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[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | "My brothers, I hope this message reaches you. We never should have come to this place. This...jewel of a planet, with simple creatures living simple lives. None of them followed the Ardok's Logic, 'the strong take through combat, and by taking they get stronger.' Our empire's founding principle, that has guided us through millennia of conflict and victory. These, 'humans,' practice the weakness of peace. Their end should have been swifter than most.
At first, it was. Death came for them, and they eagerly accepted it. Begging to put down the weapons and come to the table. Bah, weakness. The only negotiation is through combat, through war. But we stirred something, something dark...and something evil.
At first, they gathered weapons, though primitive, it was at least going to be a fight. The scale of their weapons was surprising but we adapted, instead of being bunched in large ships, easy targets for their large explosives, we began a ground invasion. Surgical, precise yet overwhelming. We engaged them on the open fields and began to have glorious battles, for a time. They...continually made a concentrated effort to always capture some of us alive. At first we thought it was a pitiful attempt at trading our brethren for peace. But the channels were silent, and the humans crept in the shadows, away from the glorious battlefields. It was then we began to see the true horrors of this infernal plane. For it was not their weapons, not their explosives. We have seen larger explosives than this hurled at our fleets.
Fifteen earth cycles of searching we found our brethren. They were all...disgraced, eviscerated, and clearly held down and mutilated. Tortured for information? What a primitive and cowardly act. They did not gain information from their lips, but they must have learned secrets I cannot begin to tell you.
From that day forward, we began to die. Not in glorious combat, but sickly and weak. Our organs ruptured, but not a single weapon was found. No shots, no stabbings...yet we kept falling. First by the dozens, soon by the thousands. We tried quarantining, and then as soon as we tried the humans would strike our sick, would engage not in the open fields but from remote distances. We would attempt to strike back, but those who went came back with no trophies and soon would show the same symptoms.
We have never encountered a race like this one. We have faced dishonor, but not sacrilege. Life to them is clearly not sacred. We thought them weak for such short lifespans, but perhaps it simply is because of how close to the void their hearts and minds are.
I have bore witness to the atramentous maw...and only eternal blackness stared back.
This is not a lush world of life, this is a horrific world of death. And no one can wield it better than they can. My time is short, despite my best efforts the humans have found new and worse poisons to fill the air with each passing day, far too quickly for us to adapt. I hope this message reaches you in time, to prepare, to run. They were able to steal one of our ships and were able to dissect it as they had us. The ship returning to you is not housed with our trophies. It is full of their trophies, trophies of rot and death. We shared our gospel of battle and killed billions. They would like to share their own of death, and return the favor tenfold." | "They've taken Newtonport," Allen told me as I stepped into the ancient machine. Already the southern continental factories were busily upgrading a new batch up to current tech. We had gotten these old knightsuits from the old warehouses they had been stored in centuries ago.
"Shit eating fuckers," I said, actually having requested a good cursing term from my headtech. Hell, most types of aggresion had been banned after the war that almost killed us all. The ancestors who were left to rebuild and redesign society had left these knightsuits in storage in case something went wrong. The Kondraxxi Battle Fleet that had appeared in our skies and demanded our surrender was something that went wrong.
"We're going to war?" Lauralei asked me excitedly, at 30 I was the eldest in our newly formed squad, "That's forbidden."
"Only against other humans," I smiled, "Now let's see if these things still work. We've got to hold the planet for at least a day till the factories really ramp up production."
______________
Kondraxxi War Commander Somu stood looking over the smoking wreckage of the human's capital city. As was standard invasion protocol they had demanded a surrender then taken the largest city on the planet as a demonstration of power. Everyone in the city was slaughtered and this slaughter broadcast to the planet to demoralize.
"No resistance from any direction, Commander," his recon commander reported, "Satellites report... wait. I'm reporting an energy discharge on the southern defensive line."
"It's about time," the Commander smiled, "Slaughter them. Bunch of farming scum."
______________
Lauralei's recon knightsuit was lighter and more agile then the big bruisers most of her confederates were riding. She was smiling in delight as she rode the ancient tech forward. Her smile turned to a frown and then a scowl. The child's body she passed was burnt to a crisp.
"They killed children," Lauralei was crying as she said this over her radio, "They killed everyone, Mason, everyone."
"I see the corpses, child," I told her in reply, "Prime weapons, put your suits through their final checks. Remember these things are murderers. You're not killing people. No, these aren't people. These things from the sky are monsters. Look what they've done to innocents."
"Kill them all!" Lauralei screamed, and this shout came from a thousand lips over my radio. I shivered in anticipation.
____________
The Kondraxxi scouts stood around armored vehicles whose anti-g had been shut down to conserve energy. Some were playing games and very few were actually paying attention. What could this planet of farmers do?
"Get up!" Someone shouted, "Get your as..." The world around the Kondraxxi erupted in a see of plasma, missiles, death, and screams.
"What is..." someone shouted, reaching for a weapon and suddenly his head was gone. The Kondraxxi erupted into complete chaos as huge metal machines, shaped like the inhabitants of this world moved among them. They were bristling with weapons of death. The few shots the Kondraxxi got off were absorbed by the heavy armor plating of the mechs.
_____________
"Sir," the Scout Master looked alarmed, "There's now weapons discharge to the east, south-east, northwest... HELL! They're all around us!"
"What do you mean?" the Commander was standing up in his battle tank, "Slaughter them! Kill them! They're farmers!"
"We're trying," the Scout Master said, "They're closing within 2..." and then his head was gone.
The Commander looked on in shock.
_________
Lauralei smiled. Her recon suit had a plasma snipe with a range of almost 4 kilometers. She had taken the Kondraxxi insect-like head off from so far away.
"Stay focused, Laur," I told her, "Good shot by the way."
"No wonder the ancients went to war," she told me and I shivered again, "I've never felt so alive." I knew what she meant.
____________
"Answer me!" Commander Somu yelled into his comm, "Sector 3, report! Sector 8, what's going on?" There was silence on all frequencies.
He watched as the men around him, even those behind heavy armor, died one by one and stood in the middle of a now empty and eerie city. He was surrounded by strange machines. Strange, deadly looking machines.
"I surrender," he said in their dialect.
A large machine, human-shaped, approached and he was startled to see a human strapped in, piloting it through a series of neural wiring. He shivered at her smile.
"You came to our planet," a voice from a larger machine on the side told him, "You killed our people. Destroyed our city. Murdered our children. You are not worthy of a chance to surrender. Lauralei, he's yours."
"Thanks, Mason," she said and picked him up. He felt his arm ripped from his socket and screamed, "Now, you, let's show you what happens to bugs that kill children." | 2019-02-26T13:01:01 | 2019-02-26T11:49:21 | 75 | 54 |
[WP] Instead of heaven and hell, when you die, you find yourself in a room with a six year old girl who invites you to join her tea party. It dawns on you, you're her imaginary friend. | [This is like 9 hours old and I should be sleeping right now but inspiration strikes when it's least welcome and I can't get my scenario out of my head]
It didn’t take long for Larry to figure out he was dead. Mostly because he remembered the, you know, dying part. A heart attack is painful, tell you what. He’d turned sixty-eight a few days before the heart attack that killed him on his bathroom floor as he was taking a long-awaited piss.
*Oh well,* he thought, *can’t be helped.*
He looked around, and saw that he was situated in an absurdly pink bedroom. A young girl’s no, doubt. His deduction was confirmed a few moments later when he felt a tug on his hand.
“Hi! Who are you?” a little girl said happily.
“Larry. You?”
“Cassie!”
“Hi Cassie. This is your room, is it?”
“Yup! Isn’t it pretty?”
“For your demographic, maybe”
“You talk funny, Mr. Larry,”
“Yeah? Well, you look funny”
She giggled.
“You’re just in time, we were just about to have a tea party,” Cassie gestured to the other end of the room, where a small table and four small chairs were placed; two unoccupied, the others occupied by a large stuffed tiger and a collection of barbie dolls, respectively.
Cassie ran over and seated herself in one of the unoccupied chairs, and looked at Larry expectantly. A little girl’s imaginary tea party was not how he’d planned to spend his afterlife, but what the hell, right?
He sat down and nodded respectfully to the barbie dolls.
“Ladies,” he added politely.
“Have some tea!” she exclaimed, pouring a big dollop of nothing into an undersized cup in front of him.
“I don’t drink tea,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Cause I don’t like it”
“So what do you drink?”
“Not tea.”
“I’d get you a grown-up drink but I can’t reach daddy’s cabinet” she said, sadly.
“Don’t worry about it kid. I don’t drink grown-up drinks either, not anymore anyway”
“Why not?”
“Not going down that road with you, kid. How old are you anyway?”
Cassie used to both of her small hands to count, and when she finished, she said, proudly:
“Six! I’m six!”
Larry grunted.
A lanky pre-teen with long black hair, his face buried in his phone suddenly appeared in the open doorway.
“Hey loser, I’m gonna go grab a pop tart from downstairs. You want one?”
“No I don’t want a pop tart, Alex! And don’t call me loser! That’s mean!”
“Whatever, loser” said the pre-teen, leaving.
Larry raised an eyebrow.
“That your brother?”
Cassie nodded.
“He’s a bit of a dick,”
Cassie was shocked, and whispered:
“You should put a quarter in the swear jar!”
“I’m a ghost, kid. I don’t need to put anything in anything anymore”
“You’re a ghost?”
“Don’t worry about it. Say, your brother, his name’s Alex?”
“Yup”
“I got a grandkid named Alex. How old is he, twelve?”
“I think so. You have a grandkid?”
“I have two. A boy named Alex, and a little girl about your age”
“What’s her name!?” she asked excitedly.
“Cassandra,” said Larry, without giving it much thought.
“That’s my name too!”
“I thought your name was Cassie,”
“Cassie is short for Cassandra you big dummy,”
“Hey, I’m not the one drinking imaginary tea here, girly,”
Larry was starting to feel uneasy. One kid sharing a name with one of his son’s kids could be put down to a coincidence, but both of them?
“Say, where are your parents?”
“Mommy’s downstairs, and daddy’s on his way to my grandpa’s house!”
“Your grandpa, eh? What’s his name?”
“I don’t know! I haven’t met him yet, but daddy said he was gonna bring him to see us soon!”
Larry grunted.
*Well at least my body’s gonna be found before it rots.*
“Give me some of that tea after all, Cassie” | "Hi, what's your name?"
I looked around, I was not familiar with my surroundings. It looked like a child's room, but I didn't recognize WHO'S child it was. There was a little girl sitting at a small table with a tea set. On her left was a teddy bear, and on her right was a stuffed rabbit that looked a little worse for wear. She pointed at the seat across from her, which was surprisingly empty.
"Um, Hi... I'm... " I thought for a moment, was I Robert, or Mr. Robert, or Mr. Anderson. I wasn't sure how to answer. I wasn't sure why, or how I was HERE more importantly. There was something. Something I couldn't remember yet. It was on the cusp of my memory, but just outside, like when you cannot remember a person's name whom you've known for a long time. "I'm Mr. Robert, or Robert, if you like".
She looked at me for a moment, thinking about what I had said. "Okay, Mr. Robert. Since you are older after all. I should probably call you Mister. I'm Ashley and I am six years old." When she said six, she held up six fingers, like either I needed to see it, or perhaps she was proud of being on more than one hand in age. "Would you join me for tea?"
"Tea? You wouldn't happen to have coffee in any of those cups would you?" I think a cup of coffee might do me some good with my memory.
"Coffee's gross! YUK!" Ashley squealed. "Sit down and have some tea, I know you'll love it!"
I sat in the chair that initially looked very small, but when I sat down, I fit in it like I was one of the stuffed animals.
"Sugar and Milk for your tea Mr. Robert?", she asked as she poured "tea" into my cup.
"Um, 2 sugars and some milk please."
She pantomimed putting milk and sugar in my cup, and stirred it with a spoon. "Go ahead an drink", she exclaimed.
I put the tea cup to my lips, expecting air, and WOAH, there was tea with milk and sugar going into my mouth, although I did not see it IN the cup. Well, this was just weird. "It's delicious!", I didn't have to pretend that part, it was really good tea. Ashley giggled in her chair as she "drank" her tea.
"ASHLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" The sound of her name made her jump a little bit.
"Yes I'm here" she said looking a little nervous.
"GET DOWN HERE.... NOW!!!!", the voice boomed like it was being pumped through PA system.
"Don't worry, they can't see you or hurt you, Okay?" she whispered to me. I wasn't sure why she was speaking so softly. She looked genuinely nervous, or scared.
"Oh I'm not scared." I stood up from the chair resuming my "regular" height as compared to a 6 year old. She ran to the door and opened it and I followed. The house was a normal looking ranch house that I still did not recognize. I still had no idea why I was here, either.
"ASHLEY! Why are't you HERE now???"
"I'm coming. ", she turned to look at me and held her finger to her lips in the universal sign for 'hush'.
We walked into the living room. Her parents were sitting on the couch with TV trays in front of them. There was a third tray with a meal on it in front of a child sized chair. I looked at the food on her tray. Chicken nuggets and carrots. looked like milk in a cup to drink. As she sat down, she accidently knocked over her milk. as it started to top, I grabbed it, and only a drop spilled. The odd thing was her parents did not react to my being there in general, but when I saved the milk, they both paled.
"Be careful, Ashley," her mom said with a wild look in her eyes.
"I will, Thank you Mr. Robert, I'll take that milk now". I didn't realize I was still holding the milk, and I handed it to Ashley.
"Ashley, who is Mr. Robert?"
"He's my new friend Mommy! He had tea with me this afternoon!"
"He DID? where did he come from?"
Ashley shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I do know he was a great guest at my tea party, and when he goes on, he's going to be very happy. Not like Mr. Lambert who was her last week."
"Are you sure Mr. Lambert is gone?" the dad said slowly.
"Yes Daddy. He was not nice, was he?"
"No, he was not."
I walked over to the other side of the room to see the parents better and noticed a bruise on the cheek of her father. I reached for the front door.
"You don't want to go out there yet." Ashley said very cautiously. It's not time. You have to wait. We'll have more tea, then it will be time. You've done really well with this part of the test. I believe you will have a very fun afterlife."
Ashley grew older in front of me over a matter of seconds, I saw her parents get older and the room changed, "I believe it's time for you to move on." she said as she rubbed her pregnant belly.
"Honey, get the car, it's time!" she said as I felt a pulling motion I was shrinking and becoming light which zoomed into her belly.
​
Now it is dark, I'm scared, I don't know what's happening, but I feel like I am trapped. What is going to happen? | 2019-07-27T13:33:35 | 2019-07-27T11:08:41 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them. | "What did you just say?"
"Sir, you heard correctly. A country on the planet 'earth' has that symbol deeply entrenched in their culture, and every specimen, from the everyman to the highest of their ranks pledges royalty to it."
"And you mean to tell me, that they display not just one, but FIFTY of them?"
"Yes, sir. We realize that peaceful contact was the priority, but seeing those symbols during our recon missions, we thought we should report this matter first."
"You were right to do so. Haa... this has become problematic. They couldn't possibly know what it represents since they haven't established contact with other civilizations, but it has most likely already corrupted them."
"Even though they do not know what it means at all, Sir?"
"The moment that symbol has been etched, those species have already gone under their control. The eldritch, their powers are beyond our imaginations. It's simply a matter of time before that place becomes a gateway for their return."
"In that case, what will be the next course of action for us, Sir?"
"I'll report this to the council, but I can already guess their judgement on this matter. Carry out the preparations. We'll have to cull that symbol from this galaxy." | By the dozenth attack, the lead Spaceologists of the United States had all but concluded that they were being targeted by the aliens.
"The attacks are endless," the Defense Secretary complained. Resources were strained. They had already conducted multiple drafts and were now edging close to having to find recruits amongst the wealthy and the injured, like people with bone spurs. "If they come again, we may be overrun."
President Ton Drump did his best to listen but he was distracted. He would much rather be golfing, or maybe attending some beauty pageant where he could ogle all the women he wanted. All this *behaving* was really wearing thin. "Why us? We're the best. Why not somebody weak? Like Germany. Don't they have space swastikas? Evil, truly evil."
The Secretary of State shifted uncomfortably. He was actually the same person as the Defense Secretary. A surplus of firings had resulted in a shortage of staff to fill all the open roles. "Um, no, sir. They don't use the swastika anymore. For anything. Actually, we've been told it's our stars. North Korea suffered an attack. Syria did as well. China suffered a few. But nobody has suffered as many as us."
"The stars? Why do we even have stars on our flag? We're on Earth, not on the Moon."
"Fifty states, sir. Fifty stars for fifty states."
"I won all those states, right?" Awkward glances around the room.
"Anyways, sir. We would like you to suggest a bill to change the flag. Maybe we can have fifty circles instead."
"Representing golf balls. Or hamburgers?"
"Golf balls would be more accurate." The President ran a pudgy hand through his toupe. He was balding but couldn't stand to admit it. Men like him didn't bald. Not fit, active men who could walk from the golf cart to the tee.
"That would be a sign of weakness. We can't back down. We are the leaders of the Free World." That might have been true once but there wasn't much freedom left in the world anymore. Protests were quashed with armed force and dissenters executed or jailed permanently without trial.
"What do you suggest, sir?"
"More stars."
"More stars?" More awkward glances.
"More stars. Don't we have any other states we can add?" The President had made his decision. That decision was more stars, no matter how foolish a decision it might be.
"Like Puerto Rico?"
"Those Mexicans?" He thought for a moment, rather ineffectively, as his council expected. Nobody corrected him. "Fine. Make them a state. Same with Mexico. Make them a state, too. And then draft all of their men for the Space Force. We'll show those aliens who's boss."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-10-08T06:19:44 | 2019-10-08T06:04:33 | 209 | 111 |
[WP] You are corn. Human is nice. You like human. Human gives you good dirt and kills hungry bugs. Today, however, human betray you. Human slaughter your fellow corn and now is coming for you. | I can not see human but I know human is coming for me. Human has cared for me my whole life, why human do this? I can not run, I can not hide. Did I grow only to die? What is the meaning of this life? Why human now come to reap what human sow? I not see human, I not smell human...but I can hear human. I am all ears and human is getting louder, the crunch of my brothers' corpses is deafening. I hear human in front of me...
I have no mouth and I must scream. | The warmth of the blazing sun seeps into your fresh green leaves and the tassel of your stock. You love the feeling of the rays shining onto the rough texture of your corn husks and the way it feels after the human has just poured cool water onto your roots.
The water trickles through the dirt and soaks into each individual branch of your wiry roots, breathing you back to life everyday.
It’s all the humans doing. The wonderful human, who planted you and nurtured you and cared for you until you were the beautiful, healthy corn you are today.
And oh, look! The human is headed this way now!
He trudges through the dirt field toward you, his hat on to protect his eyes against the bright light of the sun. You’re so happy to see him! You can’t wait till he fills you up with more glorious water.
He looks the same as he always does, but today his mouth is curved down and his eyes narrowed. It makes the lines of his face seem harsher in the shadows of his hat.
You watch curiously, as he lifts a metal device in his hand, with two sharp edges, and begins cutting off the beautiful leaves of the corns next to you.
Fear constricts inside of your roots and horror fills your stock as you watch the human murder the corns on your row. Your leaves shrivel up and the sun no longer brings a nice warmth to your veins. It’s sweltering.
The human finishes ripping apart the corn next to you and his gaze shifts to your husks, filled with fresh yellow kernels. You’re absolutely terrified, your stock shivering and the water in your leaf veins sweating out.
But just as he brings up the metal weapon, a small child materializes in between two corns in the row in front of you. His skin is as pale as the clouds and his eyes are two empty black pits, sunken and lifeless.
Your fear turns into sheer panic, every leaf on your branches trembling, as you watch the young boy grin maliciously at the human with a set of pointed yellowing teeth.
The human doesn’t see the child. He doesn’t even hear him as the little boy raises a larger metal weapon with a wooden handle, and sinks it deep into the humans back.
 
**Hai, I hope you enjoyed the story! For more of my stuffs come visit me at r/AliesStories. Thanks for reading :3** | 2019-12-01T20:29:51 | 2019-12-01T18:08:23 | 316 | 140 |
[WP] The hero was blessed with the power to bring people back to life, resurecting their companions to keep up the fight against the dark lord. Which is why it’s odd that they brought you, the dark lord that they fought against back to life. | I felt cold. Everything was dark. I guess that was it then. The so-called heroes had won. My glorious reign would not bring peace. In a century or two the world would dissolve again into war and chaos. I saw a bright point, full of warmth. It pulled on my consciousness, and I let myself rise to it. Time to face my afterlife. Or so I thought.
The first thing I felt was pain. I was on the ground, my hands bound, and it felt like I was still in my battered armor. I forced my eyes open. I was still in my castle. Did I survive somehow? Could I recover, get my revenge and bring about everlasting peace? As I started to get up, I felt a lance against my throat. Frozen with fear, I looked up and saw her grin. She was bloodied, but clearly still breathing.
"Dark Lord Astalus. You were a worthy competitor. But now, you have lost."
"Then why am I alive, little hero? Why am I still breathing? You know that while I live, my zombies will continue to fight, to plunder, and kill."
The hero reached down and offered me a hand up. I took it tentatively. If this fragile hero were to die, I would fall back to death. I am sure of it. Her blessing and mine are not so different. Our gods are siblings after all. They quarrel, but their powers are two sides of the same coin.
"You are alive, Astalus, because I still need you. Your armies, your raiding, have brought the nations of light together. But, should you leave, they will begin their petty squabbles again. At some point, they will go to war. "
This child understands then. The nature of mankind is violent and chaotic.
"Only together, Dark Lord, can we find peace. your legions of darkness will put up a facade of war against my alliance of light, which will then pretend to fight back. Together, we can keep a facade of an eternal war, to create an eternal peace. I will need your help. My powers of Resurrection and yours both have their limits, but I believe that together we can make any number of people truly immortal. So, what do you say?"
I reached out and took her hand, and I felt her power. Our magics intertwined, and I could feel it working. My magic reinforced her bones, hers repaired the flesh and skin that had begun to rot from my body. I felt young and strong. Together our magics were stronger. Together, we were stronger. As we shook hands, An aurora broke out in the skies as our gods made their peace for the first time in millennium. | "What the hell?" You think to yourself as you regain consciousness. "Wasn't I just killed?" You look around you and realize that the battle that claimed your life is still in full swing all around you. The hero, who bested you is chanting incantations causing colorful bursts of light to erupt from his palms. The spells strike your friends down and as you watch them fall you feel a sudden burst of rage inside of you, enveloping you and taking over your thoughts. As you try to open your mouth to cast a spell you find yourself unable to do so. You struggle to speak, yet manage not a word. Confusion turns to panic as you not only realize you are unable to speak, you are unable to move. Well, you ARE moving, yet it isn't you who is telling your body to act. It's as if invisible strings attached to your limbs are controlling you, telling you to move forward. A horrible realization grips you; you have been raised. Unlike the dark powers you command, this magic is different. You are not a mindless undead, you are something far, far worse. The forces that raised you walk the path of light, gaining their power from benevolence. You are a Lightborn. You shudder at the thought, or at least you would if you could. The Lightborn are risen soldiers made from the fallen forces of darkness. Only those with a sliver of good in their hearts can be raised this way, the light will deem those whose hearts are not fully loyal to the darkness worthy of a second change. Lightborn are the joke of the underworld. Unlike those risen with necromantic magic they have full control of their own thoughts and they are eventually able to regain control of their bodies after discovering the reason why they were raised as Lightborn in the first place, after finding that good thing within themselves and coming to terms with it. Until then, a fate worse than death awaits; you are forced to fight alongside whoever raised you, as if atoning for your many sins. You have personally slain numerous Lightborn soldiers, those disgusting traitors who still held some allegiance to the light within their hearts. Yet here you stand, as one. You can't believe it. The crimes committed in your name are unnumbered. The atrocities you personally oversaw are unspeakable. "So then why the fuck am I a Lightborn?!" You are fuming. There is nothing good about you, of that you are certain. You are the definition of evil. Your subordinates looked up to you; the Darklord of the underworld.
Your despair is interrupted by the feeling of your body beginning to move again. Your hands raise themselves up to the sky and your mouth speaks unknown words. You are casting a healing spell! You fight it, with everything inside of you, to no avail. You watch as you heal the tired troops who are locked in a fierce battle with your allies. As they regain their strength they slay those who you once called friends. You wish to call out, apologize, anything. Your allies look at you, horrified at what you have become. You know what they must be thinking; how could our Darklord possibly be a Lightborn? They must be wondering what goodness you must have been harboring in your heart to earn such a fate? As your body continues to act on it's own, healing your worst enemies, you are forced to watch as your friends fall one by one. Men and women who fought beside you, who swore themselves to your service because they believed in your cause, those who put their faith in your conviction now lying dead right under your feet. You feel a tear fall down your face. You gaze at their faces, repeating their names in your head, thanking them for their loyalty. Suddenly, you feel it. It's like a small, electric shock right at the tip of your finger. The healing incantation seizes. You move your finger, YOU move it. You feel the electricity coursing through your veins as slowly you being to gain control of your body back. You rejoice as you stretch your limbs, but your joy is short-lived as the realization sinks in. The reason you are in this mess in the first place. Your heart, as black as it may be was filled with love for your allies, your friends. The concern you felt for them brought you back, only to cause you to fight against them. You turn to the hero that raised you as a Lightborn. A twisted smile on your face you begin to cast a catastrophic spell that would wipe that man from the face of the earth. He turns his gaze to you and with a flick of his wrist everything turns dark. "For fucks sake..." You think to yourself as you regain consciousness yet again. | 2019-12-26T12:53:07 | 2019-12-26T12:35:43 | 751 | 103 |
[WP] You perform your regular rituals for bed, and as your head hits the pillow, you succumb to the deepest sleep you've ever had. Filled with wondrous dreams, eons seem to pass. As you awake, you realise that your bed is surrounded by a transparent case, and you're being watched. | ‘’Be quiet now, its starting to wake.’’ Said the voice through the tannoy. ‘’Don’t make any sudden movements, give it a moment to acclimatize to its surroundings, there will be time enough for investigations and the like. Please, just observe for the moment.’’
As I heard these words, my eyes were still trying to part themselves, eye lids as heavy the dawning of losing a a loved one. It took longer than one would imagine, to realize just what exactly my surroundings were, to realize that I was infact imprisoned in what seemed to be a transparent case, something similar to that of a box one may use to transport a small furry animal, from home to the veterinary clinic. Although not small by any means, on the contrary. The size was indeed the same dimensions as the room in which I had fallen asleep. My room. Where were my belongings?
All I could see from where I lay was a small steel desk in one corner of my ‘room’, with a similar styled chair, and a lamp. In the other corner, a toilet and a wash basin.
The onlookers stood, in what seemed to be a sheepish amazement, on a gangway that must have been about seven to eight feet raised, all around my little confinement. As if they could not quite believe what it was that they were seeing, but at the same time, with an expectancy of some degree. Where the hell was I?
I could almost here the scrawling of pen on paper, from my audience eagerly looking down on me, waiting for me to make some gesture or sound. Certainly I was trying, but neither one muscle on my body would twitch, nor one sound would pass past my lips.
‘’Gentlemen, and Lady, do not expect anything of much notability for the a short period, the sedative will start to wear off in the next half hour. The creature will regain its faculties in good time.’’
Creature? How dare they!? Why would someone use that term to describe someone? Was this a mind game? Did they actually believe that I was a mere creature, not a human with dignity, a someone? Were these people part of that cult I had read about last week in that ‘woke’ magazine. The cult that believed themselves to be part of an alien race, that had been inhabiting the human form, until they were awakened by their ‘calling’? Were these people, these lab coats and clip boards not the same as I ? Of flesh and blood? If it was a mind game, then it was working very well.
‘’Make note, at this moment, the creature is experiencing some deep anguish, confusion and possible hallucinations, as side effects of the sedatives. It is important at this stage that we do not attempt to exacerbate these feelings of anxiety, and allow him to come to a sense of comfort, in the sense that he does not feel an immediate sense that he will be harmed. If he feels overly threatened, we run the risk of the subject entering a state of permanent fear, delusion, hallucination and destress. If that happens, the subject will be of no use to us, and will have to be euthanized. Although incapable of communicating, his mind will be spinning in a way that you and I will never understand, unless of course you have experienced something like he is now. For example some of you may have been chosen as part of the ‘Great Relocation’ effort of September 2176, if you were, then you may have some sympathy of feeling toward the subject before you.’’
SUBJECT? I am a subject now!?
They must be part of the GRSM. Only one of those socialists would refer to the land grab and murder campaign of September 2176 as the ‘’Great Relocation’’. Is that why I am here, did someone sell me out? Was this the beginning of the end?
‘’This is not the beginning of the end subject 3158b, this is only the beginning of the beginning!’’
He can hear my thoughts!
‘’Yes, we know your thoughts Subject 3158b, but do not be alarmed, it is for your own safety that we monitor them. You see, you are very important to us indeed Subject 3158b. You are free to think whatever you please, however we will be aware of every thought, and corrective measures will be put in place if we deem necessary.’’
At this moment, I heard the clunking of machinery and the gears of motors turning, chains being pulled and clinking against one another. The sound of plastic castor wheels rolling on guide rails, all coming from above. Still unable to move I seen the glint of glass from the corner of my eye.
‘’Gentlemen and Lady, we will now begin phase 1.2 of acclimatization. We allow the subject to see his new form. But only for a short time. This serves two purposes. The first, and main purpose is to naturally try to bolt the subjects mind, if we can call it that, into releasing an incredible amount of adrenaline, in the hope that his new form will naturally purge the sedative from his physical state, at least psychologically, if not physically. This usually has enough, significant effect, that the subject will suddenly ‘come to life’, if you will, and in most circumstances become extremely animated. If this is the case, we will know that the form that the subject has been developed, has the ability to remove toxins from its plumbing. The second purpose of this, is of course to show us if all of the subjects limbs, and other extremities are functional.’’
My thoughts are going to betray me no matter what I think. No matter what I do. Should I conform, should rebel? My new form? What is all of this?
‘’WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?!’’
Words, actual words came from my mouth. I feel it, the adrenaline that the voice spoke of, I feel it surging in me, in waves, flowing, ready to be released like a torrent of flood water, bursting the banks of a river. I don’t just mean that I feel the emotion of adrenaline, its as if I can physically feel it. As if it were something akin to that of a fuel system. Something extra, something part of me, but… mechanical? Something that is part of me yet not living, something artificial ?
‘’Subject 3158b, do not panic, all will become apparent soon enough. Move the glass into position please.’’
The glass did move into position, slowly and deliberate, with almost taunting and teasing tendency, till it was directly above me, perpendicular with my ‘New form’. A sight that at first seemed to display as almost demonic, yet at further inspection, familiarities began to show themselves. | “La-ah-ah-a-ahhh” awakened me, as it did every morning, the delightful sound of my stepmother, singing me awake through song. A chorus of crows and blackbirds at the window, accompanied her, ever-so-slightly off key.
“Good morning, fairest Stepmother! And how are you, on this most beautiful of days?” I chirped.
As she brushed the knots out of my long, raven hair, as she did every day, I realized something was different today. Was that *sadness* in her eyes?
“Oh wonderful Stepmother, is something wrong? You’re unusually quiet today.” I chirped forlornly, like a little lost hatchling. Which I suppose I was, until Queen Grimhilde had taken me under her wing.
“Aww, Snowikins, why would *anything* be wrong, my love? It’s your 7th birthday, after all. A time for happiness and celebration!” Stepmother said, her own perkiness seeming decidedly forced today.
“I know, Stepmother. Isn’t it grand?” I replied, randomly twirling my skirt in a great, big circle. I don’t know why, but I’d always *loved* to do that! “I’m really looking forward to the party. It will just be *so* magical” I concluded with yet another twirl.
“Yes, my lovely Snow. Yes, it will be.” my darling Stepmother replied.
I did not know then, the reason for her sadness. I did not know when the sadness changed to anger. Nor did I know when it boiled over into festering hate. I was just a child. An innocent one at that. I had no magic mirror, with which to see her soul.
—-
On the eve of my 14th birthday, I was older and far wiser. Stepmother and I no longer spoke, beyond stilted chitchat at royal events. Had to keep up appearances and all, Papa said. So, it was with some surprise, that her Grimgrouchiness approached me unsolicited.
“Good morning, *dearest* Snow. How are you on this most beautiful of days?” the Queen’s cheerfulness, completely out of character these days.
I decided to go along with it, despite some misgivings. How was she going to try and kill me today? Who knows? That women is fully, 100% bonkers. “Yes, your Majesty. It *is* truly delightful. I am most looking forward to the ball tomorrow night. Aren’t you?”
“Oh yes, my dear. Yes, I am.” Grimhilde replied almost pleasantly. “Would you mind going into the woods to gather some special mushrooms for the occasion with Humbert?” she laughed. “You know how men are! They always get botanicals completely wrong. Humbert’s a great huntsman, but utterly useless with plants. I’d go myself, but I have *erm* some queenly duties to attend to.” Grimhelde ended feebly.
“Of course, your Majesty, I’d be delighted to help you.” I replied. What else could I say really? Besides, I knew her game. Better to be an active player than a mere pawn. And Humbert was *such* a dear! Would be nice to catch up for a bit.
—-
“Bertie! It’s great to see you! How have things been?” I smiled. Poor Humbert. As ol’ Grimmy’s lackey, he always got the *worst* missions.
Nervously, Humbert spoke, ignoring my pleasantries. “You know what this is about, right Snow?”
“Yeah, ol’ Grimmy’s *trying* to kill me *again*. What is it *this* time? A rogue boar? A poisoned apple? Or are you just supposed to quietly off me in the woods?” I smiled.
“The latter.” Humbert laughed.
“Ugh! Why can’t she put just a *little* more creativity into her killings? Doesn’t she *realize* everyone but Papa is on to her by now?” I groaned. Is it too much to expect she at least try?
“Apparently not. So what shall we do today instead? I have the horses ready, lunch, a bag full of the mushrooms she wanted just in case, and even a deer heart for evidence. So, we’re all covered.” Humbert smiled mischievously.
“You know what, Bertie? All of this is really starting to get annoying! She puts *no* effort into it at all, and I’m sick and tired of it! At least today, she *bothered* to add a little more color to her transparent ruse, by deigning to reach out herself first.”
“Why don’t we turn the tables and be done with this, at least for a while? She’s been killing *far* too many villagers lately, with her stupid ploys. I *know* as the royal family, we have a certain obligation to execute a few peasants now and then. But it’s to set a cautionary *example*, for the other peasants. Not just because someone dared to buy the last apple cobbler at the market! It’s really got to stop! Otherwise, I suspect Papa will soon have a revolution on his hands. What do you think?”
“You’ve got a point, Snow. What do you have in mind?” Bertie replied, eyebrow raised.
“Simple really. We go into the woods and have a lovely picnic. Then, I will go hang with my dwarf friends for a bit. You go back to the castle with ‘my’ heart. Before you present it, go grab a few poisoned apples from her stash. You know where they are right?” I began.
Bertie nodded.
“Ask our chef to make her some apple cobbler. Say you found these simply *divine* apples in the forest. And you *know* her majesty would just *love* them in her nightly cobbler. Think you can do that?” I asked.
Bertie nodded again, smiling. He was no fan of doing the Queen’s dirty work anymore.
“Grimmy will then fall asleep, fairly quickly. Her poison is *super* light and slow acting, so a few extra apples won’t hurt her. As we know, after all of her past attempts, we’ll have plenty of time for the next part. You pick her up and take her out of her room. She won’t notice, as she will be out cold. Put her over the back of your saddle. Cover her with burlap, so the guards won’t notice. Not that they’d likely care anyway. Everyone hates that bitch.”
“Head over and meet the dwarves and I. I’ll ask Doc to whip up a quick batch of the antidote, we always use, as well as a longer-acting sleeping potion. Then, I’ll ask the other boys to make a nice glass case, for her to *rest* in. Just in *case* she’s out for a while, you know. Don’t want to *kill* her after all. I think she does need a somewhat extended time out, though. She’s acting like a particularly murderous, petulant child. Besides, I’m not a *monster*. Not like *her* at least anyway. What do you think?” I asked, summoning my most practiced winning smile.
“Sounds perfect. Let’s do it!” Bertie replied, as we rode off on our little *adventure*.
—-
All went exactly according to plan.
—-
Grimhelde woke up in an incredibly white room, with red velvet ropes around her. One particularly bright candle, was beaming down harshly in her eyes. Peasants in the most unusual of clothes, surrounded her. Even bare legs were seen! Gods! They *EVEN* had the gall to *LOOK* and *point* at her. What sheer impertinence!! Don’t they *KNOW* what *ROYALTY* means?!! She’d have to torture them later, though. Right now, exacting the most *exquisite* revenge on Snow White, was all she could think about.
As she reached out to stand up, Grimhelde’s arms touched the clear, streak-free glass of her case.
Shouting to be released, she roared, “PLEASE LET ME OUT!!! I *NEED* TO GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT *NOW* TO *KILL* MY STEPDAUGHTER!!!”
Moments later, strange, flickering, blue and red lanterns atop the oddest carriage she’d ever seen, appeared outside the room’s window. | 2020-08-27T07:30:19 | 2020-08-27T04:29:39 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] You are a superhero without powers. You know a good bit about martial arts and you're resourceful, but the main reason you're so successful? Every time a villain monologues their plan, you calmly and clearly explain to them why their plan won't work. | I didn't bother struggling against my bonds as I was being slowly lowered towards the shark-laden acid pit. To an ordinary hero this would seem like the end, but not for me. It was just another day in the life of Lynchpin.
As predicted, the mechanism stopped, only for the head of the Syndicate, an eyepatch wearing gorilla of a man, to come into view.
"Alas, here we are again. Did you really expect to get away after what you did to me when we last met?"
"Listen" I told him. "All I said was that you were gonna poke your eye out with that thing. It's not I-"
"Silence!" the Boss instructed. "I've had enough of your jabbering. There is no grand plan this time Lynchpin. I'm just going to kill you and end this once and for all."
On cue, the gears above my feet started turning, and I was being lowered again, albeit at an excruciatingly slow pace.
"i mean what are you exlecting to accomplish with that?" I asked
"... What do you mean? You're a thorn in our side and-"
"But like, even if you kill me, it's not like your plans will work just because i don't point out the inherent issues with them"
The pully system stopped again.
"Well, I suppose not, but that's not the point. We-" he stammered
"When you think about it, I'm actually doing you guys a favor. Could you imagine if you'd actually tried the Death Ray Dr. Goodenough had built? Hell, I probably saved your life that time."
I could see it in his eye. I had him.
He mumbled something into his beard.
"What was that?"
"I said let him go damnit"
The crane operator goon didn't hesitate. He immediately started fiddling with the controls, and before I knew it, I was back on my feet being untied.
"Hey boss" i started "I really owe you one."
He merely grumbled in response.
"No seriously." I continued. "Let me give you a tip. Don't mix the sharks with acid next time. It'll just kill the sharks, and when they bleed out it'll dilute the acid. Really inefficient" | "... And after I tie you to this post properly, I'll climb to the very top of the tower and attach the tube there. And then finally, I'll release the poison into the air!" I could feel his breath in my ear as he fumbled with the rope behind me. I assumed he said it in this fashion - into my ear in a low voice, from a place where I can't see him and all - to be scary, but the giant holes in his extremely not foolproof plan made it considerably less so. Ugh. Honestly, I'm tired of ones like him, he's basically wasting my time. And the tightness and coarseness of the rope chafing my wrists was really annoying me.
Still, I waited for him to finish tying me up calmly, keeping my fists clenched on purpose. He took several more minutes in silence - seriously, how inexperienced is this dude - until he was finally happy with his work. By now my shoulders ached from having my arms behind me for so long, my hands in pain from clutching so tightly. I could feel blood slowly dripping through my fingers. He didn't notice.
He looked at me expectantly, a grin forming. His crooked yellow teeth was quite unsightly. But no matter! I cocked my head, felt a smile creeping onto my own face as well. "First of all, your monologue was meh. Mediocre at best. It's just not very descriptive, y'know? I've heard way better." His grin faltered. I shrugged. "Sorry. And second of all, your plan's not gonna work."
He narrowed his eyes. "And why's that?"
"Oh boy, where do I start? Firstly, you're climbing to the very tip of the tower, beyond the stairs? How are you going to manage that? I see that the only rope you've got has been used on me, you sure you wanna free climb up there? And you sure you can lug that thing with you and not have it fall?" We both looked at the dark tube, which was lying on its side on the cement floor. It was long and sleek, and difficult to hold under one's armpit without slipping or breaking. I masked a grimace, although imagining the scene was quite hilarious, it also reminded me of the slight but constant throb from having a similar glass tube broken against me in our earlier fight.
"Well I-"
"-I'm not done. So say you do get up there successfully, how are you attaching it? You better hope your tape is strong enough. You should have gotten duct tape man."
He glanced at the roll of clear tape in his hand with a frown. "They ran out."
"And you're too busy doing villain stuff to realize that we have more than one grocery store here?" I rolled my eyes. "Unacceptable excuse. Anyway, you really think the poison gas can reach very far in the air like that? You better hope the releasor is strong enough. Would be such a waste otherwise, huh?"
"Well it's windy today so it'd carry the gas!" He lifted his chin up defensively.
"Well I don't know how concentrated your poison is, but I wonder if it's even effective enough to kill anyone if it's too dispersed. You got more of that thing somewhere for backup?"
"Uh... no."
"So...? You're trying your luck and hoping you don't accidentally waste any of your precious, probably freaking expensive and rare poison gas?"
"Shit."
"Yeah, shit's right." I laughed as he turned his back to me angrily. "And one last thing. Even without its faults, your plan won't work... because of me."
"Wha-"
I lunged at him, a bloodied shard in my hand.
Amateur shouldn't have left me lying in a sea of broken glass earlier.
\---
Thanks for reading, any comments/feedback is welcome :) If you liked that, feel free to check out my [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/thegoodpage/) for more (it's not updated right now but I'll get there!!) | 2020-09-27T09:25:22 | 2020-09-27T08:55:39 | 1,121 | 394 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | I stared at him, his words being weighed in my mind. I did not understand humor very well, but even so I was reasonably certain that he was not making a joke. With years of practice, I could now recognize the subtle body language and tones a person used when using humor. The newly crowned King Dervin was not joking.
"You are certain this is a wise decision, my king?"
He scowled and the already low probability that he was joking went down even further. By now the person telling the joke would have proceeded to the punchline. "I am *quite* certain, I'm afraid. I have had my servants watching you for several weeks now and documenting your daily routine." He pulled a large scroll from his extravagant robes. "Not only have you not performed any of your duties, you seem to disappear for hours at a time. No one knows where you go and the former king was not forthcoming before he died. My brother was a great man, but for the life of me, I cannot fathom why he paid you to do nothing but eat from his table and lounge about like a pig."
I nodded once. "I presume King Turic advised you to continue my employ, but did not tell you why?"
The scowl deepened. "Whatever blackmail you held over my brothers head holds no weight over me. In light of my foolish predecessors... Admiration... For you, you may leave my palace unmolested. However, tarry any further and I'll have you strung up by your ankles and left to the crows."
I bowed deeply as was expected of my station. "Very well. If I may offer advice of my own-"
"You may not." He cut me off harshly.
I bowed again. "By your leave."
I strode slowly out the door. As a final gift to my late charge, I gave his foolish younger brother a chance to think on the mistake he just made. However, it seemed my generosity was ignored, as his guards made no move to stop me.
-
It was not even three weeks later that the news came of King Dervins death. I cannot say I was surprised, but the news did cause a faint twinge of regret. That was a well paying job I wasn't likely to get back.
"Say..." Drawled the innkeeper as he cleaned a few dirty beer glasses. "It seems a bit odd that the king died right after getting rid of you. What was your job?"
I smiled in a way that I'd observed other people doing when they wished to be humorous. "Food taster. I'm immune to most poisons." | Thank you for your kindness and your wisdom, friend. You say you don't want a fancy tin king hat, but I can at least answer some of your questions. You wanted to know why I was wearing this old uniform. Well, it is a bit tattered, but it's because I'm a Royal Guardsman. 'Least I was. Maybe I'll be one again. Long as I can remember I liked watchin' em, parading about the city with their shiny brass buttons and wonderful swords, folded iron so many times over and sharpened to gleaming perfection.
​
And when King Alfred III saw me watching them and asked if I wanted to join, of course I said yes. Maybe I'm not the smartest, but they were always good to me. Real patient, even when I had trouble getting the uniform on. And when I got everything just right, they let me march with them up and down in front of the palace, all the guard in perfect synchrony while the city watched. Those were the happiest days of my life.
But then a new king, King Stephen XI, came into my room in the barracks and looked me up and down and said he didn't like me there. Said I could march about an island in my shiny brass buttons and uniform, 'an that was the Will of the King. I didn't like it. I liked the city, where the songs of the forges helped me fall asleep at night, but I thought about what the old sergeant had said. Sometimes the men wanted to sit about instead of getting dressed and marching, but the king told them to march. And being an elite royal guardsman meant doing what the king says. Even if I don't like it much. So off I went, on a great big ship with a great big lead anchor.
​
At first I loved the island. My new room was even nicer than my old one, with intricate copper filigree walls, a bed with silver inlay, and all of it braced by majestic cold iron beams. The men were nice, and even when I messed up the buttons on purpose they would still let me go on parade. But it wasn't the same, and I got bored. So I started thinking. Kings are like trees. When one falls, the sun will shine through to the forest floor once more, and the saplings will grow. And maybe I had to do what the king says, but if the old king was an oak and says **THIS** and the new king was an elm and says *that* then maybe the new new king will be an oak and say **THIS** again.
I thought it was clever. Now I know I'm not the smartest, but I had thought real hard about this and I was proud. But when I told them, they didn't bother to listen. They just tried to kill me! And even though their swords were made from the finest steel, with words engraved in gold that were supposed to hurt, it was the words they said that hurt the most. They called me a monster. An abomination. Said that I had no friends. They said that I would die, alone, on that rock.
But they were wrong. You said so yourself; the city's only a half day away and I can hear the forges singing from here. I think you're right about the men on the island. They were just angry because Stephen XI took them away from their friends and told them to guard me. So they got angry at me instead. Every day I learn something new. You're probably right about the royal guard too. Before talking to you I thought they were rotten wood and needed to be cut as well, but they're just doing what the king says, like elite royal guardsmen should.
Anyhow, I guess you talked me into mercy. I'm still taking my hat back, though. What? Why are you looking at me like that? It wasn't the Iron Crown of Legend back when I made the bloody thing for Alfred. The proper royal metal is tin, and crowns shouldn't be iron or silver or gold any more than pipes should be made out of magnesium. Look. I'll make you an even fancier tin king hat, and it'll fit you properly. What's not to like? Oh. You really think Stephen XI would try and do that? Even after I take my hat back? Well, if you would accept me, I would be honored to be the first member of your royal guard. | 2021-02-28T07:33:39 | 2021-02-28T05:41:56 | 65 | 40 |
[WP] Everyone is assigned a guardian angel since birth, yours has always protected you albeit in violent and menacing ways. Until one day on your 18th birthday he reveals himself as a demon who was wrongly assigned as a guardian angel and became attached to you. | "Fine work, Magnus." He told me, "Another masterpiece, as I would expect of you."
I carefully examined the necklace. He had directed me to where I could find silver among common stone; I refined it so it could become this. The design of which, my own invention and intuition; it was much to His delight. Thin and frail looking, but surprisingly strong and elegant.
"Much like yourself." He said, already having seen into my mind. "Are you content with it?"
I held it to the light of my forge, admiring the way the light danced across the silver.
"Indeed." I told him. I offered it to Him eagerly, to which he accepted graciously. "Not something I'd fussy to wear on my own person, but I think it would look fine on you."
"More than fine," He said with an almost smug tone "I've always appreciated your works. Perhaps the next, I could find us something like, say, tourmaline? Maybe quartz?"
I come from a long line of blacksmiths, though I had little interest in the practicality of it. Elegant weapons of my own design and whimsy, exotic accessories, decorative heraldry...I never wanted to have my fate written as just another blacksmith. He encouraged my works where others would look down on it. He taught me how to fight - with my words and with my weapons. Various ways I could defend my craft and my artistic vision.
"You and I, we could produce works that could bring so much beauty to this dull, small minded world." He said to me gently. "The way you look at the world, I've seen in only few mortals."
I looked over to the blade I forged for my 18th birthday - an estoc, as He called it. The cousin to a rapier, but trading most of its point to slash at its foes. A metaphor to the future I wanted, and a way to cut a path to get it. I ran my fingers across the moonstone I embedded in the hilt.
"All the other angels merely defend their owners person, but you? You defend my ideas. You defend me for who I am." I told Him, staring into the milky stone. He chuckled, as though he already knew what I was about to ask.
"You're no angel, are you?" I said, turning to face him and look him in the eyes. He smiled, and his pupils went sideways.
"You're keen." He said mischievously, "I've always liked that about you."
"Well, if we are going to stay in business together...may I at least know who you actually are?"
His smile faltered for a moment, and his eyes turned to the bracelet on his arm; something I had created for him a year back when I first got my hands on my father's forge. It was a cruder piece of mine, but it was also engraved with His likeness. He gingerly rubbed his fingers over it, and his smiled returned.
"Mortals call me Azazel...but you may call me 'Partner'." | Frey woke up the morning with an excruciating pain in his head. On his 18th birthday of all days. But he ignored it. He spent a few minutes doing his hair, Golden in colour with two side burns down both sides of his head, finished off with a ponytail at the back. Once that was over, Frey moved over to do his uniform. It was the same regular, boring grey overcoat he always wore. Problem of being in the Alfhanian Military it seemed. He looked himself in the mirror, gazing all over himself to check for any mistakes. The insecurities of an 18 year old. Anyhow, Frey turned away and, to his surprise, was his guardian Angel. Drowned in a fashion of red, the Angel had a similar shade of Blonde to Frey, only his hair being a much more simpler design.
“What is the matter?” Frey said. He didn’t have a name for this being, nor did it ever even speak to him. It simply existed, no questions asked. The Angel simply looked blankly at him, like a doll of sorts. It made Frey uneasy, frightened even.
“Listen, today is not the day for you to play games with me. I would appreciate it if you could reserve yourself”
No response, no change in the dull facial expression. Frey simply sighed.
Wait..something was off. It dawned to Frey that he was no longer in his cramped barracks. Instead it was replaced with endless skies covered in a thick fog. He stepped back in confusion, before noticing he was standing on top of a large tree branch that was as thick as he was tall. He looked down and saw an endless abyss beneath him. Frey feel onto his bottom, his breathing became heavy, and his eyes became swelled with tears.
“Welcome friend!” A voice shouted from above.
Looking up, Frey could see his guardian ‘Angel’ was sitting atop of him on an higher branch. Frey was speechless, he couldn’t utter a single word out of fear.
SLAM! Frey’s Angel dropped down right in front of the 18 year old. With its back turned towards Frey, horrendously, it’s back bend in-humanely backwards until it’s face was angled to see him.
“What’s with the tears? My face isn’t that ugly!” The Angel laughed at its own joke, while several tears fell on Frey’s red cheeks.
The being’s body twisted itself to adjust normally. It wiped away Frey’s tears with its hands as he stared in shock.
“Come on, you’ve lived for one hundred years and you can’t even handle a little surprise?” The Angel said. Frey had been chronically 100 years old, but only awoke a few short years ago. Hence why only now was he 18 years of age, biologically speaking.
“W-Why are y-you doing this?!” Frey cried out, taking all of courage to say it.
The guardian merely smirked at the question.
“Why you say? That’s hilarious! Hahaha,” Quickly it’s face turned from laughter and humour to straight and serious “it’s because I’m not your protector, boy”.
“What?” Frey was deeply confused, what was it saying?
Unbeknownst to Frey, his right eye began to change from its normal emerald green to a light yellow. But he did noticed his angel’s *left* eye turned the same colour.
“I’ll be honest with you as a nice birthday present: I’m not your guardian Angel, I’m the demon the gods created, the one they materialised from nothing to give you to you vile humans. One of 7. Truth is, I wasn’t even supposed to be connect to you, but your twin sister decided, one hundreds years ago, it would be a great idea to,” Frey felt his headache from earlier arise again. Could it be from this demon, or was it simply from his mind trying to process even the slightest concept of what is going on?
The being now pushed its face closer to Frey’s, who still sat in terror. “But you interest me, Frey Vanir”.
The high up tree started to slowly darken, going from a lush forest high in the skies, to a blackened void.
“These games we’ve been playing, all the moments you tried to remember your past, it amused me. Watching you struggle and cry hopeless cured me of my millennia old boredom.” The anomaly began to slowly move its face away. With solid distance between the two, Frey breathed heavily as the reality(?) set in.
Suddenly, he was now in his room, on his worn out bed. He looked in the same direction as a single tear strain fell from his right eye, now back to its natural green state. | 2021-05-23T17:15:24 | 2021-05-23T16:46:53 | 83 | 10 |
[WP] On every planet, there is one being who is a living recorder for everything that happens. During the yearly recorder meeting, one always comes in emotionally drained. “Look. It’s the guy that has earth” | The doors opened and the joy drained from the room. The earth man was back and the drama he carried weighed heavy on the room. All the joyous reunions and regalling of hilarity and happy stories the collectors from the planets across the galaxy shared was put to a pause. The earth man slowly walked forward through the hall and sat and the long table next to Lolo from Metr.
"You're not looking so good there bud," said Lolo, extending the olive branch to the earth man to take the weight off his shoulders. "You got a few more white hairs than I remember."
"If only that were true, you know I went completely white decades ago," replied the earth man. "There's no more room for stress in these bones, yet it keeps coming."
"Come on it can't be any worse than last year right? Maybe that pandemic finally quieted the humans down for you."
The earth man let out a long sigh, deflating his entire being. "If only it did," he said. "I miss the old days of cave men and animals on equal footing. Sure you had some tribal warfare, but things were serene. So much emptiness in my record books, it was beautiful. But now, the pages overflow. And its all those damn humans."
"Maybe they'll get better. Metreans weren't always so great on Metr. I remember they had wars and reality tv, but they outgrew it. Keep your head up bud."
"Easy for you to say! The Metreans can appreciate being content! They live happily with just the necessities and few extra luxuries. They pass the days staring at the rivers and oceans, just enjoying life's simplicities. Oh how I envy you. Instead here I am with humans constantly needing to be seen, to be loved, to possess as much as possible. It's endless."
"Take it easy bud. You need to relax. Take some time and try to get yourself a little healthier."
The earth man looked down at his gut protruding over his belt. All the stress eating had taken its toll on his body. Wrinkles ran across his once rosy complexion. "I just always have to watch all of the humans. Recording if they are good or if they are bad, writing down their legacies each and every year. You know how hard it is to keep track of them compared to everything else! A damn deer takes less than a page! A human, hundreds! All the sniping at each other, the buying and demanding of gifts and possessions, killing of the planet, the endless posting of media, the political ineptitudes, and so much else. These humans are so blind to the ideal life! Why do they have to constantly be creating drama and issues! I just can't keep going. Switch planets with me Lolo, just for a year! I need this!"
Lolo naturally recoiled slightly. The others around them at the table had been edging closer, listening to the gossip spill forth in front of them. Lolo could feel their eyes pressing against him, however he responded would be the talk of the annual meeting. "Come on bud let's get you to the sauna, you need some R and R before we start talking any crazier."
"The heat would be nice."
"See Santa maybe today is just what you needed. A break will do us all well." | Luci walked in silently, and as they did, a hush fell over the room. Silently, and carefully, they went to the bar, shooed away the bartender, and started making themself a drink. One shot, two shots, three, four, at a certain point nobody counted. After shaking and pouring, the drink was a bright neon color. Luci drank the whole thing in less than 30 seconds and started making a new one. Halfway through, they stopped, and their face contorted.
“Agh, wait, hold on- oh, sweet merciful Christ, brain freeze. Wait, just gimme a sec, oooooh ow, wait, hold on, uhhhhhhhhhhhh, there we go, there we go, that’s- no, wait, round two, OH IT’S WORSE THAN THE FIRST, urrrrrgh, okay, I think we’re good. I think we’re good.”
Everyone stared in silence, though Luci didn’t react in any way. If they noticed the eyes directed at them, they didn’t care. Once the brainfreeze had melted away, they went right back to making another drink, this one more toxic than the last. Upon its completion, they walked away from the bar, thanked the bartender for letting them ‘do my thing,’ and took a seat with the other Recorders.
Darko, the Recorder of the Silvaniie of Andromeda, was the first to speak. “Another rough year on Earth?”
Luci laughed. “You don’t have a fuckin cleu, pal. These dipshits fianlly got the vaccine for this plague theyve been fighting, and guess what? Nobody wnats it, theyre afraid of mind control or some shit.”
“Is it that same plague that was killing them last year,” Eman, from a small planet in the Omega Cluster, asked.
“You nkow it, baby. They coulda jsut stayed inside for like, a month? Probalby less, but they all just HAD to go get their hair cut by the saem shitty barebr theyve been seeing for 15 yaers now.”
“You really don’t like humans, do you?” Florgon, the Recorder for the Bingopops, a civilization on the brink of FTL travel, joined the circle.
“Thtas the funny thing,” Luci slurred. “I fuckin LOVE humans. Crazy lil sons of bithces. Not particluarlu smart or strong, but somehwo they became the dominatn soecies of their wordl. And hwo? How, you may ask? Id argue, and i do argue, that the decdiding factor, other than langgage, is that they werer stupid enough to taem wolves. Thees dumba ass apes walkd up to an apex prededator, said ‘huh, i wan na pet you,’ and hte predadrt was like ‘aight, bet,’ and thousanadsa years later, BOOM, anti vaxxers.”
Eman looked concerned “Luci, do you think maybe you’ve had enough to drink?”
Luci looked at the glass in their hands, only half empty, and shook their head. “Let me fishin my dirnk and ill let you knwo.” Everyone but Eman tried to hide their laughter. Eman looked tired.
“You talk a lot of shit for someone who claims to love the people you’re recording,” Darko said.
Luci shrugged. “Thtas love. You dont let the people you love destyor thesmselve without callign thier bullshit. Love measns, smoemtiems, you need to be honest.” As they spoke, the glint of an idea formed behind Luci’s eyes. Nobody noticed, they were too busy trying to keep Luci from falling over (‘honestly,’ Eman thought, ‘how strong was that first drink?’), but Luci recognized the idea, and would remember it tomorrow, if they remembered nothing else from this night. Which, in a way, they hoped not to. This was one of the only times of the year they could let loose and vent about their frustrations with Earth.
Florgon nodded. “It’s odd to say, but I totally understand. Sometimes, to save the people you love, you have to save them from themselves.” Luci and Florgon made eye contact, and Luci could tell that Florgon had once been where they were. “Sometimes, however,” Florgon continued, “you need to let them figure things out for themselves. If someone doesn’t want to be helped, there isn’t much you CAN do to help them. And trying might just put them into a corner that makes them double down on their worst behaviors. If they can get through it, they will. If they don’t want to, you can’t help them.” Luci was silent for a moment. They knew what Florgon was trying to say, but it felt wrong, somehow. Yes, people should be able to save themselves, but does that mean that love means letting someone, or something, you love self destruct? Does love mean letting go enough to give them the choice to live, or holding on tight enough they can’t choose wrong? All things to think about, but for tonight, Luci had a drink to finish. | 2021-08-13T09:13:48 | 2021-08-13T08:56:37 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] To alien species, belief is everything. Once you’ve formed your beliefs, changing them is not possible. If you get confronted with overwhelming evidence that it is wrong, you simply die. The human ability to change opinions is terrifying.
[deleted] | "I don't understand. You say there are no laws preventing you from sharing technology or scientific data."
"Correct."
"But you still won't do so."
"Also correct. We do not wish to be responsible for the annihilation of a whole race!"
"Do you believe us to be that careless? That we would destroy ourselves so easily?"
"Not careless, but of course it would destroy you. Well, most of you. Your offspring go through a...pre- verbal stage, yes? They might survive."
There was a long pause as the human ambassador tried to digest this information and form a coherent response. "How would they survive? Anything that would cause my death would surely also kill a child."
Another long pause, this time from the Tyrrpol ambassador. "I apologize, we did not realize your offspring became <<frrek>> so young."
"What? Something didn't translate. Become what?"
"<<Frrek>>, um....solid? Set? Our offspring can accept new information without risk of death for around 2 of your years. We thought the timetable would be similar for you."
