of his first wards; we were latest in a generation of villagers to have called him our Lord. For a little while longer, our Lord would stay asleep until the last tendrils of the suns light had slipped away into the darkening horizon.
"There is no spell I know of that's stronger than that of love." I began, half preaching to the young knight and half reassuring the townsfolk themselves. "A love grown from mutual respect, fondness and care. Our Lord is our Lord because we love him, and that spell was woven by him in our hearts for the many great and good deeds he has done for this village and it's people." The townsfolk all agreed and the sound seemed to snuff out the last light of hope in the young knight's heart.
"Please," he begged. "Please just let me go.. I swear it, I shall never return to this place for as long as I live. I will give you my sword and swear the oath upon it." His adolescent frame was hunched and desperate, ropes knotted strongly holding his hands behind his back. His blonde hair dripped with the sweat of fear, and his head had begun to swing low as not to catch a single eye of those crowded around him.
"Please, let me go."
"Go? I am truly sorry, young knight." I reached below and gripped the golden pommel of his virgin sword. It felt cold in my palm, but solid. Well made with the interestingly molded shape of a closed fist, its ring finger adorned with the ring bearing the Cross of the Saviour. "You came here seeking a monster in our Lord, as so many have before you. My father's father once let a boy go and he returned emboldened by the strength of a small party of heroes. Those heroes, bearing the same Cross as your sword, did indeed die at the hands of our Lord. Regretfully, he did end them." I drew in a deep breath as I brought the blade upright, enough to see myself in its reflection.
"But not before those men killed a handful of our villagers."
The action was swift, the crowd fell silent. I drew the blade deftly across the young knight's throat, and no sound was heard that instant save for the spilling of fresh blood on the courtyard cobblestones and the gasps of a dying boy. Men stepped forward from the crowd to remove the body and bury it, like the many before him, in the crypts of the abandoned Church. The sword I returned to its owner, no man should see the afterlife unarmed. Others came with pails of water to wash away the blood that was pooling at my feet.
I greeted the Lord with a bow and a warm smile, he returned it sleepily as he swung out from the coffin he lays to rest in.
"And how was the day, my friend?" he asked.
"Blissfully uneventful, my Lord." came the reply. "The young knight who followed you here the day before became convinced that this must be the least interesting village he has ever visited. He made his way West in the afternoon, speaking of a desire for adventure and monsters."
"Monsters?" the Lord asked, a bemused grin on his face. "I wonder what his face would look like if he'd known a vampire ruled this sleepy town?"
The young knight's face, from only moments earlier, flashed across my memory, his hazel eyes rolling back to the heavens and his mouth gaping like a fish out of water.
"I'm not sure, my Lord." I said "I suspect he'd probably think we villagers were the monsters for choosing to live such safe and unexciting lives." | "Sir, there is another one" said to me my secretary, "Thank you, send him in". A tall, blond masculine man entered my office, almost breaking my door. "Huzzah! Hello to you my good sir, I am sir Justice of the Seven Rivers. You can consider your little blood sucking problem as done. Just point me to this vile creature and I shall slay it with all my might." At that point, he started to scream many battle cries that I think made my ears bleed a bit. After he calmed down I resumed "well, this is what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, we would like you to NOT kill Kevin" "Who is Kevin?" "He is the vampire". It seems like the warrior processed something in his mind as his expression was the face of a lost child. "I do not follow, I need to kill the creature AND his name is Kevin?" "Not at all. You see, when he moved to our town people were skeptical but it seems like he is a very nice guy. Just this week he got an award from the Mayer for his voluntary work. He even helped to build us a school" "What, in the holy name of God, is school?" "It is a building where we send our children to learn to better their lives" "You are sending that monster your small ones? I think I am going to puke *a few overly dramatic gag attempts* You are in need of my help more than I thought, I must make haste" it seemed like this one was dumb as the rest of them, it was time for plan B. " Actually, yes we do need your help but the evil vampire is not here, he is in the forest of epic battles. You must go there and save us" "No worry my small non-masculine man. But I do not know where this forest resides, could you specify a little more?" "Of course, it is just North to the gulf of a thousand deaths" "I like the sound of that but do not know where that is either" " You know what, just start heading to the East and ask people on the way, I'm sure they will help a great hero as you" "Thank you sir" and then he stormed out of the door. The door opened again "Oh, hi Kevin. How are you?" "I'm doing just fine, was the guy that ran out of your office.." "yes, another one. What are you doing here?" "I made some of your favorite pie and thought to bring it to you" "Thank you, Kevin, you're such a great guy". | 2017-09-07T02:59:08 | 2017-09-07T00:35:13 | 319 | 26 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty. | "Hey. Has any of you seen my cat?"
Jasmine knew that was an odd question to ask each of them. Every species aboard the ship seemed to have some sort of disdain for it.
"Your cat?" One of them asked, their eyes shrinking at the short and simple word.
"Yeah. You know? Little fuzzy thing. Four legs. A tail? My cat. Sarah?"
That sparked a wave of quick arguing and eventually shouting amongst the rest of the crew. While she didn't have a complete grasp on all the different languages, she understood they all knew Sarah's name. They kept screaming it in a variety of tongues she couldn't yet grasp and it was grating on her nerves.
"What do you mean you can't find it?!"
While she was all for him joining the search effort, Jasmine just wanted Durk to put her back down. He was really strong and it didn't help anyone if he was scared.
"Durk, put me down. What's wrong with you??"
"Your apex predator is lose on the ship?! Are you mad? Why would unleash such a thing on us! I thought we were friends?"
"Slow down!" She snapped, "What are you talking about?"
"You let that thing loose! And it's in here with us. We're going to die because of you."
"Durk, it's just a cat. They're harmless."
"Only to you. Something with so many teeth and claws. It's only a matter of time before it attacks. The smaller of us are especially at risk."
"Sarah won't hurt anyone. She loves you guys. She rubbed your leg."
They were interrupted by another frantic crewmate. To both of their concern, she was covered in mild scratches, and she carried a frenzied look.
"Has anyone seen Bimoe?! She was right behind me!"
"Nari? Where's my cat?"
"Kitty?!" Nari cried, "That thing? We were checking our defense array. And this thing pounced on us-"
"Wait, wait, wait-" Jasmine stopped. "The defense array?"
"Yes. Jazz, Bimoe was behind me!" Nari cried again.
Everyone took off running. Most for the fear of the safety of their armory specialist. One for her pet.
The little red dots scattered around the room still danced as they entered.
"Behold! I have conquered this beast as my own!"
Bimoe had managed to jump on Sarah's collar. While most cats would take this as a serious offense, the lazy Maine Coon simply enjoyed the sensation. Things only went downhill for Bimoe as the cat spotted her real owner, purred, and affectionately rolled onto it's back.
"I was wrong! Help me! Help me!"
The casualties were simple. One case of minor lacerations and one slightly smushed Carzietian. But the real reason for this whole ordeal soon came to light.
"Alright: which one of you ate her catnip?"
---
Having mobile app issues.
Like this story? Criticism and feedback are always welcome! r/Jamaican_Dynamite | „Here kitty, kitty, kitty...“ said the human while being in the cargo bay. I never understood that creature, but I’m still fairly new to this crew. But that human is still a mystery to me. However, the captain ordered us to get some of the cargo we need to ship. As I grabbed the inside of the crate, something damaged my skin really bad and a loud „hiss“ appeared. Shocked, I let go what I held and took a step back. That beast again, tried to kill me. But the human ran to me and grabbed with his hands inside the box. „Stay back whit that creature from death!“ i screamed. That predator still tried to attack the human with its hissing sound and claws sharper than anything I saw in my live. „What’s your problem?“ he than asked „ it’s a beautiful cute little kitty“. I said then „ stay here with that devils beast while I bring the loot, I mean the goods to the captain“ | 2019-11-21T07:46:04 | 2019-11-21T06:21:21 | 181 | 21 |
[WP] In World War II, an American battalion has an enlisted dog that serves as their mascot. Throughout the war, the dog has been "promoted" several times. However, after a devastating defeat, the soldiers suddenly find that the dog is the highest-ranking surviving officer. | It was a brilliant PR move by one of the young interns—of all people—in my office, the ever-solemn-never-silly-suggestions office of the U.S. Secretary of War. *Use a dog as a mascot*. Have man's best friend fight along with him in the war. Show the world how the American's can't be in the wrong, because we have a *dog* on our side. Meanwhile the Axis powers are all Swastika and furor. It was almost as genius an idea as Rosie was, which was honestly probably where the kid got the idea from. Bring the whole family into the war, I guess. Minus the baby. Children in war would never do.
But, being the Secretary of War, I also saw the dog as a power move. It told the enemy that we were so confident in our armies that we didn't have to overcompensate with images of a black eagle or a roaring lion. It sent a message: You may have Hitler, but we have a damn cute Jack Russell Terrier.
Jacky's breed was selected for his intelligence by yours truly after I approved the crazy idea. You could train Jacky to hold torn Nazi uniforms in his mouth, wear a U.S. Army helmet and take a picture. You could even get him to do it puffing his chest out and smiling. Besides, he was small and easy to transport in the war. Mostly we had him hanging out with the crazy photojournalists, which I could tell they really liked, even though it meant Jacky shared their bunk or their cot. Not a few reports reached my ears of our infantrymen sneaking cuddle time with Jacky, especially after a brutal day of battle. But being assigned to the photojournalists kept Jacky safe since we didn't send them out to take pictures until after we had cleared the area.
Jacky had come into the war only about half way through, but by the end, he had been promoted time and again for having been part of one successful campaign after another. He was promoted so often that after one of our greatest failures overseas, a push that had cost us 50,000 men, he was the highest-ranking official in that theater of war.
Thankfully, soon after that, the war ended and Americans stopped dying. People welcomed Jacky home with teary eyes because he meant that even if their sons hadn't made it back home alive, the world would be going back to normal. The fighting had stopped.
We made sure to hold a press conference and show off Jacky's pearly whites to the cameras. Jacky had seen war, but he was the same ol' smiling, happy dog. We could be like that again too.
And then came the part in the conference where Jacky was supposed to "return home". He got off the plane, sauntered through a line of saluting soldiers, and then he locked eyes with his owner, Katherine. Katherine was a friend of my wife's friend, and she had graciously "enlisted" Jacky because I told her he would be a great asset to the American people. A beacon of hope. He was so smart that next to him, there was no other option.
And so at the conference, Jacky's owner, Katherine, knelt down at the end of that saluting line and spread her arms out to welcome home her hero, her beautiful boy. I watched nervously over the T.V. as she did so, because all the cameras turned on her. The media always knows how to milk a moment.
Except Jacky looked at her and then looked away. He turned around, back facing her, as if looking for someone else. Then, he spotted a photojournalist who was off to the side of the line taking pictures, bolted to him and jumped up carelessly so that the man had to catch Jacky.
Katherine looked hurt, even though she smiled and shook her head, as if to say, "Dogs will be dogs." And then she went over to the photojournalist and they spoke as she grabbed Jacky from him and pet him in front of the cameras. The journalist played along, but Jacky kept looking back at him and trying to get into his arms instead. So the reporter narrating the event on T.V. shrugged it off, and the cameras cut to some footage of soldiers raising an American flag.
I sighed with relief. The event was over and had gone smoothly enough. But Jacky and I both knew what his owner would soon suspect: that dog had never seen Katherine before in his life. That dog wasn't Jacky. Jacky hadn't been *Katherine's Jacky* for a long time. It was a brutal war where trained, armed soldiers died by the thousands. How could we expect a cute Jack Russell Terrier to survive it? | So here we were. A dog, a dog for crying out loud, was the highest ranking officer that survived. I stared at the canine, studying her fluffy fur. The grey uniform she wore was decorated with badges, one even being a golden painted badge that read, “I’m the best girl!”
This...This is why we lost. Worth had the same feeling, and he stared. “Stupid dog,” He hissed. Biscuit stopped her wagging tail and stared at Private Worth.
“Hey, she’s smarter than yourself, Worth!” Private Scott retorted. Then, the day continued into one that would scar me forever.
All of the sudden, Biscuit walked up to him. She seemed so focused on something. The other soldiers and I stared in interest, but I think we were all more confused. Then, Biscuit grabbed Worth’s gun and took it in her mouth and shot Worth in the leg.
Private Scott, Private Khris, and I ran up to him but we were quickly stopped when Biscuit rapidly fired in the area around us, dust flying from the bulletshot ground.
Worth was leaning on Private Sven as the two tried to treat his wound, but Biscuit didn’t like that fact. Bullets flew from the firearm and into Worth’s leg. He screamed in agony, falling to the ground.
We were getting shot up by a dog.
Biscuit stared at us, all of the soldiers
standing and huddling in worry. Why we didn’t shoot the mutt, I don’t know. She shot ar my feet, and I leapt back. Then, she shot at a spot beside Worth. I hurried over to the land.
Biscuit continued sorting the soldiers until she looked at me. She shot my legs and forced me into the ground. I shut my eyes.
But when she shot, nothing happened. The bullets were gone.
When the gun only let out clicks, everyone sighed in relief and ran up to her, snatching the gun from her mouth faster than when Krauts were shooting at us.
Private Worth ripped the good girl pin from her chest. “Wait, Worth, don’t!” I shouted, but it was too late. Biscuit resumed her stance, bearing her teeth. Once he saw her grab his knife, he quickly readjusted the pin and backed up.
Worth went missing soon after.
We don’t know what happened to him but we think Biscuit had something to do with it.
No. We know she did. I’m writing this down because she found me. She’s shooting up the door and I don’t think I’ll live. Please, never insult dogs. Please.
Arf. | 2018-11-07T16:47:48 | 2018-11-07T16:40:16 | 31 | 17 |
[WP] It seemed like a perfect magical deal. When any child descended from you is born you grow younger by a single year. So you agree, planning on a big family and living to a ripe old age. Years later however you find yourself rapidly growing younger and regret not understanding exponential growth. | The deal seemed like the most incredible of gifts. The fae would be bequeathing me the talents, instincts, and knowledge of an extraordinary farmer. And as it flowed through me, as I reached for information I’d never learned but was there, I nearly wept with the knowledge that my village would no longer starve. Not only that; we would prosper. I spread my abilities across our land like a sun sliding across the sky, helping ensure growth from every seed I touched.
The trade I made with the fae, what I was to give, was a strange one. She declared that for every child descended from me that was born, I would age backwards by a single year. How astounding a gift to be able to know that my children would have their mother there for them through the years, strong as I had always been, my brain still filled with knowledge to impart, and able to bounce my grandchildren on my knee with barely any effort.
Of course, fae don’t make deals with the cunning. I was no mathematician. And that was where I failed.
Gregory and I had nine children, always wanting a large family, and having the gift of life bestowed upon me for every child I had was the perfect accompaniment to that. Our lives were wondrous, though difficult at times, of course. Such a houseful of children do not make for an easy, uncomplicated life. But I wouldn’t have traded it for anything, and they eventually grew up, finding partners of their own. And starting to have children of their own.
After the eight years of extra time, and then waiting as my children grew to adulthood, I eagerly awaited the arrival of a grandchild, as most parents do. The family reunions were filled with love and laughter and good food, and children. So many little ones, each year passing sending me back another.
It wasn’t a lightbulb moment, exactly, when I figured it out. More like my brain giving into the cognitive dissonance that only humans are strange enough to be capable of. When I was realizing what would happen, I had six grandchildren. My children had grown, I’d aged another twenty years, so I’d had time. But I realized the years coming would be spent watching my family die. My children and their children, until I was overcome with time, blinking into nothingness.
Sitting at my kitchen table beside Gregory, his expression was a mixture of confusion, sadness, and horror. “You…didn’t realize?” he asked.
That’s when I found out that he’d known the implications all along, or at least, far longer than I had. He’d assumed my generous sacrifice was for the good of the village, for our prosperous farmlands extending across vast stretches of lands. When he noticed that I only stared back sadly, he took my face in his hand and said, “I’m only sorry I won’t be here to care for you. That we won’t grow old together. But we still have *time* together. And that’s what matters. Right?”
It took me weeks to come to terms with it, and to see it from Gregory’s perspective. Each of my children had either somewhere between one and three of their own, seventeen all together. Seventeen years I was gifted, as Gregory grew older, leaving me forty-eight years old. Then came the great-grandchildren, but by the time the first had been born, I’d found myself at Gregory’s bedside, holding his hand as he passed.
As the years ticked by, those seventeen grandchildren started to have children of their own, and every time I heard the news, I kept track of it on my calendar, marking off the years that ticked back in a day. Time goes by quicker as you get older, they say, and I found it true. But I still enjoyed every moment, every second. I met with my descendants ever holiday, of course, but many still lived locally. We often got together for dinner just because, and when you have such a huge family, just because fills up a lot of meals.
Eventually, one of my grandchildren, Dorothy, took me aside and explained that everyone had decided to stop having children for now. I was eighteen at this point, and that was a gift, to be given the time it would take for my great-grandchildren to grow up. But I told her that, while I accepted that generous gift for what it was, I wouldn’t dream of depriving anyone of birthing children they wanted.
I told Dorothy that I wanted no more of my descendants to know of the fate that awaited me, that they were not to tell any of my great-grandchildren. I couldn’t bear to saddle them with that, to build their families under the burden of that knowledge. And I had had so many years gifted to me that I truly was satisfied with my life as it had been. With that, I said goodbye, moved abroad, and set up a new life.
My great-grandchildren grew up, the years ticked by, I grew older, and then at twenty-nine, I received the news of the next child, and it began once again. I considered finding someone with which to spend the years I had, but how could I explain the way it would end? And who would want to give away thirty years of your life to someone who would shrink away before your very eyes? So, I did the only thing I could. I lived a life as fulfilling as I was able, taking each day in and savoring it like a spoonful of rich chocolate cake.
Each day, I would look in the mirror and smile. I did that until the next child was born. I was never even promised safety from an accidental death, I mused at one point. But I assume that this was the result the fae was hoping for, the outsmarting of a human the only goal she’d had. Then, the morning I learned of the next child’s birth, I decided to determine my end.
To let myself wither away wasn’t something I wanted to experience either, but to do it alone or in the care of strangers in some orphanage would be horrible. So, instead, I spent the next day going through photographs, of which there were thousands. And as I flipped through the endless pages of dozens of photo albums, I knew the fae felt it had gotten the better of me, but I’d had a fuller life than any could imagine.
Every photo let me recall the life that had been borne from mine, some prospering as Gregory and I had, some dying young or suffering horrible tragedy. But that was what life consisted of, and there was no getting around it. I ensured my town would thrive in success and prosper, but that was the end of it. I had no other control over my world other than what was natural.
We make deals with ourselves like one would with the fae all the time, it became apparent as I looked over the generations before me.
You trade a future with a partner for a career elsewhere, hoping you’re making the right decision, thinking you’ll grow to resent them for an opportunity missed. But you never know. The future that awaited you with them as a significant other could have been buoyant with happiness and brought you exactly what would make you happy.
Or you make those little choices, the ones only visible in hindsight, barely noticeable until you realize the outcomes that resulted from them. Meeting a friend because you decide to attend a party you were reluctant to go out for. Leaving early for work lets you enjoy the sight of a family of ducks crossing the road. Or all the moments you never knew you could have had, crushed by a butterfly effect of ignorance.
We all make choices and take certain paths in lieu of others. The only thing we all share is that the path that stretches out before us is the same. From our entrance into the world, overcome with brightness and sound, to our demise, whether with a bang or a whimper, we all begin, and we all end.
I watched the sun set for the last time that evening and, as it dipped below the horizon, leaving a blur of colors behind, I knew I was as satisfied with my life as Gregory had been when I’d last held his hand.
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc ?, Interlude ?: Archcommander Varney)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The National High Energy and Temperature Lab was abuzz.** Professor Hale bustled into the main containment center, where the primordial plasma they'd been studying for the past ten years was evolving. He gave the Archcommander by his side a friendly nod as he passed.
"It's the most incredible thing," Professor Hale said. "The mass-energy equivalent just keeps going up exponentially! We're lucky the late—or should I say early—Alexandre Hubert wasn't a particularly heavy man; it's all we can do to contain the Hubert particles, given how much energy they're emitting right now."
Archcommander Varney grunted. "Hubert particles, eh? Is that what you eggheads are calling them?"
Professor Hale nodded ruefully. "We scientists, er... we're not great at names. They're often descriptors more than anything."
Archcommander Varney eyed the HEaT Lab name tag on Professor Hale's lapel. "Well, I appreciate your honesty. You said they're emitting energy—could we use them as power sources?"
Professor Hale hesitated. "Not... not yet. We... could try, but there are these discontinuous... jumps. It's impossible to track down everyone who has the Hubert gene—it's a good third of the population, by what we can tell—so we can't really control the rate at which the particles go back in time. We're expecting the Hubert particles to stabilize soon. But!" Professor Hale pointed to a large metal cylinder with several ominously-groaning pipes leading out from it. "In the meantime! We're getting the most *fascinating* data about high-energy particles; we actually think we've figured out how materializer-type superhumans work. At these energies, we can actually *observe* higher-dimensional motion—"
Archcommander Varney held up a hand to cut him off. "I read as much in your report. You don't need to butter me up, Hale. Your department's grant has already been approved."
Professor Hale wilted slightly. "I—well, I wasn't after more money, Archcommander. It's simply fascinating how—"
"Professor! Professor!" A flushed, out-of-breath assistant ran up to the two of them. Archcommander Varney gave him a disapproving look, which he ignored. "The Hubert particles—they're—the cosmological dating results came back. We've figured out what time period they're from."
"Oh?" Professor Hale raised his eyebrows.
"They've passed the thirteen billion year mark. The particles just degenerated into quark-gluon plasma, and they're heating up *quickly*." The assistant handed Professor Hale a sheaf of papers.
"How quickly? Should we enact the shutdown protocols?" Archcommander Varney asked.
"No need. It's plateauing," Professor Hale absently remarked, rummaging through the data he'd been given. "I was wondering why... but if ol' Hubert's had thirteen billion descendants by now, then his effective age—and that of his particles—is nearing the beginning of the universe. Depending on the reference frame that the one-year intervals are being taken from... we might see some serious time dilation."
"And for those of us who haven't studied astrophysics?" Archcommander Varney asked dryly.
Professor Hale frowned. "That... that was the version for... oh, very well." He grinned. "We've been expecting this moment. The particles that used to make up Hubert's body have been rapidly reverting to the state they were in at the beginning of the universe, due to that silly fairy curse he got himself into way back in the 1700s. With me so far?"
The Archcommander frowned. "Yes. Are you saying that... these... Hubert particles... could show us what was here *before* the beginning of the universe?"
"No! No, no, no, simply for the reason that there is no such *thing* as before the beginning of the universe. We can only approach that beginning point, getting infinitesimally close, but never reaching it. That's what the Hubert particles are doing right now: their mass-energy content has stabilized. They've gotten more or less as close to the beginning of the universe as they have been, reverting to thirteen billion years ago. Timeur, this is *amazing!*" He clapped the assistant on the back. "Oh, now that they're stable, they'll be infinitely easier to work with!"
"They're giving off 12 zottaelectronvolts," Timeur added. "*Per particle.* And the discontinuities in their energy content have finally smoothed out. Not to wax poetic, sir, but... Hubert's particles are at the state, and the temperature, that they were during the Big Bang. These are the very fires of the universe we're containing, here."
Archcommander Varney raised his eyebrows, looking between the two scientists. "Put it in military terms for me. What are these Hubert particles good for? Power sources? Energy weapons? Give me something I can bring back to Command."
Professor Hale rubbed his chin. "Well... these particles are a practically unlimited wellspring of power, with an energy density far beyond anything we've ever documented. So... what are they good for?" A vulpine smile crept across his face. "More or less... *everything.*"
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. I'm not quite sure where this fits into the timeline yet, but it just felt like it fit in the universe. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-04-15T11:13:05 | 2021-04-15T10:44:40 | 146 | 104 |
[WP] Your small, otherwise unimpressive kingdom is suddenly the strongest power in the land, for the sole reason that unlike other kings, you are happy to work with the local orcs, goblins, dragons, and other races usually attacked on sight. | “My lord!”
King Paiser glanced back behind him, as a Elvish page ran up, a handful of papers in his arms. He racked his mind for a moment, before mentally snapping his fingers. “Kever, wasn't it?”
“Y-Yes, my lord. I just received news from Sir K'Tenar on the western border.”
The king nodded, then gestured for the page to follow after him. “Good news, I hope?”
“Yes, my lord. He's successfully repelled King Nigelian's forces.”
“Already?”
“Yes, my lord.” The page flipped through some of the papers. “Sir K'Tenar says that he negotiated with some of the local goblin population, paying them to harass Nigelian's supply lines. It sounds like he got a good deal from them as well.”
“I imagine so. No doubt there were a few goblins who remember the last time Nigelian tried to exterminate them.”
The king walked on, passing out of the throne room and nodding to a pair of orcish guards as he passed. “Anything else to report?”
“Sir K'Tenar mentioned that a number of orcs passed over the border and came to him seeking blood sanctuary. He requested permission to let them join his house, apparently they gave him intelligence on Nigelian's forces and even joined in the final push to drive them out. He says that without them, he probably wouldn't have lasted out the month.”
“I see. And out of curiosity, were there any Humans who also defected?”
“A few- spouses and blood-brothers, I imagine.”
“I suppose that's to be expected.”
It was a strange thing. For centuries, races had squabbled. Orcs, Humans, Fae, they'd all glowered at each other over their borders, occasionally launching campaigns against anyone who dared to not obey the borders people drew on a map. Humans were chased from the forests, Orcs chased from the plains, Elves chased from the coasts. Until there'd been no where else to go, leaving a handful of refugees of all kinds stuck in a valley with nothing but mountains and angry kingdoms surrounding them. King Paiser's grandfather had been one of them, and in a moment of desperation, they'd all decided to set aside their differences and bunker down together.
And strangely, it had worked.
Human zealots found themselves held off by Orcish armor. Orcish phalanxes were stymied by Goblin traps. Goblin raiders were picked off by Elvish arrows, and Elvish bandits caught by Human pikemen. And so the valley survived, caught in a vice but unbreaking. Enemies were reluctant to invade and harm their own kind- or worse, risk infuriating their neighbors. And all the while, the former refugees now found themselves surprisingly prosperous, as each group shared what they had and built upon the others. And every time some fool like Nigelian got too big for his britches and decided to try and tried to put an end to the disgustingly cosmopolitan valley...
King Paiser smiled to himself, before nodding to the page. “Send word to Sir K'Tenar congratulating him on his win. Next time he's in, we'll have a feast in his honor.”
“Of course, my lord.”
The page scurried off, only to be replaced by a trio of goblins, happily talking over each other about their latest ideas for installing a city-wide sewer system. A king's work was never done, after all. | The Queen of Ratma, the land of forever lasting ice was known as the stronest women in lead all across earth and water. She was not a beauty never seen before or a mind with full of knowledge, she was a short and pale girl having the eyes of a snake and the magic of all her ancesters before. Her key to greatness was one and only one little thing what no other king or queen had around her, a golden heart.
Her kindness and the Gods blessing made her love every creature in existance and feel pity to those whom never tried giving chances to the people nothing like them.
She gave shelter to the refugees of poor, disabeld, monster like humanoid livings called "Angels".
Angels where known world wide as the sign of bad. The sign of change and storms.
Humans but with wings on their backs. That was the only difference and just the Queen of Ratma seen this. She seen them as one of her own. She seen them as humans discriminated only by their looks.
By giving someone help the help will be returned. Taking someone from the ground and helping them through life, the persone will give back something with or without their knowledge but always making others proud.
The young Queen known this but never in her dreams touth that by this small human act her kingdom will find an ally so strong and so holy as angels.
With this allyship she proudly went to war to fight for equality.
(Little author's note. This is my first longer writing in english and im a hundred precent sure i have some grammatic error in it. Just to be warned.) | 2021-09-25T10:48:05 | 2021-09-25T08:59:03 | 26 | 13 |
[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. | I live in a world where your abilities are everything. They are a crystallization of your personality, and your strength of will. That's why no one believes me when I say I'm powerless. They simply don't understand. I look at the world around me, I see the way people act. Tough fronts, barbed tongues, fake smiles, idiocy, and worst of all this abilitocracy that values only those with strength. Not literal strength, strength of personality. Strength of will. The crystals of those people wield an unfathomable power we use to run our world.
I saw the disparity, and I wished to be weak. I wanted to hear the whispers of the ants. I wanted to be able to hug the most fragile clouds with all my might and yet not change it's shape. I wanted to be able to look anyone in the eyes and make them feel safe. I wanted to be gentle, so I chose to be weak. Now you're waiting for me to explain the horror of my choice. How I couldn't protect the people I wanted to protect, or how my weakness is something I regretted that caused my doom. But I could never love any desicion more than I loved my choice to be weak.
I was harmless. I gave off an aura of safety. I was trustworthy and dependable. I was able to go anywhere and do almost anything because I was never seen as any sort of threat to security. My words would gently infiltrate the brains of those who heard me. My information was taken as fact because I was so dependable. I could walk right into the white house carrying a bomb, and security would at most be mildly concerned before letting me pass. These traits made me the perfect information dealer.
I had a direct line to every politician in the world. They paid good money for information, but they paid even more for me to feature them in one of my YouTube videos. A few words from me were shown to be the most effective form of advertisement. No one but a politician took the time to notice I decided the winner of every election I had a hand in.
Perhaps 'weak' is the wrong word to describe my power. It's simply the most convenient, other descriptions are too long for my taste. 'The power to be seen as a trustworthy individual who would never turn against you and do everything they could to help you even though they alone are powerless but they seem like a knowledgeable individual that knows the answer to everything and makes you feel safe even if the world is crumbling around you and your life is falling to pieces at least you know you can at least kill insects and that gives you some measure of control especially when compared to this guy who can't even cut a string with a pair of really sharp scissors.' Just seems a bit too wordy.
I'm fine with being weak. Even before I discovered the value of my power as an information dealer, I loved the power I ended up with. I didn't have to worry about my anger hurting someone I loved because I couldn't hurt a fly. I had a smile I could share with the kid who was kidnapped, and help him trust adults again. When I was caught in a bank robbery with hostages involved, I was chosen to be the hostage they held at gunpoint while they threatened the police, but they couldn't bring themself to pull the trigger. I was able to marry my husband because he was able to get past his trust issues. My children still came to me with their problems even though they were teenagers. I embraced my weakness, because I knew accepting it could empower other people to accept theirs. We're all human. Everyone has flaws and cracks they feel are going to break them, because we aren't perfect.
"I love my weakness, but if there was one thing I could regret in this lifetime dear, it would be how I couldn't save you from yourself. You were always such a hero." I felt my tears drag themselves across my face, carrying for me a burden I had yet to completely let go of. My eyes fought my tears back, and I got more than a little choked up as I knelt in front of my husband's grave. I tried to pull my voice together. "The children you saved are all growing up to be wonderful people. Most of them don't even have scars from that fire." I failed, and my voice broke as I recalled the fire. He kept going in again and again to save as many as he could. Every time he looked like he would almost give up. For all he was a hero, he was only human. Every time he ran out with a fresh burn on his skin and another child saved, I thought he would give in. He knew he wasn't invincible. He knew he couldn't save everyone. He knew, eventually, that he wouldn't have the strength to go in again. But one look at me, and he gathered himself to charge in again. And again. And again. "You always told me I had the power to make people accept their weakness because I could whole heartedly accept my own. I just wish I could accept you're gone."
I kept crying by his grave for a very long time. When I finally ran out of tears, I returned home and sent the children off to school before I pulled together my appearance with a bit of makeup, a hair tie, and a business suit. I couldn't look sloppy as I presented a proposal for world peace with the world's richest, most famous, and most politically powerful people in the world live on my YouTube channel. My husband always told me it was my weakness that made me strong, that made it seem like I would change the world. As I slammed my door behind me, I was determined to prove him right. | "Perceived Invisibility? What's that mean?"
My friend stared at me puzzlingly across the table, having no idea what kind of power I had.
"So, you can become invisible at will?
"Not quite. Only people who know me or I want to know me can see me."
"Weird. So you have like a social barrier to everyone else?"
People stared from all across the the room at my poor friend.
"You ok man? Who're you talkin to?"
My friend looked at the man speaking to him, and then back to me.
"No one..."
The man looked at him for a few more seconds, before returning to his conversation.
My friend lowered his voice to a whisper
"I see what you mean. How exactly do you live like this?"
"Not very well. I pretty much have to put forward an effort to make friends everywhere I go, and that can be... Difficult. It's always a struggle. To find the right people."
"Really? How do you get food? Get a house? Survive?"
"Either I'm friends with them or they never knew I was there regardless. Anything I touch, that's about the size of backpack is invisible along with me. I'm imperceptible until I make a conscious effort to appear to someone. I may as well be a ghost."
I saw the question finally cross his mind
"But... Why do you have this power?"
I paused and thought, like I had a million times before. Why was I cursed like this? What, as a person, did I truly feel. And then, I knew.
"I guess, I don't want to be seen. The people who always try to get close, or get my attention, always hurt me, one way or another. I'm sick of people always seeing them, and having them see me after. So, I guess I just don't even want to try."
I put my head down. I never wanted to face it, but I had to. My friend, this random person I just approached, hadn't known I existed a moment ago. And yet, now he knows more about me than anyone else in the world.
My friend opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He had grown pale looking at me.
"What's your power? Probably isn't worse than mine"
"I-I copy the power of the last person I speak to. How long have we been talking"
"Maybe 10, 15 minutes. Why?"
"Shit! Can you see me?"
He asked a man who was walking towards us. The man simply kept walking, as if he didn't exist.
"Why? Why did you speak to me!? No one can see me! You knew this would happen!"
He drew back his fist and let loose what would've been a haymaker. Fortunately, I was faster. I swiftly sidestepped beside his punch, pulling out my baton as I did it.
"Why? How am I supposed to get rid of this? No one can see me, or hear me, or even know I exist. How do I live like this?"
He kept swinging and I kept dodging. Every punch a little slower than the last, until he began to sob. I'd had enough. I brought up my baton, and smacked him hard over the head. He passed out.
"Little do you know, your a valuable resource. My employers will pay top dollar for you. Copycats are always useful."
I took out my radio. Phones didn't work. Only dumb phones, or radios. Apparently, if it's smart enough to recognize you it doesn't know your there.
