prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[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 | 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 | "They fired me. I can't believe they fired me! I started this company....er, existence!", I mewled.
"I know, sir. Sucks. If I'm being candid...which you didn't say I could be, so...sorry, my Lord?"
"Peter...you know I don't like all the 'sir, thou, his-holiness' stuff. I made all of this, but you know as well as I do and they should by now that I don't *control* any of it. Today sucks hard enough already, thanks."
"Sorry, boss", Peter intoned.
I sighed. "Dude. We just went over this."
"My bad."
They fired me. Do you know how galling it is to be fired from a job you never wanted and stopped showing up at years ago? It's like you're so unimportant that they didn't even realize you were gone.
I should go back a bit. [I'm God Almighty. You know, ruler of heaven and Earth, and every goddamn thing in between.](https://m.youtube.com/watch?t=0m40s&v=ayWQGYHG2GQ). Or at least they thought so.
See, I *created* it. I'm God. I can create anything I want. I could make all the chickens turn into hippos. Pink ones. I can make it so they always *were* hippos. I can make whatever I want. and I can unmake it. I know everything about my creation. How it works, how it will grow, what will happen to it.
But once it's created, it's sort of out of my hands. And I can guide things along, of course...but that requires people to listen.
And they've not been listening for a every long time. Because my mic was off. All this time, I thought they were giving me the silent treatment.
Turns out the batteries ran out. It wouldn't have been a problem if we'd gone plug and play, but noooooo..Peter promised that cordless was WAY cooler.
"When's the last time you saw Michael Jackson use a corded mic?", he'd asked.
"Damn...he doesn't exist yet...but I know he will, and you've made what will be a fantastic point. Cordless it is."
Peter makes excellent point sometimes. Unfortunately, he's not big on details. We never charged the fucking mic. And it came fully charged, but no battery lasts forever.
Not even the ones I create. Some tasks really are too great.
I guess the last time it worked was right around when I sent Jesus. I saw things were getting out of hand, but no one was listening. Jesus spent some time in a Garden hanging out, waiting for a sign...I kept telling him to get the fuck outta there because the people weren't listening to either of us and he was in grave danger.
He never heard me. And he was so pissed at me for "blanking" him that we've not really talked until right now.
"Dad! Why did you let them crucify me?! Didn't you hear me asking for help? You just left me hanging? Dick move."
"Jesus Christ, kid..I was screaming into the mic and no one gave a shit!"
He paused."The mic? Dad......whens' the last time you charged that old thing?"
I stopped. "Charged? Oh, holy shit. PETER!!!!!!?!?! We never charged the mic!!!!!"
That chat was a whole other shitshow.
Anyway, after they quit listening, so did I..and I quit trying to guide them. I just sort of left them to their own devices for....hundreds of years. Maybe thousands. Who knows? Hm. I guess I should, eh?
Until Jesus finally decides to quit pouting and we discover that we've been experiencing technical difficulties.
So, I charged the mic, observed the situation on the ground, and them chimed in, just like hold times.
"Umm...guys? It's me, God. Been while, eh?"
The world stopped. Everyone looked up.
"So...full disclosure....we didn't realize the mic was down up here. That's our bad. Anyway, I'm noticing that you all seem to have moved pretty far away from where I was hoping you'd go. I won't force you, free-will and all of that...but things aren't going to go well if you keep doing what you're doing. So, I'm going to offer you some advice. Please listen carefully, and save your questions for the end.
You should be kinder to each other and yourselves.
If you want to do something, do it unless it's hurting someone. If someone's doing something that you don't like, but it's not hurting anyone, keep your feelings to yourself, because one cares how you feel. Judge not and all that.
Fetuses aren't people. You may not agree, but you're wrong, and I know because I *made* them. A fetus is a person like an acorn is a tree. It isn't. Quit being daft.
Also, stop destroying the planet. It's the only one you've got right now, and at the rate you're going, you're going to destroy it before you can reach the other ones I've set up for you. Money is awesome, but you can't breathe, eat, or drink it.
Oh! Quit killing people. Or doing them any harm at all, actually. There's literally NO good reason to do hurt people. So don't. I thought I explained that whole thing pretty well to Moses, but stuff gets lost in translation, I get it. On that...go over the 10 commandments again. And again. That's basically all you need. I don't care about tattoos, mixed fabrics, what you eat on Fridays, where you go on Sundays. I've NEVER gone to church. I have no idea why any of you would. I don't care who you have sex with, so long as they're happy about it.
Just be good to yourselves, the planet, and each other, and things will be fine. All that extra stuff, *you people* made up. Just stick to the big 10, and you're covered."
There was a long silence around the world as everyone processed what was happening, what was said.
And then, a lone voice from the blue marble I lovingly created so many years ago:
"What do you mean *you people*?"
And like that, I was fired. I could shut the whole thing down. I nearly did. I am the alpha and the omega. The beginning and the end.
But bit in the middle is totally out of my hands.
I *almost* sent a meteor to wipe it all out...but at their pace, those poor fools will destroy themselves more quickly and completely than I ever could.
It's a bummer to be fired, but it's nice to see that they've surpassed me, even if it's on the road to their destruction.