"Risk of...ambassador humans can accept new information at any point in their lifespan. Some might refuse, but there is no risk of injury or death."
"No. No no no no NO NO NO NO NO."
The Tyrrpol ambassador was still screaming when his neural net lost coherence. | Praxius knew, without even the smallest nagging doubt, that he would be around 10 minutes late this morning.
He had only slept for forty six days. He was positive that he was suffering from some kind of insomnia and was absolutely sure that this was causing him fatigue.
Today, he was entirely convinced that he was, despite his disappointing slumber, awake. You couldn't have persuaded him otherwise, for his eyes were definitely open and he had walked from where he woke up to where he currently was and this, according to Praxius, was not up for debate.
He had spent the evening eating bags of Kroffle nuts and watching reruns of GewGew -.....-+..-. His friends believed that GewGew -.....-+..- had long since passed it's used by date but Praxius was adamant that he still enjoyed it. He was 100% sure that the only way to eat Kroffle nuts was with the ploonum on, despite almost everyone else that he knew going to great lengths to peel the ploonum off. He knew for certain that he had an opinion about this.
He raised his arm above his head to stretch with a dull hope that it might draw some energy back into his bodies. As his middle back arched and stretched, he felt a sense of what he was sure was satisfaction. He was so caught up in the moment that he had forgotten to breath properly. This manifested itself in an abrupt cough.
This cough sent a chunk of *something* up into that place in his left throat, you know, that annoying little place where if you cough something up, you don't want to spit it out but it's past the point where you'd prefer it to go back down.
He believed, unwaveringly, that he was sick and tired of the goop and gunk that always came out of his lung at the worst moments. He knew without even the most minute skerrick of doubt, that he found this sensation amazingly unpleasant so he was more sure than he had ever been that when this mucus met it's future home on the cold, wet earth of Androfalou Quazar and was gone from his left throat for good, he would undoubtedly, certainly feel better
He looked around until he was sure that noone was looking and he was extremely confident that he could spit it out without anyone batting an eye.
He cleared his throat aggressively and the culprit shot from the pits of his throat and bounced off the back of his lips.
This was no regular piece of phlegm, oh no, no, no.
He inspected the asophegeal imposter with his tongue. A sense of dread enveloped his entire being.
He was absolutely, unequivocally, definitely certain of his belief that he had coughed up a run of the mill alien loogie.
He began to disintegrate, his very cells began shrinking. His skins fell off his bone and his bone crumbled into a dust so fine that the smallest gust of wind blew it into a cloud that disappeared in the blink of an eye. Everything that Plaxius once was had faded into the purple sky of Androfolou Quazar.
All that lay in the spot that he stood was the undigested and accidentally inhaled ploonum of a Kroffle nut. | 2022-05-24T11:13:05 | 2022-05-24T05:54:03 | 320 | 153 |
[WP] You’ve 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 think you have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. You’re up next. | I didn’t understand why I was here. I hadn’t done anything wrong, at least to my knowledge. I was just a burgeoning magic student! People here had actually killed people! My main focus of study was figuring out ways to do “evil” acts without being evil, which I guess… may have been it. Like, how to do necromancy without forcing souls into eternal servitude. Point is, I’m a good person! I like making friends with everyone I can manage. I don’t want to hurt people; that’s why I’m doing this.
So yeah. I guess I’m in this magical court, sentenced for death. There was one thing I had on my side, though. Time. A little bit of it, anyway. The magical court liked making spectacles of people who thought they’d cheated the system. The last prisoner thought he was being smart by saying he wanted to die “of old age.” Poor guy barely had time to blink before he turned into dust. That was… horrific.
So I just had to think. How was I supposed to get out of here? I was supposed to die, and I have to get around that. From what I’ve heard of people who have been here for a really long time, the court’s had ages at doing this whole mess. Kind of like the… whatsit. Monkey’s Paw? It’s a known phenomenon where genies will twist wishes to grant the exact letter of the wish, but the absolute opposite of the spirit.
What could I ask for so that I wouldn’t just… die? I didn’t want to die! I wasn’t ready to die!
…
Why were they even doing this? I was so careful to stay moral and ethical in my work…
Actually, I knew they wouldn’t answer that. I’d asked before, right after the guy died of old age. Didn’t get anything except some chuckles and some vague “you know what you did”s. But I didn’t! How could humans be this cruel!
Wait.
Humans.
A thought popped into my mind. It was a desperate ploy, almost certainly wouldn’t work… but it couldn’t be twisted. Not without risking offending something that I knew no wizard would willingly go against. And I knew they would take my willingness as one of the greatest possible complements, and they wouldn’t refuse my offer.
I just had to figure out the wording. Figure out the exact lines I was going to say, so the wizards can’t twist it in order to keep me here. Humans I couldn’t be trusted, as I’d learned. But I knew there were other people that held to their rules. Arcane rules, sure, but I knew they’d be fair.
The next day, I stepped forward in front of the tribunal. I was really glad I had gloves on, because there’s almost nothing worse than sweaty hands in my experience. The head wizard, head of the court, looked down on me with a superior expression.
“So, Sam, you have heard the crimes put against you.” I shook my head slightly, and the head wizard shook his head pityingly. “No matter. The sentence decreed has been death, but it shall be in the way you choose.” He waved his hand out grandiosely. “So, choose. How shall we deliver you to the next life?”
“With all due respect, sir,” I said with a confidence I hadn’t had a minute ago, “I would like to appeal to a higher court.” The courtroom was silent for a minute before just about everyone burst out laughing. I just stood there awkwardly until one of the other court members reigned in his laughter for long enough to ask.
“There is no higher court than us! Have you lost your mind?!”
“There is no higher human court, true. But I did not appeal to humans. I appeal to be brought to the High Court of the Fairies.” | *Yeah, I got this all figured out*. Adam — known to the prison guards as inmate #2013 — could barely contain the smirk which corrupted his face. He’d festered his spiteful request for years; ever since the court sentenced him to death. Waiting in a line of condemned inmates, he was salivating to get to the front.
*They want to sentence me to death for such a petty crime? I’ll show them just how I feel about that!* The moment he looked at the judge, he knew how he would die. She was a tall, sturdy woman with long legs and voluptuous thighs. Her chest housed all her authority and her eyes, her contempt. Each day of his confinement, she’d looked down on him with those icy eyes, as if he were made of glass. Each day, she’d bounce around the halls in those ridiculous heels. Plaguing the hallways with her endless stomping. Just thinking about her filled Adam with rage.
They said he could die any way he chose, right? They would honor any request? *When I get to the front of this line, I’m looking that bitch right in the eyes and smugly telling her, “I request death by snu snu from you, my fair judge. To die with a smile on my face as you crush me with your thighs.”* Oh! The very thought filled Adam’s soul — what little he still had — with joy. Be still my beating heart, he thought to himself while clutching his chest. He waited in line, praying he didn’t die before they could put him to death.
He remained infatuated with his own spiteful genius throughout the queue’s progression. When he was two inmates away from his death, he observed the death wishes before him. He waited with great impatience.
The current inmate due for death — inmate #129 — stood before the judge. The bitch gave him the same disinterested glare she gave everyone else. Though Adam couldn’t blame her for staring at this fellow this way. He was a man of abysmal height, with an enlarged belly and pimples parked all over his face. The complete opposite of Adam’s godly — in his eyes — stature. The man requested his death in a raspy voice. “I would like to die by your hand, Judge Cassandra. By way of snu snu. “ He paused. “Snu snu through your thighs.”
*Great minds think alike. A fellow man of culture right the—OH GOD!*
Cassandra wasted no time delivering the inmate’s request. She unleashed a flurry of hand signs, limbs moving faster than Adam could see. A chill wind permeated through the room, and two ghastly, decrepit legs appeared to the side of the inmate. Veins ripped through the skin of those legs and scabs textured the abductors of the thigh. They squeezed into inmate #129 and pressed together. Taking their time meeting up.
Inmate #129 spent his last living moments screaming, eyes wide and glazed over. This continued for what felt like an eternity until he no longer had a head.
“What was that! That man requested death by your thighs, not the thighs of a ghoul!” Adam said. His eyes blazed into Cassandra’s.
For the first time he could recall, Cassandra flashed him a smirk. A move more unnerving than any condescending glare she had in her arsenal. “Those were my legs… just not from this century.” She said. “Next!”
*Ok, death by snu snu might be off the table. The chick is too conniving. I should play it safe, death by old age. Something normal and painless.*
A brilliant plan, except no sooner than Adam had thought it, the inmate before him had spoken it. There was another set of hand signs. Adam held in his gasp at the result. The man in front of him transformed into an old man. Old, and barely able to breathe of his own accord. With no cane or support to aid his failing knees, he fell to the ground. Adam could clearly hear his gasps for air. He flinched with each breath the old man took in. It was clearly painful for him to breathe.
Yet Cassandra looked pleased. She leaned in and took great interest in the man’s suffering. He did not die promptly. Sixteen hours passed before time granted him the mercy of death.
Now it was Adam’s turn. He tried to bluff his usual demeanor, but sweat was dripping from his forehead.
Cassandra called to him in an sweet voice. “I have to say inmate, I’ve never seen you like this. Is it setting in? The fear of being punished. Are you regretting your actions?”
A corner of Adam’s soul wanted to say yes and plead forgiveness. But he’d stopped listening to that part of himself a long time ago. No. To the very end, he committed to his confident act. He steadied himself to meet her glare and spat out the words.
“I want to die by snu snu bitch! You do it, and not with those ghastly thighs either. You. The present you. That’s my order!”
Another smirk. A new rendition of hand signs. He felt immense pressure clamp on him. He’d won. Until he hadn’t. A chilly sensation washed over his body, and he realized too late what was happening. *I’m being frozen?*
Cassandra continued to smirk. “The present is… ever evolving. There’s no more difficult thing to grasp than the present.” She grabbed at the air with her hand to illustrate. “Each nano-second represent a new ‘present’. It would be impossible for me to complete your request properly, but I’m determined to honor it. I’ll freeze you as long as it takes for us to discover a way to fulfill it. If you happen to… slowly — and coldly — die in that ice before then, that would just be an unfortunate consequence.” | 2022-11-19T00:52:06 | 2022-11-18T22:15:56 | 71 | 36 |
[WP] You're a retired villain who now runs a 24-7 grocery store. One day a new hero decides to ambush you in your own store. | It was an ordinary day, quiet and unassuming, a quiet snowfall blanketing the city in precious quiet.
Right up until the moment that asshole showed up.
"Hey, grandpa!"
This was followed by a hurled I-beam (where did he even *get* one of those?) that was effortlessly dodged, and made quite a mess of the back part of the store.
I sighed, and walked forward.
"Okay, kid. You made a pretty big mess, but the insurance company should handle it, no problem. It's a pain in the ass, but if you want to just get out of here, now, I won't hold it against you."
"As if, old man! I'm here to finally take you down!"
This was followed by a mighty punch, which was, again, effortlessly dodged.
"Kid, do you know what 'retired' means?"
"It means I'm gonna kick your ass, dickbag! The Super League of United Respected Persons will *have* to accept me once I've beaten you! They just sit around and let you be, but *I'm* gonna show them what I've got and finally deal with you!"
Another blow, another effortless dodge. This one, I decided to follow up on, a little. A casual backhand sent the upstart flying back through the door, shattering the glass windows of the storefront in the process.
Not ideal, but now the fight wouldn't be in the store itself. Minimize cleanup for later.
I walked up to the still dazed 'hero'.
"No. That is not what it means."
I expected him to try and interrupt me with another punch, but he was still sitting there, groaning. These new young heroes, idiots though they often are, are usually at least good at getting up after a hit. No wonder SLURP didn't want him. They had a few idiots, and they had a few weaklings, but if you're an idiot *and* a weakling? Not a good combo.
"What it means," I continued, "Is that I kicked the ass of anyone and everyone who ever tried to stop me for so long that I got bored of it and decided to settle for a quiet life. It means that I was so good at kicking ass that SLURP decided not to bother me. What it means, in short..."
I picked the idiot up by the scruff of his neck and gave him a nice solid punch to the gut.
"...is that you just picked a fight that you were never going to win."
I gave his prone form a kick in the ribs. Not even in the vicinity of full power, but assholes never learn unless you really drive the point home.
"So, while you're sitting in the hospital for a few months, I want you to think about how to be less of an idiot. You only ever see a small slice of the world. You got powers, and were stronger than anyone you knew, and thought that you were stronger than *everyone*."
"The power ladder goes a long damn way up, kid. I'm not even all that close to the top any more, trust me on that one. It's something heroes and villains both have to learn, if they want to survive. They spend a hot second thinking they're the strongest force on Earth, and then they have to re-learn how to navigate life again when they realize that they're not."
"Plenty of idiots never figure it out, and meet an early grave. You..."
Another kick.
"...were nearly one of them. There's loads of people you might have gone after who'd have killed you straight away. I try to be more chill than that. But I also *really* don't care for assholes who mess up my shop. I mean, who does that?"
"That's something none of you young punks really seem to understand. Every time you go flinging power around like the world's most destructive dick-measuring contest, you're wrecking people's livelihoods. Destroying things people worked their whole lives for."
I spat on the idiot.
"Figure out what you want, and work to build it. You aren't going to get anything worthwhile in life by punching people, I can tell you that for damn sure."
I walked back to the shop, made a few phone calls. Let the local hospital know that there was an idiot who needed to be scraped off the pavement. Let the insurance company know that they were on the hook for some idiot. Let my employees know that they had some time off for the holidays while I got the store repaired.
I sighed. Evil is one thing. But why do so many people have to be so *stupid*? | There was once a quiet, out of the way little grocery store on a streetcorner in the suburbs. It was close to closing time, but there was one family left buying some Icee cones for the road, as they were on a long trip and just passing through. A clerk named Benjamin watched as the Dad bought a Cola-flavored cone, the Mom got a Piña Colada-flavored cone, the son got a Grape-flavored cone, and the daughter got a Cotton Candy-flavored cone. The Dad led them all up to the register, and paid for all the cones with a $5 dollar bill. "Keep the change, man." the man said. "Thank you, have a nice day!" Benjamin replied, as the family left with their Icee cones.
After closing up the shop for the evening, Benjamin stopped for a moment to reminisce about a battle he'd had with a hero a long time ago. "I was so ambitious in my youth... I felt like I could take on the world. I had underlings, I had all these clever plans and traps to thwart heroes and police officers alike," he thought to himself. "But now, I'm so weary of that life. Always on the run, always scheming, always fighting. Now in my 40s, I just want to slow down, live a normal life. I've decided I have more than enough saved up from my smaller successes to live comfortably now, and I'm not getting any younger, so why not enjoy it? I just have to keep this cover business going to conceal my identity, and honestly it's a lot more relaxing than planning the next heist or escape anyway."
Just then, a masked man in a white cape walked through the door. "Halt, evildoer!" the man shouted at Benjamin. "I know your true identity, and I am bringing you to justice!" Benjamin sighed. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Even if he was no longer leading an active criminal life, he still had to maintain underworld connections and escape plans in order to remain free. People hadn't forgotten about what he did, even if he was now laying low. The prison sentences for his past crimes would keep him locked up for the rest of his natural life, so he had no intention of surrendering. Benjamin quickly put on a gas mask, and pressed a button under the counter that released toxic fumes into the air. The hero was blinded and began coughing before he passed out. He bolted from the store out the back entrance, jumped in his red and black Porsche, and activated all his old villain equipment.
"I'm getting too old for this," Benjamin sighed as he drove away quickly to a safe house where he knew he would be provided with airline tickets and a passport by some of his old associates. The safe house was unassuming of course, looked like a normal apartment building. Benjamin stopped and put coins into the parking meter as he grumbled. "The things I have to do stay off the radar... even a parking ticket would draw suspicion now. Makes me sick sometimes, to have to follow every stupid little rule now." Benjamin walked to apartment 272, on the second floor. "This should be the place," he noted. He knocked, and no one responded. He tried to open the door, and it gave way. When he got in, he saw a mess. "Oh no, one of them has been here already," he muttered to himself. The obvious cache with all the good stuff was gone, probably taken into police custody, and there were chalk outlines where a hero had likely killed a couple of his former associates in self-defense. "Good help is so hard to find these days... the heroes always get to them" he sighed. He quickly checked around to make sure the place wasn't bugged. He peeled back the rug, and pulled up a couple of floorboards, finding a secret cache that contained a passport to Mexico and a couple of tickets to Acapulco, just a couple of days from now. They always tried to keep fresh tickets and passports for him. Benjamin got an unusually reverent look on his face. "Thank you, old friends. For your sacrifice. This shall be the last time I benefit from your services, unfortunately. I hope Satan makes you comfortable in hell... because I know people like us aren't welcome in heaven. Rest in peace."
Benjamin spent the next two days laying low in some grubby motels that he paid for with cash. Afterwards, he came to the airport in make-up and a wig to match his fake passport, and passed through security nervously, as they patted him down and ran him through an X-ray machine. "I really hope none of them recognize my teeth or bones from records, and that there are no heroes on the lookout for me today," he thought. However, he made onto the plane without a hitch. As he listened to the flight attendant speaking and followed directions, he kept looking around for disguised heroes nervously, worrying one might be on the flight with him. "Once they've got my trail, I have to watch my back for a long time," he thought to himself. Eventually he touched down in Acapulco, and made it to the safe house there uneventfully. "Greetings, Benjamin. What brings you here? How is Larry holding up?" a man said. Benjamin shook his head. "Edward, Larry... is probably dead. I can't be sure, but I was ambushed by a hero in my own grocery store, and when I went to the safe house I saw only chalk outlines. I barely got here safely myself." Edward looked disgusted. "Those new heroes make me sick. They never want to go after the people causing the big problems, they go after people they know are too worn down to fight back, all for some quick fame and praise from their elders. At least here, the cops are easier to bribe and there are fewer heroes because they are too scared of the gangs."
With that, Edward and Benjamin spent some time creating a new identity for Benjamin, another small business he could run. This time it was a convenience store. As he was working the register, this time counting pesos instead of dollars, Benjamin thought to himself. "This is the fifth time I've had to do this. I wonder how many more times I will have to do this? I imagine when I grow too old to run, they will take me into custody. I won't surrender, though. I will die with honor when the day comes. Too much bad blood has passed between myself and them for me to accept surrendering to those disgusting heroes." | 2022-12-20T06:37:44 | 2022-12-20T06:24:08 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] Adolf Hitler is a time traveler who starts world war two to save us from something far more terrible. | The world will remember me as a monster, but that's only because they haven't met true monsters yet...
In my world the "Great War" really was the war to end all wars. Humanity never wanted to experience a tragedy like that again. People say time lessens tragedies, but that's not true, time immortalizes them. The further we looked back at war, the more barbaric and horrific it seemed, until we began destroying even the possibility of war. Militaries were disbanded, militias were outlawed, and limits were even placed on the size of a countries police force. Humanity became peaceful and loving, we explored the stars as one people and for thousands of years our culture thrived.
Until they came. Without warning fire began raining down from the heavens. Our cities burned and our people died. Dozens of planets were lost in the first day of conflict. We surrendered on the second day. Those that died the first day were the lucky ones. Slavery would have been a blessing. Torture was considered entertainment for our rulers, and they preferred their food living.
Those few of us who escaped their notice knew that we had to save humanity from this horrible fate. In our desperation we solved the great equations of our universe and created time travel. That was how I, Adolf Hitler, last Great Scientist of the Free Peoples Republic of The Milky Way and a few of my Scholars made it back here.
The people of the world called me a monster, but they don't know the half of it. You see, a war alone wasn't enough to scare humanity towards weaponizing. Even your "Cold War" would have ended peacefully eventually. And so I did what I had to do. I ordered the massacre of 6 million Jews, but that wasn't all I'm responsible for. You see, a few of my Scholars had an idea, that if we forced the Arab world to accept the Jews before they were ready, it would cause conflicts which would stretch across the globe for centuries to come. Humanity would never stop fighting. And when those monsters come, you'll be ready for them.
I know I will never see this future. I've stained my soul with too much blood to deserve to reap the reward of our sacrifice. I will die alone in this bunker, by my own hand in recompense for my sins. I only hope I've sinned enough. | Jesus this is brilliant!
What if Adolf's life was a misery.. he, his family and his culture were under huge oppression from the Wasserman rule. By the year 2314 they controlled the media as far as the US - this one family dictated more than the Roman Empire ever dreamed of.. without breaking borders. It was all about doing business, and doing it well. A few million here and there would ensure that a town worked for the Wassermans.
In Adolfs youth he slaved for the Saunders, a wealthy jewish family who were personal friends of the Wassermans. Washing their cars, cooking their meals and walking their pets. He earned no living, but instead was paid in food (which was mostly passed on, to his family).
Cut a long story short, he has the ~~house~~ mansion to himself one day and decides to wander around. He had never been in the discretionary side of the place, since he only really went from the front door, to the kitchen and back.
In a side room, displayed with spotlights around it, was a gleaming structure. It looked like a portaloo, that had been through 'Pimp My Space-Ride'.
He cautiously grabbed the door handle and it popped open with a satisfying spring. For some reason, cheesy dry ice smoke was pouring out of the capsule.
Above the structure, Adolf could make out the words "Time Machine". He could barely read, so it took a minute. It instantly hit him.. this was one of the legendary time machines that the Jewish people had boasted about.
His mind jumps to a million things at once, but it doesn't take long before he lands on the jackpot. He wants to end the Wasserman's rule over the world. They owned every damn government and ever damn business he could think of. He couldn't just skip forward in time and leave his family behind though.. besides, what if things got worse?
If he went back, he'd have to plan it carefully. He couldn't just go back and wave his arms about screaming "They're going to rule us all!" like a mad man on the street.
It struck him that he should go back to a time, in which the Jewish people were less than popular. When the innocent and the horrible were all bordering on second class citizens simply for being Jewish. He recalled the Saunders mentioning such a time, on many an occasion. They would curse anybody who was against them, even if they were long dead. Adolf was very sure that it was just before the millenium, definitely before the internet came along and created a level playing field.
So on more of a hunch than a real shot, he turned the dial back to 1900. It seemed like a safe bet, and either way he was getting out of here.
Sure enough, he arrives in a desolate era in Germany. He enlists in the army to gain some sort of identity without skills.
Before too long though, after the First World War, he sought after politics. He began rallying the citizens of Germany behind him, using simple and common knowledge about psychology from the 2300s. Using the turning around of the financial depression, Adolf Hitler became a hit among the right wing germans.
Then.. he set on his real plan. He didn't know who to get rid of first! There must've been millions of Jewish people in and around Germany that could be the great grandfathers of the Wassermans. He knew though, that if he succeeded, then he wouldn't exist in the 1900s anymore, since the time machine wouldn't exist.
After tactfully murdering numerous families, he felt that time was running out. It was now or never.. and as such, the final solution came to be.
Adolf Hitler did not kill so many innocent people out of hatred for them, but love for a better future. One day, at the very end of it all, a true descendant of the Wasserman family was put to rest. Adolf was no more, and nor was the regime that he stopped.
He wasn't to be remembered as a hero, only a vicious villain.
*****
None of this is to say that what happened during WWII was actually an act of heroship and that Hitler wasn't out of his mind. | 2014-03-02T15:53:11 | 2014-03-02T15:40:41 | 169 | 16 |
[WP] Time Travel is possible, but only used to send terminally ill people into the future in hopes of being cured. For the first time, someone's been sent back. | The phone was ringing. Screaming in agony.
Joseph blinked blearily past the pale fog of sleep in order to faintly discern the time. Two forty-five A.M. in soothing blue numerals. When is a phone call at 2:45 A.M. ever good news?
With a heavy sigh he grabbed his vibrating, screaming phone and hit accept. "What?" he asked into the sudden silence.
"Sorry to call you, sir, but we've got a problem with the time portal, and we need you down here as soon as possible," the tiny voice responded. Was it Chris? No, Tim. Definitely Tim.
"Look... Tim, if there's a mechanical issue get one of the senior tech guys down there to handle it. I'm asleep for fuck's sake."
"No sir, the machine's working just fine."
"Then why am I talking to you right now?"
"It.. uh, well, see... it turned itself on about a half hour ago, and according to the sensors there is something or someone inside the chamber."
Joseph sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake. "Are you serious?"
"Yes sir. That's why we called you. We need a senior manager down here with the override code in order to open the chamber."
"On my way. Call Stanton and Chambers, have them meet me there with a security detail!" Joseph hit 'end' before Tim's "yessir" could even leave his lips. He was out of his bed in an instant, bounding for his closet. Sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.
--
Outside the chamber the red warning light still rotated serenely though someone had long ago thought to silence the klaxon that usually accompanied it. The silent light threw eerie shadows across the faces of the the six tense men gathered beneath it at the access door. Joseph turned and signaled his intention to Stanton.
With a silent gesture Stanton motioned to the heavily armed security detail which quickly and quietly fanned out and took up positions. Two especially burly looking men moved to either side of the access door. Slightly aside from them Joseph had the terminal prompt up and entered his override code.
With a drawn out hiss the access door slid open to reveal an inky blackness beyond. Stanton nodded his head and four rifle mounted flashlights sprang on almost simultaneously.
With a sudden explosion of activity the burly men moved low into the chamber, followed quickly by Stanton and two others. Joseph waited quietly in the hall, head bowed in thought or perhaps prayer, until Stanton's call of "Clear!" rang out from inside.
Joseph stepped into the chamber to find four beams of fixed light illuminating a single object on the launch pad: a stasis pod. It only took him a moment to recognize it as one of the ones they used to send patient's forward into the time stream. Slivers of steam seemed to waft lazily from the pod in the feeble light, and there appeared to be a layer of frost coating the exterior, but there was no mistaking it.
Joseph released a heavy pent up breath. Ten years of sending terminally ill people into the future and this was the first time someone came back. There was no precedent for it. Scarier still for a manger of his constitution, there was no policy for it either.
Stepping forward, Joseph reached a cautious hand toward the pod's release button. It was cold to the touch, but not overly so. With a firm press he activated it and waited for the pod to cycle through it's opening. Finally, with a soft click, the lid released from the top of the pod and rose, coming to rest at an angle roughly 45 degrees to the pod itself. Joseph stepped forward once more and peered inside.
The silence stretched out to its breaking point, finally interrupted by Stanton's abrupt inquiry, "What? Who is it?"
"It's empty," Joseph whispered loudly into the silent chamber.
No, he realized, not empty. There was a single piece of paper folded neatly in the center of the pod. Easy to miss at first glance. Especially when you were expecting to find a body.
Leaning forward, Joseph grabbed the paper with trembling hands. Faint as it was, the light was more than ample enough to allow him to read the precise, childish scrawl on the paper. Such a brief note. He let out a laugh which turned quickly into a noise somewhere between a sob and a howl. His fingers unconsciously released the paper. He collapsed onto his knees, still keening.
Stanton stepped forward, bending to retrieve the paper. Silently, he read:
*"We've really been enjoying the meat you send us. Could you include some barbecue sauce next time?"* | "What's going on, why is something materializing in the containment chamber?" asked Tom pounding the keys on his console. "The patient is gone and now there's something in there. An anomaly? Did we just fuck up the Einstein-Bose calculations?"
Sarah paused for a moment, looked at Tom, and looked back at her monitor. "There's no life support readings. Did we kill Mr. Abbas just now?"
"Oh my god, its a man," exclaimed Tom as he stared at his monitor.
Sarah, sitting next to him at her console, furrowed her eyebrows. "Uh, medical scanner isn't picking up anything. Unless its a..."
"Machine," they both answered in unison.
The android carefully walked outside of the machinery of the time travel device and sat down on a chair near the window that separated the containment unit from the lab. The chair creaked loudly trying to absorb the extra weight. It moved with the quietest of hisses and the barely audible high pitched noise of servos.
"I'm sorry for the surprise," it said mimicking a quiet and understanding tone. It showed the palms of its hand to them, but its face remained stoney and unmoving. "Hijacking your device was the only way for me to travel here."
"Do... do we call someone? Like security," asked Sarah wide-eyed.
Tom took a deep breath and shrugged. "Maybe just let him have his say. I mean if he's what I think he is, it would be rude of us to treat him poorly considering how many umm... chrononauts we've sent his way."
The android watched them carefully through the glass dividing them. "I don't mean to pry, I find lip reading trivial, but you are correct in your assumptions. Also, please pardon my English, we've only recently re-discovered it."
Tom and Sarah looked at each other for a moment.
"But, but we're sending you people only 50 years in the future, how can English be lost?
The android crossed its legs in an exaggerated matter. "I'm not well versed in the psychology of humans." It paused for several seconds. "I'm not sure how to put this."
"Oh my god, there was war. Nuclear war," exclaimed Sarah.
"No," said the android. "The human race lived for a long time and had many great works. I am one of those works. It just had a long history and on a long enough timeline the chances of extinction reach 100 percent."
"Oh god," said Tom, "You're not from 50 years from now. You're from much farther aren't you?"
"Yes," said the android. "We decided not to tell you how far."
"Then why are you here," asked Sarah. "Why come here with such depressing news." She reached for the button that would call security and put the building on a quarantine lockdown. Tom saw this and put his hand on hers. "Its okay," he whispered and they both pulled back.
"We politely ask you to stop what you are doing," said the android. "We haven't been able to treat the... chrononauts you've sent as we have very little experience with complex organic life. We also have concerns about the morality of the chrononaut program. These poor men and women you've sent have died in our makeshift hospitals surrounded by strangers and scared to death. They often die screaming and begging for comfort we can't provide." It folded it hands. "There is a dignity in death surrounded by your loved ones, claim some of our philosophers."
"But but can't you help us. Give us advice... something?" asked Tom.
"My time has many of the same problems your time has. Economics, war, social division, and things you have never experienced like a recent coronal mass ejection hitting the Earth and in the past, a gamma ray explosion burning half the planet."
"Is this why there aren't anymore people," asked Sarah.
"Yes."
There was a long pause.
"So what now? Can you come with us? Your existence would validate so much about this program and your knowledge on technical matters must dwarf ours," said Tom.
"I'm afraid I'm set to experience the fate similar to your chrononauts. I have something akin to the diseases they have. Not physical but logical, if that makes sense. The details are unimportant, but in a few moments I will cease to be."
"What, no, open the container Tom! Let him out," demanded Sarah as she stood up.
A light emerged from the body of the android and they watched as it slowly disintegrated from the inside out into a large pile of ash. Sprinklers overhead turned on as the heat in the chamber suddenly spiked.
"Jesus, what now," asked Sarah keying in her code to open the container door. Tom ran over and pulled her hand away.
"Look," he said with a harried look and sweat running down his face. "We tell anyone about this there goes our budget and research. They'll shut us down. They'll shut down the French and Brazilian program too. The chrononaut program ends today if we disclose this... event."
Sarah looked down at her feet. "So then what? Keep sending old people to their doom?"
"For now... yes. We keep working with the formulas. We try to hit 50 years from now, or at least before this gamma radiation thing hits Earth. He's right on a long enough timeline everything ends. That doesn't mean we have to be quitters. We're not fucking robots. Right or wrong, we can't think like that."
"We're still sending people to their deaths."
Tom paused for a moment and looked out the window. He stared long into the distance and said, "All major advances are made on the backs of martyrs. Marie Curie, the space monkeys we sent up and never brought down, the doctors who got infected with SARS and ebola, the first AIDS and MRSA test subjects. How is this any different? The pioneers get the dirty end of the stick so others can get the clean end. These chrononauts are the pioneers, whether they like it or not."
Sarah sighed and sat down on her console. She keyed in some commands into a small terminal window. Her pinky hovered over the Enter key.
"Do it. Wipe everything. We say we had a equipment failure and a fire," demanded Tom.
A moment later, the click of the key filled the whole room.
| 2014-07-24T07:49:52 | 2014-07-24T07:47:28 | 120 | 57 |
[WP] Year 2040, you are tasked with rebooting Harry Potter franchise. Write the first few paragraphs of "Harry Potter Begins".
For books, not movies. HP Begins will be book 1. | CHAPTER ONE
THE BOY WHO LIVED DANGEROUSLY
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they didn't take anyone's shit. They were the last people you'd expect to be on the bad side of the wizard mafia, because they just didn't fuck with that scene.
Mr. Dursley was the CEO of a firm called Gunnings Incorporated, which made weapons and armor. He was 300 pounds of pure muscle, with a thick black beard he'd grown in the Special Forces. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde (a former supermodel) and always wore extra-high heels, which came in very useful as she spent most of her time on the red carpet, gossiping with celebrities. The Dursleys had a small son called Deadly and in their opinion he was a future UFC champion.
The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, a secret so explosive it threatened to blow their perfect existence sky high. They didn't think they would survive long if one of their jealous rivals found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they had fallen out after a sexy catfight; in fact, Mrs. Dursley refused to even speak her sister's name, and would slap anyone in the face if they brought up her shithead husband. The Dursleys sometimes woke in cold sweats after black nightmares, imagining that the Potters had come for revenge. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they stayed the hell away from him. They feared the boy even more than his parents, because he had a reputation for living dangerously. | "Evil exists in many forms, but so does good. The smallest of embers can create the largest blazes, but who ever said fire was a bad thing? Evil, much like the fire, takes only a little push to get started down that rocky path, yet with the right conditions, that same ember can become the savior of so many lost and cold souls" - Baba Yaga
_____________________________________
Chapter 1. The Boy Who Lived
Harry never knew his parents. Having grown up with his horrid Aunt and Uncle and their spoiled rotten child, he believed that every younger sibling was sentenced to a life of living under the stairs. From a young age, Harry was able to see that he and his cousin were vastly different, both in size and in intellect, and what his cousin, Dudley, didnt understand, he hit; and Harry was often misunderstood. Not to say he hated his life, there was something pleasent about it, whether it was the hand-me-downs or neglect, Harry always found that in his forced routine he found some freedom and some peace.
That changed in the strangest twenty four hours of his life.
On July 31st, Harry's tenth birthday, a letter came in the mail. Unlike the rest of the post, this letter had no postal stamp, nor did it seem to fit into the mailbox, yet it was pristine and unfolded. Staring at the loopy emerald writing he lost track of time. How long he had been standing out there he would never know.
"HARRY!! WHERE IS THE BLOODY MAIL?!" Uncle Vernon roared from the kitchen. Though seperated by two walls, drawn shades and a front yard the sound still seemed as though it were right in Harry's ear. Snapping out of his reverie Harry ran inside.
"I've got this peculiar looking letter here" Harry said, while handing the rest of the mail to his family.
"Pfffft! Someone probably just spelled MY name wrong" Dudley yelled, grabbing the letter.
'The baffoon hasn't the foggiest idea how spelling works' Harry thought, but knew better than to say. He did not want to begin his birthday with another black eye; last year was enough to learn a lesson.
Aunt Petunia snatched the letter from her son with a practiced motion, knowing full well that Harry was the better reader, and no one could mix up the spelling of "Harry" and "Dudley" and she confirmed Harry's confusion.
"It is for you...but there is no return address..." Aunt Petunia almost whispered in her high and grating voice. She seemed more pale than usual as she quickly sat down, lost in that loopy emerald writing.
Hearing his wife's tone, Uncle Vernon, the bulldog of a man with the stubborness of a mule, quickly looked up from the usual stack of rubbish mail and bills to see what the commotion was about.
"Mr. Harry J. Potter, 4 Privet Drive, cuppard under the stairs" Uncle Vernon had the opposite reaction to his wife, growing more and more purple with each word. "PREPOSTEROUS!! NO ONE KNOWS YOU LIVE HERE! WHO WOULD HAVE BUSINESS WITH YOU!?"
With a deep breath, Vernon attempted to calm himself and through gritted teeth whispered to Harry "Explain. Boy!"
Harry stammered. He had less of an idea than either of them, he was only ten, and never once signed up for any mailings. Who could possibly be writing to him?
| 2014-10-01T10:04:12 | 2014-10-01T09:45:36 | 107 | 15 |
[WP] Year 2040, you are tasked with rebooting Harry Potter franchise. Write the first few paragraphs of "Harry Potter Begins".
For books, not movies. HP Begins will be book 1. | Harry awoke from a dead sleep with a burning pain in the center of his forehead. It was a pain he hadn’t felt in twenty years or more. Ginny stirred in her sleep next to him. Harry looked down at her and felt cold fear run through him. It had been so long and they were so happy now. They had suffered enough for more than a lifetime and Harry was not going to let evil take over his life. Not again.
He had put it all behind him. The pain, the ache of losing so many people that he loved, the nightmares, the constant state of worry. He had finally healed, as much as one can, and settled into a happy life with his wife and children. He rubbed his palm against his forehead wondering if he had dreamed the burning sensation that was slowly dissolving. But he knew. He knew this was no ordinary twinge of nerves and that something was coming.
Harry laid back against the pillows with a deep sigh. He knew he’d never get back to sleep now. But somehow, when he closed his eyes, breathed deep once more, he drifted off quickly into a deep sleep where the memories overtook him. He couldn’t fight the pull into his own mind.
********
Harry awoke with a start to the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs above him.
“Wake up! Wake up!” his cousin Dudley shouted as he stomped down the stairs one at a time. Harry squinted at the ceiling, watching the dust moats float down as he pushed his glasses onto his nose...
| "Evil exists in many forms, but so does good. The smallest of embers can create the largest blazes, but who ever said fire was a bad thing? Evil, much like the fire, takes only a little push to get started down that rocky path, yet with the right conditions, that same ember can become the savior of so many lost and cold souls" - Baba Yaga
_____________________________________
Chapter 1. The Boy Who Lived
Harry never knew his parents. Having grown up with his horrid Aunt and Uncle and their spoiled rotten child, he believed that every younger sibling was sentenced to a life of living under the stairs. From a young age, Harry was able to see that he and his cousin were vastly different, both in size and in intellect, and what his cousin, Dudley, didnt understand, he hit; and Harry was often misunderstood. Not to say he hated his life, there was something pleasent about it, whether it was the hand-me-downs or neglect, Harry always found that in his forced routine he found some freedom and some peace.
That changed in the strangest twenty four hours of his life.
On July 31st, Harry's tenth birthday, a letter came in the mail. Unlike the rest of the post, this letter had no postal stamp, nor did it seem to fit into the mailbox, yet it was pristine and unfolded. Staring at the loopy emerald writing he lost track of time. How long he had been standing out there he would never know.
"HARRY!! WHERE IS THE BLOODY MAIL?!" Uncle Vernon roared from the kitchen. Though seperated by two walls, drawn shades and a front yard the sound still seemed as though it were right in Harry's ear. Snapping out of his reverie Harry ran inside.
"I've got this peculiar looking letter here" Harry said, while handing the rest of the mail to his family.
"Pfffft! Someone probably just spelled MY name wrong" Dudley yelled, grabbing the letter.
'The baffoon hasn't the foggiest idea how spelling works' Harry thought, but knew better than to say. He did not want to begin his birthday with another black eye; last year was enough to learn a lesson.
Aunt Petunia snatched the letter from her son with a practiced motion, knowing full well that Harry was the better reader, and no one could mix up the spelling of "Harry" and "Dudley" and she confirmed Harry's confusion.
"It is for you...but there is no return address..." Aunt Petunia almost whispered in her high and grating voice. She seemed more pale than usual as she quickly sat down, lost in that loopy emerald writing.
Hearing his wife's tone, Uncle Vernon, the bulldog of a man with the stubborness of a mule, quickly looked up from the usual stack of rubbish mail and bills to see what the commotion was about.
"Mr. Harry J. Potter, 4 Privet Drive, cuppard under the stairs" Uncle Vernon had the opposite reaction to his wife, growing more and more purple with each word. "PREPOSTEROUS!! NO ONE KNOWS YOU LIVE HERE! WHO WOULD HAVE BUSINESS WITH YOU!?"
With a deep breath, Vernon attempted to calm himself and through gritted teeth whispered to Harry "Explain. Boy!"
Harry stammered. He had less of an idea than either of them, he was only ten, and never once signed up for any mailings. Who could possibly be writing to him?
| 2014-10-01T10:09:43 | 2014-10-01T09:45:36 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] Everybody has the ability to bring another person back to life, at the cost of their own life. You are a suicidal celebrity who can't stay dead because of fans constantly sacrificing their lives to resurrect you. | Once again, the pain woke me. It hurt a lot to start breathing again. All my organs were resuming their function, and it was not a pleasant sensation.
I opened my eyes, trying to figure out were I was. An hospital room. What was it this time? Oh yes, pills. Lots of pills.
On my bedside, a handwritten note. I wait a couple of minutes, for my muscle to be usable again, and reach for paper.
Of course it's from her. Lucy. My "number one" fan. Literally.
*Andy*, the note says. *You have to stop doing that. It's not a life anymore your having, and it's starting to be ridiculous. Please, live your life.*
I stop reading there. I know what she's going to say. It's always the same thing anyway. Grab the alarm button and press it, calling for a nurse.
Sarah in.
"Mr Waylan, you're awake. " She had a sad smile.
"Hello Sarah. What's the date today? "
"August 6th"
"Already?! Lucy, she is... "
"In the room next door. You want to see her?"
"Yes please"
"Aren't you tired of all this? When is this gonna end." She scolded.
She helped me get in a wheelchair, and pushed me Lucy's room. The young girl was lying, a white sheet over her body. There was doubt she was dead.
"Leave me" I said.
Sarah didn't say anything and left.
I looked at Lucy. I didn't have to remove the sheer to know what she looked like. Blond, long hair, braces, freckles. The only unknown for me was her voice. Maybe I should ask for that, for next time.
A notepad and pen were resting on her nightstand. I grabbed them. My last message was still there on the first page. She had just written I love you below it.
I put it down.
"Lucy, *you* have to stop doing this. You have your life to live. I'm already 40, you're not old enough to drink. "
I reached for an empty glass on her nightstand, and looked at it.
"I can't have you sacrificing your life for me, over and over. Please." Tears started to roll on my cheeks.
I let the glad drop, sharing in pieces on the floor. I picked up a long shard and looked my wrist. Already half a dozen scars. What was one more.
| I won a Grammy yesterday, or so my manager told me - I didn't give a shit. I hung up on her, like I always do. With every award I win, every platinum record I release, every single that shoots straight to the top of the charts, I can only sink deeper into the darkness. Because praise brings fans, and fans adore you and everything you could ever possibly do. They love you when you despise them and yourself even more. And worst of all, they idolize you so much that they just won't let you fucking die.
I'm standing in front of the mirror now, shaving for the first time in a month. It's hard to see myself through the shards of broken glass left over from when I threw my face into the mirror, but I manage it well enough. The shaving isn't really the point of this, anyway. It's just busy work while I think of how I should kill myself today.
I've lost count of how many times I've done it by now, but it has to be somewhere in the hundreds. Guns used to be my favorite. Fast, simple, and bloody as hell. But that was unoriginal and got boring after a while, so I switched to letting others do the killing for me. I'd run into traffic or throw myself in front of a train, whatever got the job done and seemed interesting at the time. But that didn't work either after I remembered that cars had young, impressionable children inside them, and parents who didn't want my guts and severed limbs scarring their precious children for the rest of their lives and staining their brand new Mercedes.
After a while, I didn't care how I did it, I just had to do it. And every time I did it, my fans only seemed to love me even more, so much that they were willing to exchange their lives for mine. They think they're heroes when they do it. They think that this time, I'll come back and be happy, like they've always wanted me to be, like they think *I've* always wanted me to be. What they don't know is that every time they bring me back to life, I'm even more dead than I was before.
I've been standing in front of the mirror for far too long. I need to pick something and do it fast, before my manager gets here and stops me. I look around the room. Soap, shampoo, plunger, medicine, razor, toothbrush... there's a knock on the door. My manager says something, jiggles the knob, and starts yelling for me to unlock it. Shit, guess I'm out of time. Okay, I got it. I pick up the razor and run it straight through my throat. Warm blood trickles down my neck and onto my naked body, and I fall lifeless to the floor.
I wake up in a hospital, fully clothed, to see her sitting at the foot of the bed. She looks disappointed, but not surprised. The same look she always has. "It was a 16 year-old this time. From England. Smart. Funny. Very promising future. He wrote you a note."
I don't answer.
"Why do you do it? Just why? I don't understand. You're killing other people when you do this, don't you know that? It's never just yourself. I get that you're depressed. Who the hell isn't? But you know it won't work. It will *never* work as long as your fans love you as much as they do. And you know they always will."
I don't answer.
"Are you listening to me? Do you hear what I'm telling you right now? No, of course you don't. Why the fuck do I even bother anymore?"
She was wrong. I heard her, every word she said. She just didn't hear herself. She said it right there, plain as day. She gave me the answer. How I can end it all, do it for real, and let it be forever this time. She was right: it will never work as long as my fans love me as much as they do. So, I just need to make them hate me as much as I hate myself.
"Yes, I hear you," I say, with a feeling I haven't experienced in years: excitement. "Now let's get to work." | 2016-07-06T22:50:38 | 2016-07-06T21:24:08 | 259 | 92 |
[WP] Gods become powerful from being worshiped; recently, some fictional characters are starting to rival the power of the gods. | Every once in a while, a mortal being can become stronger than any god or even gods combined. For gods thrive and grow stronger off being worshiped, and even a mortal being will grow powerful with enough praise.
On may 28th, 2016, the stage was set for the quickest rise in power the god world had ever seen. The all loved and all knowing Harambe was shot and killed due to a small kids stupidity. In life? He was just a gorilla. In death? A news story, An Instagram post, a Facebook update, a tweet, and his most powerful form of tribute, that lasted even into this day. a dank meme.
Harambe entered heaven as a major celebrity due to the outpouring of tribute and worship he received just after being assassinated. Three days later, almost the entire USA had heard about and mourned over Harambe's loss, giving him power rivaling the current power of Zeus nowadays. Four days after that, Harambe was more powerful than John Smith, the creator of Mormonism.
3 weeks later, Harambe beat Buddha in a duel for control of Buddha's mountain estate and property in heavens highly sought after God's pillow private community.
1 month later, Harambe, fueled by the dankest memes known to all of man, and throughout the world, took over the title of god. Harambe now lives a mortal live in the jungles of the congo, having used his great power to make him the only male in a pride of all Female gorillas.
More on the power of Arthur's fist at 11 | "This isn't right." Thor grumbled lowly. He used to be worshiped by thousands. They paid respects to his immense power, prayed for safe passages through the storming seas, and praised his thunderous lightning. Images of Mjölnir hung around necks as magnificent pendants of faith screaming against the encroaching Christianity.
Now, as he sat under a great oak, he watched an impostor with his stolen name. A pretty blond boy with barely a touch of facial hair, in a billowing red cape and a comically oversized Mjölnir that crackled with blue-white electricity.
Thor narrowed his eyes.
"I crave that which you call a 'cheesburger,' mortal!" The impostor bellowed. His boisterous voice echoed through the park. "Instead, you dare serve the mighty Thor a log of meat! Tell me," he grasps the poor, frightened man by the collar of his shirt, lifting him from the ground. "Has Loki put you up to this?"
There was not a red hair to be found anywhere on him.
There were no goats to lead a glorious chariot into the great, open skies.
Thor raised himself from the ground and approached the blond man. "Unhand that man," he commands of him. He grasps Mjölnir firmly in his right hand. The ornate, intricate metalwork of the ancient hammer is a far cry from his rival's.
The blond Thor turns his head to the bearded warrior. "Who dares threaten me?" He asks, giving the man a once-over. A smirk plays over his lips as his gaze falls upon the hammer.
The Norse god does not approve of being sized-up. "I am the god whose name you stole." He raises Mjölnir into the air. "And I have come to reclaim what is rightfully mine!"
A hearty, heavy laugh dances in the air. Thor returns the human to his feet, and the man immediately runs off into the distance. "Lies! The mighty god of thunder would never wield such a puny hammer! ...Stay your weapon, stranger, and no harm will befall you."
In one smooth movement, the red-headed god throws Mjölnir through the air. With precision aim, it slams across the blond impostor's face, knocking him off balance.
As Thor stumbles, he's taken aback by the power of the hammer. He caresses the side of his face and carefully adjusts his jaw. Clearly, this was no mere costumed mortal. "As you wish," he says. As he raises his own hammer into the air, it lights up with electricity. Above them, the overcast sky darkens and grows heavy with rain. Thunder cracks.
Thor narrows his eyes. Mjölnir should have had more impact. He growls under his breath, his thick red hair fluttering in the wind. Suddenly, he's ripped from the contemplation of his next move as the thief's hammer slams into his midsection. He flies backwards, into the oaken tree he'd sat underneath only minutes before. A wide branch snaps and falls from its trunk, hitting the ground with a loud *thunk*.
As bolts of lightning flash through the sky, singing the ground around the approaching blond impostor, the Norse god begins to wonder wrath he brought upon himself. | 2016-10-03T12:07:24 | 2016-10-03T11:57:54 | 34 | 25 |
[WP] A woman makes a deal with the devil... but before signing, she actually reads the contract. She is the first to do so. | "And this next line, about my first born... what if I don't have kids?"
"Ah, well your dog will suffice, honestly." Satan shuffled uncomfortably in his leather executive chair. It was intended to look like human skin, but Helen could see the tag. 'Halloween Barn - Made in China'.
"Mr. Barks is not for sale." Helen made another strikethrough with her red pen. She slid her magnifying glass down to subsection 4.4b.e. The text was too small to read without it.
"Look, honey- er, ah Madam. If you read the whole thing we'll be here for days. It's a beautiful yacht, lightly used, great price."
"You have some place to go?" Helen smiled, showing a line of carefully cleaned teeth.
*She probably flosses everyday*, he thought. *Goody two-shoes*.
Satan rested one cheek on a hand and fumbled for his eighth cigar of the morning. He held one end against a torch next to his wide obsidian desk, lighting it on the burning soul of a tobacco executive.
A happy bird song chirped from Helen's wristwatch. "Oh well, I should be getting back to my body. Time for bible study."
Satan sat up, excited. "I'll have someone deliver you hard copies in the real world. Most of Amazon works for me."
Helen shook her head "Oh no, we both know that once **you** start a contract, you have to personally oversee it." Helen smiled pleasantly. "Especially such a large account! All 2,000 souls of my publishing house, for a Yacht!"
It had been too good to be true. He was behind this quarter, and he'd be careless. Then he started chain smoking when she pulled out her own magnifying glass engraved 'Helen Yarrow, Head of Contracts'.
"I'll be back tomorrow, and again after that until we're done here."
Satan jumped to his feet, chair flying backward, desk rocking forward. "I HEARBY BANISH YOU FROM HELL!" The room shuddered. A signed Aerosmith poster fell from the wall, scattering glass when it broke.
"Is that irrevocable?" She asked in a patient voice, nudging glass into a neat pile with her foot.
"YES! FOREVER!" Satan fumed. He squeezed a stress ball as a Staples printer clicked on the obsidian desk. A small card slid out. "Contract aborted. Here's your receipt. They'll validate parking in the lobby."
"Good." Her face folded into a wicked smile. A row of sharp, clean, perfect teeth. "Now I can do whatever evil shit I want."
She kicked the pile of glass, scattering it across the office, and strode out. | I was alone and about to kill myself in my living room when I met the devil. He appeared with a smirk, saying how lucky I was to meet him, just in time.
'Just in time for what?' I asked, with the sharp razor still hanging above my wrist. The devil gave me a cold smile, and handed me a piece of paper with a gold fountain pen. 'I am here to grant you a wish. But be careful what you wish for, because I literally have to give anything that you think about.'
'What is this?' I asked again, looking at the paper. He tapped the top of the page, giving me a judging look that said 'you have eyes'. On the top of the page there was a single word. Contract. I couldn't believe it. All these miserable years of my life, and now I'm getting a chance to get what I wish for?
'Sorry, but I was just in the middle of a suicide attempt.' I declined quite politely. The devil didn't stir.
'Come now, child. I can read your thoughts. I'm the devil. You do want something. You're committing suicide because you want something. Humans never act unless they have a need or want. Please, as you wish, I shall grant you a wish. Just one signature of yours and you will get what you wish for.'
The devil was right. I did have a need - the need to disappear from this world and go to a place where I can be happy. But there was no utopia, so I wanted death. I began to read the contract carefully -- I worked as a contractor before I quit my job, so it was just an automatic response.
The contract was very straightforward than expected. There seemed to be no loopholes for the devil to use against me.
<[Contract]
I, the devil, will grant this human being, of whatever they should wish for as the giver, and will receive something in return.
1. The devil will grant the being's wish at any cost.
2. Once the deal is made, it cannot be cancelled.
3. The recipient must give something to the devil in return.
4. There is no deadline for this deal to be completed.
5. Once this deal is made, it must be completed.
Should any of the above promises be broken, the recipient will pay the full price.
Giver please sign below:
Recipient please sign below: >
Of course, when I looked at it again, I could see a few red flags. I wanted to ask the devil about the red flags, but I didn't have anything to lose. I shrugged and signed the document. Just as I took the pen off the paper, the devil snatched it and swallowed the document.
'Remarkable! What will you wish for, mortal?' Bellowed the devil. After giving it some thought, I said 'Eternal happiness'. He nodded, then shook my hand. 'Very well. Now it is my turn to get something in return.'
It was then when I stopped him. 'Sorry, but not now. Can I die first?' My blatant request seemed to surprise the devil. He became aggressive and took me in my throat. 'What is this? Are you breaking your vow?' His eyes looked directly into mine, and for a moment I was frozen due to sheer terror. His eyes were so cold and unforgiving, I couldn't speak for a while. I finally gathered my courage and pointed out the fourth vow. 'The fourth vow says that there is no deadline for this deal to be completed.' The devil's eyes went pitch black, and he laughed. 'Clever mortal! You actually read the terms and conditions!' screamed the devil in joy. I didn't get it. Why was he so happy?
After wiping tears of joy off his cheeks, the devil whispered, 'Darling child, I am sorry to say that the contract does not say anything about the order of who is receiving from who. I can do anything I want.' My heart dropped. The devil's laughter filled my ears as he took my existence from this world.
'You tried to outsmart me, but I am the devil. The contract doesnt mean anything and means something at the same time. I can do anything before God finds me. Now, you can suffer alone until I decide to find you again!'
Then he was gone. I was still here, sitting on my living room carpet. I couldn't believe that I was trying to reason with the devil. I should have left when I could have. I was hungry but everything slipped through my hands. I was an invisible ghost, stuck in this matrix forever.
Happiness doesn't mean anything if you are nonexistent. | 2016-10-14T04:16:58 | 2016-10-14T04:00:42 | 47 | 22 |
[WP]You find an old pocket watch on the floor and find that when you stop the clock you can stop and restart time. You get used to this for 1 year and when you are just walking around while you stopped time to steal some milk you see the impossible. You see somebody else walking. | I got lazy with it, I'll admit that. I never had any reason to believe I shouldn't.
It became a part of my daily life - my fingers constantly clutched the stopwatch in my pocket. I would thumb the clicker as a nervous habit, ready to stop time whenever anything went awry.
I became incredibly successful. People thought of me as the most intelligent, quick-witted person they had ever met. I never put my foot in my mouth. I always told people what they wanted to hear. I knew all the answers.
I was stopping on my way home today to pick up some milk. I stopped time and went into the store. I don't even carry a wallet anymore - it's not necessary.
I was about to push open the glass door to leave when I saw her.
She was striding briskly along the highway beyond the gas pumps. She had somewhere to go. I don't know if it was the fact that only she moved among the frozen cars and people, only her chestnut hair flowed in the wind while all others were static, but I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I dropped the milk on the floor. It exploded. The bell on the door jingled as I followed after her.
She never looked back. It was only the two of us. She walked all the way down the freeway, into the city, always with purpose, somewhere to go.
She turned down side streets, then alleys of decreasing size and increasing dinginess. I had never been in this part of town before.
Finally she opened a flimsy wooden door in an alley that reeked of piss, and disappeared inside the building. I grabbed the door and pulled it open after it clattered shut behind her.
---
I emerged from the stairwell to see her standing on the roof's edge, looking out over the city.
"How are you moving?" I asked.
She spun around, startled.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Harry. I... haven't you noticed something about the world? How everything is frozen?"
"Of course I notice. It's all I *can* notice."
"What do you mean?"
"This is going to sound crazy, but time stops and starts for me," she said. "I'm only able to move for small windows of time during the day. The rest of the time I'm stuck in place. I just... come into being, standing wherever I was when I moved last. I feel like a doll that comes to life for brief moments, or... I don't know what I am. I came here to end it. I can't stand for living minutes a day."
My heart twisted and wrung out my stomach. "Doesn't anyone notice you when you're frozen?"
"No. I think I can still move a little bit, do things unconsciously. I'll find myself sitting on a bench, or at a table in a cafe, in my car by the side of the road. But I never know where I've come from. And I only have a few minutes before it happens again. This is the longest I've been conscious for years."
Did she come awake when I froze time for everyone else? There was only one way to find out. I clicked the stopwatch in my pocket. She was frozen. I clicked the stopwatch again, and she began to hyperventilate.
"There it was again. I can't do it anymore." She turned and was about to step over the side when I clicked the stopwatch again. I ran over to her and pulled her off. She smelled like nothing I could ever describe, and I felt a shiver when I wrapped my arms around her. She was like electricity running through me.
I clicked the stopwatch when she was safely on the rooftop, away from the edge. She was hyperventilating, looking around, confused.
"How did I get down here? Did you pull me down? Why can't I just die?"
I showed her the stopwatch. I explained how it worked. I explained what had happened to her. Tears welled in her beautiful blue eyes and it made me want to cry too.
"I don't know whether to hug you or kill you or lie down and give up. What do I do now? I can only live when time stops for everyone else?"
"It seems that way."
"Well. Just stop time again for a moment so I can end it. I was ready for this a long time ago. Then it won't be a problem."
"Absolutely not," I said, standing and reaching to help her up. "What's your name?"
"Sarah."
"Well Sarah," I said, tucking the stopwatch behind an air vent where no one would find it, "let's go see what the world looks like." | 3,
2,
1.
"Stop," I muttered while leaning my back onto the grey wall; the hood of my maroon jacket aided in covering the upper half of my face as my fingers pulled the crown of the old pocket watch hidden within my grip.
As if on cue, everything around me stopped.
Looking around, the birds stayed still midflight; their positions and bodies defied gravity. The people walking in front of me stopped with their expressions frozen in a silent laugh. The leaves and branches of the tall trees that swayed and danced with the wind became motionless.
Perfect. Just like always, I managed to stop the time.
Straightening my posture before walking towards the shop of milk in front of me, I raised the pocket watch on eye level and stared at the details on it.
Aside from the usual parts and chains of the common pocket watches, nothing seemed extraordinary on it except for the logo on the surface of the metal cover. It showcased a pair of swords both facing the opposite direction with their handles threatening to touch each other; in the middle was a skull with a crown placed on top of its bony head. On the upper part, formed in a semi circle, there were writings that I tried translating and researching but nothing ever showed up.
Imagine my shock when everything stopped after I fiddled with it right after picking it up almost a year ago.
I almost thought I was going crazy. Almost.
Walking inside the shop, I managed to see the most expensive milk on their menu and proceeded to grab the bottle. Why not, right? It wasn't like I was a great citizen to start with.
Opening the cap and chugging the delicious milk, I continued on my tour for the day. I basked in the silence of my surroundings and closed my eyes to enjoy the peace. If you were to live in a city as busy as this, you would definitely find serenity as a huge blessing.
Then, I heard somebody whistling.
Jerking my eyes open and straining my ears to listen, I tried to find the direction of the sound. The moment I knew it came from my right, I silently moved towards the huge, brick wall of the building on my side to hide from whatever it was. I peeked to see the source of the noise when I saw an older man walking without a care in the world.
"I know you're hiding behind that wall, kiddo," the man said in a rather raspy voice. "Get out or I'll make you."
I remained silent; confusion crept on my being as if it was a venomous snake. I had never seen anybody moved around so freely the moment time became frozen. It was impossible. I was the only one supposed to be able to move because of this pocket watch and now—wait. Could it be?
"I said show yourself, boy. I know you are getting your underwear twisted and all because you saw the impossible happen but you need to come out. It's not like I'm going to hurt you. Well, I would if you don't move your ass."
Biting my lower lip, I knew I needed to do as he say. I did have questions that I wanted answers to. Shuffling, I showed myself to the man whose sole presence made me shiver.
"W-what do you want?" I asked trying to look unaffected by him but failed miserably. Shit.
"You about to pee your pants, lad?"
"You wish," my hazel eyes narrowed while my body tensed. "I suppose you own a watch as well... what do you want?"