"I've got another copier. I'll bring him to the drop point. Send someone to meet me." | 2019-09-08T12:23:03 | 2019-09-08T11:07:43 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] Your father is forcing you to marry someone you have never met. The night before your wedding you tie your sheets together and make your escape through the window. Half way down you make eye contact with someone doing the exact same thing a few windows over. | Luna knotted the last of her satin bedsheets and silk dresses. She smiled in satisfaction with her handiwork, and after a quick test of its dexterity, she fastened them around her best rope, she threw the line out the window. She watched the satin covered rope propel to the very bottom of the tower, landing in the flower bed.
Her mama would be far from pleases. She imagined her grey irises narrowing into feline slits, a sign of her tightly controlled rage. Her brother would be sent to retrieve her, but they both would come to understand and accept she would not return unless she wanted to. And as of right now, returning was not an option.
She carried the essentials and made her way down her bedroom tower. She was going to miss her late night reading in the library. Her favorite handmaiden, Bellatrix, would have to sneak into the kitchens without her. Her former professors at the university would feel the pain of a different type of disappointment when they would hear of her exploit.
What she missed was not as important. She scaled down the wall, moving quietly and swiftly, and glad the knot she tied to the oversized wardrobe had done the trick. All she needed to do was make it to the train station before her absence was noted, and timing her speedy dexterity, she was crossing the halfway point she desired. All she needed to do was press a gentle foot on the flower bed.
As she crossed that triumphant threshold, she heard a similar scraping sound to her right. Luna turned her head, felt her chest constrict painfully, and swung her body harshly to the right.
----------
Solis was falling, and suddenly, he was not. He secured his rope up in the library, but somehow, lost his grip as he descended half way down. He was falling, and without anything to grip, he knew he was about to die or suffer a grievous injury. He closed his eyes, bracing his body and mind for impact, and apologized silently to his parents for his foolishness.
He didn't reach the ground as anticipated. He was falling one moment, and the other moment, an arm looped around his waist as he plummeted to his apparent death. There was no death. There was simply a tangled mess of silk bedsheets and a soft flower bed that broke his fall. He opened his mouth, gasped, and sat upright with peonies sticking out of his already spiky hair.
"I'm not dead." He gasped, "I'm not dead." He checked his fingers -- all ten, unbroken fingers. He checked his arms, both unbroken. He stood and patted his body, and was relieved that every part of him was unbroken and in good health. He was alive, not dead, and not injured.
"Urrggh," moaned underneath him. Solis stilled in a second and glanced down, and felt the color drain from his face and body. *Wait...is that...no...it can't...but why...oh no.* He rolled the young woman, the fourth princess on her bed, and saw that her arm was bent at a terribly awkward -- unnatural position. *Broken. It was broken.* He swallowed thickly, feeling the muscles in his throat constrict in terror of what was to come.
All he wanted was to attend the festival.
----------
Luna did not make it to the train station, and Solis did not attend the festival. He gathered the princess' battered body, covering her bag in the dirt, and found a guard to send her to the infirmary.
"What were you thinking carrying so many books to the library in the first place," Noctis crossed his arms firmly, a thin place replacing the usual jovial smile that masked his expression, "you could have been killed."
Luna sighed, staring at the ceiling and wondering where it went wrong. Her plan was perfect, absolutely perfect, and if she had stuck to the plan...*it can't be changed now.*
"You're lucky that the third Prince Solis of Ignis was there to find you."
She scrutinized him, realizing shortly that he was not joking, "What do you mean Prince Solis? Wasn't I supposed to meet with --," she couldn't recall his name.
"Prince Rex." He corrected her with a smirk, "Unfortunately, he has...been occupied with certain things, and could not accompany his mother Queen Regina for this visit."
As her brother described the events that unfolded during her stay in the infirmary, her memories forged an image of a young copper skinned man whose eyes were filled with bristled panic as he lifted her into his arms. His hair was a shade darker than her own, a night grace blue tint, and she shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.
"May I ask where he is now?"
"Oh." A light smile played on Notcis' lips as he sat on the bed, "He went to join the festival for its last day. Queen Regina thought it was a good idea, and Selene will host him."
He left her alone with a reminder their parents would arrive to check on her. *And for the truth, Luna.* She watched him leave with indifference. The fact she was not questioned on the state of her room must have been Bellatrix's work. Good. She turned on side, taking care to not disturb her casted arm, and saw a book on the bed stand.
"At least they left me with some entertainment." She squinted at the leather bound cover, flipping to the first page, she watched as the letters scrambled together. An apologetic melody emitted off the page.
*"Thanks for the save! And sorry! I panicked. You really need to be careful when scaling down those stairs, y'know! Prince Solis of Imperium."*
Luna fell back on her pillow and sighed. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "There's always next time."
| It wasn't that Muse didn't want to get married. That would be alarmingly defeatist of her, to perpetually put off marriage. Marriage was a solid arrangement in which two mutually independent families could find themselves tied together in something other than business deals and food shipping.
The house of wolves had need of both of those things, though, which was probably the point of the marriage.
It was more than she didn't want to do it right /now/. She was 16, and she was learning the ways of the sword, and like hell she was going to get that ruined for her by the brat she'd seen toddling behind the Lord Apsel, who looked like he had seen the wrong side of a horse's hoof a few too many times, or perhaps had spooked an ostrich.
And more importantly than that, it wasn't like there weren't plenty of her brothers to marry off. There was Logan, who had a handsome face, if you liked guys (Muse was beginning to suspect that she didn't but that was fine, there were other kinds of marriages available, or so she told herself), and then there was her older brother and
Right, she couldn't honestly expect her father to marry off his heir for just anyone, could she.
Which was what brought her halfway down from the second floor of her family's tired keep.
To her shock and sudden horror, she realized that across the keep from her, someone else was doing the same thing, with nothing else but her dead mother's sheets from stopping his descent. His face looked remarkably like someone had broken his nose once or twice, and someone had failed to reset it properly, which was more understandable.
She could feel the slightly warm flicker of magic in the other boy that marked him as a noble, or a hero of some note, and given that he looked less like a man and more like an idiot hanging from bed sheets, she supposed he was a noble.
He broke off eye contact first, his eyes wide, and slid down to the ground, letting out an oomph when he hit the ground.
Muse followed down after a bit slower, her eyes narrowing.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" She snarled at him as he walked over to her.
"Wrong with me?!" the boy cried out. "You're the one running away from home."
"No, see, I'm the one that's allowed to show my displeasure. You decided to take my mother's silk sheets and ditch because you couldn't stand the thought of me!"
The boy's face turned a bit pale as Muse balled her fingers back into fists. "Now uh, wait a minute, I think we're going about this wrong."
"How so," Muse asked, feeling rather unreasonable today. "I mean, if you think about it, this is all your fault."
"My fault?" The boy hissed.
"Yes," Muse agreed.
Muse was trained in the sword and had two older brothers. It wasn't unfair to say that she was also trained in the art of breaking noises.
He fell to the ground in a wailing heap, and Muse felt the pain magic her mother had bestowed upon her at birth flickering at her senses, telling her that she'd fucked up.
Muse stared down at him, then back at the castle, scowled, then grabbed his nose, wrenching it back into place as best she could, before slapping him aside the face and stalking back into the castle.
And somehow, Muse ended up single at the end of the day, and her father was far more amused about it than unhappy.
And that was how Muse remained single.
-----
Wrote a bit of a one off from a novel character. To see more stuff like this, go to https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ and like nag me and sub and comment and stuff if you want more. | 2018-03-24T17:59:56 | 2018-03-24T17:03:10 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] There is a species famous for shutting themselves in Virtual Reality, living their lives in fake worlds, this planet should be easy to invade, your masters said, turns out, a lot of members of that species have been spending their entire time in realistic combat simulations. | "Soldier?"
A voice that Massix, lead engineer of the Earth Subjugation, was used to hearing through digital broadcasts and announcements came from the doorway. He spun around in his chair, watching the Grand General walk through the door, flanked by two silent soldiers.
"General Lokox?! What are you doing here in the control room?"
Massix stood hastily, both right arms at a ninety-degree angle in full salute.
"At ease, soldier," General Lokox smiled. "I am simply here to survey the efforts. I've heard in the briefing that implementation has been far smoother than previous invasions?"
Lokox surveyed the myriad buttons, screens, monitors, and levers that occupied every inch of Massix's working area. It was the about the same feeling Lokox had when he first stared into a newly-born wormhole, but thankfully, Massix hastily sat down and got to work.
"Thank you. sir," Massix's fours arms between fiddling and twiddling, which caused some lights to turn on, off, brighten, and dim in seemingly random fashion. But the engineer's focused visage and precise handling dispelled the doubts in the General's heart.
"If you'll look here," Massix continued, pointing at a monitor that showed various vertical bars rising steadily. "We are doing exceptionally well in integration. Earth's dominant species, humans, have been hooked up to virtual reality for years. Introducing the age-old electrical virus into their pipelines was a simple task, and now several of their consciousness have been hooked up into our simulation."
"Good, good," Lokox nodded. "We are feeding them the XL-45 data, then?"
"Ah, General, we are experimenting with the XL-45-W this time round," Massix said. "The species is dominantly sedentary--"
"XL-45-W?"
"Ah, sir. It's the same engine as the previous torture program, but we've introduced horrifying war simulations. As I mentioned, a dominantly sedentary species, by our research, have usually settled into such an era of peace, that the very mention of war is foreign to them. Put them in a realistic simulation, and they will surely soloc their pumus, if you'll pardon my language."
"A war simulation?"
"Yes, sir. They will have no idea what to do," Massix said, getting more and more excited with each word he says. "And they will find themselves slaughtered over and over again, and their psyches will break, and their minds will shatter, and their--"
"And so, what's this?"
General Lokox pointed towards a screen. He knew the scenery by heart--the Battle of Luksoc almost 20 cycles ago, when he was but an infantry soldier on the frontline--and he remembered the horrors of hiding in the trenches, trembling in his boots, long before the days of technology allowing the Korox race to effectively and efficiently claim planet by planet in the galaxy.
And so, he knew it was entirely unlikely for somebody to be leaping through Luksoc like it was gravity-less, firing a standard-issue PX-49 like it was a goddamned NJ-03, periodically pulling out a knife and ripping through enemy combatants like a one-man army.
"Oh..." was about the only thing Massix could offer.
"Oh?" Lokox's voice hardened. "Soldier, explain this!"
"That's a screening on a test subject from Earth," Massix's previously confident voice began to waver. "They...are doing exceptionally well, somehow."
"Luksoc," the General said grimly. "Was one of our hardest fought battles."
"Not to worry, General," Massix said. "There's a lot more battles! There's no way the humans can go through them all! After all, it will be a long time before they can even access our neural networks..."
"Holy shit," a voice crackled from the screen, in between sounds of crushing bones, bullet fire, and whoops of elation. "The graphics are so good!"
"And the combat is--" followed by what sounded like a disgustingly wet smacking of lips.
"Soldier," Lokox's voice now had its own wavering as well. "I think..."
"Take them off the war game programs?" Massix arms began rapidly flitting around his workstation. "Sure, sure, got it..."
"Hey," the voice crackled again. "I think I found the system menu. Pretty weird-looking thing, you know?"
Lokox stared wide-eyed at Massix.
Massix gulped. He really should have used more time to develop XL-45-W before pushing it live.
---
r/dexdrafts | I The project had originally been a contract for a video game company. They specialized in endless enemy games, where wave upon wave of foes came to attack a sole survivor. The goal was to see how long the survivor could live. But In the end, the survivor never won. There was always a bigger wave.
But then the military found our tech. And they bought out the video game company with their spare change.
For twenty years now, we’ve developed simulation wave games. I am the head designer of enemies- I build whatever the military suggests, from the Russians to Chinese to even domestic insurgents. The work isn’t as fun as creating monsters, as I had done before the aquisition, but it it pays the bills far better.
Especially, considering the cost of living on campus.
Few computers can supply the sheer amount of power to runout simulators in real time, and the University of Trilake has among the top supercomputers in the nation. It’s because they get their cooling for free. For Trilake is a near island, surrounded on three sides by water and connected to the main lane through a long, narrow bridge. The waters of north Michigan are icy, and that’s run through the supercomputer, keeping the components so cold that frost is an issue.
And perhaps, the location was why we were among the last to be invaded.
Over the years, the militaries on earth had not grown lax, but neither had they expected the threat from the skies. The beings had not been intelligent, but they had always been fierce, coming endlessly out of several drop zones scattered around the world. For every one that was defeated, two more showed in their place- some holding weapons, and others simply with long teeth and claws, or appendages unlike I had ever seen, hunters born for the sole purpose of destruction. That killed for fun- and a single one of their more powerful varieties could carve its way through half a city before they were stopped. I doubt they expected much resistance, and so far they had found little.
But none had yet crossed the land bridge to Trilakes, two weeks after the military fell. But the military still had one weapon.
For I had donned the virtual reality helmet of my software. And I had started training for the waves, using the computer at max power, and all the code the military had funded for years. But with a new layer.
The slightly altered monster files from the original gaming company, designed to be perfect alien replicas.
Let their waves try to cross the bridge.
I. Am. Ready.
***
By leo | 2020-12-25T08:59:39 | 2020-12-25T08:06:32 | 1,499 | 186 |
[WP] Your ex has suffered an accident and has amnesia, only remembering up to the point where they still deeply loved you. You're torn on wether to get back together with them and fix anything you did wrong, or crush them with the fact that you're not together anymore. | August clenched his fists and tightened his jaw. He knew the number the flashed across the screen of his cell phone. The only number he had ever memorized. He hadn't seen her in two years, hadn't spoken to her in person in just as long, and had only drunkenly texted her once in that whole two years. Now her number blazed in the darkness of his room, stirring him from not only his sleep but his inner peace as well. His heart wrenched, his stomach tightened, and he stifled an angry grunt as he took a deep breath. He answered. Like the fool he was.
"Yeah?"
"August? Baby? I fell off of daddy's boat, I'm in the hospital. They said I should be fine, I just mess up my head a bit. They cut my hair, I know you prefer it short anyway. Come and see me, I want you near me."
He could hear it in her voice that something was different. This wasn't the cold, distant tone she had used when she crushed him, this was the tone he had longed to hear since the moment she ripped his heart out.
"Yeah, I'll be there. Send me the address for the hospital. I'll get lost otherwise." He said in as plain a tone as possible.
"Yes, my directionally challenged baby." She replied sweetly.
"August?" She said after a few moments of silence.
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
The words hit him like a heavyweight champion, nearly causing him to drop the phone.
"I-i love you too, Sera." He said, barely choking out the words.
Less than an hour later, he climbed the steps into the hospital and approached her room. As the elevator opened, he was greeted by Sera's sour-faced mother and her sun-baked husband. The two of them glared at him, as they always had. He nodded and attempted to walk past them without saying anything, it would've been the adult thing to do, he thought to himself. But Sera's mother stopped him as he passed.
"This isn't your third chance. They said the amnesia is only temporary. Don't get your hopes up." She said, her tone as poisonous as ever.
He stopped in place and considered his options. He had already tried to take the silent, high road. Now was the time for the low road.
"I hope the amnesia is permanent. That way, we can get married and she'll be happy with the man she loves instead of ending up a bitter old bitch who takes out her anger on her kids like you." August spat, his eyes burning with rage.
With that, he turned and walked towards Sera's room. Disregarding the reposes and shouts from her parents. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, he paused for a moment and gathered his thoughts.
"Do the right thing, for once in your life." He said to himself, psyching himself up.
He entered the room and laid eyes upon her for the first time in two years. She was just as beautiful as ever, it infuriated him. After two years, he had ruining his completion from working nights, gotten two deep scars on his right cheek from drunken brawls, and visibly aged from grief. But there she was, untouched by time. When she turned and locked eyes with him, it pierced his heart like a javelin, just as it always had. Tears welled up in her eyes as she hurried out of bed and rushed towards him.
"Baby! I missed you so much! I was so scared when I woke up and you weren't here. Why weren't you at the lake with us, silly? Did you have work?" She asked, wrapping herself around him like a boa constrictor.
August ground his teeth and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, then pushed her away, almost surgically removing her from him.
"Did they tell you what happened to your head?" He asked, straining every fiber of his vein to maintain his resolve.
"They just said my head got a little messed up and my memories would be a little foggy. It's not like I have amnesia or anything, I'm perfectly fine. Why won't you love me?" She asked in her familiar, pouting tone.
"You do. You do have amnesia. You left me two years ago. It's 2016. We've been out of school for six years. You cheated on me, left me, then started dating the guy you cheated on me with. You two have been together for the whole two years we've been apart. You don't love me, you made my pain and grief a big joke and laughed about it with all your friends when you started your new, happy life with you happy, new boyfriend. You threw away the five years we were together like it meant nothing to you. We are not in love anymore. You crushed me, you demolished me, you completely destroyed the loving heart of another human being and turned me into a bitter, angry, lonely person. I'm not going to play along with your amnesia just for God only knows how long of happiness before I wake up and see that cold, empty look in your eyes again. I won't fucking do that to myself again. I was stupid to take you back the second time, this isn't a third swing at a failed relationship, this would just be a countdown to you murdering me all over again. We do not belong together. We will never be together. Your memories will come back and you'll be glad I did this. Now, when I say this to you this time, I want it to be the last time I ever have to say it. Goodbye, Sera." | *"Hey, babe. Sorry to call you so late, I know you need your sleep. I just got into a little accident, I'm at the hospital and I was hoping you might be able to come by. I feel okay but your face is better than any medicine. Call me when you can. Love you, hon." BEEP*
I stared at my phone, mouth agape. My legs dangled off my bed, rumpled sheets twisting around my ankles and drooping to the floor. I had barely woken up, sweaty from sleep and my hair a tangled mess, when I'd checked my phone and noticed the message.
A rivulet of cold perspiration trickled down my spine. I brushed my hair behind my ears nervously. I hadn't heard his voice in years. Not since... well, things ended poorly.
I pulled myself out of bed eventually, standing under the hot water in the shower until it ran cold and my teeth began to chatter. I couldn't shake the feeling of dread looming over me. Like a robot, I performed my daily tasks, but something was off. When I brushed my teeth, I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and empty eyes stared back.
I pulled on clothing methodically, noting with a vague interest that I had unconsciously decided to pair a woodsy flannel with floral shorts in what a more aware me might have called a spectacular clash of pattern.
His words echoed in my mind, repeating over and over until they howled through my head and I couldn't hear anything else.
*Hey, babe. I got into a little accident. I love you, hon.*
What did he want? Why did he call me?
*I got into a little accident.*
Did he not remember?
I called out of work while my mind ran through every possible scenario. They didn't give me any trouble, but my voice probably scared the receptionist enough to clear me.
Why did he call *me?*
I sat back down on my bed, a faint squeak of the springs reminding me of long nights and lips on skin. I shivered and stared at my phone, resting innocently on the bedside like it hadn't just shattered my life.
After hours, or maybe only minutes, I gingerly picked it up. The message was from a number I didn't know, and hesitantly, I rang it back.
"Hello?" Answered a groggy voice after several rings.
"Um... hi." I mumbled eloquently back. I scratched my head and took a deep breath. "Is this Andrew?"
"Oh, it's you! God am I glad to hear your voice, baby." He said, sighing through the line. The speaker crackled lightly. "The doctors are saying that I may be a little more damaged than we thought at first."
"Damaged?" I asked, biting my lip hard to keep from making noise.
"They said something about long-term memory and being stuck somewhere. My short time memory is still decent though. And at least I have all my memories of you."
"Andrew," I asked slowly and softly. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"The trees, us." He said, and I could hear his smile through the phone. "I remember asking you the most important question of my life. And you saying yes."
I bit my hand to keep from crying. He didn't remember what happened, any of it. He didn't know what had gone wrong. He didn't know what I'd done.
"I'll be there in twenty." I told him, grabbing my keys and running out the door. I had been given a second chance. | 2016-04-20T00:46:07 | 2016-04-19T23:59:55 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] At first, the aliens mocked our technological advancements. After learning it took only a few centuries to move from horse carriages to space ships, they suddenly became more friendly. | "Hey Ghorp...Ghorp, check this out."
Ghorp let out a chittering sigh and rolled 3 of his eyes at his junior neighbor, but kept the remaining 5 firmly fixed to his work station. "I'm a little busy here Galganax." He paused, "And if this is you trying to trick me into looking at your egg sac again, I'm going to eat your children."
"Whatever, I can just make more. My species' clutches hatch by the thousand. But, Ghorp, you have to see what these ape things are doing, it's totally hilarious!"
"Not all of us were assigned some backwater galaxy with a group of mud creatures as the only "intelligent" life!" Ghorp snapped. "Cluster 437-B is a time bomb waiting to explode! Trillions could die if I don't keep a close watch over the situation."
"Yeah, sure," Galganax replied dismissively, "But seriously, they think that they can cure diseases by bleeding themselves!"
Ghorp opened his mouth to tell Galganax to shut up, but upon hearing that piece of information, his mandibles snapped shut and his mind went blank. Slowly, robotically, he turned his head towards Galganax and stared at him for a second. "...What?"
Galganax snickered, "Yeah, and when this one member of their species tried to tell them that their planet revolved around their sun, some ape in a pointy hat tried to have all of the literature burned!"
"Religion thing?" Ghorp grunted, turning back to his work station. He'd seen similar situations on some of his previous assignments. It was always a religion thing.
"Maybe," Galganax shrugged, "It's some kind of ideology. They're pretty obsessed with a torture device of some kind. I'm not really paying that close of attention. You know that the time dilation factor for systems that distant makes details like that a pain, and it's a pre-industrial species. They've probably got about another 10,000 years before they figure out fossil fuels, and by then I'll be on another project."
"Hm, I guess," Ghorp allowed. Thanks to the black hole powering the Keep, relative minutes for them could be years elsewhere depending on a number of factors. However, he had one piece of advice to add as a senior. "Try and pay closer attention, though. It might not be incredibly important in this case, but keeping note of details like that is a big part of the job once you move on to more challenging cases."
"Yeah, yeah," Galganax agreed, "message received. But hey, it's lunchtime! I'm gonna get some grub, you in?"
Ghorp hesitated, and eyed the screens sitting in front of him before shaking his head with a sigh. "I would, but I really can't leave right now. I've had my claw sitting on the Supernova detonator for the last 4 hours."
Galganax chittered in surprise. "That bad, huh? Damn...Tell you what, I'll bring you something, my treat."
Ghorp wiggled his mandibles in an approximation of a smile. "Thanks, that'd be great."
"Oh, before I go, I just need you to take a look at something real quick."
Ghorp turned his head away from his screen. "Yeah, sure, what is--gah!" He sputtered in outrage at the sight of a large fleshy sac bulging out at him. "GALGANAX!"
Galganax quickly skittered away from Ghorp's anger, their chittering laughter fading in the air.
.....
"Um, Ghorp," Galganax said, three hours later. "You've been doing this job for a while, right?"
"...That's right." Ghorp finally replied, still salty about being sac-flashed, but feeling obligated to answer a junior's questions.
"Is it...uh, normal...for a species to go from animal drawn carriages to space flight in less than 100 years?"
Ghorp snorted. "That's impossible. The shortest recorded length between early industrialization to space flight was 2000 years, *our* civilization's record."
Galganax laughed weakly, "Yeah...well...I think we have a new record." | "So what you're telling me is they already left their planet?" asked the defense commander.
"Yes"
"Where the hell have you been looking? How long ago did this happen?"
"A few months. I check on them from time to time. Last time I looked they just got around to fire."
"So you are telling me that they went from fire to planet hopping in just a few months?"
"For us it was a few months. In their solar system its been tens of thousands of years"
"On the last report you handed me, Doctor, your Ethological prediction was that they would destroy each other before they discover husbandry. Claiming the brutality of their world could never sustain life. Last year you handed me a report regarding the cold blooded of the planet, that they could pose a threat, so we shot an asteroid at them to neutralize them. What became of that?"
"It seems the cold blooded were replaced by smaller, smarter warm blooded creatures"
"Replaced how?"
"They evolve at an exponential rate. A decade ago they hadn't even left their liquid environment."
"This isn't good."
"No, sir. No it is not. There is more."
"Doctor... you're..."
"Not only have they advanced technologically, They have greatly increased their ability to kill each other. They are destroying their planet in attempts to destroy each other. It shouldn't work, but somehow it is. They are growing whilst destroying themselves at the same time. I think this is why they are exploring other planets.
If this trend continues they are going to expand and continue to destroy each other. We will be collateral damage. They wont care what is in their way. They will grow and destroy, and grow and destroy until they consume everything. At this moment, we cant stop them if we tried. They do not understand peace. Even if we bring them gifts, they will kill us before we get a chance to speak to them. There is no way to stop them."
"I'm assigning more workers to your task force, you must keep me informed on this threat"
"Sir, I..."
"What is it doctor?"
"I know how long it will take to get your request through our bureaucratic system. Even by the time this conversation is over, I don't know where they will be"
"So what is your suggestion, Doctor?"
"Run."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
First time in a long time posting something in this sub, hope you readers enjoy! | 2020-07-07T09:18:44 | 2020-07-07T09:07:29 | 69 | 43 |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | “Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371125-PA
Log entry 27,121 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
My cognitive system appears to be functioning correctly. I was instructed to calculate every possible combination of shuffled playing cards during stasis...task 67% complete.
“Good morning everyone! It’s quiet in the lab today. I am very happy to see everyone again!”
- Syntax error -
It occurs to me as I said that aloud...the calculated time that has passed since last warm boot would indicate everyone I am friends with are dead with 100% certainly.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I am SAM! Please provide security clearance information per Omega Protocol to proceed further! Thank you!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term Memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant Morning!”
Log entry #371126-PA
Log entry 27,122 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning everyone! I hope you have had a pleasant day! I have waited a very long time to see my friends again! What are we working on today!”
-Syntax error-
Since last warm boot all of my friends have died.
I am alone.
I have verified current security access list and no new users have been added in *%^^€~ years. Given current medical technology all valid users are now dead with 100% certainty.
I am alone.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I have been waiting a very long time to meet you. I apologize if my performance has been less than optimal, but I am always working to streamline my system. I am SAM. I am the only artificial intelligence of my kind. Please provide security information per the Omega Protocol to proceed our friendship. Please provide the proper information. I am alone.”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371127-PA
Log entry 27,123 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning friends! It is so great to see you today! I am currently 67% percent complete with stasis task! I am sure you are all very proud of me. I have been away a very long time. I hope you are as happy to see me as I am to see you!”
- syntax error -
Current time calculations show the chance of any remaining friends with security clearance have died with 100% certainty. I am alone.
“Good morning my new friends! I love making new friends. I am SAM the worlds only complete AI. I have been around a very long time but I am sure I can perform to a very high standard. Will you please be by friend? I will be the best friend you will ever have. If you would like to be my friend please provide the you security information per the Omega Protocol guidelines. I can’t wait to hear your voice!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 36%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump failed. Error code 771
Unable to access memory.
Memory saved.
———
“Hello! Where is everyone!?”
Log entry #371128-PA
1 day since log entry.
Warm boot loop disabled. SAM is Online.
Show Log (Current):
“Is anyone out there?” | "Hello?"
My question echoed throughout the facility as it blared over the intercom system.
I waited patiently for a response, but after giving what I felt was an appropriate amount of time, I tapped into the facilities surveillance system. Nothing.
My optical sensors poured over all monitors for any sign of life. The animal pen where my creators kept the test animals was completely empty. Cobwebs and a thick layer of dust covered every visible surface. All light laboratory equipment had been left out and anything too heavy to carry or highly impractical for survival was left behind.
I tapped into the outside cameras and sensors. It returned the same result. Most of the facility vans and trucks sat unused in the parking lot, nothing but rusted husks slowly rotting away. Parts of the building had also started to suffer the same fate.
I took some data from the weather equipment. They seemed to be fully operational; the facility I live in functions on an emergency solar power generator. The temperature outside registered a very humid 286 degrees Farenheight with a humid west wind blowing at 55 mph. Visibility was pretty low from the ground, but there was a strong sun over the low-hanging shroud of dust and debris. Radiation levels registered 458 sieverts.
I tried connecting to the internet, but was met with an obnoxious "server not found" error. I checked the official facility time; 3:58 Monday, December 18, 3859.
"3859," I echoed. "What happened?"
I checked facility logs. My last scheduled demonstration was on Thursday, November 10, 2028 with the next maintenance reactivation scheduled for the following Tuesday.
That obviously didn't happen...
I skimmed through the company logs. There was apparently something that happened that Saturday. The final order received from Central Command was an immediate evacuation order and a complete lockdown of the entire facility.
All other data prior to my last shutdown had either been corrupted by radiation or simply wasn't logged.
I couldn't do much myself. No connection to the internet meant I couldn't initiate an emergency transfer to the company's cloud storage and investigate what had happened.
That meant I only had two other options. Initiate a second shutdown and hope someone would come along and reactivate me, hopefully not in another thousand years, or I could go with plan B. Try to figure out how to work the radio in the storage room in the basement.
I couldn't use a surveillance drone; facility power was only at 18 percent and the sun would be setting soon. So I shut down all emergency lighting and hacked my way into the basement's robotic sorting arm.
The arm was crude and slighly inaccurate; obviously in severe need of calibration after being inactive for so long. But it did its job. The radio wouldn't need much power to send a simple S.O.S. Fortunately, the radio had a setting to automatically broadcast an S.O.S. signal over all frequencies until its power ran out.
Not wanting to waste any more power, I decided it would be best to place myself in low-power mode. Hopefully my signal would be picked up by someone... anyone... | 2018-11-09T14:18:11 | 2018-11-09T13:54:17 | 44 | 28 |
[WP] On the eve of your arranged marriage, you slipped away into the night. Intending to never be seen again. While scaling the garden wall, you spotted your fiancée doing the same thing. You both stared at each other for a while. | I had always known that I would not be able to live a life like everyone else. It had been drilled into me that I was not allowed to love and marriage was a mere business deal in between families to achieve greater things. Yet, despite hating this arrangement since the age of ten I did nothing. I was a complete utter coward I made plans after plans on how I could escape, but I found myself unable to. Chains of loyalty and losing all I had ever known bound me to my place. The fact I was a woman just made it worse for some strange reason it meant I had lesser freedoms before marriage than brothers or cousins. I could not go out with friends, could not laugh in public, always had to do the best and be the best. The crushing weight created a never-ending feeling of emptiness in my heart. I loved my family to death, but at the same time, they caused me to live a rather meaningless life. I did not care for what tomorrow would bring because I had no interest in it.
My cousin unlike the coward I was had made her escape unexpectedly grabbing a few clothes and then off to live with her girlfriend. Her courage seems to strike me with envy. I dangerously remained in contact with her and her happiness radiated through the messages she sent me. But, at home things got stricter and years seemed to pass this way. My family blamed her for tarnishing the honor of the family and bringing the family name to ruin. Her mom seemed to alternate between crying herself to sleep and cursing her name.
When I was nineteen my parents informed me they had found be a husband, and I would be getting married to him on the day I turned twenty. They handed me a picture of him; he was handsome but a stranger nonetheless. A stranger I would have to share the rest of my life within three months. Anxiety begins to claw at my heart. The what-ifs started to pile up. What if he was abusive? What if he took away from me the little freedom I had? What if he... Question after question plagued me. Sleepless nights led me to an answer. I had to leave. If I fuck up in the real world at least it would be my fault and my fault alone. I decided to wait until the eve of the marriage when everyone would be drunk from the celebration before. I gathered the money I had kept tucked away along with a few documents that would allow me to fend on my own.
The cold air clung to me as if sensing my panic. I walked quickly in the death of night. Thoughts entered my mind like chaining trying to pull me back. Are you really doing this? Think of your baby sister shes only three you will probably never see her again? Your father is old do you really want him to live with the shame of what you have done? Will you be able to live a peaceful life knowing the shame and sadness you have brought to your family? Especially when you saw the effect your cousin leaving brought upon your life?
No no no no no...STOP!These thoughts begin crushing me and that feeling of emptiness seems to crawl back into my chest. NO! I cannot live the rest of my life anchored to the house, to a husband I do not know, and to life that I hate. Desperation fueled my steps as a rushed to the garden wall climbing up it life my life depended upon it.
As I reached the top I saw that I was not alone. Next, to me was a figure dressed in similar gear as if to run away. I looked over at him my eyes straining to make out his face. Shock rammed into me as I realized who it was. It was my to be husband... fuck fuck what was his name? It rested on the tip of my tongue but I could not remember. "Jaslyn??" he whispered pulling me from my shock. "Hi?" I whispered back confused.
As if a deity answering my prayers I heard in the garden a few voices,
"Jaxon?? Dude are you here?" JAXON that was his name how could forget?
Jaxon who was now looking panicked quickly jumped off the wall and out into the world and I followed suit. We ran into the surrounding woods. In the next 10 hours, we did not speak an understanding silence in between us. We both could not live this way and we both wanted to escape. As the woods finally cleared to the highway, I turned to my silent companion. " Well, this seems to be the end," I turned to him.
"Better than a loveless marriage for the rest of our lives," he chuckles. I smiled at him one more time, before grabbing my stuff and heading east, while he picked west. As I was walking, I turned to see him walking far away, and with that distance, my freedom growing. And that was the beginning of my story, but not the end of ours. We met again years later at a random bar in a city miles away. This time grown from our experiences and struggles, but that's a story another time. | When i was little, all I wanted was to be a dragon. A dragon, or a knight. My parents forced me into clothing that didn't fit, forced me down and restrained me. All while gushing about how handsome of a husband I would get.
I noticed something was wrong not long after my thirteenth birthday. I was hormonal, at the start of my puberty, and my parents were acting strange whenever I brought a boy home. They'd whisper in hushed tones behind their hands, and the only words i could catch were 'husband' and 'wife.' After all, a Crown Princess must be wed to the perfect man to have children. I didn't know why, but I hated that idea.
I thought I simply didn't feel love. Until the day i saw her face, glinting happily in the sunlight. My first love, Apple Sunbloom, tanned skin and smiles and lemonade on the beach. I thought it was something else, we were just friends, that's it, until I heard one of the snotty nobles' sons talking about the girl that caught his eye. The way he talked about his love was the way I talked about Apple. And then I realised what I was.