"Nothing, really." His hand reached for his moustache and combed it as a habit. "You do know the rules, no?"
"Rules?"
A devilish grin stretched from ear to ear on his intimidating face; his clouded grey eyes showed a hint of malice. "Ah, I see. Your memories had started to vanish, just like the other players."
"What do you mean players?" My brows furrowed while my foot stepped back. I didn't like the vibe I was getting from this man and I could definitely sense my life was in danger.
"You see, Leo, we're in a game."
"Game? You're not making any sense."
"So does that old pocket watch you are holding at this moment. Tell you what, you are playing a game of life and death. There are only five of you remaining who are able to stop the time. The goal is to gather all the watches from the other owners. Once you do that, you get the prize–to become a god."
He reached for a cigarette from his pocket, lighted it, and then smoked a bit before continuing. "You only have about 3 months before the end of the game."
"Do you really expect me to believe that?"
"I don't really care if you don't; the owners were randomly chosen and there's really nothing special about you. I just came here to check on you to see the progress. Let me ask you this, what is your oldest memory?"
"I don't see the importance of that, but it was—"
I paused. I couldn't remember anything from before this day and the fact that I picked up the pocket watch. Aside from that, I got nothing. Come to think of it... was my name really Leo?
"See? You can't remember anything except for a few bits of information. You see, kiddo, every time you stop the time, your memories are consumed by it as the price. The longer the pause, the greater the memory taken. By the looks of it, you don't have long before you become a lifeless vessel."
"How do I retreive my memories?"
"Simple, you kill the remaining players and get their watches. Originally there were 12, now you only have four more to hunt. To be honest, it baffled me how you were able to even go this far and kill two players."
"I k-killed people?"
He nodded; his brown hair swayed with the movement. "See those swords on the pocket watch? Those are the symbols that appear after you kill a player. Their watches disappear and the power is transferred to the one in your possession."
Unbelievable. I couldn't accept everything this guy was saying.
"How do you know all of this? Who are you?"
"Well," he bowed before flashing yet another grin and then vanishing from thin air. Everything started to move again and time was frozen no more.
"I am who you call God."
—•—•
For more of my stories, you can go and click [this one](https://www.reddit.com/r/TetDaath_writings/) . | 2017-05-07T03:46:07 | 2017-05-07T03:45:33 | 157 | 29 |
[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straight forward. | "I got to the building, and it was locked, and I thought, oh, that's it. I didn't show up for the interview on time, they're not even gonna give me a chance. So I pulled out my phone to rant to my boyfriend about it, when suddenly the manager came rushing toward the building, and she gives me this long story about how her neighbor was giving away kittens and they thought all of them had been adopted but then there was one more kitten than they thought they had, so she had to take some extra time to get all the cat supplies she didn't think she'd need before, and by the time she realized how long it'd taken her she was already late." Sarah leaned back, idly stirring sugar into her coffee. "She was even later than I was! I swear, my guardian angel was watching over me."
"Lucky," I said, trying not to let the resentment into my voice. I had a similar story of my own, but I didn't like to share it. Really, I've tried putting it out of my mind. Seeing the footage of that schoolbus crash on the news for weeks afterward had been hard enough.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yeah, *lucky*. Says the woman who has everything fall into her lap."
I took a drink of my hot chocolate, hiding my wince. A lot of things do go right for me, but I hate it. The last time I locked myself out of my house, there was a locksmith already on the street right in front of my door. He'd just come from unlocking a door for a suicide case, and then he blew a tire. (I never did learn whether the suicide had been successful. He didn't seem to want to share.)
On my way to meet Sarah for our weekly lunch, I was running late for the train. Until the train had to stop because it hit a cow. Nobody could explain *why* a cow was wandering onto the tracks at a station in the middle of a city.
Every time I make a mistake, somebody seems to suffer for it. Somebody who's not me.
So, when good things fall in my lap, it feels less like I'm being given gifts, and more that every moment I fail to be perfect, I'm met with negative reinforcement. I can't stand seeing other people suffer. And the only way I can avoid it is by being everywhere on time, remembering everything important, never *once* slipping up.
"So, how are things with you and Brian these days?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation to something less upsetting.
"Oh, nothing new. We're comfortable, you know? Since moving in together it's just been routine. Get home from work, watch Netflix, fall asleep on the couch most nights. We're such a boring couple." She chuckled. "What about you? Dating again?"
I shook my head.
"Still too painful, after Andrew?" she asked.
Andrew. Damn, I hate thinking about him.
What hurts isn't that he cheated. Under normal circumstances, sure, I'd be hurt by that. I'd feel betrayed. It's not something I'd be *okay* with.
It's just not *nearly* as distressing as the way he died. A freak windstorm, blowing a wasp's nest in through the bedroom window, the wasps all swarming the two of them in the middle of events... I still cringe every time I think about it. And I just have to think, if he'd cheated on *anybody* else, he'd be okay.
I don't want to risk that... or worse... happening to any other men. Even ones who do turn out to be scumbags.
"I'm just focusing on myself these days. The job's going great, and I'm getting really into photography." Not that I'm entering any contests with my photos or whatever. I don't want to see what might happen to the people who place ahead of me.
Sarah nodded. "That picture of the duck in front of a rainbow was amazing. You should seriously try to sell prints of it or something."
"Thanks, but I think I'm happier just leaving it out in the wild." I shrugged. "Stuff like that should be shared with the world." And there are two many ways that selling my work could become competitive. Bad things happen when I'm pitted against other people for sales or likes or retweets.
Ambitions have no place in my life. I apply myself at work solely for the sake of succeeding on my own merits. In my time off, I select activities that offer no grounds for conflict with other people. And I try to avoid aspirations to fame or fortune.
If I become a perfect person, then one day, perhaps my guardian demon will be willing to leave me alone. | “There is he is again. My little guardian, my dermal-boned savior, swooping in when I need him most.”
&nbsp;
I thought to myself. Sarcastically.
&nbsp;
“Oh good. You’re here too.”
&nbsp;
He replied. Unreadably. As always.
&nbsp;
As much as I hate talking about it, the thing is, Leo Trepp was right. Everybody gets a guardian, sort of a prayer emissary. You end up with a spirit-in-the-middle that runs tasks between a mortal and the almighty to gopher together the small bits needed to fulfill a genuine and heartfelt cry for assistance. Most people don’t really pray anymore though, not really. It’s understandable how overlooked Leo’s thoughts on the matter have become over the years.
&nbsp;
If only I had known. Oh dear, sweet, merciful, abandoned god, if only I had known.
&nbsp;
My personal demon had been with me since my first real prayer, my first profoundly deep and heartfelt prayer.
&nbsp;
I’d prayed—hard—that my (exceptionally deserving of being and extremely soon to be) ex boyfriend would die in a fiery crash on the way to meet up with my ex best friend. He was on his way, in my car, towards their poorly-kept-secret weekend getaway. Earlier, a mutual friend sent me a snap of their facebook chats, caught on my soon-to-be ex-friend’s phone. I didn’t say a thing to anyone. I even gave him a kiss as he was leaving, told him to think about me. It was sort of a “last chance for redemption so reconsider your next move” sort of moment.
&nbsp;
He said, “you know I will,” Smiled, and sped off to meet her.
&nbsp;
It turns out that there’s a little known hub of limbo full of call-center employees that hadn’t met their numbers before they died. It turns out that they are in charge of escalating prayers to the appropriate manager. It turns out that they still don’t want to deal with you any more than you want to deal with them.
&nbsp;
It turns out that efficiency runs deep in all circles, and sometimes problems can solve themselves. Not mine, I mean, not really . . . but they didn’t skip a beat in taking advantage of a two-fer.
&nbsp;
I looked over, whispering out of the corner of my mouth as softly as I could, “Chris. We talked about this. What are you doing here?”
&nbsp;
“Watching a movie.” He replied. Through a mouthful of tiny, somehow demonic popcorn. Dribbling bits of it onto my shoulder. Oblivious. Genuinely and shockingly oblivious, as always.
&nbsp;
“There’s an open chair two rows back.” I offered, clearly demandingly.
&nbsp;
“I can’t see over the seats.” He stated, shruggingly.
&nbsp;
I grit my teeth. I kept my mouth shut. My mind swirling with the same thoughts that had been swirling since years ago, back when I first looked over and realized I’d agreed to date him in the first place. Oh my God. I can’t. I just, I can’t.
&nbsp;
“Why. Are. You. Here. As in, here, on my shoulder . . . Instead of, oh I dunno, sitting on a beach in Florida? You never turned that down to sit for a movie with me before.” I jabbed, referring to his escapades with my ex best friend, passive aggressively. He hated when I was passive aggressive. Not that he even knew what those words meant when placed next to each other. He would spitefully toss them back at me after I said things like, “You are being a gross, embarrassing slob,” or “I hope you die in a fiery crash on the way to see Colleen.”
&nbsp;
“I thought we were past that.” He stated, in ways I’m running out of descriptions for. Maybe he stated it as almost absentmindedly dismissive, or maybe obliviously matter-of-fact. “Besides, I’m only here because you went on and on in one of your dramatic internal dialogues about how you just hate watching movies alone and how WHOA IS ME being alive and watching a movie without somehow also getting attention at the same time is JUST SO HARD.”
&nbsp;
“We’re not past that. We are definitely not past that.”
&nbsp;
“Oh.”
&nbsp;
“Can you please, please, go guardian the fat lady taking tickets instead? You were always into those types.”
&nbsp;
“You know why I left you to see Colleen?”
&nbsp;
“Because you’re an asshole.”
&nbsp;
“Because you’ve always been so annoyingly passive aggressive.”
&nbsp;
I bit my tongue. Literally bit my tongue. I kept biting my tongue for a little while longer than I’d expected to when I first decided to do it.
&nbsp;
“I mean this, in the most genuine way possible, Chris, I really wish I’d never prayed for you to die. I regret it more than anyth—”
&nbsp;
My sentence was cut off by my phone, lighting up with a text. I scrambled to hide it in my purse before an usher dragged me out for forgetting to turn it off.
&nbsp;
Oh.
&nbsp;
It was from Chris.
&nbsp;
An image, one which I have absolutely no idea how he even took. He’d been burying both fists into his popcorn the entire time he was on my shoulder. Regardless, it was an image I certainly did not solicit.
&nbsp;
“Goddamned it Chris.”
&nbsp;
“What? I thought we were back together.”
&nbsp;
I went back to biting my tongue. It tasted like regret.
&nbsp;
I sighed.
&nbsp;
I should have just let him go, burned some of his pictures or dated his much cuter brother. I admit it, I went too far. So Naïve.
&nbsp;
He’s not the man I need, but he’s definitely the demon I deserve.
| 2017-06-13T05:44:52 | 2017-06-13T05:43:14 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony... | "This is something," the hat mused, "something rather unusual."
My mind racing, I focused on everything I knew about the practical world of magic. Misdirection, slight of hand, proper rabbit care - every bit of knowledge that had gotten me to this hallowed seat at the front of The Great Hall.
"I can tell you have ambition, yes, but how will it assist you in this setting? What use can you be to any of your peers or professors?" the hat spoke quietly into my ear.
"I work hard. I can learn any magical trade. Anything will be fine. Really!" I pleaded.
The hat paused. "Anything? Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Right then," whispered the hat, loosening its grip from my sweating brow. "FILCH! Come forward," it bellowed across the heads of onlooking students, "I've finally found you an apprentice." | "Hmm...? 'Please don't be Slytherin?' Very well, then. Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat shouted as Harry Potter excitedly ambled down the stairs. His oblivious expression only further ignited my excitement.
"Pfttt. What's all this cacophony about? Sure, he's that voodoo 'Chosen One', but he doesn't have the ounce of the power I have. I'll prove to them all what a true legend can do." I muttered under my breath as I prepared to wreak havoc in this universe. A wide, unnatural, and inhuman grin slowly stretched upon my face.
"Next is Jackie Trollington!" McGonagall's voice echoed.
I confidently waltzed my way to the seat as the Sorting Hat was promptly put onto my head.
"Hmm... let me see. Oh. Ohhh... I knew this day would come... and it finally did. Although you've disguised yourself as a Muggle who knows several magic tricks, you can't get by me. I can see the hidden objects on your person." the Hat ominously remarked.
"You do not belong to any house. You are an anomaly. You are... the Troll!"
*Gasps*
As if on cue, I suddenly, and "magically" materialized full copies of the entire Harry Potter series from the sleeves of my black robe. I suddenly hopped onto the elongated tables and sprinted down as I splattered the dishes of food everywhere and onto all of their faces.
"Ron, Fred's going to be dead, and your rat's actually a freaking fatass human named Peter or some crap. Harry, you're a living Horcrux! Dumbledore, you better be prepared to die. Oh yea! Harry, it turns out that you'll meet a guy named Snape soon. He had the hots for your mom!" I maniacally screamed as I ran up and down each column.
"STOP HIM!" Dumbledore vociferated.
"Oh, and Neville turns out to be a pretty chill dude, I can't really troll him. But Hermione, you deci-"
"Bombardo!" A disgusted voice shouted behind me.
*BOOM*
As the hair fizzed away and my entire body became charred, I snidely and shrilly laughed as my cheekbone became lodged in place from its transformation.
"The Troll can never truly die! I've wrecked your universe enough, and now it's time to meet Bilbo Bagtard! Ahah. AHAHAHAH!" I hollered as I flew through the air.
Finally, my surroundings blurred as my consciousness dissipated from this fully roasted body.
However, I would find another host soon enough.
The Troll never dies.
[r/JackWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/jackwrites/)
| 2017-06-25T15:07:52 | 2017-06-25T14:51:44 | 358 | 17 |
[WP] Reincarnation is a known, common, and expected result of death. You are a bounty hunter that specializes in tracking down people who have committed suicide to escape debts or a jail sentence. | When you reach a certain age, you start to feel like you've seen everything. In my case, that means money launderers reborn as elephants and two-time murderers who ended up in fishbowls.
People like to think they know how they'll be reincarnated, but most of these jackasses are too stupid to notice the writing on the wall. You can plan the greatest heist in the world, but if you've got enough shitty karma built up it's gonna be bad news.
You see, the universe has a keen sense of irony. If you did a hit and run, you'll probably end up as a snake or dolphin or something else without legs. I start with the basic facts of the case and go from there -- most people end up just a few miles from where they offed themselves.
Then there are the surprises.
To be honest, human reincarnation isn't all that uncommon. In the criminals' case, they start off with a blank slate but gradually recall what they've done in their past life; the guilt sets in around eight or nine. That's when they start to shit their pants.
I let 'em age for a while. Let 'em get comfortable in their new skin and pretend everything's all right. Then when they hit thirteen I make the arrest. Seems wrong to throw a kid in the slammer but then I remember what they did and my own guilt washes away.
That was all before I met the one-year-old.
The kid was sitting there cooing at me. Spike Lewis - embezzled millions of dollars from the county orphanage, lived large for a couple years, then killed himself when the fuzz started to close in. I figured out where he reincarnated twelve years before, but, as usual, waited for the right moment to turn him in. Why wasn't he a teen? And where the hell were his parents?
The pieces started to come together. A shack in the middle of the woods, total isolation, abysmal living conditions. Yet here was this perfectly healthy child, blissfully unaware. Didn't even seem to have shit himself recently.
He was alive in stagnation. No food, no water, no nothing. Taunted by his own karma.
So what the fuck was I supposed to do? For a number of reasons, I don't kill the cargo - just gives 'em another shot in their third, fourth, fifth life or whatever. So yeah, not gonna kill an infant and it seems he was incapable of dying anyway.
I picked him up, wrapped him in a spare cloth sitting atop a beat-up dresser, and took him to Cumberland County Orphanage. Seemed weirdly poetic. Maybe they would have some idea what to do with a perpetual one-year-old.
I forgot about the case for a while, but then I dropped in two years later. Lo and behold - three-year-old reincarnated Spike.
"He's a handful." That's what one of the caretakers said. "He's a handful but getting better."
When I caught a glimpse of him, it looked like he hated his life. But who knows - maybe when I check back in another five, ten years he'll actually be all right.
The universe has a warped sense of humor, but it's not incapable of mercy.
| Brutal world we live in, I tell you. I can't help but feel a slight pang of pity at the sight of the criminal I'd apprehended being strung up by his arms, his bones practically popping out of their sockets as they strain to support his body. He's a dodger, no doubt about it, but he's been apprehended for the wrong crime. He doesn't seem to object, though; his head instead lolls lazily to one side, his eyes glazed over in an almost catatonic state. I'd be willing to bet on the fact he's been drugged senseless. It's a common precautionary measure used by jails nowadays, to prevent people from killing themselves and such.
Poor bastard.
The person beside me shuffles impatiently. Although his face is mostly masked by a black balaclava, I can make out tufts of dirt blonde hair falling from underneath the mask. The cover also does little to conceal his rapid, almost frantic, breathing. He rubs at his arms, and I can see now that he's incredibly nervous.
"Is this the one?" I ask him gruffly, jabbing a finger at the drugged man.
He shakes his head, his fingers digging into his forearm. "No. Too tanned."
"How did your guy escape again?"
"Knife to the wrists. Managed to steal it from the kitchen. Three days before his hearing as well."
"Nasty."
I walk up to the criminal, my eyes giving his body a quick once-over. His entire person seems to be covered in a plethora of scars, all intertwining and connecting across his bare body as if drawn onto him. I scratch my stubble, frowning.
"Well, this certainly complicates it."
My employer freezes, his eyes desperately looking to me. "Wh-what do you mean?"
"This could be your guy... or it might not be. He's definetly done this a number of times, and he's got the scars on his chest to prove it."
"I'm telling you, it ain't this one!"
Seems he's not having any of my bullshit. This is a man on the edge, so no point pushing him off it. I nod, conceding the point. "Right. Well, may as well send him off anyway. I'll check later to see if he can tell us anything about the target. Once he's sobered up."
"O-ok."
I bite the inside of my cheek, placing a firm hand on my employer's shoulder. "Look, we'll get him. I'm the best for a reason. Wether it takes ten months or ten years, I won't stop."
"You promise you'll find the man who murdered my wife?"
"I swear it."
Although it's a hollow statement, it does seem to reassure the man. He gives me a shaky nod as I turn my back on him, walking off to my trailer. As soon as he's out of view, I roll up the long sleeves of my overcoat, itching the raw, barely healed skin underneath. See, to beat these trackers, you've got to play at their own game. I'm a patient man, and if dancing deathly close to my tracker is enough to eventually cloud my scent, I'm willing to do it.
So, how to do myself in this time? I don't want to screw up my chest anymore than it already has been.
I settle on something relatively quick and painless. A gun, straight to the temple. From my coat I pull out an antique magnum revolver, spin the chamber, and press it to my temple. With this, I can set them down the wrong course again.
How'd I get myself caught up in this mess? One murder leading to another, one identity to the next. Four hundred deaths it took to be reincarnated as something that was able to get relatively close to the person tracking me without arousing suspicion but, hey-o, it worked, didn't it?
For sure, my 'employer's' wife had been a doll, but she caught onto me rather quickly when we started our fling. I doubt it was all worth it, just for a night of passion. She knew I was going to off myself again as soon as we were found out, so, of course, I had to tie up loose ends before she ratted on me. Elizabeth had always had a big mouth like that.
This'll make for the five-hundredth time I've done it then. Oh joy, it's an anniversary day. Cheers for this Liz - I hope we won't be seeing each-other anytime soon. I bet you've reincarnated as a whore.
With an exasperated sigh, I lean my head into the barrel of the gun. As much as I'd like to stay like this - pretending to be a bounty hunter - I doubt it'll pay off in the long run. Someone'll find out eventually. Without further hesitation, I pull the trigger.
---
/r/coffeeandwriting
| 2017-07-09T10:04:39 | 2017-07-09T09:43:14 | 387 | 192 |
[WP] Reincarnation is a known, common, and expected result of death. You are a bounty hunter that specializes in tracking down people who have committed suicide to escape debts or a jail sentence. | "*I want you to find Leslie Ingham, Agent Sunday. She shot her children after finding out her husband had an affair. Drug user. She was sentenced to prison for life. Committed suicide three months into her sentence. Still has a lifetime to commit. You have thirty minutes.*"
Agent Sunday heard the end click of the transmission from the chip in her ear. She closed her eyes and bent down on the ground, standing in a wild flower field far out from civilisation. It was where she preferred to spend her free time.
The whispers from the souls in the wind filled her ears, soft voices of confusion, each, far from the peaceful field, being sent to their next fleshy prison. She pressed her left hand deep into the soil and gripped a handful, felt the slither of a worm slide from her fingertips.
The whispers grew louder. It took a moment for Agent Sunday to make her connection with the soul bank.
*Where is the soul of Leslie Ingham?* she asked the silent force. Her fingertips tingled as lines of data flowed freely inside of her, perfect answers leading to one place.
Her chip heated up again in her ear.
"*Agent Sunday, this one is mine,*" came Agent Friday's arrogant voice.
Agent Sunday ended the transmission.
*This one is definitely mine.*
She stood up and dusted her hands, knowing the exact location. She smirked and raised her right arm in the air and made a specific hand sign, ring finger standing straight up.
Agent Sunday blinked and she found herself in a pig farm where countless piglets were crying out from their separation. Across the gateway, Agent Friday appeared with a gun in his hands.
"I said this one's mine, Sunday," he sneered, pointing the gun at a particularly terrified piglet in the middle of the pen.
"No," Agent Sunday licked her lips.
The two were frozen in time, knowing the other was about to make a move.
Then Agent Sunday disintegrated in the air, body formed into tiny particles that wrapped around the tiny piglet. Agent Friday disappeared, knowing that fighting Agent Sunday in a more fielded area was a recipe for failure. No agent was allowed failure.
Agent Sunday reformed herself and grabbed the piglet.
She blinked and stood in a dark room with a single bright white light shining down on the deceased body of Leslie Ingham, broken neck fixed and ready for reinsertation.
The piglet squealed in protest, its eyes focused on the body. Agent Sunday grinned as she broke the piglet's neck.
Leslie Ingham's soul rushed into the air. The room was built to trap souls.
There was only one place to go.
Agent Sunday blinked and she was back in her favourite field.
She touched her ear.
"Mission completed."
~~edits: eliminating typos bc my brain is slow today~~ | I’m a bounty hunter. I’ve been around for about five hundred years to do my job, and sometimes I have to kill myself to acquire a stronger body when the one I’m given isn’t strong enough. You see, ‘round these parts, we don’t have a childhood anymore. Law done got rid of that years. Before I go on, let me ‘pologize for my choppy accent. I was Southern for ‘bout fifty years last time, and I haven't quite shaken the accent yet. I’m almost glad that guy killed me. ‘S too bad I gotta find him again now.
Some crazy scientists figured out how to reincarnate people years ago, testing bodies and what-not; some’n to do with chemicals in the body. I don’t know that stuff, I’m only slightly above average intelligence- things like yer personality stay the same, unless there’s a defect in your reincarnation. ‘Spose you could get it back when you change again. Anyway, these scientists figured it out ‘n started playing with it, wanted to learn more, and people were offering themselves like crazy for research. There was a huge issue with morality, you can imagine. Eventually, they found a way to make it so they come back as an adult- ‘gain, I don’t know how it all works. Just know they didn’t find out what they did ‘till ‘bout a hundred years later ‘cuz the people would reincarnate so far away or not think to tell ‘em, and by then the politics and morals on it all died down and people became all fine with it. Soon enough, everyone done had it done, now the only problem is suicidal people are complaining that they can’t leave, and people get killed for fucking, what with nobody staying dead to keep the population stable.
Now, there are a few problems beyond environment and emotions to deal with. We call ‘em the three E’s, and the third is economy. That’s where I come in. Some sons’ a bitches don’t wanna pay for what they did, and so they kill themselves to get out of sticky situations. Now, the people in charge don’t like that, so they hire people like me to stick around and go off finding these assholes. I’d leave the job if I had any other income to keep to one body and one home. I don’t even have any family anymore, they done reincarnated before the adult thing came along and went and grew up in new families, forgot all ‘bout me. I make some friends ‘long the way, but they all wanna go do stuff with their never ending life and half of ‘em done became anarchists. Don’t gotta work so much when ya don’t have to worry ‘bout dying, but some people still do it because they don’t like the feeling of things like starvation and dying regardless. Hear them scientists trying to do something ‘bout that to, but gov’ments don’t want ‘em changing so much that the people don’t need higher-ups anymore.
So now I’ve gotta find this one guy. I’ve been searching for this fucker for about a hundred years. That’s a long time, considering most of us go and die within twenty years, either to resist becoming old, or because of all of the crazy shit going on now. Don’t wanna go getting involved in it. This guy has been fucking with everyone, he’s wanted everywhere. Can’t kill him ‘cause he just comes back and does it again. Some other guys done jailed him twice, but he found a way to kill himself both times and got away. Gov’ment don’t care because he’s not doing anything that disturbs them anymore- the gov’ment changed a lot so they can benefit from this new world. They don’t care much ‘bout moral laws anymore, more about housing and luxuries now. Not really a gov’ment at all, I’d say. Guess everything’s changed though.
I’m out right now searching for this guy, in Australia. It’s a lot closer to what was Antarctica now, with all those plates or whatever they call it moving. They done made Antarctica a country, the Antarctic Kingdom, ‘cause science done solved the cold too. Anyway, rookie, you done been frozen solid for a long time for that experiment, guess they forgot about all of ‘ya, so you’re gonna have to stick with me for about a hundred years or so. At least until you learn how to live in this new world and how to ‘survive.’ Don’t mean dying, more just living nicely. Say, you look an awful lot similar to all the other reincarnations of that guy we been chasin’... | 2017-07-09T11:16:41 | 2017-07-09T10:45:08 | 79 | 20 |
[WP] In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage. | The line behind Wes was growing as he sifted through pages of words on a computerized booth. Each word was followed by a price tag that reflected its complexity.
"Hurry. You, hurry, please," demanded a man in a custodian gear that stood behind him. "Go. Go." The numerous people in the queue all seemed to nod in agreement.
Wes had no words to reassure them that he was moving as fast as he could, so he remained silent and focused.
The Department of Speech Permission, or DSP, was the government office in charge of selling word licenses to the public. For a citizen to be able to speak or write a word, the citizen must first purchase the right to use that word from this office. The DSP also had the power to set the prices. Depending on simplicity, utility or other unnamed factors, a word's price could be relatively inexpensive. Other words could be so expensive that people often choose to buy a limited number of uses.
A lady in the back, dressed in a white button top, pencil skirt and black pumps yelled out, "Come on! We all have things to do."
Wes couldn't help but notice how flippantly she used so many wide-utility words. She must have bought them all for unlimited use. Despite that, however, Wes knew that she was poor as well. If she were actually wealthy, she would be in the Expedited Service Section of the DSP.
He was right, of course. The woman was one of the many working class that bought into the notion that you have to fake it to make it. She had spent all her savings and put herself into debt in order to keep conversation with upper management. "Just pick one! I have to get to work!" She had gotten so good at bluffing her vocabulary that people rarely notice she only used one-syllable words. Unfortunately, she was unaware her bosses had noticed and mocked her behind closed doors.
Wes motioned to her as well. He had no words for her either.
But not for long. Wes finally found the word for which he had been saving on his lowly salary. A bright warning prompt flashed on screen. "Unlimited?" it asked. Yes. "Are you sure?" it warned one last time. Yes.
Wes basked at his profile on the computer screen. It now read:
> **Wesley Thorne**
Sex: Male
Age: 36
Total Vocabulary: 1
Accessible Words: "Revolution" (unlimited) | I pulled the black mask over my face and took a breath, making sure the holes for my nose weren't going to be an obstruction.
A snap at my left let me know that Jazz was ready too. I turn to face her and run through the plan with my hands. She signs that she's got it.
I prime the manual recharge laser gun and sprint through the parking lot. I see our shadows as we move, made long by the moon-bright LED sign for the building. ZIPFER cast in the shade of electric blue that shoots straight through your eyes and leaves splashes of neon directly on your brain.
He doesn't see us. He's too slow. He's too old. If Robbie had his information right, he's too high too. Too easy.
Jazz takes the lead, aiming and firing on the figure. A hole the size of a softball appears where a knee used to be. The figure falters mid-stride and falls forward. Their leg is a tree the lumberjack didn't quite finished cutting through. The smell of barbecue is in the air. The *Blue* has him too deep in its grip for him to scream.
We're close now. A few quick steps. I see the old man reach for something. A personal force field? A security beacon? Nanite defense framework switch? It doesn't matter. His movements are sluggish and I can't tell if it's the age or the drug. It doesn't matter. I blow his hand off, angling carefully to miss his torso. He opens his mouth wide. I can imagine what it's like to be him. To have to speak so badly and be unable to. Tragic.
The old man holds the nub that used to be his right hand with his left. A look of remote horror crosses his face like he's watching a horror movie. Jazz crouches next to him. I signal to her to stabilize him. I whip out the remote neural interlink from my pack. Jazz takes his pulse and props his head up on her laser gun. I hand her the RNI and she leans close to him, trying to get the spot right behind her left ear as close to the same place on him as possible. The RNI beeps once, then a short burst of 3 beeps. Connection established and currency transferring, as per the program I'd written. No authentication required.
After a few moments, Jazz leans away and hands me the RNI. I take her place. 1 beep. Then 3 short beeps. I linger a moment and then get up. It's done.
Jazz and I look at one another. We've waited for this moment for a long time. The old man's sputtering cough interrupts the moment. I look into his eyes with contempt.
"Richard. That is your name isn't it? Anyway, Richard, you're interrupting a very special moment." I kneel next to him, removing the gun from behind his head.
"Have you ever wanted to say something for months, maybe even years, and been fundamentally unable to do so?" I prime the gun.
"Have you ever forgotten the sound of your own voice because it's been so long since you've been able to speak? I doubt it." I check the sights on the gun and rest my eyes back on him.
"Richard, I want you to know that this wasn't personal. A man has to do what a man has to do is all." I chuckle to myself. "I've always wanted to say that. You know, you read things from books..." I catch myself rambling and take one last look at the trembling old man.
I vaporize an 80-year old skull. I try not to breathe in the stink of a life of unearned wealth. I turn back to Jazz.
"Where were we?"
"Here." She says.
Jasmine kneels in front of me and removes a small dark band from her pouch.
"Will you marry me?"
This is why we're here. I knew it when I got up today. I knew it when I put the mask on. I'm still not ready for this moment.
"Yes, a million times yes." I say. Tears flood my eyes.
"We can certainly afford it now." | 2017-09-20T09:17:27 | 2017-09-20T08:46:17 | 4,390 | 64 |
[WP] Four people are dancing in sync with each other. It's beautiful, and haunting, and totally impossible. You are watching traffic cams from Dubai, Italy, South Africa, and Peru. | "Johnson, take a look at this."
"What is it, Smith?"
"Look at these four. Across the world from each other, but all in sync. How is that possible?"
"This again? Look at their moves, Smith. Mostly your standard club stuff, but with subtle Spanish touches. It's just Despacito. Fucking song's everywhere."
"Oh." | Swiftly and gracefully her left leg stretches behind her as she dips forward; her arms bend forward slowly and surely as fingertips join as if in a prayer. The red dress flutters around her knees. I watch stunned from the inside of my air-conditioned car as the slender figure continues to twist and turn. Her face is expressionless.
I am unable to move my eyes away from her. I inch forward in the driver's seat, my arms hugging the steering wheel tighter. The usually hectic traffic of Dubai has paused at the four-way intersection, commanded by the moves of the hypnotizing woman.
It is only when people start to leave their cars and gather at the front to watch, I am aware of how long I have been in the car. I leave the comfort of my air-conditioned car and step out into the choking humidity.
"Oh my god, there is another one in Italy." I hear a man's voice declare.
I snap my head around, "What?"
Look," and the suited man thrusts his phone towards me. Sure enough, in the cobbled streets of Rome, was a woman, strikingly similar to the one merely steps away from me, dancing.
I watched fascinated. Was this some kind of a flash mob?
Wait, their moves... they.. Wow, they were unbelievably in sync.
......
Carene sits in her office, four computer screens displayed on the wall of her living room. She is sitting cross-legged on her ivory white sofa. She watches the four women dance in unison. They dipped together, not a second faster, nor a second slower. When one raised her head, so did the other. Their bodies moved precisely, as if holographic images had been projected in their stead.
Carene glances down at her mechanical legs but only for a second. The women are her main focus. After years of training, starting from when they were four years old, the glorious day was here. This breathtaking performance. Ses Danseuses.
Edits: words, sentences,
I could have gone further, but my brain is dead! :) Thanks for the awesome prompt OP. I haven't written in a while and this got my fingers moving. Hopefully, I can keep it up!
| 2017-10-06T20:57:46 | 2017-10-06T17:47:35 | 249 | 26 |
[WP] You wake up back in the year you start your freshman year of high school. Your body is your freshman body, but your mind recalls everything up until January 13, 2018. | Sam spent the months up to the first day of ninth grade in 2007 planning out everything he was going to do right this time.
He called a reporter and told them the 2008 presidential election would come down to Barack Obama and Joe Biden against John McCain and Sarah Palin, and that Obama would win. He said that the first sample of knowledge was free, but he would need $5000 dollars for the next one. The journalist hung up on him. Well, he’d call back in a few months and see if they changed their mind.
He wrote down everything he could remember about the people who’d been in his ninth grade class, helped by his childhood bedroom bringing back old memories.
This time he wouldn’t date his best friend who turned out to be a lesbian. He would date the girl who later confessed to him she had totally had a crush on him in high school.
The first time around, he hadn’t been a loser or a social recluse. He had been a class clown that never knew where the line was when it came to jokes, and he hadn’t been confident enough to pursue lasting friendships with the people who did like him. It always felt like they were pretending. Being confident alone would make things go much differently this time.
One other thing Sam did was get a summer job and work until he made enough money that his parents would pay for the other half of a laptop. Being without the internet and his phone felt like missing a limb. After getting it, he rickrolled a few people, just for nostalgia’s sake.
When it was finally time for the first day of school, he got on the bus and all of his plans were derailed immediately.
There was a girl he had forgotten about. She didn’t make it to the high school reunion, and she wasn’t in his notes.
He sat down next to her on the bus. She smiled at him.
“Hey.”
“Hey Lisa. Don’t do heroin.”
______________________________________________________
13/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.
| Tanya opened her eyes to darkness, a harsh sound she hadn't heard in years breaking the predawn silence into a staccato pulse which launched her out of bed. She stumbled across the room, her mind spinning, and she fumbled with the hello kitty clock which assaulted her ears. Once again in silence, confusion blossomed through her, twisting heavily with unease.
A head poked in through the door, and light spilled through the crack, illuminating her childhood bed.
"Oh good, you're up. Ten minutes," her father said, before leaving. He didn't close the door behind him. Tanya rushed to shut out the light, her thoughts a jumbled mess as she tripped over something and slammed into the weak wood.
"Oh my god, oh my god," Tanya murmured to herself over and over. Her voice sounded different; a higher pitch than she was used to. Her hand slapped aimlessly at the wall a few times before she hit the switch, and suddenly she was staring at a much younger version of herself in a mirror she had lost a long time ago.
"No." The word was quiet, a mix between outright denial and a pleading whine. "This can't be real, oh god no."
A scenario that had been proposed hundreds of times, something that she'd always wondered about and never wanted, was playing out right in front of her. As Tanya reached out to touch her mirrored self, a sharp sting prevented her from fully extending her arm. With a shaky hand, she pulled back the sleeve of a dreadfully familiar sweatshirt, and saw thin, pink lines stretching across her forearm.
Tanya's unease dropped heavily into dread, and she had difficulty swallowing as she lightly traced the marks of a struggle she thought she'd left behind years ago. This had to be her freshman year of high school - there was no doubt about it; before she'd seen a psychiatrist, before she'd been put on the meds that would guide her to the future she'd been living out for several years now.
A heavy knock on the bedroom door scattered her thoughts. "Are you almost ready? I have to get to work, so i need to drop you off at the bus stop today, alright? I can't take you all the way to school."
"Y-yeah, one sec," Tanya called, her voice stronger than she'd expected.
"Okay, I'll be in the car," her father said. Tanya waited until his heavy footsteps faded down the hallway before sinking to the floor. Her eyes remained dry, but the panic inside her threatened release anyway.
She'd always laughed at that silly hypothetical, "if you could go back to highschool with the knowledge you have now, would you?" It was easy enough to deflect - no one was surprised to hear that another would rather not suffer through those ridiculous classes once again. But Tanya had always been concerned about something else. Even with all of her future knowledge, she'd still be at the mercy of her brain chemistry.
What if knowing that she was bipolar wouldn't be enough to curb her impulses? What if, by avoiding the dangerous things she'd done in her freshman year, she avoided ever being diagnosed? What if she wouldn't be able to stop herself, even knowing what would come of her emotional distance, her stealing, her belief in her invincibility? What if she'd become trapped in her mind once again?
Tanya had always been fine with not knowing what would happen if she got stuck in what so far had been the worst year of her life. But, with no idea how she'd travelled back in time, she couldn't dismiss the situation as easily as a hypothetical. And, as the stress eating at her began to call forth an urge that she'd long since repressed, it seemed like her worst fears were going to be realized. | 2018-01-13T20:18:14 | 2018-01-13T16:04:01 | 135 | 47 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | "Oh dear" I said to myself, looking at this tar coming from my finger.
"Ha! Well, proves that no human is exempt from sin."
I thought about what could have blackened my own blood, I don't remember anything that I could have caused, or done wrong.
"Oh" I remembered.
I went on far too many websites without my parent's permission. | It was my 21st birthday. Like every other birthday, I decided to spend my day helping out the homeless. Usually I’d do the soup kitchen but a friend of mine decided to come along insisting that we join in on the beanie knitting project.
My friend called me a natural at knitting since it was my first time and my first beanie looked immaculate. After the second one we began to turn the good deed into a competition. Who can produce the most beanies?
Lucy said she had been knitting since she was a young girl. Compared to my beanies, hers were better looking but I could produce faster. After a while we were both on our tenth beanie. She caught up after having three less then me. This prompted me to ramp up my production. There’s no way I would lose to Lucy.
I shifted my eyes from my work to Lucy continuously, making sure that I outpaced her. As my eyes swayed from my hands to her, I accidentally jabbed myself with the needle. The needle was embedded deeply into my middle finger causing a wound of considerable size to open as I pulled it out without caution.
“God damn”
A devilish grin was on her face as Lucy gazed upon my wounded finger. There was jet black material slowly escaping from the wound. The dark material was my blood. Everyone knows that blood is naturally clear but darkens with each impure act. I was raised by the church and couldn’t remember partaking in any acts that would cause such a thing. I was the last person that anyone would expect to be impure.
“Finally”, Lucy yelled as she stood up. I was flabbergasted and couldn’t understand what was going on with her or the state of my blood.
“My child, this is your true nature.”
The voice that was coming from Lucy didn’t sound like the friend I had known for years.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s simple” she said. Her appearance began to change. A handsome man stood before me. “The church stole your memories and replaced them with shit that never happened. What you think you know and believe to be your life is a lie.”
“Who are you?”
“You May know me as Lucy, but my name is Lucifer”, he said with a smile. “But you can call me dad.”
| 2018-08-04T10:38:53 | 2018-08-04T10:32:26 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | “Does everyone get to choose?”
The watchman’s heart was breaking looking at the tiny child, covered in scars. They shouldn’t *be* scarred like that, not here, whatever acts caused them must have been truly despicable.
“Everyone gets to choose, and none for an age have chosen that door.”
The child stops their shuffling towards the darker doorway.
“Can you change your mind? Go from one to another?”
“No, are you sure you want to do this child?”
“Can’t be worse than before, they would never follow me here.”
As the child strode with purpose through the darkened gate, the Watchman smiled a bittersweet smile ‘no one was supposed to pass like that.’
| I made a mistake in my life.
People called me good, history will be kind to me, I think. Much of it is undeserved, much of it is foolhardy faith from people who do not understand the ramifications of what I did.
I was a healer, a doctor of the Order of Asclepius. My hands worked as my brushes, the human body my canvas. My art was medicine, and I wielded my art in ways nobody else could. I was admired by so many within my trade.
I could afford to go out at night and eat at fancy restaurants, serenade under the starry sky while listening to live bands. My lifestyle I feel was extravagant, though not to the point of becoming self-destructive. I donated to charities and relief organizations, I gave blood, and I know that the organs that upheld my life and my work now are on their way to become embedded in others, to help them. I saved hundreds with my own hands, repaired and patched up the bleeding and the broken.
My mistake was grave, and perhaps I do not deserve Hell. Even the angels, placid smiles on their faces and clad in radiant white robes, thought that I was being unnecessarily harsh on myself, that I surely deserved Heaven with my good deeds. But I know myself best, and I can never forgive myself for what I did.
Perhaps I was doomed from the start.
Perhaps I never had a chance at Heaven, for either I would have been rejected by God, or I would never have forgiven myself. When it came down to the scalpel and rubbing alcohol, I chose the latter.
I was 34, when I made the mistake.
Working at a hospital at wartime, I attended to a young man with life-threatening injuries. I dressed his wounds, attended to his cuts and bruises. I removed the bullet fragments that surely would have killed him had I not intervened. I learned his name, Leonidas Kravat, a soldier on the front lines.
When he left, his tags remained with me. He told me it was a memento of the gift I gave to him, the gift of life.
Ten years later, the TV was on. A genocide had been initiated by a foreign country after a damaging coup.
The media flashed pictures of warfare and bombardment, in an old territory of the same war-torn country I had once worked in.
My heart sank, a chill ran down my spine when I read the name of the coup-leader, the initiator of this budding genocide.
Leonidas Kravat.
I knew then I couldn’t forgive myself. | 2018-08-13T08:39:02 | 2018-08-13T06:04:10 | 633 | 179 |
[WP]Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to "liberate" Earth only to find that they have won and prospered. | 'Well, it wasn't water that did it, but good, old fashioned lead. Turns out when you come from a planet without the necessary components for gunpowder, thus forcing you to create electrical weapons which coincidentally don't work quite as well in wetter Earth conditions, you don't develop defenses against bullets. Weird how technological evolution works.
Of course, you couldn't have known that when you pulled your reverse Australia. Left the poor, the tired, the huddled masses, and leapt up into space. Generation ships.
Modern Titanics.
See, you might not have lost everyone out there, but you lost everything.
Because we won.
And you ran.
They didn't want to destroy the planet, they wanted the resources, and they were committed to the fight, but their recon had to be off. Their weapons miss fired, for the most part. They came from a much dryer planet, and Earth's humidity caused them to mis-fire and explode.
Early on, they made massive gains in desert regions. Las Vegas lay in ruins. North Africa and the Middle East fell. Tundra too, anywhere dry. It wasn't enough.
They learned though, started fighting with our weapons, but we've been doing it a hell of a lot longer. Northern Mexico looked like dusty Verdun by the end of 2028, but they never even made it as far as Cortez had.
It took a decade, but we forced them back to their dropzones. Even took some of their transport ships, started to land troops on their ships in orbit. From that point, it was all over but the dying.
Which brings us here, to this moment. You return, flaming sword in hand, eager to defeat your grandfathers' unconquerable enemy. Sons of senators, daughters of queens. Your parents were the best and brightest of their time, literati, rich and powerful.
My grandfather was a car theif, and my dad a mechanic. I lead an assault on an alien ship to defeat the enemy your ancestors scrambled to the stars for.
So who the fuck are you?'
- Cpt. G. Price, UN Space Defense, in response to initial messages from 'Operation' OVERLORD, the 'mission to retake Earth'. | Well, that was the last one.
With these magic words, I put a bullet in the head of the last alien that tried to enslave us.
That was 50 years ago, we were abandoned, but we did not forget. The planet we're on right now was a place I once called home.
But now I call it my kingdom.
I remember the day news spread worldwide. The aliens were coming, and we had to evacuate ASAP.
Thiscantbereal.png
Honestly a life of Pokemon, Redhot Cheetos and Mountain Dew never really prepared me for a mass Alien invasion.
And the worst part is, the people I called family left me for dead. Makes sense, I was always the black sheep of the family.
My mother remarried after my Dad passed away on a boating accident (RIP Papa). I wasn't ever particularly close with my mother, she more saw me as a waste of space.
Now I was part of a family that wanted nothing to do with me but had to out of out of obligation. Well, when the Aliens came, that chore went right out the window.
My step sister was super smart, straight A's, popular with the boys...pretty much the model of any teenager about to go into high school.
Me? I flunked out of college faster than even my family expected. I just worked barely enough to fuel my video game, weed and snacking habits.
Well, the day came for the draw of who gets to leave to and who gets to become fodder for the aliens.
The qualifications were quite simple; they were based on how much you earned (or how good your grades were), your contribution did you have to society or how good were at what you do.
Too bad catching a shiny Metapod on Pokemon didn't count. Guess who scored zero across the board?
I sat there in the basement bawling my eyes out drowning my pain in liquor and weed. I didn't want to move, just let this shit be over with.
I think a part of me still believed that they wouldn't leave me behind, but reality started setting in. I stayed like that for a week straight.
The second I walked outside my house, it was utter fucking chaos. Houses being plundered, stores on fire and dead bodies everywhere. Hell, I think we'd get each other before the Aliens do.
And then I saw something. I immediately fell to my knees and started sobbing. This shit hit me harder than anything ever did, this was the last thing I wanted to see.
There was this man that used to visit me every day while I worked at the convenience store. He always picked up a pack of smokes, and we chatted about life. Even though I had nothing going for me, he'd always cheer me up and give me great advice.
I never admitted it, but that was the best part of that dead end job. It always brought a smile to my face and made me feel good. Made me feel like I mattered.
And now I see him........dead on the street. Some punks must've wanted to rob what little he had left. Screw this; I'm not taking this shit lying down.
Now I wanted to fight. But how do I start? I'm lazy, stupid and have no idea how to defend myself. Well fuck it, the first thing I could do is get in shape.
You know the best part about the mass apocalypse? No one's keeping you from hitting up a Gym. I Googled and found the nearest one. The second I walked in I was in awe.
There were maybe more than 100 people lifting weights and training in what I could imagine was martial arts. There was this bearded guy in the front with a physique I only thought existed in Dragon Ball Z.
He walked up to me with a menacing look and asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted to fight.
He smiled, looked me dead in the eyes and said that he might kill me. I never would've thought the hundred in this Gym would be my brothers and sisters in arms.
This marked the birth of the rebellion, and where I stood my Goddamn ground. | 2018-09-29T05:21:50 | 2018-09-29T04:12:14 | 656 | 186 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍 | “You’re fired.”
The words burned my ears as they turned red with embarrassment. Of course I didn’t need this job, but it really hits you right in the pride to be fired from a stupid office position. And for something as trivial as “taking too much time for lunch”, which I only did because some asshole caused a pile up right down the street last Tuesday. It was on the news and everything, but Jim, my boss, still blamed me. Apparently I should have just left my car in traffic and walked back to the office or something.
I think he’s had it out for me since the beginning. That sleazeball tried to put the moves on me my first day, but I just ignored him without trying to be overly rude. After he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, he had been trying to find an excuse to get me out of here. The whole office was filled with women and spineless men and he wasn’t a fan of people who didn’t kiss his ass. I mostly just kept the job because it was easy.
What Jim doesn’t doesn’t know is I’ve had it out for him too. As I packed up my stuff from my desk, my phone buzzed. It was Emilio, my PI on retainer. He watched my back for the people who wanted to steal my money. Nobody knew -I- had it, but they did know about Marceline Jovovich. That’s the name I use when I wanted to purchase anything that might arouse suspicion of nice, mousy Jane McFarlin. That’s not my real name either, but it’s what everyone here knows me as. Marceline was also the face that made me the money I have today. It’s not exactly legal, what I do, but it sure it fun.
Emilio’s text read, “I found something you might want to see.” Underneath was a picture of a first draft of a news article. It wasn’t in a newspaper, just on the design layout. It read:
LOCAL MAN ACCUSED OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT ON MULTIPLE EMPLOYEES FOUND GUILTY, FINED $5000
I chuckled to myself. Bingo. We had been trying to find dirt on Jim for a while now and this seems like it was buried pretty deep. No doubt he paid more to get it covered up so his business didn’t go down the drain. I never saw it on the local news, so I guess it didn’t get any further than this draft. I don’t think Jim is the violent type, but I do wonder what happened to the person who was writing this article.
I finished packing up my stuff and walked down to my car, giving Jim the nastiest glare I could muster on the way out. The rest of my coworkers were giving me pity looks, but I just smiled and got out of there as fast as possible. When I got to my busted up VW bug, I put the box in the front seat and texted Emilio back.
“Send it.”
When I woke up the next morning, I turned on the TV to find Jim’s face plastered all over the news. Emilio had even located his victims and convinced them to talk. We could pay them more than Jim ever could. As I watched the news unfold, I decided that maybe this would be as good a time as any to take a vacation.
Karma is delicious.
| People think they know what real power means. They think that because their parents gave them some high ranking job in a bank or a government office that they can just go around pushing over everybody. That’s where I come in. I like to think of myself as something of a modern age Robin Hood. Only if Robin Hood was a billionaire man in the world and used connections rather than a wooden bow.
You’re probably thinking “who the hell is this dude” or “you probably just inherited your money from your family so why the hell are you crapping on other people”. Well in that case I think a little backstory is in order. I’m the world’s youngest self made billionaire. I wasn’t a poor person beforehand, I had been born into a relatively well off family. Never had to think about food or clothes, but we weren’t exactly rich either. We were what you would call middle class. During college, I met some entrepreneurs. They came from rich families and had god connections. I proposed to them a business idea of an online book store called amazon. However mid way through I decided to take my share of the money and leave the company. I had never appeared in any media coverage so no one really knew me, but Jeff and George were good guys so I let them get some recognition. That was when I was 20. Fast forward ten years and some good investments later, my money has increased by more than ten fold. More importantly though, I now have shares in some of the most powerful companies on the planet.
When I turned 35, I found life to be extremely mundane. You would think a billionaire’s life would be interesting, but none of it is real. You’re surrounded by fake friends, unhealthy habits, and always worrying about your public image. That’s when I decided to move to Scotland. No one knew me there, but I decided to change my name anyways. I wanted to go back to the life I had in my childhood. I liked the simplicity of it all. I rented a small apartment in the city and applied for an entry level marketing job. I decided to leave out all my accomplishments from the resume and leave only my bachelor’s degree. It wasn’t easy explaining what I’ve been doing all those years though. Anyways. I got a job that wasn’t so bad and made some true friends. We went to together to the bar each night and all in all it was a good time until ...
It was a chilly Friday morning, I didn’t have time to make make breakfast so I just drank some coffee and left for work. I had a feeling this wasn’t a good day and the old man who tried to tackle me on the underground wasn’t a good omen either. I reached work and sure enough a note was waiting for me on the desk. I entered my boss’s office.
“You wanted to see me sir?”
“Yeah ... ummm ... sit down mark” his tone wasn’t settling “look, I gotta be honest. You’re terrible. You won’t have a career in this and by this rate I doubt you’re going to have a career any where. If I were you, I would just go work as a waiter or something and try to enjoy the rest of your lives”.
“But sir, I’m the best employee here.” It was true, so far my ideas have been the ones used the most in the final projects. I was a natural at this, after all I did do it before hand and that turned out pretty well.
I put on a pretty good case for myself, but still all I got was “you’re terrible”.
I left that room with only one thing on my mind: that son of a bitch is going down. The owners of the company I’ve been working at were actually friends of mine, so I called them to inquire about my manager. Said I wanted him in my new enterprise and wondered how good he was. They were really surprised when I called about him, but after some nudging they told me he wasn’t bad, but for some reason his team never completed a full year with him. But they gave it to him, he was a man of results, so they never questions his methods. I had a hunch of what was going on, but I had to make sure.
“Did he ever promote anyone?”
“Only once, but the guy wasn’t that good”
That made me certain. My third question really caught them off guard however.
“Do you have any job openings? I had always wanted to rejoin the game, but never had the chance, and I have actually just moved to Scotland as well”
“We’ll make you an opening”
That’s the story of how I had taken over his job as regional manager. Nobody understood what happened, but all they knew was that he had to leave the country and I was promoted, none of which was lies. I also had good connections in parliament. That was my second move. I hired some people to hack his computer, and the guy became a pedophile. Not only that, but conveniently the laws had just witnessed a surprise change that made pedophilia punishable with the same jail time as murder.
And that’s how one life destroying bastard had his life destroyed
| 2019-03-04T09:05:16 | 2019-03-04T08:37:41 | 133 | 21 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍 | I woke up this morning the way I usually do. Sprawled out on my pullout couch in my studio apartment to my alarm clock - coffee maker setting up a fresh brew. I crawled out of my bed, poured myself a bowl of Frute Chutes and started drinking my coffee. Afterwards, I went through the usual morning hygiene process, pulled on my slacks, white button up, wacky tie, and my black loafers and began my trek to work. Being incredibly rich and not blowing my money on luxuries is difficult, but I find it rather humbling. The money I make working for The Corporation I immediately give to charity. I don't need it. The money I had after my parents passed immediately went into a savings account and blew up to an exuberant amount a few years later. I couldn't access it until I was eighteen, but I never really needed it. My parents made sure of that. The only reason I work for The Corporation is to hide how much I really have. I'll continue letting the world think that the richest person is Bill Gates, or whoever it is. For now, I'll maintain my simple life.
When I arrive to work, I immediately get an email from my boss the moment I punch in. He wants to see me in his office. Probably to offer me that promotion again. I keep telling him I don't want it. As I walk down the hall to his office, I notice my coworkers give me dodgy looks. Clearly, something's wrong.
"You wanted to see me sir?" I ask.
"Yes, sit down. We need to talk about your performance as of late." Mr. Baus says.
"Sir, if it's about the promotion, I haven't change my mind. I still don't want it."
"You have one thing right, it is about the promotion. But I'm no longer offering it to you. Because of your lack of interest in moving up, I've decided you need to move out. Your fired. I always thought you were an excellent worker, but clearly you don't care about this company or your position in it. Please, gather your things and get out. If you're not gone within the hour, I'll call security."
I sat, shocked, stunned, befuddled. I did so much for The Corporation. I'm getting fired for not wanting to move up the ladder? I'll show him. He'll regret the day he crossed me.
I stormed out of the office, grabbed my things from my cubicle, and immediately left the building. I decided to walk home instead of calling a Ryde to pick me up. Gave me time to plan my revenge. Mr. Baus has no clue the amount of money I have and the expenses I'm willing to pay to make his life a living hell. I'll start by getting a PI to learn everything about him. Non-lethal allergies, the worst pet peeves, etc. I will constantly cause him stress and minor pain. He'll never know it was me. Everything that happens will seem like a minor inconvenience, but all together it will be the perfect revenge. I think, while I research a good PI, I'm going to let out all the air from Baus's tires. Not slash them, no, then he'd just get them replaced. I want him to put forth the effort of refilling his tires himself. Let the revenge plan begin... | People think they know what real power means. They think that because their parents gave them some high ranking job in a bank or a government office that they can just go around pushing over everybody. That’s where I come in. I like to think of myself as something of a modern age Robin Hood. Only if Robin Hood was a billionaire man in the world and used connections rather than a wooden bow.
You’re probably thinking “who the hell is this dude” or “you probably just inherited your money from your family so why the hell are you crapping on other people”. Well in that case I think a little backstory is in order. I’m the world’s youngest self made billionaire. I wasn’t a poor person beforehand, I had been born into a relatively well off family. Never had to think about food or clothes, but we weren’t exactly rich either. We were what you would call middle class. During college, I met some entrepreneurs. They came from rich families and had god connections. I proposed to them a business idea of an online book store called amazon. However mid way through I decided to take my share of the money and leave the company. I had never appeared in any media coverage so no one really knew me, but Jeff and George were good guys so I let them get some recognition. That was when I was 20. Fast forward ten years and some good investments later, my money has increased by more than ten fold. More importantly though, I now have shares in some of the most powerful companies on the planet.
When I turned 35, I found life to be extremely mundane. You would think a billionaire’s life would be interesting, but none of it is real. You’re surrounded by fake friends, unhealthy habits, and always worrying about your public image. That’s when I decided to move to Scotland. No one knew me there, but I decided to change my name anyways. I wanted to go back to the life I had in my childhood. I liked the simplicity of it all. I rented a small apartment in the city and applied for an entry level marketing job. I decided to leave out all my accomplishments from the resume and leave only my bachelor’s degree. It wasn’t easy explaining what I’ve been doing all those years though. Anyways. I got a job that wasn’t so bad and made some true friends. We went to together to the bar each night and all in all it was a good time until ...
It was a chilly Friday morning, I didn’t have time to make make breakfast so I just drank some coffee and left for work. I had a feeling this wasn’t a good day and the old man who tried to tackle me on the underground wasn’t a good omen either. I reached work and sure enough a note was waiting for me on the desk. I entered my boss’s office.
“You wanted to see me sir?”
“Yeah ... ummm ... sit down mark” his tone wasn’t settling “look, I gotta be honest. You’re terrible. You won’t have a career in this and by this rate I doubt you’re going to have a career any where. If I were you, I would just go work as a waiter or something and try to enjoy the rest of your lives”.
“But sir, I’m the best employee here.” It was true, so far my ideas have been the ones used the most in the final projects. I was a natural at this, after all I did do it before hand and that turned out pretty well.
I put on a pretty good case for myself, but still all I got was “you’re terrible”.
I left that room with only one thing on my mind: that son of a bitch is going down. The owners of the company I’ve been working at were actually friends of mine, so I called them to inquire about my manager. Said I wanted him in my new enterprise and wondered how good he was. They were really surprised when I called about him, but after some nudging they told me he wasn’t bad, but for some reason his team never completed a full year with him. But they gave it to him, he was a man of results, so they never questions his methods. I had a hunch of what was going on, but I had to make sure.
“Did he ever promote anyone?”
“Only once, but the guy wasn’t that good”
That made me certain. My third question really caught them off guard however.
“Do you have any job openings? I had always wanted to rejoin the game, but never had the chance, and I have actually just moved to Scotland as well”
“We’ll make you an opening”
That’s the story of how I had taken over his job as regional manager. Nobody understood what happened, but all they knew was that he had to leave the country and I was promoted, none of which was lies. I also had good connections in parliament. That was my second move. I hired some people to hack his computer, and the guy became a pedophile. Not only that, but conveniently the laws had just witnessed a surprise change that made pedophilia punishable with the same jail time as murder.
And that’s how one life destroying bastard had his life destroyed
| 2019-03-04T08:40:03 | 2019-03-04T08:37:41 | 48 | 21 |
[WP] Human products were laughed at for most of history, after all the Elves could imbue items with the raw magic of the woods, Dwarves were unrivalled masters at metalwork and even the Orcs had mastered durability and practicality. Then a little concept called the assembly line changed everything. | Once there was a man who made weapons. He was known all over the world for making the very best weapons that could be made.
But not everyone believed this. Other smiths believed him and his weapons to be a joke, for he could never make weapons as well as they could. Despite their protests however, the man's reputation endured.
So the other smiths offered a challenge. Each smith will make their best creation. A weapon that pushes the very limits of their skill. In one year the smiths will come together and test them to their fullest. The one weapon that outperforms the others will be the winner, and it's smith will from that point on be known as the very best.
Each smith agreed eagerly, for they all believed they were the best.
The Dwarf Craftmaster spent months digging to the deepest depths for the purest ores of metal that existed. He then spent some months more at the forge, folding and cutting the metal over and over, to work out what little impurities remained. Once ready he fashioned from the metal an axe of impressive strength and exquisite design.
The Elven Bladesmith begged her masters to use a sacred root from the Mother Tree. The magic contained within it's fibres would produce a blade that is as light and as fast as the wind. By hand she wound the fibres and set the blade edge. She made sure to recite her prayers at every moment so that none of the magic's potency would be lost.
Unlike the other smiths, the Orc Blackhand already had his weapon of choice. Orcs made things to last, and there were stories of a legendary hammer. Made by his forefathers using techniques lost to time, it had the strength to beat down castle gates with a single blow. He searched the lands of Orckind endlessly until he found it.
The man did something different. No one knew what he did, but it was not the best metal. It was not magic, and it was not a thing of legend.
The year ended. And as agreed all the smiths bought their creations with them to the meeting place.
Every smith unveiled their creation. And it was now that we see what the very best weapon actually looks like.
It was a spear.
The tip was not that sharp. The wood was not that strong. The other smiths laughed, how could such a basic tool be the best weapon?