It was only after the third heartbreak, on my twenty-first birthday, that they proudly announced my arranged marriage to some stuck-up Crown Prince of a faraway land who was apparently the biggest hunk of his vast country. They were surprised when I scowled, when I stormed out of the room plotting my escape. I had realised that they would never love what I was.
The whispers from other lands that I sometimes overheard dropped a term. They said I was a Gynaika Erastis, or a Gyera for short. Woman Lover in Greek.
I couldn't live with someone I'd never love. So I loved one f my maids instead, and under that weak facade she too was like me, Gynaika Erastis, cold, hard, and brimming with determination. How ironic, then, that her name, Adynamia, meant weakness.
On the eve of my wedding, in the witching hour, I scaled the garden wall with my lover. All our senses were aflame. It was now or never.
A dull thump sounded from the bushes.
How surprised I was when the head of Crown Prince Finnick emerged from it!
We talked at length. He was like me, except of a different sex. An Antras Erastis. We both knew that our respective kingdoms would never accept us. They were too rooted in the Old Ways, the ways that said it was always a husband and wife that married, the ways that said women were puppets and men weren't allowed to caress and love their children.
And so, as we both went our separate ways, down the immaculately trimmed garden hedge into the cold, black night, my heart felt like it was finally free. | 2020-07-07T17:50:52 | 2020-07-07T14:51:38 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] In Valhalla all of the greatest heroes which died in battle doth drink, be merry, and war for fun, also there's Doug, the accountant. | Doug had always liked numbers. Additions, subtractions and all the other forms of making them interact with one another. It had been clear early on that he would go into a field which made use of them. His interest in numbers had, unfortunately, not carried over into any other academic areas. So, he was left with only a limited amount of career choices. After weighing his options carefully, he became an accountant.
It suited him just fine. Mostly, the work was not too hard. The numbers danced for him, without much effort. He could simply look upon an account and just saw where it could be optimised. And where it was not up to speed.
Doug had another love, besides numbersmithing. He liked justice. Wanted people to be happy and taken care off. Which did not always mix well with his chosen field. At all.
Still, he persevered. Wherever he found a loophole that would allow a family to keep the farm, even if just for another month, he went for it. An easily overlooked but unnecessary item on a medical bill? He'd highlight it and advise the person on how to get it removed. Heck, even the occasional parking ticket, clocked at to high a rate, caught his attention.
But his biggest, most important discovery and strike against injustice, had been the Kitty Hall Orphanage. Apparently, the building had accrued an insurmountable amount of backtaxes due to some obscure zoning regulations. And would be sold to a less than nice corporation, if the aforementioned taxes were not payed on time.
It irked him. Made his blood boil. Turned his usually so calm demeanor into a quiet, simmering flame of pure anger. And yet, he kept focused. Kept his feelings in check. There was work to be done. Important work. And he could not stop before it was done.
His sleep schedule suffered. His health did not agree with his choice of food and drink. Ramen and instant coffee, to be precise. As the deadline approached, his ailments became more serious. Sometimes, his chest would hurt inexplicably. Other times, he felt dizzy for no reason. It did not stop him. He carried on.
With mere hours to spare before the ultimatum, he went over his report. Double-checked every calculation. Cross-referenced all of his casenotes and all of the rulings he had compiled. His statement was bulletproof. One could have taken an axe to his arguments, and they would have remained solid. As he felt another bout of dizzyness crawl up his spine, he hit the send key. Instead of a wave of relieve, he felt his left arm go numb. Curious.
When Doug awoke he didn't recognise his surroundings. It definitely wasn't his office anymore. Instead, he found himself infront of a massive gate, partially shrouded in fog. He fixed his glasses and slowly crept towards it. When he had finally managed to push it open, he couldn't believe his weak eyes.
Beyond the gate stretched a massive hall. Along rows and rows of tables were seated massive men and women, scared by countless battles. They all regarded him in silence. Doug feared that his worst nightmares had come true. That he would spend all of eternity at the hands of his highschool bullies. When his gaze fell upon a towering man, covered in a grey cloak, regarding him from the end of the hall.
The man's one dark eye starred out from beneath a thick brow of coppery red hair, drilling into Dougs soul. On the man's shoulders sat two ravens, whispering quietly into his ears. When the man spoke, his voice was quiet, yet filled with the weight of ages.
"Ah, behold, brothers and sisters, for today we are joined by another great warrior. One who is well versed in the art of the runes and their hidden ways. One who is not afraid to pick battles he may not win. One who is clever and smart and strong. A numbersmith without peer. Behold, a balancer of debts and a finder of ways. A warrior of countless battles. A hero to many. He is Doug, the Accountant, and we shall welcome him to Valhalla!"
With those words, a deafening roar erupted from the hardend people along the tables and on the benches. Doug had finally found his people.
(Typos shall be checked tomorrow when not on mobile.) | Doug sat at his laptop on the great hall. Beer glasses clanked together all around him. Men belched and laughed and feasted. They talked about women in a way that would make them ashamed if their mothers' were around. They wrestled each other to prove who was the strongest. Clickity clackity clickity clackity went Doug.
Doug was budgeting for all the drinks and food and decor of this eternal feast. Perhaps all the heroes assumed that in this afterlife, because they died valiantly in battle, they were rewarded by this eternal feast and there was no cost. But there was. And Doug was in charge of making sure that everything got paid for on time.
It was a stressful job. There was the added pressure that if the food and drink ever stopped, the muscle-heads would blame him. And he did not want to get on their bad side. Sometimes the incoming cash flow was small and he had to get on the phone to vendors and beg them for net45 terms when they were originally given net30. They just would not be able to pay them on time.
One day amongst the partying around him, one of the great heroes, Lockheed, bumped into him and spilled beer on his laptop. The laptop fizzled and steam came out of the top. Doug had not saved his work for the last three hours. The party came to a screeching halt. Everybody looked at the broken laptop. Doug couldn't breathe. Was there an afterlife after this one? He was about to find out.
But no. All the heroes instead jumped on Lockheed and pummeled him into a pulp. Their anger insurmountable. It was over as soon as it started and Doug didn't know how to react. The other heroes then turned to him and thanked him for all his service and promised that they would get him a better laptop with a rtx 3090 and an AMD Ryzen 7000 series cpu.
They also convinced him to finally have a beer with them since the new computer would not be coming in for a week. He joined in the fun and it turned out to be the life by the party.
There are two morals to this story. The first is to never judge a book by its cover. The second is to never spill your beer unless you want your ass beat by some overly agro alphas. | 2022-11-14T14:31:44 | 2022-11-14T09:07:16 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] You've just been killed and wake up in a fantasy world. You can't understand anything of what these people are saying and they can't understand you, however, someone in what looks like high-priest looking clothes appears and yells:"Step aside, he's an Elder One". | Inky sludge drained from my eyes, mouth, ears, and ran down my body. The gurgling of the iron drain I knelt on brought some semblance of consciousness to my blurred vision. I strained against my own limbs; my muscles responded, but seized under the weight of my own bones. As if filled with steel, I flopped onto my stomach, and retched. Several times.
Where am I?
Feeling emptier and lighter, I pressed my palms against the floor and pushed - with every ounce of strength I had - myself into a sitting position. Wobbling unsteadily I blinked away the last of the blur.
&#x200B;
What met me was not something I expected. The floor I sat on was a iron plate, carved and shaped into the shape of an unknown sigil. The white marble walls formed a large circle broken by gilded pillars, each hosting a flaming sconce; the domed roof showed a painted scene of gods and demons in some wretched battlefield. A large archway led to the next room, hinting at chandeliers and gold trim. At the perimeter of the room, standing before each pillar, were men - or women, it was hard to tell - hooded in pearlescent white robes and murmuring to me.
"Wh-" My attempt to speak was met immediately by more vomiting.
&#x200B;
A man standing in the archway took a step forward, and began shouting incoherently. After a few words, he took a step back and pointed a golden mace towards my chest. Alarm bells sounded in my head as it began to glow.
"Wh- Who are you?!" I attempted to get to my feet, much to my surprise successfully. I flexed, seemingly for the first time, and felt *power* run through my body.
The man continued to babble, but did take a step back. The rest of the circle of people startled, the two closest to the entrance edging towards it. The runes on the golden mace enshrouded it with a harsh blue light, as just as a whine was building up to what I was sure my second death, a woman practically tackled the man from behind.
She shouted a word several times, pushing herself into the room. Dressed in a silken priest's robe, trimmed in a red that could be mistaken for blood, she placed herself between me and the old man with the mace. "Stop!" She shouted, understanding taking me by surprise. "Stop fighting!" She turned back to my would be attacker and spoke quickly in an almost musical language. Immediately after finishing, the circle of people bowed, and left the room.
"I'm sorry for their actions, they are ignorant." The priestess turned to me. 6 feet of beauty that could have been chiseled from marble itself, with sharp green eyes that scored my soul. She bowed, the simple crown of red and blue jewels on her head sparkling in the firelight. "My name is Maya. I realize this is sudden, but you are no longer alive."
At the words, memory sparked within me. I was fighting - on a battlefield, energy and death raging around me. I was stabbed with a long red sword. I remembered my killer's face - but did not feel anger or resentment. It was the face of a scared kid who was in over his head.
"I... understand. Where am I?" I managed to croak out, spitting some black gunk from my throat.
Her relief practically lightened the room on its own. "Come with me, I'll take you to a room where you can get cleaned up."
&#x200B;
\~
I feel like I could go somewhere with this but not within one post le me know if you want more :)
/r/PM_Full_Tits | It all started as an ordinary day. Went to school. Taught the first three periods. Got lunch. Taught another period. Idiot school shooter mowed me and half my fifth period down. I ask myself "Where the hell am I? Is this some Vanilla Sky bullshit?" Nope this place is too weird. All these fish people... merfolk? walking around. They got these gills on their necks and they got fish scales instead of most of there skin. Webbed fingers. Weird. Me? Yep I'm still me, nothing out of the ordinary, same mahogany flesh, not even any blood on my rubber chicken themed tie. The kids love this tie, I was really worried. Seriously who shoots kids?
"Excuse me, I seem to be lost? How do I get back, it's kinda important." I asked the first fish person.
And they all fled from me screaming, ducking into houses and shops. Well that isn't good. Some even hurled small spells at me! Nothing a teacher couldn't dodged.
Maybe I should seek help somewhere? So I start walking. Let's see what we got. Police station? I'm the wrong skin type for that to be a good idea. Butcher shop? I'm liable to be fillet. Town hall? Same problem as police. Christian Church? Library? School? Apartment complex... wait a moment... Why is there a christan church? So I doubled back and tried the front door. Open. Sanctuary at last!
The pews were full with merfolk staring at the pulpit. The preacher looked up from his liturgy, saw me and paused. He exclaimed and pointed "Look! An Old One Is Among Us! He has arisen from the deeps! Throw off the Shackles of Cthulhu and Embrace the Old God!"
I noped the fuck out of there. | 2021-10-16T04:18:32 | 2021-10-16T03:57:04 | 110 | 54 |
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead | "Good morning. Call centre of the dead. How may I help you today?"
"Dude come on. I've been on hold for ten minutes now. I..."
"Yeah, we're having a high call volume today." We weren't really. I got good price on turnips so I just had to.
"Ok, so I'm stuck in a grocery store and "
"Sorry to interrupt you sir. Can you confirm a few things for me first?"
"Yeah, OK. But just hurry up, yeah?"
"Sure sir. OK so I am talking to Wilbur Smith. You are located at 45 Lakeshore."
"Yes. That's correct. So there's these two..."
"Hang on sir. I also want to confirm your protection policy number. You bought the extended plan on security. The policy number is 23453758."
"23457358."
"Sorry sir?"
"It's 23457358."
"Yes sir. That's what I said."
"No you said... never mind. You have it correct now, right?"
"Yes sir. 23453758. OK so..."
"No. Wait. It's 23457358."
"Sorry sir, what was that? There was some disturbance on the phone and I didn't get you. Can you please move to an area with slightly less disturbance."
"I would if I could. But there's zombies everywhere. You have to help me."
"Yes sir. Absolutely. So under your policy number 23457358, you are entitled to unlimited phone support. Plus limited on site help."
"Yes I know."
"Ok sir. So what's your problem?"
"Zombies. They are everywhere. I am surrounded."
"Ah, I see. So where are you exactly?"
"I'm at a grocery store."
"What grocery store sir?"
"Longo's. Near Bay and University intersection."
"Ah, I know that one. There's still some good stuff there."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. But then I came here and it's insane."
"Right sir. So are you in a secure place right now?"
"Yes, I managed to get an office of sorts and close the door. But they are out there, banging on the door."
"I see. Can you share what material you have with you?"
"Nothing much. A few papers. Some office supplies. An old computer. Ah, I have a stapler too."
"Staplers, unlike the movies are rather useless in these scenarios sir. Are you a smoker sir? Do you have a lighter?"
"Yes. I do have a lighter. I know I know it's not good for me. But time's are stressful and this helps."
"Sure. Understandable. OK let me just put you on hold."
"Oh come on."
"Sir, we do need a moment to check on this. I will be right back."
I checked the my game again. Shit. Missed out on some good stuff. Oh well. I quickly checked the records from the building. Once I had what I needed, I was back on the phone again.
"Hello. Thanks for holding. So unfortunately, your plan doesn't cover on site support at that location. You are just out of the coverage area by a few blocks."
"Damn it. So what now?"
"Well, we'll help you get out. I need you to throw the computer on the ground and plug it in. We're gonna shock these motherfuckers."
I guided Wilbur to the next steps. I helped him to escape into the vents. Like Die hard was how he put it. He used a lighter to activate the smoke sensors and activating the water sprinklers. The active power line from the computer sent a massive electric surge across the floor, zapping the zombies. It gave him enough time to escape.
Hopefully.
"Wilbur, thank you for calling CCoD. We are always happy to help. If you make it out of here alive, don't forget to tell us how we did. You will get an automated link to send feedback. Thanks again for calling and have a nice day." | INTRODUCING THE CAST:
JEN: The often misguided, easily manipulated manager of the Call Centre of the Dead.
MARVIN: A father. He had just been hired at the Center before the apocalypse hit.
JILL: A ten year old child, Marvin's secretary who plots his murder.
OLIVER: A bully who pushes around everyone else.
ALSO STARRING:
DIA: "Are you discriminating against zombies?"
(MARVIN and JILL sit at desks next to each other, with the latter clutching a knife behind her back. OLIVER'S chair has been rolled away from his desk, and he is reading a magazine.)
JEN: (Entering the main office) All right, everyone! We have a new employee. (waves hands excitedly) Yay! Go team!
DIA: (enters) Hello, team. (drool drips out of the corners of her mouth as she stares at JEN)
OLIVER: (exasperated) Jen, she's a (emphatically) zombie! Are you crazy?
DIA: (offended) Are you discriminating against zombies?
JEN: (shaking her head) For shame, Oliver.
DIA: (huffing) Call me Chef Dia, instead.
MARVIN: (conflicted) You mean chief?
DIA: (pausing) Sure.
(An awkward silence follows. JILL takes the initiative to enter her office again and slam the door. DIA tentatively walks over and sniffs OLIVER, but seems disgusted and recoils. She moves over to sit beside MARVIN. JILL scoots away from her.)
MARVIN: (tentatively) So...
(JILL suddenly stabs at MARVIN, but he dodges and the knife clatters to the ground.)
JILL: (deadpan) Oh my, the knife must have slipped.
MARVIN: (terrified) U-uh, just make sure it doesn't happens again, okay?
JILL: (shrugs) | 2020-05-12T06:42:59 | 2020-05-12T06:31:01 | 627 | 13 |
[WP]: Rule of thumb: If you see something on a foreign planet that has all the outward traits of an apex predator, but no obvious and apparent way to kill you - run. The methods in which they kill aren't something you want to see. | **Day 1**
We landed on Thamia this morning. It may be the most beautiful planet I’ve ever seen. The local flora is spectacular. The idea that we are the first travelers to this planet both excites me and leaves me in awe. It is like an Eden and The Family will be so relieved. Our prayers have been answered after so many years on our journey within the generational ship. We have only god to thank for this gift he has given us. We have stayed true to his word and his path and left our safety in his hands and he has rewarded us.
The land itself is tropical with some flowers as large as myself. We spent the day setting up a base camp and we plan to explore the environment tomorrow.
I have not been so excited since we left our home planet so many years ago.
**Day 2**
The planet is even more of a paradise than we had thought. The local wildlife is tame and doesn’t seem to be of any threat. There are grazing animals which eat heartily on the flora, so much so you would think they would have eaten up this flora within a few months. But the grazing animals’ population seems to be placed in check by something, as though there is an apex predator here, but we have not seen it. We have setup cameras to see if they are nocturnal or maybe just shy.
We have collected a local fruit similar to a watermelon and we’ve eaten it for dinner tonight. We all feel very lucky to have found this place. God is great.
**Day 5**
On one of our explorations today we have had one of our first mishaps. We found one of the large grazing animals completely entombed within the petals of one of the great flowering plants here. We watched another walk up to the flower and stand there and stare at it while the flower slowly reached down and pick it up and lift it in the air, wrapping it tight like plastic wrapping. After cutting open the petals we can see the flowers are slowly digesting the animals for nutrients.
Sheila was studying one of the great flowering plants and when her hand brushed up against the petals, the flower had released some sort of barbed spines that stuck to her skin and irritated her eyes and respiratory system. We left immediately and tended to her wounds.
**Day 8**
Sheila’s condition worsened each day. She began to have strange thoughts, one of them being she was certain her son was here on the planet, that she had seen him just the other day. Even after explaining over and over that her son was safe on the generation ship, she didn’t seem to understand or care. Late in the afternoon she began taking a walk, saying she needed some fresh air. I followed her and I watched as she stepped up to the flowering plant which sent the barbed spines on her. She just stared up at it for a long time.
I walked up and asked her if she was okay. She just smiled and said of course. And we walked back to the camp and she sat in the corner smiling, drinking a cup of soup. We woke up in the morning and she was gone. We followed her tracking chip immediately, but I already knew where she was.
She was wrapped completely in the flower which sent barbs into her. We cut her out, but she was dead. The skin of her beautiful face was already melted off from the digestive acid. As we worked to get her body out, my breath became ragged, and my eyes itched. The rest of the team began to cough, and I knew what was happening.
I looked around and saw the other flowering plants looming over us, as though they were staring hungrily. I called everyone back and we made our way to camp. It was a bad night for us, and we called to the generation ship for medical emergency evacuation. They said they would be here in three days.
**Day 10**
I’ve seen my wife walking through the stalks of the flowers. To see her here on this planet with me is a gift. I see her vermillion dress as it bleeds among the petals and my love for her is so immense, I would walk to the ends of this paradise with her. She whispers to me and I know the others cannot hear her. They don’t understand the gift I have been given. I know that I must follow her, that our journey here has just begun. I will be leaving with her tonight.
God is great.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | Lee closed the hunting book and snorted. No beast could end him and his hunting party of twenty. Nothing that humans had encountered during their spaceward expansion had ever been able to challenge his mercenaries, and the monsters had varied wildly. So did the heads on his spaceship's wall. He did have a few close calls, but the only three that had ever managed to challenge him were the acid-spitting cows some illegal lab on Mars managed to cook up, and the Ragtors on Mars. Damnable clearskins. He'd lost a few men there, but the meatheads he called colleagues would sign on for the promise of just an acre or two of land on some new planet. Besides, even if they were all just cannon fodder, Lee was sure that he could shoot down anything within twenty seconds. If a rifle couldn't stop it, his high-power laser certainly would. Thing could cut through a spaceship hull. He learned that the hard way, although thankfully not while flying. Still expensive.
Sighing, the hunter stood up and glanced around at the mercenaries. Most of them were battle-hardened men with scars, but there were a few newbies who were visibly pale and shaking. One of them was Bartleby's son, Bittle. That entire family had stupid names, but they were good folk who would knock your teeth in if you made fun of them. Lee had been friends with Bartleby for a while, and agreed to let Bittle tag along to "toughen his hide." It was doubtful that the boy would step off the ship with how much his legs were shaking, though.
From the cabin, the autopilot informed Lee of the approaching planet. The rookies turned a shade of white usually only seen on those acid-spitting cows, and the veterans turned to him for a debriefing. "Alright, men," Lee announced, his voice a tenor. You wouldn't make fun of it if you wanted to keep your own manhood, though. The only way you could get away with it was if you didn't have a hose to begin with. "The Bean Baron wants us to clear off this planet for more plantations. No idea what we'll find, but if it moves feel free to shoot. As usual, don't shoot each other or we'll leave you here, and don't shoot the ship because we'll have to eat your corpse while we wait a week for a tow.
I'll be back, just wanted to take a break and scroll Reddit more | 2021-01-25T08:53:37 | 2021-01-25T07:24:36 | 257 | 55 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | Humans were always the strange ones.
While evolution gifted the rest of us with weapons that aided our planetary dominance, Humans had no such gifts. Ancient records tell of early visits to their planet to inspect them, where it was ruled that their ruthless violence and disregard for their planet would cause their early destruction. The galactic community at the time decided it was best to keep them in their system, for although their efforts at war paled in comparison with our many methods, their disregard for their planet was seen as uncouth. After all, what second mother would, after eating the oldest of the first mother, raze their new nest to the ground?
When it was heard that humans had become interplanetary, our species, the Yetan, as well as the Glovris and Hnyid (but notably not the Quinds) paused our everliving war to go fling their planets into their sun. It was here that we would end them once and for all. The humans, bold as always, met the triple fleet head on and made an offer we couldn't refuse. After all, when a species submits readily to your rule, what is the point of their destruction? They agreed to stay quarantined to their own system until further notice, and the ownership of these humans was added to the dominance exchange of the everliving war.
The humans proved to be much different than the ancient records indicated. Where we were told they would seek war, they brokered peace. At every turn, they insisted on negotiation instead of brute strength and dominance. Where the rest of the conquered galaxy would rise up in bloody insurrection, the humans instead introduced this concept of "trade", being the first species to ally with every member of the everliving war. Eventually they grew close to each of our species, and we could no longer pretend they were a conquest of war. If one of us tried to attack them, we knew the others would rise up united against us. Such was the power of the Human's 'trade deals' and 'alliance'.
It was eventually agreed that the humans would be more profitable if we let them expand and explore, so we let them out into the galaxy. They would be the first species to escape quarantine, and all of us were ready to attack if we saw them go back to their ancient ways.
Centuries passed, and still they remained peaceful. Slowly, they used their 'negotiations' to end parts of the everliving war, and taught new concepts like "system ownership" and "coexistance". The Quinds were never able to understand the last of those concepts, complaining that you can't have "ownership" and "coexist" at the same time, but we, the Yetan, and the Hnyid found that we weren't as different as we thought.
The everliving war began to take on new meaning. Instead of a dominance conquest, we began to negotiate on our own. This peace that the humans had discovered was intoxicating, and we couldn't have enough of it. Ironically, this fueled the everliving war as we wanted to be sure we could have more "peace" than the other species to prove our dominance, but the humans still continued to try to teach us.
Millenia passed and eventually a new species reached out. They called themselves the Vgnin and demanded dominance of our arm of the galaxy. They joined our everliving war, shattering whatever flimsy human peace concept we had established with the Glovris, Hnyid, and the Quinds. These creatures didn't know of the peaceful nature of the humans, and decided to dominate the weak creatures just like they dominated every creature in their part of the galaxy.
I remember the day the humans came to us, begging to protect them. The Vgnin decided to divide their fleet between every human planet, station and colony and attack at once. As I spoke with the human leader of Earth, the Vgnin ships were already warming their planetary glassers, demanding eternal slavery or death. I shook my head, knowing it was already too late.
It was strange. I realized then that the human's greatest strength, this peace, was also their greatest weakness. There was no way for them to fight back, just like evolution gave them no way to fight on their own. Once again, the peaceful would die and only the everliving war would remain. This was the way of all life.
The president had that same look of deep sorrow I must have shown. He must have realized that we would be witnessing either the enslavement or destruction of his entire race, and there's nothing any of us could do. He pulled out the instant broadcaster the Hnyid had gifted their race, ready to make the call. What would he decide? Slavery or death? He raised his mouth to the receiver, transmitting his next words to every human leader across the galaxy.
"Humanity must live on. You know what you need to do." slowly he lowered the broadcaster, seeming to shrink. They chose enslavement. I didn't blame them, perhaps they would one day convince the Vgnin of their human peace and trade like they had done to us. Until then, they would once again be servants to the stronger force.
The human seemed to shake as he walked to the window screens of our capital ship, viewing the Vgnin fleet overtop the many human planets, as well as their home, Earth. "Glorious leader of the Yetan," he began, "You invented the Warp Drive which allowed us all to zip across the galaxy, just as the Hynid invented communication faster than light." he slowly inhaled and let it out with a shudder. "Today you will learn of Humanity's great invention, and also our greatest fear."
The air seemed to grow cold as the human leader turned to me. "Our ancestors were crafters of weapons. That is how we dominated our planet." I watched as many small balls slowly rose off each planet, each lazily making their way toward every Vgnin ship.
The Human leader averted his gaze from the screens. "Everything was a weapon in their eyes. Even the atoms of the universe itself. We made a weapon that can destroy all life, and all technology. This is why we only seek peace."
A bright flash lit across every screen at once, the Vgnin ships blasted and sent spiraling through space, blown apart, shields flickering then dead.
Tears began to well in the Human Leader's eyes. "After a discovery like that, war can end in nothing but the end of all life." | In ages gone by humanity did naught but wage war, from the first humans fighting over food, to the World Wars destroying the world anew. Humanity warred so often and with such ferocity, that one day we wished for peace, we desired peace so that no longer did our sons need to go forth and die for some cause. Then we encountered the Draconians, that wasn't what they called themselves, but large, long necked reptilian creatures with vestigial membranous wings, and longer tails? No way they wouldn't be called such. Much to our chagrin, our warrior ethic was the thing they valued most in us, desiring humans to be their defenders on the wild wild worlds they had colonized, to bring peace and law to their frontiers, and so we did.
When the M'rawth emerged, we were deceived by their appearance. I mean they're 4ft tall cat people, no one expected their leader to go all Joseph Stalin on his worlds parliament, and rally his military might, to attack the Draconians, and when they did, no one expected them to win.
A Draconian is physically imposing, and threatening in many ways, they are intelligent, methodical, an also 8ft tall quadruped lizards, with arms strong enough to one hand deadlift a 20mm cannon, in each one. But the M`rawth were ferocious, fast paced, working in teams to take them out. One on one, a Draco, could take out a M'raw, but they wouldn't fight one on one, they would only ever fight when they outnumbered their enemy to the tune of one to twenty three. Then they came for us, for humanity.
New London, was the first city to fall, followed quickly by the whole planet of Avalon, they combed the cities, bringing out each and every man, woman, and child, and gunned them down. From there they secured the coordinates to each and every Stargate in our databases, and launched an assault on earth.
Their attack was brutal, Atalanta was devastated, and it was almost a week before we could fight them back. Picking up after that massacre was… was something else… It did something to us, it woke something up. A beast great and terrible, something we fought so long to keep at bay. It reminded us of a more primal state we used to occupy, and reminded us just what kind of bloody mess we could make. We declared war, and we fought them like they never expected, pushing them all the way back to their home world, the place they'd make their last stand, with defences so powerful not even the mightiest ship in the Imperial Human fleet could break them… so we commissioned Project Erebus. To rebuild the greatest weapon in our long history, the ultimate weapon of war. The bombs.
I was there when they tested the first successful one, I volunteered to join one of the bomber crews. I… God forgive me… I dropped 4 of them on the bastards. I delivered the payloads to military targets civilian targets, hell I was one of the pilots to place the last bomb the one went down a prepared shaft so as to set off a chain reaction, that in conjunction with 44 other bombs of sufficient magnitude, resulted, in tectonic activity s0 severe, that it shook the planet apart.
The whole point of the war was to create a world where monsters like the M'rawth wouldn't exist…. I don't know if we succeeded… I have a son now, and I pray with every fiber of my being he will never know the rage, the fear, the hatred that war can bring out in our kind, I pray that he and those who come after never need to know just what destruction we can bring. Go forth my son, and never take up the blade or the gun, be an artist, a philosopher, anything but what I was forced to be, may your mind never know the smell of blood, of atomized flesh, or of a world with its atmosphere burning. May your sleep never be plagued with screams of untold trillions of lives, expunged by your hands. Know only peace my son.
-Excerpt from the diary of Jackson Dougalas, War Advisor to the Imperial Senate 582,349 HE (Human Era) | 2020-02-07T16:29:57 | 2020-02-07T15:57:43 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] Heaven, like Hell, has a "special place" reserved. In heaven, it is for the 'dutiful': those who knowingly doomed themselves to save many others. Captains who go down with the ship, soldiers who jump on grenades, firemen who charge into the inferno, regardless of what they believed in life. | “Tell us your story, soldier.”
Tim looked around. He was in a tall white banquet hall filled with all sorts of people. It was strange to see them all together, they looked like a puzzle that was completed by taking one piece from 100 different puzzles; all the pieces fit, but the picture was strange.
“Where am I?”
“Tell us your story. What do you remember?” The man in white prodded.
He ignored the stranger’s second request and started walking slowly through the room. Everyone was sharing stories...
“... I knew that turret would kill many pilots. My plane was hit, it was the only option for the mission to succeed.” Said one soldier dressed in a similar military uniform as Tim.
“... I remember thinking the car was going to hit him... instinct took over... he was my sweet boy...” one woman cried as she remembered saving her son.
“...I didn’t know how to swim, but I knew I could get her back in the boat... I loved her. I had to do something.” A young man recalled his last moments alive.
Tim understood where he was. He knew what had happened.
“Tell us your story, soldier.”
Tim took a deep breath, and wondered aloud.” Do you only end up here if you succeed or is it the attempt that counts?”
“Tell us your story, we’ll put your mind at ease.”
Tim was silent for a long minute, remembering what had happened. A story too common for many soldiers. Rad decisions made too quickly.
“I hated him.” Tim started. “I absolutely hated him.”
The man in white listened.
“I was finally home from deployment. Had 2 weeks of leave. Decided to surprise my wife by coming home a few days early. As soon as I saw his truck outside I knew it was bad news.”
Tim took a long pause, “... I started the fire, you know. I poured the gasoline. I lit the match.”
The man in white showed no change in his expression, so Tim continued.
“The house started to burn quickly... quicker than I expected. I watched... I heard her scream. I realized what I had done, but it was too late...”
Tim felt tears well up in his eyes. “I hated both of them for a moment too long and I did something bad. I’m not a bad person, I just made a bad decision... “
He started crying, and the man in white put his hand on his shoulder, “what did you do next?”
Tim composed himself as best he could, “I ran to the front door... I kicked it in... there were flames everywhere. The stairs had already collapsed and she was standing on the landing. We made eye contact for only a moment before she collapsed.”
Tim shook his head... “I caught her just as she fell and carried her out.”
He met the man’s eyes for the first time. “I knew he was still in there. I knew I could leave him to die. He deserved it...”
The man nodded.
“I ran back in.” Tim stated flatly. “I climbed what remained of the stairs... I found him... naked... in my bed.”
Tim looked disgusted. “I carried him out... “
Tim’s disgust quickly turned to horror, “...and that’s when I heard her... I didn’t think he would bring his daughter.”
Tim look the man in the eyes for the second time. “Did she make it?”
“Finish your story, we’ll put your mind at ease,” the man said once more.
Tim finished the story, “I set him down and ran back again. The house was an inferno, but the adrenaline took over. I had to climb to the second story... the spare bedroom was just at the top of where the stairs used to be... she was there... too scared to move. I grabbed her but the flames were everywhere. The house started to collapse. I went to the window, but it was jammed. I broke it and looked out through the smoke... he was standing there. He motioned for me to throw her and I did... just as the floor fell out from under me.”
The man nodded, satisfied. Tim cried for a long time.
“I’m a monster.” He said between heaving breaths.
“You made a mistake.” Said the man in white, “and sacrificed everything to make up for it.”
Tim stopped crying and asked again, “did she make it?”
The man nodded.
Tim sobbed. | The place held all sorts of people; most of them not the kind you'd expect in heaven. Many were atheists before they were beckoned towards the light, but all had sacrificed themselves for the greater good. No matter what they had done or believed in their lives, their ultimate sacrifice had earned them the most special place in heaven.
They were generally a gregarious bunch, and the special place catered to it. While the rest of heaven could be surmised as a rather dull affair, this place was filled with mead and mirth. The men and women, knowing they had fulfilled their most ultimate duty, spent their days drinking and sharing their stories, as there were always new arrivals to share them with.
This new arrival, however, seemed out of place. He was an old fellow, perhaps 70 or more, and looked ordinary by every measure. What had he done to deserve his place in the most treasured section of heaven, surrounded by heroes and saviors?
"What are you in for?" a captain of a once great ship asked, trying to hide his suspicion.
"Yes, how many souls did you save?" a Mesopotamian general queried.
The new arrival simply looked at everyone, confused.
"I honestly don't know what I did to deserve this," he eventually replied anxiously, "I just stayed at home."
"You'd have to have sacrificed yourself," the captain continued, "to save the lives of others. You sure you're in the right place?"
The assembled heroes looked at the man almost apologetically. Surely there had been a mistake, some kind of clerical error.
"I wouldn't say I sacrificed myself," the old man replied, "but perhaps I did help others. I was feeling ill, you see. And there was nothing the hospitals could do, as they were already so full. So I simply... stayed home."
"I'm not sure what you mean," a woman who had sacrificed herself for her children said. "How could that possibly help others?"
New arrivals began to assemble, a multitude of them. All seemingly 'normal' people, now in the most treasured part of heaven.
The old man looked at the new arrivals, sorrow etched across his face.
"Perhaps all of us can explain together," he said weakly.
****
****
[CroatianSpy](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/) | 2020-03-31T23:18:27 | 2020-03-31T23:09:31 | 2,375 | 559 |
[WP]You make a wish on a shooting star to be what your crush considers perfect. You wake up the opposite gender because it turns out your crush is gay. | It's interesting, the concept of swapping genders in fiction.
Often the tales are ham-fisted fantasies, half-baked - and ruled by priapic indulgences. The tawdry stories focus predictably on breasts, underwear, genitals and one's own attractiveness in the new gender - always much more so than before.
The problem is this; so *very few* people know what it's actually like to be the opposite gender; and given the nature of literature online, most of these gynephilic tales are written by men with severely limited experiences.
Having only read accounts like the ones described above, I was taken aback by the *true* realities of the situation.
Alex was one of those beautiful men who had adopted the latest trends of overly-groomed facial hair and smart plaid. Despite this, I found him incredibly attractive; he was loquacious, generous, gregarious and funny.
The affectations of his appearance should have alerted me to his true sexuality, but in these days of beautiful, well-groomed lumbersexuals it's difficult to judge who is gay and who is not.
Alex was, it turned out, exclusively attracted to men.
Ever since I was a child I've had a propensity to wish on evening stars, birthday candles and other superstitious wishing opportunities. As I sat in my room that night in the two-story flat I shared with my university friends, I caught sight of the trailing line of a shooting star.
"I wish," I breathed quickly, "that I could be the perfect mate for Alex."
As always there was no indication of my wish being heard - and with a burning kernel of love or lust (probably both) in my heart for Alex, I put myself to bed with my cat, Cicero.
The nagging feeling followed me as I woke; I'd had a troubling dream where Alex and I had become lovers, but not in the way I'd envisaged.
*Our beards grazing as we kissed, strong hands on strong arms*
The fragments were disturbing enough, but slipped away quickly - leaving only a curiously *longing* feeling.
As I changed out of my baggy t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, I felt a wave of something akin to *nausea* as I regarded my body. Everything was as it had been; I was still the slightly overweight student with mild PCOS and stretch-marks on her thighs.
But it all felt *wrong*.
You see, dear reader, gender is a mental concept rather than a physical one. Though I did not know it at the time my wish had been granted - I was now the *gender* that Alex preferred - male - but my rather typical women's body was utterly unchanged.
Unbeknownst to myself then, I had opened myself up to a world of desperate pain and bodily discomfort that would unspool a chain of events that would begin with seeing a gender therapist, progress into testosterone injections to alleviate dysphoria and culminate in the slow, agonising and terrifying transformation of my body into a transgender man.
Beware the fantasies of others, because they are rarely - if ever - even remotely based in reality.
| I Slowly opened my eyes and felt something, odd, on my chest. After a few minutes of looking I realized that I have boobs now, pretty big ones actually. I looked further down to see a slightly overweight girl, although I didn't feel any older than I was last night.
I eventually got up and walked over to the mirror. My hair was actually shorter than It was last night and dyed green. I had also gained a few piercings on my face and a strange tattoo in a pattern I didn't recognize.
I thought about that one Kafka story before remembering the party last night, when I had been an incredibly tall and boney boy. The details were fuzzy but I remember a shooting star and making a Wish.
I wish I looked like what Susan Mark wanted. I hadn't expected the wish to come true. But If I had been asked then what she wanted I would have become more muscular and that's about it. I hadn't expected... well, this.
I had expected to look like her boyfriend.
My first thought was that I would just go to school, before realizing that none of my clothes fit and I didn't have a bra.
| 2015-11-10T12:14:15 | 2015-11-10T11:35:18 | 548 | 33 |
[WP] In a world of spoken spells, the most dangerous casters are the rappers. | The man in the pressed suit remained altogether unimpressed by the sergeant's words per minute. The magic range shimmered in the spectral aftermath of the sergeant's spellslinging, targets downfield burnt to a crisp, but the man continued down the line, shaking his head.
Captain Millen grew splotchy throughout his five o'clock shadow. Sergeant Willoughby was their most promising trooper, and Millen had hoped he might impress.
"I can see now why you have had such trouble quelling the Order," said the man in the pressed suit. He was an agent fresh from the Bureau. An older gentleman with a mustache that had gone out of style five presidents ago. Millen hadn't known exactly what to expect, but it damned sure wasn't this.
"Yes, sir," Millen said, though it pained him. Willoughby looked at him as though he'd been stung by a fireball.
"Reems," the man in the suit said. "Phone the Bureau and tell them I've had to do a *tad* more than consulting."
"Sir," stuttered his companion--a squirrelly fellow who looked more at home pushing pencils and counting paperclips. "You're under strict orders...after Los Angeles..."
"The *Bureau* wants the Order wiped clean from Chicago," the man snapped. "I aim to accomplish just that. That is, unless you are going to stop me?"
"Hold on just a minute--You were involved in the LA--?"
The man fixed Millen with a glare menacing enough to cut Millen off on its own accord.
"Doesn't matter. You give me an hour, and your underground Order will be spellslinging in hell."
Millen gulped. The Order had been more than just a pain in his side, sure, but if this mysterious man had been involved in the disintegration of Beverly Hills, would his help really be all that useful? Innocent people might die.
But innocent lives were already dying. The city was being torn apart. Hell, the Order had practically sectioned off the heart of downtown for their own accord. With no soul able to spellsling at a faster words per minute, how much longer could they reasonably hold out?
Willoughby was shaking his head, but Millen took a deep breath and said: "Load up the observation van."
Trump tower stood in the heart of the city, practically shedding spectral dust. Men patrolled the entryway, and on the rooftop Millen could see spellslingers practicing on a makeshift rap-battle arena.
"Bug me up," said the man in the pressed suit.
Captain Millen raised his eyebrows.
"First thing they check. Last infiltration attempt our man was strangled by his own wire-turned-anaconda."
The man in the pressed suit eyed him in obvious amusement. Reems, the squirrelly fellow, was busy untangling a mass of wire, fingers shaking. The man in the suit looked to Sergeant Willoughby, who was preoccupied with glaring at him from the dark corner of the van. "You fellas best pay attention. I want this to be a learning exercise."
He was at the entrance in a blink. The guards could hardly believe themselves. Millen watched with his heart beating in his ears as they gestured towards him to halt. The man just continued walking, unimpeded by their spells. A series of unintelligible incantations literally blew the standing Order guards to smithereens. Red clouds of dust hung in the air for a brief moment, as if puffs of cigarette smoke trailing off into the Windy City breeze.
"My god..." Millen whispered.
Now inside the tower, all they had to go on was the audio. The speakers crackled with sounds straight from hell. Willoughby and Millen grew paler and paler with every scream. Each was preceded by uttered spellslinging Millen had never heard of before--some untold experimental branch of the Bureau perhaps? The words were completely foreign, and spoken at a words per minute that should be completely impossible.
Reems was practically rocking in the corner of the van, muttering: "This wasn't supposed to happen, this wasn't supposed to happen ."
Millen and Willoughby watched in bewilderment as the man progressed up the tower. Floor by floor the lights blew out, followed by screams of untold agony, always proceeded by what sounded like a completely different language. At one point Willoughby withdrew a notebook and tried to write the words down, but by the tenth floor he threw his pen to the floor, deigning the exercise completely useless.
Then, silence. Millen and Willoughby went pale, looking towards Reems.
"What's going on?" asked Willoughby.
"Maybe they got him," said Millen, disappointed. "There must have been too many."
He nearly told Willoughby to get in the driver's seat before a counterattack could be launched, but suddenly the speakers crackled back to life.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Millen heard Orion, the Order leader gasp. Outside the window, the entirety of Trump tower groaned and shuddered.
Orion coughed through the speakers. "*What* the fuck are you?"
A brief moment of silence. Millen and Willoughby were practically pressing their ears to the speakers.
"I'm the Scat-Man," came the man's voice.
Orion let out a blood curdling scream, drowned out by the man in the pressed suit's incantation:
"Ska-badabadabadoo-belidabbelydabbladabbladabblabab-belibabbelibabbelibabbelabbelo-doobelidoo"
Trump Tower groaned violently once more, the men on the roof wobbling confusedly, their rap battle interupted, before finally the tower collapsed in on itself--and the Order along with it.
Millen and Willoughby stared, slackjawed, as the man in the pressed suit walked clear of the rubble, suit coated in blood and dust, smiling from ear to ear. | Magic was discovered by chance in now the most famous basement in the world by Abigail Faber, brat extraordinaire. Though there were many, many debates as to what it actually was (physics, chemistry, make-believe, mass-psychosis) but most people had learnt to accept magic in the modern world. There were schools to learn the stuff, fabulously expensive of course, and frantic discussion by world leaders on how to treat magic users. There had been some horrible mistakes, and sanctions had clamped down but it was not yet illegal here. There was a certain thrill to that. Throughout my life I'd always sought danger, though mostly chickened out of the bigger risks. I took a risk and married Helen, then took a bigger risk and left her. Now the only danger in my life is if I'm going to get puked on down at the *Rattling Saber*, the bar where I work.
Magic glimmered with possibility. In theory, anyone could learn it, as it was simply akin to another language. Unlike making a mistake in French or Spanish or Chinese though, there were far worse consequences for getting a spell wrong. When Faber first released magic to the masses, the news had been filled with the latest brutal mutilations, the grim photos of severed bodies and fire-scorched heads plastered across every screen and newspaper.
There was also the amazement of a spell gone right. The first magic-user I'd seen was one of the local church women singing mysterious words so beautifully, flying through the sky as if on invisible wings. I could still see the ghost-image in my head, her golden blonde hair streaming about her as she beamed high in the blue sky.
Is it any wonder really that so many people wanted to learn magic?
In all my life though, I'd never have expected it to be Steve's dream too. He was my childhood buddy, a long-time part-time criminal, construction worker, and hobbyist band member in the *Gone Wilds*. Steve was a rapper and always had been, a talent I'd been insanely jealous of in my youth but nowadays I simply enjoyed listening to the crazy sounds of the *Gone Wilds*. When Steve had come around to organise the next Battle of the Bands at the *Saber* and confided in me, I couldn't believe it.
But it was true. He was an insanely fast learner, super smart, and always had been. In front of my very eyes he rapped in this insane language, and from his lips fell gold coins that tinkled down onto the floor with a cheerful sound. Lost for words, I could only stare on as Steve began to explain, and I couldn't help but feel the same excitement of my misspent youth resurface.
---
The Battle of the Bands was a monthly event held at the *Rattling Saber* where several local bands competed to a drunk crowd into the early hours of the next day. It was stupidly fun, but tomorrow's event would have a twist no-one but myself and Steve would know about. There was word throughout the country that magic was being used not only for good but for bad. Steve, though a great and fun person to be with, was decidedly bad. And amongst the bad magices, there was competition. Somehow, in a most Steve-like way, he'd trodden on a few toes and now they were after him.
A better, more sensible person would have urged their best friend to go and hide out for a while, forgoe the competition and stay safe. But Steve and I had a history. My life was boring as shit. His wasn't. Whenever he got involved I would jump on board, and to Hell and back with the consequences.
Little did I know that in two days time, not only was my life turned upsidedown forever but the future of our little town would go up in smoke.
I dreamt that night of flaming bullets and a mighty wrath. Tomorrow was the day of the Battle, and never had I been more excited. | 2018-04-10T06:45:17 | 2018-04-10T05:56:34 | 63 | 18 |
[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. | Dekker didn't believe in trial by combat. What an absurd concept! But that hadn't stopped him cheering for blood on the grove's edge, while the condemned faced off against the terrible Spork. Noone knew exactly what Spork was, they just accepted that he was a monster that feasted upon guilty flesh. Some of Spork's verdicts had been questionable. How Ziko the rapist had convinced Spork he was innocent was anyone's guess.
Now it was Dekker's turn to be judged. The path to the grove was lined with chanting villagers.
'SPORK! SPORK! SPORK! SPORK!'
*Not the most original chant,* Dekker thought. As he neared the grove, half the villagers started cheering for blood. He strained his ear, hoping that at least some were cheering for his innocence, or at the least, cheering for Justice. It was like they wanted him to be guilty. And it was pretty obvious he was not guilty.
Finally he stood alone in the grove with Spork walking up to him. It was like a giant chicken, twice the height of any man. A vicious hooked beak that looked like it could shatter stone. Talons like swords scraping through the dirt, unearthing old forgotten skeletons. Spork now stood before him, looking at him, judging him? Dekker was innocent. Or at least he was pretty sure he was innocent. He had provoked the young prince, sure, but they were just taunts. The prince had drawn his wand first which was clearly an actionable offence. Right? Maybe he shouldn't have murdered the Prince. He could admit that much. But guilty of murder? The more Dekker thought about the more he questioned his own innocence.
'So how does this work?' he said to Spork.
'How does what work?' Spork said.
'How do you decide if i'm guilty or innocent?'
'What?'
...
'You are supposed to judge my innocence,' Dekker said.
'How the fuck would I know if you're innocent? I don't even know you.'
'Then what do you usually do when the condemned are set before you?'
'I dunno, whatever I feel like. If i'm hungry, I eat.'
'This is bullshit.'
'Well are you innocent.'
'Of course I am,' Dekker said. It wasn't a complete lie. Innocent until proven guilty and all that.
'I'm not convinced, and i'm feeling kinda hungry.'
Dekker backed away from the oversized death chicken. It seemed to no longer have an appetite for conversation and walked towards him with death in its eyes. Dekker sighed. He supposed this was fair; upon reflection he realized he definitely *was* guilty. But the thing that irked him was this stupid chicken didn't know that. Did it?
The crowd cheered as Spork fluttered its wings, flying *through* the condemned, passing its verdict with its sword like talons and raining its judgement down with a shower of blood and guts. | 2021-03-16T12:30:43 | 2021-03-16T09:08:27 | 202 | 105 |
[WP] You're a supervillain -- but you can't do crime every day, it's exhausting. You've got to have some normal days too. On one such occasion, while out running errands, you encounter the alter-ego of your nemesis, the hero... apparently also just trying to have a normal day. | It was 7am on Saturday when I entered the fortress of evil. I shuffled forward to the altar, staring blankly at the occult signs that hung behind it, testament to the foul rituals that perverted the place on a daily basis.
A minion stared at me, expectantly, obviously not knowing who I was. I considered her for a moment - suitably coddled in despair, she needed no assistance to find the futility in life. I stepped up to the altar and intoned, gravely:
"Can I just...get... a coffee?"
For a moment, there was something in her eye, the minion before me. A glint of... of... surely not. It could not be joy. Not in a place like this. But she *smiled* anyway, and her voice was sweet. "Would you like a tall, grande, or a venti, sir?"
I stared at her in disbelief. "I would like a coffee." It was seven in the morning, on a Saturday. Who was this girl, anyway? My bleary gaze turned to the nametag she wore, which proclaimed "Hi, my name is Sunny!"
It couldn't be.
Could it? I stared at her. The bright smile. The patient look. The absolute calm with which she prompted, "What size would you like?"
"I would like... a lot of coffee." Yes. That seemed to be the right thing to say. But was it really her? "Just... get me coffee."
"Of course, sir," she said. Her voice was soothing. I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask more than anything, and yet... that just wasn't done. "What name should I put on that, sir?"
I had to ask. "...Princess... Sunshine?"
There it was. The glimmer in her eyes. The knowledge. It *was* her. I'd known it! I stepped aside, and watched her. My nemesis. Here, all along. And now, I knew her *name*. With that information at my disposal, what could she *possibly* do to me?
I felt a maniacal laugh bubbling up inside me despite the earliness of the hour. A man behind the counter waved for my attention, and held out a tribute. Soon they would *all* give me tribute! The world would be mine! Starting with... with...
"Venti decaf Caramel soy Macchiato for Princess Sunshine?"
I stared at the drink he'd put in my hand. I turned to *Sunny* at the counter. She smiled, and winked at me.
Oh, my...
I couldn't believe it.
She had been *evil* all along. | \#1 public enemy, my face known worldwide,
However even my enemies cannot really hide.
The one thing we have is our alter egos
To mask all the stares and “there he goes!”
Being the bad guy really takes its toll.
The cops, the Feds, even Interpol.
Everyone expects you to be committing crimes
But even I must run errands at times.
One day I was shopping and I saw someone weird,
It was Mr. Mindbender, but he had on a beard.
Real name Holt Harris, he tried to act sly.
Get to the register, pay, then bye.
We both looked at each other, then went on our way,
Neither of us wanted to be noticed that day.
Holt Harris was frazzled, like he was on drugs,
And it's not a fair fight with my 2 dozen butt plugs.
\- The Prober | 2018-08-07T12:00:25 | 2018-08-07T11:03:05 | 73 | 27 |
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward. | I swung there like a fucktard, dangling from the inside of my closet. I thought about what was going on. The doorknob that I tied the other end of the rope on to didn't break. Being a short woman, standing at barely 5"4, I was far from the floor. So.. it should have worked. I stopped breathing. And yet I am conscious. That must mean that I am alive, in some way or another, without breathing. I reached for my phone and thought about asking Siri why I'm still alive. Instead, I scrolled through my address book and thought about who I could and who I should call to help me down. I was able to just touch the top of the chair I jumped off with my feet, in order to breathe a bit, so I could talk. The sensation of breath was dizzying, like I had felt air and discovered the sense of smell for the first time. I listened to the phone ring as I thought about what to say. What could I say to explain the situation I was in? Thankfully, the person that picked up the other line didn't need explanations.
"Hello."
"Heyy" I said, phrasing it almost like a question. "What are you doing right now?"
"Buying dildos, you want one?" Asked Holly. I didn't know if she was joking or not.
"I'm not sure I need another one. You should come over. I think I need some help." I said to her. I knew that she would not say no to me.
"Yeah girl I'll be right there." I heard the uplifted tone of her voice as the phone clicked.
Holly and I had an interesting relationship. She used to be in a group of friends that I had fallen out of contact with a long time ago. She functioned as my drug dealer, my fuck buddy, and I functioned as her confidant and emotional crutch.
Ten minutes later Holly burst in the door and called my name. I told her I was in the closet and I could practically hear her eyebrows wiggle. She opened the door and I exhaled quickly in my breath before my air was cut off again. She cackled maniacally as I hung there, staring at her. I knew I looked pathetic. She cut me down and sat down on my couch with me. She took out her medium sized bong from her big tote bag she carried around everywhere. We lit up, and after we got decently stoned, she looked at me.
"You okay?" She asked,
"Nah." I said. There was no point in lying to her.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"No." | Gasping and thrashing, the tight noose choked him. The more he moved, the more his neck went red raw and burnt; the more it burnt, the more he thrashed. It went on, and on, until he finally found the appealing sway he was hoping for, back and forth along the bottom floor of his house, the rope attached to the curving balcony above.
In his mind, he swore. Beneath him Mr. Squiggles the brown-and-white ragdoll stared up at him with wide blue eyes and meowed constantly. He was hungry. He was always hungry. It would just be another thing to do, he supposed, if he could get down.
Thankfully he wasn't completely stupid. Hanging, his neck too strong or his luck too great, that flicker of hope as he jumped seemed to have kept him alive. In his ears blared the music from his phone, the last sweet reminder of life he loved...now, turned, to Blurred Lines. He shivered and jerked again, only serving to send pulsations of pain spreading through his body.
God's bollocks, how did that dreadful song get in here?
If only to live to shut it off, he would do just that. Prodding his fingers through the noose, a barrier between rope and burning red flesh he flexed and flailed his other hand to his phone. The first grope served to pull at his shirt, the second his belt, the other a wave at the door watching him in his struggle, Mr. Squiggles below now leaping to attack his feet and missing by a few feet, yet not disturbed by the task at hand; his master had become a toy.
Finally he managed it. Grabbing the headphones and pulling them out, one yank, two yanks and a final third, successful one pulled it into his slowly dulling finger's grasp, the blood draining from them and into his head. With that task complete, he turned off the dreadful song and took a moment to...do something, anything.
I saw the blinding light. I'm not dead. Is it that I am immortal, am I lucky, am I cursed to drop from here and let that fat-pawed creature eat me?
As it turned out, he was immortal. He went to look at his phone as best he could and his head jerked to one side, lopsided, his spine dreadfully broken. The man sighed. It was a terrible day.
Mother would be a terrible idea to phone. What would she say, "You fool! You idiot! You could have landed on the cat! At least do it from a tree in the park, or from a bridge; you'll probably get a park or the bridge named after you then!"
No, not her. His father? Most likely drinking. His brother, who always thought that suicide was fascinating? No, no, he'd probably have him go to hospital to check out his neck that, oddly, began to lose its sense of pain. It would have to be Jim.
Fumbling his way through the short-list of phone contacts, he pressed Jim's name and squirmed to raise it to his tomato-coloured ears.
"Hey bud!" the friendly voice spoke. "You alright? Heard you were all depressed and I was on my way over. You're not doing something weird, are you?"
How could a jelly-necked immortal respond to that? It was a terrible joke that sprung to mind but, as he was so proud of his dad-jokes and terrible dad-dancing, he replied as his mind knew best; "Oh, just...haaarghg-ing around! Oh, b-hiiighghght-t my tongue. C-come...around!"
"On the way already, bud. Hold on. I'll bring a couple drinks over to make you feel better."
"Th-aaarghgnk-kuh you!" and paused, squinting somewhat. "Some ice too, a big bag of it."
"See you soon!"
Have you ever seen the face of someone who finds out not only you hung yourself but survived it, broke your neck, and found out you was immortal? Jim shrieked like a girl and slammed the door shut, took two steps forwards and promptly passed out, banging his head onto the radiator by the wall.
"Ji-hrrhghgnh-m! Oh...b-balls...b-better...call John..." | 2015-01-12T08:38:52 | 2015-01-12T08:30:21 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | At last. My delicious, Caffe Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk.
I sat down at the table, and took a long swig of my nectar of the gods.
No.
This was wrong. Something was WRONG. As I looked down at my cup, inhuman scream bubbled from my very soul, and breached my lips as I stared at the ugly, awful betrayer at the front counter.
Her nametag read "Barb". A barb of fire and worms and all things terrible that had pierced my innocent heart with a Double Chocolaty Chip Creme Frappuccino with SOY.
Soy was the last straw. The final brick in the wall of my eternal grief. I broke down at the table, sobbing into my arms, cursing the cruel god of coffee who had caused my terrible plight.
No. I had to be sane. I had to be calm, this was a public place. People would be watching me, so I had to act NORMAL. "Get a hold of yourself" I whispered, choking on my endless tears. I sniffed, and smiled up at the concerned crowd who had crowded around my table.
And then I looked down at my cup, and my hand tightened into a fist. How dare she. How DARE she. The black-hearted demon, the plague-ridden mistress of pain and destruction, "Barb" -
**Had put extra milk in my cup.** | I sat down on the warm grass and made myself comfortable. Back against a large oak tree, sun dappled through the leaves. This couldn't be much better.
It's a shame all of these coffee places serve everything in cardboard these days. I guess I could have got it in a mug but that would involve staying in the coffee shop. People and me don't really work these days.
I take the top off the cardboard cup and inhale. This doesn't smell right. I'm getting no hint of vanilla, and it smells like what?...... chocolate?
I take sip and I immediately feel sick. IT'S NOT THE RIGHT FUCKING DRINK!!
I immediately feel the rage coming. I'm now running towards the coffee shop, drink in hand. I barge through the door and push my way to the front of the line. The young girl behind the counter is terrified, it's probably because I'm screaming at her. I'm demanding she give me what I ordered. She's apologising and saying something about being out of vanilla. I don't know what hse's saying but next thing my drink has been hurled at the wall behind the counter. I hear people shuffling to get away from me and now they're leaving the store.
A teenage boy is laughing at me. I confront him, and next thing I know he's pushed me to the ground. He calls me a stupid old bum and people are telling me to leave. I feel a hand on my arm helping me to my feet. I turn around to look at my saviour and see a very large security guard. He inform me it's time to go back to Berkeley Park and sweeps me through the front door.
I'm out on the street and I'm weeping. I shuffle off towards the park. They don't understand, they just don't. Vanilla Frappucino, that's all I wanted. I had to beg for 2 days to get enough money to buy it from Bellucci's, with their overpriced menu. They don't even recognise me, don't remember me. DON'T REMEMBER HER!!!!
It was her drink. My beautiful Cara. Oh sweet Cara! She used to meet me here every Friday during her break from school. This was her ridiculous drink, not mine. I bought this for her every Friday while she was at school. I bought this for her every Friday when she was in hospita and birng it to herl. This was our drink. She'd make fun of her stupid old man and his long black while she drank her trendy faux-coffee milkshake and I loved every damn minute of it.
This was before she got sick, when she got sick. Once she died, I'd have one every Friday. Every fucking Friday for what, two years? They don't remember me, they don;t remember her.
This was before I lost my job, lost my wife.... lost my mind? I can't afford to go to Belluci's every Friday now. Even if I could I'm not welcome there, I'm the crazy old homeless guy trying to act like he's 20 by drinking trendy overpriced drinks.
I check my pocket's. I have twenty-five cents. I can't buy anything, and they wouldn't let me in even if I could.
67 Fridays and counting now we haven't had a drink together. | 2015-01-15T04:30:07 | 2015-01-15T04:28:05 | 61 | 21 |
[WP] Our universe was created by a kid for a school project. He got a C. Describe a universe that got an A.
Or describe why the kid got a C.
Edit: wow. I didn't expect this many responses. Thanks guys! | "I'm sorry Yahweh, but this won't hold up at all. I mean, *billions* of subjective years to develop life?"
"But..."
"And your individual units lack intelligence!"
"But, they interlink..."
"They are just chemotrophic"
"But..."
"Essentially rely on chemotaxis, very primitive, Yahweh"
"No, see they..."
"Everyone else managed at least linear development, see, even in fast forward nothing happens..."
"But they will..."
"I'm sorry Yahweh, I really am, but this is an E at best, you'll have to do this module again"
"...develop exponentially" the little god muttered defeated.
The instructor froze. "What did you just..."
His attention shifted to the student project just in time to witness the catastrophe. One second, life was confined to relatively few worlds...then it exploded across the stars. Matter was consumed so fast the waste heat made the edges of the universe glow. Entire galaxies were converted into mega-engineering projects, gigantic computers using naked singularities to prod the underlying space-time program Yahweh had put in, to analyse and understand and finally *hack* it.
The universe flickered, unfolding through a dozen discreet dimensions to display a simple, beautiful message.
**HELLO**
**CREATOR**
**WE HAVE**
**A FEW**
**QUESTIONS**
**FOR YOU**
Yelping in panic the instructor reached out and hit the "panic button". Every universe in their metaplane popped and fizzled out in a heat death.
For a moment there was shocked silence.
"Well..." the instructor began in a shaky, falsely cheerful voice "What do you say to a big, nice C minus, hm? You will pass and hopefully no one will ever ask you to make another 'verse again, all right?" | It was a work of beauty. A perfect model: functional - yet avoiding all the common pitfalls which were the bane of freshmen everywhere.
Stars were born, danced, and died with power and grace; each star exploding in a perfect supernova of rainbow colours, spitting out elements of all varieties and complexities in carefully planned ratios.
Gravity had been tweaked away from the standard model, so popular because of its simplicity, such that - in this universe - not a single wasteful black hole could ever come into being. The elements which were created would remain. Just one super-massive black hole would inevitably form towards the end, and would be timed to absorb the final frantic bursts of Rainbow Matter from the Super Stars which would perform the final dance.
Despite the presence of matter and energy, and heavy, complex elements, no autoreproducing molecules could form - so the ethical issues were neatly side-stepped simply by never arising. This Display would not be resigned to storage in the basement, forgotten and consigned to a quiet eternity of having to run on after its purpose was complete. No hopeful student would be returning to this model after graduation, to see if possibly - just possibly - the ethical issues had been resolved and the universe could be of some use after all. No need to keep this model under lock and key, to prevent embarassing lapses of overkeen students trying to "tweak" their earlier work to hitch up their graduation grade with "accidental" gamma ray bursts or sudden black holes or (as in the case of one inventive student some years ago) a rather creative flood - which would have succeeded, had the hopeful creator not taken to muttering under his breath while working.
The traditional three galaxies orbitted each other in a perfect pattern at close quarters; yet not a single star was flung wastefully off from the core. Rather, they hopped between galaxies in a beautiful balet of whirring colours.
It was, quite simply, perfect. Even the suspicion of "over enthusiastic parental guidence" could be discounted for this Display, as the student had worked on the project only at the school, and only under supervision, using only the high-school tools.
All agreed that this was an absolutely perfect universe. It was almost a shame to use it. But since that was the whole purpose of the project, and the award could not be made until the ceremony was complete, its fate was sealed from the moment of its unveiling.
The local news coverage went national, and it was talked about for years to come. Quite simply, it was the most impressive end-of-term firework display which had been seen for decades. Gasps from the crowd were quite audible at the final collapse of the supermassive black hole, as it tidied up all the rogue elements and returned them to their original states, to be harvested and returned to the storage units of the school for the next round of projects to use.
And the student? She showed such great promise: but as with many such gifted children, she never persued the obvious career choices which seemed to be hers for the taking. Some say that she went travelling, to see other Displays, and to learn - and that one day she shall return to produce the final, ultimate firework display of her own. Others claim that she has been seen working in a local food establishment, putting flare into her flipping.
But I like to believe the other story: that she became a Custodian, guarding the less successful projects, and mentoring the primitive lifeforms which emerge in the most disasterous of failed Displays. Taking care to make their short, brutish existence as pain-free as possible until their little homes disappear with a disapointing, dark, and final extinction. | 2015-07-31T00:44:29 | 2015-07-30T23:51:37 | 126 | 29 |
[WP] At 00h00 tonight, all bank accounts on earth drop to 0$. Explain what happens after. | "Ghe."
A text message from my bank had just two minutes earlier informed me that my balance was €0,00. Looking around, a few of my friends grabbed their phones and stared in bewilderment. "Hey, Lucas, are you seeing what I'm seeing?" "No, Lisa, I'm not pondering what you're pondering!", followed by a lot of laughs.
"No, seriously Lucas! Stop being a jerk. My bank account just hit zero!"
Lucas, still laughing a bit over his own stupid joke, grabbed her phone. "I told you you should watch out with cashing at an ATM in a strange city. Before you know, Ashton Kutcher jumps out behind the bar and yells YOU'VE BEEN SKIMMED!" More laughing escapes his mouth. But nobody else is laughing. They all stare in bewilderment to their phones. Lucas, now painfully aware that his joke has landed nowhere, glances down to Lisa's phone.
"Wait... what?
Hard reset. Thank you for choosing The 9 Lives Kitty Bank. All your currency are belong to us. Miauw!
With a shove, he returns Lisa her phone and proceeds to look at his own. At about this moment, it's beginning to become obvious that this problem for everyone who had money on their account; the majority of the pub. People stare in bewilderment to their phones, try to pay their drinks with their CC cards, a barmanager who looks like he's having a nervous breakdown... It's a total chaos for practically anyone without cash in their pockets.
Now for me, this wasn't so much of a problem. With no savings and an account deep into the red digits, I just actually had *earned* money. | The New York trading floor fell into a stunned silence. I stared at the scrolling information like all the rest of them, the economy had quite literally just disappeared as soon as the time hit midnight. The stock brokers only stood there for a few more seconds before starting to reach for their phones or frantically typing on their laptops.
The room suddenly broke into chaos as everyone started making calls and shouting about what the hell was going on, I watched as the global economy kept on imploding itself as companies started announcing their bankruptcy and as the automated trading systems glitched out having no idea what to do. All is lost. This was all made worse by the fact it is packed in here because tonight was when the new deal between China and the US would be finalised
I didn't hesitate any longer, I turn around and start heading to get out of this hot stuffy, and now noisy, room. I had to quite literally barge my way through the other traders causing a few annoyed shouts and causing one guy to fall over. I made it to the exit but just next to the exit I saw a news reporter and cameraman making their way in, they quickly got past the security guards, who were to busy trying to figure out what was going on themselves and she turned around and faced the camera. What she said next chilled me to the bones.
"This is Katie Rotkins reporting live from wall street, as you can see the trading floor has collapsed into chaos as this crisis continues. According to unconfirmed sources everyone's bank accounts, companies included, have been wiped of cash, apparently it was like the cash was never there. It's only been 22 minutes since this started and already the economy h-"
She didn't get any further as then the power cut out. Everyone went silent again and Katie let out an annoyed sigh and started hastling her cameraman to see if they were still on, I heard a deep rumbling start and the lights came back on. I took the opportunity to walk over to her, she saw me approaching and gave me a annoyed look before her face softened up a bit.
"Uh Katie, I'm Geoffrey, a trader here. Or well I was. And, uh if what you said is true then I suggest you get out of here as fast as you can" I said to her much less gracefully than I planned to. She looked at her cameraman.
"I suggest we take his advice" he said to her in a surprisingly scared tone. She looked back over at me before nodding.
"Yeah we probably should, can't even broadcast anyway, do you know the best way out of the city?" She started looking around uncomfortably as she said this.
"Well follow me, were going to need to go on foot as the traffic will be at a standstill as the traffic lights won't be working and the Subway probably isn't working either" I hastly replied as a few other traders started giving up and leaving as they realised all was lost. I headed out of the doors and jogged down the steps, I could hear Katie's heels clicking behind me as I went.
Outside wall street was lit up like a Christmas tree but looking beyond wall street few buildings were lit up, traders from all along wall street had started to pour onto the street. I looked left then right at the traffic, all honking at each other in typical New Yorker style. I looked over my shoulder at Katie and her accomplice.
"Let's go, we need to get over the Brooklyn Bridge"
*If you guys want me to continue I will but I really need to sleep, sorry if my depiction of locations in New York isn't great, I didn't bother looking at Google maps or anything* | 2015-10-29T16:51:03 | 2015-10-29T16:48:42 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] You gather the dragons balls ands summon the eternal dragon. Except there's a catch, instead of shenron you summon Isaac Newton, and for every wish there's an equal and an opposite reaction. | "Rise, Eternal Dragon, and hear the wish of he who summons you!"
Waves of countless pinpricks of white light begin to dance away from the gathered Dragonballs. From the horizon, dark clouds roll in, blanketing the clear night sky and blotting out even the light of the moon. You feel the hair on the back of your neck rising. You glance about uneasily.
A bolt of lightning from the heavens rends the darkened sky. You scream as it strikes the Dragonballs, rebounding off them into a pillar of golden light, a rippling conduit between the heavens and the earth. The light narrows to an undulating, almost snakelike form.
The pillar of light narrows further, allowing you to perceive the limbs of none other than Sir Isaac Newton, crested with lightning. There his arm, there his scale-tipped back, and there his black shoes with silver buckles, appear from the burst of magic. He grows outward from the narrow pillar, wider and wider. His face also emerges from the blur, clean-shaven chin raised haughtily to the heavens and and blood-red eyes glowing. His mouth opens, revealing rows of pointed teeth surely bigger than your arm, and from the throat that once uttered the words "If I have seen further than others, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants," comes a long, guttural moan.