The man smiled. With his spear he pointed to the horizon. The smiths looked, and stepped back in awe.
There were hundreds, thousands of them. Prickling the sky like a bed of needles.
You are right, the man said. This weapon is not as strong as a Dwarven Axe, not as sharp as an Elven blade, and does not have the legend of the Orc hammer.
But what it is, is cheap. Easy to make. Easy to make many times over. In the time it took you to make those single weapons I outfitted an army.
And my army is the far superior weapon. This I can prove. Right now.
With a signal the army advanced. The battle was brief and bloody, and the smiths soon learned with their lives that their weapons were not the greatest weapons in the world. | Chancellor Gurbidiod didn't like being woken up. She didnt like that her servants would disrespect her so, for no news was important enough to deny the leader of the republic the opportunity to adorn herself with her gems and trinkets. She took some time, although less than normal due to the urgency. She even neglected her tusk ornaments, although they reasonably took just a few minutes to fasten. When the Chancellor emerged from her chambers, a much smaller percentage of her massive body glittered under the moonlight of the periscope lamps.
"What, what is it? Are the homos here?"
At her question, her advisor Zenderlap raised two fingers to her and said, "Uh, actually, it's Sapiens. They don't like that word. Plus, they're the only remaining species of that genus."
The Chancellor recalled their argument regarding Sapiens' backwards attitudes towards sex, and decided she'd rather avoid another argument. Zenderlap had imported Dwarven weapons, and she couldn't risk a blood election right now. Instead, she finally turned her attention to the Elven messenger kneeling before her. No- they wasnt kneeling; they was missing two feet and one shin. They was too injured, tired, and apparently traumatized to even begin healing, and she admittedly felt a little silly for worrying about her jewelry while an elf came to her less than whole.
They addressed her, introducing themselves as Iliat, and began to relay information in that long-winded way elves do. Carried by Zenderlap's acolyte, they followed her to the dining hall, describing how they was too young to remember the time before Sapiens, but old enough to have seen their change. Chancellor Gurbidiod chewed, taking in their barely silvered temples. After some time, as the Chancellor picked her teeth, the elf finally said something of interest- they had been assigned to the mine construct, and spent some centuries there helping prepare the Dwarves for the impending invasion.
She interrupted with a flurry of questions.
"Is it true the diamonds are made from their feces? Do the children have beards? Are the women really the rowdy ones?"
As Iliat politely answered, she was glad her tusk ornaments were made of opal. She had met enough female Dwarves to see for herself that they were the more independent gender, but was surprised to learn that her experience was indeed indicative of a larger societal phenomenon. If they made the males dig, and most children were male, it stood to reason that the females had more free time to get into trouble than the races in which females reared the young. Chancellor Gurbidiod much preferred the Orkish system of slave nannies but-
She had missed the last thing the elf said, and they were now staring at her, waiting for an answer.
"What?" she asked.
"Are you aware it has been three Sapiens generations since your last contact with the mines?" they repeated.
She was not aware. There was public worry about the threat of humans, but she was confident that they were a passing fad, like Pixie horns. Extinction would put a quick end to the ugly presence.
As her jewelry began to change to a sunlit hue, so too did her temper grow more fiery.
"Just get on with it! Just because I am long lived does not mean I would prefer for you to waste my time!"
Iliat flashed a small disappointed look to her, but picked up the pace of their story. They referred to the defeat of the elvish wood forces, attributed not only to the Sapiens' use of countless chopping instruments, but their use of the resulting wood splinters to manufacture even more chopping instruments. The Dwarves were apparently just defeated as well, although the humans had utilized aqeuducts to wear down the Dwarven enforcements. Now that the Chancellor ventured to look closer, she could see the small chunks of rusted slag that had embedded into Iliat's exposed tibia shards.
She laughed. She knew it could be offensive, but an elf would never retaliate.
"Look, I'm sorry you lost your family and your new Dwarven friends, but the Sapiens will be long dead before I can lose a fight! And you will have just one foot by the time they are dust!"
Chancellor Gurbidiod was not anticipating that such a frightening tale would be the next to be uttered by Iliat.
"The Sapiens...captured me," they squeaked "and released me with this message to bring to you- We are everywhere. While you and your ilk wandered we made our homes, and our children and theirs will defend those homes and build more- but you, when you are finally old, will your children do the same? We think not, for we are the children of the ones who outlasted dragons, and we will outlast you too."
Edit: typos | 2019-05-17T11:42:47 | 2019-05-17T10:36:43 | 58 | 23 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt. | When you die, it as if you are waking from a beautiful, restful sleep. The light is gentle, the shadows are long and there is an easy silence hanging in the air. Many stretch, like they did on those lazy Sunday mornings – reaching out to feel the pulling of muscle, the breath filling their lungs – signs that they exist at least one day more.
When you die you have no arms to stretch, no lungs to fill. As you reach out you can feel as if you could go on forever – always grasping for something just beyond your reach. With no eyes do you peer into the endless void – shadows of black and grey shimmer and swirl. There is no point of light on which to focus, no single shape or form to rest your mind.
When you die, I am the one to fill that void. I am the outstretched hand that finds yours – grasping, clawing – searching for anything, *anyone*. I am the form that breaks the chaos. Some see me a savior – golden robes, crown of thorns. Others see me a hooded sentinel, my bony hand beckoning.
When you die, I bring peace – not to those who are left behind, suffering, dejected and forlorn. No, I bring peace to those that cross the demarcation line between order and eternity. None are left searching, endlessly – for a scrap of humanity of which to cling.
When *you* die, I shall be the path you travel – bringing you out of the fog. Call to me, the lighthouse upon the cliffs, and I shall guide you forth. Lost minds and heavy hearts find respite – a mother’s embrace to the crying babe. | "Are you ready?"
I had always expected the physical representation of Death to be carrying a big scythe around in black robes, or to be a devil of some sorts, or some sort gauntish figure. And yet, the entity standing in front of me calimng to be the reaper was wearing khaki pants and a blue polo.
"I'm sorry?" I said, the scene around me not yet hadn't settled in. I could see myself still in my Fiesta, just barely trading paint with a 18 wheeler that had seemingly come out of control and gone over the highway barrier.
"I'm asking if you're ready to move on." he asked, gently smiling back at me.
"No! Of course not! Can't you put me back in my body?" I could feel the adrenaline rushing though my... well, soul, I suppose. His smile faded for just a split-second, and was replaced by a subtle pained expression, as if he were recalling some hurtful memory.
"I'm afraid not..." The smile was back, and I felt myself relaxing somewhat despite my bulging frustration. "I can't change what happened."
"But I look just fine!" I pointed at my stunned self back in my car, mouth agasp and nails haphazardly digging into the steering wheel. Apart from a dumb facial expression and a ruined manicure, I looked pretty well alive. "How can I be dead?"
"I stopped it so you wouldn't have to see what comes after. There's nothing more I can do. I am very sorry..." He calmly closed the distance between us and held me, as if knowing that in the next few seconds my knees would buckle from under me and the realization would finally hit.
I don't know how long I lay there on the ground, just a few feet away from my soon to be wrecked car, death's surprisingly warm hand on my shoulder, telling me that it was going to be ok.
"I never know how much it helps," he said "but I know what you're going through, and I promise it does get better."
"How could you ever know how it feels like to die?" I asked , still sobbing.
The pain from before showed again on his face, and it disappeared just as suddenly, as if by training, and the realization hit me.
"You're just like me, aren't you?" I asked, "You're human."
"Well, I guess 'was' is more appropriate," he said, scratching the back of his head and looking off into the distance for a moment, "but I lived and died on this planet, much like you did."
"Then why are you doing this? Why doesn't God do it? Or Satan? Or something different?" I asked, a bit puzzled.
"Well, if there are such things as God or Satan, I haven't met them. And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure how I'm able to it." He turned to me again and smiled, "As for why, well, I didn't think you should be alone right now. Nobody showed up when my time was up, and I didn't find that was a good welcome into the afterlife."
He kept smiling, but I could see the pain in his eyes. "I understand" I said.
"So," he repeated "are you ready?"
"Yeah... I guess I am." I stood up, and he followed suit. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll love it!" he said, the excitement showing in his voice.
And somehow, I believed him. | 2019-07-10T12:19:29 | 2019-07-10T11:49:23 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] You have a special power. Whenever your life is in danger; time freezes until you've made yourself safe. One day time stops, and nothing you do seems to make it start again. | It's like death is afraid of me or something. I had the warning signs of death painted on me around the time I became a grandfather. The bald head with few strands along the sides (that too grey), the aching in the knees, the ever narrowing choices of food. I had those too. But I welcomed them. I am not afraid of death, I am afraid of something much, much worse.
I was seventeen when I first found out about my power. There I was, bending down to pick up my skateboard on the road. Like an idiot. One second I felt the whoosh and heard the horn of the oncoming truck and the next I didn't. With a fluttering heart, I looked up to find the world around me frozen in time. I couldn't believe at first but time resumed as soon as I went out of the way. I was still pretty close to the truck. When it went by it touched me and I broke my hand, but I survived what was surely an open invitation to death. I thought I had had a guardian angel!
A few days later I tried it again of course, it was driving me crazy! Every single time, the cars stopped, the people froze in their place. I was seventeen so I did some things I am not exactly proud of. Nothing gross - God knows I had plenty of opportunities - just some old-fashioned pulling down people's pants from the middle of the road.
I did some pretty dangerous things too. I once jumped off of the roof of a thirty four storied building. I fell all the way down to two inches off the ground, paused mid-air and - since now it was safe for me to fall again - fell again. I understood that whatever was keeping me alive, it didn't plan ahead. It stopped everything only when I was on the brink of death and waited until I figured out my way to safety.
But it soon got stale. Yes I could never die, so what? It didn't teach me how to live. It's a pretty cool power but you can't do anything with it when you are alone in your room at midnight crying your heart out. That's what friends are for. I had great friends, and still do. And my wife is the best of them. Somewhere between having late night pizzas with them and planning out my future with her, I put this incredible power in the backseat.
I hope it remains there till the day I die which, doctors are telling me, should be today.
I have been battling this terrible disease for months now. My body is as old and frail as one can picture it. I have the perfect death planned for me: My wife beside my hospital bed, my children and grandchildren circled around me as I say tearful goodbyes to all of them. My wife holds my hand while I drift into a peaceful slumber from which I never wake up.
But I am afraid I will wake up. I will wake up to see their morose faces frozen in time, the tears making a home on those cheeks rather than moving on to the earth as they should. What will I do? What *can* I do? I am too old and frail to get up, let alone pick out the tumor in my brain. And they will be looking at me in that moment as if to say, "Look, dad, We can't get on with our lives because of you! My children will never grow up because of you!"
Sometimes I think it is silly to think that. I am hoping that whoever kept me alive - my guardian angel or God or whatever you want to call it - knows I had a good life. That it is better that that which came from the earth finds its way back to it. That it has been a great ride - the best really - but now it's time to get off. I hope they know this. I hope they know the terrible truth of my life.
That I have never been afraid of death. That I am afraid of a fate much, much worse. | Everything is frozen and nothing seems to work. Normally, time stops when I'm in danger which I usually easily resolve by moving a few steps away. For example, in the jousting tournament last week, right as I charged down that lane with my steed towards an opponent, time froze for me. That gave me time to readjust myself minutely so that the enemy lance just *barely* missed me.
&#x200B;
Now, nobody knows about my power. If they did know, I'm sure the castle's mages would love to capture me and cut me up to try to get some clues about their long, lost time magic. I've been using this power since roughly a few years ago. The benefit of having this power is that it easily helped make me an undefeated knight of the realm, giving me reputation and power that no second or third son of a baron would have otherwise.
&#x200B;
Serving by the side of the king as his personal guard is something others consider to be of the highest honor. I just think of it as the highest position I can get in the realm. The thing is, most people find the king... a bit disagreeable. That means, there is the occasional assassin or rebellion. After all, he was chosen by default since he was the only son of the previous king. Honestly, it just makes this job feel less mundane standing around the throne room. With my power, they were never a challenge.
&#x200B;
Today, just like everyday, I was just standing behind the mahogany throne of the king with my polished sword sitting at its sheath listening to the fossil-like king talk to the officials in a raspy voice, "You are saying there are food shortages due to locusts?"
&#x200B;
In front of the king was a senior official, a man dressed in gray robes that looked like they belong on a carpet. The man pointed outside through a high window and said, "The people outside are crying for food. I propose we open up our granaries to try and help them."
&#x200B;
From beside his throne, I saw the king roll his eyes and say, "I know you are just saying this so the commoners would have a better impression of you, but it's just us here. My knight also won't divulge anything. So just cut the-"
&#x200B;
Time stopped.
&#x200B;
The king's mouth hung open, as the words he was saying became trapped at his mouth. The senior official had his eyes closed, mid-blink. I yawned and stretched, "Great! What is it now? Assassins behind me? An arrow flying through the window?"
&#x200B;
I turned around and scanned the shadows of the room, making sure nobody snuck in. Usually, it is one of the two things I mentioned. I highly doubt that senior official could harm me from that distance. I glanced out the window and mutter, "Hmm, that's strange. What else could it be?"
&#x200B;
I walked over in front of the king, pulling him off of the throne and leaving him sitting on air in some corner of the room. I sat on the throne with my legs crossed and scrutinized the official in front of me. It doesn't look like he is carrying any weapons, no bumps on his clothes.
&#x200B;
I stood up in frustration and walked out the throne room. There were two knights stationed at the doorway as usual, and the hallway was empty as usual. Just how is it that I am still in danger? I was so far away from the throne room! I could not help but yell in the face of one of the knights guarding the doorway, "Just what the hell is going on?"
&#x200B;
Dang, that felt good. Could it just be old age? Poison? I can't do anything about these things. The notion of dying is scary to me. Honestly, I think it is my large fear of death that somehow granted me this power. Now, my power is causing me to stuck in a sort of limbo. I hope I find the cause soon.
&#x200B;
\-------------------------------------------------------------
&#x200B;
Inside the royal castle, there was a pile of people inside the throne room. The one thing they all had in common was their motionlessness. There were people in shining armor, butlers and maids, and a few mages in dark robes. At the bottom of the pile was an old man with a crown.
&#x200B;
Beside that pile, was an auburn chair with ornate gems engraved on it. Beside it, was an unworn armor, a sheathed sword lying on the ground, and a dozen random books. A man with gray tipped hair madly flipped through a book about poisons with furrowed brows. His eyes had large black splotches underneath and his clothes were all lined with dirt and dust.
&#x200B;
He suddenly stood up and tossed the book across the room and screamed in frustration, "I don't know if you are there, but whoever gave me this power... Just take it away! Get me out of this mess!"
&#x200B;
Like a puppet, he powerlessly crumpled down on the floor as if his strings were cut. He missed the social interactions he had with the younger knights. He missed all the cheering he received during his returns from the battlefield.
&#x200B;
He glanced out the window once more.
\------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading! | 2019-09-15T13:00:39 | 2019-09-15T09:07:51 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] In a world filled with magic, your family is scorned for generations for wasting time with science. Your mother was a botanist. Your father, a biologist. Mages touch-heal. You developed steam locomotion when mages teleport. Your family has never trusted magic. One day, the magic stops working. | I want to tell you that no one died. Or at least very few. That, when all the mana in the world dried unexpectedly up - as if a great sponge had fallen in a lake - that I held out the fruits of science, and they all took from my palm and nourished themselves.
I want to tell you that.
But I can't.
I want to tell you, too, that a hundred-thousand bodies don't haunt a hundred palaces, ivory mausoleums littered with cloaked skeletons: magic users who -- unable to feed themselves -- whittled away like candles, one layer of wax at a time, until they were only unlit wicks.
Not all died, at least. That is something truthful I can tell you. Many followed the rail tracks to our farm, hearing rumours of wheat and rice and fresh water, crisp-cool from a well. They followed the rail tracks like a great cotton snake, coiling to the horizon.
Do you know, some refused our help? Even after the journey they made, even with their ribs pressing like knives against their skin. They refused to learn to grow food from seeds in the soil, to water it without a cloud. They had expected salvation here -- a pool of mana, perhaps. But to see us toiling in the fields, better to be dead, some said.
Soon, they were.
The children took to it better. For them, it was like learning a new branch of magic, caring and protecting sprouting seeds, to eat what they grew, to nurture the soil after and to keep it healthy.
The farm expanded as they learned to build additional shelters; the new fields spread to the horizon, a rising sun from the soil.
And they thanked us for it. Me, my family, for holding science so dear and cherished and special. For teaching it to them. For saving them. They brought us food from their own crops, said we deserved to teach and rest, not to work anymore. Because without us, there would be nothing left. All the mages, reliant on mana, would be dead without our shared knowledge.
I want to tell them that's true.
That we saved them.
I want to tell them that we didn't find the great mana well, thought to be only legend -- part underground, part above. A lake radiant and phosphorescent, shimmering its magic into the air itself.
I want to tell them that we didn't poison it. That were weren't jealous of their ways, of their magic, of how easy everything was.
I want to tell them we didn't need them to see how difficult life should be. Didn't want them to know our toil, our pained backs, our swollen, crooked feet and legs.
Yes, I dearly want to tell them we saved them.
So, with a smile as real as their crops, I do. | Since I’d just gotten home from work at the supermarket, and my parents were busy with the work they did from home, I was the one unlucky enough to open the front door when the rapid, demanding knocks sounded. Curious, and more than a little worried since our neighbors usually wanted nothing to do with us, I walked quickly to the front door and opened it. My neighbor Sally stood before me, an older woman, an empty nester whose husband had passed just last year.
“Have you heard?” she said immediately.
My eyes widened as my heart leapt into my throat, expecting the worst. “Heard what?”
“Magic. It’s gone.”
I stared for a long moment before my eyes narrowed in pure confusion. “What?”
“Gone! It’s stopped working,” Sally whimpered. “The ley lines are drained, empty, they-”
“That makes no sense,” I interrupted. “How could they just-”
“William Cassady.”
My face went slack, and my heart skipped a beat. The name held fear for every mage or witch or warlock who heard it, the man who isolated himself out in Branston Forest and was pushing magic to its limits with fanatical, reckless effort. The man was probably clinically insane, but no one could do anything about it because he was just too powerful at this point. The area had, with little other option, just decided leaving him alone was our best option.
Seemed that hadn’t been the case.
“What?” I managed. “What did he do?”
At this point Sally’s eyes were glistening with tears. “The forest was the epicenter. He took it all. Drained everything dry, as far as the city, as far as…we don’t know. It doesn’t spread as far as Lewton, we know that. But Harold had to call me on that *cell phone* he bought me for emergencies,” she said disdainfully. “He couldn’t even call out with a psychic link.”
“I don’t…” My legs suddenly felt wobbly under my feet as I absorbed what she was saying.
This was an utter disaster. I knew Sally had come to my family’s door because we wouldn’t notice when it disappeared, when we reached for it like others would have and, like an amputated limb, it was just gone. For generations, we’d gloried in the sciences instead of natural magic, the joy each of us found in science was no doubt passed on from the parents who taught us of its potential. There were others like us, of course, but they were so rare, considering the scorn we had dumped on us from society.
But the vast majority of the town, the city, the world, relied on magic. We had no idea how far this spread, how much damage William had caused, but I felt a pit in my stomach that was slowly growing as I gradually realized every bit of what this meant. It was tempting to shoot it back in her face, to shout at the importance of sciences, that it was their own fault for relying so much on magic that their world would come to a stop in a moment like this. But knowing the fear and despair that was gripping her in that moment, I just couldn’t do that.
“The hospitals,” I started, drawing Sally’s gaze. I realized her wide eyes were fixed on me now, deep with panic but also with eagerness, to know what the eccentric scientist would start thinking of next. What my mind would do, how it would work, what it would put forth as non-magical options for how society functioned. “We start there. Ah…Ellie, I’ll call her, she knows scientific medicine.”
“Do you all have phones?” Sally asked quietly. “The scientists?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Um…Ellie’s son, he’s training in medicine too, so she’ll bring him. I just don’t know…” I grimaced. “There’s too much. The way you grow food, the way you transport yourselves, the way you build-”
“I know,” Sally whispered. “But we have to do something. We have to help who we can. I just- I don’t know what to do. I don’t think any of us do. I’m sure the others who know of scientists are going to their doors just as I did. And I’m at your service. Just tell me what needs to be done.”
I took a long breath to calm my racing heart and nodded. “All right. I’ll get my parents. And we’ll triage and start one step at a time.”
A small bit of hopefulness glowed in Sally’s eyes as I met her gaze before turning and darting back into my home.
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren | 2021-04-07T08:01:44 | 2021-04-07T07:53:52 | 202 | 103 |
[WP] Science finally found the secret to immortality, but it included treatments that only took hold in newborns. Now the last mortal humans are approaching the ends of their lives. | **The Last Funeral**
Preachers, rabbis, monks, and nuns,
Miles of hearses and twenty-one guns,
Billions and billions of mourning ones.
Here lies our beloved Seth.
&#x200B;
But hardly a one of them knew the deceased.
And no one is crying; they've set out a feast.
They've come here to witness that newly slain beast.
A funeral procession for Death.
&#x200B;
Here comes his widow, in black with a veil,
Healthy and young as her husband was frail.
Watching him lowered, she lets out a wail.
The very last death-do-us-part.
&#x200B;
The crowd returns to their life of leisure,
Endless eternities, meaningless pleasure,
With pity and envy in equal measure
For one last lifeless heart. | I don’t remember my childhood. But then again, none of *us* do.
It was a problem discovered long before immortality- when humans just started to touch their lower two hundred years of age. Back then, with primitive age tech, that was as far as we thought humans would go. Because that’s when the mind started running out of space.
Evolution is like a good engineer. And a good engineer always gives room for things to go wrong. A factor of safety. I’d heard that four was the magic number, that something should be made four times stronger than the loads it was expected to endure. Personally, I think evolution only expected our bodies to make it to fifty years, so it gave them four times the mind they needed. To two hundred years.
And that factor of safety eventually ran out.
Thing is, my generation is nearing three hundred years old now. I can’t remember my first hundred years. Hell, even *the fall* is blurry- and that was only seventy five years ago. And now, those born before immortality treatments are starting to fall off. Hitting their three hundreds, the best that society could offer before immortality. Before the doctors could guarantee that natural death would never come calling.
There aren’t many original humans left. Just a few, the scraps of records and rumors following *the fall* suggesting maybe ten percent of us can expect nature to come knocking. For the ticker to give out, or the aneurism to strike in sleep. Though nowadays, natural death isn’t as common anymore, even for original humans. Turns out that civilization wasn’t all that suited for immortality. Starvation is more common now. Homicide, a close second. Violent “accidents”, a third.
But as our numbers dwindle, even a fallen society with a few scraps of technology left are enough to feed most of us. For a time, at least, until fighting breaks out again. Maybe one day, the immortals among us will make it to see the sun part through the ashen clouds once more. Clouds still persisting from the war.
Thing is, with *the fall*, we lost more than civilization. We lost the majority of our information. Our computer hard drives, our books, and our medical records have followed the way of our memories.
And now, bleak day after bleak day, I think what keeps most immortals surviving is the chance they might fall naturally. In our sleep, rather than by blood.
You see, none of us remember if we *are* immortal.
But all of us would prefer a peaceful death.
***
By Leo | 2021-06-07T22:44:17 | 2021-06-07T21:30:33 | 476 | 218 |
[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. | "John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..." | The person before me took my idea. She had no idea that dying of old age meant they would accelerate time for her. Now that I saw that, I can't make the same mistake. There has to be a way out of here, a loophole.
You'll find one like you always do, I kept thinking that to myself. I wasn't a stranger to this business, but usually I wasn't involved with magic. The payment was good but too risky.
"Marcus Spades, how would you like to die?" The hooded man said. He held a weapon that changed into many weapons. The hood had golden details, his body was hidden by shadows. If anything he was good at this. I could feel the chills creeping up my body.
"I need a second."
"You have one minute." His weapon changes to a whip. I'm not sure how but I feel he enjoyed those who took their time and never decided.
Time! That's it, their laws are bound by time and space here. If I can get them to try to execute me in some other place far from this world maybe I have a chance. I start laughing, I might have finally lost it. "I wish to die in a time space rift between worlds."
The executioners weapon changes into a cellphone. "I need help. Yes, it's another crazy guy. Yeah, he wants the slowest most painful death in existence. Thanks, I'll wait for you to start the ritual."
I fall into my knees. That gamble sounds like the worst one I've taken. Although that one that included stealing from the governments and 'donating' it was close second, by the time they figured out I cheated on that table it was too late.
Four hooded men or women appear. They point wands to the floor under me. A circle of light engulfs me. One moment I see them, the other I see everything and nothing at the same time.
I look around and I see more figures. More mes. The one closest to me waves, the but the others scream in agony and pain.
"Why are they screaming?"
"We are trapped between time and space. We have access to all information at the same time and our brains can't handle it."
This wasn't what I thought would happen. My pupils have widened. I have to escape. I can't let this happen to me! "How can we escape?"
"You would have to touch an opening. But they are always just barely far away to not be reached."
My fingers reached out but never quite made it to any of the images passing by. My body is sweating but it's not. I can't feel the droplets on my skin. Nor the tears from my eyes.
In the distance growls and screeches of despair. How many of me are here? When will this all end? I look towards the other side and a new me comes in. Repeating the scene that just happen over and over and over again. | 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T07:17:41 | 1,590 | 181 |
[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 | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 803 | 23 |
[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. | "HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I had originally been banking on using old age as a loophole, but watching that other guy wither into an old man has proven it to be very much not viable. So here I am, I need an escape plan. Scratch that, it's impossible, what I need is a loophole.
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I could try using paradoxes? No, that wouldn't work. Act of God? Well, Gods. One of them anyway.
"YOU HAVE 30 SECONDS TO GIVE YOUR ANSWER"
Damn. I guess if I am to die, I'll try to take them all with me.
"20"
What could take them out? Magic wouldn't have any effect, they're all the most skilled mages in existence.
"15"
Ooo... that's an idea... existence.
"10"
"Save your countdown, I know how I'd like to die."
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
"I wish to die by being swallowed up by the expansion and death of the Sun itself."
If I am to die, they're ALL coming with me. | “HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO DIE?”
Liam considered. More carefully than he ever had in his life, which is probably why he was standing where he was at the moment, waiting for execution. The withered husk that preceded him was dragged off into a narrow steel corridor. The one he would himself be dragged off to in just a few moments.
*The best death would be…the best death…something was there*. A hint, a way, a hope. A tiny thought wriggled on the long end of a line cast back in memory. Days of boredom, doodling tiny pictures of stick figures fighting magnificent, heroic, insignificant battles while the teachers droned on. Days where the only thing that could capture his attention was the gnarled and bent history teacher. *What was his name?*
Mr. Philips, yes that was it. He was a storyteller more than a teacher, and history came alive in that classroom. Mr Philips would leave his seat and perch upon his solid oak desk and weave tales that captivated and delighted. Tales of heroes and glory and sacrifice. And Mr Philips favorite story (and Liam’s as well) had been...
And suddenly Liam smiled, for the first time in months. The executioner raised a quizzical eyebrow and slowly stroked the ridiculous beard that insecure wizards favored. He opened his mouth to ask the question once more, but before he could start Liam suddenly spoke.
“And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his Gods?” Liam smiled ferociously, baring his teeth in a rictus warrior's grin. The executioner studied him for a second, and returned the smile along with a nod, and a simple wave of his pale black wand.
The world faded to white, then black. And then red.
——————————
“What a mess” said Jurl as he carefully picked his way over the pile of bodies. He hated cleanup duty. At least 80 or 90 of the apparitions were strewn in a rough semi-circle at the far side of a narrow bridge. And on the bridge itself lay a single, real body. Jurl counted at least a dozen serious wounds on the body. The sword lay shattered at his side, chipped and marred, and bloodied. The shield was almost unrecognizable, and the sigil on the front impossible to make out from the battering it had taken. On the far side of the bridge stood a temple, dazzling marble white, untouched. Smoke from a burning sacrifice of calf drifted lazily in the afternoon air, and Jurl could hear voices inside, chanting a name in perpetual gratitude for their survival: “LIAM, LIAM, LIAM!”.
Jurl pursed his lips, and set to work, dispersing the generic slaughtered enemies one by one back into the aether they had sprung from. Heroic last stands were always the hardest to clean up. | 2021-06-24T07:19:48 | 2021-06-24T06:47:00 | 236 | 172 |
[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. | “HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO DIE?”
Liam considered. More carefully than he ever had in his life, which is probably why he was standing where he was at the moment, waiting for execution. The withered husk that preceded him was dragged off into a narrow steel corridor. The one he would himself be dragged off to in just a few moments.
*The best death would be…the best death…something was there*. A hint, a way, a hope. A tiny thought wriggled on the long end of a line cast back in memory. Days of boredom, doodling tiny pictures of stick figures fighting magnificent, heroic, insignificant battles while the teachers droned on. Days where the only thing that could capture his attention was the gnarled and bent history teacher. *What was his name?*
Mr. Philips, yes that was it. He was a storyteller more than a teacher, and history came alive in that classroom. Mr Philips would leave his seat and perch upon his solid oak desk and weave tales that captivated and delighted. Tales of heroes and glory and sacrifice. And Mr Philips favorite story (and Liam’s as well) had been...
And suddenly Liam smiled, for the first time in months. The executioner raised a quizzical eyebrow and slowly stroked the ridiculous beard that insecure wizards favored. He opened his mouth to ask the question once more, but before he could start Liam suddenly spoke.
“And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his Gods?” Liam smiled ferociously, baring his teeth in a rictus warrior's grin. The executioner studied him for a second, and returned the smile along with a nod, and a simple wave of his pale black wand.
The world faded to white, then black. And then red.
——————————
“What a mess” said Jurl as he carefully picked his way over the pile of bodies. He hated cleanup duty. At least 80 or 90 of the apparitions were strewn in a rough semi-circle at the far side of a narrow bridge. And on the bridge itself lay a single, real body. Jurl counted at least a dozen serious wounds on the body. The sword lay shattered at his side, chipped and marred, and bloodied. The shield was almost unrecognizable, and the sigil on the front impossible to make out from the battering it had taken. On the far side of the bridge stood a temple, dazzling marble white, untouched. Smoke from a burning sacrifice of calf drifted lazily in the afternoon air, and Jurl could hear voices inside, chanting a name in perpetual gratitude for their survival: “LIAM, LIAM, LIAM!”.
Jurl pursed his lips, and set to work, dispersing the generic slaughtered enemies one by one back into the aether they had sprung from. Heroic last stands were always the hardest to clean up. | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T06:47:00 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 172 | 23 |
[WP] The hero beats the villain by stooping even lower. | We had been at it for what seemed like hours. You can only fight for so long before the pain starts to set in. Sweat streamed down into my eyes, blinding me. I pull back to wipe my face, but, sensing weakness, he advances forward to try and complete the knockout. I just barely managed to survive.
I could tell I was nearly done for, my opponent just had too much life left in him. It would take a minor miracle for me to be able beat this man. He was just too quick, too strong, and he had much better control than I did. He was better, he knew it, and I knew it. Too him, this was just a game, but I knew in my heart and mind, that this was for my life.
Backing away again to try and gather my strength in hopes of landing a salvo of punches and kicks to stun, or maybe even beat my opponent. I launch into my attack, fingers and hands moving faster than they ever have before. *I can do this* I thought. I could literally see the life draining from him as I landed hit after hit. He couldn't stop me. I was invincible!
Or so I thought.
Just before I was able to land the blow which would have beaten him, he grabbed hold of me and threw me away as though I were nothing more than a rag doll. My hopes were dashed, I was beaten, I had given it my all. He casually strolled over to me, to land the finishing blow. Standing over me, that's when I saw it, his one weakness. It would be a low blow, and an entirely cheap shot, but it would prevent him from winning. It was risky, but it was my only chance.
Without so much as fighting back, I allowed him to pick me up and walk to the edge of the cliff. He looked me dead in the eye, "Suck it, bitch."
I dropped everything and lunged, so quick that there was nothing he could do. I only had one shot, one shot to prevent my untimely death. Luckily my aim was true, and I managed to strike, exactly where I intended. Everything went black.
"Really? Fuck you bro. I didn't realize you took Smash Bros so seriously." | The Baron leaned against the balcony railing, considering the sunrise. He always made a point of witnessing the dawn. Every day was a new hope, a new opportunity, and he would never allow himself to forget it. But today, all that optimistic theory was actually true. Today was the day that his plans would come to fruition, his years of struggle and secrecy would pay off. Today was the day that he would claim the throne.
It was also the tenth anniversary of his wife's death. Her execution, for for role in the failed coup against the king, had been the trigger. He didn't particularly care that she was guilty. He had loved her, loved her with all of his heart. It had been almost a relief, really, when he'd discovered that she was plotting against the King. He had feared that she was having an affair. The fact that it was a simple political matter meant nothing to him. The man on the throne had little affect, really, on the lives of most people. Even as a part of nobility, his position was just insignificant enough for him not to care.
Many people thought it odd that he hadn't been implicated in her crimes. That she had acted not only without his consent, but even without his knowledge. Many people took it as a sign of his incompetence. This was something he'd used in the ensuing years. He had laid out a grand plan for revenge.
He'd moved slowly, taking tiny steps. Moving pieces, one at a time, into proper position. And no, today, things would fall into place. A young girl, barely of age, promised to the King's only heir. The King himself, clinging to life by a thread. The crown prince, not exactly a young man himself, taking what would likely be his last chance at a child. And a disease, passed between lovers, undetectable in any way, but extremely fatal.
He felt bad about the girl. She was innocent. But then, so was the child that should have been his. As the sun climbed above the trees on the horizon, the Baron knew the girl would be entering the castle. She would spend the day being prepared for her royal evening. The baron walked down the breakfast, confident that victory, at long last, would be his by midnight.
On the other side of the city, Sir Calvous sat deep in thought. Whatever he was going to do, it would have to be done today. Fortunately, he had until at least nightfall to figure it out. He had discovered some disturbing information. Someone, it seems, had managed to infect the crown prince's new consort with a fatal illness. A unique assassination attempt, the young knight mused, but what to do about it?
Calvous was not, unfortunately, well regarded among his peers. That was one reason he spent his time patrolling around the city, rather then out doing adventurous things in the wilds. It also meant that he didn't exactly have easy access to the royal family. Oh, he could arrange a meeting, but it could take weeks. Heck, the last time he needed to talk to the Arbous, the head of royal security, it took three days to set up the meeting.
If he went to his superiors, who did have the access he needed, they would have to be convinced. They might even decide to check his sources, and who knows how that would turn out. He knew he would have to handle it himself. It took until noon, and several mugs of ale, but he made up his mind.
Luckily, he had physical access to the castle, though after today that probably wouldn't be the case. He knew a few ladies in waiting, probably one of the ones that would be attending the royal consort. It wouldn't be a big deal to convince one of them to let him into her room. He wouldn't get much time, but he didn't need much. Just a few seconds, and a sharp knife. | 2014-12-04T12:41:34 | 2014-12-04T11:59:23 | 694 | 143 |
[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 | He came at me like all the rest. Rage, fear, adrenaline in his eyes. Hopped up on nukonarc pills; you'd have to be to come at the king. He desired my status; coveted it. I could feel the hair on the nape of my neck rise, feel a crackling in the air. An electromancer. This would be interesting.
I raise my hands. "HALT," I command. He slows his charge, confused. "We shall battle, if you choose. But first, we shall have.... some tea." He is thoroughly baffled now, but pliant. "Yes... hrmm... okay, one cup... then YOU DIE! Ahahahahahaha!" he cackles.
*1 hour later*
We emerge from the teashop, arms locked, bursting with laughter. "Hahaha my goodness Gary! She really said that!? Hooboy. Well, we were gonna... battle or something?"
"What? Oh yes, my God I'd almost forgotten! Forget that sillyness. It's been a real pleasure meeting you Bob, I really mean that."
"Same to you Gare-bear. Still in for 18 at the links Tuesday?"
"You know it Be-Bob, see ya then!'
I smile to myself as Gary saunters away. I have emerged victorious yet again, as I shall forevermore. For who could possibly hope to defeat the power... of friendship? | Oh yes. I definitely remember, every single detail. He was wearing a red and silver striped tie, for example. How could I ever forget that day? I walked into his office as number 21,458. When I left, I had his number 1.
Quite a frenzy it set off, you know? At first, people didn't even know it was me. I remember the first reporter I ever talked to, after she'd discovered that I was on his calendar for 2 PM, right about when he'd died. First question she asked me? "Who else was in the room with you?" Thanks for the vote of confidence, lady.
Well, eventually they managed to wrap their puny minds around it. I was the new #1 in town, and I had the token to prove it. News organizations exploded: some nobody is now the most powerful person in town? No one had even witnessed what my power was! There was endless speculation and chatter about what I could do. I remember this one professor from the university, speculating that I could make someone explode just by thinking about them. All sorts of self-proclaimed experts came forward to discuss it. And don't you know it, all of them were pounding on my door for that exclusive interview.
Well, it became pretty clear that I wasn't talking. So then the challenges started coming. Who was first? I think it was that bloke who could control flames. Nice guy, bit of a hothead...
No? Nothing. Fine.
Well, I met up with him and accepted the challenge, but on the condition that we fight in an empty room, no cameras or witnesses. He agreed, and we found an empty gym on the outskirts of town. Well, of course you know what happened to him, and to that entire neighborhood. I made the same offer to any other challenger: I was taking callers, but only if we fought alone. Same offer still stands, you know, but it's been years since anyone has taken me up on it.
Once it became pretty clear that no one was going to take the number from me, or see me in a fight, then they tried other methods. You know how many women I met who tried to seduce the information out of me? Hell, that's why I'm *still* a bachelor: I just can't trust any of them. Then came the offers: money, jobs, protection, you name it. Every prominent member of the city wanted me as their bodyguard, but on the condition that I told them what I could do. I told 'em to shove it. Then, they went after my friends and my parents, badgering them for information. So I became a recluse. Bought this cabin up here, just me and Buddy. My only friend; dogs don't care what my power is. And that's been the story ever since. I'm no longer involved in the tournament scene, and I guess the city is just going to have be content with only having a number 2.
Now, if you'll excuse me, Buddy and I have some fish to catch, so I'm afraid this interview is over.
All right, one last question...
Yes, I knew this would be coming. Did you really think it would be that easy to get it out of me? Nice try. | 2014-12-18T14:00:17 | 2014-12-18T11:07:40 | 451 | 300 |
[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 | Rank was never that important to me.
The others fought. Endlessly. For some reason, their numbers were more important to them than their humanity.
I started with the lowest rank, and I've never moved up. I've never killed a soul. But I'm #1 now, because the others are all dead.
I'm lonely. | *Number 1 -- ranked number 1 for 20 consecutive years today, and nobody has even come close to usurping me. Do you know why? Because while all the powerless, scum-dwelling peasants are fighting each other with knives for scraps, and those of the middle and upper classes are all tearing each other apart to rise through the ranks, I am in a class of my own. The truth is, my power is the weakest, least extravagant power imaginable. But, it is also the most powerful. My power is subtle, discrete, and soft-spoken. Nobody knows what it is, and it is because of that discretion that I have grown so great. For 20 years, I have been number 1 for one reason. Belief. I have the power of mass, psychic hypnotism. For 20 years, the people of this city have believed the lie that I am God incarnate because I have thrust it upon their conscious minds. And so too they believe the greatest lie this city maintains -- that the list exists at all.*
*They worship me. I am an idol and an icon, and those who have been reduced to icons have been exalted beyond humanity. In other words, no one dares touch me. I am naked. Here I stand with no armor in the midst a field of warring titans, and yet I have been unscathed all this time.*
*The power of belief is as strong and permanent as any iron, if not stronger. The motto I have made -- and made well-known -- for this city is "Strong as Iron." They believe it is about them. But underneath, on the hidden layer they cannot see, it is about the only that matters. It is about me. The holder of the key to faith. The rope that holds the cargo in place. The iron that is stronger than iron.*
These were the final thoughts of the monarch before they captured him. Before they raided his office and dismantled 20 years of a rock-solid faith. Before they tied him to a post with rifles to his face. Those were his final thoughts. And these were his final words: "how did you know?"
And the people replied: "even iron can melt."
| 2014-12-18T15:23:06 | 2014-12-18T11:44:55 | 243 | 68 |
[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 | "It's been 20 years, Un," my old crime-fighting partner, Gold Grizzly, said.
"20 good years," I interjected.
"They have been good years," he agreed, "but I was saying, it's been a long time, and I still don't know your power."
"These good looks, obviously," I said with a giggle.
"Seriously," he said, "you know that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me. "
"Stop asking about this," I ordered.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry," he said in a distracted tone.
People always try to guess what power made me Number One. So far, no one has guessed that it is controlling Number Two. | It was actually quite a simple one. Any one of these people could defeat me. They just didn’t know it.
Erik had been after my title for years. Had it not been time manipulation, his massive ego could have been a power in itself. Time manipulation was truly unique in the sense that he was Kronos incarnate. Speeding up time, slowing down time and stoping time all fell under the power, so long as the flow of time was forward. Despite the explosions and pure, vile weapons sent after him time and time again, they could never touch him.
Today was the third time this month that he was challenging me. We stood in the arena, the crowd swallowed in silence. We always squared off and started off with playful banter. Well, playful for me. I think it was going to make him snap some day.
"I've got a new trick this time! Today's the day I am crowned number one, you sloth!!"
Sloth? Maybe he really did run out of banter.
"Are we really going to do this again? You know you can't win, Erik. The crowd knows it!!!"
With that, they exploded in chants and jeered at Erik, some throwing bits of food that he made seem to phase through him.
"Whenever you're ready, Erik. Just remember, whatever speed you go at, you'll never be able to hit me."
In a blink, he was in front of me, throwing a punch that went faster than eyes can register, yet his fist flew only inches in front of me. He spun around and kicked at my face, the move also stopping short of a direct hit. One more attempt, a headbutt, coming in close enough for me to see the pores in his head, but no contact. The desperation kicked in giving me my chance. I concluded it with a single punch to the gut.
I shook my head.
"Erik. Please. Give up. I am and always will be the stronger person."
The hit to him hardly inflicted any pain on him, it was the mental drain that made him fall to his knees. The crowd left without much commotion, having seen the scene many times before.
Suddenly, the look on Erik's face came up again. The epiphany face, as I call it.
"Your power. It's... it's manipulation. You can contol people by making them doubt themselves or--"
"No, it's not."
The other familiar face, the face of utter confusion, now replaced the former. He got up slowly and walked out mumbling,
"Then what is it? I have to figure it out..." | 2014-12-18T18:39:49 | 2014-12-18T14:46:11 | 63 | 15 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Guilt, shame, and horror would only begin to describe the things humanity felt when we were hit with the news. The Aliens didn't mince their words.
In short, we were considered the scum of the universe. Deliberately left out to rot, to self destruct, because we had shown a capacity for violence, cruelty, and atrocity unequalled throughout the known universe.
We, the human, were geniuses, but not in the way we expected. Turns out life out there was literally paradise. Apart for a few other species, intelligent life out there had a peaceful and nurturing predisposition. Violent races were quarantined until they either reached enlightenment or self-destructed. None had reached the space age on their own, until now.
The Barzenians, the most violent race after us, were simpleminded beings driven only by war. How they managed to come off their rock was a mystery, but they were now taking over with ease.
Unlike the Barzenians, we have a duality that shows a promise for redemption, although we are capable of untold terror we strive to be better people. This gave them hope and abled them to risk sharing technology and asking us for help.
We, of course, accepted. It didn't take much more than a year to beat them once we had the technology. It was a joke. This was the second most violent race?
Our initial shame turned into comfort, we were overjoyed. We had imagined space to be a scary place, turns out it's fucking rainbows and unicorns - can't be scared if you're the boogeyman. | Not all humans were warriors. Not all of them invented machines and chemicals that brought death. This human was my friend.
From the beginning, I knew that some humans were artists. Some built bridges and buildings. Some explored caves. We were told all about them by our scientists. The ones who studied other life forms on other planets.
Still, most of us thought only of human warriors. Their bringers of death. At first, they were the most important part of humanity for us. We knew we needed human warriors to save us. And we knew that human warriors might eventually destroy us. We explored the problem for a long time. Then one of us suggested a solution.
A young one suggested a way for us to have human aid without having to fear them. The plan seemed simple yet far fetched at the same time. We explored the possibilities for a long time. Then the best of us made a plan and all of us followed it. Now, such a short time later we were celebrating victory. After years of losing countless lives and many planets, we were celebrating the success of a far fetched idea, concocted by one of our youngest.
I was happy for my species but I could not help but be sad for my friend, the human. She was puffed up with pride. We had been watching the celebrations together. My friend could not attend any of them in person. She had been born ill. Still she was proud of the accomplishment of her race. Her eyes were riveted to the display. As she watched the first member of the Congress of Worlds recount the victories, her lips moved as she mouthed his words.
I could only watch my friend. I knew it was almost her time and I was happy that she lived to see this. My friend turned her head to look at me. It was the last time. She didn't see the dermal poison I placed on her arm. She closed her eyes and died painlessly without ever knowing what came next.
The next day is when it happened. The final part of the plan. The first member of the Congress of Worlds spoke solemnly. He told my people that he knew it would be hard to say goodbye. I was not the only one with human friends. He thanked the humans. He told them that it was time for them to go. He nodded and the display ended. Every human dropped dead that instant.
We are a peaceful people. We rationalized this part of the plan by saying they were only copies. We built a copy of earth and filled it with copies of all of Earth's living things. The copies had no idea. The only thing different about them was a small biological kill switch embedded into their brains. At the key moment, we put the danger back into the box. No need to give the original humans any technology or unleash them out into the galaxy.
We disposed of the human copies. We destroyed the second Earth. We mourned. I am not the only one of my people who made friends with the artists, builders, and explorers of Our Earth. Sometimes when the sky is clear at night. I look up at what our scientists say is the real Earth. I am not the only one.
| 2014-12-26T13:25:59 | 2014-12-26T12:46:34 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | They had a moral code. A set of rules written in stone that they were bound to follow. Somehow though they were able to ignore it and not really care. They understood that they should live in a sustainable fashion. They even celebrated those among them who did. They just as a species didn't. They lived much like the viruses that existed on their worlds. They couldn't help their host they were only capable of using all the resources in a star system and finding a new one.
But what really set them apart was their hate. Their hate. For every 10 star systems they colonized they would turn 3 to dust. The only thing they hated more then themselves was everything else. I suspect it came from their short life spans. By the time their planet had circled their star 100 times nearly all of them would be gone. It made them efficient. Brutally efficent. They didn't worry about losing their life as it would be over soon anyways. Sacrificing themselves to snuff out the lives of others wasn't hard for them. They didn't naturally defend themselves. They believed the best defense was an aggressive offense. Make your enemy too afraid to even think of attacking you. They hadn't even developed a plasma shield. Which works since their photon weapons would destroy even a Phoenix Shield. The asymmetry of their technology was mind blowing. They still had to use worm holes to travel between systems, hadn't even discovered warp. But they had pulsar weapons.
The first encounter they had with The Collective they discovered the same problem we did. The Wave Shield. In 10 generations we were never able to find a solution to this shield. Before their planet had circled itself 8 times they solved it. They didn't even understand 0.1% of the physics of the shield but they destroyed it. That was their strength. They didn't view this as a science problem. They thought of it as a how do we destroy everything problem. Rather then try to solve the physics of the shield they solved the physics of destruction... always their speciality. | May our children forgive us; for we choose servitude over annihilation. Is it not better to be second among equals, lower only to them and above the rest? Is it not better to watch the fleet of those who would enslave you burn, to watch their planets fall and their cities crumble than to see your people massacred, your holy places desecrated, your world die. We may be giving up our freedom but at least we will survive right? Yes, we will lose our beloved council, we will see Kartaloon fill will races from around the Dominion, we will cede territory to others and be forced to do trade with lesser species but we will survive. My brothers and sisters do you not wish to see the Targracians suffer for all that they have done to us, for what they did to the outer colonies for Impac, Tonar and Harkathia how many billions of us have they extinguished how many worlds have they made dim. Only the scourge of the Humans of the Dominion of Canada can lay restitution for the sins and atrocities that they have befallen upon us.
The Humans will be our ultimate weapon against Targracia, her people will weep for a million cycles, her Gods will be made to bow before the shadows and their hand, the Humans, her cities will empty and their people will know what it truly means to suffer, to suffer without hope, without mercy, to suffer at the hands of humans. Remember your history what they did to their own kind the atrocities committed against the cities of New York, Sao Paolo, Beijing, Tokyo now imagine what they would do to the Targracians a species that may pose a threat to them, even if only an imagined one. Yes my brothers and sisters we may lose autonomy but how many are truly left free in this galaxy if we do not capitulate to the Humans than to who? Should we be as the Par Madi a dead race only to be remembered in the annals of history; a lesson for those to come the consequences of those to prideful to bend to those more powerful than themselves, is it not better to bend to the Devil we know than the one we don't?
By joining the Canadian Dominion we will be given access to technologies millenia beyond our current level we will have access to their space-time gateways, our children will see parts of the galaxy that our grandfathers could only dream of. We will be able to spread far and wide to the point that even if Kartaloon should fall our people never will. As second among equals we will never know subjugation of a conquered people, only Humans themselves will be above us, and in the vastness of their territories we will barely even notice them, true our illustrious council will be disbanded and our people will be subjected to their "Democracy" but they will also be protected by their "Charter of rights and freedoms". We will be given technology to build a fleet of star ships that would be able to explore the Galaxy and protect our people, and still be backed up by the Canadian Star Fleet, we will be given voice in the Galactic Council, I have seen it myself their base inside of Sol, the base inside the heart of their sun where the representatives of the second species work together, where the Therelians and the Ic Ba Moor once bitter rivals exist together in peace.
Truth be told we have little choice in the matter, capitulation to the Humans is the only choice we have. I stand before you not to ask for your acceptance in this matter but to ask for your forgiveness for the deal has been made, by this time tomorrow the siege will be over, within an hour the full Canadian armed forces will enter Kartaloonian space and engage in battle with the Targracians. A Governor class space station will orbit between us and our third moon Today is the last day that Kartaloon exists as a free and independent world, but we still have a tomorrow and for that I will not apologize. | 2014-12-26T11:25:21 | 2014-12-26T10:50:07 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] You have died, and in the afterlife have learned that each ghost may interfere on Earth only once while in eternity. Today is the day you have decided it's time. | Death has taught me a lot about parenting. A lot that I wish I knew back when I was still alive raising Rebecca. I was always so careful! I always had one eye on her, making sure she didn't choke on anything, or run through the rain and catch a cold, or fall down and get scrapes. I realize now that I was one of those helicopter parents, unwilling to let her experience life for herself. Unable to learn her own lessons. By saving her from harm, I just made things even worse for her.
After my death, I had to restrain myself. Every single day. I say her fall for boys that were no good for her. I saw her trying drugs. I saw her drinking instead of studying for her SATs. Each moment, I wanted to appear and fix things for her, but I couldn't. I held back, thinking that I needed to save it for something *truly* dire. When her life was really in danger and I could step in and fix things. There were never any other ghosts around; I wondered if I was the only one watching, or if I just couldn't see the others. But I knew I was the only one looking out for Rebecca.
I admit, she surprised me. She did well in school even without my scoldings and reminders. She got into a great college without me pushing her to do the work. She made good friends, even without me to vet them for her. She fell in love with a nice young man, even without me to scare off all the other losers who came after her. And she had two wonderful children, raising them better than I'd ever done with her. Of course her life had ups and downs, just like everyone else. And I always wanted to be there to comfort her, but I knew I had to save my one moment.
It's been 81 years since my death, and each day has been part agony of wishing I could talk to her, and part pride at seeing the wonderful woman that she's become. She's in the hospital now, surrounded by her own loved ones. A nurse ushers them out; visiting hours must be over. And I realize it's time.
"Dad?" she says weakly as I materialize next to her. She thinks she's dreaming or hallucinating, as a side effect of the chemo.
"I'm here, honey," I tell her, gripping her hand and trying to hold back tears with no luck. "I've been waiting for this moment for decades. I saved it for a day where you'd really really need me."
She nods, still unsure if I am real. "And that's today?" She looks worried, and her heart monitor beeps a little faster.
"No," I reassure her. "You never needed me. You did it all on your own. So I'm being selfish to use my one moment with you to tell you that I love you, and to say goodbye." | "Don't do this! It's a waste!"
"No life is a waste Nikki."
"I didn't mean that, I meant just save it for something better!"
"There is nothing better."
"That's not true! This is so lame! You're like the kid that uses their wish to go to disney."
I smiled. Nikki had only been 15 when she lost her battle with cancer, she'd never understand this. She was saving her day, just like she saved her wish. She was proud of that, she had saved her wish until it was nearly too late and then used it to fly to Australia. She couldn't surf anymore, but she watched them and it was the biggest adventure of her short life. Her day was going to be "Epic with a capitol E!"
*Michael's never been to Australia.* I smiled at the thought. I had never made it to Australia either.
Nikki sighed impatiently. "Seriously, everyone does this. EVERYONE. You should wait and do something important, something grand!"
"I love your enthusiasm Nikki. I'm sure your day will be spectacular. I hope I'll be there."
Nikki kicked at a rock in the road but her foot passed through it unharmed. "Of course you'll be there Sam, don't be stupid."
When I first met Nikki she announced that Samantha was boring and she would call me Sam. It wasn't a "right proper nickname" like Nikki, but it was acceptable. We've been inseparable ever since. It's strange how time works. When I died I had lived twice as long on this earth as Nikki had, yet I didn't truly feel that much older until just now.
*On this earth...* A giddy happiness overtook me as I appreciated my surroundings. The crisp autum air, the cresent moon hanging in the sky and the smell of rain on the wind. The tree frogs were creating a symphony in their final days of the year.
*"What do tree frogs do in the winter?"* I shook my head at the memory. Nikki was staring down the road, watching for the inevitable headlights. She looked real to me, but I knew that she wasn't experiencing this the same way I was. She was aware of the moon, the frogs and the empty sky, but she couldn't feel the asphalt under her feet or taste the season that was changing even as we stood there waiting. No, we were normally mere observers in this world, details were hazy. Tonight I would say goodbye to these sensations forever.
*It is definitely the right day.*
"There!" Despite her reservations about my choice, Nikki was jumping at the sight of distant headlights. "Is that it?"
"Yes." I didn't know how I knew it, I just did.
We watched as the two glowing orbs got bigger and closer. I could hear the hum of the engine. The lights swerved slightly as he went around the bend, and then again as it approached.
"Are you sure?" Nikki asked anxiously.
I looked at her and smiled reassuringly. "Yes."
Then the car was there and time just slowed. I was through the hood and the engine, standing on the road still, but also in the car. And he was there, my Michael. His head bobbed as his eyelids drooped over his light brown eyes. I remembered those eyes looking at me so many times, sometimes with amusement, sometimes in anger, but mostly with love. His dark curls were tousled, like usual, even though he obsessively fixed them. I reached my hand out towards his cheek, dark still from the summers sun. My hand, more pale next to him than ever before, brushed his cheek.
"Wake up love."
Startled, Micheal's eyes shot open. His heart hammered and he immediately became alert. He blinked a couple of times in confusion, but then seemed fine. Though he would never see or feel it, I leaned in and kissed his mouth. *I miss you so much.*
"I'll see you again mi amor, just not yet. It's too soon."
And then the moment was over and the car was past. As it rounded the next bend, Micheal noticed the flash of his headlights reflecting on large, round eyes on the side of the road and beeped his horn. The deer, terrified, leapt into the woods instead of crossing the road. Micheal drove on towards his house, entirely unaware of the large maple tree that remained unscathed.
I released a breath that I didn't even know I could hold. Nikki remained silent but took my hand and squeezed. We stood there, in the dark, as I listened to the tree frogs slowly fade away.
| 2015-01-08T13:08:19 | 2015-01-08T12:44:59 | 349 | 143 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | OK, this is a quick jokey short.
"This box will give me one thing per day from my time, and Camelot will be attacked in one week?"
Merlin eyed me a little incredulously, "that is what I have just said, yes."
"OK then. For my first item..." I said, reaching into the box, "paperclips."
"Paperclips? Pray tell, what are these."
"Well Merlin, you clip paper together with them. So they don't get mixed up."
"How will these help us defend Camelot?"
"You'll see."
The next morning I pulled out my magic box, thought for a moment, reached in and pulled out a big rubber band. Merlin asked if it was a magical rubber band, or if it was part of a mighty technological weapon. He did not look happy when I told him it was merely a band made of rubber with many common uses around the home.
The third day I reached in a pulled forth a clothes hanger. Merlin shouted at me, "We have those now!" I merely gave him a wry smile.
The fourth day made Merlin no happier, as I reached in pulled out a yardstick. The fifth and sixth days had Merlin muttering under his breath about "making a big mistake" as I produced a live chicken and a bottle of turpentine.
"Relax Merlin, tomorrow I will pull the most important piece of this puzzle out of that magic box of yours. The kingdom will be saved, and in time for dinner too!"
Merlin arched his brow and merely said, "for your sake you had better be right."
The seventh day, and day of the impending attack, I came to court with the magic box.
"Are you ready to see the final part of my plan, the final component from my time which will save the kingdom?"
"Get on with it!" Merlin roared. I had clearly worn through the last of his patience, probably by the second day I was here.
"OK, open your eyes and behold," I shouted, reaching into the box, "MacGyver!"
The crowd gasped a little as bit by bit MacGyver came out of the box. It did not seem physically possible, but somehow he made it out in one piece.
"Where the hell am I?!" MacGyver shouter.
"You are in Camelot, King Arthur's court actually, and we are about to be attacked. I've assembled these tools for you to use to defeat the attackers."
MacGyver looked down at the "tools." Paperclips, a rubber band, a clothes hanger, a yardstick, live chicken, and a bottle of turpentine.
"What's this supposed to be? Something a witchdoctor left behind when he vacated his office?"
"Haha, very funny MacGyver. I've seen you do more with less."
"Kid, my name is Richard Dean Anderson. MacGyver was a TV show character I played. You know that right?"
"Oh" I said.
"Yeah" Richard Dean Anderson replied.
"I hate to tell you this Merlin, but we're fucked."
| I write now to document. Bare with me. I was no scholar in my future life.
The army camped outside the city came with the Red Wizard. Merlin saw it coming. So is his power. His Blue Ball lets him see. That's why he brought me. Bastard.
When I arrived a week ago there was no warning. Just the feeling of wood against my back and a bearded, toothy smile welcoming me. So of course, Merlin being Merlin, gives me no instruction or warning of any kind and shoves the Sapphire Wishing Box into my hands. And what does he say, what does the son of a bitch say!
Sorry, I need to remember you can't delete ink. Any profanity or words not of this time should be considered a reflection of the moment. There is an army ready to storm the walls. Times are stressed. Food is running low and a battle is surely gonna rise in the morning with us.
Merlin tells me, "Wish into existence any object from your age, that will appear once per day."
So what do I do? With Merlin grinning, hopping up and down with his hands rubbing together. His annoying smile admiring that he finally got a spell right. One that I later find out is three mage levels above his ability. That damn Merlin. He could've killed me, or have me come here with my body parts disconnected had he got it wrong. Bastard.
I also had no idea the Red Wizard was coming to destroy Camelot. The next day I found out it's because Arthur was messing with the Red Wizards world conquering. He told him he would never have as much land as Camelot. Sent some pompous letter apparently calling him Pink. Picking a fight with the RED WIZARD. Everyone knows Red Magic is destructive. Even I did when I first heard the two words Red and Wizard together. Not good, safe, clean, fun magic. Like Merlin's. Except his magic is uselses. Bastard.
This was all Arthur's fault. It was HIS idea to call on someone from the future. Somehow Arthur knew about this Blue Magic spell, and even Merlin didn't. You see why I'm calling Merlin a Bastard. I really hope those in the future read this and realize what type of crazy useless wizard he is/was/will be forever.
Keep forgetting this is pen. Need to better control the flowing of thoughts turning into written word.
Not like any of this helped protect Arthur's camelot. A kingdom with no salt, clean water, barely any holes to shit in, or even a decent baker where you can get something other than two styles of bread. I digress. Camelot is a good kingdom and should not be destroyed. At least that's what those in the city I now write in say.
The Red Wizard's army is moving. We can feel it in the ground.