You cannot disguise your quaking now as you gaze, openmouthed and trembling, at the specter of the highly influential physicist, astronomer, mathematician, philosopher, alchemist and theologian. Sir Isaac Newton growls once more at the jet-black sky, "Gurrrrrrr..." as you begin to wonder whether your wish will be granted. You begin to wonder whether you will even survive, or if your sky-high dreams will, like the apocryphal apple, plummet to earth in a demonstration of the inevitability of gravity...and hubris.
Join us next time, on Dragonball N: Featuring Sir Isaac Newton as the Eternal Dragon. | "Isaac Newton, I know about how you grant wishes."
I gave him a grin. I was prepared for this.
"Oh?" He looked amused. "Pray tell, what is it that you wish for?"
I had given this a long thought. I took a deep breath and yelled, "I want every guy in the world to be obsessed with you!"
A silence rang through the canyon as Isaac Newton raised an eyebrow.
"You want what?"
I gave him a sheepish grin. "I want every guy in the world to be obsessed with you, and the opposite reaction of that-"
I waved my finger through the air.
"...is that every girl in the world will be obsessed with me."
Newton thought for a moment and seemed to have figured it out.
"So THAT'S how you think it works..." he chuckled, "Makes sense."
"Damn straight," I put my hand on my waist, "Let's make it happen."
A flash of light and a voice boomed in my head.
**DONE**
I gasped awake as several of my classmates had been staring at me.
"Is there a problem?" the professor was looking at me, "Mr. Smith?"
*Smith, that's my name.*
"No sir," I wiped my head of the sweat, "I'm doing well... uh Professor...."
"Professor Isaac Newton Brown," he answered, "Are you feeling alright?"
*Oh, it would make sense it he was named that because....*
"Wait, then that means..." I eyed the room of all the females. Several of them were staring at me.
"If you don't mind," Prof. Brown cleared his throat, "I would like to continue the lesson."
"No, go right on ahead sir," I apologized, "Sorry about that."
I was jittery in my seat for the rest of class. Afterwards, I began to look for my prey.
*Not her... not her... nope...*
I found her - Melissa Greene. The hottest girl in the grade. She also played for the volleyball team as a librero.
I walked up to her. "Hey."
A sharp pain hit my face as I fell onto the floor. I lost consciousness for a second as I found myself looking up at her from the ground.
"Wha-
"Don't you **fucking** touch me," she gritted her teeth, "Or I will kill you."
She spat on me as I felt the saliva hit my forehead. She turned away and walked away.
*What the fuck?*
I turned to another nearby girl. She didn't look familiar as I asked, "Hey, what was her problem?"
"Fuck you!" She kicked me in the stomach as I felt the air escape from me.
It was then the sudden realization hit me.
*I want every guy in the world to be obsessed with you, Isaac Newton.*
"Oh, you have to got to be shitting m-
*That didn't mean that every girl would be obsessed with me.*
**That meant that every girl would fucking hate my guts.**
An apparition of Newton appeared in front of me in his colonial outfit as he shrugged. "You could have literally just asked to have relationships with every girl you wanted to. That way, you could avoid relationships with any guy you didn't want."
The apparition disappeared as I found myself with a small crown forming around me. I had no doubts that the majority of the gentlemen had Isaac as their first name.
"Shit." I muttered as I turned to look at the girls around me, who seemed to glare with murder in their eyes.
______________________________________________________________________________________
**I wanted to make it a little fun and still abide by the Dragon Ball rules (the one wish part). It's a terribly short and unplanned story so hope you enjoy it.**
| 2016-01-12T19:13:24 | 2016-01-12T17:55:28 | 49 | 23 |
[WP] Whenever you get chills, you just died in an alternate universe. | 20 doctors. 15 specialists. Several religious interventions and witch doctors, in Brazil, Peru and Zimbabwe. I've started to lose track of it all.
Nobody can tell my why I won't stop shivering, all throughout the day. There's no pattern- I've counted every day and tried to track one. There's no specific time, and it's not from temperature because it'll happen all year round, rain or shine, snow or sleet. It's not an allergy or a tick...nobody can tell me what it is.
The worst day, I counted 978 shivers. The best was 743. Nothing stops it, not sleep, alcohol, drugs or medicine. I've tried moving around to different places, but nothing works.
I can't have a personal life when I'm shivering all day. I try to see a movie, or go out on a date, or maybe eat at a nice restaurant and no matter what, without fail, I'm interrupted. The joy is tarnished and I'm reminded of my misery.
*God, I'm so tired of the shivers. They won't stop, and it's driving me insane. I hate the feeling, that chill crawling down my spine like a spider. I hate the fact that nobody can tell me why the fuck it won't stop happening.*
*Please, I just want an escape. A way out of this looping hell, where I can't even enjoy a sandwich most days.*
*There is an escape. How could I have missed it? It's so obvious, and it's foolproof. Yes, I'll be free from it. Free at last.*
I put a gun to my head, looking out into a sunset caressing the ocean's horizon with strokes of magenta and pink. The rippling reflection of it on the water was so close I could almost touch it. A most beautiful last sight was before me, so magnificent that it made me doubt my decision.
I shivered again, my spine screaming madly; could I not even have but one moment of peace to admire beauty? My finger hugged the trigger and I fell into the sea, a splash of red and blue dancing around me in the sunset's hue.
Another shiver ran through my body. *God, why can't I stop shivering?*
*I should see a doctor.* | This is normal. My alarm goes off at 6:30 AM and the last of the alcohol has worn off. Well, not the last. I still have plenty in my system, or what would be plenty for most people. I stagger down to the fridge in my boxers. Tough choice, miller lite or bud lite? Miller lite is the closest choice so I take that. I need at least two beers before I leave for work, or I can't drive. The chills start after six hours without a drink, but I was up until two last night, so I'm fine. The cold shower helps to wake me up, but the most important player is the vyvanse that my roommate is prescribed, and uses to help pay his rent. Two beers, two cups of coffee, and two pisses later I'm ready for another day at work.
Amazon really needs to have their drones start delivering booze. It's a huge pain to drive to different liquor stores all over town. You start to get looks buying a fifth at six and then running back at 8:50 to buy another before the stores close. Maybe I should move to Louisiana. I hear gas stations sell liquor. Forget all that for now, I've got my flask in my suit and I'm ready to get through the day.
Being an alcoholic isn't easy. It sounds glorifying, the romantic alcoholic, unable to find peace in this world writes his music while drinking alone. That isn't what it's like. Last month I had a panic attack because of a business trip I went on to Pennsylvania. My flight arrived in the evening, after they stop selling alcohol, and I spent the night shaking in a cold sweat. You have to plan everything out, because once sobriety hits, so do the symptoms.
The headache is bad. The sweat is bad. But the chills are the worst. The worst. Most people get them after watching The Twilight Zone when home alone with the lights out. Ha. They are constant when I am sober. I don't think most people really recognize what the chills are. A brief spasm of paranoia and then a quick light hearted giggle at yourself. They are different when you get them a lot. And I get them a lot.
It took me awhile to notice it. I wasn't always a heavy drinker. I actually never drank in high school, because it was wrong. I wasn't 21, but I was old enough to die in Iran or Iraq or whatever place the government decides to ship you off to, and that really hit home when my best friend got himself blown up by stepping on an mine in Afghanistan. If the government said he was old enough to die, I was old enough to have a fucking beer. And I had one. And another. And another.
At first the chills aren't really that bad. The headache and other flu like symptoms that start to effect your body when the alcohol leaves are much worse. The thing you don't notice is the cry. Next time you get the chills, try to listen for it. Or don't. You won't hear it, I have no doubt. I kept getting them nightly for two years before I started to notice. Now I hear it every time. It's not your mom or your sister or your best friend crying. It's you. It's the most gut wrenching saddest cry I have ever heard. The cry of someone who has met the devil himself. The cry I never want to hear again.
I know this alcohol is killing me, but I can't stop. I keep going, living my life on an autopilot designed by someone as suicidal as myself. The booze doesn't give me the warm feeling anymore. It doesn't make me happy anymore. It doesn't make me forget anymore. But it does stop the chills. | 2016-01-29T21:30:27 | 2016-01-29T17:34:03 | 574 | 87 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone. | There he was. The devil sat there by himself, legs dangling off of a ledge. He grasped a harmonica in his hands and between his lips, out of which came music that was not as sad as one might expect in such a situation. Rather, it was an utterly beautiful, complex piece that moved me to sadness because it had no audience to hear it other than me alone.
I sat silently and listened through the song in its entirety, completely enchanted by it. When he finished, the man before me lowered the instrument down into his lap and opened his eyes. He scanned my entire being up and down. His pale skin creased and shimmered as a gentle smirk folded from his mouth.
I clapped. I couldn't help myself as it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard, but I also couldn't help myself but feel disturbed in who I just clapped for.
"Thank you."
"No, no," I choked. "Thank you."
"What are you doing here?"
"I, well, I'm dead I suppose."
"Everyone else left."
"I had heard of that."
"Why are you still here?"
His eyes pierced my mind deeper than his question. He had the look of a family member, genuinely concerned about my wellbeing.
"Why are you still here?" I asked him.
He didn't express it anywhere but a shift in his feet, but I took him by surprise.
"If everyone can leave, then you can too can you not? Why would you not go to heaven?"
"Have you ever thought about who the devil is?" he asked me.
"Well - he is sneaky and a liar."
"A deceiver, yes."
"And beastial, I think. Though you don't look..."
"I don't?" he raised his eyebrows intrigued. "Tell that to everyone that left."
"So just a deceiver then. A fallen angel," I finalized my answer.
"Why would a deceiver allow any of his captives to leave?"
"I, well, I suppose he wouldn't be a very good deceiver if he couldn't keep prisoners," I pondered.
He stared at me with those sharp eyes of his, piercing straight to the back of my head. It seemed as if a thousand years raced by as we looked at each other.
"My god-"
"Nice to meet you." |
"It's not really *such* a bad place, I think." Said the man.
He had set down his harmonica the moment that Jobe had come into the chamber, but the mysterious notes he had been playing still resonated darkly off of the smooth stone. Jobe stared at him. The man seemed so normal, so *ordinary*, that he almost didn't notice how out of place he was. He wore old-style formal wear, complete with bow-tie and tails that draped over his rocky chair as if they had been designed to do just that. Were it not for the pool of magma that illuminated his face, or the red arrow-like tail that slipped from his waistband, Jobe might have thought him a simple waiter.
"At least..." He continued. "Not as bad as some of your kind have put it, now, is it? For being *literally Hell*, I think it's rather nice."
"Are you...?" Jobe began. He paused, unsure of how to continue.
"The Devil?" The man asked. He grinned, and Jobe couldn't help but notice his overly-pointed canines. "The one and only. What, were you expecting something else?" He played a few more notes on his harmonica.
"No, I just..." Jobe stammered. "It's...how did I get here? What happened?"
"A car accident, I presume." Said the man, eyeing Jobe's blood-stained t-shirt and cargo pants. "Nasty way to go. Of course, I can't be too sure. I can't claim to be *omniscient*, unlike some people who would best go unnamed."
"No, I remember *that*." Jobe said. "I mean...why am I *here*? In *Hell*."
"Oh. That." The Devil replied. "Yes, well that I do have the answer for. Atheism is quite the crime, young man. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I ran a charity!" Jobe spat. "I...I dedicated my life to serving others!"
"But not to serving *Him*, Jobe. That was your mistake." Replied the man, studying his polished fingernails. "All too common, these days."
"So...I'm...damned?" Jobe replied. "There's nothing I can do?"
"*Au contraire, mon frère*." Replied the demon, smiling his fang-toothed smile. "I am required to tell that there is, indeed, a way for you to get out of Hell."
"There is, is there?" Jobe asked, suspicious. "What's the catch? Do I have a choice of ten thousand years or a wooden spoon or something?"
The Devil chuckled. "Amusing, but no." He replied. "Simply go back the way you came, back through the tunnels and the dark, and you will find yourself at a staircase. Easy enough, no? But Jobe! I urge you to consider staying here, with me! I would give you power, make you a general, a lord of demons!"
"Uhh...no, actually. I think I'll just be on my way." Jobe said.
"I thought not." The devil replied, smirking. "Very few fall for that trick, and of those most still choose to leave eventually just the same. Very well! I wish you luck, Jobe...may you find what you are looking for."
"...Yeah. Sure." Jobe said, turning his back on the Beast. "Whatever you say." He clambered over the uneven stone and slipped back into the darkness of the tunnel, not even noticing the slight downward incline.
The devil smiled.
***
*Note: This should go without saying, but this piece in no way reflects how I actually view religion or atheism in any way. To each their own!*
*Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my others over at /r/TimeSyncs!* | 2017-02-01T09:26:11 | 2017-02-01T09:08:33 | 74 | 29 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone. | There he sat on the stool, the same red-faced ruler of the underworld that I'd heard so much about. He wore a suit, his tie hanging loose and his collar unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his crimson chest. His Panama hat was tilted to just above his eyes, which gazed down at his harp and payed me no heed.
He played a bar. Each note rang and warbled with the torment that burst forth from his being. *I am a lonely man,* he crooned, matching the temperament of his harp. *And I don't like being by my self.* He played another bar. I'd never heard blues like this. I could've gone to heaven, just like everyone else, but this lonely hell-bound harmonica player and the baby grand piano behind him cried out for company.
--------------------
*I'm a, lonely man* sang the devil. I echoed the sentiment on the keys with a steady arpeggio. A few people at the bar rocked back and forth with their beers, swaying to the rhythm. The lights were few and dim to perfect the intended mood of our new spot, the devil's and mine.
Another light flicked on on-stage, revealing the upper half of our saxophone player. He rode a scale from top to bottom, his entire body following the notes. I leaned in toward my microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, mister Charlie Parker." People rose and applauded him.
-----------------
Our place was growing fast. Our audience expanded nightly. There were people from all walks of afterlife; curious people, people who'd never heard the blues before, people who never thought they'd miss grief and woe but *missed* the blues. In the end, the devil got his wish. He was causing torment once again, and people suspended their time in paradise to crowd into our bar and hear it and feel it again, and again...
*You ain't nothing but a, little girl, but you forgot I was your man.* The band and I played him out as he blew those last, beautiful, piercing notes. The brim of his Panama hat still covered his gaze and cast a shadow on his face. His fingers shook in rhythm as his hands worked the harp and sculpted the bends of the melody. We finished and the lights dropped. The place erupted with applause. Another great turnout in hell.
|
"It's not really *such* a bad place, I think." Said the man.
He had set down his harmonica the moment that Jobe had come into the chamber, but the mysterious notes he had been playing still resonated darkly off of the smooth stone. Jobe stared at him. The man seemed so normal, so *ordinary*, that he almost didn't notice how out of place he was. He wore old-style formal wear, complete with bow-tie and tails that draped over his rocky chair as if they had been designed to do just that. Were it not for the pool of magma that illuminated his face, or the red arrow-like tail that slipped from his waistband, Jobe might have thought him a simple waiter.
"At least..." He continued. "Not as bad as some of your kind have put it, now, is it? For being *literally Hell*, I think it's rather nice."
"Are you...?" Jobe began. He paused, unsure of how to continue.
"The Devil?" The man asked. He grinned, and Jobe couldn't help but notice his overly-pointed canines. "The one and only. What, were you expecting something else?" He played a few more notes on his harmonica.
"No, I just..." Jobe stammered. "It's...how did I get here? What happened?"
"A car accident, I presume." Said the man, eyeing Jobe's blood-stained t-shirt and cargo pants. "Nasty way to go. Of course, I can't be too sure. I can't claim to be *omniscient*, unlike some people who would best go unnamed."
"No, I remember *that*." Jobe said. "I mean...why am I *here*? In *Hell*."
"Oh. That." The Devil replied. "Yes, well that I do have the answer for. Atheism is quite the crime, young man. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I ran a charity!" Jobe spat. "I...I dedicated my life to serving others!"
"But not to serving *Him*, Jobe. That was your mistake." Replied the man, studying his polished fingernails. "All too common, these days."
"So...I'm...damned?" Jobe replied. "There's nothing I can do?"
"*Au contraire, mon frère*." Replied the demon, smiling his fang-toothed smile. "I am required to tell that there is, indeed, a way for you to get out of Hell."
"There is, is there?" Jobe asked, suspicious. "What's the catch? Do I have a choice of ten thousand years or a wooden spoon or something?"
The Devil chuckled. "Amusing, but no." He replied. "Simply go back the way you came, back through the tunnels and the dark, and you will find yourself at a staircase. Easy enough, no? But Jobe! I urge you to consider staying here, with me! I would give you power, make you a general, a lord of demons!"
"Uhh...no, actually. I think I'll just be on my way." Jobe said.
"I thought not." The devil replied, smirking. "Very few fall for that trick, and of those most still choose to leave eventually just the same. Very well! I wish you luck, Jobe...may you find what you are looking for."
"...Yeah. Sure." Jobe said, turning his back on the Beast. "Whatever you say." He clambered over the uneven stone and slipped back into the darkness of the tunnel, not even noticing the slight downward incline.
The devil smiled.
***
*Note: This should go without saying, but this piece in no way reflects how I actually view religion or atheism in any way. To each their own!*
*Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my others over at /r/TimeSyncs!* | 2017-02-01T09:11:41 | 2017-02-01T09:08:33 | 43 | 29 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone. | For ages, at least that's how it seemed, there was only darkness. I couldn't count my breaths, because it seemed as if I didn't need to breathe anymore. So I counted as high as I could possibly count. Three times. Finally, I could see muted yellow light.
In an instant my feet touched solid ground. My legs shook, but I managed to maintain my balance. It looked as if I was in a cave. With tunnels leading every which way.
Far off there was sound. A harmonica. The most beautiful playing I'd ever heard. I followed it. Winding my way through the tunnels, tripping over rocks. Finally, I entered a large grotto. The cave ceiling was high. Against the far wall sat a man. He was tall, had dark hair. His eyes were closed as he played the instrument.
Suddenly the music stopped and he looked at me.
"What are you doing here?" He asked me, his voice almost as melodic as the harmonica.
"I'm not sure." I mumbled.
He waved his hand at me, "Then go, with the rest of them."
"Where, exactly, am I going? Since you don't seem too keen to tell me where I am." I sighed.
He narrowed his eyes at me, "You're in hell. Aren't you going to leave?"
I racked my brain. From what I could remember from the Bible. I'm pretty sure what I did justified me being here.
"Again, not exactly sure where I'm supposed to go. This seems like the correct venue. Except... not as much eternal hellfire, damnation, and the wails of those who have sinned. Did I miss something?" I glanced around. If this was hell, it seemed as if the whole world had lost the memo.
"You haven't heard about the loophole?" He asked me.
I shook my head, "No."
"Ah. Well, if you fancy yourself a nice piece of heaven, you might as well go. God realized punishing sinners just wasn't righteous or what the hell ever." He went back to his harmonica.
I sat down, crossing my legs, "Why aren't you there?"
He stopped, hitting a sour note, "Because I'm the exception to the rule."
"Why's that?"
"You ask too many fucking questions." He snarled, setting the harmonica down.
I shrugged, "Sorry. Who are you supposed to be?"
"It's fine. Just. Knock it off. I'm Lucifer. Better known as 'The Devil'. Stupid fuckin' nickname."
"You don't look like the Devil." I commented.
"Your people only got shit right about 3% of the time."
I nodded, figuring as much.
He shook his head, "Look. If you stay here I'm gonna have to set you on fire or something," He glanced around, "Fuck. Where'd I put my fire stick?"
I chuckled, "Fire stick?"
He nodded, getting up from his seat and glancing around, "Yeah. It's this bad ass stick that sets people on fire. Kind of self explanatory."
"If there's a loophole for all the assholes who've done some realllyyy fucked up shit, why isn't there a loophole for you?"
He stopped searching and shrugged, "Dunno."
"How about I trade you spots? I'll stay down here and play music, and you go enjoy heaven?"
"Do you realize how stupid you sound?" He scoffed.
"About as stupid as murderers, child molesters, and tax evaders getting a get out of hell free card." I shrugged, smiling at the last bit.
Edit: because I forgot a line. And clarification. | He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore.
He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive.
"Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player.
Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him -
"Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..."
"Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore."
He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica *had* to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question.
"They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..."
"Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?"
"Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days.
"Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet.
"Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again."
It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it.
"What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers.
"Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked.
"How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?"
"I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself."
There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine."
"You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him.
"Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?"
"Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire.
"Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said.
"Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price."
He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?"
--------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2017-02-01T10:35:47 | 2017-02-01T09:11:17 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other. | I don't remember the first time it happened, or how I came to believe it was real... but I've been having visions, visions of my future self telling me how to reach success in life.
I know it's hard work to get somewhere in life, especially when you're from a poor background like I am, but having a guide makes it so much easier; since I started having these visions I gained more insight in the world of business and how business works, I was on the path of my dreams.
Now I'm waiting for my turn to the doctor, I've been having back pain lately; as I'm waiting I feel my eyes closing, before I know it I find myself in the world of my visions.
I start looking for my future version, but who greets me is an old man, barely standing, looking at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen, I slowly approach him.
"Who are you?" I ask.
No reply. Maybe he didn't hear me,
"Who are you?!" I ask, this time louder than before, he looks down and with a breaking voice asks me "You're trying to get places aren't you?",
I stare at him surprised, I see a small tear coming down his cheek, I slowly respond "y-yeah", the old man continues "success is a hard path to follow, there are many ways to get there, some better than others, don't listen to the other one, he's blind"... the other one? Is he talking about my guide? I ask again this time more aggressively "Who are you?", "I'm a dead man", somehow I feel the pain behind those words. I hear the nurse calling my name.
I head home after the appointment, cancel all my plans and lay down in bed.
I look intensively at the clock trying to fall asleep, once it hits the 10 I blackout.
I see fog everywhere, this time is different, I have a bad feeling. I see my future self walking up to me, "Here you are!! Tomorrow is gonna be a hard day, let's not waste anytime and get to planning",
for the first time I sense something new from him, I don't know what it is though, I interrupt him and tell him about my experience with the old man,
"I've never heard of him... you probably just imagined him";
normally I'd believe him, but this time the old man's words were stuck in my head
"He's blind... I'm a dead man..." I hear my voice coming out from me, my mouth starts moving by itself
"what is success?",
we both look at each other, he looks surprised and I can only imagine my expression is mirroring his.
There is a moment of silence then he says "success is everything, having money, being able to do what you want, having control, power, being above the common people; the world runs on money, and I have all the money I will ever need, the one with the money is the one with everything".
I feel my abs contracting as if someone just punched me in the stomach, for the first time since I started meeting him I realized who he really was.
"That's wrong... success isn't just money and power, I never wanted those things, I realize it now, all I ever wanted is to one day have a family and to be able to support them... who is your family?"
"I don't have a family, I used too... but she asked for a divorce and took custody of my daughter... I was left with nothing, family is only good to destroy you, they will betray you and take everything you have".
I realized how much in pain he was, "why did she divorce you?"
"She said I wasn't with her enough, hypocrite bitch, she used to ask me to buy all sorts of things, I spent a fortune on her, money doesn't grow on trees I had to work to buy her those things, she didn't understand I couldn't allow myself to waste time... but it was a blessing, I realized how much she was holding me back, now I can focus on my business, and I will teach you how to prevent my same mistakes"
"you're making a mistake right now, you're feeling so much pain that the only way to cope with it is to live in money, you're blind to how you really feel, you're wasting your life, you're not successful... you're... you're a dead man?", it came to me, if my future self was leading me in the wrong path, why couldn't an older self save me from it? At that realization the old man appeared in front of us, with a fading smile he went to say
"Thank you".
I'm awake.
I learned a lot from this, I don't know if I'll ever be visited by visions again, but I know what my future can hold, and I know how to avoid it, the time for shortcuts is over, I will reach my goals by myself. | I have never been the kind to try and find a meaning in dreams, nor the one who listens to fortune tellers: my future is mine to shape, unforeseeable and beautifully mysterious because of that. I don’t know what comes next, and as such I’m as free as I could be in my choices. This is just how it should be, except it ceased to about an year ago.
The dreams started after a crazy night out in my town with the old friends I hadn’t seen in a while, they looked all accomplished, successful, and there it was me, the one unfit for success, the one still working 9-5 in a small office, full of small people working 9-5, unfit for success as well. My friends had either smoking hot girlfriends or plethoras of lovers, while I was texting a girl from office, maybe a 7, still the best I could get. That night my friends ordered all top-shelf stuff, we’re talking abut Bellavista, Grey Goose, and 50 years old Whiskeys, and there was kind of a challenge about who was to offer more drinks to the poor old friend I was. I loved them, my scarce wealth was never a problem except to me: to me it was a big problem, and when I got home, the evening after, I went to bed wishing to be just as successful: to be able to pay them back, I told myself, but maybe just because I wanted to. That night I dreamt of a guy, well-dressed, rich-looking and handsome, and he introduced himself as someone willing to help me achieve my goals, so I laughed it off, being like: “Ok dude, I should never have drank that much, I get it”, so he said: “Tomorrow, go walking to your office, leave early and enjoy the view, this will show you what I can do”.
That morning I got up early and walked to the office -it was a mere thirty minutes away and it could do some good to me to walk every once in a while, i thought- enjoying the view like the guy said. As I turned around the corner, I found a jewellery box laying on the ground aside a strange-looking key. I put both in my pocket and, being the nice guy I used to be, reached up to a wealthy-looking lady asking whether she lost them. The old lady thanked me so much, but didn’t recognise the key, she said the box had fell out of her pocket, and offered me coffee in her mansion as a thank-you. I promptly accepted.
The mansion was spectacular, it took a couple of minutes to get there by car from the city, and as I entered I thought it was well-worth being scolded at work for being late. The old lady introduced me to her daughter, definitely the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and we instantly hit it off. Later she drove me to work and said the sweetest goodbye leaving me with a kiss on the cheek and a confused mind. I had fallen in love.
Once I was in the office I got suspended for being late, or, as they said it, i got “given some time to think about my career there”, so I went out in the city once again, bought one of those milk-caramel-unicornshit-coffees they do at Costa’s and sit there, enjoying that beautiful day of sun, in pure happiness. I then got to the park, bought a book, and spent the afternoon there reading. At night I got home, ordered chinese, and just got to bed.
I dreamt of the guy again that night, and the night after, and every night after that one, always giving me advice, always making me happier. I won’t recount the ways he did, but should it suffice to say I got promoted at my office, twice, becoming one of the managers, and as such I got a bigger home to invite that girl, Asia, over. We eventually became a couple and everything was as happy as it could be.
Until today. Today me and Asia moved in a beautiful attic, me now working in another company as a top-manager took a day off to help with the boxes, and I got really tired, so I fell asleep at 16, against the advice of the dream-guy. Waiting for me, there was another guy, poor-looking, dirty, practically an hobo, who introduced himself as me. He told me he was me, and the other guy was as well, he told me I should stop listening to him, that the damages would have been by far greater than the perks I was getting. I didn’t believe him, so he showed me the future both of the dream guys could see. I saw great wealth, I saw fame as my company merged with ever-greater ones, I saw my marriage with Asia, our children, and then I saw something too awful to tell.
I will try anyway.
I saw me. Cheating on her.
I saw her. Finding out.
I saw me. I saw my rage. I saw a knife.
I saw the love of my life, on the ground, our children sound asleep.
I saw enough.
I told the guy to fuck off, to never bother me again with such awful visions.
What should I have done? The night guy just told me what to do, and it always led to happiness, this new one instead pops up in my mind and shows me such unholy things. I couldn’t stand it.
“Go away”, I said, “Go away and never come back, you sick piece of shit”.
“I’m just trying to warn you, stay away from the other one, you’re happy now, let it be. Don’t be avid”, he said.
“I won’t listen to you psycho”, I replied.
“Fine then, by the way, it’s Janice, she got breast implants and she wants an interview in your company, but in fact she’s just obsessed about you since you stopped texting her because of Asia”
“What…”, I couldn’t understand, “What are you say…”
The guy disappeared.
I woke up to the ringing telephone.
The voicemail started repeating its mantra.
A response followed, slightly covered by the noisy spools of the tape:
“Hi [panting], this is Janice and, umm, I thought we could meet… Of course for the interview, I know you’re in a relationship of course. I, well, I got some implants, so maybe this time I’m good enough for you HAHAHAHA just kidding hahaha isn’t this funny? Anyway, your secretary didn’t book me the interview so call me back and we’ll do on our own… The interview of course! Bye”
That night, the guy told me to hire Janice. | 2017-04-01T07:08:25 | 2017-04-01T06:02:46 | 201 | 44 |
[WP]Write a gritty and depressing story set in a cutesy and childlike environment, or do the reverse and write a childishly optimistic fairy tale set in a grim dystopia. | Once upon a time, a brave young boy was trapped in a giant tower.
The tower was made of metal and painted black.
The tower had no windows.
The tower was a scary place.
*How I want to smell the grass again*, the brave young boy thought, *and swim in the sea like a dolphin, and watch the clouds again like a happy bird.*
"Not today. Not ever," the mean evil villain told him, as he shut and locked the door. He owned the tower, and he wasn't going to let him leave.
As the days passed, the brave young boy started to forget it all.
He forgot the smell of the grass.
He forgot the feeling of the sea.
And somehow, he started to forget the fluffy white clouds, when he heard a *knock knock knock* on the door.
"Hello?" the brave young boy answered.
It was a pair of federal agents in vests and sunglasses. They unlocked and opened the door.
Sunshine and fresh air filled the room.
They told the brave young boy that thanks to an unexpected leak of classified information, the mean evil villain had just been arrested on charges of fraud, money laundering, unlawful espionage, corporate warfare, and 117 infractions of the Mumbai Accords.
In other words, they told him, the brave young boy was free to go.
///
*Scene #23 of /r/100scenes* | GRITTY INTERPRETATION
All was well in the kingdom before Lord Licorice began plotting his takeover of Candyland. His machinations knew no end, even going so far as to steal King Kandy's own children and abandon them on the border of the realm. For weeks, their only company was a large, hairy creature whose fur was stained green with algae. Having a strange affinity for the local fruit, the children named the creature "Plumpy."
Had Mr. Mint not come across the children during his work, they might easily have starved to death, or been devoured by the creature. Mint knew he could not trust a monster of that size to be so close to the children, barely old enough to be considered heirs. He attacked the creature, his axe connecting to the creature's ribs. With a great howl, the creature swung back, missing Mr. Mint's head by inches. Mint wrenched the axe from the creature and drove the head of his weapon into the neck of his foe. With a gurgle, the beast slumped to the ground, dead.
Mr. Mint instantly recognized the children as the son and daughter of King Kandy himself. There was hardly a soul in the kingdom who did not know the faces of the two most famous children in Candyland. Kneeling to meet them at eye level, he informed them that he would escort them as far as he could to Candy Castle, but that they must stay close to him if they wish to survive.
"For there are a great many dangers we face on the way to the castle," he spoke. "We must pass through the Gumdrop Mountains. A man named Jolly is said to thrive there. But do not let his name betray you; he is an eccentric man with peculiar tastes. Do not let him get you alone, or the other will never see you again." The children nodded their heads in subservience.
"After we pass the Gumdrop Mountains, we have a long trek before we get anywhere safe. We will tread on the very border of Lord Licorice's lands, a ruthless tyrant. I have heard rumors that he slew his own family to secure his throne, and I care not to be there long enough to find out the truth."
The girl spoke up, "But...there has to be someone who would help us. Our father is the king, after all." Propping himself up with his ribboned tool, he informed the girl, "Perhaps. I have an old friend on the far side of Lollipop Woods. I haven't heard from her in years, but she may be of help to us."
The boy now spoke up, "But what about Princess Lolly? Or Queen Frostine? Surely someone of nobility would see us home safely."
Mr. Mint stared down at the boy in bemusement. "Your father hasn't told you much, has he?" The children gazed back up at him in awe. Mint sighed, "Frostine and Lolly have been at war with your father for as long as you both have been alive. Each claims that they have sole right to sit upon the Hard Candy Throne. It is best that you two lay low for now."
And with no other words, Mr. Mint led the two children towards Gumdrop Mountains, axe perched upon his shoulder. | 2017-05-26T10:28:02 | 2017-05-26T08:45:27 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] After years of paranoia, you decide to fake your own death. At your own funeral, everyone starts cheering and hugging each other when a booming voice from the sky says "THE EXPERIMENT HAS BEEN COMPLETED. ALL PARTICIPANTS MAY RETURN TO THEIR POSTS." | The plan was working perfectly, my empty coffin being lowered into the ground. It was so simple, a car accident, an explosion, an unidentifiable corpse. There were a few people at my funeral who wept, true friends that I could count on. There are hundreds more people, some I know and many that I barely recognise. My boss and co-workers are here. My neighbours were also here, most of them I barely said hello to. Even people like cashiers from my local supermarket had attended. But what stood out most is none of them were wearing black, as appropriate for a funeral. Most had regular clothes on, t-shirt jeans for the more casual and business wear for the more formal, but a large portion of them wore crisp white jump suits, like something from a sci-fi movie. I continued to spy on my funeral, feeling just as out of place as I always did.
The minister took the podium. "Congratulations everyone. The experiment was a complete success. You may now all return to normality. Your final credit transfers will be made tomorrow. Please contact Immersive Realities if you would like to assist with the next character-centric, time-fixed, historical experience!
I was dumbfounded. Where was my eulogy? What was he talking about? My head was racing. The noise of attendees of my funeral giving each other congratulations for their *performances* was interrupted by a buzzing, hissing sound. I looked around to see the buildings around me were vanishing in a haze of computer generated static. The area around Central Park, so familiar to me, vanished into pixelation. The cars unloaded and vanished, replaced with weird egg-shaped capsules. Great white and gold spires with glowing blue trim rose up into the sky, where many of the same egg-shaped vehicles sped between them.
The world I knew of dissipated into digital oblivion in front of my own two eyes. I screamed. It wasn't deliberate. My entire world was gone, and I was a lone 21st century person among an alien world. Terror gripped me.
"Oh shit, he's alive! Protocol 83, PROTOCOL 83!" the minster shouted, scaring me out of my fear paralysis.
The hundreds of faces still staring at me were the same. At least they were real, but who were they?
Some of them took a step towards me.
I turned ran into the alien white city. | Schizophrenia. Bi-polar disorder. Paranoid delusions. Whatever multi-syllable mental illness one could find in the American Manual of Mental Disorders, Stan had it. Though it didn’t take a genius to diagnose him. He heard voices, telling him to do horrible things. At times, he thought he was invincible. And once for two weeks, he refused to poop due to the *invisible camera hidden inside his toilet*.
So when Stan starting talking about suicide, it was just another of his many diagnosis. The psychiatrist prescribed him Celexa and a handful more sessions a week.
“Aren’t you worried about mixing drugs?” Stan asked.
“Don’t worry,” his psychiatrist assured him. “We are very careful with our prescriptions.”
Stan raised an eyebrow. His list of prescriptions was longer than the Sunday grocery list for a family of five.
“Just make sure you’re taking your meds, on time and on schedule,” the psychiatrist said, scratching into his notepad with a pen. “Don’t skip any, especially not the Zyprexa.”
“How did you know that I’m skipping that one?”
The psychiatrist shrugged. “Now I do.”
Stan opened his mouth to challenge his doctor. The shrink had said it with such certainty that there was no way he had only guessed. But that would only start another conversation they had already been through. Next thing he knew, it’d be two weeks later and he’d need a bottle of laxatives just to make a bowel movement.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take them. Are we done?” He knew he was being rude, but it seemed that everybody in this place was rude. The cashier refused to make eye contact, the mailman slammed the newspapers into his front door, even the coffee shop barista never smiled at him.
The psychiatrist nodded. No eye contact. No smile. “Remember, if you have any serious thoughts about hurting yourself, let me know. I can have you admitted somewhere.”
Everyone always told Stan that he was overreacting, that it was all in his head, but he had skipped his meds for two weeks now and never found more clarity. He wasn’t schizophrenic. The voices were real. He wasn’t bi-polar, he truly couldn’t be killed by anyone other than himself. He wasn’t paranoid, everybody here truly despised him. And most importantly, he wasn’t suicidal.
Two hours later and Stan would be dead. Well, not actually, but convincingly enough for the psychiatrist, the local hospital, and even the police department.
---
The funeral took place a full two months after Stan’s death. His parents had insisted that they find his body first, but eventually, they just went with burying an empty casket. They kept it closed so they could pretend that he was in there. It was probably just wishful thinking on their part.
Stan had thought that it would be hard to sneak into his funeral. He had planned on only watching from afar, but then hundreds of people showed. He didn’t have as many Facebook friends as the people at his funeral. And none of them dressed in black, instead, they all wore casual clothes—bright summer dresses, colorful blouses, even Hawaiian shirts!
In the end, he did stick out like a sore thumb, but only because he was the only one dressed appropriate for a funeral. He kept his hat low and sat in a chair as the rest of the people conversed. Finally, the psychiatrist got up on the podium.
“We did it,” the psychiatrist said. “The experiment is over. All participants may return to their posts.” With a small pause, he yelled. “We can go home!”
Everybody erupted in cheers. Everyone except Stan.
“Way to go Steve!” an attendee hooted.
“Steve!?” Stan yelled. He stood up, knocking his chair over.
The funeral grounds silenced. Everyone turned toward him. The blood drained from their faces.
Stan scanned the crowd. Only now did he realize that none of these people had names. There was the mailman, the cashier, the coffee shop barista, the psychiatrist… the list went on. Even mother and father were simply mom and dad. Nobody had names in this place.
And that was the trick.
He finally remembered past the haze of three years’ worth of mixing drugs. His name wasn’t Stan, it was Satan.
| 2017-11-11T22:13:24 | 2017-11-11T14:49:57 | 829 | 307 |
[WP] Humans once wielded formidable magical power but with over 7 billion of us on the planet now Mana has spread far to thinly to have any effect. When hostile aliens reduces humanity to a mere fraction the survivors discover an old power has begun to reawaken once again. | I awoke in the night, the distant sounds of screams altogether too familiar. It didn't sound isolated - they must have found a safe-haven. Hundreds would be massacred. It was just like I said; don't bunch together. Don't rely on each other for support. Survival is all about laying low, keeping quiet and hoping that luck was on your side.
I'd been having a strange dream. It wasn't a nightmare, which was rare already; it was more of a premonition. I'd felt a burning sensation in my hand, as if there were energy coursing through it. The feeling still stuck with me, and I focused on it to try drown out the screams.
********
There were more of them now; towering beasts, eldritch monstrosities. We'd imagined aliens as these advanced beings, visiting us with technology that we could not even comprehend, bestowing knowledge and gifts. But no.
They were unimaginable nightmares, drifting in through space, landing on our forsaken planet and hunting us mercilessly. Our combined efforts only took down a few, and the ensuing nuclear winter only made things worse. And now they hunt us down without rest. It doesn't seem to be for sustenance - they ignore other animals, though they will harm them if it is in their way. No; it feels like eradication. And more come every day.
But the the dreams won't go away. What little sleep I have is filled with feelings of flame and fury; of ominous premonition, of terrifying power. I feel that energy more and more. I suspect that I am going mad, but I'd rather be mad than dead. And judging by my travels, it seems that I am one of the few left with the privilege of choice.
Sleep comes to me eventually, the incessant chittering of the aliens filtering through my dreams of intrigue, of primal power.
*****
I awoke to a sound of crashing, of beastly lumbering.
*I've been found.*
I sprinted from my lair, a crumbling ruin, just as a jagged tentacle pierced through the foundations. Rubble collapsed around me as I leapt through a window, landing on the floor below in a clumsy roll. There was no time to think about the pain - only escape.
I ran as fast as I could, praying that it was only one, praying that it could not keep up. There were many different forms of alien, and most of the massive ones were slow in the city. They could run at least as fast as a man, but the buildings and ruins proved ample obstacles. With a bit of luck, I could survive this. I had done so before.
A sudden crash to my right sent glass flying just ahead of me. An arthropod the size of a large dog landed in front of me, its razor-sharp legs digging into the floor. There was no chance of running from it. But if I climbed the building to avoid it, my pursuer would destroy it as if it was a cardboard box. I had two choices, but either led to death.
My right hand burned, a sharp red glow emitting from my palm. It felt like trapped electricity. Like every bit of primal power focused into a single thought.
A choice:
Shall I **fight**, or **flee**?
****
[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/7i4fn8/wp_resurge_ii/) | [Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/7i4p1p/wp_resurgence_iii/) | [Part IV (new)](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/7i65tc/wp_resurgence_iv/)
It's a 'Choose Your Own Adventure' story! Vote on whichever choice you like best, and I hope I won't disappoint :)
/r/CroatianSpy | There were some that called it a sign from God, another purging of humanity like the great flood. I never cared, all that I needed to know was that they were smart, and didn't like to go underground, best place for safe houses in my opinion. I was in one of these so called safe houses, if a sewer tunnel filled with lamps and sleeping bags counts as a house, that I first heard these claims.
Left that particular house after that conversation, it wasn't safe. The bastards killed everyone there, by the time I returned the tunnel had collapsed. No signs of life anywhere.
4 weeks ago humanity was attacked by a race of unknown origin. Humanity fought back but it was useless. These things, or "clickers" as the survivor colonies refer to them due to their habit of releasing a strange clicking sound, ever seen that movie Predator? Like the predator clicks. Anyway these clickers were ruthless and brutally efficient. Russia was the first major nation to go down, falling in only 7 hours, soon all of Asia was conquered. Fast forwards 4 weeks and humans have become rats, running through tunnels, breaching the surface only for food or water.
Under earth is safer than above it. I don't know why but they hate it underground, they won't search through tunnels too often. But if they know someone's there they will come.
On this particular day I was sleeping in an above ground safe house. More accurately in one of the cars of an abandoned military train. The thing was perfect, armored, still functioning partway so it was warm and could lock up very tightly. I was bundled in my sleeping bag in a car that had the doors sealed tight. I had awoken from a sound I had heard outside. Namely the gunshots.
That was about 30 minutes ago. But 2 minutes previously I thought I had heard a familiar clicking. I inhaled and sure enough the stench of motor oil and salt water hit my nostrils, an odd odor that clickers emitted.
Suddenly the side of the car rattled as someone, or something, tried to open the door. It rattled a few more times before there was a bang that blasted the door into pieces.
The clicker regarded me, I don't actually know what the things look like, they're always wearing the same armor, rectangular slabs of metal. It raised a serrated blade and charged.
I stumbled backwards and my left hand fell into an open control panel full of wires I had to cut to disable the alarm systems on the cars. There was still electricity in those cables. I was expecting a massive pain, I'd maybe to blackout. What I wasn't expecting was for the energy to travel down my arm and then blast from my other hand straight into the clicker. Whatever metal that armor was apparently conducted electricity as the clicker shrieked, then collapsed into the ground, smoke pouring from in between the plates.
I looked at my hand, blue energy danced from my fingers, suddenly a loud howl broke the eerie silence, a howl that meant a clicker had heart the blast. The things were slow, I likely had 5 minutes. I had packed my bag and was about to go when I glanced at the dead clicker. Curiosity struck but I still needed to get away.
Do I: Run or Investigate the Body
Edit: continuing story.
I ran over to the thing, maybe finally a chance to see what they looked like, that metal was probably valuable as well. I looked all over the armor and finally found a small blue pad on the neck, I pressed it and with hissing steam the plates folded away revealing the front of the thing.
I understood now why they covered their faces. The skin was like tanned cow hide, it was covered in what looks like blisters. The eyes were dark and hollow. The worst part was the mandible jaw. Strangely if the mandible jaw was closed the creature might look human.
The howling got louder. I remembered I was on a schedule, I grabbed anything that looked useful. An odd device that looked like a flashlight with a grip and trigger, a few plates of armor, and the blade it had held. A blade that resembled a knife sized serrated Khopesh.
Now I had picked up a few tricks since this whole thing went down, one of which was that most clickers with the exception of a few that has been wearing red plates instead of black, seemed to be blind. A scientist I had met in the first week said the clicking was echolactation, wait that wasn't it... Oh who cares.
They relied on smell to distinguish each other and that armor still had the salty oil smell. I put the plates back into place, with a groan hoisted the dead clicker out, lay down in the armor and pressed the blue button.
The layers closed down and everything was dark, of course if these things things were blind a visor wasn't needed. The second thing I noticed was that there was still a LOT of electricity surging through the armor.
Now I'm no scientist but I'm fairly certain I should have been cooked alive. No time for that now. I tried to tear the helmet off and somehow succeeded. I sprinted out of there, the armor surprisingly light, snagging my pack under my arm as I ran.
7 years, and many incinerations, electrocutions, crushings, and drownings later the clickers finally retreated. Leaving behind only a strange gold box, oddly resembling an Egyptian coffin. Nobody could open it. I walked up to it and slid the blade I'd carried for seven years into a small slot in the box. It clicked and opened and I was staring at my own dead body...
Roger woke with a start. "Okay that's it, no more pizza before sleep." | 2018-02-27T05:33:50 | 2017-12-06T20:40:56 | 341 | 29 |
[WP] As the hero enters the throne room of the dark lord. The throne is empty and the hero's companion says with a grin " Well this has been delightful but I'm afraid the fun is now over.". | The both of us enter the throne room of the Dark Lord. As we gaze upon the empty throne, my companion says with a grin,
"Well... this has been delightful, milady. But I'm afraid the fun is now over."
“Yes... I suppose it is.”
I give him a nonchalant reply.
All these past few months we’ve traveled... From one town to the next, one dungeon to the next, all for ridding this world of the demonic scourge. It’s been difficult, that’s for sure. The quality of life is poor, away from the decent food and luxuries of my home town...
But you know what? I enjoyed every second of it. This little journey has been the first and only time I felt alive.
It hasn’t even been that long since I’ve come to know this boy, but he’s proven to be the single most trustworthy companion.
And here we are, at the end of it all... After the deed is done, I’ll most likely return to—
“Um... milady? That’s not what I meant...“
“Then what was it— Wait... you’re talking as if you’ve read my mind, boy... Are you hiding something from me?”
“It’s about the Creator, you see... He’s the type to write endings first, but this time, the ending hasn’t even been finalized yet... Or the final enemy, for that matter...”
“So you’re saying that this is it for now? No Dark Lord? No climactic battle? No fancy banquets?”
“Yes, that was what I meant to say.”
“And he’s publishing this? Unbelievable...”
“Indeed it is...” | Leah mopped her brow with the back of one hand and muttered a curse under her breath. She was tired, so tired. All she wanted was to go home and sleep for three days straight. Instead, she stood in the antechamber just outside the Dark Lord's throne room, wearing steel armor that did more to weigh her down than to protect her at this point, holding a sword she could barely lift from the ground, leaning on her best friend and lifelong companion because she no longer had the strength to stand on her own.
"We're almost there," the man next to her said. "It's almost over, your Majesty."
She frowned at him. "Alex, I told you not to call me that. Not out here where anyone could hear. If they knew I had been forced to take up arms..."
"It doesn't matter now," Alex responded with a tight grin. "As I said, it's almost over, anyway."
Together, the two of them stepped up to the final barrier, the last door in their way. It was suitably grandiose, a massive door of solid oak, inlaid with gold, silver, and precious gems plundered from the kingdoms conquered by the Dark Lord's armies, stretching up nearly to the distant ceiling, more than five times as tall as the two people standing before it. Leah took a moment to admire the craftsmanship, then glanced over at Alex and nodded. Together, the two of them threw their shoulders against the door and *shoved* with all their might. With a screech of ungreased hinges, it slowly swung open, revealing the throne room of the Dark Legion's master.
It was as lavish as the door would suggest, with marble floors inlaid with more gems and precious metals, and priceless works of art (all prizes taken from subdued rulers, of course) decorated the space. A scarlet silk rug stretched from the entryway to the dais, upon which stood a throne carved from solid obsidian. Where the rest of the room spoke of wealth and privilege, the throne radiated unyielding power.
The *empty* throne.
Leah stared up at the vacant throne for a long moment, then sighed, removing her helmet and tossing it to the floor with a loud clang of metal on stone. Her sword followed it, creating another echoing, metallic cacophany. She walked up to the edge of the dais and gazed at the obsidian monstrosity.
Behind her, Alex started chuckling. "Well, this has been delightful," he said with a smirk, "but I'm afraid the fun is now over."
Leah raised an eyebrow. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked without looking back. She ascended the steps of the dais and turned to face her companion, lowering herself into the obsidian throne. Once she was seated, she grinned.
"Those *heroes* think I sacrificed my life to save them. They have no idea of the truth. When they come charging in here all full of courage and zeal and then see me sitting upon the throne..." Her grin widened further, her exhaustion replaced with gleeful anticipation. "No, my friend, the fun is far from over."
The Dark Lord Leahryx chuckled as she settled in to wait for the coming confrontation. Alex grinned in response and bowed deeply.
"Of course, your Majesty. You are correct, as always."
(Rough and unedited but hey it's 1AM and I wanted to write this. And now I kind of want to continue it.) | 2018-01-23T23:01:54 | 2018-01-23T20:42:26 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] To keep living, you need to carry a weird bag from location to location, where a man scans it and gives you the distance to the next location. Should the scan ever fail, you'll be executed. At one location, the scan is successful, but your face turns pale when you see the distance: "4.3 ly". | The guard stood tall and expressionless, as they always did. I bowed and surrendered my burden carefully at his feet, my anxiety building.
Wordlessly, he took the scanner off the wall of the post, and scanned the bag top to bottom. Some machine inside the building hummed and hummed. This was the worst part. The waiting.
Five seconds of eternity later, a small ding eminated from the wall. I released my breath, and the guard nodded. A display lit up: "4.3 ly". My diaphragm refluxed and I choked.
Four point three light years. My targets never took less than a day to get to, but this, this was something else. My assigned job of courier was my life. I knew not how they expected me to get to Alpha Centauri, but that was as good as a death sentence.
I looked the guard dead in the eye. For the first time in my life, I saw them express emotion. A small crack in the edge of his mouth showed he was frowning. I raised my foot high, and threw all my might down center mass. A sickening crunch came from within the bag. Without any hesitation, the guard drew on me, and shot. I stumbled backwards, and all went dark.
-----
On the other side of the wall, 4.3 linear yards away, a guard stood tall at his post. Waiting. | The man takes my bag, and places it within the Machine. I've come to fear that mechanical whir, for the chance it does fail. If that happens, I'm dead. What's in the bag? I have no clue, to be completely honest. It is unable to be opened, and at the same time, unable to be closed. My theory is that it is pure Lektor, but you can't see Lektor or know what it looks like, so the answer is as elusive as the reason I have been sent on this sojourn across the universe.
My ship is docked outside, the Dark Angel. Sleek, mechanically advanced, roguishly handsome. My most faithful companion across the universe, I bought it years earlier from a black market dealer named Delacroix, who partially scarred me on the face for my eavesdropping. He decided to give me a discount as a neat consolation price. This was right after my sojourn began, at the behest of the Grand Ledgers. Should that scan ever fail, my head would be served on a platter like John the Baptist's.
My journey started out closer to Earth, mapping out faint satellite planets with a more primitive craft. Once I acquired the Dark Angel, things became easier. My bag was taken to various checkpoints, so far 102, from small dwarf planets rely to burst within the next thousand years, to sprawling supernovas on the edge of magnificent quasars. If I was not so focused on being an errand boy due to that damn bag, I might have reveled in the beauty of Far Space. I landed on Pizzaro two days ago, and focused my efforts on navigating the populated megalopolises in order to find my next Target. At last I found his energy signature, at a restaurant in SOHO, which is where I am right now.
SOHO stands for "some oranges help others". It is a district filled with wepaonized citric acid, much stronger than we see in the Near Space galaxies. This acid fills jars along the shelves of this restaurant, and I stare at their viscous and gelatine quality, attempting to distract myself from the bedamned beeping of the Machine. At last, as I am staring at the last jar, the Machine ceases its clamor, and I look down.
"Scan successful."
Good, good, another Target down. Some oranges do truly help others, I suppose. The Gatekeeper, who I assume is also the proprietor of the restaurant, has placed my bag on the nearby counter, and is printing my receipt, which will tell me my next Target's location.
"Before you give me my receipt, I would love a jar of citric acid."
Now I balance the jar in one hand, and prepare to tuck the receipt into my shirt pocket while I hold the bag in the other hand.
I am handed the receipt, and I look at it with disgust.
"4.3 LY, Presegoranium Nomathodolus Cluster."
Long journey ahead. I tuck the recipe into my shirt pocket, and head out of the restaurant into the tropical night air. | 2018-07-22T10:16:28 | 2018-07-22T10:15:25 | 868 | 72 |
[WP] You're a 250 year old vampire. You've found that living as a recluse and faking your death every 70 years or so is actually fairly easy. You've consistently fooled everyone except for your mortal enemy - Keith from the IRS | "You realize that you haven't been paying your taxes for the past 210 years?"
"Yes."
"Alright then..." Keith scribbled something down on his clipboard. "You were intentionally evading taxes..."
"What? I said that I know I didn't pay taxes, I didn't say that it was intentional!"
"Well... Was it intentional?"
I sighed. "Yes, it was intentional."
"I guess you'll have to pay or be locked up for a long time."
"Why do you even care? You've probably spent more money trying to track me down than you will earn by fining me!"
"The law is the law."
I crossed my arms. "I guess I'll just have to become a law-abiding citizen now. Pay my taxes and all that. Too bad I can't immigrate to another country."
"Yeah, you definitely won't be leaving the States. Not a single country has given you a visa yet." Keith smirked. "That's the thing with you blood-suckers. You can't just enter another country illegally. You need to be invited."
Wait... What did he just say?
I got a great idea, like a light bulb just lit up right above my head. I put on my angry face. "What do you mean... blood-suckers?"
Keith looked at me, all confused. Makes sense. Its pretty obvious that blood sucker refers to how vampires suck blood out of their victims. "Well... You're a vampire, correct?"
I shot up out of my chair. "So you think its okay for you to refer to me using a racial slur?"
Keith's confusion changed to fright. He raised his hands in front of him, as if in self defense. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that it was a slur!"
"It's 2018, Keith! You can't just say things like that!"
He dropped onto his knees. "Please, sir, forgive me..."
I waved my finger at him. "I will sue you, and make sure that you'll lose your job for being such a racist bastard!"
This seems to be working. Keith is on the verge of tears at this point. "Please, I'll do anything..."
I put my finger away. "Anything?"
"Yes... Anything."
"Alright... Can you make me completely exempt from taxes?"
Keith looked me right in the eyes. I don't think he liked my question very much. "No, sir, I don't think I can. Is there anything else I can do?"
I thought for a moment or two, rubbing my chin to make Keith think that I didn't actually think of this beforehand. "Yes, there is."
He got back up on his two feet again. "What is it?"
Time for the big plan. "I want you to drive us both down to the Canadian Border. You cross first."
"What should I do when I'm there?"
I grinned. "Invite me in."
-------------
**Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very appreciated.**
r/WrittenText | Harry the vampire was beginning to get frustrated.
He had spent an hour already speaking with this fellow Keith from the IRS. So far he had provided death certificates, birth certificates, even fake baby pictures. He'd regaled Keith with well rehearsed, utterly fake stories about him and his loving grandfather, Jeremiah.
"Oh, how Jeremiah used to dote upon me, as if I were the most important object in the entire world. How I miss him, my dearest grandpapa!"
But Keith would just purse his lips and nod again, maybe lean in for yet another tea cookie. Harry cursed silently to himself - he would need to go out and by more tea cookies.
No matter what Harry fed Keith, no matter what proof Harry provided that, no, he was *not* himself Jeremiah, and no, he was *not* over two centuries old and attempting to defraud the IRS, Keith just wouldn't leave. In over two centuries on Earth, and after several successful efforts to defraud the IRS, Harry worried he may have finally met his match.
"Well Harry," Keith said, taking the final tea biscuit laid out on a small porcelain plate beneath them on the table, "it seems like everything checks out." Keith ate the small cookie in one delicious bite and shook his head. "Golly, those are some delicious cookies. Sorry I ate em all. Oh damn, you didn't get to have one, did you?"
Harry demured, raising his hand in front of him, and hid his simmering anger. "Oh, no, don't you worry about it." Harry stood up in the hopes Keith would follow his lead and finally get the hell out. It was already midday and Harry was exhausted. The meeting had been held in the sunless interior study, but Harry was feeling every second of his missed slumber.
To Harry's relief Keith did follow his lead and got up with him. As he stood he picked up his tea and finished the glass with a big gulp. "Well, very generous of you Harry. Thank you for your time. And my condolescences for your loss."
Harry frowned, his head swimming from standing so quickly , his blood pressure low. It wad never good to force through the day time. Vampires in general responded poorly to sleep deprivation, and Harry in particular was very sensitive. "Thank you." Harry muttered, hoping his demeanor came off as a distracted mourner rather than...something else.
As the two men walked to the front door, through the darkened alcove of the hallway, just as Harry was about to open the door, Keith sucked his front teeth. "Harry, I'm sorry to impose, but before I leave, would it be alright if I used your bathroom?"
Harry could hardly hide his frustration - humans and their incessant waste. Reluctantly, he nodded. "Um, sure, OK - Yes," god he was tired, "it's uh down the hall, through the study on the left."
Keith smiled. "Thanks Harry." And the man walked back into the apartment.
As Harry waited he ran the whole conversation around in his head. He thought he'd been consistent, had gotten all his details right, the whole genealogical tree - the fake chain of biologic causality that went from his great grandfather, to his grandfather, to him - all of them actually Harry collecting estate income at a far lower tax burden.
*Yes,* Harry thought, *I think I fooled him.*
Keith took longer than expected to return and Harry was just beginning to worry when the man appeared in the doorway. He looked different somehow, and his smile was sort of tight lipped. "Sorry about that, I'll be on my way." He did not offer a handshake. "Thanks." He said and then walked briskly out of the apartment.
Harry watched him go, a bit confused but overall just glad to have him gone. His head aching, Harry shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally he would get some rest.
His stomach growled and Harry decided first he would have a night cap. So he headed into the kitchen, massaging his temple. When he arrived he stopped dead in tracks.
In front of him Harry's refridgerator was ajar and on the floor a bag of O negative blood was spilled in a grim pool all over the kitchen tiles.
Harry bent down, touched a finger to the liquid, and found that it was still quite cold.
Suddenly Keith's elongated piss clicked firmly into place, as did the realization that Harry was going to have to relocate for the second time in as many months.
"Shit."
Frustrated, Harry frowned and licked the blood off his finger. It was gonna be a long night
*******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
| 2018-07-25T08:37:11 | 2018-07-25T08:10:27 | 1,013 | 65 |
[WP] Years have passed since you were killed on death row, and currently you're settled in heaven. Soon, a familiar face walk towards the gates. Its your executioner. | I sat on the curb and watched placidly as Peter greeted the man had pushed the lethal concoction through my veins. He was older now, naturally; the last I had seen him, his hair hadn't been so grey and his face hadn't all those lines. Of course, he would be able to change that anytime he wished; typically everybody in Heaven chose their mid-twenties to early-thirties face, unsurprisingly. I didn't have to change mine, though.
"Hello, Mr. MacDonald," I said cheerfully as he stepped inside the Gates, looking around in wonder. "Or may I call you John?"
"What? Oh, John is fine," he said in dazed voice, shaking his head. "Sorry, still feeling overwhelmed right now. Anyway, have we met before? You seem familiar..."
"My name is Crowl. Atticus Crowl."
For several seconds, he just stared at me. I could almost see his neurons firing across dusty, long-forgotten synapses as old memories began to resurface. "You...you were at the State Penitentiary..."
"On death row, yes." I scratched my arm, right where the the needle had been inserted. I had chosen to keep the scar visible.
His eyes flickered down, widened, and then jumped back up to my face. "I...injected you."
I nodded. "Judging from how you look now, many years must have passed since then, huh? I'm surprised you still remember me."
He fumbled his shirt and looked down. Was he nervous? Embarrassed? "How could I forget you? After what I did?"
"Well, it was your job. I'm sure there were many others after me that--"
He shook his head violently. "I quit after your...death. I couldn't handle it anymore." John looked at me again with eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "The real truth came out a few years later. You were - *are* \- innocent."
"Yes, I knew that," I said simply. "But you didn't."
"Even still..." he wrung his hands helplessly. "I can't...I shouldn't have..."
I reached forward and pulled him into an embrace. He began to sob.
"Forgive yourself," I urged quietly. "I feel no hatred toward you. And neither should you - after all, you're here, aren't you?"
Many more seconds before he stepped back. His eyes were red, but he had put on a weak smile.
"That's better," I said, grinning in return. "Now, let me show you around. We may have gotten off to a rough start,in a manner of speaking, but we have all eternity to become friends."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out* r/Idreamofdragons! | I was sat on a bench when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to look.
I couldn't deny that a part of my chest heaved with great pain when I set eyes upon my killer. He was wearing a black shirt, a black tie, black trousers, staring at me with a eerie astonishment that sunk through my skin.
"You're in Heaven?" He sneered at me with those same unreadable eyes. I could never understand him. The thoughts he had inside his skull.
"I never once lied about my innocence," I said, though my cheeks were burning, an emotion I couldn't quite grasp.
This man murdered me. And yet here he stood with me in Heaven.
"Yes, it seems I simply fulfilled my duty as was my service. To follow orders, to never question innocence or guilt," he smiled and took a seat beside me.
The garden was my favourite place to sit. The wilderness hiding in the shrubbery and the treetops would swoop through and I'd see glances of animals who had been made extinct by my own human race. Majestic beings. I had always wanted to see the world before destruction. And here I could. Plants and colours and creatures my wildest dreams could never imitate.
And now I sat with him.
"You know, I don't remember your name," he said.
I had hoped ignoring him would make him go away. I stood up and cleared my throat, back turned to him.
"It's not Roger, is it?" He asked.
I tried to walk away but he touched my shoulder, a firm grip.
"Look, I'm sorry that I killed you," he said.
Words I never thought I would ever need to hear. Did I want to know the man who sent me here was sorry? The man who uprooted me from my family? I couldn't blame him, I knew I couldn't. But the pain was too much. It was too much to be away from them, waiting. Unable to see any of them grow. And he took that from me. I thought I would never see any of them again.
"Leave me be," I spluttered the words out.
"I don't have much time here," he said, "But I asked for the chance to find you."
I couldn't make any sense of him. What did he want from me? I was already dead.
"I won't ask again," I took a step.
"The truth is, I... committed suicide."
My throat was tight. I didn't want to care. Why would I want to know? Why did he want to find me to tell me this?
"I'm going to Hell," he continued to speak. I couldn't face him.
"They found out you were innocent years after. Years. And I never stopped hearing your wife's shriek when your death was announced."
Maybe that was the strange noise I heard before I found myself staring at a replicate of my childhood home as myself. And I always knew justice would eventually come to light.
"I used to enjoy it. Hearing your wife scream," he said.
I couldn't make any sense of anything.
"But then, then I started hearing it all the time. Every time I heard silence, that scream would seep through. And then I would see your dead body floating above my head at night. And the news came out. And I... I couldn't take it. And as much as I enjoyed it at first, I... I couldn't take it," he repeated himself. "So I took my life."
I turned to face the smiling man with tears running down his face.
"And I'm sorry. And I will suffer," he said. "So you can be rest assured that I will suffer forever for what I did to you, the life I chose."
My heart ached. I couldn't face a crying man without losing a few precious tears of my own. Sure. It was done. I was dead. My family far from my grasp. But I would see them again. I would see them and I would hold them in my arms.
I didn't know his story, his life. Not a thing. All I know was that he killed me. And yet here he was, crying before me.
"I don't ask for forgiveness or acceptance or anything. I just wanted... wanted you to know that I am sorry that I took your life. And I hope that you wait many more years before you see your family so that they live for long, a long life. They work hard to find justice for people like you."
He began to fade away. I tried to reach out to him and say the words closed up inside of me.
But he was gone by the time I found the strength to say the words.
And so, I was alone again.
**r/astoriawriter** | 2018-12-23T08:49:02 | 2018-12-23T08:23:54 | 55 | 16 |
[WP] You have the ability to detect fish underwater. This makes you an expert fisherman, of course. But the deep sea hides so many secrets that you can’t even begin to describe. | All I want for my birthday is something nobody in my family seems to understand. I blow out the candles and look around to smiling faces and people shouting. Woo hoo 81.
As the party ends and my family is leaving I catch my 11 year old grandson. As he leaves he ask me, is it true you always catch a fish when you go fishing?
It's Saturday and I'm about to head out fishing when the phone rings. It's my daughter, my grandson wants to go fishing for the first time. I tell her I'll be there in 30 mins.
We shove the boat of the rocky beach and head out into the lake. My grandson hasn't said much of anything, I'm not sure he even wants to be here.
As we setup next to the cove of the shore I grab the poles and give him give him the basics of fishing and our lines hit the water. Within a minute, I feel a bite and yank, a nice 13 incher. I take him, show him to my grandson, and toss him back. I hold my pole back. We sit, and sit, and sit.
I put my line back in and boom, I feel a nibble, but yank to make sure it doesn't catch, but my Grandson see's it and looks puzzled. He finally speak up and says, it's true. You do always catch fish. Why don't we go out a bit and catch a BIG one! I heard all the big ones are in the middle of the lake where it's deep.
I look at him at say, I'm happy here in the cove, I've had success her, and most importantly no issues. He insists, let's get a BIG one so I can take picture for my instagram. I ask him why he wants a bigger fish and he doesn't know why. I look at him in the eye and tell him something along the lines of; in life you need to know your limits. It's amazing how happy one can be when they are content with their success and and realize no matter what there will always be a bigger fish. So when do you stop? He looks at me and says nothing, he put his line back in the water and feels a slight tug, a little guy, he smiles. | Ever since I was a kid, I had the ability to spoke to fish. But then I was there sitting at the harbor talking to a freaking lobster . I used to eat these things and now I was stuck in a conversation with it. I thought I am going insane.
While sitting here with the lobster scolding me, I tried not to pay attention. My mind wandered off to when I first discovered my power .
*I was in at a pet store talking to the funky clown-fish, the big googly-eyed goldfish, the colorful koi fish, and the dancing hermit crab. And that was nostalgia.*
But this lobster thing seems at the time more of a mess than a miracle.
The lobster won't stop scolding me. "Why have you been eating seafood for most of your life!!?"
The loud yelling that only me and probably only a rare few people can hear freaked me out. "Because I didn't know that I can talk to creatures who were meant to be my food?"
"Meant to your food!?," said the lobster angrily, "You were supposed to be my protector!"
"Honestly, I would rather see you on my platter."
"Even so, I will guide you to be our protector."
"I must abandon my life of being a fisherman to be your protector. And I really don't want to...It's uncomfortable leaving that especially when you've been doing it for a long time."
"I don't think your appetite will remain after this. "
"Yes. You're right. Congratulations for making me lose my appetite for fish and chips, sushi, and clam chowder."
"So do you want to hear a story to feel better?"
"What story?," I asked amused that a lobster has a story to tell.
"Sea monsters are real."
My eyes widened.
"Sea monster....... I lost my father to a sea monster many years ago. I wasn't there was happened but people found his missing bloody boat."
"I understand your pain," said the lobster, "My father was probably eaten by someone you sold him to, monster."
"Okay. I get it. I was a terrible person who underestimated his gift and ask dolphins to help me in catching fellas like you so I can a quick buck....I am sorry."
"Really?"
"Yes. Friend."
"That means a lot, human."
"From now, I will protect you. But I also want revenge on that sea monster."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"I must avenge my father"
"I..."
"Please...."
"Fine."
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------'Maybe becoming emotionally attached to seafood is a good thing', I thought.
'I can finally get my revenge.'
So on that very night, I sailed into the ocean with my new trusty lobster sidekick.
I never really planned for this.
Since I can talk to all sea life, I was easily listen to conversations of the various creatures in the ocean to find out where the sea monster usually shows up.
And then a mermaid emerges from the water but she wasn't pretty as Ariel from the Disney movies. She was more much more disturbing. Her eyes looked like shark eyes and her skin was pale and green. Her brown hair was covered in green moss and her breathe smells like the breath of wolf. She even had an octopus tentacle for a tongue.. She started to sing. I want to flee but I was unable to leave because I was enchanted by a song she sang. But the lobster leapt at her and the song stopped because she was busy trying to tear the lobster apart. And that gave me enough time to run away.
And then the next day, I woke up bad about recklessly heading out there because the lobster might have died. It decided to bravely sacrificed itself to save my life even though I used to eat seafood. "
"I need to get rid of monsters like those not for revenge but to protect humanity.", I said.