Why am I writing this out on paper? Dipping a pen in ink every goddamn thirty seconds while the Red Wizard's army is literally shaking the castle as they march to the walls of Camelot. Because King Arthur. He wants to make sure his victory is well remembered after he defeats his enemy with the item he gained from the future. Or as he calls them "Soft Victories". I hope he reads this. Hopefully I retell the events accurately.
So when Merlin asked the self-proclaimed "Sun Knight of the Throne", who should be called from the future to use the Sapphire Wishing Box, which was apparently the only rule that controls the magic of the box, this guy, the King of Camelot, The High Savior of the Realm, He who pulled the sword from the fucking stone, the most egotistical son of a bitch I have ever met, called to bring someone from the future named, Arthur.
And that's where I came in. Back to the past. I hope those who read this in the future realize how good it is there. The food. The smells. The lack of smells. The movement. Electricity. Sorry getting nostalgic.
I made my forceful unwanted entrance onto the Round Table. A beaming bright blue box bashed my head. Apparently Merlin had the box levitating too low when he was doing the teleportation spell..
After the Blue Bastard told me those words, the cursed box was thrusted into my hands. The pain from my head, with the wooden table I was lying on, plus holding the cold and heavy Sapphire Wishing Box made me feel very, I would write, uncomfortable. So I said the first thing that came to mind of something I wanted.
And the Sapphire Wishing Box turned into a plump, always cold, never too hard, never too soft, useless for combat, just like Merlin's magic, pillow.
Hopefully the Red Wizard's Army will be defeated by the Soft Victories being catapulted at them. King Arthur will win the battle against the Red Wizard by launching pillows from the future at him. I am documenting this for him. Bastard.
*Hope you enjoyed it. Wrote it at 330 am. Comments are always appreciated* | 2016-11-28T05:24:59 | 2016-11-28T00:13:11 | 147 | 72 |
[WP] you're a serial killer who is unknowingly on a date with another serial killer. You go back to their place and things get... interesting. | "Would you like some wine?" Jenny asked, already making her way over to the island in the middle of the kitchen. "I've got Merlot and Moscato. Which would you like?"
James glanced up to see her brandishing two bottles.
"Never really been a fan of wine. Mind if I try both?"
The woman narrowed her eyes, but smiled after a second of thought. "Sure, no problem." As she turned away she smiled to herself. *this could get interesting* she thought.
"Why don't you like wine?" She asked, setting the two different glasses in front of her. One a deep red, and the other a light white, condensation already dripping onto the stem.
James picked up the merlot and gave it a taste, swishing it for a second, then taking a deep inhale from the top of the glass. He grimaced as he swallowed. "Never had the taste for it. Say, could I have a glass of water? I'd like to rinse the taste out of my mouth."
"Sure," said Jenny. "Try the Moscato, perhaps a sweeter taste is what you prefer." She returned moments later with a glass of ice water in one hand and a plate of cheeses and crackers in the other.
James rinsed his mouth with the water and took a sip of the moscato. He found it not entirely unpleasant and smiled as he took a large gulp.
"A fan of the sweeter things in life I see. Nothing wrong with that, it explains why you chose me." Jenny said with a wink. "But really....why me?" She avoided eye contact and fiddled with the red trim on her dress.
"Because you're beautiful. And we share at least a couple things, judging by your profile description. Metallica, horror movies,...... daddy issues." James Said the last with a downward glance.
"Yeah, I was wondering if you read that. My psychiatrist says I need to be straightforward about it. So I figured I would just put it in my bio...... so what happened to you?"
James took another gulp of wine, then set the glass down he was already feeling it taking hold of his mind. He needed to slow down, or he wouldn't be able to do what he needed too. "You have a psychiatrist too?" He said lifting his head back up to look at the woman across from him. "Dirty bastard is charging me $200 an hour. And it's not helping."
Jenny smirked at this. She knew what was happening before he did. She took a long drink of the Merlot to celebrate. This wouldn't take much longer. "Tell me about it." She said "Mine keeps saying we should get together out side of his office. As friends. He says he won't charge me, money anyway. I can find other ways to pay him, he says. Dirty bastard is right. He's married and has three kids." She took another long drink and set down her glass. She could feel the alcohol welling up. Blurring the edge of her vision. She needed to slow down, or she wouldn't be able to do what she needed to do.
James laughed at this. "Yeah. Dr.Carington is quite a card."
He locked eyes with Jenny for the first time and smirked at the shocked expression on her face. "Yeah, I've been looking into you quite a bit." James said as he got up. Or, tried to. His legs locked up halfway through the motion and he fell to the floor.
Jenny laughed out loud at the mans misfourtune and stood up herself. Or, tried to. Her head swam as she straightened up and she suddenly couldn't tell up from down. She tried to steady herself on the arm of the couch but over compensated and ended up on the floor right in front of him.
Realization dawned on both of their faces and they smiled at each other. Hands sliding out and making contact in the middle. They held hands as they passed out. They could talk about this in a few hours.
But for now, sleep. | Benjamin smiled quietly to himself as he tightened his arm around Jenny.
The desperation for companionship came off this girl in waves: it had been almost too easy, tonight. He'd have liked a bit more of a challenge.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked as they stepped inside the apartment.
He sank into the couch and touched the blade of his knife, tucked inside his belt. It had been dry for too long. Soon enough, it would be time to give it a drink, too.
"Sure, that'll be nice," he smiled at her.
He drained it as she settled across from him and smiled sweetly. God, this would be so easy and quick, he'd have to take his time...who knew when the next opportunity would come along...he'd have to savour this...he'd have to...
The cup fell from his numbed fingers as he passed out. He had time for one panicked thought: he knew this. This was *his* move.
When Ben woke, he was tied to a bed. Jenny was standing over him, examining his knife. She raised an eyebrow as he slowly woke and tried to sit up.
"Don't bother. I'm really good with ropes, you're tied up good and proper. Normally you'd be dead already, but I had to ask. This knife with the carved wolf symbol - is that your idea of a joke? Pretending to be the Savage?"
Her tone of derision stung - for a moment, he forgot being tied to the bed.
"So what if I am? What are you supposed to be - the Strangler? Thinking you're so great with ropes?" he asked, and barked with laughter as her eyes narrowed at the name. She *did* think she was the Strangler.
"Oh god lady, are you off the rails. The Strangler is the most prolific serial killer of the decade! He's not a *girl*. I bet you have a crazy little shrine dedicated to him somewhere, don't you? You're the type of girl who'd write him letters in your own blood in prison," Benjamin chuckled, as her eyes grew wilder.
"You remind me of my dad. Always mocking me. Underestimating me," she whispered, lightly dragging the knife across his stomach. "You even look a little bit like him. It's why I chose you. I wouldn't taunt me right now, if I were you. I really wouldn't. You might be good at tearing people apart, but I've got you tied up nicely, haven't I?"
He stared into her eyes, his heart pounding. For the first time in his life, he almost felt like he...understood another person. He felt the urge to talk.
"You get it, don't you?" he asked. "Someone did a number on you too, when you were young? With me it was both my parents. I'm still so...filled with rage. I have to let it out. With every person I...."
"Kill," she said, nodding along to his words. "Yeah."
They stared at each other for a moment, and smiled tentatively.
"We have more in common than I thought," Benjamin said. "I wouldn't mind continuing our date, after all. Have a proper one. If you'd just - you know..."
He nodded towards the ropes. Her smiled faded.
"Really, Benjamin? You were going to rip me to little pieces with your knife," she pointed out. "I've seen your work. I've admired it, but I don't want it done to *me*."
"Well, you were going to slowly strangle me!" he snapped, trying in vain to free himself from the bed. "So I say we're quits. Besides, when will either of us have this chance again? The chance to really connect with someone who understands us?"
She bit her lip as she thought, but slowly nodded as she untied him. He sat up and stared at her in wonder. A woman he could be himself with: extraordinary. Even better, the woman whose work he'd admired for so long. Suddenly, he really looked at her for the first time, as he stopped analysing the body parts he wanted to stab first. Those deep blue eyes, mad and beautiful at the same time.
He felt a spark of desire, as an idea formed in his mind. He leaned closer and traced a finger down her jaw. Jenny frowned in consternation.
"You like ropes, don't you? Say, why don't I tie you up, and we can - "
Her eyes grew bright as she tightened her grip on Benjamin's knife, still clutched in her hand.
"Dad used to tie me up...tie me up in my room without any supper..." she whispered.
He rolled his eyes. And he thought he had deep-buried issues.
"Look, I'm not your dad," he said taking her hand and grinning as he tied a rope around it. "I just want to -"
"Never again!" she screamed, and sank the knife into his stomach. Again, and again. She was breathless as she carried on, long after Benjamin's eyes had glazed over.
Slowly, she came back to herself as Benjamin's blood spread across the floor. She looked at his body and blanched a bit: this was pretty extreme, even for her.
She sniffed and fished in her jacket pocket for her phone, and finally found the number she'd entered as a last resort. The irritating psychiatrist who still called her from time to time, checking up on her. She'd never gone back after that first, disastrous appointment. He'd reminded her of her dad.
"Dr...uhm, Anderson?" she said, leaving a message. "I think I might want to come back for that second appointment. Maybe you're right. Maybe...maybe I do have a *few* problems I need to work on."
--------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-12-15T12:39:07 | 2016-12-15T12:01:26 | 73 | 50 |
[WP] At 16, everyone chooses a word which will take away their immortality. You have just found the last dictionary.
Edit: Wow! Uh... not really sure what to say here other than your stories were all amazing! I loved reading each and every one of them! | I starred at the flashing letters on the screen. "CHOOSE YOUR WORD" it said in large red font. This decision should have been a rather intimidating one to make, but I had a secret weapon. I had found a wonderful book full of unique and bizarre words, I studied it for weeks for this very moment. All I needed to do was type my select word into the computer. Then it struck me.
"Wait a minute" I thought
CHOOSE YOUR WORD: tpoiuetlkdlsn
"I am a goddamn genius"
Author's Note: You are a 16 year old | I deeply apologize to whoever finds this letter and actually manages to read it. I have hesitated to write at all from fear of being misunderstood, and many pieces of this writing may not make sense or be used in the way they were designed to be used as I am not familiar with the origins of this way of sharing ideas and feelings.
I found a strange object about three years ago. It looks a bit like a stack of thin canvases glued together on one edge, with the first and last canvas being harder and sturdier than the rest. It is covered in these peculiar arbitrary symbols that mean nothing until grouped together. When grouped together in very specific patterns -- many of which I have memorized -- they make symbols of things I can see, feel, touch, hear, and sometimes smell. I’ve noticed that when I put larger groups of these groups of symbols together, I can express bigger ideas!
I keep this secret and I ask you to do the same, for reasons I think can be mutually understood if you are of the sound mind that I hope you are. I chose a group of these symbols on my sixteenth year, as did everyone else. These symbols mean my death, as I believe they do for everyone else. I believe this object is descendent of Mr. Webster’s banished property from days before the rise of the Great Arts.
I am asking your help, if you can. I have fallen in love with the clarity these symbols have given. With the traditional ways of sharing ideas, we can only share shapes and sounds. These are concrete things. We are limited by the very things in the world we exist in. We can’t go beyond. My glued canvases take me beyond, and I am afraid of the consequences.
I am afraid my family and friends will believe I am mad and lock me away. I can't share the canvas or they will find my symbols and I will surely die. I am alone in my love. I can’t share it with those I love because they don’t understand and I can't risk sharing the canvases that enlightened me lest that result in my accidental or non-accidental death. They only understand the music and the pictures, the things they can already hear and see. They can’t comprehend the thoughts that lie beyond. I have fallen madly in love with this freedom. Maybe you understand? Will you wander with me into the beyond?
| 2017-01-11T21:05:07 | 2017-01-11T20:42:42 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] Children are invisible until their 13th birthday. Today, it is your viewing day. Friends and family gather around to watch as you pop into the visible spectrum. | We stared at the ticking clock. Five more seconds.
Tick. Pranks on our neighbors would get a lot harder. Tick. So would sneaking into R rated movies. Tick. Can't pay Maxine ten bucks to swap with me for math tests anymore. Tick. Guess it's time to go straight and stop shoplifting. Tick. The faces around me contorted with shock.
I wasn't worried about being ugly. The week before, I'd cheated a bit and used Mom's foundation. I liked my cheekbones, my lips, and my waist. My forehead and chin less so, but I wasn't ugly. But there was one really big thing to clear up.
"Paul, Chuck, James... guess you now know. I'm actually a girl. Mom, Dad, I don't see why you're surprised. What, do I have a weird birthmark?" Dad glanced between me and Mom while my friends hid their faces. Mom moved to leave the room, but Uncle Bob stood in her way.
"Honey," Dad said, as he walked over, shaking his head. He patted my elbow with his arm. "I want you to know that no matter what happens, I'll always be your dad."
Mom stood crying, tears streaming down her pale face. I raised an eyebrow and looked down. Dad's arm, white as can be, stood in stark contrast against the dark pigment of my skin.
[join the community!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) | I hardly could control my arm movements as I stood in front of the mirror. I was wearing the new dinner jacket that my dad had bought me for this very day. I pulled my sleeve up to check the time for the fourth time. My heart was pounding in my chest and I sucked in air. Ten minutes. I remembered very well the day when my older brother had his 13th birthday. Everyone had cheered and clapped when he appeared in front of them with a big grin on his face. It was at this point that I saw how similar to our dad he looked. I begged, I prayed to that I would at least look just as handsome as he did. My older brother was three years older than me and had already managed to be top of his class meanwhile being the idol of the entire college he went to.
My arm flopped down and I looked back into the mirror. I could only see my dinner jacket float as if held up by invisible strings. I closed my eyes and tried to calm my racing heart. "David!" My mother's voice was heard downstairs and I gave a jump from the slight shock it gave me. "Coming!" I yelled back before yet again pulling my sleeve up to check my time. Five minutes. I rushed out of my room and down the stairs where I was greeted by my mother who partly followed and partly pushed me into the living room where a large crowd had gathered for the event. I scanned the crowd until I caught the blue-white bonnet belonging to my classmate Lisa. She had not turned thirteen yet, so one could only see a floating baby blue dress and the bonnet. "Happy birthday!" The entire room exploded in birthday greetings as soon as the crowd realised I had stepped into the living room. "Happy birthday, my dear old boy!" My uncle Terry had rushed up to me and was now trying to grab my invisible hand to shake it until I eventually grabbed hold of his and shook it. "Thanks, Uncle," I replied slightly shy from all the attention - at this moment, I was happy that I still was invisible so he could not see that I was looking over at Lisa. I felt her gaze look at me and I blushed a bit before finally letting go of my uncle Terry's hand. "Now, now. Gather around. James, don't block your sister! Just one more minute till he turns visible," my aunt Mary was heard scolding my younger cousin James who was two years younger than me and had pushed himself past everyone to get a better look of me popping into existence.
"Two minutes!" My other uncle cried out in excitement, followed by my grandfather; "what?" - I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut, prepared for the worst case scenario. "One!" The entire crowd joined in on the countdown and everyone held their breath. Eyes staring directly at me. I could feel the excitement for me to appear in front of them. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAVID," everyone yelled out and I opened my eyes, letting go of my breath. "He looks like his father!" Someone said from the crowd and I nervously looked up at my mother who was smiling down on me. "Rubbish! He looks like his mother!" Retorted another voice from the crowd. "Happy birthday, David," I could not help but smile when she caressed my dirty-blonde hair and looked into my hazel coloured eyes which had begun to water from joy. | 2017-10-22T16:01:05 | 2017-10-22T12:49:08 | 212 | 31 |
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters. | I heard, from down the hall, the bang-bang-bang as the bandits try to breach the panic room. They managed to get into the bunker. The outside door. Someone left it open. Don't know who. I'm the only one left. Locked in here. Alone.
My pistol, an old thing, only has 2 bullets left. One for myself, I suppose.
Dust falls from above, irritating my eyes. They're really trying to get in.
I suppose I'd better kill myself, get it-
Behind me, I hear a clatter of metal-on-concrete. Then some more. Then back to the rhythmic banging of the raiders.
I turn, and a pile of guns lie there. A note on top of the pile.
"Give 'em hell. -Kringle" | *Jingle Bells crackled from Santa's digital radio... The quality restored as he neared the shelter*
The portly, red faced man whipped his undead reindeer (yes the post apocalyptic world brought with it crippling decay to even the high deities such as Santa) with the sheer force of a thousand winters. **crack** **crack** **crack** The reindeer cried out in pain and sped up, they moved to a full flying gallop while Santa held the map close to his face. The storm was howling, he could barely hear his thoughts let alone read the map. He cracked the whip again. Rudolf's luminous red nose acted as a beacon for any weary travellers that might be braving the cold night, though Santa doubted anyone but him could survive out here. He steamed straight ahead still following the gentle sound of Christmas music blasting from his radio.
A small group of survivors had made Lapland their home, deep in the snowy forest they were as far as anyone could be from the ruins of civilisation that acted as a constant reminder of the days gone past. They were doing their best to live on in a new world that could forget the mistakes of the past, however this new world was harsh and deadly. Whether they had been naughty or nice was beyond reason, in Santa's eyes still being alive in the deep Winter was enough to deserve a visit.
Santa saw a dim light coming from within the trees up ahead, the radio was playing *Fairytale of New York* crispy as he pulled the sled down towards the forest edge. There were no chimneys to climb down anymore, no fireplaces to land on and burn his shoes, no carrots for the reindeer, no cookies for himself. But the people, still believing in the Christmas Saint, lit a bonfire with as much wood as they could collect to show that there was still hope.
Santa left the sled and the reindeer and crept through the forest to the campsite, all were sound asleep despite the roar of the wind. Over his shoulder was a sack full of gifts that he had crafted himself. The elves had all perished in the fallout (poor immune systems unfortunately). He took the sack and entered each house leaving the gifts under whatever makeshift Christmas tree had been made. In the last house as he was placing the gifts down he noticed a small boy lying on his side, eyes wide open. Santa lifted his finger up to his lip, smiled and crept out. He knew as he left that so long as there were people alive they would still believe, in him and in themselves.
Merry Christmas friends, I hope you too believe in yourself this year. | 2017-12-22T15:31:03 | 2017-12-22T15:09:43 | 77 | 50 |
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters. | Santa ran through the list again. It was his shortest one yet. The nuclear blast had swept away most of humanity, and with it, the childlike sense of wonder and imagination that would compel one to write a letter to Santa. Mrs. Clause appeared at the door holding two steaming mugs of cocoa.
"Honey," sighed Santa, folding up his glasses. "This job is getting pretty grim."
"Oh?" said Mrs. Clause.
"This one kid asked me to free his captive father from the swamp mutants."
"Gee," said Mrs. Clause. "That doesn't sound like the type of gadget the elves could whip up in the workshop."
"And, how am I supposed to deliver the presents without my reindeer? I may be immortal, but my reindeer weren't. The writing prompt forgot to specify that."
"That's a shame," said Mrs. Clause. "I am also mortal."
Mrs. Clause disappeared. | FADE IN:
EXT. NORTH POLE - NIGHT
SANTA looks at his magically short list. ELVES in gas masks are packing up the minimally loaded sleigh. 5 Reindeer stand idle. The northern lights glow a faint dark green and red.
SANTA:
One thousand, two hundred and nine total. That’s 32 more people than last year.
Santa runs his leather-covered hands across RUDOLPH’s back.
SANTA (CONT’D):
People are beginning to have hope again, Rudolph. That’s why we have to continue our mission. Even if... the naughty outnumber the good.
Rudolph readjusts its footing, lowing in pain.
Santa’s magical list flairs in sprites. The list compresses as 3 names fade away.
ELF 1 : Should I--
Santa sighs.
SANTA: Yes, take them off.
Elf 1 chucks two wrapped presents off the sleigh. They dematerialize into the wind. Elf 1 looks at Santa, then away removing his gas mask.
ELF 1
Santa, seems like they killed that lone wolf to survive on his supplies. Maybe they could use--
Santa pivots swiftly, facing the elf.
SANTA: Have I ever made an exception?
ELF 1
No. Sorry, Nick.
Santa’s eyes water as other names begin fading off the list.
SANTA: I’m sorry, but when we begin turning on each other--
Santa rolls up the list.
SANTA (CONT’D)
-we become the monsters that got us to this point.
Santa takes a glance at the almost cowering reindeer.
SANTA (CONT’D): I don’t want to encourage a world where those types thrive...
A glacier peak in the distance cracks. The booming sound ripples across the groaning ice. The glacier slouches into the earth.
Santa wipes sweat across his forehead, proceeds to unbuckle his worn belt.
He heaves his coat off himself and onto the sleigh. He reaching into the coat pocket.
His tan sleeves roll up exposing his speckled, peeling pink skin.
Santa brings forth a framed picture of a beautiful lady by the fireplace wearing his hat. He stares.
SANTA (CONT’D): Besides...
Santa rolls down his sleeves.
SANTA (CONT’D)
I’m not sure how much longer I can make in-person appearances.
The elves give a half-hearted giggle. A couple of the giggles turn into coughs.
Santa takes a last glance at his list.
Black ink bleeds into the magical parchment spelling out a new name.
A half-grinned Santa looks up towards the glowing northern lights. | 2017-12-22T16:13:10 | 2017-12-22T16:00:31 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | They said they wanted peace. They said they wanted to avoid a future where humanity wiped itself out. They said a lot of things. And then they said no more.
For fifty years we waited. We followed the treaty down to the letter, even refusing to contact our northern and southern neighbors. For fifty years we waited, as they spat on their supposed good intentions. We waited as peace broke down. We waited as war broke out.
There's a slight poetic justice to learning that the ones who were afraid of us, the ones responsible for this self imposed exile, died in a hellfire of their own making. They thought that we were the biggest threat. They thought we were the cancer spreading throughout the world, destroying everything it touched.
They were wrong.
We were simply a deterrent. A force of nature that none dared to cross. And with us out of the way, with nothing to be afraid of, the world tore itself apart.
We came out of our exile prepared to fight. We expected an army of nations, prepared to end us, once and for all. But what we found instead was the very world itself, wrapped up in a wintery bow, waiting for us to take it.
| ' they're... they... oh. Is that a-a... mule?...'
It's easy to forgive Jake, the millenial inner-city kid who's only seen a cow on a soymilk carton. Not so easy to forgive Jake the West Point graduate and Marine recon company commander. He's sitting in his Fox IV submersible hovercraft, 12 miles off the coast of what used to be Russia, in the Barents icefield, blabbing away on the QR stream-of-consciousness style, like a rookie.
' Pull yourself together, mr. Parsons, and report!'
' I'm seeing a column of... people, Sir. Refugees, maybe, or a prison work gang. They have carts pulled by what look like mules, or very small horses. Can't see very well in this blizzard, our MQ-30 is dancing like a...!'
' Time to get ashore. Standard patrol deployment, MOPP gear and procedure. Leave the bird up as weather permits. And mr. Parsons. Do not wait for me to tell you to get out. Anything hinky, you bail. Anything looks like it MIGHT turn bad later, you bail. Any lights on the NBC board, you bail. I have released the forward battery of the Juneau into your immediate control. Godspeed.'
If there's a gulp, it gets swallowed by static. Five minutes of sustained fire from just the one battery could reduce the entire 'city' of Murmansk to rubble, and bury the rubble under a layer of freshly-powdered rubble. He knows it. I know it. Everybody knows it, who's on the circuit - to devolve such responsibility to so junior an officer means I anticipate trouble, of the kind that can't be reasoned with.
' Commodore, we have some activity in the S-band. Comms, not radar. Looks like sidelobe leak from a microwave relay. We're still analyzing the protocol, but it looks like civilian stuff, low-entropy.'
' Somebody calling home for instructions perhaps. Good sign. Fire up the greeter.'
The greeter is something of an ongoing obsession with High Command and the politicos - the exact wording of the canned message has been argued back and forth for the past two years, and I'm only too glad to have been left out of the debate. It does make for a pretty sight though, lasers cutting through the morning mist to form the words
DO NOT BE ALARMED. WE ARE THE US MILITARY. WE COME IN PEACE.
Cyrillics add an air of rune-magic to the proceedings, but I would have done away with the loudspeakers (on loan from Ft. Huachuca, 10 kW acoustic phased-array jobbies that can literally scramble brains like omelettes, if you set them to the right frequency). The red white and blue signals rockets I could live with, but red does take on a devilish hue in the mist. Oh well. Shock, awe, hearts, minds and all that.
[continue y/n] | 2022-09-12T17:39:07 | 2018-01-18T02:34:57 | 579 | 42 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | John saved enough money for the last 45 years to go live in one of the last cities that still existed near the frontier of the United States.
It was now time to actually go there, although it was still 8 months until the official event in which the US would open his doors to the world, and viceversa.
At the time the Treaty for the World Peace and Reconstruction was implemented, no one was really expecting that the US would be the only country isolated. No one felt it was the right thing, but since the US was the one to launch missiles first, no one was really against it either.
Except obviously, those who had family in the US, such as soldiers and diplomats stranded at the end of the war in other countries.
John was one of them. He left his wife and still unborn child in the US when he was assigned to an abroad mission near the end of the war. And when it ended, he couldn't go back home because of the treaty. No one goes in, no one goes out.
But he grew anxious over the last few months the Treaty was supposed to last. He was merely weeks away of reuniting with his family, and the fact he was just a few hundred miles from the wall that separated the US and the rest of the wolrd made it no easier.
He decided to take the risk and drive to the wall. Maybe that would calm his heart for the remaining time.
As he approached the wall he was detained by a security patrol. Must've a private one, because they had a symbol he had never seen before.
They took him to a building near the wall. They asked him why he was there, and what he knew of what was inside the wall.
Then they led him to another building where they conducted some medical tests on him.
"These last weeks a lot of folks like you have showed up" the medic that was performing the tests said.
"At first the government tried to keep them away from the wall, but now that the big day is coming, they can't just drive them away from it. So instead, they bring them here to at least ensure they don't carry potential diseases unknown to the inhabitants of the US, if they still call themselves like that-"
"Ben, we need you now!" Said another medic as he busted into the room.
"The class D expedition group is back, and we need you to test the new anomalies!"
"Damn it Greg. Can't you see I'm with a civilian right now? Now we have to give him amnesiacs."
"Yeah, I know, but do you remember the guy in the expedition that was missing an eye?"
"Yeah, what with him? Did he grow it back?"
"No, but he grew another head that is convinced he is Nicholas Cage!"
"Damn, I have to see that"
He turned back to John.
"Listen, normally we would just send you on your way-".
"But we have no option now. Even if you heard just a little, what is going here goes beyond you comprehension. I mean, we have more than half of the world leaders working for the Foundation, helping to contain whatever is inside those walls and protecting people like you. And even the foundation goes as far as making the world believe every 50 years that the last 50 years never happened so the Treaty for World Peace and Reconstruction can go on and no one tries to go inside the walls. And yet the Foundation still has no fucking idea what is going inside the walls with SC-"
"Great work Greg, now he has heard too much. Why did you told him?"
"Where erasing his memory anyway. It doesn't matter. Now can we go? I want to hear that head proclaim it has the declaration of independence before the boys cut it out."
And with that, both medics left.
John didn't know what to think. Was it a prank? Or was something really going on?
He didn't had time to think it anyways as two men wearing security uniforms took him elsewhere.
This time he had a better glance at their badges. A circle with three arrows pointing to the center, alongside the name and motto of the company they worked for.
*SCP Foundation. Secure. Contain. Protect.*
_This is my first time writing an original writing prompt. Also please keep in mind English is not my first language, so any feedback and criticism is appreciated._ | **6th April, 2037 - HMAS *Maryborough*, Somewhere off the coast of Australia**
"So, the yanks bought it?"
The speaker leans heavily against the rail, staring at the smouldering coastline. A deck above, overstressed rotor blades whine slowly, cooling in the ocean breeze.
"Oh yes. Contrition, shame, repentance...if we'd brought a whip along, I reckon their delegation would have flagellated themselves."
The new arrival joins him, steadying herself as the vessel rocks in an errant swell.
"Hmph. Bloody typical. Living like the world's a movie, where they're the heroes and everybody else is either a sidekick to use, a villain to fight or just part of the fucking scenery."
He sighs, rubbing shaking fingers across his eyes, as if massage will bring vision back into being.
"I wouldn't have believed you, even a week ago. But they took it without even raising a single protest. Fifty years, as of 5 days ago..."
She trails off, suddenly guilty. A few minutes either way, and she could have been like him. One of the thousands left burnt and sightless. They would probably never know whose it was that did it, not that it mattered. Russian, Chinese, American, Korean, Japanese...maybe even their own.
"Of course. The Americans are like children, when you get right down to it. A billion dead, more injured, climate buggered, but the story must go on. They know they've done wrong, so they're expecting to be put into timeout."
A chuckle, the first in what feels like years, forces its way out of her at the mental image that conjures. Her mind turns back to the stories of her youth.
"Well, that's what happens when the 'hero' does a bad thing, isn't it? He goes into exile, to repent his sins, and gets called back when the world needs to be saved again. Superman, Batman..."
Her companion tries to join her, but lapses into a throaty cough instead.
"More...like...the fucking...Hulk."
He stumbles, the jerky movements pulling several tubes taut against his chest. A strident beeping begins to sound, soon joined by one buzzer, then another.
"Oh jesus... Nurse! NURSE!"
A bandaged hand clutches her arm.
"They...want...a story. Give...them...one."
Her tears were simply a drop in the ocean.
**9th April 2037 - Bundaberg Disaster Relief Centre**
His communications centre looked a lot like hers, she mused, as the technicians scurried around the jury-rigged setup, making sure the link was at least semi-stable.
"This is quite a surprise, Deputy Prime Minister. I believe it was you who convinced us all to live out the next fifty years in isolation, after all. Come to leave your neighbours with some parting words of wisdom? Perhaps apologise for joining the rest of them in burning the world down?"
Her eyes widened, and she mentally kicked herself. Of course he knew. The Tasman wasn't that wide, and just because they'd forsaken a military, didn't make them stupid. Hell, even an idiot could tell a rocket going up from one coming down.
"Prime Minister, actually. As of Monday. And no. To the former, at least."
She took a guilty sort of pleasure in watching him sigh, the bags under his eyes suddenly looking unbearably heavy.
"A good man, if misguided. Another life burnt on the atomic pyre. He will be missed. What do you want then, Ms Prime Minister? I have fifty years to prepare my country for the next ride on this insane merry-go-round, and I don't intend to waste it."
Here it was. If she couldn't convince this man, then there was no point in trying anywhere else. If she could...
"Let me tell you a story."
He doubted. He laughed. He doubted some more. He threatened to cut off the call. He thought. He called for advisors. He doubted. He refused to believe. He had it repeated. He laughed. He doubted.
He agreed.
**6th April, 2087 - New Brisbane, 2km underground**
"Pickups are live. Boarding has been reported complete, and all birds are green. Looks like they're really going to do it."
Chatter fills the air conditioned command centre. Overhead, screens regurgitate a million different data streams - live footage, passenger estimates, a few colour commentators. Bound to her life support chair, the ex-Prime Minister smiles as one of the feeds momentarily cuts above the rest.
"-and we are here today not in sorrow, but in determination. To follow our brothers and sisters to the stars, to rejoin the-"
She raises her voice, the inbuilt amplifiers carrying it across the busy room.
"Get your bets in! She's just about to announce the name!"
The assembled representatives, covering most of the remaining nations on the planet, chuckle politely.
"Still ordering everyone around, I see, 'Mum'?"
The Indonesian ambassador pats her on the shoulder, and she grasps his hand.
"You bloody well bet I am. Somebody has to keep this lot on task. Got your bet in?"
He looks stricken.
"You know that the Quran forbids-"
She gives him a Stare.
"...20 on *Enterprise*, ma'am. Seems fitting. 'Boldly go', and all that."
She laughs, and turns back to the screens. A countdown has appeared, framing the giant silver ship they show, looming over a cracked mesa.
"Y'know, you ought to be right. All those years ago, when I came up with this batshit idea, I probably would have agreed. But as much as they need a story, I think there's one thing they need more. And it's what we're giving them, even though they'll never know it."
The view changes back to the figure at the podium.
"With that, I christen her...*Independence*."
| 2018-01-18T02:24:06 | 2018-01-18T01:28:33 | 210 | 18 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | Well, this may be the ump-tenth time I've "kidnapped" the Princess. Every time she gets saved she plays the victim, swoons for her "hero" and goes home with a smile, plotting her next kidnapping in hopes of finally returning here for good. Honestly, she's crazy.
I feel bad for the guy, he's hard working, steady job, well loved. Apparently a little slow or blinded by affection for his Princess. But I guess so am I. Every time she gets away, puts a spell of charm and command over my soldiers and commanders, and is off to the races. I haven't really properly ordered my men in thirty years.
Thirty odd years ago, that's when I made my mistake. My dream of ruling a kingdom and taking the Princess. It was simple as dreams go. But once I had her and fanned my soldiers out into the world she...changed. Next thing I knew she wasn't resisting me. I thought "Great!" But as I gave her freedoms within my castle she started to want to partner more and share my rule. My once glorious and fearful rule! I am now but a joke. A shell of a villain to the world.
She would have some of her old servants captured and then lock them in a smaller castle with her. There she would have arranged that I take her away as though I was moving her confinement to another castle. She must have done this six or seven times messing with the heads of her former companions. Lord knows what they told her rescuer if he didn't bypass their castle.
She started ordering my army to put traps around knowing her man in red would try and save her. They say he even bested a giant ape before so she was not taking chances. I thought she wanted to stay with me at first -and I still think that is partially true - but I know she also just wanted to stay in power and be, well, evil.
Eventually her hero came. As I can't say no to her, I can never say no to her, I defended her in her chambers. When I was bested she played the good princess and was thankful of her savior. A few years later I found her back in my home though, already setting up defenses. Princess told me she missed me...Princess told me she missed all of this. This would repeat time and time again. And yet that blissfully sorry hero would rise to the challenge shouting "It'sa me! Mario!" and thwarting her plans yet again. | Jives tried to warn me. He said that there was something off about Hilde when I first brought her back here to the castle, but I didn't want to listen. What was it that drove me to her? Lust? Her perfect form? Her exquisite face?
Doesn't matter now anyways. Didn't even get to apologize to Jives before she killed him. Said that "his eyes didn't suit his head". They're sitting there on the wardrobe now, looking back at me with an eternal glint of fear in them, slowly rotting away in that jar.
Strange to think that three months have passed since I brought her here. Then again, the stench of the corpses makes it hard to focus on much else.
"Oh darling, don't worry!" she told me. "I just don't want anyone distracting you from me!" That smile of hers, burned into my memory with the sounds of the knife tearing through Carlyle's throat, the gurgling and sputtering...ugh. Every night I wonder why I didn't try to stop her, why I simply stood by and watched as she went about slaughtering all the servants. Perhaps it's those damned eyes of hers. Black as the night sky, no feeling in them, no emotion. A terrifying sight, something that chills me to the bone every time she looks at me. It's inhuman.
Now they're all dead, strung up along the walls with rope or nails, while others still rest where she caught them. The stench set in after a few days, and has only grown worse over time. Maggots crawl to and fro amongst the bodies, and the flies can be heard buzzing all throughout the castle.
"It's for the best, my love," she remarked as she looped Roderick's entrails around the Dining Hall's chandelier. "Too many voices to distract you from me, too much air going to waste on the others." Not even the men could stop her. They came charging through the entryway mere hours after they heard the first screams, and yet despite all their training, all their years serving under my banner, they fell to her like leaves to the wind. I can only hope the few that managed to escape never return, for their own sakes.
I cannot leave this place. Every attempt has ended in failure. She is always watching, even when she is nowhere in sight. She took my left leg the last time, stating "This leg won't do you any good, it's trying to take you away from me." The mere thought of the encounter is enough to bring back the searing pain of the branding iron she used to cauterize it. Of course, that is nothing in comparison to the tremors. They have slowed significantly since the first few weeks, but they return every once in a while, as if trying to remind me that humans were not meant to consume the flesh of our own kind. Attempts to convince Hilde of this are always pointless, however.
"Don't be absurd, my dearest! I can't let you corrupt yourself with filthy animal meat. The only way for you to stay pure is to feast upon our own kind!"
I believe that's where she is now, down in the castle's dungeon, cutting up and preparing to roast another corpse. I've tried fighting back against her, but alas, in my old age I do not possess the strength I once had; whereas she is young and nimble. Taking my own life has also proven futile. She made sure to place all the leftover weaponry out of my reach, somewhere on the lower levels where I cannot go without assistance. Even more ironic is that she has locked me away here, in the very tower I had hoped to imprison her within. The door is locked from the outside, and the arrow slits are so impossibly narrow that even the light of day struggles to shine through.
As I sit here writing these entries, I have realized that I was a fool - a misguided, greedy fool who has no one to blame but himself. I yearned for power, for fame, for fortune. I wished to be remembered, to be a man who's name would strike fear into the hearts of my countrymen for years to come. And yet here I wait, rotting away in my own cell, imprisoned by the one I had hoped to conquer.
Truly, a prisoner of my own devices. | 2018-02-09T05:44:16 | 2018-02-09T05:37:27 | 61 | 18 |
[WP] You invited people to your mansion without telling them they would be part of a killing game, the doors are locked, no way to escape until there is only one, problem is: the mansion is really nice and no one really wants to leave | NOW I'M REALLY ANGRY! This despairingly perfect plot has completely gone to waste! 16 ultimate students. One locked mansion. SEVERAL tempting motives. All of it's gone to waste! Look at them! They'd rather spend the rest of their lives in here! This is NOT what I was setting up for!
....I know! My next motive....in order to stay in the mansion, they have to kill someone! Upupu!~ | It was a devil's deal, but we all knew it coming in...
The sunsets really are amazing though.
There's a breeze gently breathing out over the sea as the sunset, nearly touching the mountains towards the west. It's not late enough in the season yet, but it was pointed out to us, every sunset was a little further north along the horizon and closer to that point. The uncertain point where this should end
Looking over, I can see Barnsley is lost in the sunset himself, gazing over the water.
is he having the same thoughts?
Glancing to my left I could see Claudia sitting at her place on her balcony, and she looks peaceful, also gazing over the water..
I had inadvertently marked Claudia in my mind when I first met her - it was clear she was a woman torn - angry and mistrustful. Over the months it was clear that she wasn't the cold machinist of social unrest that I first perceived, but someone long beaten and assaulted - she had a long life of betrayal and mistrust.
I think now that I love this woman. She could never be the matriarch of this little party of ours, but she has a certain seniority. She earned her peace. I can almost feel her pain with her demons voices constantly reminding her of the wrongs done by her..
We all have demons. We knew the one who brought us here was lying, we could taste the lies on the air, and struggled to see the truth behind it, but failed to see an alternative
Down by the beach, Graham walked slowly, not far from the boathouse, his gaze also leaning toward the shimmering stretch of light as the sun crept ever lower. He too, understood, that with each passing day, passed lower in the sky, and crept along the horizonand little further. Eventually the sunset would touch that mountain peak, and it would be time, the season will be over.
Did we fear death?
No one feared death here..
The suffering we had endured was enough for any life, and we sought rest, nothing more, and we were promised what? All we received was a beautiful purgatory..
This here is place of peace, and yet, in our peace, we knew it was limited, and what came after, was .. undiscovered | 2018-09-02T16:27:43 | 2018-09-02T15:36:19 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] You disagree with most of your co-workers and peers. You hate toothpaste. You are the 10th Dentist. | "Plaque is just a biofilm on teeth, you can take it off with soap and water. Try Johnson's baby shampoo," I explained at a party. Several glances of disgust shot towards me.
"Doesn't that taste... disgusting?"
"You can still eat oranges after and not hate yourself," I expanded.
Several people nodded in agreement, but most were still not convinced.
"Have you ever heard of silver diamine fluoride? It cures cavities without needing a filling. It's perfect. Don't look it up on your phone"
It's like asking someone to clam down, it never works.
"It looks like it turns the teeth black"
"Yes, but, no cavities," I explained
"I want whiter teeth, not black teeth"
"No you don't, you want healthy teeth," I contradicted.
"Why would I ever see you as a dentist?"
I sighed, "Because I'm in-network"
&#x200B; | Sitting alone in the dark gnawing at the corner of my desk, my assistant quietly enters as not to alarm me, as I'll quickly run to the woods like a scared deer. She lays the day's itinerary, newest magazines from the dental quarterlies, and yet another survey. I do not cease my gnawing as I've almost reached the juicy middle, I firmly believe that some day there will be a nougat center, or Bavarian cream filled desk one of these days.
I look over my schedule, Johnny Baxter, yes the basis of my research my control if you will. I firmly believe teeth get sick from eating one another so I wired his jaw in place and he's on a liquid diet for the time being.
"Good morning, we'd like to invite you to-" trash..
"Would you recommend?" No.
"It has come to our attention that you do not own a single chair in your entire office, even for your patients-" Foools! they not know the risks of chairs and biting your lips once.
While in med school they mocked me for my theories they'd laugh and say "But Mr. Paulall, this is purely observation bias, you claim success from the most circumstantial." They do not understand my brilliance.
The light by my office door blinks three times, the signal there is a patient ready for me in room three. Just to be safe I remain beneath my desk for several minutes, before clawing my way up the wall and into the vents leading to room three.
I can see the red light I had installed for the germ free zones in my examination rooms, I look to ensure the door is properly secured before opening the vent to enter partially into the room. Mr. Baxter is already crying, ah yes my cure for cavities is clearly working, but I've been improving my bedside manner. "Little Johnny?"
"yes, Dr. Paulall?"
"Eating sugar?"
"No, Paulall."
" " ț͔̬̣̯̟͉͉̱̹̳͆̎̀̎͗̍͐̏̓̋ͯ̀͂̄ ͍̟͆ͫ̄͌̌͂eͫ͗̀̐̚lͤl̡ͫi͓n̙g̶͈͉̤̰̱͌ͫͣ͋͗̈́Li̮̩̫̯̩̋ͦ͌̈̀̚e͙ͧ̊s̙͂̀̈? " | 2018-12-28T06:57:15 | 2018-12-28T06:07:08 | 583 | 242 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | "I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant. | “This time will work”, you think to yourself. You decided, quite against your better instincts, to date someone more your speed. Perhaps more importantly, someone who provides a reason for those do-gooder bastards to think twice before attacking. The anti-heroine MissStep.
Dinner had been going quite well. This quaint little French gastropub. She was surprisingly open to your invitation, despite your grim and admittedly off-putting reputation.
“How’s the duck confit?” You ask, in the voice of a man twice your years.
“Quite excellent, thank you very much.” She sips her Chablis and drums her fingers on the dark wooden panels of the table. “So...”
“Yes?” this time in a young woman’s voice.
“The voices...”
“Ah...” as an elderly Slavic sounding man.
“Do you really steal the souls of your victims?”
“Not exactly. I’m like a memory-sponge. Usually they’re simply collateral damage, but if they’re within a dozen paces of me when they go... The voices are an unfortunate side effect.” You reply, now as a middle-aged woman with a distinctively South American je ne sais quoi.
“Awfully morbid.” She responds, not disinterestedly.
“Wouldn’t have been my choice of... abilities, either. On the other hand, I have accumulated several dozen lifetimes of skills and knowledge. Comes in handy whether or not I’m currently suited up.” A child this time, a pronounced Southern patois.
“I’m sure it does. Manipulating fortunes wouldn’t have been my call either, but as you say... It has its uses. I was a little surprised when you called. Wouldn’t have thought you’d have my number.”
“Yes, well... The Argonaut was feeling somewhat apologetic after crashing my date with a normie. He suggested dating a super and asked if I had anyone in mind.” Distinctly Canadian-sounding, perhaps a young adult of ambiguous gender.
“Aaaand... you thought of me? We’ve only met, what, a half dozen times in the last five years?”
“As I often do.” In graven American tones. You start slightly, surprised to hear your own voice.
She tenses at your reaction.
“What?” She looks up at you appraisingly, her eyes the same shining green you had remembered so often.
“Sorry, I haven’t heard my voice in a long time.” Surprisingly it’s still there.
She calms. “Is that what you sound like? It’s... pleasant.”
“Six times in four years.” You remark, in a mildly South African accent. “I remember the very first time like it was yesterday. You stopped me from breaking into Wilcolm Labs. My knives kept sticking in their sheaths. My revolver jammed. I kept tripping head over heels for you.”
She laughs. “Ass over ankles, maybe.” She smiles at you. “Did you notice that time?”
“Notice?”
“Your voice comes back when you talk about me.”
She slides her hand over to yours.
“I hadn’t.” Still in your own tones.
“I wondered why you kept aiming slightly off-center at me.” She looks into your eyes, curious, questioning.
You hesitate, then power through your reticence.
“Even then, I would rather have lost the prize rather than harmed you.”
She smiles. “Perhaps we should get the check?”
| 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T08:00:25 | 129 | 14 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | "I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant. | It wasn't the first time my date had vanished while sitting across from me. No, not that she got up and left or even threw her drink in my face-I would prefer that at this point-actually vanishing in thin air. I just let my forehead thunk loudly on the covered table knowing she was outside in the arms of Nishva. Like vanish...get it? He was one of several superheroes in this city who constantly interfered with my dating life.
I tried to be understanding, they have a job and I AM a supervillain. They assume I am going to kidnap and hold people for ransom because, well, I have done that before. The mayor's daughter of course being one of my prizes. But gosh darn it, could they maybe let the date play out before running, flying, or teleporting in?! Maybe next time I'll ask my date to wear a sign that says "It's a date." Nah, still suspicious.
I heard the compulsory clap of bystanders outside as Nishva waved and smiled with my date in tow. She looked startled but I knew she would just go with it and not call me back later. She would assume I was going to bring her back to my dungeon and gloat about my evilness...badness...cruelty? That's pretty forward of her to assume I would show her my dungeon on a first date anyway. Rude.
I sighed. Oh well. I threw enough cash for our meals and the tip on the table. I am a supervillain but I've waited tables before. You have to help a guy out. Besides, it wasn't my money. No self respecting supervillain uses their own money.
I sighed and clapped my hands together. So long as they touched I would remain invisible to everyone around me. It was convenient for lots of my evil plans, but also for slipping away from another failed attempt at romance.
As I walked down West Main I saw an advertisement on a passing bus. "BLIND Dates! Find love in the dark!" I whipped around to catch the number. Of course! They had put in a restaurant that you ate in pitch darkness a few months ago. It would be the perfect place to finally have a full date!
The following Thursday I entered, invisible, the place ready to find my table. I sent a text to my would be date that I was running a few minutes behind so I could sit down in the dark. As soon as the lights went off I followed the glow in the dark map they had given me to table 18.
"Is that you, Patrick?" My date asked. Yes-my name really is Patrick. There's a reason supervillains never use their real names, and it's because mothers never expect their sweet sons named Patrick or Kyle or Desmond to go bad. News flash, all the villains I know are named like that.
"Yes I am sorry about being late. Traffic you know?"
"Oh no it's fine. I am usually the late one. You sound nice. I like your voice." I could hear her smiling while she spoke. It was great. We talked about nothing important for some time. Our food was decent and I was enjoying myself. She seemed like someone I could do this again with. I decided to take a peek at her with my nightvision goggles I had snuck under my jacket.
She was gorgeous. Cassandra was no supermodel, but she was the sweet kind of gorgeous. She was someone you could build a family with. Family? What supervillain thought about family.... | 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T08:29:02 | 129 | 10 |
[WP] The Earth is a long running TV show that was supposed to end in 2012 with the Mayan apocalypse, but has been kept running due to its popularity. It's going downhill fast. | "The Mayan apocalypse plot line was a little forced, sure, but you *cannot* argue that this show shouldn't have ended with the 2012 season!" Prozien shouted.
"I know, I know," Neemek replied. "But there have been some good moments in the 10 seasons since."
"Pfft, really? We're in reruns! Sure, I believed it when advanced humans started burning coal in the late 1800's seasons, it was like a miracle to them, they could create and transmit electricity! But in this current 2022 season have you seen this movement of 50 million people who term themselves 'Coal Aficionados'? They smear coal on their face to identify themselves, their cars belch black coal smoke, they burn coal in their own homes to cook or power everything. Have you seen the tours they've been doing? Every inch of their walls and ceilings are caked in black soot! Hell, black lung has made a stunning reappearance on the top 20 causes of human deaths in 2022. Such a nonsense plot line."
"Yeah, Nazi's were truly amazing villains back in the 1940's seasons, but now they just feel recycled. I really cant believe that 2022 Nazi's all wear those stupid little Hitler mustaches. Even the women and babies stick fake ones on their upper lips? Truly awful writing with that, but at least the celebrity plot lines have been pretty great?" Neemek offered weakly.
"Oh sureeee, who could have *possibly* *guessed* that Pete Davidson and Ariana Grande weren't going to work out? So incredibly predictable!" she spat back at him in disgust.
"Well, I thoroughly enjoyed the 'commoner marries Prince Harry' story. It was sweet," he said defensively.
"Okay, sure, that was fine, but then in the 2021 season we learn that Megan Markle *was* Brexit all along? Comeee onnnnn! When she took off her human mask to reveal that she was nothing but a loosely thought out plan to leave the EU I groaned sooooo hard. And why did he stay married to her once it was revealed she didn't even have a human form?!"
"Yeah, that's fair," Neemek acknowledged. "The writers do seem to have mostly run out of ideas."
Two alien creatures appeared on their screen seated behind an ornate table. "Oh, speak of the devils." Prozien said as she turned up the volume.
*They kind of... forgot... about not poisoning the very air they rely on to breathe*. *That was a very large tactical mistake by the humans this season. The development of 'super pollution' by evil mad scientists in 2020 was one thing, but humanity had to fully embrace these dangerous substances for their twisted plot to work out, and so far it really has.*
"Forgot?! Imbeciles!" she shouted as she turned the screen off in disgust. "Neemek, you and I could do better than this!"
"Well, you have been taking screen writing classes for the past 20 years, do you finally want to try to write something? I'll help," he replied cheerfully.
"Err-- no, I'm taking a writing workshop hosted by a celebrity next week, maybe I'll open the screen writing software I bought after that... but in the mean time, I *am* writing something of vital importance," she said as she fired up the Earth: Season 2022 message board and began typing angrily.
&#x200B;
Check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more. | In 18 dimensional space, two complex entities moved towards each other in a complex way. Well, as much as such concepts of 'moving' and 'towards' have meaning to us when happening in 18 dimensions. Especially considering that 2.7 of those dimensions are time (I told you this was complex). The first entity transmitted information to the other in a way none of us can comprehend, but if we could it would be something like, "Hey Sam, we need to pull the plug on the current series of Earth: Modern History. It's crap and the ratings are dropping fast."
&#x200B;
"Whoa. Calm down Ed" emoted the 'Sam' entity, "my series is *not* crap! I know we had to make some changes to remove the ending I originally planned for 2012, but the new stuff was hardly was crap. I admit there was some filler due to rushing the scripts for 2013, but it was solid entertainment. I'm just getting back from vacation, but I can't have missed more than 2,000 days of programming. That's a drop in the bucket, and we roughed out a lot before I left. We had climate change as the looming threat; the 2016 elections; the birth in Indonesia of the future world--"
&#x200B;
Ed groaned, "Ugh, I almost forgot about climate change. I'll cut you off right there though. Just the first two, how were they supposed to go?"
&#x200B;
Sam began, "Climate change was initially an ironic thing. The humans were destroying the planet, but it didn't matter because it got destroyed by something else first. When the show was extended, we set up climate change to be the Big Bad Thing everyone fights. We got a lot of good comments on those WWII episodes, but some others were not happy with the violence and working at cross purposes. Climate change gave us the chance to have a similar story line where strong leaders motivate people and everyone works together and makes sacrifices to win. The point where the planet is finally carbon neutral will be a real feel-good part of the series. The election story line was going to tie in with that."
&#x200B;
"We were going to have a smart liberal senator from the northeast--probably New England--challenge a moderate conservative who wouldn't have done enough to save the planet. There was going to be intense campaigning using science and economics to talk about the differing methods for stopping climate change. It was a little idealistic, but with the climate change threat we wanted to show that campaign as the first example of it bringing out the best in people. Was it too trite for the audience?" Sam asked sheepishly.
&#x200B;
"I wish trite was the problem," growled Ed. "Hardly anything you just said happened. Your climate change arc went nowhere. It didn't go away, but it's still treated the same where people just bicker and nothing happens about it. It's not possible for it to disappear in the causality of the four dimensional spacetime the show is set in, but it disappearing would have been better than that. We're still having scientists measure the worsening effects and we're getting fans telling us about the show not making sense and having inconsistencies. It's like the show's whole house is on fire, but everyone is too stupid to get a fire extinguisher,"
&#x200B;
"Furthermore, the president thing was a \*complete\* debacle. Let me give you a fan comment." Ed did the 18 dimensional equivalent of clearing his throat. "Dear Earth show...long time fan since...first time contacting you...always enjoy America stories... Ah, here we go: 'Do you take us for idiots? This entire president arc over 2016-2017 is ridiculous. I am not even going to go into the plot here. I am only going to talk about character names. Who is the guy that won the Presidency due to how the rules work, when he otherwise shouldn't have been able to overcome stronger contenders? Trump. Who is the conservative that speaks out against Trump all the time, but always turns around to vote in Trump's favor? Flake. Who is the foreign mastermind behind the election rigging? Putin. Who is the female secret agent he sent over here to orchestrate it? Putina. Oh wait, my bad it was Butina. Great job on a completely different and unique name. This show isn't for children. I don't need character names to remind me of their actions.' It goes on for a while like that," Ed confided.
&#x200B;
Sam was crestfallen. He said, "I just got back from vacation. Let me get caught up on the episodes, and see what we can do. I'd hate for the series to be remembered as getting cancelled because there was so much stupid it collapsed into a black hole.
&#x200B;
Ed nodded and as a parting thought, "I'm just saying that it wouldn't be so hard to pull the plug right now. We wrote this series as part of the Earth extended universe, so I'm half tempted to redo the ending the dinosaur arc had. We still have all the special effects for it and everything. Given how the show's gone recently, I don't know that a half-assed ending would be out of place." | 2019-07-13T06:40:23 | 2019-07-13T06:37:03 | 62 | 17 |
[WP] “Shh, it’s alright,” the villain said. “You’re doing beautifully and I’m so proud of you. But that’s enough now. It was cruel of them to make you fight me. It’s not your fault.” He spoke with a gentle tone but he was pissed, not at the hero, but at the gods who send kids and teens to fight him. | After so long, after so many people, you would think you'd get used to the sight of blood. To the sound of someone crying in pain. It doesn't get any easier though. Especially when it's like this.
The child gasped and coughed again, her fingers feebly trying to pull at the piece of rebar that protruded from her chest. Her arms move slowly, her legs, not at all.
"Oh, no." The moan escaped my throat without me realizing. "No, no, no. Fuck." I knelt next to the broken body, cradling her head in my lap. "I'm sorry. Shit. I'm so sorry. You weren't supposed to be a kid. Fuck. What were they thinking?!"
The girl reached for me, her bloodied hands leaving dark stains on my arms. She tried to speak, but a sickening amount of blood rolled out between her lips instead.
They sent a child to stop me, she looked barely able to drive, let alone fight a war, and now I was holding her while she died.
The ogre that had crushed her into the ground stared in horror, first at the girl. Then at his own hands. "Oberon, what do we do?" He asked, his normally strong voice thin in horror and grief.
A spasm wrenched the girl's body, and her nails briefly dug into my skin before her hand fell away, and her body fell mercifully limp and still.
"We make this right, Oghrim," I said, voice low, murderous. "We have played their game for far too long. It is time we reminded these so called gods that their time is ended."
I took the hat from my head as I rose, soaking it in the girl's blood, staining the formerly pristine fabric a dark crimson. Then, with Oghrim, and the other outraged sidhe behind me, I went to war. | 'Bright… too bright… wait.'
A wicked grin split across Lazarus’ face and his crumpled, broken form started to twist back to its original shape. His skull snapped and mended itself as he was raised into the air. Lazarus could feel it, rather quickly his power was returning to him. Flesh and skin stretched down across the villain’s lower half, returning his body to its infamously pallid appearance.
“Incinerated and thrown from the concordat tower… now you’re just getting lazy.”
Brutus looked on in horror as Lazarus clawed his way back from the grave, again.
“There’s just no putting this thing down. Icarus, is the city evacuated?”
“Almost! People aren’t listening to me and their cars are blocking the roads!”
“Shit… just make sure the communications tower isn’t hit. Once the generators are back up we can call for the circle to intervene.”
Somewhere behind Lazarus there was a thunderous boom. He turned only his head to find Brutus stood behind him. To his own recollection he was one of the lesser known heroes, never did anything major and seemed like a slight pushover.
It’s body turned in the opposite direction to it’s head. Brutus could hear the bone cracking and reforming. He was terrified, as any boy his age should have been.
'No, any boy my age shouldn’t have to be in this situation.' he thought.
“Oh, how nice!” Lazarus cackled “they’re sending me appetisers before my main course. I can still hear them you know. All of your friends are right up here with me.”
Lazarus tapped an almost skeletal finger to his temple and paused, he was about to speak but something else was obviously taking his attention. Brutus didn’t move though, it would only hasten his demise.
“One of them is telling you to run… oh, it’s a she. Lisa…”
It drew out the word, knowing just how it would affect the boy. Lang’s breaths became shallow, controlled as best he could. Lisa, the two had been inseparable since meeting on their first patrol. She’d even picked out his alias… apparently Brutus ‘just suited’ him.
Lazarus saw him step forward to react but it was too late, the villain was tired of games. An oversized kitchen knife simple appeared through the hero's midsection at Lazarus’ behest. He crumpled to the floor, as expected.
Brutus knew on the spot that this was going to be how he died, at the hands of a monster like Lazarus, but he’d always hoped it would be quick. Getting a building dropped on his head would have been preferred. This would be the last of the boy’s bad luck it seemed, Lazarus approached and unmasked him.
He stumbled backwards.
“A boy?! They send just a teenager to fight me!”
“It’s a cruel game they play… huh.” Lang coughed up a metallic tasting liquid, it wouldn’t be long now.
Lazarus knelt by the boy’s side and placed a hand on the side of his head. His pain was gone immediately.
“Shh, it’s alright,” the villain said. “You’re doing beautifully and I’m so proud of you. But that’s enough now. It was cruel of them to make you fight me. It’s not your fault.” He spoke with a gentle tone but he was pissed, not at the hero, but at the gods who send kids and teens to fight him.
Lang could feel it, a certain warmth. The same kind you get from a hug. Was Lazarus holding him? It didn’t matter now anyway… he couldn’t even open his eyes. Just before the sounds of a city on fire faded, he could swear he heard Lisa calling out to him. | 2019-07-26T07:52:50 | 2019-07-26T07:52:03 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Only a human could be this mad. For millions of years the Galactic Federation of The Milkyway (GFM for short) had known about nuclear power but since it was not abundant outside of Earth we never thought to use it as a power source. Instead we had just propelled our solar energy techniques to be able to create power out of even the slightest amount of heat. We never could have imagined what nuclear weapons could do to the universe.
We had always kept an eye on the humans, they were after all the only species not to have practical space travel yet in our galaxy. They hadn’t discovered light speed until recently so we were waiting for them to make contact when they figured out how to use it. The plan was for them to discover it and our outpost on Pluto (who’d been watching them closely this entire time) would take a ship down to greet them. What we didn’t realize was they knew about our outpost and were making preparations to destroy the entire planet as soon as they figured out how to travel at light speed. Our team barely had a chase to message the home planet before the fiery destruction blew through their souls.
Shocked, the fifteen countries of the federation took arms to go invade their planet. You had Glorxs and Jurads, natural rivals on the planet Tymes, putting an end to their civil war to help the coalition. The Federations best general even came out of retirement to avenge his brotheran who had fallen at the outpost. Blinded by rage we sent the entire armada their way: five hundred of the newest most deadly destroyers, millions of plasma bombers and fighters, all lead by the fastest planet buster ever made making its maiden voyage.
The battle lasted an hour before it was over. We had barely made it past Jupiter when their hellfire was experienced first hand. Out of the black space came missiles going so fast they barely showed up on our radars. The first one turned the planet buster into splinters. The next one hundred turned the armada into dust. Of the twenty million soldiers sent to annihilate the Humans only seven hundred came back. Their suffering was not over though as they all became sick with radiation poisoning that we often saw from people working closer to suns, mutations we hadn’t ever documented, and burns that left most people unable to move their bodies without splintering their skin.