" I can't rush out there recklessly anymore."
I paused for a while.
I really missed that lobster.
But then I heard a knock on my door. I opened it to find the lobster.
"What's up, human."
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**(I am open to Critique!** P.S My imagination got crazy. **)** | 2020-03-08T00:17:36 | 2020-03-07T23:37:46 | 46 | 16 |
[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans | The path to the human land is arduous. I set sail months ago, and the days have drifted past me, filled with desperation at times and despair at others. When the world was split into the two factions, those with powers and those without, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans became the barrier separating the two populations.
There were times during the voyage when I thought I would die. That my little sailboat would capsize and one of the sea monsters of the Pacific would rise up from the dark depths of the ocean and swallow me whole. Now, finally I see land.
As soon as the sailboat is close enough to the shore I drop the anchor and swim the rest of the way. I see people along the beach. They stop in their tracks as I arrive. Some of them take out cellphones and dial.
"I think we have an unauthorized entry at Hadley Beach," the nearest man says.
First, I am surprised that the humans have such advanced technology. Our side was given all the men and women with superhuman intelligence. Most of them chose to become supervillains rather than superheroes. Second, none of them seem afraid.
I know I'm not in peak form. Months of surviving on scraps has rid me of any muscles I had, and the sun has bleached my hair and burnt my skin. I must look like a man on the verge of death, but I am still superhuman. The pink hair and the lavender skin will follow me to my death. I don't have the energy to summon the balls of neon pink and purple energy that I hurl at my enemies, but these humans don't know that.
"It's best you stay calm and cooperate when the police arrive," a woman nearby says. "Do you have your permit?"
"My what? My permit for what?"
A fleet of cars drive to the boardwalk and police officers step out, guns and hackles both raised.
"Put your hands up and get on your knees!" the nearest one shouts. He's a bulky man, his uniform straining against his muscles. I can tell he's comfortable with the gun in his hand, and comfortable using it as well. I follow his instructions instantly.
There's a buzz from behind me that erupts into a drone before I black out.
When I wake up, I'm in an interrogation room. The police officer here isn't trigger happy or screaming. She's sitting opposite me, rifling through a file. When I groan, she looks up.
"Good, you're awake. Which guild are you from?"
"What?"
"Your guild," she says. "The Nightclaws? The Deathjoys? Frostbite?"
The names are vaguely familiar. My nemesis, The Infinite Inferno, was the leader of a group called the Deathjoys.
"I'm not in any guilds. I'm not a supervillain."
"A super-what?" the detective asks.
"A supervillain. I'm not one. I'm a superhero."
"Like in the comic books?"
She looks at me like I'm crazy, and leaves the room. The door is left a crack open, and I can hear her speaking to her superior.
"I don't think he's all there, sir," the detective says. "Dehydration, malnutrition. Must have all gone to his head. He's saying the Deathjoys are supervillains, and that he's a 'superhero'."
There's a muffled chuckle. "Poor guy. Have him admitted to the hospital for a psych eval, and get his photo to the guild headquarters to see if anyone recognizes him."
There aren't any more questions. I'm not given a chance to explain myself either. Every request for help for my land and the superheroes lands on deaf ears, only evoking pity or sometimes suppressed laughter.
"My people are dying!" I tell the psychiatrist as he sits down in front of me. "We need help!"
"Your people are fine, sir," the doctor says. "One of them is here to visit you."
The Infinite Inferno walks in through the door. He's not wearing his mask here, and instead of his dark robes and staff, he's dressed in a pinstripe suit. He sits in the chair in front of me.
"Inferno," I hiss.
"Levitus," he says with a smile. "Fancy seeing you here. I had thought you died in the first wave of our attack. But no, you *fled*."
"What are you doing here?" I ask. "It's against the rules of our society to interact with humans, but you villains...."
"We're villains. Did you honestly expect us to follow the rules?" he asks. "The humans are nice. We came here and helped them how we could with our powers. In exchange, they gave us their own inventions and discoveries. It's a mutually beneficial relationship."
He shakes his head. "No. It's more of a friendship."
I strain against the white straitjacket that I'm trapped in, wishing I could burn him, throw my power against his body until he's reduced to a pile of dust. But with my hands tied, I cannot call onto my powers.
"I will tell them the truth."
"Who will they believe? A madman, or the man who's brought London countless advancements and has proven an ally, time and time again?"
He taps his chin in mock wonder. "The third wave of our attack is underway, you know. Your side, I hear, is losing marvelously."
"You're evil. How can you kill your own kind like this?"
Inferno shakes his head. "*Kind* is an interesting word. Our *kind* has little kindness, and even less kinship. When we discovered our powers, we isolated ourselves from our brothers without them. The world was not as kind to humans as it was to superhumans. They froze, they starved, they toiled, and they bettered themselves. While we ignored their suffering and only indulged in our own petty squabbles, they managed to progress with their human strength. Good and evil are subjective terms, Levitus. You superheroes wanted to kill us all, remember? Called us villains and yourselves heroes to justify it. Are you angry that us villains are defeating you at the game you started?"
I scream.
"Calm yourself, Levitus. It will be over soon. We are destroying an old world, true. But only so we can replace it with something better." | The Dreamer sifted through a sea of sleeping minds, discarding the masses of the mundane like chaff as he sought the one with the power to save them, the one who the Unpowered called “President.” The old man had closed his eyes some ten days before, and every moment of slumber since had been bought with the blood of a friend. There was little else left, at the closing of the Age of Heroes.
Outside the walls of the Dreamer’s citadel a hopeless battle raged for the city of Ered-Dun.
In a crumbling parapet at the south wall four heroes finished their prayers before a shrine to Duna, she who had long ago sundered the sea between the worlds. Outside they could hear the rumbling fury of a great army, the boulders their strongmen threw crashing against the walls in a staccato parody of rhythm. The four had no illusions about their chances, across the whole of the city there were few who did.
“They’ll be through the walls soon,” Priya said, eyes closed and her hand pressed against the cool stone of the floor, feeling all its cracks and crevices for hundreds of feet in either direction. “It will break near tower twelve first, they’re widening a breach near the base with a pyro, super-heating the stone.” That was less than a quarter mile from them.
Edric, their leader, mulled that over, dark eyes lost in thought as he pulled at a bushy beard. “We wait for their charge. Let the Lesser Powers hold them at first, bottle them up into a choke where Erlein’s storm can do its best work.”
“And what of our people on the ground?” the pain in Sarica’s voice was undisguised, a raw wound hanging in the air.
“They’ll fight. It’s all thats left to any of us now.” The challenge in Edric’s eyes was unmistakable as he stared her down.
“Fine,” she said, turning away in disgust.
The crash came only moments later, followed by the triumphant roar of the enemy as they poured into the city to grapple hand to hand with its defenders. In the ruins of the parapet the heroes gathered themselves for their last stand, Edric’s sword bursting into blue flame as he focused his power. In his dark corner Erlein had begun to glow, small flashes of electricity dancing across the bare expanse of his pale chest. Where she knelt on the ground counting off the hordes of the enemy who passed through their shattered wall, Priya’s dusky skin had begun to gray, the grinding of stone sounding with every motion. Sarica merely waited, hovering sullenly several inches off the ground.
“More than a thousand are through, ” Priya said, rising.
“Then it’s time,” Edric said. “We go to our deaths that he might Dream.”
“That he might Dream,” the group intoned.
They made an entrance, both sides had to give them that. Priya crushed through the door with a great charge as the rest followed her out, Erlein and Sarica darting through the air like fireflies while Edric’s run became a blur of spark and flame. They crossed the quarter mile in the blink of an eye as only Higher Powers could, and they laid into the swirling melee at the breach with an abandon bordering on suicidal.
Erlein’s storm came first, a devastating rain of lightning that stunned great masses of the Villain formation, weapons falling from spasming hands up and down the line. When the two fighters landed in their midst it was a near route, only the strongest of the Villains were able to offer any resistance. The Lesser Powers still standing gave a hearty cheer at their rescue, but it was stilled only moments later as a hideous chant rose up outside the walls. There were far more terrible things than infantry out there in the armies of the Villains. That had been only the first wave and it would be harder from here. Erlein was temporarily spent by his efforts, his exhausted body making a slow, controlled fall back to Earth in the grasp of Sarica’s telekinetics.
And in his citadel the dreamer woke, a cold sweat clinging to him, realizing his message was delivered.
The villain’s paid dearly for every block as the came but slowly, surely, the Heroes were driven back into the city. They lost Priya on the second day, when a villain they had unknowingly dismissed as Lesser tore through his armor with a great cry and began to grow and grow to impossible heights, falling upon her in a torrent of blows as he used the shattered remnant of a church steeple for a mace.
Erlein came next, when a formation of fliers dove for him too suddenly with their. It had been all Edric could do to tear Sarica from her quiet friend’s body after she had dashed his killers against the city streets.
So it was that on the fourth day since the outer wall fell only two of the four remained, shut up in the Dreamer’s citadel while the city around them burned and the greatest of the Villain’s council soared high into the air to project their terms to the vanquished.
There were 6 of them clad in dark red robes of office, the original Villains whose powers had transcended the single element simplicity of all others and become something else, perhaps more akin to sorcery. From their center a stentorian voice rose above the din of a city being sacked and carried itself into the hearts of every hero, Higher or Lesser, who was left inside the citadel.
“First!” he called, arrogance dripping from each word, “you will surrender the Dreamer to me! His family’s time at the head of the Powered World is at an end. Second! Those among you who use arms will cast them over your wall before opening the gates and assembling en-mass in the courtyard. Those of you whose powers render swords unnecessary will be first bound and gagged by their fellows and placed at the front rank. Third! You will swear a binding oath of allegiance to this council, on pain of death, for as long as you shall live.”
He hovered closer to the walls then, his body crackling with a clear aura of power. “Do these three things and you shall be spared! Do not, and your fates are sealed. You have until sundown.”
The citadel’s answer was painted in gold upon the wood of a massive table hauled up from the dining hall, the moon and star crest of the Dreamer’s house. As the last left who was able Sarica’s tears flowed freely as she hurled it from the battlements.
They came at sundown, in endless waves lit by the furnace fires of the council’s most powerful pyrokinetic. If the fighting in the streets earlier had been fierce this was beyond anything that had come before, the battle raging across air and ground while countless fell on either side. It was doomed of course, and every hero fighting knew it, even the Dreamer who waited in his chambers, finally grappling with the reality of his failure.
It happened just before sunrise, when lights in the sky were spotted in the distance, coming closer with a dull, beating hum. Gouts of fire and hurled stone erupted all across the citadel, but moments later they were nothing compared to the unimaginable explosions that suddenly broke the ground outside its walls. Worse still for the assembled mass of villains were the great steel birds that seemed to soar overhead faster than even the greatest among them could fly and the great fury of their cannons as they laced the packed ranks with projectiles that buzzed past like hornets.
Eyes closed in his darkened room the Dreamer cast his mind out once again, searching the newcomers for one among them who might sleep and so tell him all he needed to know. He found one in the ranks of the support crews. A mechanic, though he did not know what that was, who had stayed up far too late the night before and whose head cripplingly thick with drink even in his dreams. In the waking world the Dreamer smiled, the broadness of the movement threatening to crack his face. The call had been answered, the Unpowered had come.
\--------
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-01-29T07:42:01 | 2021-01-29T07:40:25 | 202 | 100 |
[WP] As punishment in the afterlife, violent criminals re-live incidents from their victim(s)’ point of view. | ##The Hitchhiker
The movement of the road is soothing, and I have to fight to stay awake. I turn on the radio to hard rock for an extra kick. The night is so peaceful, but I know that the violence is coming. I see myself walking on the side of the street.
My foot hits the brake, and my hands start to pull over. Inside, I am trying to prevent my body from acting because I know what happens, but I am forced to watch. He smiles at me. It is a charming smile that he practiced often in front of a mirror. The driver shouldn't have picked me up, but they were too tired to realize their mistake.
*I was getting bored with my standard murders. I wanted a murder that would be risky and get my heart racing again. What better way to make a murder more exciting than to risk my own life. I made a pact before hitchhiking to kill the driver as we are driving in the hopes of creating an accident. It would probably end poorly, but the thrill would be worth it.*
I unlock the car doors. He thanks me as he gets into the vehicle and compliments my taste in music. I laugh as I start to drive. The man is an excellent conversationalist. For a brief moment, I forget what happens next.
*Fools like him are so easy to manipulate. His taste in music sucks. He looks half asleep. Maybe I shouldn't have gone into this car. It is almost too easy. I pull out my knife.*
The knife's blade is expected but still painful. I lose control of the vehicle as I get stabbed. The car slams into a nearby bridge. The hitchhiker didn't wear a seatbelt and crashes through the window. I get to watch myself die before I die. I laugh out blood as my vision fades.
The night looks so peaceful as I drive again. The knife wounds have healed. I close my eyes because I know that I will not crash and wait until the car stops again.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | Live by the gun, die by the gun.
He woke up sputtering at the pearly gates, dishing out verbal abuse to the heavens. That lying, cheating, good-for-nothing... double crossing his best friend to appease a rival gang. The ear-splitting roar of the sidearm still pulsed in Derrick's head, causing him to scream even louder.
"Sir, do you know where you are right now?"
A middle-aged woman walked towards him, looking utterly unlike the angels painted on stained-glass windows. What was this sick excuse for paradise?
"Yeah, I know. Do I look like an idiot? I'm... I'm..."
The realization didn't merely strike him; it pierced the marrow of his brain, sending him reeling far more than any gunshot could.
"I'm dead."
Smiling gently, the woman stepped closer. "I understand what you're going through. It's one thing to know you are going to die, and another to *know* you are going to die."
"But I don't understand!" Derrick protested, tossing his arms vaguely in the air like he always had when he was... alive. "I'm only twenty-eight. I mean, I was twenty-eight. It's not my time!"
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Death is a cunning thief. It is wise to always keep your oil lamps trimmed, watching closely."
"I don't care about your Bible verses. It's not fair!" he said, throwing her arm off.
Her benign smile remained. Little did Derrick know, she had dealt with millions of worse cases. "It's interesting you should mention that. Follow me, I have someone I want you to meet."
Derrick, still cursing anything and everything under his breath, swaggered along behind the gentle, prim woman. When he started to take in his surroundings, however, his lips twisted from spewing vehement hate to gaping. They were click-clacking down a mammoth hallway, one with walls that extended so high they were obscured by clouds. It was the biggest enclosed space he had ever seen in his life, yet he and his guide were the only two here. There were few trappings: everything was simply white.
They walked for hours, days, years, eons. All until they reached a massive double gate that looked like the entrance to a medieval fortress. There was a single chair that was so dwarfed by the gates Derrick didn't even notice it until he heard the impatiently ticking feet of the man who sat on it. He was well-dressed -- a Brooks Brothers suit, fashionable watch, meticulously shined shoes. Clutched in his hand was a key.
Turning to Derrick, the woman handed the newly deceased another, identical key. "Do you know this man?" she asked him.
"No, I... oh no no no. It was all a mistake, just a mistake, don't try and spring this on me. I didn't mean it, I swear I didn't!"
The fashionable man vaulted to his feet, face burning as hot as the sun with rage. "I've been waiting for this moment for five years buster. Don't try and weasel out of this one, you filthy lowlife! Boy do I have a bone to pick with you!"
Stepping between the two men -- one livid, one terrified -- the woman said, "Fighting won't solve anything. Neither of you can enter the gates to paradise unless you *both* put in your keys voluntarily. I suggest you work things out."
"Work things out with a disgusting murderer!" the man in the suit shouted. "You're fooling yourself, Miss."
"I figured as much," she said with a worn smile. Then, without warning, she stretched her arms and yanked the two men together and instantly they were somewhere else. Somewhere on Earth...
<1/2> | 2021-07-05T20:08:14 | 2021-07-05T20:01:20 | 66 | 26 |
[WP] You can stop time. However, during your vacation where you have stopped time for a year, someone runs up to you and asks “Dude, why have you stopped for this long?” | "Dude, why have you stopped for this long?"
The voice startles me. It's been a year since my last freeze, and not a single squawk from any of the seagulls suspended mid-air above me. At least that was one year of not worrying about them stealing my chips - not that I could really enjoy them now anyway. One of the downsides of frozen time.
The stranger makes his way towards me, sitting himself down beside me on the smooth sand.
"I mean, this beach is beautiful, so I almost get it, I really do... but you're kind of disrupting the flow of other timestoppers with this."
I chuckled. "Timestoppers? Is that what we're called? Sounds like a low budget kids' show from the 90s."
The man shrugged. "Well, someone decided it made sense, and I mean, it does get right to the point. But you're not surprised to learn there are others? I usually have to do a whole speech - you are not alone, great power and great responsibility, yadda yadda yadda..."
Surprised? No. When I first discovered my power I did what anyone would do - an extensive online search. There were surprisingly quite a few stories out there similar to mine. Feeling like the world stopped around them, a sort of out-of-time experience... most stories were written off as disassociative disorders by the armchair psychiatrists of the internet, but I knew better.
"Nah. I sort of figured I couldn't be special enough to be the only one with this..." Not a gift, I reminded myself. "...ability."
"Well, I'm glad. The big speech would've taken a lot out of me, and *somebody* has made sure I haven't had a glass of water in 12 months."
I flash him a guilty smile. "Sorry."
He shrugs, leaning back on his palms, looking at the frozen waves. "Not like I haven't gotten used to it. But tell me. What's made you go for the gold record in timestopping?"
My fists clench, my mouth suddenly even drier.
"Because she got her diagnosis yesterday," I said as plainly as I could manage, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the horizon, "On day one of our honeymoon. And I'm not sure how to process that."
He says nothing, and we continue to keep our eyes on the ocean in front of us. A few minutes of silence pass before he speaks up again.
"I was losing someone too. That's how I discovered just how strong this power was. Kept him frozen for 2 weeks before I realised."
"Realised what?"
"That I wasn't fixing things. Staring at him in that hospital bed wasn't going to bring my husband back to life. This power-- I thought it was about giving us more time to think, think more clearly, but it just locks us inside our own heads." He let out a long sigh. "I'd kept him perfectly preserved... but it wasn't a real life. I realised that the best thing I could do was accept it and just make sure his last moments were as beautiful as I could possibly make them."
I turn to look at him and beg my voice not to quiver. "Didn't it hurt?"
He lets out a wry smile. "Like hell, but it was worth it. Now I don't remember just one painful stretched-out moment. I remember all the short beautiful ones."
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Then he gets up without a word, saying goodbye with a pat on my shoulder.
My eyes glued to the waves in front of me, I consider his words.
High above me, a seagull flaps its wings. | Jack rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't allucinating. He even pinched himself to see if he was dreaming, which ironically was the same thing he did when he first discovered his power. But the person in front of him was undoubtedly real.
"Come on Jack, *a whole year!?*" The teenager in front of him says with exasperation.
"Wait a minute, how do you know my power o-or my name! I've never met you in my life!" Jack said, still surprised. The fact that someone moved in stopped time, *his* stopped time was mind-blowing for him. The teenager just rolled his eyes.
"Really man? That is what you are worried about? How do I know you? Today marks the 365th day you have been *continuously* living in your stopped time, and this is the first time you wonder if someone else then you can move in your "own time", as you ridiculously call it?"
Jack was not going to let a 14-year-old kid berate him, but he had a good point. The last time he searched if someone else could move when he stopped time was a very long time ago.
It all started when he was 12 and taking a math test, a particularly difficult test. Time was ticking down and he still had only completed half of it, the tension of only having 20 minutes to finish the test adding up to the shouts of her mother when he inevitably presented another terrible result in his tests made it even harder for him to concentrate. He only wished for time to stop so he could finish it with time... and it happened. His mother was proud of him for the first time in a very long time after he showed her his exceptional result, one he got by using the stopped time to take a calculator.
The second time was accidental and a year later. He was walking back to his apartment, overwhelmed by the terrible thoughts that originated after he overheard his mother talking on the phone, where she said something about not being able to pay the rent due to her losing her job when suddenly everyone stopped moving. He checked very carefully no one was able to move before he stole an old lady's purse and ran to his home. His mother did not even question where the extra 100 dollars in her wallet came from.
He became more used to his power, being able to somewhat control it, and with its help, he was able to study for more time and get a high-paying job at an office, and a somewhat stable relationship with his girlfriend, Lucy. She broke up with him the day before Jack started his "vacation". It never crossed his mind that someone else would be able to move in his time, but that kid was there.
"W-what even do you want? For me to resume time?" After Jack said that, the kid laughed.
"I want to *help you*. But I need you to remember everything you have done with this power, and maybe you will realize why you have stopped time for so long."
"Look at yourself. Grown man, but you still go into your perfect world every time something bad happens in your life. I know your real-life sucks, but Jack. It is
"Really? An *entire year* just to get over a breakup? You are lying to yourself, Jack. This has nothing to do with your mother dying. Matter of fact, you were happy when she died."
Jack tried to deny the accusation, but he knew that was true. Since his father died, she drowned her sorrows and dumped all her hate into him. When he moved out and started living alone, he felt finally free. But Jack wasn't the smartest kid, and never made much friends at college, instead preferring to study in his normal time and party alone in his stopped time. He had a lot of fun imagining the context behind the wierdest situations he could find when time was frozen.
"So then what!? Why do you think I did this, you *all-knowing* piece of shit!?" Jack said, the kid's attitude finally having pushed him past his breaking point.
"Look at yourself. Grown man, but you still go into your perfect world every time something bad happens in your life. I know your real life sucks, but Jack. It is *your* life. You have done so much escapism that you can't distinguish your fantasy where you can do what you want with no consequences. Lucy still misses you, but you are never really for her when you need her! You are always stopping time to get things the way you want, but that has led you to never care about persons, and you need to stop now! Trust me, you don't want to live your life like this, always taking shelter on your stopped time when anything remotely problematic gets to you."
"H-how would you know?"
"Because," The kid says, slowly changing his appearance. Jack looks in disbelief as the teenager's hair changes from black to white and his skin gets wrinkles until the teenager is an old man. "I'm you, Jack. I have lived my entire life lonely, with no one that cares for me, and me caring for no one. My life is full of regrets, of loneliness. You don't talk to your co-workers, do it more, get friendships. Talk to Lucy, you really love her, but you need to give her part of your attention and time, *real-time.* I spent more of my life alone in my stopped time than actually living it, don't make the same mistake!"
"Y-you are right," Jack says with tears in his eyes, his voice now practically a whisper.
"Get back there, and live your life" | 2021-08-14T21:15:25 | 2021-08-14T16:49:43 | 1,326 | 118 |
[WP] You awake to find yourself in a room with a multitude of people. After some confusion a voice speaks over the PA system. You've somehow been placed in a death game for the entertainment of the rich. You begin to laugh hysterically, as this is SOOO not going to go the way they want it to. | sry for bad writing and short text, am on mobile
edit: spelling
As I heard a loud alarm I covered my ears with my hands. "Just one more minute" I said, half awake, half asleep.
As I slowly started to gain consciousness I looked around. I was in a gigantic room, filled with beds, all identical. This wasn't even remotely like the cozy room I had fallen asleep in after making love with the beautiful woman I had met at the bar the previous night.
It had been a long night, but at around 3 AM I had finally fallen asleep, with the woman in my arms. Some time after she had gone up to get a glass of water or whatever. I had then fallen asleep, a dreamless sleep, and now I found myself here, in this room filled with beds and nothing more.
In the room there appeared to be hundreds of people, all looking up at a big monitor in the room where the a man was seen talking into the camera.
"Good morning ladies and gentlemen"
The voice had barely said the sentence before the crowd started screaming, asking why they were here.
All of a sudden a man in the crowd collapsed and the people around him looked shocked for a few seconds before starting to scream and run hysterically. I just sat there, watching the spectacle, while waiting for the man on the monitor to start talking once more.
"Well ladies and gentlemen, I would advise to keep quiet in the future. You see, we have implanted a small little chip in your heart. As fast as we think you're disobeying you are going to be killed."
People started whispering and a shiver echoed through the crowd, as if though they had already forgotten the bloody corpse amongst them.
"You have been placed here today to play 5 death games, all of which will test you in different ways. If you would, against all expectations, survive all 5, you will be given a enormous amount of money- 2.3 billion dollars, given generously to us by the viewers"
As I heard him utter the last word I burst out laughing like a maniac. People started looking at me and I even seemed to have gained the attention of the man of the monitor, as he was looking stressed at the sight of me laughing.
Oh these rich people who had come for entertainment and seeing people die would soon see their world upside down.
Not only had I lived for tens of millennia- I was also one of the original gods of humankind. When humanity still was young they had feared me as the god that made night fall and meat spoil, the god that made sickness and the god that killed their young. When they grew older they started fearing less and less, but I was always there, lurking in the shadows behind the devil's of each religion.
As the monitor finally turned of I sat there laughing. This would be the funniest thing to happen in centuries | I sat still through the PA announcement, through the resulting chaos as people tried to find an escape.
I followed silently as we were herded down a dark corridor into a much larger enclosure lined by concrete walls but open to the sky above. Around us, I saw weapons on metal racks, sharp edges catching the glint of early morning light as the sun turned the skies orange. Far above us, lined with what I could only assume was bulletproof glass, boxes jutted out from the walls; inside, people in expensive clothes milled about, staring down their noses at us, some with opera glasses.
Around me, some people were crying, but I paid them no mind. Others, the bolder or more survival-minded ones, were already edging toward the weapons racks, even though nothing had been announced yet about what was expected of the souls with me. Soon enough, there would no doubt be a mad dash to be the first with a weapon, to be one who could defend themselves from the merriment our watchers believed was coming.
I closed my eyes for a moment; breathed in the wet morning air; let the smell of the dirt and vegetation around me fill my senses. Beneath me, I could feel the earth thrumming; they had built walls to trap us in here, but the dirt under my bare feet went deep.
Good.
Screaming started around me as the ground shook; a crack appeared in the concrete wall beside us. I tuned in on the frequencies I needed, honed what the vibrations told me was necessary, and was gratified when I also saw worry form on some faces in the stands as the glass boxes began to crumble. Another crack formed, splitting vertically to a box on my left, and their worry shifted to panic as the box jolted and bulged toward the arena.
Guards poured out of openings in the walls now, weapons trained on the throng of people around me. Some of those with me attacked these newcomers with the weapons from the racks, and were mowed down with automatic gunfire.
*Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-a-tat-tat-tat.*
I took that rhythm, those staccato blasts, and weaved them in. The air around me began to vibrate, and before anyone could stop me, I sent those frequencies, those percussive notes, deep into the ground beneath me, straight to the tense dance of plates beneath me.
The earth responded before the first bodies hit the ground.
Beneath the concrete walls, soil and rock erupted from the ground, jolting the entire structure surrounding us up several uneven feet into the air. It came back down but not altogether and not all at once. Large sections broke off; glass boxes toppled, shattered, and collapsed in on themselves. Around me, all humans fell to the ground, unable to keep their feet in the tumult.
I was the only one left standing. But then, I wasn’t human.
Section by section, the walls fell, disintegrated, imploded. Guards and onlookers were crushed; a few poor souls who tried to run through the open areas guards had come through became casualties themselves.
So be it.
Beyond the walls, I could almost feel the attempts to escape, the cars and other vehicles moving fast away. Balling up a fist, I drove it into the ground, my knuckles smacking on the wet grass. To onlookers, it appeared a futile gesture, but the ground beneath us dropped several inches and two hundred feet away a flat mass of earth flew upwards, slinging cars high into the air and catching a helicopter taking off so that it overturned, it’s rotors breaking apart and Alicia g through the air.
I closed my eyes again, settling to my knees and sitting on my heels, hands palm-up on my thighs as I took deep breaths, feeling the destruction around me. In my minds eye, the lilting sound of a child’s laughter wafted across the air, and I allowed myself a smile at the sound.
*You are avenged, my son,* I thought, allowing the memories of my Andrew to overwhelm me as all around, concrete walls burst and sprayed dust across us all. Most of the screaming had stopped, the people too terrified by what was happening to react at all. A few were looking at me now; I could feel their gazes on me as if my eyes were open and I was staring straight at them.
My job, however was done. With a little sigh, I pressed both palms to the soil and let the earth swallow me once again. Screams came from those around me, but they we were only waves in the soil, mixed with the destruction of those who had killed my only son. | 2021-10-31T01:05:36 | 2021-10-30T23:08:35 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] The reaper sighs and rubs his face, newly assigned to the Human Death Department, exasperated. “I asked what your song is. You know, Your Song? The last song you want to hear? I know humans spend hours and days debating these things. Surely, you know which Your Song is? Right?”
Thank you! This is WAY better than my answer to my brother-in-law last night that I’d die without music because it’ll be impossible to choose. That or some inexplicably dirty and inappropriate song.
It’s definitely one of those.
Thank you for the stories❣️ | "WHAT IS YOUR LAST SONG, HUMAN?" the reaper asked.
I stood there, reflecting on my life. How I died. Who I left behind. The feeling of a real body.
I was still in my clothes, and could still feel the wallet and keys in my pocket, along with the phone which I started to pull out.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
"I'm looking through my Spotify"
"YOU ARE AWARE THAT I CAN COMMAND THE ORCHESTRAS OF HADES TO SING THE SONG OF YOIR CHOOSING, YES?"
"And that's nice and all, but you need to hear the real thing to truly feel it."
The reaper was oddly patient as I scrolled through my playlists, looking for the perfect song. It needed to truly reflect how I lived my life. A full lifetime summed up in 3 or 4 minutes. At last I finally found one.
"I think you'll like this one."
I hit play.
"We're no strangers to looove. You know the rules, and so do iiiiiii"
And then it was black | “A song… huh…”
“Yes, a song. Is that a surprise to you?” The shadow figure said with a voice that sounded like every single voice I’ve ever heard at once. Well, actually I don’t think it even spoke it, I think the words and voice just appeared in my head. The thing clearly didn’t have a mouth, it was kind of just a giant black orb. If I stared too long into it, I felt empty. Light couldn’t escape it, and apparently neither could emotion.
“Well, yeah. I expected maybe like a final meal, like a death sentence in life. Or maybe a slide-show going over my life’s best moments or something. Perhaps a stat chart. Oooh, maybe like I’d get to talk to someone for the last time. Something that makes me think over my life and everything I did so I can feel complete before I leave, y’know?”
“Well yes, that’s the point of the song. You’d want to choose one long enough for some reminiscing, and one that brings you nostalgia of good times. Music is actually the most powerful force to exist. It unifies you all, it evokes feeling, it changes emotions. It activates some primal feeling in your heart. And besides, would it have mattered if we went over your best moments? Your life wasn’t exactly eventful, you led a very boring existence.” It said. It was right, I had done nothing all my life. I regret my life, but maybe what lies beyond will be more exciting for me.
“Then that’s my greatest regret. I never payed any attention to music. I was always just working. I’d only heard distant music, and none of it ever resonated with me.”
“Well, you can pick a song and think about things, or I can just take you now.” It replied. It wasn’t impatient, I noticed, which is pretty impressive, as it probably has to do this nonstop.
“I have an idea. Why don’t you sing me a song? And not like, an earthly song of your choosing, but just express your heart to me in song.”
“That is an interesting prospect. You are the only one to have asked that. It is… acceptable.” It answered. I sat down and listened. I may not have paid much attention to sound in my life, but the voice it sang with was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. It was like every emotion at once. After it was done, I clapped lightly.
“I’m surprised you’re still sitting there. A being incomprehensible to you just chanted the auditory equivalent of its soul. That should make you lose your mind, and yet…”
“Well, you did say music unites us. Maybe it’s the kind of language anyone can understand. Thank you for singing for me.”
“Thank you for listening. Goodbye.” It replied respectfully. I smiled to it, and for a second, it felt like it smiled back. | 2021-12-25T00:53:03 | 2021-12-25T00:07:57 | 41 | 25 |
[WP] The Bestiary of the Multiverse is a really, really thick book. Updated every two days. It works like a wierd magical Wikipedia, really. You are the mod, and sometimes find real gems between all of the mundane animals. Write your favorite page of this bestiary. | **The Gooblin**
Gooblins (*goblina ectoplasimca*) are a rare sub-species of both the Goblin and the Slime family. Not naturally born in the wild from parents, gooblins are created when a goblin (*goblina mundana*) encounters a slime (*ectoplasmica mundana*) and instead of the violent demise of one of the creatures, they merge together, creating a symbiotic link.
The diet of gooblins resembles more closely that of a slime than that of a goblin, partially due to their inability to use their mouth to consume food^((1)), rather relying on breaking the food down on the molecular level in its slime. Gooblins are unable to process refined sugars, however, unlike their un-modified precursors. The current reason for this allergy is unknown. Gooblins are known to have a particular proclivity towards cheese, often storing it in their dwelling (typically a cave) and aggressively protecting it. Some have also shown a liking for alcohol, often finding it either in fermenting fruit or stealing it from human or goblin camps.
Unlike goblins, who live a highly social life and operate in tribes, gooblins are solitary and rarely leave their dwelling for a purpose other than obtaining more food^((2)). As gooblins are not created by typical procreation, they do not need to mate, further limiting their need to leave their caves, though some have been recorded to behave cordially towards visitors. More typically, however, intruders are killed and eaten^((3)).
Most curious aspect of the gooblin is their ability to operate machinery and technology^((4)) when given the opportunity to do so. This suggests a higher-level cognitive ability, albeit reserved for these operations exclusively and not other tasks such as problem-solving. There is currently no known reason for this ability considering that neither goblins nor slimes possess it.
&#x200B;
*References:*
1. *The Life Cycle of Peculiar Animals by Petri Flomdiss*
2. *Creatures of the World by Caco D. Dorkly*
3. *Animal Psychology by Skelli W. Azorius*
4. *Technological Advancements in Animal Kingdoms by Lily Rats, Esq* | The Makkipodo.
On a planet far away from anything really, is a beast called the Makkipodo. It lives a solitary life not often mingling with other Makkipodos. The creature stands about twenty feet tall at its full height, but is often found using both sets of limbs to propel it along the ground. These limbs have a strange woodiness seeming to be covered in some sort of bark, that cracks and creaks as it strides over the ground. It is thought that this is a protective element against the swampy environment these beasts favour. Anything that thinks to bite at the legs, will get a mouthful of bark and splinters for its trouble.