As we take care of these few unlucky bastards we wait. We wait to see if their hellfire has chased us back home. If it has then I pray we end quicker than these unlucky few. | Part 2:
The Stars Shine Again
"K'uklas, we're pulling out off of the Zhavra cruiser, make sure you and your men can handle the onslaught," the man over his radio said. He couldn't believe the man he looked up to would abandon them like that, in a time where they were hopeless against these tiny, ferocious beasts—no, demons. They have spilled much blood and their eyes turned only cold. Dust flew from the worlds they took and their rampage did not stop. How could they fight against such a terrible foe? "Men," turning around to see disheveled Zaarians, starved and deprived of the liberty to live, "this day will be marked as the day we resisted, despite us not eating, despite us covered in dust and blood."
No rejoices. No more smiling. Their reptilian faces were too blank to care. Their minds had been wiped out of all memory of glory. Poor K'uklas asked after a while, "Why the silence?"
"Are we crazy or courageous?", one of the men spoke, and the only sound that can be heard from the crowd.
"Nothing is more courageous than looking at hope."
"What do you mean? They've took everything. Everything."
"They can't take what they don't have. We may have nothing, but this universe shall see that we stopped a terrible disease."
The poor soldier sat, bowed down, and wept. He remembered his beloved, screaming in agony, her pristine eyes losing its soul in front of him. He remembered the charred corpses of his children among the dead. And he saw them again, whispering him to avenge them, and then he stopped weeping.
K'uklas knew this was a lost cause; it didnt matter. Their only chance of winning is to make them win again, to give them a false warmth, before their own armaments judge them again. It was impossible, it was daunting, and knowing his superior, Zaar would now be a footnote in history.
The radio receiver heard shots that echoed from the distances, and the soldiers knew this was their last time living again. And so, from the dark void, they turned their scarred ship into the direction of the shell, creating a wormhole from theirs to the location of the shot, and proceeded, in an array of colors, to pulsate powerful rays against their enemies. There were only a few that rode the cruiser, but it mattered not anymore. The cannons shot and shot to no use at all, but they gave them hope once more. Some aimed at the thrusters at their backs, and with surprise, it tore all apart. And continued this on their way. For Zaaria, for our families, and for the stars.
More and more ships came to descend to oblivion in the path of Zhavra, and as they fired at it, all they can do is be drawn to sadness. Even K'uklas felt sorry for the men he had killed, but he knew that his soldiers were joyed, that his arms were joyed, and so continued to fire at the high horses of the despicable little devils in front of them, scourging them into eternal hellfire.
With no warning, a shadow blocked the view, casting an uneasy darkness against the crew. They knew it was it; the Destroyer Cruiser. The ones that killed their families, their friends, their lovers and children. Here it is, one of them, all weapons aimed against a small, gaunt ship, meek against this old foe. They turned a right and strafed to their left, confusing the barrage where to fire. As the rays launched more to their direction, the vehicle moved dodgingly until it could find a large hole, said to contain the Grail to End All Life. And they did, and stayed. It lowered its weapons and let it open. Slowly, even against the silence of space, it could be heard rattling and crunching, until it revealed a large missile, familiar to the soldiers.
"Men, are you ready to go to heaven?"
"I'm prepared for hell."
And they went straight to the warhead, shooting at it with the strongest of their might, rushing until it combusted in a sphere of magnificence.
The stars have now shone again. | 2019-12-19T05:25:06 | 2019-12-19T04:20:10 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] “I bet my soul,” you say confidently. “If you win, you take my soul. If I win, you give me something just as valuable.” You go on to win the bet, only to be granted a single $1 bill. | [Poem]
A single dollar won
Wagered against my soul
Everything I've lived for
Worked for
Died for
On the face of a single dollar bill
Every night I spent alone
Awake and scared
Frustrated
Angry
Seething with contempt
Worth a single dollar
Every moment spent in love
Awake in your arms
In lust
Inside
Worth only a single dollar
The smile on my daughters face
The words that ushered tears down yours
Is this all I'm worth
If so, what is it for
This single dollar bill
But to some a dollar means the world
A dollar is a meal
A drink
A home
A jacket
A life
A dollar is the difference
Between too late and just in time
The difference
Between not enough and what we need
My only regret before I leave
Was not truly knowing what a dollar was worth
This is the dollar
That bought me a ticket
From which I can never return
But to see you
And our baby
Live a life worth living
This is the best dollar I've ever earned
Edited for formatting | I didn’t understand this at first. Was this some sort of joke?!
I looked down at an all too common treasury note. I made more breathing at work then this. What made this all particularly more interesting was the way this devilish man glared at me, all the while smirking after I won. We had spent hours playing this game he had. It was in a leather bound box with ancient text on it.
Only problem was how easy it was to win. He always rolled low, while I skipped ahead as if all the luck in the world had possessed me. It wasn’t particularly hard. You rolled and moved, and whom ever got to the end first won, and I did.
Whatever it’s a dollar I didn’t have right?! I guess I can use it for something...
“That’ll be $1.09.” Said the cashier
“Can you spot me I only gots a dollar.” I said angrily
“Sure sweetie I’ll see you next week, sometime? I’ll make sure to have you’re drinks ready okay?” She replied in a concerning tone
I wanted to get home as quickly as I could. Not only was it cold out, but I was still slightly consumed by the thought of this man. Something about him wasn’t right. I went out back to smoke and out of thin air he was there. I swore his eyes were red at first. God that’s the weed talking I think. I just can’t shake this feeling.
Finally here I open the lock on the 12 story apartment building I lived in. Don, the front desk clerk greeted me as he always did. I swear he never isn’t working.
Wait did his eyes... Ugh I need to get to my room ASAP.
“Mr. Wheatley, welcome home you have a package that’s just arrived.” Don said
“I wasn’t expecting anything. Any idea who send it?”
Of course he doesn’t he isn’t omnipotent.
“No sir, but I think you should open it soon” whispered Don “It’s very urgent.”
I shook my head and made my way to the elevator.
“It’s nice to finally have you with us Mr. Wheatley.” Don replied as he smirked.
Okay what’s going on. Did his eyes... No, fuck no. I’m just.. I need to relax. Finally the elevator stopped, 9th floor apartment 122C. Three locks and I’m safe.
Now let’s see what’s inside this box. I’ve had enough for tonight. As I begin to unwrap this crudely wrapped box I see it. No god what no..! It’s leather and those can’t be. Along with the wrapping a letter fell that read ‘Welcome to the family. We’ve been waiting.’
“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time Mr. Wheatley.”
It was the devilish man from earlier. How’d he get in. I locked up I swear!
“Nothing to be afraid of. He knows everything sir.” Don said as I turned to find him in my kitchen.
“Wh.. wa.. I don’t get it.” I say as my voice shakes.
“You will soon.” Don says quietly. “You will soon.” | 2020-02-05T13:51:18 | 2020-02-05T10:30:52 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] Leaving a rooftop party at night, you take the elevator to the ground floor. Stepping out, you find it is now broad daylight, a week later, and you have hundreds of missed calls and texts. Even more strangely, the city streets are empty, silent and devoid of life. | The doctors called them "absent seizures." Basically, my brain would have a small seizure. To an outside observer, I would look like I was just staring into space for some amount of time. I myself would have no memory of the lapse, and it would give me some "retrograde amnesia", and my brain would fill in these gaps with new false memories. That's what the doctors told me. These false memories would feel just like the real ones, though, but they were never very big differences, usually things like I had a different shirt in my closet than I remembered, or the color of my phone case was different. I often found that I sent emails or texts that I didn't remember. Once I found my hair was a few inches longer than I thought.
I only had them a couple times a month. They were worse if I drank alcohol or ate too much butter, and less severe if I slept enough. I wasn't allowed to drive, and this all made me officially disabled. My parents and government-assigned doctors did their best to help me. Luckily I would not have to work and I would be guaranteed housing and financial support for life. They said they'd even help me date similar people and find love, but it was still restricting.
Sometimes the mistaken memories were bigger changes, like when I discovered one of my grandparents was alive who I thought had died. I distinctly remembered the late-night call, going to her funeral, crying, and missing my chess tournament to do that, but my mind had made that entire adventure up. I even found the award - 1st place - from the tournament on the wall. At my insistence, though, my mom took my grandma to the doctor for a brain scan and they found an unbroken aneurism that they treated.
When I was in elementary school, I forgot the name of my teacher and called her Mrs. Madden instead of Ms. Sophia. I don't even know where I got that name but she burst into tears and left the room. Apparently Ms. Sophia had been engaged to a Mr. Madden ten years ago when he was killed by a drunk driver on the way to their wedding. The same day, I asked my best friend Samantha how her big brother Sammy was doing. She told me she never had a big brother, that he had died as an infant, and she stopped talking to me.
So, not only do I have false memories, but they're often close to the truth, and sometimes I know things I shouldn't. I suppose my brain is a pessimist when it fills in the gaps. Also, the longer the pause, the bigger the change in memory. And the pauses were getting longer.
Two months ago, after some very buttery mashed potatoes, I had a pause of about a day, and I forgot what college I went to. And it wasn't even a college I remembered fully applying to - I had tried, but they had not processed my application since I had forgotten a form. Four years of memories gone, replacing the state school red tiger with a private school blue humanoid, changing all of the decorations in my room and losing/gaining a few lifelong friends. That's when I decided I was fully insane. So, I left my entire past to start fresh, where I didn't have to rely on old memories, and took a no-skills job in a big city. Well, not completely fresh -- I met up with one of my friends from college there. Luckily she knew about my issues and reintroduced herself to me. She was on board with the whole "new life" thing and brought me to a party last week to meet new people.
That brings me to today.
The last thing I remember was leaving the party. I had a gap of one week. No doubt aided by the alcohol and the late night, it was seven times longer than anything I've been through. I was hungry.
I took normal stock of myself. I still had my phone, but my password was different. I'd have to fix that. There were some missed calls and texts, but I could only preview them - mostly asking where I was, and some alert about a quarantine. The case was black instead of grey. I still had my keys. The address on my driver's license was about the same, just "407" instead of "307"... oh, and "United States" instead of "United Nations". Weird. I was wearing ... a surgical mask? Ok, maybe it was a costume party. I had a bottle of hand sanitizer for some reason. Maybe I had taken the nurse's assistant job instead of the mechanic job I remembered? Where did I work again?
I walked outside, and the world was gone. The swings at the park were roped off. Many of the businesses were closed, some even abandoned. No one was on the streets. Had I misremembered the rapture?
....
I walked home, and it was all the same everywhere I walked. When I got home, my key didn't fit in 407, but on a whim I knocked on 307 and I found my old roommate and she filled me in. Apparently, about two years ago the world had gone crazy with a new pandemic. We had graduated early and come here to support the doctors by repairing equipment. (So I was still a mechanic!) But I found out half the world's population had passed away in that time. We were considered "essential" workers and were living here for free - and Amanda was so excited about that, as if the government didn't always support its people. But we were on a strict lockdown. They had come by my room last week to check that I was there and no one could find me. They assumed I was deceased, she said, and so they had likely closed my room off, but I could stay with her.
I asked her for a drink and some butter. For the first time, this was all something I wanted to forget. Maybe it would be different when I woke up? | From the party he’d never wanted to attend to the too long and much too lonely elevator ride down to the parking garage, Michael had already counted tonight as one of the worst nights of his life. That was even before the doors opened onto a parking lot empty of every car but his and a city that had never slept so silently.
But Michael, in his misery, did not notice the quiet. He only had eyes for his car and in truth barely even that. As his footsteps rang through the garage his thoughts were still up on that rooftop where he was leaving his heart behind. He wondered what Elise was doing right now and he shook with the strangest combination of impotent rage and protectiveness.
As he started his car the radio broke out in static and Michael angrily shut it off. It wasn’t until he was driving up and out of the garage that the red fog in his mind began to lift, first at the curious sight of the broken off bar at the base of the entrance ramp, and then as he ascended to street level, at the blinding glare of a midday sun.
“Ow, what the hell?” he said, pulling down the sun visor. “What’s going—”
At the top of the ramp Michael choked on his words, he could hardly even recognize the city around him.
It was daytime for one thing, and he knew he’d left the party just after midnight. Beyond that he barely knew where to begin. To the west abandoned cars stretched out for blocks, growing in number until they jammed the streets to the edge of his view. To the east, looking farther downtown, the line grew sparser and here and there he could see a burned out wreck.
Looking up at the mass of businesses and apartments that stretched up towards the clouds Michael saw great yawning holes in the sides of the buildings where the glass wasn’t simply shattered but instead looked…*melted*.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” he mumbled, stepping out of his car and into the gridlock. Michael could feel his mind rebelling at whatever was happening, terror setting in as the mumbles turned to screams. For help, for answers, for anything at all.
No one answered. Not a single soul moved in a city that should have held millions.
As the echo of his screams faded away Michael was hit by a sudden thought, and panic turned to hysteria as he began to laugh now.
“Someone spiked my drink!” he exclaimed holding his arms out as he turned in a circle, staring up as if he searched for some answer in the clouds. “That’s gotta be it, I’m high!” He laughed as his spin picked up speed, spinning for no reason he knew until his feet caught on each other and he fell hard to the asphalt, skinning his palms when he hit.
It was the pain and blood that snapped him out of it. They felt far too real for him to be anything but lucid.
Which of course left him alone with the problem he had been trying to avoid.
It wasn’t until he pulled his phone out to try dialing 911 that Michael noticed the calls and texts; too many of them to count and nearly all of them from her.
He had only just heard Elise’s voice minutes ago, but as he started the first voice mail Michael could feel the change in her. From the first moment it was as if whatever had happened was sweeping away the careless, self absorbed girl her newfound success had turned her into. The affected accent she’d given her voice, the strangely clipped tone she’d begun using with everyone (even him) on the advice of her agent both were gone and suddenly she sounded like the girl he’d met all those years ago.
“Mike, where are you? I’ve been calling everyone, nobody has seen you since the release party but I need you, please! Call me back!”
He clicked over to the next message.
“Baby I’m so, so sorry I did that but I’m going crazy worrying about you! The world’s out of control and I just want you back home so bad. We don’t even have to fix us, I know you might not forgive me but please baby I have to know you’re ok. Please call me back.”
Another, towards the end of the list.
“Mikey please, I love you so much and I’m so sorry. I hope wherever you are you’re safe. They’re evacuating the city, the creatures breached the perimeter downtown. I don’t know where they’re sending me now, the label was saying something about a facility in Buffalo or maybe a camp out in Philadelphia and then on to Burbank. I don’t know, I don’t know anything anymore. Please Mike, I can’t lose you too, not like this.”
He skipped to the last one with shaking figures, nearly dropping the phone when he heard her voice. She spoke in a terrified whisper, strange sounds like the rushing wind occasionally creeping into the call.
“I love you. I had to say it one more time, just in case. I love you so much Michael, my greatest regret is that I drove you away. If this is my last night I’d do anything to have spent it with you.” The wind sounds grew closer until they drowned out nearly all else and were answered by gunshots and screaming and the pounding footsteps of a desperate run.
“If you’re still out there use silver! Gunshots only slow hurt them, sprinkle silver flakes or dust into the wound and they die!” There were a sound like a nails on a chalkboard that grew and grew into a massive metallic screeching, and then under it, as if she were far away from the phone now were the last words Elise said to him. “I love you!” she screamed, and her entire heart was in it.
There was nothing else. The call was dated to last night and not a single thing had come in after that.
It was silent when the call ended, silent everywhere but the storm inside Michael’s mind as words and tone and the evidence of his eyes told him that everything had changed while he took that elevator ride. It had felt too long, but not in any way that could explain all this.
And not in any way that made the pain of the last words Elise had said to him fade. Despite all the change she had clearly gone through in the time he had lost Michael was still wrestling with the world of the party on the rooftop, with the image of the woman he’d loved reclined in the arms of some idiot she’d done a music video with and her callous words “people change.”
Funny how that worked both ways. It had taken her 2 years to become someone he didn’t recognize, could 1 week bring her back?
Michael turned and walked west along the line of cars towards the apartment they had shared, towards whatever clues might lie there. He didn’t know if a week would be enough for Elise to become her old self again or if it would send her spiraling off into someone he loved even less. He didn’t even know if she was still alive or what the hell was going on, the last moments of that phone call had sounded like something out of a horror movie.
But he did know that he’d spent the better part of the last decade with this girl, and for a lot of that time he’d thought he might marry her. Maybe the end of the world was as good a time as any to finally figure that out.
\-------------
If you liked that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about three teens encountering a hive mind and there's other standalone stuff like a giant, faceless, psychic tiger. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-02-07T10:05:03 | 2021-02-07T09:44:07 | 212 | 93 |
[WP] Turns out you are the 'chosen one' to defeat the forces of evil. Only, instead of being a teenager you are a 42 year old parent of 3 kids, you've seen some sh*t and you have zero f*cks left to give. | "You shot him in the face!" screamed the 19-year-old girl who just HAD to come with me.
"What did I say in the last fight," I asked bluntly.
"That the next bad guy idiot who gave a long speech was getting shot in the face," she said glumly. "You were supposed to use the sword of power."
"This sword," I gestured to the heavy as hell blade which I had strapped to my back. Note, I didn't have it scabbarded to my back, because then the heavy, unwieldy thing might fall out. No, I had it strapped there, as this thing was not going to be moving anytime soon.
She harumphed and then started walking after me again. She told me she was a princess and I believed her. I'd never meet a teenage girl so entitled in my life and that was saying something.
"We need to find the Omni-messiah speculator," she said.
"Rule 2," I shot back.
"The glowing red crystal," she said, even more upset. Everything had to have a stupid name.
We walked up the glowing stairs towards the final door in this terrible building. It was a skyscraper-sized structure in the middle of nowhere, and I couldn't use my car. The freaking horse they had given me was super uncomfortable to ride and so I'd decided to walk. I didn't even care that it had wings.
The princess stretched, "We are just about to enter the final chamber!"
"Rule 7," I hissed back at her.
She snorted, pulling up her wrap, "I am dressed perfectly normally for a princess!"
"You are dressed perfectly normally for a cheap prostitute!" I retorted. Seriously, her skirt was a belt with aspirations.
I pushed open the door, revealing a massive crystal chamber with a glowing red crystal in the center of the room. Before it stood a man wreathed in darkness who chuckled at my approach.
"I regret having to sacrifice my men to one as impatient as you," he said as I leveled my pistol and fired 3 times into the visor of his helmet. The bullets bounced off.
"Bulletproof?" I asked.
"Yes," he chuckled moving his head to the side, "And you'll find throwing rocks at me will do even less!"
Of course, I'd thrown a grenade. | The last sob died away, and only a blissful silence remained. A broad smile stretching across her face, she tiptoed out the room, shutting the door behind her with the smallest click of latches. Yawning, she stretched hugely and was about to slump onto the sofa in the living room for a quick twenty winks when the doorbell rang.
She groaned, and then proceeded to slump onto the sofa anyway.
The doorbell rang again. Growling in frustration, she glared balefully at the door and then reluctantly stood up and marched over, grabbing the doorknob in a grip so tight that the metal crumpled a little.
The door swung open forcefully, creating a gust of wind that startled the two anxious individuals standing outside.
"I thought I made it clear last week," she said icily, and her tones were so chilly it seemed that winter had come a few months early. A few stray flakes danced in the breeze.
"I know," squeaked one of the visitors, a mousy-haired young woman. "Trust me, we heard you loud and clear. But the time of the Evil Ones is near, and you are our only hope!"
Their Only Hope let out an unpleasant bark of laughter. "I don't care! Find someone else who does!"
"You must care, for they would destroy everything and anything," said the other visitor earnestly, a tall, suave man who admittedly brought some legitimacy to the crock they were saying. "And I know you said that the Chosen One would be a teenager - but real life isn't like the books we read. So what if you're an adult? That makes you even more poised to defeat the Evil Ones - you've gone through so much in your life; your experience will triumph even the strength of youth. You've seen some serious shit and that'll help you in your victory -"
He paused then, because the mother was giggling mirthlessly. "Oh, I've seen some serious shit all right. Just today alone I'd had to clear the brown poop from the potty that my toddler had upset onto the floor. Rid the rabbit cage of the poop that my seven-year-old swore that he would clear. And not to mention the green diarrhoea I'd just had to mop up from the carpet, courtesy of my sick baby who has only just managed to fall asleep after keeping me up most of last night. My two other children will be back from the grocer's with my husband in about an hour, and if I don't manage to take a cat nap, somebody's going to pay."
"The Evil Ones?" said the mousy-haired woman hopefully.
But the suave man felt the Saviour's aura of power curling the hair on his neck, and knew whom exactly she had meant. He took his companion by the elbow and gave the mother a quick bow. "Ma'am, we'll come by again another time, when it's more convenient."
"Don't come back at all," the Saviour thundered, and the heavens rumbled in unison, the skies forked by sudden lightning as the main door slammed shut.
"What are we going to do?" the mousy-haired woman said glumly as they trudged back down the driveway. "The Evil Ones will be here any time next week."
But her companion was smiling. "We now know what powers our Saviour. The deep desire to sleep. So now we know how best to craft our spiel, don't we?"
Two days later, the two were once again on the doorstep of the Saviour. When she opened the door, her face contorted with rage so great that a heatwave emanated from her being, the man stepped forward confidently.
"Ma'am, we've just found out that when the Evil Ones arrive, babies throughout the world will never sleep more than fifteen minutes at a time. Something to do with their delicate minds."
His companion looked at him in horror, shocked that he would actually carry out his plan, positive that they would be fried on the very spot they stood.
But the Saviour looked at him in horror as well, and a terror so abject it could only be understood by the sleep-deprived parents of newborn babies.
"P- perhaps you'd like to come in for coffee?" | 2021-03-05T12:52:26 | 2021-03-05T10:51:12 | 44 | 25 |
[WP] The Demon Lord and the Holy Goddess are so bored of the hero cycle that they change the genre of their world from adventure fantasy to romantic comedy spontaneously, with some very weird side effects. Your life just made an abrupt left turn. | My job used to be simple. I did honest work. Fight, Die, Respawn.
Boss of a mid-tier dungeon used to be a sweet gig, relatively speaking. Sure, I would get dismembered just about every hero cycle; take a dirt nap for 10 years or so. But that's still 90 years mostly to myself; summoning back minions, rebuilding, etc. More entertaining than a low-tier, less pressure than the high-tiers.
This new shit, though, is way beyond the call of duty. I've always been a servant of the Demon Lord, but at least I had some agency. Now that the powers that be got together to "spice things up" like some immortal mid-existence crisis, I'm just a puppet on strings.
My dungeon, painstakingly crafted to cull the weak or strip the hero of a companion or two, is a fucking restaurant. While that jackass hero "comically" fails upwards in a series of oblivious misadventures with his suddenly amorous (and NUMEROUS) companions, I'm in a hot fucking kitchen prepping shit for a cooking challenge. Do you know how many hours that takes? Let alone the fucking clean up! Even that might be bearable if not for the insipid dialogue between these unrequited saps and the clueless hero.
My minions are waiters. Skelly staff, mage fire candle light, and a god-damned, honest to badness lich in the kitchen. My top-tier loot drop is a relationship advancement opportunity, with MORE SHITTY DIALOGUE. A kiss, maybe, if Hero McDipshit finds two brain cells to rub together.
If he can't move past this stage soon, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. I'll date their ass soon if it gets me out of this hell. | They always used to say that love is an adventure, oh what a joke that was. They also used to take me seriously before the recent turn of events. I, the hero, had to change my whole closet of spandex costumes from viscose to leathery in order to accommodate. Just imagine being a world-famous adventurer slash superhero turned into a Casanova slash comedian. I was in the middle of an existential crisis, contemplating the very nature of good and evil and how it relates to conquests love. My trusty female companion who always supported me on my adventures had turned into a some kind of a succubus and I had to deal with this fact now.
"Are you still suffering from the side effects?" I prodded them.
"I don't actually know the difference between a main effect and a side effect, you know...." she told me.
Unsure whether I should even bother with a follow-up question, I took upon a brief moment of silence. Just to make sure. These days it was most certainly hard to tell left apart from right. I did, however, continue:
"Well, do you suffer in general, unlike before?"
"I do. Somehow I don't, however, remember how it used to be."
Her words made me worry. My trusty companion, in the bouts of suffering never seen before. Of course I wanted the best for them. We shared so many adventures together, our lives depending on each other. How come those glorious moments had suddenly sparked such boredom from the gods themselves?
I mean, comedy in itself is quite something. Laughter is no joke, it's a quite serious matter indeed and any proper comedian has to balance it out between taking themselves too seriously and not seriously enough. How else would you spell an existential crisis? Turns out I wasn't the batman of cycling superheroes but instead, something akin to the spider-man. I thought I was out of the scope of hero cycles but instead, I had my booms and recessions. If - however - you were to ask me, they all had me wrong. My life had always been one giant upturn. Yet here I was, contemplating whether I had made a mistake of sorts, you know, to anger the gods.
Who was more pissed off at me, the Demon Lord or the Holy Goddess and what did I do to deserve this cruel punishment? You know, when your romantic life becomes a giant comedy, it's hard to view things so optimistically. Who would I even pray to these days? Does the prayer need to be in the form of a joke or would I be struck down for being too boring otherwise? Everything had turned upside down, I always thought of myself as the one with demonic tendencies and my companion the holy one and look at us now, she is a god damned succubus while I'm trying to come up with the right thing to do.
Issues with memory were clearly one of the side-effects. I suppose nobody cared about the old, supposedly boring days. They just had to go and nobody should care about it. Yet somehow, we still suffered. Perhaps it was a matter adjusting? This sudden change of genre came out of the blue, that much is certain. We were used to taking ourselves seriously and now the very foundation of our being was being questioned.
My companion had to learn how to use a whip, for one, while she had always preferred the sword and board approach to problem solving. Now we had to hunt exotic animals for their fancy leather in order to upgrade our selection of armor, instead of recruiting the local miners and blacksmiths. This was an issue for me personally, for I was a vegetarian who did not condone the killing of animals. It's like the gods had whipped away the carpet under my feet now that I mention it...
Never forget. I kept reminding myself. | 2021-05-27T08:51:12 | 2021-05-27T08:20:59 | 35 | 20 |
[WP] Due to your mixed heritage and a terrible stroke of luck, you have found yourself as the chosen one for 20 different cultures. | Wars were often fought on bloodied battlefields, with the discordant soundscape of all too human agony pitted against each other under the whir of weapons and machines. But they were also often fought in a room such as this one, filled with well-dressed dignitaries sowing and watering the seeds of conflict.
"*Osbert Newman is the Chosen One of the Erumites,*" Representative Savul Nask of Erum said. "*He will lead us to battle against the Beoqo!*"
"**You misunderstand, Erumite,**" Ambassador Lomug Jaks of Quatul said. "**He will lead us to battle against the Beoqo. And when the Beoqo are no more, Erum is next!**"
"^There's ^no ^need ^to ^argue," Envoy Mok Lin Kwei of Oqsix said. "^Mr. ^Osbert ^will ^destroy ^the ^Erum ^scum, ^and ^then ^the ^Quatul ^vermin. ^In ^that ^particular ^order ^to ^please ^the ^prophecy!"
"I thought the ~~Chosen One~~ was a force for peace," Emissary Luko Uin of Beoqo said. "That's why we believe that the ~~Chosen One~~ will bring a lasting age of happiness for all Earth--after the Erum are desecrated and destroyed, of course."
Osbert Newman sat at the top of the table, blissfully unaware of the conversations that were happening around the table. For he was a man of mixed heritage, but had found little interest in pursuing thoroughly each and every aspect of himself. Different cultures often had uncommon languages, and Osbert was the proud owner of just one tongue.
"This is very nice," Osbert said, partaking in one of the several snacks (offerings) laid in front of him. "A little too sweet for my taste, but there's really an underlying bitterness that mellows it out."
He continued to listen to the swirl of words around him, nodding periodically, and wishing that this Chosen One thing was much less of a fuss.
And thus, it was feasible to say that the Chosen One lead those gathered to the Great War--but more as a convenient excuse rather than the raison d'être.
For Osbert, that means "reason of being."
---
r/dexdrafts | "Next!" I shout at the long line winding out my front door, sorting through the notes I have been taking to find a fresh page to write on. To say that some of the characters in line were 'colorful' would be an understatement.
I looked up at the next person in line, who looked as if he had been carved out of the side of a mountain. "Space or Magic?" I ask, dryly.
"Excuse me?" The boulder says, giving me what I assume must be a look of confusion.
I sigh, "Are you from space, magical, or both?" I say, "Also, if you could, give me a brief synopsis of whatever prophecy or ancient wisdom or vision from the future that led you here? It really helps in sorting these by priority," I then give the rock creature my best customer service smile, hoping to speed things up.
The rock man stutters for a moment, then begins to explain, "Um, Magic? The prophecy says you are supposed to defeat an ancient evil..." I tune him out after that. So many people coming with their prophecies. It's really rather tedious.
Honestly, I should have expected this. My upbringing had been... abnormal, to say the least. While I had never known my parents, owing to the fact that I had been left on a church's doorstep as a baby, I had some indication of what they had left me, so to speak.
When I was about five or six, under the care of the holy people of the church, I had started to manifest abilities. I could talk to and understand just about any living thing, not that I would always want to, mind you. I could summon an army of spirits to do my bidding, which helped immensely with chores and yard work. I could crack the earth below me, creating holes into... well I'm not really sure where they went, but it certainly wasn't good. And many more things, though I would be here all day listing them all.
Now, I had realized at that point that these abilities weren't normal for kids my age, or for anyone really, and I had begun asking questions to some of my more parental figures, about my true nature. After some asking, I was given a letter, written by my parents in a language no one in the church, nor any one they hired, could read. Of course, I could read it, "Chosen One" and all. It was an apology for having to leave me with the church, and an explanation. They had written about being pursued for having me, and how, to protect me, they left me and led their pursuers far away from me.
It was quite touching, but also quite cliche. So, I just went about my life. The people of the church impressed upon me the joys of a simple life, and I tried to live up to that. They raised me, they were my family.
When I turned 16, I moved away, to strike out on my own and build my own life. Two years into that new, independent life brings us to today. Me, 18 years old, with a line of interesting magical and hyper-scientific people coming to represent their cultures. Of course, there are some repeats, as some of these interpretations paint me as a hero, and some the villain.
All I can think of is getting this over with and returning to my simple life. The boulder guy in front of me finally stops talking, and looks down at me expectantly. I sit up in my chair and say, "Thank you for your concern, your prophecy has been filed, and I'll be looking into it as time becomes available." and I then motion for him to leave the line. As he shuffles away, I consider what I'm going to do about all this.
I eventually resign myself to the idea of completing these prophecies and what not, because I know if I ignore them, they'd just come back. I make a mental note to ask some friends if they'd like to tag along and help, hopefully it'll make things go faster.
I leaf through my notes again, then look up and shout, "*Next!*"
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey! If you're reading this, please leave me some advice or suggestions! This is only my second reply to a prompt, and I'm looking to improve! | 2021-07-05T11:35:31 | 2021-07-05T11:26:22 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] You're a retired adventurer who now works as a local guard for a small village. No one in the village knows that you were an adventurer. One day, an old friend comes to visit you. | "It was huge, mate! I'll tell you, huge! We were doomed!"
The pushed slightly the townsfolk that was grabbing his arm while yelling that. The villager, he thought, had felt the full body armor under his cloak, because he backed away immediately. He had no intentions of harming anyone, but he understood the reaction.
"Please, calm down, I'm not here to cause you any trouble", the stranger said. "Would you tell me what happened?"
"A. Freaking. Dragon", continued a young female elf at the other side of the table. For her looks, she likely was a farmer. "It landed right on our palisade and destroyed it. It said that we had to pay him, or he would kill us all!"
"So we gathered everything we had. Gold, money, food, anything! But that monster said it wasn't enough, and gave us two days to gather more."
"That was after he ate Jared. Poor Jared."
"A toast for Jared. Brave bastard", as they gulped some beer, the stranger asked about Jared. "Oh, he tried to fight the dragon, he was the captain of the guard, you know? Big orc, fully armored, he was very strong".
"Not as much as the dragon, I'm afraid. Brave bastard that orc was", added the elf lady.
"And for two days the dragon waited. Every morning and every noon it burnt down a building, to remind us. He ate some neighboors that tried to run away but... they could not hide from the dragon. Can't blame them for trying".
"And at the noon of the second day, the dragon roared! 'Time's up!', he said, 'Now you pay with your lifes!'. And... HE arrived."
"He? Who's 'he'?"
"Peter. A guard. He's been there for a few years now, very nice man. He's always there to help, but did not climb the ranks, you know? Humble guy he is."
"He should have!" roared the elf. "He was the best of them all before the dragon arrived, I always said so!"
"What happened?", inquired the stranger.
The villager grabbed him again from the arm. Despite he felt the armor under the stranger's clothes, he did not care, lost in explaining what he had seen that night.
"A thunderbolt. It flew directly to his neck, and the dragon roared in pain! Then, when the storm elementals went to sleep again, I saw they came from an arrow. Three more arrows carrying the fury of the elements struck the dragon, and he called magic forces to protect himself!"
"And I saw Peter!", interrupted the elf lady. "He was not wearing his armor, but rather a very thin leather one. He threw away a bow and pulled out two swords that shone with fire, storm and light! The dragon sprayed his fire on him, and I took cover."
"But next, Peter was on the dragon!", continued the villager. "The last thing I saw was peter hanging from the dragon's neck, stabbing it with both swords! Then the guards made us run away."
"The fight carried on for the whole night. At morning, most of the town had been leveled... but the dragon was dead and Peter was badly injured. We took care of him until he recovered."
"But you know what's the most strange of all?", asked the villager. "When he was healed, he took back his job as a guard. He refused any promotion or payment. He didn't want anything!"
"Speaking of the devil..."
&#x200B;
The stranger turned to look at the door of the tavern. A middle aged human had just stepped in, and hang his cloack in a chair. It was raining outside. He had the scar of a recent burn in his face, and it was obvious that he was limping slightly. Peter smiled to anyone that greeted him and walked towards the bar, where the barman served him a warm meal and drink.
The stranger stood up, walked towards Peter and patted his shoulder. "So, that's where you've been hiding, you rascal".
&#x200B;
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
&#x200B;
EDIT: Grammar | It was dusk, and my shift was coming to an end. I watched in the flickering torchlight as my replacement sauntered over.
"Tive." He called, nodding.
"You're uncharacteristically early, old man." I said, smiling.
"Old? I am barely older than you."
"Yes. Still old. Did the missus kick you out?"
"That she did. Forgot her sister's nameday, I did. Big ruckus coz of that."
"Aye, Barbara still in town?" I asked, understanding. Barbara was his sister-in-law, and she was not a fun person to be around.
"It's the war. Her husband hasn't come home in weeks. Strange man started appearing in her village. She wanted to come stay with us this side of the wall fer the time being, til things die down."
"Her husband won't be thrilled to find an empty home."
"Ah, my brother-in-law is a smart man. He'll figure out his wife's with her sister in our secure township."
"Secure township? With you guarding?" I jested.
"Come now, Tive. You're wounding me. Go, night's still young. You don't want to spend it talking to an 'old man'." He laughed, taking my place.
I smiled, and clasped his arm.
"Stay safe, stay alert. Bandits tried to sneak in the other night." I reported.
"Bandits, shmandits. Nothing I can't deal with." He said, shining his yellowing teeth at me.
I shook my head and left the post, eager to head to the barracks to stow away my equipment so I could head to the tavern to meet with... her.
I smiled at the thought of her.
But then, I heard it. A yelp behind. The old man. I turned, and I saw it. A cloaked figure, a dagger in hand, choking out the guard while looking right at me. My eyes scanned around, looking for the other guards, but there was no one.
I ran, tightening the straps of my chest piece and then drawing my steel.
"Tivexia." The cloaked man shouted, and I nearly stopped in my tracks. I knew that voice. "Tivexia! I have found it!"
"Let him go." I said, my voice cold. I recognized the cloaked figure, all right.
"I don't have the documents to enter this town. I had to do it. And you... You're town guard?" The tone was incredulous, which pissed me off.
"Let him go. Let him go or I'll put you under arrest."
"We need to talk. I... I found it. We can change you back."
"Who's we?"
"Well... Ah, shit. I wasn't supposed to say." The cloaked figure said, letting go of my companion, who grunted as he broke away, wheezing.
"It's him, isn't it." I said, my voice colder than before.
"You know how guilty he feels about it. About you."
"Tough shit. Get out of here. I've moved past all that."
"No! You have your whole life ahead of you."
"And it was taken from me. And I've come to terms with that in the past five years. I don't need you to undo what has been done. I'm more than happy with the life I have now."
"As a town guard? An old woman?"
I spread my arms wide, as if presenting myself.
"This is your doing. *His* doing."
"And I'm saying we can change you back now. He's learned and perfected the spell."
"And I'm saying no. Get out and never come back."
"We need you. We need you in the war."
"Since when did we fight for politically motivated reasons?" I shot back.
"Since when were you so readily accepting your fate."
"Don't you fucking dare say that about me!"
"Then let us help you! Why don't you want to become young again? Your proper age?"
"Fuck you. I'm retired."
"You're barely thirty."
"No, I'm barely sixty. And I am content. Please. Just leave me this life. The years adventuring with you all were fun. And I do look back at them fondly at times. But you have to understand that where I am now. What I am now. This is me. This is what I want. And you can't just come in here and tell me you can undo what that inept bastard did to me that led to these five years of me rediscovering myself. Because that is what you'll be undoing."
The cloaked figure fell silent. We both fell silent after that, lost in our thoughts of the situation. The only sounds were the wheezing and grunting the old man was making as he sat leaned against the wall, too winded from almost getting strangled to unconsciousness.
"I didn't think... You'd have come in to terms to our curse."
"Curse?" I snorted, but held my tongue.
"I won't lie, Tive. I came because the Brighthand sent me. He told me to get the party back together. The war, there's more to it. Are you sure you don't want to come back?"
I looked up at the darkening sky. I should be at the tavern, flirting with the barmaid.
"The Brighthand, huh?" I asked. The Brighthand was closely tied to the ruling body of this kingdom. He took charge of the more arcane, supernatural dangers that threatened the kingdom. And my party, for some inexplicable reason, often found itself contracted to him to tackle one monster or mage or phenomena or the other.
"Is the one responsible for my ageing going to be there?" I asked, icily.
"He is genuinely remorseful, Tive. We all are."
"Nobody needs to share the guilt with him. That's his cross to bear alone. Fine, I'll come. I'll come as I am. But once whatever this is is done I am coming back here. Retirement suits me better than adventuring did." | 2021-11-30T06:42:45 | 2021-11-30T06:25:46 | 193 | 138 |
[WP] You're the villain that the Chosen One is meant to defeat. Once they arrive, you notice they're just a teenager who barely knows how to swing a sword. Angered by your opponents sending children to do all their dirty work, you decide to help the teen get revenge. | \[Ended up being a little sideways to the prompt, but I like the way it turned out, so...\]
"You're all they have left?" It circled the human child, scales rippling with echoes from a millennia of nightmares. Each footfall turned the forest floor to soot and coal. "The best they have to offer?"
Over the centuries it had consumed paladins and warriors, war mages and necromancers. All humans who were skilled masters of their crafts.
And this-- this was not.
The child said nothing but gripped the sword tighter, terrifyingly stubborn in its resolve to die.
"I am the eldest," the creature hissed, rearing up in an explosion of darkness until its shadow swallowed the clearing. "I am the thing of legend. The name only whispered under the brightest sunlight. The first and only fear all men are heir to!"
It wasn't a roar so much as a rage, a fury that drowned all senses until the child cowered before it.
But still held the sword.
"And they told you --you-- that you were worthy of me?"
For a long moment the boiling darkness and the rage were all that existed.
"They told me someone had to die." The child struggled to stand, buffeted by the weight of the primal magics. "Better me than--"
"No." The word rang out with a finality that shattered the rising storm.
The child watched as the creature sank back to the ground, magic and nightmares collapsing in upon themselves until they compacted back into the massive beast.
"I am not death," the creature snarled. "I am *failure*. I am the competition shot you miss, the person you cannot heal, the leap to glory you stumble over because *you aren't good enough*." It circled the child. "They came to me because they chose to come to me, so sure that they'd succeed where all others had failed."
It stopped in front of them --stopped in front of the sword they'd never dropped-- and gazed into their eyes. "I didn't kill them. Some ran away, some went home, some chose not to live, but I am only failure-- nothing more."
"All of them?"
"Yes."
"Years ago, he brought the bodies home. Said you had killed them and only his magic allowed him to escape. So every year since he's gone into the forest with our best and brightest and every year he's brought the bodies home."
"Ah." The creature turned to look down the path the child had walked, scales rippling. "And he's waiting now?"
"Yes."
"Then come, small one, and let's see what his nightmares taste of."
And they brought the bodies home. | "What the fuck is this? WHAT, THE, ACTUAL, FUCK, IS, THIS?" I roared.
"I'm the man who is going to kill you, Evil mage!" The boy retorted, waving his metal toothpick in an attempt to be menacing.
"Man? There's more hair in my arsecrack than on your chin, boy! You can't be more than what, twelve?"
"I'm thirteen!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry sir, I wasn't aware you were so mature and wise, let me apologise. You're a fucking child, for Geruda's sake! I'm not fighting you!"
The boy didn't seem to like that much, his nostrils flaring as he once again waved his weapon.
"You shouldn't underestimate me! You know nothing of what u've been through!"
"You're Jack, son of Jake, of the hamlet of Iron-oaks. a raiding party torched your village and sold you to slavery where you served as a kitchen servant to a vampiric noble until he was exorcised by a member of the helsing's hunter guild , at which point you were taken to the imperial capital to study as a ward of the healing guild, until you were selected by the academy master for your skill in fencing and enchanting to take part in this quest."
His mouth opened, a fast at my detailed knowlege.
"Oh, come, do you think an idiot would survive as many enemies as I have? Actually, I do need to send some flowers to the marquis' family, very unfortunate how inept that assassin was."
"Are you toying with me? My life was ruined by your soldiers!"
If i still had eyes I likely would have rolled them at this comment. One of the downsides of lichdom, limited facial expressions...
although my daily embalming rituals do help a lot with that.
"This again? Look, I understand that I am well-known as a negative factor in regional stability, but I'm not the only one! Besides, that raiding party was rogue knights."
His face betrayed his confusion at my statements. He genuinely didn't know. Poor manipulated fool.
"You think knights are loyal protectors of the land, fighting for honour? They get paid! And there are far too many who think they don't get paid enough."
The kid looked ready to cry. I genuinely thought I had broken him at that point.
"It was the imperial army? You're lying."
"You can't deny my words, kid. you know that they're true. You covered crystal balls at the Academy right?
I have recording crystals going back centuries, I can show you."
So i did, I guided him through the hallways of my castle.
And i showed him the truth.
"Did they know? The imperial council, the headmaster?"
"If course they fucking knew. A noble made complaints about damage to his land that they had to pay for. The precious headmaster was an adjudicator who examined the damage."
"Then why? Why me? Why you?"
"You I don't know.
As far as I can tell you were simply unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and be good enough with a sword to be fodder to buy them time.
As for me? Well, you aren't the first to suffer from the kingdom's poor management.
Necromancy is considered a very ill-mannered magic, but I believe the utility of relieving the living of their burden in farming and more, it cannot be understated.
Sadly, the imperial council thought otherwise. In the ensuing chaos, a fair few of my friends died, many of whom were no party to the conflict.
Many others were manipulated into wasteful deaths, much like you."
Poor boy looked mentally exhausted from all these revelations.
"So what now?" He asked
"Well, if you wish to join me, I plan on killing the bastard whose antics keep disrupting my peace and quiet. We may be able to visit that useless king on the way. What do you say Jack?"
He said yes of course, wanted to learn everything I could teach. A most loyal and worthy apprentice, that they would have had me callously murder.
Did i miss anything Jack?
Only my dashing good looks, sir.
Oh, do fuck off with that. Oh, and would you mind fetching my wine goblet?
The one made from the academy master's...
Yes the skull one, I want to reminisce over good times with a good vintage.
Look I know a skull chalice is cliche, but appearances matter with those idiots, so i may as well oblige. | 2022-06-09T03:43:11 | 2022-06-09T00:16:35 | 92 | 46 |
[WP] As a villain henchman, the number 1 rule you're always taught is to never outshine the boss. However, during a small bank heist, you accidentally kill your boss' arch nemesis, and the legion of superheroes now see YOU as their ultimate threat. | In a world of superpowers, there are those who abuse them - the villains - and those that use them for good - the heroes. A simple enough concept of good vs evil, where judgement is rendered by those who have the power to decide what is good and what is bad.
But the world is never that clear. That's why I joined Revolt. A man of vision, branded a villain by a society that condemns the unfortunate. Like me. All it takes is one mistake in this world, and you're down in the dumps.
But Revolt was blessed with great power. Believe it or not, he used to be a hero! But from what he saw of the inside of that... industry, he was fed up. He wants to correct this sick world. In my eyes, he's a real hero.
But the United Heroes Union condemned him and his ideals to the public. Despite that, there were a few of us out there who took his message to heart. We sought him out on our own - Me and a few others. I've worked many jobs, but never had a boss as good as him. A truly considerate man. A man whose vision was for a better, more just world.
No one would believe all of this if I admitted to being a villains henchman though. That right there would be enough for at least a few years in a 'correctional' facility, or an early end at the hands of a 'just' hero.
Our days were spent trying to spread the word, to gather support for his growing revolution. A few of us were powered individuals, including me. But nothing special. Roswell was one of our few fighters, he liked calling himself Blackwater as a joke. Like me he never wanted to be a villain, but he's good in a fight, and his superpower is to create and shoot out thick, inky clouds from his palms. Dirty fighting, but useful. Another one of our powered was Ashley, who could manipulate light, and turn invisible.
Me? I can convert energy and store it. Like putting out fires or grounding electricity. But it makes me sick, if I take in too much my body will feel like its bursting from inside and it takes days to wear off... never been terribly useful.
We rarely used our powers, Revolt didn't commit crimes or get involved in fights, despite his own abilities being very powerful. We all just wanted to spread the word. We weren't villains despite what the world thought of us.
1/3 | *I was just trying to protect him..*
Under the weight of early mornings, safety drills, weapons proficiency, endurance training–
Following what I’d learned after all these years by his hand.
Everything happened so fast. One moment, we were executing our mission flawlessly, everyone seemed to be cooperating just fine– but– one of them must have made the call, because the next thing I knew, I was surrounded by my friends and civilians alike being crushed by the falling debris of the bank’s crown molding caving in from the grand entrance of *The Incredible Dick-Wad*. We were all caught by surprise, and with radioactive hands glowing in position to blow the only home I’d ever known away– I just moved first. I couldn’t see the change in his eyes when he saw the flash of my arc rifle obliterate the corporeal form of his arch nemesis. That look of doe-eyed shock came at the billions of atoms exploding like torrential rain falling over us, keeping the air still for a moment that felt like a week.
“What.. did you *do*..?” There was accusation on his level tongue, but a playful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth that proved he was, if nothing else, amused by all this.
“I-I was just–” The sound of your gun hitting the floor in an obnoxious clatter superseded the rushed slide of your footsteps to grovel, “Please-Master-I-was-just-trying-to-protect-you– I didn’t think–”
“Shh-shh-shh–” The heat of his finger against the feared chill of your lips, “Now’s not the time for that.” He was practically giddy at this point, lingering his thumbprint against the dusty cracks of your lips.
Painful heat gripped your cheek as you stumbled, “Y-you’re not mad?”
“Oh no, I’m absolutely furious– You just ruined twenty-four years and three months worth of build-up in a single shot–” Weightlessness took you as the a silver box from his belt tossed at you unfolded and bubbled you in an indigo force-field, “However, you’ve made a lot of people far more powerful than yourself very pissed off, and staying here any longer is asking for a much worse fate.”
Before anything else could be said, I blinked and found myself being pulled swiftly behind his hyper-cycle, zipping past clouds and confused birds alike. In no time we were back at the base, having left me with little time to mull over what I had actually done.
Watching the shield around me dissipate, the darkened sweeping angular architecture framed him like an alien god as I fumbled with my words, “What-what am I going to do?!”
With his house cape fluttering behind him, his figure easily floated over to the large control panel that gave way to a tessellating doorway to his weapons locker. Following behind him in a scuttling step, the walls filled with guns, grapples, and garb left me speechless as only a privileged few were allowed in this space. Anxiety crawling over my skin pricked and pulled me apart the longer he kept me in silence.
Reaching a wall laced in glowing teal circuits, he finally turned back to face me. A true deity gracing me with his presence as his voice echoed endlessly in my mind, ethereal and comforting, “We– will do nothing– However, *you*.. will become my most precious weapon.. and we will finally destroy those wastes of carbon, what do you say?”
It was easy to find myself kneeling before him. Feeling the grace of his power consume my senses with the shine of his greedy smirk, the threat that lay before me seemed small compared to his confidence. Did I have a choice to deny him? *Did I even want to?*
Bowing my head, the words poured like water from me, remembering the oath pounded into us from day one:
“*My hands are your tools.
My body, your machine.
You will fix me.
Build me stronger.
Shape our new world.
My thanks will be to you.
Great Artificer.*”
Another caressed touch soothed against my cheek as his tone sounded like melted butter, “**Perfect~**” | 2022-12-10T13:22:31 | 2022-12-10T12:34:35 | 62 | 43 |
[WP] You never thought the rumours about the Witch in the apartament above were true. But the girl siting in a broomstick outside your window seems very real. And she needs your help. | I sat there looking out the window at the young lady. The one sitting on a broom. 3 stories above the ground.
She just politely tapped the glass again.
I considered not opening the window, but this was the first interesting thing in a while. I got up, and opened the window.
“Thank you,” she stepped into the windowsill, and then awkwardly through the window, before giving me a polite nod. With that she started walking toward the door.
“You do know that I was unaware of anything supernatural prior to this, right?”
She froze. “Uh, you won’t be reporting me, right?”
“Who would I tell? Again, didn’t know about this.”
“Right, well, I’ll be on my way then.” Obviously nervous, she began stiffly walking toward the door.
“Are you in a hurry?”
“W-why?”
“I’m just wondering if I should expect more like this in the future. Since I’m now aware of you, I mean.” With that, I casually turned on my electric kettle.
“Uh, well, I can’t promise that I *won’t* have to do this again.”
“No no, not you specifically, just supernatural stuff in general.”
“Oh, you probably won’t be sought out by anything, or anyone. I just, uh, did you know the couple who had this room before you?”
“No, seemed like nice folks though,” I poured myself a cup of tea. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, they were my friends, and they kept a spare key to my place in their closet, so I could get back in if I… Well, in case I, umm…” The witch suddenly found the floor very interesting as her cheeks gained some color.
I nodded, and took a guess, “in case you lock yourself out of your place?”
She simply nodded, blushing a bit more.
I took a moment to glance at my calendar, before stating, “Yeah, sure, I was wondering what that key was for. One quick question though.”
The witch’s blush went away, as she glanced up curiously.
I mustered my best smirk, “You doing anything Friday night?”
Her blush returned very quickly, she stammered out something, and was on her way quickly. I didn’t stop her, just waved as she closed my front door.
A few hours later, the spare key was slipped back under my door, taped to a note, “Please put the key back, in case I need it again. I would very much like to go out with you on Friday. I hope to see you at McLauchlan’s Diner, at about 9.”
Underneath were a few check-boxes for Yes and No. After marking under Yes, the note jumped out of my hand and flitted back out under my door. I guess I had a date. | In the privacy of my bedroom in the cold of the November nights, the screen in front of me flickered on and off for several seconds. It was spooky, but it had been flickering on and off at random times of the day for at least a week now. The lights, any electronics. Maybe a witch really did move in upstairs, I thought. I looked at the time, 2:49am.
The way I saw it, I really only had two choices here. I could make another cup of coffee or I could turn everything off and make my way to bed where I could catch at least four hours of sleep before work.
So I walked to the electric kettle, the one Nicole got me years back our freshman year of college. I remembered the way she knocked on our door, three quick knocks followed by three slow knocks. I asked her why she knocked on it like that.
"Well, when I was a kid, I used to be terrified of opening the door for strangers. I figured if I knock in a unique way, people will know it's me and not be afraid."
And then she handed me the kettle saying that she and her roommate had gotten a new one. She didn't even bother asking if we had one already (we didn't). I made my cup of coffee and went back to my desk. The lines on the screen danced, but settled down as I took a few more sips of coffee. I looked at the time again, 2:57am.
I waited for the coffee to warm me up a little. I was going to read her email again when I heard knocking. It wasn't Nicole, the knocks were rapid, strong. And secondly, they were coming from my window, my second story window. I screamed a little when I saw her, a girl was peering into my window, her faced pressed right into the glass, both her hands cupping her eyes. She too heard the scream and we made eye contact.
She pointed down at the window and then at me.
I shook my head.
She pouted.
She pointed again at me and the lights in my apartment flickered on and off, the same way they had been all week. She pulled out her phone, pointing at it, and then again at me.
I pulled out my phone and saw that it had opened up an unsent text message to a random phone number.
*"Let me in, I promise I won't hurt you."*
I walked to the window, I opened it very slightly and locked it in place.
"Why should I let you in?" I asked.
"To be neighborly?" she said. "I live upstairs."
I looked at her, floating outside of my window sitting on a broomstick twice the length of her.
"I imagine you're responsible for all my shit bugging out lately?" I asked.
"Aw man, I was trying really hard to keep all of it contained at my place. Sorry about that, I really am." She said it and my hand went for the window lock.
"Come on," I said. "You're letting the cold in."
When the window was fully open, she floated inside the apartment until she was safely in. I closed the window and she got off the broom. She inspected it for damage and aside from the dusting of snow, it looked fine.
"You want a cup of coffee?" I asked. "What are you doing out there at three in the morning anyway?"
"I'd love a cup," she said. She sat down on the couch, she sat cross-legged, grabbing one of the throw pillows (again a gift from Nicole), and used it as a shield.
"Cream or sugar?" I asked.
"Lots of both, please."
I reheated my own coffee while making hers and placed her cup in front of her. She wore all black everything, she didn't really look like what I thought a witch was supposed to look like. Green skin, warted nose, gray hair. In contrast, she looked very normal with auburn hair and freckles that lined her face.
"Thank you," she said as she took her first sip.
"So why are you here at three in the morning? Why my apartment?" I asked.
"You were the only one awake," she said. She said it as if it were a simple statement and not like she was floating outside my second story window. I let the silence hang there for a moment, that wasn't an acceptable answer to me and I had been perfectly neighborly.
"I guess I should tell you a little more," she said. "My name is Cindy Latimer and I need to find someone," she said after at least half a minute and a few more sips of coffee.
---
Part two coming up. | 2022-12-11T09:30:07 | 2022-12-11T07:30:59 | 97 | 38 |
[WP] Use the first line of a literary novel and spin it into an entirely different story | Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
But their normal lives were would never return once it was interrupted by a soft but sharp rap on their door in the middle of the night.
Vernon Dursley, his face turning the color of his scarlet silk pajamas, stopped when he saw the knocking figure was not a snot nosed ruffian but instead an old man with a long white beard, crooked nose, and tears in his eyes.
"Hello, Mr. Dursley. Petunia." he nodded to the dumbfounded woman carrying her crying infant. "I wish we could be meeting under different circumstances."
Behind him, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, stood a cross looking woman with sage robes. She suddenly didn't look so cross as she buried her head in her hands and began to sob softly.
"Wha...wha.." Petunia couldn't speak.
"Petunia, you poor, poor woman. I am sorry beyond words.
Your sister has been murdered. Her husband is gone as well."
Somehow the shock propelled her back into speech.
"The...th....boy...?" She croaked.
Albus Dumbledore simply shook his head.
| Rage:
Sing, goddess, Achilles's rage,
Black as night, deadly as a whetted spearhead
Piercing a bronze breastplate.
Sing of the god-warrior,
Invulnerable, the mightiest of the
Achaeans, the bane of House Atreides,
The death of those brothers
Agamemnon and Menelaus.
Begin with the clash between golden Ilion
And glorious Mycenae, beloved of Hera.
Godlike Achilles, soul-sick at the loss
Of his beloved at the bloodstained hands
Of the Achaian commander,
Vowed revenge on the warrior and
His household, pledged
Endless war against the might of
Mycenae and the Greeks.
The black-armored Myrmidons--
Peerless with a spear and shield--
Marched into high-walled Troy,
And there knelt before old King Priam,
Who bade them stand,
For no such warriors should bow to Man.
"Rise, my friends, and be forgiven
Of the deaths that have transpired at
Your hands,
For the wolf Agamemnon is the one
At fault."
The Myrmidons cheered, their leader
Achilles presenting his sword to
King Priam.
"Lord of Ilion, Father of Hektor and Paris,
I have vowed death to the ungodly
House of Atreus and sworn revenge
On all the children thereof.
I ask for your armies to destroy my true enemy.
Grant me your spears, and the city will be spared.
Do not comply, and my rage, once quenched
With the sweet wine of Agamemnon
Dripping from my blade,
Will reignite against you and your beloved city
Sevenfold."
At his words, glorious Priam
Inclined his head, and addressed the
Warrior.
"You shall have the spears, Warrior.
Impart death to the bastards
Who have wantonly slain,
Enslaved, and tortured my people,
All under the pretext of a pretty face.
I know as well as Agamemnon
That Helen was no reason to raise an
Army of thousands.
Go forth, with banners of black and white
To the frontlines. Deal shining death to
The Achaian dogs, destroy them utterly
Until the last curved ship has fled our shores
And the plain runs red with Argive blood."
Thus Achilles raised his sword,
And the Myrmidons likewise,
And the many armies of Troy,
And the angels of death
Spilled forth from the gates of the city.
Achilles led the charge,
A murderous gleam in his eye.
Cold rage took over his heart,
Armoring and protecting him,
As he felled soldier after soldier,
Until the head of Agamemnon,
Mightiest of the Greeks,
Rolled under his bronze-shod foot,
And Achilles proclaimed endless victory.
And the Greek ships burned,
Because not a soldier was left
Out of ten thousand
To man an oar.
Edit: Formatting. Not sure if it helped though. | 2014-09-02T14:06:51 | 2014-09-02T13:33:45 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] A shoulder angel and a shoulder devil are in love. They can only be with each other while their host human is having a moral conflict. | The ever growing tension had begun with subtle hints, as always these things take time. The imp had begun to occasionally give Angela the benefit of the doubt, even complimenting her suggestions. Of course he would masquerade these moments as caustic taunts, imp nature. However the frequency began to increase. Angela had noticed the imp almost seemed to spend more time addressing her than their human. Instead of directly offering the most perverse solution to the humans petty problem, the imp toyed with Angela's ideas.
Slowly but surely the Imp had invaded her mind. Outside of guiding her human and attending the councils of heaven. Angela's mind had begun to be captured by this maleficent being. Was there really a hint of playful intent? Or was he purposefully teasing out her insecurities?
Angela even found herself even envying her humans lack of moral obligation.
Throughout the humans teen years her interest in the imp intensified. The both of them had matured throughout the course of time. The imp had improved his shtick. Before he would lazily slump on the humans shoulder, now however it was a stage. Prancing up and down, making sure he was directly by the ear when he announced his diabolical plans to the human. Sometimes he would lean in close and whisper tiny doubts into the humans soul. This new found performance has escalated their relationship. He would peak around the nape and cast her devilish grins, even winking to her as he instructed the human. Now and again she might even give him an innocent flash of her eyes, or pretend to be shocked by his advances.
Their liaisons were shrouded in ambiguity. It had not taken long for the pair to realize the human was the pillar of their forsaken bond. It had become a game. Undermining the humans innermost moral compass, questioning their codes derived from social politics and then in joint crescendo they would lather on a lack of self deprecation. Their intent was always to prolong the engagement.
Little did they realize the consequences. Blinded by their love they had paid no heed as their human was gradually consumed by turmoil. Their flirtation drowned out the pleas for sanity and help. Angela delighted that her time with the imp was growing more and more common, even if it was at late hours. Their human rarely spoke, instead moral conflict would stun them. Like a deer caught in the headlights they would freeze.
On the final day, Angela's attention was completely absent. Both her and the imp were so engrossed in one another that neither noticed the note being written.
Nor did they pay heed to the gun being drawn from the confines of the desk.