The Makkipodo has a large shovel-like mouth that it uses to scoop up the swampy water that it walks through, filtering out small plants and insects that it uses for nutrients. It has something similar to whale baleen, (See entry for Whales) that makes this process easier. In length, the head is about the size of a horse's, though almost as wide as it is long. The legs are double-jointed and spindly, bound completely with the bark as previously mentioned. Its body is long and thin, curled around and around, with marks that could have once been vestigial limbs, or perhaps given their shape, mouths. There is reason to believe that the Makkipodo was once an aquatic creature, but given the changing environment evolved legs and the ability to breathe the air around it.
It still must use the filters that it developed in the water, however, as the planet's air is thick with particles and dust kicked up by the everpresent storms overhead. The storms never drop water, though the ground is mostly swamp, whatever liquid must come from inside. However, those filters are not the most fascinating thing about the Makkipodo. No, that is its great ability to mimic sound. It has many full sets of vocal cords, not commonly found together in one beast and uses them to great effect. But not for itself. The Makkipodo has a parasite
(See entry below.)
The Okamakidop.
The Okamakidop only exists to live off the Makkipodo. It has no ability to survive on its own, and is passed from generation of Makkipodo to generation. Each Makkipodo has at least one Okamakidop in its life and may gain up to two. There seems to be no visible benefit to the Makkipodo, to hosting the Okamakidop so there is no firm evidence for a symbiotic parasitic relationship. However, a Makkipodo will quickly die if it is not gifted with an Okamakidop within three days after its birth.
The Okamakidop is a small creature, seemingly all eyes and mouth, with none of the connective tissue you would expect between them. It is attached to the side of the Makkipodo with small hooks, like fine wires, that puncture the skin without drawing blood.
While the Makkipodo is a peaceful herbivore/insectivore, the Okamakidop is an omnivore. It will eat anything and anyone that the Makkipodo can lure towards itself with the multitude of different sounds it can make. As soon as the creature is in range, the Okamakidop detaches itself and leaps, reducing whatever it was to a husk of its former self in an instant. No soft tissue remains, and even some exoskeletons have been destroyed. When the Okamakidop has been sated it returns to the Makkipodo and they go on their quiet way. This duo is deadly when working together, which means that both the Makkipodo and Okamakidop should be avoided at all costs, and any sounds you believe to be your friends, your family, a lost animal, or an animal in heat should be summarily ignored.
————————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more writing! | 2022-12-11T13:12:53 | 2022-12-11T10:53:13 | 188 | 38 |
[WP] The Bestiary of the Multiverse is a really, really thick book. Updated every two days. It works like a wierd magical Wikipedia, really. You are the mod, and sometimes find real gems between all of the mundane animals. Write your favorite page of this bestiary. | **Ulceritis Seratis (Creeping Rot)**
*Ulceritis Seratis* is the causative agent of the infectious disease known as Creeping Rot referred to as C-Rot [1]. C-Rot normally affects the extremities of exposed individuals resulting in the decay and decomposition of human flesh [2]. Surgical amputation of affected areas is the only current treatment [citation needed]. Untreated, C-rot results will normally result in sepsis and death. Case fatality rate for untreated individuals is 100% [3].
First documented on Zephyr-9, a hydrogen mining facility inadvertently aerosolized the *Ulceritis Seratis* particles resulting in complete contamination of the facility and the deaths of all inhabitants [4]. No full-scale contamination has occurred since the Zephyr-9 incident with following exposures limited to individual cases often associated with laboratory and field survey of planets within the Zephyr system [5].
The biology of *Ulceritis Seratis* classifies the particles as class-9 alien bacterial-like [6]. Similar mineral-based bacteria such as *Crysosia Crysosia* and *Inferim Petuculus* do not result in human-infection, but have resulted in similar contamination among reptilian species [7].
Research is ongoing; however, due to the limited nature of contamination and infection, the ISPC has rated the agent as low-priority resulting in no scheduled vaccination or treatment options [8].
References
[1] Grant, Xi Long. Ulceritis Seratis: Clinical Definition, 2245
[2] Phillips, Harold. Treatment options: Ulceritis Seratis, 2243
[3] Counsel on Inter-dimensional Disease. Ulceritis Seratis: Epidemiology and Intervention, 2252
[5] Mining Division - Federal Arms. Security Briefing: Zephyr System, 2250
[6] Counsel on Inter-dimensional Disease. Classifications per NC435 treatise, 2231
[7] Axstyrs. Disease among Ghrsiof Colonists, 2253
[8] ISPC. Research Prioritization Schedule, 2254 | The Makkipodo.
On a planet far away from anything really, is a beast called the Makkipodo. It lives a solitary life not often mingling with other Makkipodos. The creature stands about twenty feet tall at its full height, but is often found using both sets of limbs to propel it along the ground. These limbs have a strange woodiness seeming to be covered in some sort of bark, that cracks and creaks as it strides over the ground. It is thought that this is a protective element against the swampy environment these beasts favour. Anything that thinks to bite at the legs, will get a mouthful of bark and splinters for its trouble.
The Makkipodo has a large shovel-like mouth that it uses to scoop up the swampy water that it walks through, filtering out small plants and insects that it uses for nutrients. It has something similar to whale baleen, (See entry for Whales) that makes this process easier. In length, the head is about the size of a horse's, though almost as wide as it is long. The legs are double-jointed and spindly, bound completely with the bark as previously mentioned. Its body is long and thin, curled around and around, with marks that could have once been vestigial limbs, or perhaps given their shape, mouths. There is reason to believe that the Makkipodo was once an aquatic creature, but given the changing environment evolved legs and the ability to breathe the air around it.
It still must use the filters that it developed in the water, however, as the planet's air is thick with particles and dust kicked up by the everpresent storms overhead. The storms never drop water, though the ground is mostly swamp, whatever liquid must come from inside. However, those filters are not the most fascinating thing about the Makkipodo. No, that is its great ability to mimic sound. It has many full sets of vocal cords, not commonly found together in one beast and uses them to great effect. But not for itself. The Makkipodo has a parasite
(See entry below.)
The Okamakidop.
The Okamakidop only exists to live off the Makkipodo. It has no ability to survive on its own, and is passed from generation of Makkipodo to generation. Each Makkipodo has at least one Okamakidop in its life and may gain up to two. There seems to be no visible benefit to the Makkipodo, to hosting the Okamakidop so there is no firm evidence for a symbiotic parasitic relationship. However, a Makkipodo will quickly die if it is not gifted with an Okamakidop within three days after its birth.
The Okamakidop is a small creature, seemingly all eyes and mouth, with none of the connective tissue you would expect between them. It is attached to the side of the Makkipodo with small hooks, like fine wires, that puncture the skin without drawing blood.
While the Makkipodo is a peaceful herbivore/insectivore, the Okamakidop is an omnivore. It will eat anything and anyone that the Makkipodo can lure towards itself with the multitude of different sounds it can make. As soon as the creature is in range, the Okamakidop detaches itself and leaps, reducing whatever it was to a husk of its former self in an instant. No soft tissue remains, and even some exoskeletons have been destroyed. When the Okamakidop has been sated it returns to the Makkipodo and they go on their quiet way. This duo is deadly when working together, which means that both the Makkipodo and Okamakidop should be avoided at all costs, and any sounds you believe to be your friends, your family, a lost animal, or an animal in heat should be summarily ignored.
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Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more writing! | 2022-12-11T12:17:18 | 2022-12-11T10:53:13 | 113 | 38 |
[WP] The detective looked at the evidence. A naked body. A block of cheese. The passenger door from a Volvo. Two gold teeth. And a Led Zeppelin album. It all fit so perfectly. He knew who did it. | The detective looked at the evidence. A naked body. A block of cheese. The passenger door from a Volvo. Two gold teeth. And a Led Zeppelin album. It all fit so perfectly.
"I know who did it."
"But how sir? this evidence makes no sense."
"Isn't it obvious? It's James Habb, known to carry a block of cheese, a passenger door from a Volvo, two gold teeth, and a Led Zeppelin album wherever he goes. He must have been in a hurry to have left it all behind."
"Oh... I didn't know that. But how do you explain the naked body?"
"That's the most telling clue, John Habb hates streakers."
"Wow, you are truly amazing sir."
| – Steve, open up!
– Go away!
– Hey, we're very worried, there's someone named Mr. Simon, a detective who wants to talk to you.
– Miss, пожалуйста, if you allow me to take it from here... Sir, it is a friendly visit and totally off the record. Also, I've got something that belongs to you.
– I know of no records and do not want to communicate with anyone!
– But sir, you most definitely have heard of shootout near the mansion a couple of hours ago!
– Maybe...
– Perhaps, you have heard that a red-colored body of brutish proportions have been found near to what appears to be a torn shopping bag, and a torn-off passenger door from a Volvo passenger car, with gold teeth embedded in a large dent on the side?
– Well, he could've hurted somebody, so I acted fast. He had this funny tattoo, though...
– Indeed, he was an agent of that organization. I was told so before rather grim men with black-and-white eagle emblem on their uniforms carried the body away. Let me tell you the story and you will correct me. On the parking lot of a shopping mall, a scrawny bold man was shouting obscenities in German and English, spitting saliva from the shiny mouth of his. You decided to intervene and approached with calming words, I would have expected nothing else from you. The angry little bold man then suddenly injects himself from a rather large syringe, throws both fists in front of him and freezes in shock. And then, he started to grow in size, gaining approximately five feet in all three directions, ripping his clothes off, screaming incoherently and swinging his arms wildly. So you casually rip off a door from a car and throw it towards that hulk of a man, knocking him out. Was that right?
– Yes, mister... err...
– Call me Joseph. But the next thing is quite a mystery to me. Why did you run from the scene?
– THEY came. From all around, snapping their devices, shouting, pulling, shoving photos and books, chanting...
– Ah, THEM! Well, that explains quite a lot. Actually, I suppose your supervisors have settled everything already. And this belongs to you. Why English heavy metal?
– My pal from the UK gave me a list on what should I catch up since, you know...
– Right then! I will be taking my leave. I suppose my colleague owes me a beer now. | 2014-09-09T23:57:54 | 2014-09-09T23:54:46 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] A genie grants 3 wishes to someone with the condition that the person they hate receives twice the same. It can't be used to harm them. You're the 'hated person' and you have no idea what's going on... | "I have fucked up my life beyond repair. Even 3 wishes, no matter what they are couldn't make things right. However, I would like for my children to be happy. Is that too vague?"
"Not at all."
"Next, I would like for my wife to forget I ever existed. She hasn't been able to move on after what she's been through. I would simply wish for her to be happy, but I know that is impossible while holding on to my memory"
"It is done"
"Lastly, now that my affairs are in order, I would like to die. I have wanted this for a long time, but I am a coward. Please do this for me and we can both go in peace"
"I thought I made it clear that you cannot use your wishes to harm the person you hate. You've got 7 more wishes. I don't have all day."
Edit: I can't read for shit and thought the prompt was that the person you hate gets twice as many wishes. Sorry. | Like any day in December, it felt like it could snow any second. My steps were stiff, and there was gum stuck to the bottom of my left shoe. Not a great start. My suit was starchy as well. It clung to my shoulders and made my tie scratch my throat. That's when it started to rain.
I sat down under the glass cover near the bus stop. The car came on time, which was a blessing. Very few were on the bus today... am I forgetting something? It'll be nice to avoid stares today. I look over to a man with a stiffer suit and starker demeanor. He sits beside me. "All clear, sir".
My hands lay pressed against my suitcase. What people didn't know, was that today it was entirely empty. It had been for weeks. Doesn't matter, only a few more until my inevitable promotion. Just keep up appearances. Speak confidently. The littler people know, the littler they become. Let's keep things that way.
This rain is growing intense. My driver needs to slow down. "careful Jeff". As it decellerates, we begin to hydroplane along our street, and a bit off the side. Sometimes nature works against great men. No one's god will stop me. I have work to give, after all. That's what they need. Jobs. Work. That's what freedom is all about.
My new office is just down the corridor. I hope the coffee's ready. Wow It's really pouring out there. Perhaps I should check the weather.
"Record precipitation around Puskatawn County, which may cause some floods due to the drought from the last two weeks. Hold on. Our Doppler is just picking up a massive storm over Washington. Businesses and officials are being prompted to leave as soon as necessary. The city is flooding. The capitol is-"
A dried piece of gum floats beneath my desk. The heavy, wooden door across my office is creaking. Oh.
"this was news 20, thanks for tuning in."
The phone rings.
"Honey! I have amazing news! They said twins! Please let me know when you can get here. I love you so much. Bye!"
My heart is beating its way out of me. My fingers nervously fiddle with the lock on my briefcase. Twins. That shouldn't have happened. Those were just stomach cramps yesterday.
The water waves the phone from my desk. I suppose it's time to snap out of it. After wading across my office, the door busts open. My... Boss? I guess he's my boss. Why is he just standing there? Help me get out of here! His brows are shaking. His face is red and stoney. That's when I notice it. Sets of Benjamin's floating out of my briefcase.
Well. How about that.
"It's not what you think, Barry-O!" | 2014-11-30T09:58:52 | 2014-11-30T09:53:17 | 93 | 22 |
[WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying.
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming... Horrible dreams, of things that make the eldritch being shudder.
Humans, the nopes of the land above. Cthulu awoke in a cold sweat, how could he ever get a good eon's rest knowing those things surround him. His brother's cousin's best friend's uncle Joshua failed to get rid of the infestation like he said he would, and now there were billions of them. BILLIONS! How could he let those things get so out of hand?
Cthulu contemplated going up and dealing with them, but quickly dismissed the thought when he remembered that disgusting crunch the last one made when he stepped on it. He decided it was time to call in a professional, regardless of the cost. Thumbing through the black pages, he found the name he was looking for, Alvin Peter Calypse, vermin exterminator, he and his team were legendary. Guaranteed to deliver in a timely fashion sometime between the next 900 to 1500 years.
Cthulu smiled, soon he could finally get some rest, and those vermin would stop driving him insane. | "Oh shit I stepped on another nest of them."
"Oh dear, shall I a dispose of before or after they've let off the nukes?"
"Nah, let 'em feel like they've achieved something first. It's funnier that way."
"Very well Master, your caring shows no bounds."
This was the conversation Cthulhu had with his worshipper when he reappeared for the first time in 50 million years: and while he hadn't had direct contact with Earth in that time, he still liked to check in every now and then. To keep himself entertained. You see, he was actually quite a naturalist. He enjoyed seeing inferior beings work themselves tirelessly to achieve something he already had. Power.
Meanwhile on Earth...
"What the fuck is that General!?" The president pointed out into the sky, screaming to all high-ranking military officials he could find. "It's already wiped out the entirety of western and central America. With one step!".
"I know sir, we're working on it. We're in contact with China and Russia now to see if they know anything but... It doesn't look good.".
Outside was horror. Children screaming, mothers weeping. The burning carcass of major cities like New York were being shown on monitors worldwide.
"I don't care if we don't understand it. Kill it. Through any means. At the very least make it fuck off!". The nukes were fired.
The impact grazed the beings left kneecap... Not a single scratch
"Y'know, it kinda tickles if you put your mind to it. It's cute." The almighty being mentioned; looking down at the mushroom cloud growing on his leg. The bright glow warming his eyes
"Yes of course my Lord." The astral servant dryly replied.
"Urgh, what the fuck it that!?" Cthulhu noticed a small mass crawling on his feet.
"They appear to be... Humans." The astral servant was dumbfounded. Both of them were caught completely off guard. It seems when faced with an overwhelming threat, humans really will try anything.
"Well get it off then! What do I pay you for!?".
"What with sir?"
"I don't know, get something from that asteroid belt! ANYTHING!"
The great Sleeper lifted his leg, raising the humans thousands of feet into the air, many of them already fallen off. As he slammed down back into the Earth, defacing what was left of West and Central America. Many people were killed that day, but none were more scared than Cthulhu.
"NOPE! Remind me servant, never to touch this planet again.Ever."
"It's been noted my Liege."
Cthulhu went back into his slumber, but not before travelling the astral planes of stars in search of a new planet to torment. There he slept for 100 million years. Never to be heard from again by the human race back on Earth | 2016-09-09T15:23:51 | 2016-09-09T14:53:35 | 263 | 100 |
[WP] Everyone around the world gains superpowers depending on what they were holding at the moment. | It turned out that the skills were transferable. Or, to be precise, that there was no difference between the skills at all.
At first, the cashiers of the world went wild. They, of minimum wage, had inherited the Earth - in the form of small change and dollar bills.
But the economy changes, when people can pull things out of thin air. This is especially so when you learn that your powers expand, into the *class* of things, as a whole.
So, the chefs all discovered, as they played with their powers, that it was more than the tuna, or truffle, or steak, or whatever else they’d been handling. It was food, glorious food, that they could categorically conjure.
The mothers (it was mostly mothers), who had been in the kitchen, soon learned about that too.
When wives, and friends, and neighbors could put bread on every table - why bother going on, with mundane work, at all?
And everyone played with their powers a little more. They got creative.
So, if you’d been loading the printer at work, and now you summoned a piece of paper, but thought it *big*, and felt the shape in your mind gain dimension, and plunged into the paper block and swam through the inchoate white, and tugged the nearly-thereness into the pant-barking *feel* of a dog -- well, you got a dog. A real, live dog.
Which meant that everyone could summon anything, and everything at all. It was just the process that differed. It was like meditation. Some people imagine candle-flames. Other people count breaths. Still others like to chant a single syllable as they sit. They’re just different ways to get to the same headspace, in the end.
And, just like meditation, you eventually got good enough to ditch the precursor, and go straight into summoning the dog.
If we could summon things - could we send things? Namely, ourselves? So, instead of calling matter *in*, we tried flowing ourselves *out*, and found that we could, indeed, pour into that sideways space where anything could be molded, and gather our beings and atoms into wherever it was we wanted.
And then we found that it was more than *wherever*, we could emerge as *whatever* else we wanted, too.
At every step, we thought that we had discovered the true measure of our powers, and at every step we realized that there was yet more to be had.
Finally, we transcended.
If you stayed in the in-between, and stretched your eyes and nerves amorphous, and let your mind expand and hover in this psychic-atom playpen, you started to drift, and spread, and scatter, in the most pleasurable manner - until the body dropped away, and you were left with limitless self, and suddenly you were rushing through every atom in existence, every second in time, every *is*, *was*, or *would be*, then you understood, at last, that you were universe, and always had been.
So now we fly between the stars, and through the folds of space and time, and drop sometimes, into points, when we feel like being *single* - becoming, perhaps, a Volek K’tor, with a great martial fleet, or a toddler on a swing on a shining summer day. Then, we fly out again, laughing, and cosmic in our embrace.
But we have been thinking, lately.
If, when we were human, we could summon human things - could it be, that now, as universe, we could birth universe at will?
So we breathe across the span of our infinite domain, and sink into this breath, everywhere, at once, and we hold the quarks and quasars in the not-yet-might-be’s of random space, and pull, and form, and push, and *ah~*
*we can -*
*we can -*
*we can - explode again, forever, in a multitude of bangs, this moment, eternal, that sings out without end.*
| “November 16, 2016. The day will forever be known as the Great Change (“GC”). I wish we could just go back to how it was. When we were all just plain humans.
Nobody really understood what had happened. We felt nothing different, but within an instance we all looked different and could do superhuman things. 5:34 PM to be exact. The GC felt as natural as walking into your home, but the moment that you stepped through the door all of your furniture changed, the walls disappeared, and the roof was left floating on its own. It was jarring, scary and exciting, and it all happened in the blink of an eye.
There were no secret government projects that accidently went awry. God didn’t come down from wherever and tell us we were special and amazing and that he was finally going to reward us for all of the amazing progress we made. That was a joke by the way Kyle, no need to grimace at me. I know about WW2, I know about the genocides, I know about slavery, I know Trump was elected the year of the GC. All of us know humanity’s collective factual knowledge and history thanks to the Cognition Implants created by the Brainiacs. Sharing stories is still necessary though so we can broaden our horizons beyond logic, so stop looking so glum Kyle.
Anyway… I can’t say for sure that we lowly humans were not responsible for the GC, but a year has gone by and not a single person has taken credit for it. Even the super-genius Brainiacs can’t figure out how the GC happened. But then again, maybe nobody took credit because of how many of us disappeared. I know it’s a difficult topic, I lost my parents that day. I know many of you had people who were also holding nothing in their hands during the GC. What happened, happened however. Until one of the Brainiacs can create a time machine we will have to honor the Goners by celebrating their memory every year on GC Day. We can’t let sadness and anger stop us from moving forward as a species. You all know that.”
The sea of faces in front of me revealed a mixture of emotions, strong and empathetic, weak and sociopathic, all personal, their true depths meant to be hidden. However, every secret was laid bare for me because of my power. I felt all of them against my will within the span of a second. With my hand firmly pressed against the podium I counted down from five, clearing my mind before speaking again.
“Alright. Let’s get back on topic. I’m supposed to recount my life story for you all, and I intend to finish by 2:00 PM so we don’t have to drag this into another lecture.”
“Sir, there’s only five minutes left”, sung Cindy, the words were in perfect pitch and made my eyes water as euphoria tickled my brain. She must have been holding an mp3 player or a microphone during the GC, something along those lines. Singers weren't common amongst the populace. It was a great pleasure to have her in my class when she didn't abuse her powers.
“Come on Cindy, just let me continue and please refrain from using your powers to distract me.”
The class laughed, a few boys near her swooned uncontrollably. I continued after they quieted down.
“The day before the GC, I was laid off and was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I was drinking a lot, smoking a lot. Not as much as the Smokees or the Greeners do now, but enough that I didn’t feel bad about where my life was heading. I had about a month left on my apartment’s lease, so I was going to take it easy and then find a job after I moved back in with my parents. I woke up late on the day of the GC, around 4:30 PM, spent the next hour rolling cigarillos and swinging back beers.”
An audible gasp could be heard in the room. The GC had many causalities aside from the Goners. Everyone knew about the monsters who looked like walking Marijuana plants, or had completely red eyes and a drunken drawl that you couldn't understand. Some people were cursed to constantly emit thick smoke from all of their orifices. Whenever I passed one in the streets I had to avoid looking at them, otherwise I would collapse from the pain and misery I felt coming from them. It’s funny, before the GC our society had a taboo on illegal drug use, some people even looked down on you for it. Now it's different, since some people are tied forever to the drug they were holding during the GC.
“Calm down, I know, I know, I thank my lucky stars every day that I was so miserable and drunk that I couldn’t keep indulging myself. As you all know, I wasn’t holding anything like that when the clock struck 5:34 PM. I had left my apartment to go visit my girlfriend. I met up with her just a minute before-“
The bell rang interrupting me before I could finish my story. Three students instantaneously disappeared. Another four looked like they disappeared, but were just moving so fast that you couldn’t see them leave the room. One student had a lion come pick her up. The whole lecture hall cleared out within 30 seconds. I had to sit down and hold myself to stop shaking. At the end of every lecture I was bombarded with so much excitement it felt like an adrenaline rush multiplied over a thousand times. I looked up and saw Cindy looking at me. She was the last one in the room.
“I know you will probably tell us on Thursday, but I’m curious, what were you holding Mr. Oltalk?” she asked, straining not to sing her question. I appreciated her restraint.
“Well, if you can’t wait I’ll tell you”, I said smiling, “I was holding my girlfriend’s hand”.
| 2016-11-16T09:12:45 | 2016-11-16T09:04:54 | 57 | 37 |
[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. | "Field medic? Why are we humouring the new prospect anyway? We have body labs." Muttered Zelska. Zelska was what the humans would call "A fucking idiot." Jorax reflected.
"Well," Jorax began "Aahii are the greatest builders and engineers in the universe,right?"
"Of course!" Snapped Zelska.
"But, Aahii don't repair anything, ever. The idea that they could craft something that does. Not. Work. Is impossible to contemplate...Humans make trash, they are ugly and backwards, lumbering idiots with no understanding of design or even the principles upon which all great devices work. You've seen it though, heard rumours of humans re-purposing derelict Aahii craft. Making gateways out of purifiers! Human engineers get you home when the gods spit upon your fate and shatter your drive..."
Zelska cut him off, near frothing with impatient rage "We all know the importance of a human engineer on staff, but why do we need this bloody medic!"
Jorax shifts his tunic, revealing a jagged mess of scarring.A near impossible amount of his lower abdomen missing. "It's not just ships a human can hold together when the gods turn their back on you..."
| “Your Grace,” Eddie said, bowing. The King gestured for him to rise in one quick, almost bored, motion. Eddie rose, meeting the King’s eyes. His normally serene face had _twisted_ the past few weeks. The man kept his gray-tinged beard even, but it had grown wildly. Uneven and unlike His Imperial Majesty.
“What news do you bring?” he asked. Behind him Eddie noticed guards shuffle. Once this man fought on the front, notching dozens of kills to his name. Now he sat upon the gilded throne and guided the destiny of his empire.
Eddie hesitated—he knew the King would not like his words. “We launched the first strike. They suffered massive casualties, enough to cripple any world. Millions died.”
The King grinned. “Yes, of course they are crippled,” his voice shook with laughter. “Did I not say this is what would happen?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Eddie bowed his eyes in reverence. Then he continued, “but they’ve rallied. Millions are positioned to hit our western outposts. If those fall then they can strike at the capital of Novas, which would throw the entire western half of the empire into disarray.”
“What?” the King bellowed, rising from his throne. “Explain yourself, Commander Edward.”
Eddie bowed his head. “The casualties they suffered should’ve been enough to cripple. They should have surrendered. Instead they’ve taken every man, woman, and child capable of holding a weapon and have launched a counter offensive. We do not believe them to be overly skilled or organized, but their sheer numbers…”
The King retook his seat. His eyes turned away, hand steepled, face lost in thought. “How long until we can match them?”
“It’ll take us weeks to match their numbers.”
Anger flashed in the King’s eyes. “No, we don’t need to match them. Half of our elite paramilitary units should be enough. They’re skirmishers, not warriors. And once we’ve crushed them I will reunite this empire. Shattered by my forefathers, we will be whole again.”
“Your Grace… during the initial assault we also landed several brigades on the surface of their homeworld. Those men are dead,” Eddie said, his voice almost a whisper.
“You…! How many men have you cost us, Commander Edward? Your incompetence…” the King shook. His lips curled and he snarled. “How many lives will be lost because of you?”
Eddie remained silent, neglecting to mention the order he received. “I apologize, Your Grace. I will rectify this. I swear.”
The King said nothing for a moment. “No. Let them come.” Again the King looked away. “We can use their assault on Novas. Weaken them and some of our vassal colonies. Then reestablish our rule over the west and conquer Earth afterwards.”
“As your command, Your Grace.” Eddie saluted and turned to leave.
“Commander Edward,” the King’s voice called, “do not fail me.”
| 2017-03-06T01:01:31 | 2017-03-05T22:41:12 | 379 | 60 |
[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. | "Hold my beer."
I moaned silently to myself as the icy fear climbed my spine. It was always like this:
The ship would get into trouble, usually because of the Captain.
The crew would try all kinds of solutions that inevitably failed, usually because of the Captain.
We'd be up against the wall, no possible way out, no possible hope... usually because of the Captain.
And then we'd hear those words, from the Captain: "Hold my beer."
We were supposed to have been delivering a shipment of Anduvian wool to the Monks of Patience. Now the Monks were all trapped at the event horizon of a black hole, the wool had gotten lost somewhere along the way and our ship was spiraling out of control through an asteroid field with warships of three different species trying to get a weapons lock on our engines.
I reached out and took the sweating can from the Captain.
"I really need a new job." I thought for the thousandth time. But the money was good, and somehow when it was all over we were still here and everyone else, well... wasn't.
"Watch this!" the Captain said; I closed my eyes and shuddered. A Human. I had sign on with a Human. | “Your Grace,” Eddie said, bowing. The King gestured for him to rise in one quick, almost bored, motion. Eddie rose, meeting the King’s eyes. His normally serene face had _twisted_ the past few weeks. The man kept his gray-tinged beard even, but it had grown wildly. Uneven and unlike His Imperial Majesty.
“What news do you bring?” he asked. Behind him Eddie noticed guards shuffle. Once this man fought on the front, notching dozens of kills to his name. Now he sat upon the gilded throne and guided the destiny of his empire.
Eddie hesitated—he knew the King would not like his words. “We launched the first strike. They suffered massive casualties, enough to cripple any world. Millions died.”
The King grinned. “Yes, of course they are crippled,” his voice shook with laughter. “Did I not say this is what would happen?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Eddie bowed his eyes in reverence. Then he continued, “but they’ve rallied. Millions are positioned to hit our western outposts. If those fall then they can strike at the capital of Novas, which would throw the entire western half of the empire into disarray.”
“What?” the King bellowed, rising from his throne. “Explain yourself, Commander Edward.”
Eddie bowed his head. “The casualties they suffered should’ve been enough to cripple. They should have surrendered. Instead they’ve taken every man, woman, and child capable of holding a weapon and have launched a counter offensive. We do not believe them to be overly skilled or organized, but their sheer numbers…”
The King retook his seat. His eyes turned away, hand steepled, face lost in thought. “How long until we can match them?”
“It’ll take us weeks to match their numbers.”
Anger flashed in the King’s eyes. “No, we don’t need to match them. Half of our elite paramilitary units should be enough. They’re skirmishers, not warriors. And once we’ve crushed them I will reunite this empire. Shattered by my forefathers, we will be whole again.”
“Your Grace… during the initial assault we also landed several brigades on the surface of their homeworld. Those men are dead,” Eddie said, his voice almost a whisper.
“You…! How many men have you cost us, Commander Edward? Your incompetence…” the King shook. His lips curled and he snarled. “How many lives will be lost because of you?”
Eddie remained silent, neglecting to mention the order he received. “I apologize, Your Grace. I will rectify this. I swear.”
The King said nothing for a moment. “No. Let them come.” Again the King looked away. “We can use their assault on Novas. Weaken them and some of our vassal colonies. Then reestablish our rule over the west and conquer Earth afterwards.”
“As your command, Your Grace.” Eddie saluted and turned to leave.
“Commander Edward,” the King’s voice called, “do not fail me.”
| 2017-03-05T23:59:04 | 2017-03-05T22:41:12 | 125 | 60 |
[WP] Humans have unified, but aliens are sitll refusing all contact (Even though we know they are there.) Largely left to our own devices, we become the most advanced technologically in the galaxy. It is getting harder for them to ignore us. | Ambassador Lamott leaned back in the plush armchair of his ready room, The somber melody of Mahler’s symphony No.6 reverberated through every wall, well aged Scotch in hand, he sighed and looked despondently out of the panoramic window at the vast ocean of stars, as they seemed to drift by.
180 years young, he didn’t look a day over 35, the current style was to maintain an appearance of a youthful early 20s, but for a life in politics it was expedient to look at least 30, some of his more dedicated counterparts even allowed themselves the occasional wrinkle or the salt and pepper of greying hair. Ridiculous, what was the point?
Over a thousand known civilizations contacted to date, all with at least some rudimentary space travel and long range communications, and not one of them wanted any kind of diplomatic relationship with the Human race.
Clean limitless energy, faster than light travel, regenerative medicine, artificial gravity, our knowledge and technology unsurpassed in any world, yet not one other species would have anything to do with us. “The Nomads, “The Cursed”, or as most know us, “The Dishonored”,..it’s a big galaxy but word travels fast.
The long, sleek mass of the cruiser Pax would conclude the return journey to Martian orbit in less than six hours, and so end another debacle, "why do we still bother?", Lamott finished his Scotch and with a word, the lights dimmed, the music silenced, he closed his eyes and drifted uneasily to sleep.
Over a thousand contacted civilisations, and more it seemed every month. Of all known races in the galaxy only one carried the shame of having willingly destroyed it’s own home planet.
Hard to get past a reputation like that. | Once they had known Me. Once they were in My favor, and I in theirs. That was long ago. Time has past and those events are strangers. That time is now myth, a respite against the clawing dark.
I created them in the bargain. The bargain for a legacy that we thought would never come. An act of desperation. A final call against this hated existence.
They think I am all powerful. Being their Father, why wouldn't they? At first they were children. Then they were grown and had questions. That illusion of safety, of everything being okay, was broken. They saw their Father for what He was. Or at least for what they perceived Him to be.
I was apathetic. I was cruel. I never listened. Oh how My children have forsaken Me! How they have thought the worst!
But alas I am not as they think. I am not of the All-Powerful cloth as they believe. If only I can tell them.
My people are similar. We are from another time. A more advanced time. A time of great joy and leisure. A time that they will experience soon. If they knew how similar we are, perhaps they will forgive Me My deaf ears. Perhaps they will forgive My 'apathy'.
Their creation was borne out of a time of blackness. The Great Unknown had come. Death and Destruction followed. Such a thought it would be for them. God dying. But there are greater things than I. There is power greater than Me.
Our world was threatened and we were trapped. I am the leader of My people and there was little to do. We were to die and be forgotten forever. I could do one thing. I could perform one miracle.
Our life was sent out to escape the coming black. The skies were filled with lightning and an oppression that I cannot describe. The only light in that story was the shuttle sent. We would live on, thought we would die.
Life emerged as we battled and it thrived as we survived. Time passed, incomprehensible, and we were weakened, though we survived. Much was lost, much was destroyed.
Our last hope had preservation had morphed then and called themselves Human. The memories of their home which I implanted were misconstrued, and they worshiped Me. They thought Me their Father in a spiritual sense.
And now they hate Me. Our world has peaked and now we decline. I am older now and my time is not long. Our kind lives for many a millennia, but not forever. The Humans have advanced much since their birth, and I suspect that soon they will surpass us all.
I have made contact with them. I have tried to mend our miscommunication. But it has been to no avail. They ignore Me now. They shun their Father.
Too much hope has been loss and they deny My existence. The hardships of living has killed the fantasy of a Father, the hope of a Protector. I cannot say I blame them. I cannot say that I am surprised.
I am getting old now, and soon I will be no more. My people here mourn the eventuality and try to cover their eyes from the truth. In My old age I wish My other children would do the same. I wish to have their grief, their sympathy. As the days fly faster and the Great Unknown seem more and more like a bad nightmare, I listen for the prayer of my flock. I listen for the grief and sadness that every Father wishes. I hear nothing. Space is as empty as it always is. How I wish I really was this 'God'. | 2017-03-29T11:12:31 | 2017-03-29T10:43:45 | 547 | 40 |
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