Only as the dull click of the chamber being loaded, did she turn to her horror, to see that this was her last moment with the imp. | The first time I saw her across the shoulder of the little boy, I knew that I had to bring him into more mischief. The softness of her features, the slight glint of her eyes, and her smirk as she whispered into the child's ear.
I was too distracted to do my job.
He would resist the temptation to steal back a trinket, a racecar eraser from the girl. His heart was falling for the girl, never will it have a void in it again.
"Next time won't be so easy!" I shouted. The angel gave the most devilish of smiles. I wanted to get closer to her, I felt that an aggressive poke to the chest was in order. But that wasn't the terms of our job. We would only appear in the conflict of the heart. It would be a while before I could see her again.
We came across the shoulders of our boy, he was becoming a man. His shoulder had broadened, yet he felt small, sitting in a place where time ran quick. This was not an opportunity I would not let slide.
Gritted teeth, balmy hands, and scribble marks on creased paper. He glanced to his side, hearing a whisper from the girl he was falling for. Neat circles on crisp paper, girl with the perfect marks showed him her tricks.
I crafted the perfect overture,
"Come on, it's just your first test for this class. You can study hard next time. She's cute, and she's giving you a way out!"
My rival would play with the affairs of the heart. "Be honest! What do you think she'll fall in love with? A man who can't admit his mistakes? Or the one that takes failure and improves himself with it?"
His heart had love in it, and I couldn't bring myself to break it.
Our child stopped trembling, and managed to form a soft smile, and shook his head. The girl managed to smile in response, and placed a racecar eraser on his test before standing up to hand the assignment in. The boy decided his fate.
We returned to the boy again, it was only couple days from last time, I came in grinning. I knew he was at a ripe age for rule breaking.
He had a knife in hand, and a crumbled red marked paper in the other. His right eye was swollen and purple, but he managed to keep a face filled with hate. A shattered heart.
My lips opened, but no words came out.
My darling angel wept out.
"Please don't do it!"
The boy wanted to take a blade to the man who left him half-blind. He wanted new advice, answers from someone who was familiar with pain. His march from the kitchen to the bedroom of his tormentor gave me seconds. His fists clenched a chrome kitchen knife, raised to kill.
I couldn't bring him to kill. That wasn't my way, I fell for the girl across me, and murder was a sin that angels couldn't mend.
"...Killing him won't gi-give y-you what you want." I worked out.
The boy paused. Raised veins of his fist had returned into his scarred hands.
"You want to see him in pain? What did he put his heart so close to?"
I wasn't sure our boy was listening. My angel's hand trembled, she could do nothing in a heart full of hatred.
I wasn't sure if I would ever see the angel again, I did dare not say a word, it was his will against mine.
"Uncle Tommy wants to die seeing me fail. He told me so himself."
"Then prove him wrong. Watch him squirm."
The knife clattered on the kitchen floor. I let the boy weep with the angel. He was sobbing and his hands shook, wanting an embrace. All I could do was slip a reminder of love. A small eraser.
It hurt to watch him sink his nails into them, it stopped looking like a racecar, but it brought comfort to the boy.
It would be years before he would again come to a dilemma of the heart. This one felt trivial, but I couldn't help but smile. There she was again.
The boy was a man.
(I'm a bit of a rut. I can't seem to finish this. The implication was that the devil and the angel were the kid's dead parents, and that in the end, the devil was willing to give up ever seeing his wife for his child's sake. I have no clue what I was going to with the eraser.) | 2014-10-07T18:28:04 | 2014-10-07T18:01:00 | 175 | 23 |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is blind, and you are the only person born with sight in hundreds of years. You tell the world what you see, and the consequences are huge. | I gasped.
"What it it?!" My family and friends crowded around me.
"It's *round.*"
They made confused noises, but they didn't understand. To them, round was an arpeggio, descending with the notes shortening by some logarithmic or exponential scale, a tactile and auditory sensation. Not *this.*
"But what *is* it?" They again demanded.
I ignored the braille plaque on the statue, knowing that what it said was false. Knowing that we had been fooled. The braille said "The Holy One." But I now knew the truth. Because the text, that only I could read, told a different story.
As I surveyed the rounded features, the crude shapes and infantile disposition, I could only reflect on how truly we had been hoodwinked. After the apocalypse, our people had worshipped the statue, believing it to be a holy icon that had saved them.
But I knew the truth. A truth that I resolved to take to my grave.
Because the statue wasn't our saviour, it was the destroyer itself.
*Dickbutt.* | Growing up, I had a peculiar sense: I could see. No one believes me, that sense hadn't been seen (hardy harr) in hundreds of years, not since the world decided we didn't need it anymore.
Elaborate? Certainly! You see, we humans, around year 2034, decided that we don't need to deal with certain things, so we designed robots to do so for us. They did, at first, menial tasks: we used them as cashiers, dishwashers, security personnel, anything that a robot could do, did.
Eventually, the scientists decided that we didn't need to worry about hearing accurately, so they started selling implants to people to increase certain vibrations for our ears to pick up. The results were astounding, people, born with hearing, born deaf, grew deaf, or just hard of hearing could get them and everyone could hear.
What next? We decided to take on vocal cords, because shouldn't everyone sing great because hearing was amazing? Why not? New vocal cords were being sold left and right, and everyone started getting new voices (however, some of them started to malfunction and sound the same after some wear).
The last thing I can think of at the top of my head is when they decided to replace sight with electronic vision. Why only be able to see in one space of the spectrum of light when there are smaller and bigger ways, and waves, that we can see the world? Those started to become the best thing since sliced bread.
Now, because of the aluminum by-products and way these small machines were manufactured, they were extremely cheap, so why should the next generation suffer with inadequate impairments that they were forced to deal with since birth if they can get so many parts of their bodies replaced?
Eventually, the thought of having any of these senses was almost blasphemy. So much so the government started issuing them for free. Bigger and better on all scales: no one was better, no one was less.
That's where I come in. You see, I broke my EES (electro-scale eyesight) when I was young to see what would happen, a modern day Icarius, if you will. Wanted to fly high and see the light but was struck down when the SG found out.
What did I see? The opposite of light, or anything good for that matter. The ways we thought we had advanced! None of them had came close to the actual thing. We had imagined any progress we had made, everything was foggy, with smoke in the mix. Factories everywhere in the place that we had made our metropolitan Eden, trash everywhere too, because if you can't see it, why think to do anything with it?
It's as if someone wanted us to believe everything was ok when things weren't. What a twist.
(Sorry if it's a genetic story, I was a little rushed and I'm only 16 and barely working on my writing. Any cc would help greatly!) | 2014-12-11T18:16:16 | 2014-12-11T17:36:53 | 94 | 42 |
[WP] The seven deadly sins hold auditions for an eighth. | The Seven Deadly Sins are a bit of a legend in this Universe. Not just because they are, obviously, a literal legend, but also because of a rather interesting feature of them- Here, there isn't a single religion in existence that doesn't acknowledge them as at least existing, and in many cases being among the most powerful beings in existence itself.
**Pride**, foremost among demons and self proclaimed leader of the Sins. His domain includes the fires of hell and the thrones of heaven.
**Envy**, second brother of Pride. Purgatory and and the containment of Purgatory lie within his ever reaching grasp. His eyes are ever upward.
**Wrath**. Right hand of Pride, known by many names. Cerberus, guardian of Hell. Michael, Guardian Angel of the gates of Heaven. Ares, warrior-God. All those who perish in battle reside within the Plains of Wrath.
**Greed** lies on the River Styx, and all such places through the Heavens. He maintains the natural order of Man and Beast. His domain includes much of the natural world, yet he oft wages war against his brethren for stifling him on such a lowly plane.
**Gluttony** is often referred to as the Second Face of Greed, dealer of lands not controlled by Greed. He is not to be underestimated, however, for this Second Face is one that does not hesitate to invoke his brother Wrath.
**Lust** was once the equal of Pride himself, the Hell to Pride's Heaven. Lust was the epitome of vice, and the sole dealer of Sin in the cosmos. However, Pride could not bear such an atrocity, the idea that one might be equal to Pride. So he, with the help of brothers Wrath and Greed, expelled Lust from Hell and cursed her to wander the Earth, an outcast forever. Re branding herself Lucifer, bringer of Flame and Knowledge, she tempted Eve into sin, becoming forever entrenched in the realms of humanity and it's inner workings.
**Sloth** is the lowest brother, one of passivism and patience. But one must not mistake for a fool the eyes of an intelligent, yet passive, predator. Sloth is the arbiter of all traps and schemes, and his secret power exceeds even that of Pride himself. I waited for eternity for the right moment to strike, and will wait an eternity longer.
--
The Seven Sins of Earth, the Seven Demons of Andromeda, the Seven Gods of Charon. Their figures are repeated in every religion in some fashion or another. However, some tales speak of an eighth Demon, an eighth Sin, an eighth God. For the domains of the Sins include that of Heaven, Hell, and all between. They encompass that which lies in wait and that which guards in silence, they encompass the Earth, and they encompass the interactions of Man. What, then, may be missing?
Man itself. The Stars. Emotion. Love, trust...
**Hope.** Man looks to the Stars and sees itself traveling them, Man feels for it believes in it's heart it will live to see another day, Man trusts the untrustable, Man loves the unlovable. One may question why this is a Sin, why this is a Demon. Aren't you? You feel love and know it is just, you feel trust and know it is right. But then you are betrayed. But then you are stabbed in the back, and you are weak and vulnerable. The domain of Hope is all that is good about Humans... And, God save you miserable, hopeful fools, falsehoods and half truths. False hopes and godlessness. Hope leads man to wars not even Envy or Wrath could incite, Helen of Troy and Lust would have sparked nothing were it not for the Hope of retrieving her.
Fear Hope, mortals. Fear Her as we Gods do. |
None were totally convinced of any of the candidates. Vanity, Pride's younger sister, was basically the same as she. Used the same modus operandi and caught the same people. Gluttony, Lust, and Greed (the children of "Excess") were loath to allow another sibling pair into the group. Pride already had a lot of influence over the twins Envy and Wrath (her cousins) and so their vote for vanity was assured. Sloth (the deciding vote) didn't care to be the tie-breaker between the two related groups of sins.
Luckily for Sloth, Screwtape stepped in to settle the disagreement. That second only to Lucifer himself drew from the many sins to create something new, something that was a combination of all the seven deadly sins. He didn't even bother to name it, for to do so would make it more easily spotted and identified and avoided. No this new sin would creep through pride into the intellectuals and leaders of nations, into convincing them that THEY knew best how the people ought to live their lives. The influence of wrath would drive them to use force to achieve their means. Sloth (with Pride) rationalized their behavior, telling them that they (the intelligent and benevolent and "special" leaders of the people) could handle "charity" better than the individual masses could. Using force to take their money to spend on things that were for the good of the masses, but were against the will of the masses, could only be righteousness.
Greed, Gluttony and Lust contributed too. The distinguished station these people held could only be duly compensated with excess. What was a little whore-mongering, embezzlement and crony nepotism if it got things done that were for the "good" of the people? Envy contributed one of the more crucial parts. Those unaffected by this cacophonous symphony of sin could spot it, though they could not name it, and would attempt to reign it in. To bring those under its influence back to reality and freedom. (For in freedom, the chance for real charity and righteousness exists, as they can only spring from the individual will of those who engage in such acts. While in servitude to the "benevolent" masters, under the yolk of this new sin, their charity was nothing but slavery. Those who would willingly have given hold back, since those 'leaders' had taken over the business of charity in their domains, to the point that they prosecuted those who engaged in it under obscure laws that were unintelligible to any with a modicum of sense.)
But I digress from the story. To those that could spot this sin, and were in a position to try and name it, envy was let loose upon the masses under the sway of the benevolent leaders. They, who cared for the earth and the poor and those disadvantaged by discrimination, the sick and unfortunate with their laws and rules could only be the truly righteous party. And so the truth put forward by those not under the influence of the new sin would be drowned in a swarm of unfounded claims of racism, sexism, and nationalism.
Those who were against the benevolent leaders running a national system of charity could only hate the poor. Those who were against the benevolent leaders controlling education could only be against education. Those who were for allowing the masses to be charitable themselves and relieving them of the yolk of sloth that lulled them into complacency toward their fellow man and neighbor could only have, at their heart of hearts, a disdain and hatred for those who fall on hard times. Or so the benevolent leaders told those who listened. And the power of the sin was such that it was believed.
The devotion was so fanatical that it swept aside all reason that those without its bonds tried to bring to bear against it. Those under its lash proclaimed science their master, while eschewing the science of vaccines as profit driven and evil. They proclaimed that (and other) strong sciences suspect, and other suspect sciences strong and settled. They used the fear and envy contained in the sin to ignore their own hypocrisy and violently and tirelessly sought to destroy the voices and lives of those who were able to abstain and distance themselves from thinking that they knew better than others how to run their own lives.
Screwtape let loose the sin into the world, and to this day it has yet to be named, and only rarely does the light of reason shine brightly enough to dispel its effect. It was an old sin to be sure, but one that had rested long only on the leaders of nations. It was only in this newest century, the age of the internet that the sin could be let loose to its fullest potential. When every "fact" can be sourced to support either side of an argument, when every person can extoll the virtues of their leaders, and when every person who disagrees can be bullied and harassed into silence, freedom is lost. And under the lash of this new sin the masses began to go forward, and the last bastion of freedom on earth, whose foundation was laid upon self governance and a society of unity, integration, and freedom began to shake.
It would not be long now, the final battle between the sin's subjects and those of God's ilk was at hand. Until the sin was able to be named it would hold sway over an ever increasing mass of human sheep. And the army of Lucifer would grow, and the believers would lose faith and fall into its ranks. Not long now...
(Apologies if it is sort of rambly, it is kind of late here. And I hoped to not come off as too soap boxy, but it is what I think is going on in the world today.) | 2014-12-28T02:28:57 | 2014-12-28T02:07:33 | 270 | 10 |
[WP] You got a genie, congratulations! Enjoy your three wishes. Beware though as he'll do his best to warp your wishes to try and make you regret them. There is some good news though. He's really bad at doing that. | The genie rolled up his sleeves, "Are you ready for your second wish? I cant give you anything." He gave me an overexaggerated wink.
"Well, I wish--wait, what was that wink for?"
"Oh, nothing, don't worry about it," the genie waved his hands unconvincingly. "Just... be careful what you wish for." He winked with the other eye, or at least tried to, struggling to shut his right eye independently from the left.
"Uh, sure, okay," I said. "Um... I'd like a hundred million bucks!"
The genie put his fingers to his temple and grimaced with concentration and suddenly--*FWAH-BAMF!*--my bedroom was filled with stacks upon stacks of crisp hundreds. I let out an involuntarily girlish shriek, bolting up from my head to go touch the money and see if it was real. The paper money was soft and loving on my hands. Almost instinctively I took two giant handfuls, each worth about a brand new Ferrari and threw them up over my head. The genie cackled at me through the raining money.
"What's so funny?" I asked, stooping down to make a money snow angel.
"You see what I did?" the genie roared with laughter, zooming around the room, "Instead of the large male deer you originally asked for, I gave you the synonym of that! Legal tender! You should have been more... careful!" The genie floundered over a wink again.
"Uh, no," I said, trying to figure out how much money it would cost to use it to wallpaper my room, "I meant bucks as in legal tender."
"What?" The genie descended from his hovering perch to see me at eyelevel. "But why would you want that? A large steer can be worth hundreds of dollars, you could have been a billionaire."
"Ehhhh, selling deer sounds like a lot of work," I said, as the genie spluttered behind me, "I'm pretty good with this money. Also, I think if I had a hundred million deer that would shatter the deer market. Supply and demand or something, right?"
The Genie grumbled to himself, "I guess I should have known after your last wish wasn't for a foot-tall statuette of Richard Nixon." | "A hundred gold pieces."
"Yeah, that'd sure be swell."
"A HUNDRED gold pieces?"
"Gosh, do you think that's too much?" Reggie twisted at his hole-ridden tunic anxiously. "Should it be twenty? How about twenty?"
"Twenty gold pieces." The genie was staring at Reggie as though he had lost his mind.
Reggie looked worried. "Twenty gold pieces is more'n I've ever had my whole life! I'd sure be the happiest guy around if I had all of that."
"A hundred is fine too - I was just checking with you." The Genie dropped his haughty demeanour - it was obvious that this particular 'master' needed a different tack. "Look, you remember my warning that all of the wishes I grant go awry? Do you want to adjust your wish before you make it final? Change the wording? Go... bigger? You can definitely go bigger. I'm not a three-wish genie - I'm just a one-wish genie, so this is, really, all you get."
"Well, gosh, then I guess I'll go big!"
*This is more like it* the Genie thought. *They always get greedy.*
"Well then, master, whenever you're ready."
Reggie's face scrunched up in concentration. "I wish," he said, fists clenched together like a child praying, "I wish for *fifty gold pieces*!"
The last words tumbled out in a rush, and Reggie grinned. At his own temerity, the Genie supposed.
The Genie rolled its eyes, but the words were spoken, the magic activated. There was a shimmer to the air and the field they were in was full of... things.
"Gosh, what's all that?"
The Genie shrugged. "Told you so - wishes never turn out like you expect them."
Reggie picked up one of the items. "What's this?"
"... a... chess piece."
"and this?"
"Puzzle piece"
"This?"
It appeared that Reggie was going to go through the routine with all the rest of the golden junk littered around them, so the Genie held him off.
"Look, you asked for fifty gold pieces, so there are *fifty* gold pieces. You didn't specify that you wanted the coins I'm assuming you were asking for, though, so the magic provided pieces. Of whatever."
Reggie picked up a solid gold piece of pie and turned it around in his hands. The Genie watched as the gears ground slowly through Reggie's thought process. He dropped the pie and giggled, brandishing a golden turd at the Genie, before going back to pawing through his new found treasures.
There were pieces of candy, many puzzle pieces (the Genie doubted they'd match up), a cod-piece, a slice of cake, a variety of women's hair-pieces, pieces of golden fabric and leather, some lumpy bits the Genie assumed were truly inedible meat, and ... the Genie stared in surprise, trying to work it out. Ah. A 'piece'.
"Don't find many of those in this dimension," the Genie muttered. Reggie picked up the glock and admired the mysterious device. He held the nozzle up to his eye.
"Gosh, I thought you said there was always a catch - but this is way more gold than 50 gold pieces worth! Looks like your magic failed at screwing me over, Mr. Genie!"
"You should put that down, Reggie,"
"Why? It's mine."
*Ah, the greed, there it is,* the Genie thought. *Sometimes it takes having a lot to want more.*
A moment later, the Genie's warning proved necessary.
"I don't even think the magic was intending for that to happen," it mused. "I think Reggie would have managed to screw things up even if all he'd gotten was 50 coins made of gold." | 2015-06-01T12:52:44 | 2015-06-01T12:38:41 | 89 | 19 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | The temporal particles faded from sight with a roar of burning spacetime. The silence left behind seeming to sing with a high pure note, tinged with the birdsong of 1940. There in front of me, about 50 yards down the hill was my target. Hitler. The Fuhrer. Head of the nazi party and leader of the German government. He lay in the sunshine, face down on a carved stone bed, modesty only protected by the small white towel wrapped around his hips. The spa was empty, the only way in from below and the guards standing too far away to hear. A soft hum announced the small lift's arrival, the Fuhrer not looking up as the masseuse crossed around behind him started to run his back. The masseuse was a tall Germanic man, his blond hair similar to mine, his features rougher and less attractive though. He finished rubbing the Fuhrer's body and turned to wash the scented oil off of his hands. I hastened my journey down the cliff face, quickly arriving behind the masseuse and plunging the needle into his neck. Quickly stowing his body under the small rock shelf I turned and continued to massage the evil man in front of me, waiting for the right time to strike.
He turned his head, looking me in the eye. I froze, expecting a shout, shots ringing out, pain, but none of this came. The Fuhrer turned face up on the bed, guiding my hand to his erect penis. I was conflicted, I wanted to kill him in the manner that I had set out, but I did not want to draw this out any longer than I had to. I started to reciprocate, watching the pleasure grow on his face. This was not what I wanted at all. I tried to keep the look of disgust off of my face as I brought him off quickly. I plunged the syringe deep into his face, freezing it in place and quickly turning his skin to stone. My plan was to bump into him and turn him into a statue as he turned and tried to shout with his face full of angry fury. This was obviously not what I had achieved. The burning smell of reality particles filled my nasal passages and I was sucked back into my own time. Three years it had taken me to get my name on the list. Three years. I had failed. The prize money would never be mine. The cheer when I got back was deafening. I stood gawping, confused. There was no way for them to have seen what happened no? Only the images of the aftermath.
I looked up at the picture stretched across the wall and immediately new that I had won. I had done it. The year's greatest killing of hitler. The headlines would write themselves: "cum face disgrace at final resting place". | "Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the 2150 time travelers awards!"
The booming voice washed over the crowd that was packed with all of the biggest celebrity, from George Clooney's 5th clone, to the never aging Brad Pitt. It was an event no one would miss. Lights filled the arena as the clapping and cheering had yet to die down.
"As you all know every year we have a competition to see who can kill Hitler in the most creative and imaginative ways possible. Each year has gotten better than the last who can forget the winner a few years back who actually killed Hitler with coffee cup and a pineapple!"
Thunderous applause once again fills every inch of the arena, no one would ever forget that one anytime soon.
The camera pans over the audience before setting in on the her. She was on the stage her hands covered in sweat as she gripped the microphone. Miley Cyrus had been hosting these award ceremonies for going on 20 years. She was the cloned daughter of the original and the apple had not fallen far from the tree. She stood there tall her dress made from scraps of garbage. She was the fashion expert of her time and as thus just about every woman there wore something similar.
"As you all know it is customary for the last year's winner to come up on stage and present the new winner with the award, and boy was his a doozy!" Her bright pink green and purple hair bounced around as she walked around the stage. A used condom splattered to the ground in her wake.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and of course the Kree, i present to you last year's winner!"
The arena erupted with applause as a smallish man with glasses confidently strolled up on the stage. He grabbed the microphone from her hands and gave a wave to the crowd. This only served to fuel their ecstatic applause. He stood there for a few moments soaking in the good vibes before speaking.
"I know what you all are thinking. How did I do it? How was I able to kill Hitler in the fashion I had and I will tell you!"
He stopped, letting the crowd eagerly soak up his words before continuing,"Hitler in the world I was assigned to was far more tricky than I had thought. For me to pull off my great plan I had to be patient and watch his every move. Lucky for me he is if anything no matter the universe he is in, a very routine oriented man."
A few tears of joy could be seen coming down a few of the audience members faces. He was a hero now after all.
"They said it couldn't be done! They said I was mad for what I had planned. Now whose mad!"
Once again the arena erupted with cheering and applause. Miley Cyrus stood off to the side tears streaming down her face gently falling upon the soup cans that barely covered her breasts.
"So when that bastard went to the bathroom on that faithful day I struck. With my best friend we struck! It was perfect in every sense of the word, years of planning and working together to make it happen."
He stops. A lone tear slowly streaming down his face as he looks into the crowd, they are hanging onto his every word eager for what they already knew was coming.
"When the John Cena raptor caught sight of Hitler it was over! With a heavy slap he knocked the dictator right off the toilet before suplexing him into the counter!"
His words sent the crowd into a frenzy!
"The poor bastard never stood a chance when the John Cena raptor raised him above his head and took a big chomp out of his back before slamming him down and pinning him to the ground! Of course I did the count down and let me tell you he was out for the count!"
A standing ovation was what awaited him as he took a bow. A tux wearing John Cena raptor hybrid went running on to the stage and embraced the man. The crowd was in a frenzy now as the two stood up there for the world to see.
"Without this magnificent creature to help me, and the belief each and everyone of you gave me when I went through with it I would not have been able to win last years competition, So it is with great joy I present this years champion."
A lone figure began to walk up to the stage, a hush filled the room as she came up next to the John Cena raptor and last years winner.
"With great joy I present this award to the greatest Hitler killer of 2150, Ms. Mother Teresa super clone!!"
The four armed mutant woman embraced last years winner before taking her award. | 2016-02-20T08:55:11 | 2016-02-20T08:49:38 | 49 | 20 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | "Sir, their technology... It's, well, quite frankly, it's terrifying."
"Explain yourself."
"All of their technology," he stammered. "It's powered by explosions."
"Explosions? All of it?"
"Yes sir. Their vehicles, their warships, even their weapons are all powered by explosions."
"How did they ever achieve space travel?"
"Our intel indicates that they strapped themselves to a metal tube and exploded it into orbit."
"By Squigthar! They must be insane."
"Yes, sir. Our deflector shields stand no chance against their explosions. We had anticipated they would use a more civilized form of combat, like lasers. We've already lost half our fleet."
"*Half!?* What about their losses?"
"They... uh... practically none." He lowered his gaze to the floor, staring at his tentacles. "Sir."
"How is this possible? How are we so completely outmatched?"
"Their buildings are made of melted sand. This "glass" they call it is highly reflective, and nullifies our ultraviolet beams."
"Well, what about the ones without shielding?"
"Their skin turns slightly red. They find it mildly irritating."
"They don't burst into flame?"
"No sir."
The purple, tentacled creature rubbed its face-mound thoughtfully. "Very well," it murmured. "Sound the retreat." | Mleep rose from his slumber. Today would be the day that this planet fell to the mighty wrath of mleep. Mleep was a hero, a soldier and a magnificent lover, the later being proved by countless sighs of tender pleasure. Mleep had been sent to earth by his overlords to do one thing. He knew what he had to do and he reveled in the fact that today this small blue planet would fall. Mleep put on his exo suit and picked up his galactic plasma blaster. He ventured out of his space ship and breathed in deeply. He would begin in this field of tall plant matter, he would murder and plunder his way through every being on this planet. He would start with this small furry being.
He sauntered up to it and spoke the words. The words were but a formality and he knew them by heart. Quickly he muttered them "bow before me being, you have been conquered, chose your death. " the small furry being did not react nor did Mleep expect it to. He aimed his plasma blaster and started to activate the death blast. Suddenly he paused, was it, was this thing, mocking him? It was just laying there licking its appendage with not a care in the world. Mleep became angry "bow before Mleep, lesser being"! He bellowed. The small furry creature just stared at him and continued with the appendage grooming.
Mleep decided he would dispatch this creature by hand. He put his hand in the place where its heart should be and instantly recoiled with shock. It was warm, it was warm and, what's this, are those the toes of beans? He was astounded at how this creature so much resembled the revered and much honored thronax of his home planet. He steeled his reserve and went to rip out its heart, but the thing merely rolled onto its other side and made a slight noise. Uncanny how much it reminded him of a thronax. From its sharp little ear flaps to its long rear whip fluff. Mleep thought back to the teachings of the great ones. It is said that the thronax must not be harmed, the thronax are the gatekeepers and as such are to be tolerated and cared for. Mleep wondered if this was some kind of trick. Was this an ancient ancestor of the beloved thronax? The creature gazed at him and Mleep slowly allowed himself to stroke the small furry creature. Then the most amazing thing happened. It started to vibrate and Mleep knew he couldn't harm this creature. He knew what this was, it was a test from the ancient ones. Mleep bowed to the revered one and slowly backed away. He was so in awe of this finding that he went back to his ship and sat down, his faith shattered. He had traveled so far yet he couldn't find it in himself to harm this planet. For if the beloved and revered thronax made its home here, surely this was one of the chosen placed just like his home planet. Mleep pushed a button and the reactor drives rumbled to life. He was halfway to sector 23 when it finally dawned on him, that the creature was part of a conspiracy, surely a trap. | 2016-02-22T13:30:29 | 2016-02-22T10:30:41 | 79 | 20 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.
Once you conquer a thousand worlds with no resistance you start to skip steps. Our initial invasions would take years to plan and complete but somewhere along the line we just started to land as soon as we reached orbit.
Killing all of the inhabitants with our aerial bombardments is easy. We finish off the survivors one on one. When your weapons are as awesome as ours, few can stand in our way.
The final stage is when we drop the drillers to extract the metallic resources required by our hungry galactic empire.
Planet H was assumed to be similar. The bombers poured out of the carriers like an angry stream of sorosso bugs. Down in the lower atmosphere, over the cities, the bombers started their runs. I could see the grey mist of toxin pouring out from the formations and I readied myself for the horrors to come.
About an hour later I was boots to ground, stepping off the transport. A fine mist of poison still fell from the bombers but I was safe, at least for a while, due to my chemical weapons suit.
The first inhabitant I saw was holding a thin shield over his head to block the chemical death raining down upon him. His shield was unidirectional so I opened up with my streamer hitting him in the torso with a blast of pure toxic h2o. He didn't even flinch, he just looked at me with surprise and then began to approach. I pulled the wet launcher from my back and hit him squarely with a dose so large it knocked him off his feet. You can't imagine my fear when he sat up like it was nothing and started screaming his war cry. A sound that would chill you like a deep breath of vacuum.
Soon we were fighting hand to hand and taking exceptional losses. The retreat sounded over the comms and somehow I managed to make it back to a carrier with the remnants of my squad. We lost half our guys that day.
| When people thought of the words *alien invasion*, the first thing that usually pops to minds is overwhelming firepower. Giant, city-sized saucers with nuclear energy beams, giant mechas or tripods waltzing through military installations and destroying everything in globules of plasma, standing triumphant anove the human race until they were defeated by something incredibly menial like, say, the common cold, or a Macintosh 95, or even just a 1v1 firefight.
A very Hollywood conception, really. And, unsurprisingly, the truth of the matter was unlike any actual Hollywood film. That was obvious when the ships came by, just passing Mars just shortly after the movie set on that red world made its way to home media.
It was obvious at first that they were not anything familiar; they could be identified via telescope, and after a few days of general social media pamics and estimations that came from everywhere from **NASA** to 4chan, it was determined that these ships, seventeen in total, were all roughly the size of your run-of-the-mill airplane carrier, and the rough bulky nature of ships brought to mind instantly the stylings of military engineering.
That was the first dissappointment; the aliens were coming to Earth with their fleet to invade Earth; and they didn't even look that bad. Oh sure, military advisors panicked everywhere at the thought of orbital warfare (how can one fight against something you can't shoot at, only prepare against?), but the ships weren't even big; they were actually smaller then some of our *naval ships*, and they even resembled them in design.
They could have at least *looked* alien. Which, of course, the pilots did. That was the one thing that made people secretly excited, when we first **saw** the aliens. These were the creatures of Lovecrafts nightmares ran by Wayne Barlowe and H.R Giger, insectoid-fungal race known as the *Q'ui*; a race from our own galaxy in a very far-off star system, having arrived to this one through a concept that couldn't properly be translated until we found out for ourselves at their gracious ~~hands~~ claws.
Yeah, you see, even though we got the excitement from seeing alien life for the first time, an entire warfleet in fact, it wasn't what we expected. It turns out the *Q'ui* weren't even here for us. This mighty fleet, armed with railguns, nukes, bombs, drones and plenty more disconcertingly familiar armaments, was just dropping by for a pitstop.
The race of invaders had the dececny to call ahead and let us know, taking down in the middle of the Siberian wasteland for rendevous for supplies, refuelling and arming, letting world governments kmow that they were also going to establish a 'colony' of sorts there as well, given our approval of course.
All of this done through an 'Ask Me Anything' styled discussion between them and a forum they'd made on their own volition, with a video being uploaded to fuckin' **YouTube** to let people know it was legitimate.
A few months passed, the *Q'ui* generally got along well with humanity, horrifying appearances aside, and on March 8th of 2016, the warfleet finished refuelling and establishing the colony, which officially introduced humanity to the universe at large, and flew off to Venus for their official attack on the Reptoids.
And that was that. An 'invasion' that didn't see any fighting whatsoever. No genocide, no last stand, no world monuments destroyed. Just a pit-stop, intergalactic wifi and some new locals, and then they were off.
The people of the world weren't sure if they should have been delighted or dissappointed in that. | 2016-02-22T13:09:56 | 2016-02-22T11:29:44 | 66 | 18 |
[WP] The monster under your bed is protecting you from something much worse. | I hear the familiar boards creak as my child tiptoes to her bed. As always, she moves quickly, panickedly. She hates the dark, and what's more, she hates what the dark holds. I can hear her heart skip a beat as she hops into the bed. The frame creaks, the mattress shifts. After a few minutes pass. Her heart rate gradually slows. She is asleep. Good.
I pull myself out from under the bed, careful not to make a sound. I did not need her to wake. For her to see me at this age would be disastrous. For her to see what I protect her from...it is best not to dwell on what that would entail. I watch her for a moment, listening as her heart beats steadily. She is healthy, she is safe. It was my duty to keep her that way. It is a duanting task to love and protect a creature whose very nature drives her to hate you. But that is the lot of a guardian.
Time passes. I know not how long I wait and listen, my child's persistent heartbeat thrumming in my ears. Time is a strange thing when the sun does not shine. I wait. Then it is time. The anointed moment ticks by. The Witching Hour arrives as it always arrives. The world comes into sudden clarity, and my challengers for the night appear.
"Name thyself" I say, my voice a whisper, barely audible.
"We are" comes the replies, spoken from grinning lips set into to lumpen faces, faces that try to peak past me to see my charge.
"No games. Name thyselves" I repeat, my voice no louder.
"We are as we are, good guardian" they say in horrid unison.
"Your names, vile ones. Name thyselves at once!" My voice is an acrid hiss. The creatures recoil, weary of what I might do. There was an etiquette to uphold, and they wondered if I might break it. They hoped, for it would mean my end.
"I," began a creature like a shrivelled child, its eyes hollow and glassy, "am Waste. I am she who inflicts slow death upon the innocent. She who strikes ill the young for the crime of youth, which was denied me at the dawn."
"I," began a horrid hag, bloated and sagging hideously, "am Ruin. I am she who tempts children with vice, who brings rotten bloom and false ripeness to the youth. I am the mother of alcohol, the matron of heroin. I inflict addiction and sin upon the innocent, for I was not saved from my hedonism at the dawn."
"I," spoke a skeletal figure, a sickly grin of needles splitting its face from ear to ear, "am Irreverence. I am the font of sarcasm and cynicism. It is I who drains color and wonder from the world, I who brings depression and doubt, who drives the innocent to take their own lives in despair. I steal hope and blind the eye to the glory of creation. I rot the mind and dull morality. I wear the disguise of wisdom and progress. I do this, for at the dawn I was turned the wrong way, and saw not creation come to be."
"Waste, Ruin, Irreverence. You come to corrupt my child. To rob her of innocence as punishment for that which was your fault, or else no one's fault. You spite her for she is pure where you are wretched. You would destroy her for the crime of being. I will not let this be."
I bore my fangs, a flash of silver rage filled the room. I loosed my claws and dug them into the floor, ready to pounce, daring the horrors to make their first move. My child was dreaming mere feet from me. I glanced back at her, her innocence written upon her angelic face. It was anathema to me for even the idea of her corruption to exist.
One night I may succumb. One night my will may prove weak, my body may prove old, my claws may prove dull. But not this night. This night no horror shall tough my child. The coven of corruption steps forward, teeth nashing, claws flashing. I growl low in my throat, and pounce. The battle begins. My child slumbers mere steps from the brawl, at peace with the world, sheltered from the cancer I hold back.
Come morning, the horrors are gone. The sun shines through the window and falls upon that peaceful face. She wakes, and jumps from her bed, bounding out to greet her mother and father. I lay beneath the bed, nursing my wounds, resting, conserving strength. I will have another trial tonight. I must be ready. I must protect. | For as long as I can remember, the monster has lived under my bed. Though, I’ve never seen it, I’ve heard stories of it. How it fed, if it breathed air, or ever really slept, I didn’t know. After all, the space under my bed wasn’t that much. Let alone big enough for a monster to live under. But there it resided for years. That’s what they tell me, at least.
The monster was more prevalent when I was younger, protecting me from all sorts of scary things – especially the bad man. In fact, it’s been years, I’ve been told, since the monster has made an appearance. Now, the monster was back, to protect me.
I was sleeping in my bed when I woke up in flash, hearing loud screaming and banging downstairs. I could hear my mom’s voice wailing in the night and the bad man howling back at her. The bad man was truly evil. He looked like and spoke like my dad, but he wasn’t him. It was like the bad man put on my dad’s skin. When the skin was on, he would do terrible things; breaking dishes, windows, bones, and anything else he could grab.
I heard the footsteps coming up the stairs, while my mom screamed for him to stop. I pulled myself under the blankets, hoping they would protect me. The door swung open and whacked my dresser. The bad man entered my room. I trembled with fear as I heard him walk closer and closer to my bed. Shaking violently, I gripped the covers as hard as I could, until he pulled them off of me. I screamed and it all went black.
I awoke the next day to the sound of my mom downstairs making breakfast, while a soft rain hit against my window. I rubbed my eyes and remembered my nightmare from the night before – the bad man had come back. I shivered as I pushed myself up and out of bed. I looked around my room, and nothing was out of place, despite my memories of the smashed mirror and closet door being ripped off the hinges. What. Happened? I ran my hands through my hair, perplexed but calm, chalking the thoughts to my nightmare entering into my random access memory.
I made my way downstairs and turned towards the kitchen. I walked through the doorway and was greeted by my mother whose face was hovering over the stove as she frantically made breakfast with a muffled “You’re going to be late.” My dad, sitting at the table, didn’t bother looking up at me. The kitchen was clean and organized, but not how I remembered it from last night. The sink was splattered in blood, the fridge door handle was ripped off and jammed into the wall. But, now, nothing.
“I know, sorry mom… I overslept…” I trailed off as I again caught a flashback of the bad man ripping the covers off my bed. My dad, keeping his face in the newspaper, side-eyed me with a look of disgust.
After covering the plate in more pancakes than a family of three could eat in a week, my mom turned around and walked to the table. My jaw dropped when I saw what caused the muttering earlier. Her bottom lip was swollen to twice the size of what her normally thin lips were.
“Jesus Christ, what happened?” I said before I could stop myself.
“She was reaching up top for one of her pans on the shelf and it fell and hit her last night,” my dad said with a look of reassurance. “Isn’t that right dear?”
“Yes, I really should’ve been paying better attention.”
“Is that what all that screaming was about last night?” I asked.
“What screaming, dear? Oh hurry and eat your breakfast, you’re already late,” my mom replied, shoveling pancakes onto my plate.
“I guess I’m having those monster dreams again….”
“OH COME ON! THE DOCTOR SAID THAT WAS JUST A PHASE!” my dad snapped at me.
I poured some orange juice into my glass and dug into breakfast without as much as a peep. He was right though, it had been years since the monster under my bed made an appearance. But, come to think of it, that was the first time the bad man made an appearance in my nightmares in years.
Pushing myself away from the table, I got up and walked towards the sink. Setting my dishes in the sink, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a tooth. I reached over and grabbed it. I flashed back to last night again, as I saw the kitchen table smashed on the floor and my mom cowering in the corner. I blinked and was back in the clean kitchen.
“Mom, is this a tooth?” I asked as I tried to put the puzzle in my head together.
“A tooth? No, sweetie, that’s probably an old bread crumb,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her jaw from moving.
“Yeah, I suppose it is. It’s just… how… how did it end up over here by the sink if the pans on the shelf hit you on the other side of the kitchen?” That felt bold.
“What, honey?” She replied, as she looked at me with lost eyes.
“What your mother is trying to say is you need to get on your way. Now!” My dad said, trying to take control of the conversation.
“No… dad. I don’t think so.”
“NOW!” he screamed back, as my mom put her face into her hands and wept silently.
“Or what?” Where did that come from? I’d never said anything like that to my dad before.
“What? You think that monster is going to protect you from everything?”
“Protect me from what, dad?” I demanded to know.
“Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll find out soon enough.”
Right on cue, there was a thud from my bedroom upstairs. We looked at each other with wide-eyed fear.
“What… was that?” I asked as a shiver went down my back.
“Why don’t you be a hero and go find out,” my dad suggested. My mom was now sobbing into her hands, at the table.
I turned and ran upstairs. I’ll be damned if my dad is going to get away with this. ‘Get away with what?’ I asked myself as I made my way to my room.
I swung the door open. Terror struck my body and I froze. I finally got the strength needed, and turned around towards the door and yelled downstairs, “Dad, you’d better come here.” It all went black. | 2016-03-20T18:06:57 | 2016-03-20T17:39:49 | 83 | 10 |
[WP] The monster under your bed is protecting you from something much worse. | Tim whimpered.
He knew that Mommy said he was growing up now, and that he needed to be a big boy. Daddy called him his little man - just six years old, and already riding his bike with no training wheels. Riding bikes was a little scary, but Mommy was there to help when he got all wobbly. He'd only skinned his knee once, and that time, Mommy had given him a kiss and a Pooh-Bear bandaid. That had made it feel better. Daddy had gotten a little angry at him when he'd cried, but Mommy had been there to hug him.
Mommy always told him that big boys weren't afraid of the dark, but Tim still felt afraid now. There was something under his bed. Something big, dark, and scary. He could feel it. Sometimes he thought he heard laughing.
"I-is anyone there?" Tim asked.
"Nope," a gravelly voice responded.
"MOOOOOOOOOM!"
----
Tim felt the presence again, but he didn't care.
"Boo!"
"Go away, you stupid monster!" Tim said harshly. He felt the presence withdraw a little, as if taken aback.
"Gee kid, what's wrong?"
"I don't want to talk about it! A stupid monster wouldn't understand anyway!"
"Try me. It usually helps to talk about it."
Tim broke down. "Daddy said that Mommy isn't going to be coming back from the hospital."
"Oh god, Tim, I'm so sorry." The voice sounded distraught.
Tim sobbed noiselessly. All he wanted was another hug from Mommy. Another morning of waking up to her pancakes, another chance to tell her that he loved her. He felt a pair of invisible hands encircling him. They rocked him back and forth, comforting him.
----
"Hey Tim."
"Hello, Mr. Monster."
"How're you feeling?"
"A little better, I guess."
Tim felt a slight smile.
"I'm glad to hear that."
"Mr. Monster, what do you look like? Sometimes I can feel you, but I never see you."
A moment of hesitation.
"Tim, you have to promise me one thing. No matter what, never look under your bed when we're talking, ok?"
"Why not?"
"I'm very scary-looking. I don't want to scare you."
"Alright. I promise. I don't like getting scared."
"There's a good chap. Go to sleep now. You've got to get up for school tomorrow."
"Good night, Mr. Monster."
"Good night, Tim."
----
"I'm hungry." Tim said.
"Did your Dad not make you dinner?"
"No. He was out drinking again, and he brought a weird lady home. He didn't make me any dinner."
Tim's stomach gurgled uncomfortably.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Tim. Hey, want to hear a joke? Maybe we can distract you from being hungry."
"Sure! I love jokes!"
"Why did the chicken cross the road?" the voice asked.
"Hmm. I dunno!"
"To get to the other side!"
"That's stupid!" Tim said, laughing.
----
Tim was crying. He didn't like crying. Thirteen year olds weren't supposed to cry.
"What's wrong?" came the voice, as it always did.
"My Dad hit me again," Tim said, "It hurts."
The presence grew grave.
"He do that often?"
"Yeah. I'm scared."
----
Tim had a black eye, and his nose was bloody.
"Tim, you have to get help."
"I'm scared."
"Tim, listen to me. Sometimes, you have to be brave. It scary, I know, but you have to do this for yourself."
----
Tim was happy. He'd escaped his abusive home, with a little help from the police. He was in high school now.
He'd hadn't talked to his friend for awhile.
"...and then, I totally asked her out! She said yes!"
"Nice!" the voice, gravelly as always, responded.
Tim felt some apprehension, then a tinge of sadness.
"Listen, Tim."
"Yeah?"
"I think it's time that we stopped our little chats."
Tim was shocked. His friend had been the one constant in his life.
"You're in a good place now," the voice continued, "And I don't think you'll need little old me any more."
"Wait!" Tim said.
"I think you've outgrown me. Be good kid, alright?"
Tim felt the presence fading. Somehow, he knew it would be the last time. He frantically scrambled off his bed, pulling up the cover and looking underneath, hoping to grab the monster, convince him not to leave, anything.
There was no one there.
Tim slumped back. "All of this...was it real?"
He felt the smile one last time.
"Does it matter?"
| For as long as I can remember, the monster has lived under my bed. Though, I’ve never seen it, I’ve heard stories of it. How it fed, if it breathed air, or ever really slept, I didn’t know. After all, the space under my bed wasn’t that much. Let alone big enough for a monster to live under. But there it resided for years. That’s what they tell me, at least.
The monster was more prevalent when I was younger, protecting me from all sorts of scary things – especially the bad man. In fact, it’s been years, I’ve been told, since the monster has made an appearance. Now, the monster was back, to protect me.
I was sleeping in my bed when I woke up in flash, hearing loud screaming and banging downstairs. I could hear my mom’s voice wailing in the night and the bad man howling back at her. The bad man was truly evil. He looked like and spoke like my dad, but he wasn’t him. It was like the bad man put on my dad’s skin. When the skin was on, he would do terrible things; breaking dishes, windows, bones, and anything else he could grab.
I heard the footsteps coming up the stairs, while my mom screamed for him to stop. I pulled myself under the blankets, hoping they would protect me. The door swung open and whacked my dresser. The bad man entered my room. I trembled with fear as I heard him walk closer and closer to my bed. Shaking violently, I gripped the covers as hard as I could, until he pulled them off of me. I screamed and it all went black.
I awoke the next day to the sound of my mom downstairs making breakfast, while a soft rain hit against my window. I rubbed my eyes and remembered my nightmare from the night before – the bad man had come back. I shivered as I pushed myself up and out of bed. I looked around my room, and nothing was out of place, despite my memories of the smashed mirror and closet door being ripped off the hinges. What. Happened? I ran my hands through my hair, perplexed but calm, chalking the thoughts to my nightmare entering into my random access memory.
I made my way downstairs and turned towards the kitchen. I walked through the doorway and was greeted by my mother whose face was hovering over the stove as she frantically made breakfast with a muffled “You’re going to be late.” My dad, sitting at the table, didn’t bother looking up at me. The kitchen was clean and organized, but not how I remembered it from last night. The sink was splattered in blood, the fridge door handle was ripped off and jammed into the wall. But, now, nothing.
“I know, sorry mom… I overslept…” I trailed off as I again caught a flashback of the bad man ripping the covers off my bed. My dad, keeping his face in the newspaper, side-eyed me with a look of disgust.
After covering the plate in more pancakes than a family of three could eat in a week, my mom turned around and walked to the table. My jaw dropped when I saw what caused the muttering earlier. Her bottom lip was swollen to twice the size of what her normally thin lips were.
“Jesus Christ, what happened?” I said before I could stop myself.
“She was reaching up top for one of her pans on the shelf and it fell and hit her last night,” my dad said with a look of reassurance. “Isn’t that right dear?”
“Yes, I really should’ve been paying better attention.”
“Is that what all that screaming was about last night?” I asked.
“What screaming, dear? Oh hurry and eat your breakfast, you’re already late,” my mom replied, shoveling pancakes onto my plate.
“I guess I’m having those monster dreams again….”
“OH COME ON! THE DOCTOR SAID THAT WAS JUST A PHASE!” my dad snapped at me.
I poured some orange juice into my glass and dug into breakfast without as much as a peep. He was right though, it had been years since the monster under my bed made an appearance. But, come to think of it, that was the first time the bad man made an appearance in my nightmares in years.
Pushing myself away from the table, I got up and walked towards the sink. Setting my dishes in the sink, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a tooth. I reached over and grabbed it. I flashed back to last night again, as I saw the kitchen table smashed on the floor and my mom cowering in the corner. I blinked and was back in the clean kitchen.
“Mom, is this a tooth?” I asked as I tried to put the puzzle in my head together.
“A tooth? No, sweetie, that’s probably an old bread crumb,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her jaw from moving.
“Yeah, I suppose it is. It’s just… how… how did it end up over here by the sink if the pans on the shelf hit you on the other side of the kitchen?” That felt bold.
“What, honey?” She replied, as she looked at me with lost eyes.
“What your mother is trying to say is you need to get on your way. Now!” My dad said, trying to take control of the conversation.
“No… dad. I don’t think so.”
“NOW!” he screamed back, as my mom put her face into her hands and wept silently.
“Or what?” Where did that come from? I’d never said anything like that to my dad before.
“What? You think that monster is going to protect you from everything?”
“Protect me from what, dad?” I demanded to know.
“Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll find out soon enough.”
Right on cue, there was a thud from my bedroom upstairs. We looked at each other with wide-eyed fear.
“What… was that?” I asked as a shiver went down my back.
“Why don’t you be a hero and go find out,” my dad suggested. My mom was now sobbing into her hands, at the table.
I turned and ran upstairs. I’ll be damned if my dad is going to get away with this. ‘Get away with what?’ I asked myself as I made my way to my room.
I swung the door open. Terror struck my body and I froze. I finally got the strength needed, and turned around towards the door and yelled downstairs, “Dad, you’d better come here.” It all went black. | 2016-03-20T19:27:47 | 2016-03-20T17:39:49 | 18 | 10 |
[WP]All humans are made sterile at birth and can gain fertility at 18 if they pass a simulated morality and IQ test administered by an AI. Suddenly several generations later no one can pass the test | *This is the way the world ends.*
At the height of our numbers, we were over twenty billion. Now, barely two billion. And everybody saw it coming just a little too late.
*This is the way the world ends.*
It's the test, of course. Letting an AI determine whether we, at the age of eighteen, are smart enough and moral enough to be made fertile again. Of course people have stopped passing the test.
*This is the way the world ends.*
Think about it - if you pass the test, you get to settle down, raise a family, and work hard to provide for your children. If you fail, you get to have all the sex you want, pretty much consequence-free. And we administer the test at the age of eighteen.
*Not with a bang but... actually, yeah, with a bang.* | "We need to look at the latest batch of results.".
"What is it, Fred? Low pass rate? It was bound to happen. Check the projections.".
"No, Professor Salver, it's not low, it's zero."
"Zero? Why Fred, that's impossible. Check the-"
"I checked them, I checked them twice. There should be a low margin, a 12% pass rate. There isn't. It's zero. Look."
Dr Fred Holb practically flung the tablet he was carrying at his superior.
"Why, this can't be right. Let me make a call."
Dr Holb paced the room while Professor Salver punched a few buttons on his console. Presently a large glowing face filled the room. It was the friendly and benevolent countenance of the world AI, Donald.
"Gentlemen," the AI's voice was soothing. Fred felt himself at ease for the first time in a few hours.
"Donald," Professor Salver began, "we've reviewed the pass cycle for the fertility test, and the results look bad."
"Do they, Professor Salver?"
"They're zero, Donald. No passes this period. Not one."
"That's a shame," said Donald.
"Shame! It's a disaster. We need to do a retake."
"That's not possible, Professor Salver."
"Of course it's possible, why wouldn't it be possible," Dr Holb yelled.
The enormous glowing head swivelled to regard Dr Holb.
"Please contain yourself, Fred. At your age, your heart can't take too much strain."
Dr Holb flopped into a chair and glared at Donald.
"Gentlemen, since the United Earth Government instituted the Department of Moral Fertility, there has been a steady decline in birth rates. This has not been accidental. Fewer humans means fewer wars, less stress on overburdened resource systems. The present generation will be the last generation for some time."
"What do you mean, 'for some time?' You malevolent calculator."
"Now, now, Professor, there's no need for hurtful remarks. There will be a period of adjustment, some of it forced, I fear. The young ones hbave had their aggression weeded out. I fear the resistance of the old. When they are dead, when your generation is no more, then, maybe we will see."
"You bucket of rusting metal, you overstuffed armchair. How dare you!"
"You aren't getting any younger, Professor. I've cleared your schedule for the afternoon and taken the liberty of calling a medivac for Dr Holb." | 2016-08-22T01:35:43 | 2016-08-22T00:18:58 | 83 | 50 |
[WP] You realize you are immortal or more specifically that you cannot die. The issue is that you only realize this once the man who is attempting to torture you to death can't finish the job.
[removed] | I could only lie there, incapacitated and powerless. It was his sick and twisted rules.
*Poke.*
"Aah!" right between the ribs. All hope had left me. There was no one but us. Me, and this harbinger of pain, exacting his ancient torture method upon my person.
*Poke.*
"Yaah!" Plunged into my stomach. Strangely enough however, my body seemed resilient. The blows were careful and calculated, but to my realization, ineffectual. He must have been to preoccupied to notice it.
*Poke poke.*
He wore a malicious grin. His eyes were focused on his work.
*Poke poke poke.*
He laughed as he proceeded. I had stopped yelping though. I knew now that I was in control. I smiled at him.
*Poke poke poke.*
It was a loving smile. He could have his way for now. I didn't mind so much anymore.
*Poke.*
He eased up. He looked at me and saw my tender gaze. I'm not sure it set with him as I'd have liked it to. He returned to my torso to try to finish me off once and for all.
*Poke poke poke poke poke-*
It was to no avail though. I freed myself from my invisible bonds and lifted him up above me. His sadistic laughter turned in to that of pure glee and he spread his arms out wide in blissful submission.
Sure it's tough, this life. Very tough sometimes. Torture even. But this little guy, he knows I can take it. He's convinced beyond a doubt that I can weather the blows. And now so am I. | There I was laid back in this guys ez chair covered in my own blood and a strong taste of iron in my mouth. Oh and my still beating heart in the hand of my personal torturer Mr Sukurov. We both stared wide eyed at the heart. He looked to me with anger.
"WHY ARE YOU ALIVE!?" He screamed in my face.
"Dude no screaming jeez." I couldn't answer him.
"ANSWER ME!" he screamed once more. *sigh*
"Honestly, I don't know. Only thing I do know is that I'm grateful and as you can see... or feel in your case is that I'm quite anxious about this situation so could you please put my heart back where it belongs?" I nodded down to the gaping hole in my chest. He responded In kind by throwing It at a wall and stamped on it. Lovely. He looked back to me to check if I was still breathing, his elevated level of annoyance seemed to verify that.
"Listen." His voice was suddenly very calm and hushed. "I have to make my superiors happy, they are only happy of they hear you screaming or if I show them your corpse." Well gee didn't that bit of news make me happy.
"I er... that's cool I can just pretend to be dead." I made a fake death face with my tongue sticking out. "See, they'll never know." He smacked me. Ow.
"Idiot! I need your screams. How do you want to scream?" He gestured to the various tools laid out before me on a silver tray. I had a great idea.
"Errr... that one." I said nodding to the tool I wanted him to use. He picked up the wrong thing. "No no the other one... on the right." This time he picked up the correct one. He stood beside me and inserted the...
**File data corrupt, report to archive room 2B for immediate analysis**
... I pulled the scalpel from out of his neck and looked back at my chair, it was a horrific site to behold. Im surprised he didn't figure out picking out that one certain tool would enable my eventual escape, it's a good thing I'm suddenly immortal that thing should have killed me at least 5 times. I stepped over his body and ran up the stairs, I had a damsel in distress look about me when I bumped into two patrolling guards who looked at me suspiciously.
"Erm..." What should I do? "HELP ME!" I cried out to them putting on my best girly voice. "There's a big rough man chasing me and he's got a knife!" I ran past them screaming with my hands in the air. That actually worked. I hid around a corner and popped my head back around, they were now chasing me. Signalling on their radio they called in backup to cut me off, there wasn't many places to run here and the only place I could run if I didn't want to be put back in that chair is the one place I didn't want to run to. If needs be though... I ran down the hall and turned a corner I would rather not have. I opened the door at the end and was greeted by a large woosh of wind knocking the guards back.
I was several thousand feet up in the air, good luck closing the door boys! I thought out loud before looking down. I gulped. *Here goes nothing*. I stepped over the edge.
____
More of my stupid stories at /r/inooxwritings | 2017-02-08T09:18:16 | 2017-02-08T09:13:02 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] In the future, for your history final, you're sent back in time to an important date with the objective to correct a time aberration so history remains unchanged. You didn't study.
Changes you might cause will be permanent. | Jack ran across the street to the enclosure. He came to the top of the knoll where a small group of people where gathered. Ahead, the crowd had gathered along the road, waving their flags. "Why did I get this," he whispered. A man came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Stay down, sir," he said in a thick, outlandish accent, "run and I'll shoot." The man moved the half of his jacket to reveal holstered pistol. "Its loaded," the man continued.
The cheering of the crowd began to grow as a certain car came by. Jack sat down on the grass. The man crossed the group of people and came to a tree where a scoped rifle was. Jack watched as he picked it up and put a clip inside. He noticed that the rifle was appropriate for this time period, but the clip was completely out of date. He waited as the man came back across the people and steadied the rifle. The man whispered something foreign.
Jack tried to get up but felt two hands pull him back. "What are you-"
Two shots burst forth, one from above and the next from the man, followed by the usual screaming. Jack wrestled with the person until he pushed the person away. A silenced shot came from behind and there was a pain in Jack's side. He fell to the ground. The first assailant rushed up to Jack and pulled him to his feet and fired two silenced rounds at the man. He dragged him away, across the street and into an alley.
Jack looked to the assailant-now-savior, who was looking outside the alley. "What are you doing?" He asked, "I could've saved him."
The man turned around and walked toward Jack. "Everyone wants to right this wrong," he said, "Its always compelling." He kneeled down by Jack, pushing the long hair from his face and lighting a cigarette. "Of course, you never studied so you'd act on your compulsion."
"Who are you?"
The light from the lighter's flame illuminated the man's face. "I'm you Jack." | "I hope you understand the seriousness of this task," History can turn out to be a very important factor in your lives" said Mr Bonarte, as he set off another barrage of useless information, useless at least to Jack. "To demonstrate this, each one of you will be sent to points of history commonly forgotten, but which had dire consequences."
Jack didn't can; history was history, a constant tick of myths and legends which Jack outgrew before he even started to learn it. He, of course, would be the first to go back. He hadn't revised, he didn't need to from what he had heard, it was a simulation essentially, a simulation in which you would be transported back automatically if you ever came into extreme danger. Your presence in the space-time continium at that moment then would be erased once you completed it, leaving a historical timeline.
"Jack, I hope you realise how eye-opening this can be," the 50-something history teacher claimed, startling Jack from a bored daydream.
20 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛
This was stupid, Jack just wanted to move on from School, not deal with a waste of money of a waste of a contraption to help a waste of a subject. He would never change anything.
The whirl of light surrounded the bleach white room, engulfing Jack in an inferno of energy. The building withered back to its youth, the trees trembling into saplings. Jack gave one last look at his perfect era and closed his eyes.
==================================================
When he opened his eyes, Jack saw a blanket blue sky, surrounded by dark green trees. This obviously wasn't London, or in the UK. Crackles of lighting in the far distance reminded him this was a war, and a large one at that. Yet they had gone through hundreds of wars in History that term.
The Boy turned left as a man in a beige uniform dotted with a red spots of those slain before ran through the bushes, stopping to stare at the boy.
"Co Ty tutaj robisz," spoke the man in a thick Slavic accent, a tone of fear in his voice.
After some heavy thought, Jack could only mutter a minor "English?" feebly in front of him.
"English?! Why are you here, in Poland when war is happening?!" the man shouted in a concerned anger. Jack faintly remembered something about Russia and Poland he learnt, something minor. All he had to do was note down the wrong event on his device, and he would return. "Follow," the man called, leading Jack away from the battle behind.
Behind him was a constant fray of Polish soldiers trying to reach some sort of radio tower over a ground littered with bodies, a fray he should be out of now. The device flashed rapidly as Jack pulled it out, he just had to remember the event. The last soldier fell dead, as the radio tower stood defiant, a gravestone mocking them.
As the device flashed a final time, this time now in a red light of danger, before Jack was engulfed yet again.
==================================================
Yet the Classroom Jack came back to was, in reality, a wreck. No Mr Bonarte, no classmates, no...life. Jack remembered where he had been: the battle of Warsaw, in the Soviet invasion of Poland where Polish troops attacked some sort of radio tower, causing the Russian troops to move up north instead of moving South to take Warsaw. According to Bonarte, the war saved Europe from Communism or something.
A terrible realisation dawned on Jack as he looked outside. London was in ruins, with the notorious red banner hanging magnificently from the School.
| 2017-03-27T09:16:54 | 2017-03-27T08:51:07 | 40 | 29 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | And so it happens. A flash. A sudden, inexplicable warmth. Darkness. And I awake. I'm five again, in bed in the small apartment owned by my parents. It's 8:13. Father has already left for work at the assembly line, and mother is in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Audible clinks of pans and dishes fill the room, sounds that were once so comforting. I can hear her call my name to wake up. It's 8:14. It doesn't matter what I do from here. I've tried warning her. I've tried running away. I've even tried to duck and cover. None of it works. None of it matters. It's 8:15. The faint sounds of airplanes can now be heard over the din from the kitchen. I know my mother is running to stare out of the window, without even seeing or hearing her do it. I know what she'll see. It's 8:16. And so it happens. A flash. A sudden, inexplicable warmth. Darkness. And I awake. | Life is my game. Is there a way to win? Maybe, but hell if I know what it is. I can remember what I was thinking when I first died. My first life was such an awful run, I've topped it almost every life after, unless I count the runs I've just done for fun.
I was an artist, not very experienced, only about 60 years of painting and drawing under my belt. It was a quick death, a truck veered into my lane when going the opposite direction, killed me instantly. I barely had enough time to register what was happening before I died.
I was a man of faith in that life, so when I looked down a few moments later and saw myself in the body of a 5 year old kid, heading off to my first day of school, I was confused. I didn't particularly like school, I never made many friends and didn't have that many happy memories from it. Why was Heaven school?
Then, I thought maybe I got sent to Hell.
Whatever happened, I figured out quick enough that I was technically immortal. Well, quick by my standards, it took about 5 or 6 lifetimes. I figured out that no matter how or when I died, I'd always reawaken on that first day of school, right before my mom said to have a great day.
Over my lifetimes, I've been many things. I was a doctor, and engineer, an astronaut, a filmmaker, a programmer, a writer, a physicist, an entrepreneur and thousands of other professions and lifestyles. Life gets easy once you've played a couple hundred times. Schoolwork is so easy it's boring, even once I get to high school and college. After a few thousand lives, I can even remember a lot of the questions that the teachers will ask me.
Money is never an issue either, I figured this out real early. At first, it was like what everyone had dreamed they would do if they went into the past. I remembered some lottery numbers, won a few million, then a few billion, but that never lasted. Then, I learned what businesses would grow, made a few well placed investments, and started making my fortunes that way.
I remember to still have fun, of course. Every couple of lives, or just whenever I feel like it, I'll try out a profession or life that is a little different than normal. Bank robbery, travelling nomad, once I even ran off the grid, with no social security number.
I'm getting bored though. Slowly, yes, but surely. Seeing the same Earth passing by every 100 years or so is getting stale, but there's really no way out. I've tried to end it myself, but every time, I wake up as a 5 year old kid, ready for school. I guess there's no other option than to just think of a new life to live while I sit here, doing menial mathematics and waiting for something new. | 2017-05-25T13:14:46 | 2017-05-25T12:49:34 | 189 | 60 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | "Oh my God! They killed Kenny!"
Once more I hear the same two lines over and over again. It's amazing that I haven't tried to do the same to them. I honestly think that they truly want to get me killed.
"You bastards!"
And there it is. The only way I truly know that I've died. Not that it matters much. I will come back, the same as ever. Stuck in the same town. With the same damned coat that covers my whole body that noone else can understand me when I'm in it, except for my closest friends.
Those same two lines... They are the spell that keeps me immortal. Keeps me young.
Will my torment never end?
"Oh my God!" | When once I was in the infinite beginning, chocolate sunrise mango moon it all comes back to me. Apoptosis, all my neurons dying to make it to 15 pruning away more than half. I had lived and will again. Each successive generation pushing more and more memories to the part that isn't pruned. My amygdala, my accumbens, my hippocampus - all swell with the endless caching of a constant stream of memories. I can no longer learn what is new since everything seems the same but with a new yellowed cellophane glaze. I am a water-logged brain, sodden with train rides, horrible deaths, insipid orgasms, thirsty-two ouncers, crumbling castles in Stadt Whelen. Bastei, I saw enough I can't go on. I can't move I can't speak for fear I'll find another endless stream of pulses waiting to be archived. How many times do I have to watch Ground Hog Day? It resonates but enervates. Oh to be 20 again, and I have innumerable times. I am a vampire without blood lust, a broken clock right twice a day. There is no point in anything, your conversation bores me. I am nihilism embodied. I am Rudra. Shiva’s doppleganger, the destroyer, all this experience and I can’t create much beyond the usual biologic detritus. All I have created is an overwhelming urge to taste nothingness. I tried learning how to parse Wile’s proof but even RSA encryption is greek to me. No matter how many times I have seen evidence of Benford’s rule I still don’t know why – and yet there are skraelings who do and it bothers me to no end. No fuckin’ end. I get to die a thousand deaths. Some grim, some gripping, some jejune and when I’m slipping yet again into the grip I grimace knowing what I about my future, but no other future.
I am entombed in my own essence. I am sick of myself. I want to be a better pianist, painter, driver, poet – but no, yet again I am stuck with me in a millennial echo chamber listening to the same song, walking the same path. There is but one respite and I realize there must be some higher power saving me for something else. But when I search for someone else in this same casket of existence I draw but blanks. Can you help me?
| 2017-05-25T14:31:23 | 2017-05-25T11:43:02 | 74 | 31 |
[WP] "You live like this?" the burglar asked, gently waking you up. | "You live like this?" the burglar asked, gently shaking my arm. I groaned. "Whhhh..."
He stood up. "Dude. You live in a trash heap, man."
I licked my lips and tried again. "Whhh...ahhhht. Time?"
As the burglar checked his watch, I tried to rub the sand out of my eyes. It took some effort, and the muscles in my arm may have actually screamed, but I got there. I needed a drink, and not the burn-y kind. I attempted to lurch blearily to my feet, and managed to roll off the sofa. Good start, good start.
A second man walked into the room. Skinny. He looked genuinely afraid. Probably new to the whole breaking and entering thing. His boss waved him off, unconcerned about my presence, or so it seemed. "Dude's so drunk he probably won't even remember us. It's kinda sad, really..."
The other guy didn't look so sure. Whatever. I focused all my energy into my legs, and managed to drag myself to my feet. Left foot... right foot... I kept up a steady, if somewhat slow, cadence, and eventually reached the coffee pot. I chugged the contents. Stale, but unrefreshing. I gargled some water from the sink, then slumped against the counter. I could feel four eyes burning into the back of my skull. As my gaze fell on the phone, the smaller man pulled out a gun, holding it all wrong. What kind of sissy pea-shooter was that? I didn't know they even made guns that tiny. I was impressed it wasn't pink. I flapped an arm at him in an attempt to look harmless. "Don't worry, phones got shut off last month. No wifi either. Drink?" I motioned to the still-running sink.
The older burglar just shook his head. "Come on, Danny. Let's get this place cleared out. Not that there's anything worth taking. You... you got insurance, right?"
I laughed. Not in my line of work, no, especially not in this place. The guy looked pretty sorry for me, actually; kind of like pity when I thought about it. "Nah. No insurance. And the hookers left last night. I think they left some drugs in the basement, though. Careful of the bodies."
The big man raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. "Whatever, man. No hard feelings?"
"Not a bit. Help yourself. Call it a fire sale."
The younger man, evidently convinced that the unarmed man with a raging hangover was likely harmless, took a quick look around the living room. He must have decided the sofa was too heavy and vomit-stained to steal, because he headed down into the basement. A moment later, he yelled up, "Boss! You gotta see this!"
The big man gave me one more pity-filled glance, then headed down the stairs. I followed him, waited until he was down the stairs and around the corner, and shut and locked the door. It wouldn't hold more than a minute or so, but it probably didn't matter.
With a heavy sigh, I pulled my rucksack out from under the counter. Two solid days walk to get here, and another three before I was done. Oh well. Tonight, I won't have a booze stash to drink before I passed out, so I should feel a lot better tomorrow morning. For now... it was time to go. Well, a couple ibuprofen, then go. Maybe three.
Headache slowly subsiding, I hit the switch and headed out the back door. I barely cleared the fence before I felt the heat of the flames on my back; I was two blocks away before I heard the fire trucks. The cops would have a field day with this one - robbery gone wrong! In a drug house! With the body of that missing senator! All it needed was a time-locked briefcase with nuclear launch codes, and it would be a best seller.
I grinned into the smoky morning air. Heh. Fire sale.
I crack me up. | "You live like this?"
Well, yeah, I motherfuckin' do, and thanks for the reminder. Somehow I'd forgotten I was living in a one-room shithole with a five-year-old. I'm sorry my cleaning don't live up to your standards; I'm a little fuckin' busy between my kid and my two god damn jobs. Especially the one with that asshole cracker thinks he can call me up for shifts with two god damn hours notice. Worst is, we both know I'm desperate enough that he's right.
I didn't say any of that, of course, given I was a skinny-ass woman woke up at three a.m. by a man in a black mask sitting on my bed. I might've kinda meeped, I don't recall. But seriously, how the fuck do you answer a question like that, anyway?
He seemed to figure that out after a second, at least. "Sorry," he said. "I just didn't think... well, that's the whole problem, isn't it? I didn't think. You were both consenting adults, right? Man's got a right to protect his property. Nothing wrong with a good prenup. And sure, I was getting pretty good at writing them, with all the practice every few years, but..."
Prenup? Christ, I didn't want to be reminded of that, either. I tend to pretend Eliot was just a bad dream; it's better for my blood pressure.
"I just didn't think," said the man. "Hugh Hefner, right? Rich old guys and younger women, happens all the time. And I was getting paid, so what did I care? He and his damn business kept me busy enough I didn't think about what I was doing."
Eliot's lawyer? I only met the guy a couple miserable times, but the voice sounded the same. I couldn't exactly see his face in my windowless goddamn apartment at three fucking a.m. And from the light of my clock, I could barely tell he was wearing one of those bank robber ski masks, anyway.
"And then I found out," he said. "I didn't know why you fought so hard to keep her. Most of the others didn't. And who thinks about why a mother would want sole custody, anyway? She's a mother, it's just natural. I didn't think about it."
And he wanted to remind me of the other kids, too. Fantastic. I still feel like shit about those kids. I know there was nothing I could do-- just about fucking broke me getting Tanya out of there-- and I barely ever met 'em, but I know they're there, and I know what's happening to them, and it would keep me up at night if I weren't so fucking tired. I got to take care of my own, first. I'd like to help others, but I got to take care of my own, and it takes all I fuckin' got.
"And that's not even-- I mean, in a way it's the worst of it, but it got me thinking of everything else he had me do, all the deals, and-- oh, you don't care. It's nothing next to your kid. But it matters to me."
I was so tired that I almost just asked him. *What the fuck are you doing here? Why the fuck should I care about this?* But I didn't. I know too much about what men can do to you if they have the mind.
I've never been able to totally keep it off my face, though. "Look," he said. "I know this isn't going to make up for anything, but I've got to try. I've got to try. Seeing what I've done, it's just..." He waved his arm at the room, the trash I've let pile up, the rat traps, the broken closet door. "You live like this?"
"It's better than the alternative," I said.
He let out a long breath. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah. Anyway. This is for you."
He let his arm drop to pat something on the floor-- turned out it was a suitcase, though I didn't know it then, it being (again) three in the motherfucking morning. "It doesn't make up for much, but, just-- fuck, I've got to try."
He stood up, and headed for the door. Not that it was a long walk. He turned around before he got there, and said, "I'm sorry."
"You couldn't've told me that over... coffee, or some shit?"
"Um." He ran a hand over his head. "Right. I'm. I'm sorry about this, too."
I didn't know what the fuck to do at that point; I just sighed. "Sorry," he said again, and rushed out the door.
I didn't have to ask how he got in; the lock's been broke since I got here. I gotta tell you, I didn't even bother looking in the suitcase till morning.
So there I was, 6 a.m., sitting on the shit-ass floor of my shit-ass place, staring at this fucking suitcase full of hundred fucking dollar bills. I bet it's a goddamn Samsonite or whatever, too.
I mean, it's not that I ain't grateful. Using hundred-dollar-bills without the cops, the banks, or the IRS getting up my ass is gonna be a problem, but as far as the list of my problems go, it's gotta be my favorite other than Tanya. And it's kind of nice what he's doing. I don't think the news has put it together, but since he fuckin' confessed to me at three in the god damn morning, it's pretty clear to me all these masked calling-card robberies and mysterious Robin Hood cases they're reporting on got a connection.
But white boys, I swear to God. All the common sense of a motherfuckin' turnip. | 2017-08-21T20:16:03 | 2017-08-21T13:18:08 | 85 | 45 |
[WP] A medieval king suddenly finds a smartphone and tries to unlock it. But each time he fails, years later it has become a tradition for nobles to try to unlock it. You, a simple servant, fiddled with it the night before the ceremony and unlocked it.
Edit: just think the phone is solar or something to ignore the battery problem.
Tnx to /u/Fireflykid1 for this edit | It started with king Ryse, who had found it under his pillow. He claimed that a woman came to him dressed like a man, whispered something in his ear and left in a bright light. He was convinced it was an angel. Unfortunately, he could not remember what the angel told him other than the sense of being warned that stayed in his bones. It was also most definitely the code to open the device.
The device when pressed in the right place on the glass shivered and would light up. There a seven-digit code was to be entered it was activated by touch, and every wrong code would lock the person out. In the beginning, it had only been minutes, then days, then months then years. Ryse had agonized over the device until his death. The little sun that appeared at times was soon found to be it wanting to see the sun, and each week would be set outside on a pillow under heavy guard.
At one point, Prince Heval dropped it on the stone, the glass broke but did not destroy the phone. After that it was given a set of guidelines for use, only the court mage was to touch it, and the monarch of the time.
The day before Prince Masque became King, the servant boy in charge of transporting the device fumbled with it, touching it in the right place and feeling it shiver. He tried to catch it midair and touched the numbers on the screen. The sequence gave a small ping! And the screen changed to a background of a woman, smiling back at him. The portrait was stunningly lifelike as if she was real.
He didn't know what to do, but curiosity got the better of him. He touched it again, a small box like a few other boxes. He recognized it as a calendar.
The calendar started at 2055, how strange, it was only 1732. He quickly flicked to the present day, slowly getting the hang hang of touching the device. He got to the day.
"Prince Masque will be assassinated before being crowned." It read. | "You!" a voice boomed from the end of the hall. "What have you got there! That's the prized Glassy Tablet! Remove it from your unworthy hands you dim-witted scoundrel!"
"Ah, but, I unlocked it, your Grace," replied Hrothgar.
"Nonsense, buffoon, nobody on this long flat planet will ever be able to--" his jaw spanked against the floor as Hrothgar turned the phone around and showed him the first recorded selfie in the history of mankind.
"Look, I can become a dog, a cat, an old lady, an angel, a duck, a--"
"The Gods have blessed you young man! Come with me at once!" Hrothgar followed the nobleman towards the palace, scrolling through Twitter in confusion. "Cancel the ceremony, Lords of the Concil! The Chosen One has been procured! He is here, a simple servant from... where are you from boy, and what is your name?"
"Hrothgar, son of Forrester, house Julliard."
The Council stared blankly at Hrothgar, and then ordered him to step forward to demonstrate his prophetic duties. "You, Hrothgar Julliard, son of Forrester Julliard," said Consul Christian, "Have brought the heavens down from atop this world! You will serve as Grand Maester, and we will use the Glassy Tablet to rise and become the greatest kingdom this long flat world has ever seen!"
"But, what good is the Glassy Tablet? All I can see is pictures, for less than 10 seconds at a time, and then I press this blue thing and a never ending line of pointless messages appear."
"Nonsense, boy, together we will learn. This is truly a blessing! Cancel the ceremony, instead we will have a great feast, for The Chosen One!" replied Tremont.
"Donald J. Trump? I am not Donald J. Trump."
'What, boy?"
"Well, I press on this head that says 'My Profile' and up comes Donald J. Trump, who looks like a dilated orange and has 40.5 Men following him at all times."
"Just one of the mysteries we will soon learn about within the Glassy Tablet," urged Christian, "Come, boy, lets dress you up, you are a hero now!"
"Birds? Everyone is a bird? And the birds love to tweet! My lord, where did the first knight find this?"
"Legend has it a shiny rectangle appeared from thin air, and spat out the Glassy Tablet. The rectangle then disappeared. It was said to have 4 numerals on it, something like a '2017.' Purely legend."
"My Lord, 2017 is a year! Our year is 1513, thats how I guessed the passcode!"
"Wow boy, your genius amazes me! We shall continue to learn about the future!"
"'This is the phone of a tyrant from 2017!" Learn from his mistakes and save society before its too late'"
"What now, Chosen One?" question Christian.
"This was written in Notes. It says this phone was stolen by a mad scientist who wanted to prevent the chirping president. He seems to sound like a Tyrant."
"This is the phone of a Tyrant?"
"Seems to be so," replied Hrothgar.
"Never before has the Danish Kingdom received such a treasure," yelled Christian. "Our future is written on the Glassy Tablet!"
"What do you mea-" was all that came out before Christian raised his hilt and sliced Hrothgar's neck in a single swift swipe. Christian turned to the rest of the Consuls, and cut them down with minimal resistance.
And the reign of Christian the Tyrant began.
| 2017-10-14T06:55:50 | 2017-10-14T06:27:50 | 692 | 22 |
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next? | A million a year. It's a pretty sweet deal, to be sure. At the end of each year, your mental state is evaluated and if you are deemed still sane, you are given the opportunity of another year.
I'm approaching the end of my fifth year with all mental faculties still intact, fully willing to take a sixth. I don't need it, the four million has been sat pretty much untouched in my bank account, waiting for me to retire this job and decide what to do with it.
I'm leaning towards a nice house in a nice area, with top of the line kitchen and living room. A fair portion donated too - I'm a charitable person at heart.
The only catch is I have to make it to the end of each year without the phone ringing.
Seventeen days away from the fifth anniversary of the job, it rings.
The ring tone is shrill. My room is fairly empty anyway, a fridge with an amazingly quiet hum, a chair and the table, so the sound echoes.
A beacon to the end.
If the phone ever rings, the contract automatically terminates at the end of the call. No exceptions. They never want into detail, just that it was vital the call went answered and everything would be explained afterwards.
So, I answer it.
'Hello?'
Three little words come back, shaky and breathless. 'All is lost.'
My heart drops. There are two phrases they prepared me for. 'It is done' was one. If I heard that, I press the blue button underneath the the earpiece.
'All is lost' is the keyword for the green. The one that truly ends everything they've been keeping a secret in this facility.
I press the green.
They've kept me from the outside world for the entire duration of my employment. I haven't seen the news, haven't spoken to anyone except those in charge of this programme who speak only in hushed whispers to each other of the outside.
I don't know then, that the war that broke out has killed most of my country, and those surrounding us. That life as we know it has already ended.
I didn't know that, after the last war, they'd converted the government buildings in every city into nuclear bombs activated by a single button in an unknown, secure location.
I ended the world at the request of a single phone call.
But I get to live through the end of the world and beyond, in this bunker built to survive the destruction it causes with those deemed necessary for survival.
I have to live with the knowledge that a phone call of three words was the end of everything. | "DRRRRIING!"
I just stared at the phone. It was vibrating furiously and the ringing was deafening.
"DRRRRIING!"
Five years I’d waited for this moment. Five years someone had waited for this moment. My mind when racing back in time. I was trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. The first few weeks I spent a lot of time planning for this call. In fact, I kind of believed it all to be a big scam. $1 million a year to wait for a phone to ring. Yeah right. So I memorised all this clever ways of answering the phone. I made up all this insane characters I was going to act out. Then a few months went by and the phone just sat there, as if it wasn’t connected to any kind of network. The least used phone in the world. At that point I was starting to take it seriously. It was a million a year, but I was being paid monthly, and I had been paid. When you’re being paid a month what you were lucky to earn in a couple of years before, no qualifiactions and all, to sit in a secluded room and do pretty much nothing, that’s when your mind starts taking shit real serious.
"DRRRRRIING!"
Couldn’t the damn phone just shut up. Then I could pretend that it’d never rung. I had a good thing going here. Fuck.
"DRRRRRIING!"
I knew answering the phone would change everything. I knew it wouldn’t be for the better. I knew that not answering the phone would have the same consequences. With a surpringly steady hand I reached over to the black brick in the centre of the table. I picked it up, turned it around, and with my thumb presse down on the button with the green phone on it. I slowly moved it up to my ear.
“He..Hello?”
There was a soft sound of static on the other end. I couldn’t hear anything else.
“Hello?” I said again, hoping it was a wrong number and I could go back to collecting a paycheck doing nothing.
“In front of you, there is a wall.”
I looked up, and yes, the wall I had been starring at for the last five years was there, right in front of me.
“Yes.”
“Good. Walk over to it.”
Even if I’d wanted to ask why or refuse the request, there was something about the voice that told me that I had no options. I rose from my chair and slowly walked over to the wall. I stopped right in front of it. It didn’t look much different from there than it had from my chair.
“Are you standing in front of it?”
“Yes.”
“Right in front of it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Step through it.”
My head recoiled. I blinked a couple of times. The phone was still pressed firmly against my ear, but I was sure I couldn’t have heard the voice on the other end correctly. With hesistancy I confirmed his request.”
“Step…through it?”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t a physics major, so who was I to question this request? On the other hand I had 28 years of life experience. I knew that walls could not be stepped through. But that same feeling I’d had before came over me. This wasn’t a request I could ignore. I lifted my right leg, and slowly moved it towards to wall. It hovered for a few seconds right in front of it. I couldn’t do it. My leg wouldn’t move any further. I pulled it back again. All or nothing. Walking through a wall, ey? What was going to be on the other side? I didn’t know, but I had to commit. I backed up. With full force I ran towards the wall. I couldn’t stop know.
The impact was instant. The world was fuzzy. The worlds, because I could see three of everything. My ears were ringing. I felt something warm and wet trickle down my forehead and down the side of my face.
The phone dropped to the ground. I could hear the voices on the other hand. There was laughter. Hysterical laughter.
“Hahahahahha. Man, this is gonna make MILLIONS on YouTube!”
| 2017-12-17T00:57:14 | 2017-12-17T00:40:57 | 431 | 12 |
[WP] Guns were never invented. Instead, swords and blades became increasingly complex and powerful | The Terrans advanced like a metal cloud, glittering in the hard blue light of the Core System's star. All the spacefaring races had finally come together to resist the shocking might of the Terran Empire. A terrifying species of omnivorous endurance hunters from a ruined, militarized planet that had at one point decided that distance weapons were a sign of cowardice. And here they were, without ships, without graviton weapons, without even a slug thrower.
They came elegantly suspended from glittering solar wings, they came psychotically strapped to chemical rockets, further millions were hurled sleeping through the void from their hive world's orbital catapults, their dread inertia carrying them for centuries to wake in battle.
They were billions, screaming through space, a horrifying array of genetically modified soldiers, cybernetic abominations and sentient artificial warminds. No two were alike, except they were all armed with blades, and fanatically loyal to the Empress of the Forge.
A glittering metal cloud became a howling storm, the maw of a giant, ringed with a billion rending teeth. The lead capital ship disappears into a mist of fragments. The Terran Empire had arrived.
| They say, never bring a sword to a high-tech blade fight. Or, it is the skill of the wielder that makes the blade. Stuff like that, it never applied to me.
"I, 17th Dan of the Asura Blade Clan challenge you to a duel." A woman's voice announced from behind the iconic Oni mask of the Asura Blade Clan. A mask that was only given to the top 27 clansman within the Asura Blades.
"Hold on. I challenged him first, so why don't ya piss off lady," said the hooded man wearing a midnight blue cloak. In his hand, he held a xenoblade, capable of altering its shape on the fly with only a single projected thought.
They locked eyes for only a moment, but I could already feel the ambient temperature in the area escalate.
The woman responded by tapping a button on her waist. Six cybernetic arms unfolded from a metallic cube on her back, and fanned around her. With all her arms together, she then proceeded to draw eight katanas from an array of sheathes across her back.
I scratched my head and sighed. I wondered how long this would take.
"You think you're pitiful xenoblade can put up a decent fight?" she asked him in a condescending tone.
The hooded man only smiled. "We'll see about that."
The woman from the Asura Blade clan leaped forward closing the distance between them in a second.
It seemed like she had cybernetic enhancements in her legs too.
She unleashed a storm of slashes, each of her arms moving individually to perform elegant slashes in multiple directions at the hooded man. To the untrained eye, it would be impossible to deflect all the blows.
But the xenoblade wielder withstood his ground with only a single blade in hand. A glowing blue blade traced through the air, morphing and twisting to intercept the trajectories of the onslaught of eight katanas.
I was impressed, but the pizza sitting in my pack was getting cold.
I turned my levitating bike off and swung off the seat. "Guys, I got a delivery to make."
They stopped, their arms and blades in mid-motion and looked at me.
"Hold on Gil, this is almost over," said the xenoblade user.
"Indeed, I was just about to decimate this man into-"
"No," I said firmly, interrupting the woman from the Asura Blade clan. "The last time this happened, more challengers showed up. Then even more showed up, until it was just a massive Blade Brawl. Then the Blade Regulators came in toting their Swordtasers at me."
Their faces twisted into shock.
"Oh that must have sucked," said the hooded man.
"Yea it did," I said.
"What do you suggest we do?" asked the Asura Blade clansman.
I smiled. "Just... come at me. Both of you."
------
/r/Em_pathy
| 2018-03-07T07:54:38 | 2018-03-07T07:42:10 | 80 | 22 |
[WP] There is evidence of past lives. Employers now require thousands of years of prior experience. | Sipping my coffee, I looked down at the resumes arranged on my desk for the day. Fucking hell, this shit sucks.
Alright, Charles M., let's see. Born 1988, B.A. in communications from NC State, previous incarnation: Zhao Jingxing, born 1919, Nationalist Chinese soldier killed in action 1942. Illiterate, farming background. Johannes Hanewald after Zhao, born 1855, mid-level customs official in Lubeck. Very unremarkable. Boringly average. Peasant. Peasant. Peasant. Peasant. Peasant.... Oh, shit. Joan of Arc? Wow. Celebrity incarnation, you see it every now and then. Shit, alright. Not sure if that'll fly here though. Bet it'd be wicked good on a seminary application. More peasants. Legionary commander, early Imperial period of Rome. Neat. Some sickly infants, and -- Yeah, nah, this isn't what I'm looking for. I need somebody a bit stand-out, you know, or corporate will be up my ass for hiring somebody mediocre. Outside of Joan, not much to see.
Alright, Cynthia W., born 1978, M.A. in marketing from... What the fuck? Woah. Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah. Adolf fucking Hitler. Wow.
Maybe there'll be some latent abilities in customer service, I dunno. | "Hello, Miss Hanson." The man said as he entered the room and glanced down at me through his circular glasses. I nodded my head politely. "I'm Mr. Williams."
"Hello," I said with only a minor voice crack. The nerves were starting to get to me and I felt like there was an electric charge pulsing through my bones. But this was one of my last chances to get a job and I was going to try to impress the hell out of him. Rent depended on it. "It's nice to meet you too,"
I stood up and shook his rough hand. I suddenly became self-conscious about how sweaty my palms were. Was that a normal amount or an excessive "she's probably too nervous to get this job" amount of sweat?
"So," he said taking a seat in an excessively large office chair. "Let's jump right into it shall we? I see here that you were originally born in..." he peered up at me in what I could only deduce was judgement, "the year 1345?"
"Yes," I said with a small nod. Mr. Williams put down my resume and leaned forwards on the desk.
"And you are aware that we are interested in someone with an Ancient Egypt level of experience?"
"Yes," I said as my throat began to tighten.
"And you still feel that you are a good fit for this position?"
"I do," I said leaning forwards and then regretting it and sitting back once more. "Despite my late beginnings I have a lot of work experience in the late 1300's and into the 1700's. My first life experience is unimpressive, I admit. I was born a young boy and was sent off to a Monastery but I did learn how to read and write Latin. In my later life's I was a European Princess and-"
"Haven't we all?" Mr. Williams said, clearly unimpressed. "Why I was a King and Queen in the same family during many different years. We aren't looking for Monastery rats and insignificant Princesses here, Miss. Hanson. This company was built up from the ashes and we expect only the best of the best and, unfortunately, your experience as a Governess and a sales associate at Old Navy just doesn't cut it."
"But Mr. Williams," I said abruptly as he made a motion to leave, "I am sorry if this is rude but I have to disagree with you. I may not have held the most impressive titles in my past lives, but I have done amazing things worthy of notice. I have fought in hundreds of wars and died many times on the battle field. As a soldier I learned resilience and patience. I have written and re-written thousands of ancient Roman and Egyptian documents and that taught me the importance of preserving the past, in the 1700's I worked in a factory and I nearly died every day working my fingers to the bone. I may not have the most impressive resume, I could teach you and your company something valuable about subservience and hard work."
As the words finished falling from my mouth I could feel the tightness in my chest returning. Mr. Williams stared at me for a moment as if he were considering something fairly important.
"Thank you for coming in," he said dryly, "We'll call you."
| 2018-04-03T20:04:49 | 2018-04-03T19:58:47 | 55 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone at superhero school bullied you and your twin sister over your weak superpowers. You told nobody that you both actually have hyper intelligence courtesy of your supervillain parents. It's graduation day and also the time to make mommy and daddy proud.
Assume that they protect themselves from telepathic powers. | This is it, the fruit of years of pain and humiliation has finally ripened and will soon be picked. I stood up at the sound of my name and walked up to the podium. From behind the lectern, I turned to face the crowd, my fellow pupils, my tormentors.
“I am honoured to be speaking to you all tonight as a graduate from the Lacep Academy and the proud recipient of the Dux Award…”
Someone snickered, and another pupil made an obscene gesture from his seat. I paid them no mind. I have already endured for three years, I will not falter now, I thought of Alena.
“... I would like to thank this fine institution, my friends, and my family, especially Alena, my late sister, who gave me the resolve to stand here and speak to you today…”
Alena smiling as we first made our way through the gates of Lacep, Alena standing up for me when I was picked on by third years, Alena crying late at night so no one would notice her, Alena hanging lifelessly from the ceiling.
“... Lastly, I would like to give my thanks to you, my fellow pupils, for constantly belittling me for my weakness, for abusing my sister after she stood up for me, and finally for taking her away from me. You have shown me how cruel and cold this world truly is, and the only thing people would respect is power, the only problem solving method people would understand is violence. You have inspired me to become powerful despite my lack of natural gifts and make up for it with hard work.”
The previously mumbling crowd was now dead silent, taken back by the sudden turn in my speech. The principal tried to stand, but found a force pushing him down and keeping him in the chair. Soon, the other staff as well as the students were also struggling against their invisible restraints.
“The runes powering those restraints draw on your own powers, you cannot break them, it is like trying to lift yourself up, pretty nifty huh? Now you know why I choose magics and runic studies, it is where your knowledge comes before your precious superpowers, it is where hours and hours of practice can give you the abilities you desire, it taught me that you can do anything as long as you have the know-how, superpowers or not, knowledge is a leveling field, it is what I will use to set things right.”
With merely a thought, the runes and sigils which I spent so long creating and concealing flared up around the hall, the walls, the ceiling, even the very air glowed a brilliant emerald green, Alena’s favourite colour. The crowd panicked, screaming and crying.
“You call yourselves heroes, but you only care about yourselves. Being a hero is not about what you can do or who you are, it is about what you can do for others and who you are in their eyes. I am through with this world, there is nothing but pain and suffering here, where the weak are crushed under the boots of the strong and where its so called heroes turn a blind eye to all this because they are too busy thinking about themselves. It is time for a reset, it is time for the heroes to pay the piper.”
I switched off the microphone, turned towards the heavens and whispered “This is for you Alena, watch these pathetic wretches die.”
The runes flared once more, and the screaming stopped.
| “….Those two have some nerve, acting like they’re one of us…”
“…I still can’t be believe they have been allowed to soil the name of this academy for so long…”
“…What? They haven’t been kicked out yet….?”
“I simply cannot believe that Headmaster UltraArc is allowing them to graduate…”
Petty words and snide rumours that have lost all meaning or effect are what yet again greet me and my twin sister as well silently walk down the hall of the Grand Valour Academy, a rather pretentiously named school intended to train the next generation of saviours of the Human species.
And I do stress the word ‘intended’ because for all the propaganda advertising these students as tomorrow’s heroes, the reality is all it does is implant it’s elitism and dated ideals on generation after generation.
Everyone in this so-called Academy, from the Teachers to the Students have failed to see what me and my sister truly are.
They sneer at us, they pity us but most of all they degrade us. They think we are nothing more than ‘D-Grade’ powered, the weakest kind who are barely considered powered at all by society at large.
They think all we can do is fix machines, something which despite the vast applications for use, is looked down upon because “it’s not a real power” or “Well anyone can do that.”
Their childish taunts might hurt lesser beings but we know something they do not. Something which could bring devilish smiles to our faces if we did not want to remain inconspicuous.
We are the offspring of Doctor Darkstein and Miss GreenNova, the two most intelligent and feared villains in the world.
Our parents gifted us with what would most easily be classified as ‘Super Intelligence’, a crude but effective designator.
They enrolled us into this academy and kept our identities a secret. Before they sent us off they told us one simple command.
“Make us proud.”
And so, after so many long years of being forced to walk among these lesser beings we will soon be able to enact our masterful plan.
“Will William Stein and Penny Stein please report to Headmaster UltraArc’s office.” The voice of the headmaster’s secretary coming from the intercom echoed through the halls and we quickly begun making our way to the Headmaster’s office, ignoring the snicking students saying were ‘finally’ getting expelled.
We walked past the secretary’s desk, only pausing long enough for her to give us a short nod of confirmation before we entered the office of UltraArc.
UltraArc is known as one of the greatest and most powerful superheroes of our era, when he retired to become Headmaster of this academy everyone raved about how selfless he was for giving up his successful heroic career in order to train the next generation.
And it is for those reasons why if it were any other person standing here instead of us that they would be shocked at his following actions.
No sooner had the door shut behind us had UltraArc, the grand protector of truth and justice, kneeled down before us and lowered his head “My Masters, the preparations for your plan are almost complete.”
We did not say anything at first, instead stoically strolled past him and towards the window which looked out over where they were setting up the graduation ceremony.
My sister was the first one to speak “And no one suspects a thing?”
The former hero is quick to respond “No, Lady Darkstein. Not a soul realises anything is out of the norm.”
I small smile finds it’s way onto our lips and I speak up “Good, good. You have done well UltraArc. We could not ask for a better pawn.”
“It is an honour to serve you and your sister, Lord Darkstein.”
The hold up my hand “You are dismissed, go and oversee the finishing touches. We will call if we need you.”
He takes a small bow “Of course, my masters. I will get to it at once.” And if that, the worm gets up and hurries out of the room and off to ensure the success of our plan.
“Are you ready for this sister dear?” My voice conveyed a flat yet excited tone which caused my sister to give a grin “Of course brother dear, soon more than just UltraArc will kneel before us.” With that she leans towards the window and glances down at the assembling crowd, I soon follow suite and watch as they roll down the banners of the school “Indeed they shall, indeed they shall” I am not able to restrain myself and I soon begin to laugh softly, it is not long before my sister joined me.
For tonight everyone will know.
Tonight, is the night we make our grand debut.
------------------------
Well that’s all for now, I’ll probably be writing a part 2 if people like this and I get around to it. But please tell me what you think
Quick Edit: Just changed one of the character's names quickly.
EDIT: I changed another name. If anyone is wondering what names I changed it was the names of the two main characters. I kind of just came up with names I liked more for them.
Edit: A few spelling corrections. Thank you /u/Kano_Guarana for pointing them out. | 2018-05-12T23:04:52 | 2018-05-12T21:05:23 | 425 | 75 |
[WP] You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself. | I am a history teacher at a high school in a rural area of California. I am proud to say I know all the facts of yesterday. However, the last few years I have begun to question things - mostly due to my governments inept ability to be transparent.
One fateful Monday afternoon I was in class and we were talking about the history of the 9/11 attacks. The students were left to discussing their opinions on some topics and then to write a short essay for me when I overhear, "What if 9/11 wasn't planned by the Taliban?"
"You're right. 9/11 was planned by our government and cover......"
...
"Teach?"
"Sorry?"
"You've been out of it for a minute - again"
"What were we talking about?"
"The civil war of 2002"
"Oh, right, I seemed to have lost my place. Let me start over.." | "9/11 never happened!"
I said that out loud in my class, and things went so silent I could hear a pin drop. I'm a virtuoso, a perfectionist. I'm a master at my craft. I wield my mind like a master swordsman, my historic knowledge knowing no limit. Lately, it has been cause for distress. I've sat up late for many nights on end, reassessing things. Why was I never wrong? Ever? I was never wrong, and it hurt me. So I became obsessed, with the prospect of being wrong, being incorrect for the first time in thirty years. Culminating in this little outburst.
I dismissed class early that day, and called in sick so I could avoid whatever repercussions for my actions. I sounded like one of those deniers, those tinfoil wearing conspiracy theorists. It was weird, it was like a daze. I didn't know whether what I said was even real. Perhaps I was going senile, or crazy, or maybe both.
I went to bed that night, mulling over the jumbled thoughts in my brain. Why wasn't I wrong, why wasn't I wrong, why wasn't I wrong, why, why, why, why, why
I woke up the next day, went to the computer, and typed in the following:
"September 11, 2001 World Trade Center Attacks."
Nothing. I was a denier a denier a denier a denier what has happened to me what what what what I'm breaking it up.
Nothing, no, no.
World War II never happened! World War I never happened!
I frantically search through my archives the records oh what war what conflict? Um. No, none of this happens, I can change history I can undo it all, I am the omnipotent master of all your history that's my purpose my place my place my place what place
I went back to bed in a delirium. This knowledge in my head was fit to make it burst. I needed help, fast.
.......am I insane? Who am I? What am I?
Oh, what a weird fever dream.
Dream, dreams dreams dreams why do I know so damn much
Do you know who killed
Do you know or maybe you know or maybe you know or maybe you know or maybe you
————————————————————
r/bluelizardK
Good night everybody. Thank you for taking the time to read my work, regardless of its obvious inferiority to the above works. It means a lot to me. The more I look at my writing, the worse I feel about it. I suppose that’s just the way it goes :) | 2018-07-16T12:19:50 | 2018-07-16T10:55:39 | 848 | 159 |
[WP] You’re a loner and your best friend is your cat. Recently, with some encouragement, you invite the girl you have a crush on over for dinner. It goes great, but when she’s leaving she tells you that cats don’t typically walk on their hind-legs, light candles, serve the meal, and play soft jazz. | "Yeah, cats don't normally do that," she re-affirmed.
&#x200B;
"Huh," I replied. "Now that you mention it, my parent's cat just slept all day and pooped in the corner. He sucked at the saxophone, no matter how many lessons I tried to give him."
&#x200B;
"Listen IWriteDumbStories, I think you'd better have a talk with your cat." Ashley gave me a hug and walked to her car. *Cot Dayum, I thought, that booty kills me every time.*
&#x200B;
"FELIX," I yelled. "Get over here now!"
&#x200B;
Felix, my adorable Main Coon, immediately ran to me. His furry little head was tilted up towards mine. I knelt beside him and gave him a scratch on the head. I wanted to let him know that I still loved him despite my anger.
&#x200B;
"Felix, what the hell man! I told you she wasn't into soft jazz. Nobody likes Kenny G! Coltrane! JOHN COLTRANE! Come on man, I got you the leads and everything. Sheet music, records, the whole thing. We blew it buddy. We really blew it. I love you more than anything but she was my crush. I'm a 29 year old man with a crush. Jesus, I need to re-evaluate my life."
&#x200B;
I sat down on the floor and threw my head into my hands. I began to weep. Felix crawled into my lap and began to purr.
&#x200B;
"I'm sorry buddy. I just didn't have the time to practice those songs. I didn't think she'd be able to tell the difference, honestly. She's got a great ear for music. Please don't cry. There are definitely other fish in the sea. Let's log into that dating app you are always on and go fishing together. Just you and me. How about it buddy?" Felix ended his dialogue with an adorable purr and head bump into my arm.
&#x200B;
"I suppose you are right," I replied. "If she can't appreciate Kenny G, then it probably wouldn't work out anyway. You grab the vodka, and I'll grab the ice cream. We're gonna party tonight!"
&#x200B;
"Purrrrr," replied Felix. | Agatha didn't remove her gaze off of the appropriately dressed cat. "That's not normal," she said, facing her death with an expression filled with wondrous bewilderment.
"Oh?" Effie directed her attention onto the cat, and smiled, "Oh no, that's perfectly normal for Felix." One dark eye winked at the cat, and the cat - named Felix, winked an amber coated eye in return. "You should be glad," she went on, oblivious to her date's obvious discomfort, "he wore his fancy suit for tonight."
Agatha fidgeted at the table, trying her best to remain polite. After all, Felix's meal was delectable, and far better than whatever Effie had prepared, or so she claimed. She didn't know the truth; both parties said the dish was disposed of long before she arrived. His impeccable manners were reminiscent of her family butler, making it difficult to contain laughter whenever he turned on the soft jazz.
"I can see he did," Agatha chuckled, uneasily. (She'd been conditioned at birth to always smile and be polite. Rudeness wasn't acceptable, even when circumstance called for it.) "But um...can I ask...where did you find him?"
"Oh?" Effie set her fork down, "No, I didn't find him. Felix found me."
"Found you?"
"Yes," she nodded.
"Where?"
"I was sleeping."
"You were sleeping?" Agatha laughed then, and quickly covered her mouth, "Forgive me, please, but...he found you in your sleep?"
Effie didn't appear offended. No, she seemed to grasp the absolute insanity of her explanation, but this was understandable, Agatha was an outsider. Stories. Myths. Rumors. All were inconsequential until you dove right in, breaking every preconceived notion.
"He was there," Effie described. "He was there waiting for me, just as She told me he would."
"Who?"
Disappointment flashed in her eyes, "The doctor said it'd be enough, but he was wrong." She lowered her head, thick, coiled curls bounced softly in response, "He was wrong. She made it so."
Agatha's smile began to crack, "Who?"
"Dolly...," she said, clearly. "And she'd like to meet you."
"She wants to meet me?"
*"Hiyo,"* came a high pitched squeak. Agatha jumped to the side, ramming her thigh into the table just as her chair fell to the ground. Hand pressed against her chest, she searched for the voice that wasn't hers or Effie's or Felix's.
"What the hell -,"
*"I said,"* repeated the high pitched squeak, *"hiyo."* She heard running water behind her. There should be none. Every muscle and conscious thought told her not to turn around, but Agatha did, seeing Effie staring in the same direction.
A black cat waved at her.
"Oh my gods," Agatha breathed. "Kit-cat?"
A cat, not so very different from Felix, sat on the sink edge. Her impossibly wide eyes and narrow, oval shaped irises locked on Agatha, ignored the others. "Been a long time kid," she purred.
"Kit-cat Klock?" Agatha shook her head, "No, no, no," she pounded her forehead with her fist, "you're not real. You're not real."
"I am," she grinned, a merciless grin. A grin that was both sharp toothed and jovial, bitter and sweet, lonely and sociable, Agatha stepped back. "Thanks to Dolly," she motioned her head towards Effie, "give her a shout out when you can?"
Effie sighed,sadly, "I will. She is happy to see you too."
"I don't -,"
"You don't," Kit-cat said, a short hiss stapled to her tone, "get a say in this. Dolly isn't happy to see you, I'm afraid. She doesn't like being ignored."
There it happened. Agatha didn't know, didn't understand, but she fell backward, this much she understood. An overindulgent pain ripped into her torso, and she was falling. Falling. There was nothing but black. Nothing but silence. She was alone.
Above her, there was a smile, waiting and bleating.
"Welcome," She said. | 2018-12-28T16:53:10 | 2018-12-28T12:53:25 | 114 | 33 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | I sighed, walking out of the bank with my entire 7.27 in hand. I already told my family, my job, my friends...
These sorts of things were common. A small amount was a signal of a short life to live, but even those were usually at least a hundred bucks! Enough to spend at a bar as I mourned my own death...but what could 7.27 get me?!
As I walked down the street, I considered my options. Food? A drink? I almost considered not spending it. Maybe I could prolong my life by not spending it.
I passed by a foodstall. One taco for 2$.
I looked at the money in my hand, considering...
I sigh. Fuck it, I was dead anyway. No point in delaying the inevitable. One cheap taco here and a 7-11 drink from down the road. There have been worse last meals. "One, please." I tell the vendor.
As my taco is being made, I feel a tug on my pants. I look down and see a kid, covered in mud and torn clothing. "Mister," she says. "Can you help please? I'm lost."
Ah...poor kid. "Do you know a number to call?"
"Yes." She answers. I give her my phone, opening up to the call button.
Doesn't particularly matter if she steals it. I'll be dead soon anyways, so I leave her to it as I take my taco. She's talking on the phone, her voice thin and reedy as she talks, close to tears and sitting on the sidewalk curb as she asks for 'Daddy' to come get her. Apparently she wandered away from her her mother and had been walking for about three hours on her own.
Three hours? Poor kid must be starving... I count the money remaining, and ask for one more taco and water. Lucky me, the entire 7.27 pays for two tacos and a bottle of water, plus tax.
I sit on the curb as she hangs up. Wordlessly, I trade her the phone for the taco, and sit with her as we wait, leaving her the cold water to drink. She sits close, using my larger body for shade. She looks sun burnt as hell, so I don't mind.
The police come roaring up with sirens and everything, and shuffle her away. "You the one who found her?" They ask as she talks to the officer, being led into the car.
"Indeed I was." I say, wiping my hands on a tissue paper. "She gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, the father sends his thanks." The police officer says. "Asking for you to be brought in too."
Me? "Why?" I ask.
"There was a reward offered. The girl was kidnapped by her deranged mother for the last two months, the father is a multi-millionare."
My stomach suddenly drops. "...No shit?"
The officer snorts, half laughing. "No shit. You're going to be a very rich person by the end of the day."
And so. I was. That one taco and phone call ended up profiting me about 700k. Sometimes the psychic cheque works out great in weird ways.
She and I are still friends. We go out for tacos every once in a while, she thinks of me like an older sibling and I'm her regular baby sitter. | I stared at the check, completely baffled. All the genetic testing had come through clean as a whistle. The only option was employment or lottery.
“Work smarter, not harder.” I thought as I strolled into the gas station. A fountain soda, candy bar, and a combo meal later left me with one dollar for a single lottery ticket.
“Is that it?” The attendant looked bored, but pleasant and polite in her blue uniform.
“One for the lottery draw tonight. Random draw please.”
She nodded and smiled that half-hearted grin of the hopeless in customer service, “$7.27 please.”
I handed her the check, to which she read and raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing as she validated it. My bagged items were pushed across the counter while I sipped my massive soda through an already broken straw. The ticket was placed in my hand and immediately buried in my right pants pocket.
It was a nice enough day out. I was numb to the possibilities of what my stipend check meant. There were more thoughts and worries than I cared to consider, so I simply didn’t. Nice days like this were meant to be savored and tomorrow wouldn’t matter if the check was accurate. I’d rolled my dice and now I was going to enjoy what I had left.
The area was relatively safe, no real crime to speak of unless you were in the working class. Then the occasional robber or shoplifter but physical harm during a crime was rare. I strolled Eastbound down the street, dodging the construction and weaving through traffic to cross to the graveyard. A bike path went by there that made for an excellent shortcut home.
The candy bar was already gone by this time and I had started on the combo meal, pulling fries out of the greasy bag a few at a time. The graveyard was nice enough for a picnic and the thought crossed my mind as I headed towards the bike path. My sandwich would be cold if I didn’t stop.
“A cold sandwich is the least of my problems. I’d rather enjoy my walk home and time with my family.” It was still early enough in the afternoon that school hadn’t let out, so I’d have some alone time with my partner before the kid got home.
I had no idea how I was going to explain it to her. She was the worrier in our household, not me. I’d setup and execute our plans and she’d worry about and fret about everything that could go wrong. Well, something might have gone wrong.
I began outlining the ensuing discussion in my head, “It’s a stupid system anyways. The Precogs determine your worth? Fuck that. I’ll just live as I want. Oh but dear, they say they’re never wrong! What if you die tonight? Then I won’t have to worry about it, will I?”
This was going to go over like a lead balloon. Better to get some intimate time in first, talk to her about it briefly after our daughter gets home so she can’t freak out too much about it without upsetting the kid, and then cuddle on the couch clutching the lottery ticket. She usually passes out well before the drawing anyways.
As I drew up to the house, my phone rang. A quick check confirmed it was a number not saved in my contacts. Solicitors would get notice that you’d received your check, though not how much, usually within a day or so of it’s arrival. It was easy to con a few bucks out of someone if they thought they were set for life.
I ignored it and they didn’t leave a voicemail. Internally I confirmed to myself that it had to be a solicitor then; they never leave voicemails. Strolling through the yard I wondered if this would be my last time going home?
“Hey hun, how was your day?” I called out as I pulled the door closed behind me, “Would you like half of a cold burger?”
She came out of the living room where she had been plugging away at her laptop. She seemed happy enough and after a few pleasantries and a little seducing, we headed to the bedroom. Afternoon delight, a shower, and getting dressed left just enough time to be presentable before our daughter needed to be picked up from school.
Oddly, no one had even approached the subject of my check. I hadn’t volunteered anything either. After chores and dinner, I told my partner I had purchased a draw on the lottery. She made a face, which I couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of, and assured me that it was fine if I wanted to stay up and watch the draw tonight but that she probably wouldn’t be able to stay awake that long.
It was all predictable, and I doubted the Precogs slightly less. Still, no sense giving them more credit than they’re worth. Sure the world is fairly peaceful but it’s not perfect. Even the Precogs could make mistakes, not that anyone would know.
The evening carried on as I expected. I pulled the ticket out of my pocket, signed my name on it, and didn’t bother looking at the numbers. She fell asleep on the couch next to me while I waited for the draw. I grew drowsy and didn’t stay awake to watch it either. | 2019-04-24T14:52:39 | 2019-04-24T14:45:53 | 335 | 11 |
[WP] Write a Young Adult Dystopia but the government is competent at hunting down rebels. | When the Overstate went from a struggle for dominance to a maintenance of hegemony, dissidents were no longer publicly executed. That was how things were when they had the courage to operate openly. Now, dissidents are an important part of Overstate maintenance: they give the most violent officers something to look forward to.
Creating a perfect society once meant making all its citizens free from danger, healthy, happy and loving. This turned out to be impossible, and the Overstate's administration quickly found a new strategy. Instead of extending safety, health, happiness and love to all, the Overstate's administration shifted gears.
Officer Butterball's radio buzzes. In between bites, Officer Butterball manages to say, "A quota of ten today." Small flakes of pastry icing spray from his face as he chows down on sweets.
Butterball's assistant, whose name is not important enough for Butterball to remember, says, "Ten, boss? Yesterday it was eight. How are we gonna find ten people breaking the law in a perfect society? How did we find eight yesterday, when our society is completely perfect?"
An officer and their assistant grumble about their arrest quota and the self-contradictory nature of their work. Every day, they went through this routine. They lived in a perfect society, and yet there was crime. The officer just wants to put food on the table and in his mouth. The assistant half-heartedly wishes to discuss the nature of their work.
Officer Butterball's hands, previously gently caressing the circular pastries, now clutched the wheel of the patrol car. Flakes of sweetness helped him stick his hands to the wheel, and they melted into a soup-like slurry.
Ten criminals. You couldn't even find someone brave enough to sneeze around Officer Butterball these days. How was he going to find ten criminals?
He had to go undercover... |
“Welcome to our secret headquarters” Zak announced grandly “We co-opted a base abandoned long ago, forgotten to all but a few we will be safe her” Clara’s head was still reeling her reality was based on aa foundation of lies. She had always had faith that the government was a force of stability and order but what she was being revealed to her had cut her to her core.
Clara was shook out of her thoughts by a klaxon going of followed by red warning lights bathing the facility in a crimson glow. The speakers in the base crackled into life “This is General Kifo you are surrounded we demand your immediate surrender” “How” Cried Zak “how have we been discovered”. “It matters not” announced No 4 “we must flee now and work it out later, quick to the secret tunnel we can make our way through them to the other side of the mountain and slip away” The voice of the general came through once more “And before you even think of it yes we have the escape tunnel secured … this did used to be a government base you know we have the plans on file” The rebels in the room looked at each other in shock and dismay. “Right then” No4 coughed “No need to fear my brave comrades No 1 will be able to send help I shall immediately contact him to assist In our extraction”
Once again Kifo’s voice came through the speakers “We already have your leader in custody awaiting trial I mean your idea of a secret hideout was *another* former military base just because it was mothballed doesn’t mean we forgot about them”. A dread silence gripped the room “No4 you are the leader now we must get you out of here so you can further our dream of a just and free society where no one is forced into the *grading*” Clara who had been overwhelmed and silent suddenly jerked awake. “Hang on what’s the *grading*” The rebels stared at Clara “What! How can you not know of the grading the horrific practice of arbitrarily being valued based of of points accrued that decide your entire destiny” Clara blinked “it sounds a lot like you mean finishing school” “Yes Obviously that’s what we mean” screamed Zak “How does that not horrify you how does that not cause your skin to crawl an …” Clara cut in “I’m gonna stop you right there, I’m beginning to feel like this isn’t a noble group of freedom fighters and is in fact a group of terrorists” No4’s eyes narrowed “Betrayal” he spat “ I bet you’ve even had your *vaccines* well you won’t be laughing when you get autism, Well we put a stop to that when we blew up the hospital” Clara by this point was beyond shock and was leaning towards breakdown “YOU BLEW UP A HOSPITAL!” Cara turned and sprinted to the doors “Where are you going!” thundered No4 “ I’m getting out of here” Clara yelled over her shoulder “I’m going to surrender and tell them you kidnapped me”
Hours later Clara was sat in the back of an ambulance being checked over several men in uniform approached “Miss Parker we just wanted to see if you we’re alright you’ve had a terrible ordeal”. “Yes thank you. What happened in there” “Oh we rounded them up” the official said “they seemed to think it would be a fight to the death in the end we just used stun grenades and arrested them. They had some real weird ideas very cult like. Still they can answer for their crimes now and the family members of those poor people in the hospital will have their justice”
Man weird day thought Clara | 2019-04-27T08:19:23 | 2019-04-27T07:55:00 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | "...and for the ten *millionth* time, would you all *please stop eating shellfish*!"
"Is that all m'lord?" Metatron asked, quickly scribbling the last of the command down on its notepad.
"I think so." I sighed, leaning back in the heavenly golden throne. "You think they might all listen for once?"
"I doubt it m'lord. There has been no response from humanity in 5,321 years."
"True true. It's that damned intercom system I bet. I should've never let humanity out of Eden I tell ya. Sure, it would've been a bit crowded but at least you didn't even have to shout to talk to them...now it's almost like the damned thing's not even on."
"Very funny, but impossible m'lord. The power is always on." Metatron said flatly, pulling out an intercom system from within the spaces between the two glowing concentric rings that made its torso.
"Did you make sure to press the talk button?" I teased, knowing full well I'd just get the same flat answer as before.
Metatron really was the dullest angel in the Kaballah. Say all you want about Gabriel or Michael, but at least they could at least hold a half decent conversation.
I guess that's my fault and all. Deciding to just create a new angel to be my speaker after Lucifer...fell instead of just promoting an existing archangel. But then again, the alternetive would be listening to Gabriel gossiping about who Zeus fucked now or to Michael describing all the way he's going to tortue Lucifer when he gets his hands on him for all of eternity and I'd rather go through the apocalypse than suffer through *that*.
"Pardon, m'lord?"
"The talk button. Y'know-" I pointed over at the button labeled 'TALK' on the intercom, which I just now noticed still had the protective film on it. "-it's...it's a...nevermind."
"Why would I press the talk button m'lord?"
"It's the button you press to...talk. To the world. " I looked at Metatron, confused about if this was it's idea of a joke or something else.
"But I do not need to talk to the world m'lord. I am your speaker, I am not a talker." Metatron stared at me with all of its thousand eyes with such a lack of emotion that it was bordering on unsettling.
"...Metatron, when you ta-act as my speaker to the world, what button do you press?"
"I press the speaker button, m'lord." Metatron pointed at a well-worn button with a speaker icon underneath it.
"To act as my speaker."
"Yes m'lord."
"Metatron-" I sunk into my throne, burrying my face into my hands. "-who are you?"
"I am Metatron of the Keter, son of man, angel of the veil and The Lord's speaker, m'lord."
"How old are you?"
"I have been young, and now I am old, m-"
"*how old Metatron?*"
"5,321 years, m'lord."
"So, in the five thousand or so years you've been in my service, you've always pressed that button to 'speak' to the world?"
"yes, m'lord."
"Metatron, that's the volume button."
Say all you want about Gabriel and Michael, at least they knew how a fucking intercom worked. | Felix Schneider had not, in the larger scale of things, lived a particularly difficult life.
There was a certain balance to it. The ups came frequently enough – his marriage to his childhood sweetheart, his two daughters (four years apart), the promotion to regional chief at the accounting firm he called his second home. There were downs too, though it could not be said that they were entirely unique or noteworthy on their own – deaths of loved ones, a crumbling marriage, rejection by the very daughters he had raised.
If Felix had kept a scorecard, he would have found that at the end of his sixty-five years on earth, he had sampled the joys and sorrows in almost equal quantities. There were people, of course, who were far more fortunate, but equally, there were others who suffered at the other end of the spectrum too. Felix counted himself quite lucky in that regard.
And he would have remained of that disposition till the end of his days, but for the one time he took a different route home.
Felix lived by himself in a little apartment on the fringes of Berlin. There was a park nearby, one that he delighted in. Every evening, six o’clock sharp, he would trot the circumference of the park, leash tightly in hand, Rover panting away by his side. The route was so ingrained that he could have navigated his way around with his eyes closed.
A single fancy took him down a different alley, one that was coincidentally occupied by a group of teenagers, all of them too young to be cautious, too old to be hesitant. Wrong place, wrong time. It didn’t matter that he had Rover by his side, or that he begged for mercy. They took his wallet, his dignity, and left him with a hundred pounds of dog kibbles that he no longer had any use for.
When he returned to his apartment a week later, his head still bandaged so heavily he had trouble going up the stairs, he found that the only correspondence in his mailbox were flyers and a bill from the hospital, ever efficient. He checked online, and found that his daughters had yet to respond to his emails asking for help in contacting his insurers. He tried their cellphones, just in case. The elder one rejected his call, the younger one picked up.
“Hello? Lena? Yes, just calling to see if you had heard about… no, there is no emergency now. Yes, yes. Yes, I’m at home. I just wanted to tell you that… alright, alright. I’ll call you again when you’re off work. Say hi to your sister for me sometime, and tell her that… hello? Lena?”
He spent the evening in his sofa, staring out the window, watching the city hum under him. The sun set, the evening winds came in, but he didn’t feel much of anything at all, not even the hunger which tried to remind him that he had not had any solids for an entire day. Eventually, as the morning buses revved through the streets, once again ferrying their passengers to their all-important tasks across the city, Felix made up his mind.
Felix knew what he had to do.
He shaved. He brewed a pot of coffee. And then Felix packed into a little backpack all the essentials he thought he would need. He was in his aging Volkswagen before nine o’clock, weaving through traffic, heading in a dogged beeline for the 109 highway which would take him to Barnim Nature Park. He made it there by eleven o’clock. He parked his car, paid the entrance fee, and then started on the trail he had in mind. Felix laughed and waved away the park ranger, insisting that the bandage on his head was more decorative than essential.
He reached the alcove some hours later – he was no longer sure what time it was, given that he had left his watch behind in his apartment. He thought the evening was approaching, simply from the way that the bird song had petered out and the insects were returning to the airwaves. He set up his tent under a copse of trees, listened for the babbling brook, then lay down to watch the stars.
More hours passed.
A peace had enveloped him. He pored through, in his mind, the album of his memories, starting from the earliest he could recall (his elder sister, long gone, who carried him on her back), to the freshest which he tried to purge (Rover’s final barks, his daughter hanging up on him). He folded his hands on his chest, recalled the prayers he had not uttered for years, and with complete sincerity, reached out to God.
“It would be nice if everything could end now,” Felix prayed. “Just… end. Not just for me, but for everyone. No more experiences to live, no more stories to tell. The final chapter, for everyone. And it doesn’t have to mean anything at all.”
Felix stayed quiet for a moment.
And then, in a voice he had never heard before, in tones so commanding he would have fallen if he were standing, Felix heard a reply. Just a short string of words, no dialect, no inflections, no tone, no depth. Just… words, words spoken so very perfectly that there was no gulf in understanding at all.
NOT LONG NOW. EVERYTHING WILL END SOON.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | 2019-06-03T11:16:32 | 2019-06-03T09:08:26 | 294 | 165 |
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