People, man. | 2019-06-03T09:08:26 | 2019-06-03T08:23:29 | 165 | 114 |
[WP] “What’s the strangest thing you’ve seen out there?” The new-recruit ask, looking out into the vast spacial abyss. The question catches you off guard, as you look around at the mostly destroyed and failing ship, drifting endlessly through space. You take a long breath in, “...Humans.” | “You actually saw one?” Elkin asked rigidly, his eye-stalks swaying as he turned sharply to Grontz.
Grontz nodded. “Mm. About two weeks ago.”
Elkin turned back to the viewport, through which they could see the ancient, derelict flagship drifting along. “What happened? What did they do? How did you survive?”
Grontz chuckled, his large nose-flaps vibrating with an amused tone. “It was just one human. They’re not so dangerous when their alone… well... not in the same ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“Humans and humanity are two different things. Humanity is dangerous, evil even. Humanity was destructive, aggressive, and hateful, driven by greed and fear. But humanity was the amalgamation of all humans, a mass of individuals all co-existing like the net of a hive-mind. When broken from that net, an individual human behaves drastically different.”
Elkin reached up and scratched at his gills. “Mm. That’s when the tide of the Great War changed, when the federation realized humanity wasn’t actually a hive-mind; that each individual was unique and could be hurt.”
“Right, and what do you need to have to be capable of being hurt?”
“Hm,” Elkin grunted, though he didn’t give an answer. After a time of silence, he spoke again. “So what was it like? That human?”
“She,” Grontz correct him, shifting his weight from left two legs to his right two. “It was a she, and she was kind, and curious. I found her while on a scavenging run through the flagship; accidentally let her out of a cryo-sleep pod. As soon as I realized what I had done I thought I was a goner, but she was harmless.”
“They’re that different, huh?”
Grontz nodded. “Sometimes. The girl had stories of lots of individual humans. Some were still evil, but each one was different, just like us.”
“That almost makes me feel bad that the kill-order is still in effect. I mean, it’s been a couple hundred years. Seems maybe that girl shouldn’t have had to die.”
At that, the hair on Grontz’ back bristled, and he remained silent. Elkin took notice. “… Grontz… you notified the extermination team and had that sector of the flagship cleansed, right?”
“Of course. I know what the procedure is. Anyways, I should get going. It’s about time for lunch.”
Elkin laughed and hit Grontz in the stomach with the back of his tentacle. “Lunch already? You’ve been eating a lot lately, you better watch your waistline.”
“Yeah well, you know us Gildorians… we keep growing until we’re 130 so…” Grontz turned and trotted off towards the cafeteria.
“You gonna eat with us today?” Elkin called after him.
“Nah, I’ve got a… a pet project I’ve been working on during lunches, trying to get some extra stuff done.”
“Alright… I’ll see you in the afternoon then,” Elkin said with a wave.
When Grontz made it to the end of the hallway, he cursed under his breath. “*Pet* project. Why did I freaking say *pet*? I’m such an idiot.”
​
r/TheCornerStories | “Humans?” Luther snapped his eyes to Rokan, a disbelieving look on his face.
Rokan let the corner of his lips lift, a small breath rushing out of his nose. “Humans. Once.” He looked at the newest member of his company, and let the amusement of his expression wash over him.
If they were lucky, they would be able to pull into a friendly station before the last of the crew died out. If they were less lucky but not completely out, they would find a ship that would let them, board. Hitch a ride and pretend that such an act wasn’t well below their station.
If they didn’t have enough for either of those, then they would all die out in space, wondering if any of it had been worth it at all.
“Humans don’t come this way. They…” Luther paused, looking back to the blackness and distance that surrounded them. “They haven’t been heard of since the last rally on Earth.”
“They keep to themselves.” Rokan knew that was only half the truth.
If the planet got its shit together, the species would be out in space. If they built the right ships, they would be out here in this war, and he couldn’t think of anything worse for any of them. The death and destruction of the outer bands had been hard enough without bloodthirsty animals aiming their guns in every direction. Lord knows they couldn’t take care of themselves on their own planet.
“They keep themselves safe.” Luther said, “The books…”
“The books only tell half the story.” Rokan glanced at the young man. His forehead was pushed downward in thought, and his arms laid stiffly on his lap. There was no comfort in his informal position, no relaxation despite nothing else to do.
“What are they like?” Luther asked.
Rokan shook his head and stood. The ship was slowing down further, and as he had the thought he heard a distance clank. The familiar rumble underneath his feet wound down to almost nothing; the ship was dying.
The ship was almost dead.
“Clueless. Apes.” The words flew out of Rokan’s mouth. The humans weren’t helpless, they weren’t stupid. But they were reckless. Despite all the years since he had been down to Earth, he didn’t believe that anything else would take their place at the top of his list.
His enemies were brutal but they were predictable. New planets held strange animals, but when he looked closer he understood them. When he looked at the wires of his ship, he understood them. When he dove under the water of an ocean, he understood it.
Humans prided themselves in being enigmas, and in that he supposed they succeeded.
Another clunk sounded from somewhere in the dying ship, and Rokan knew he had no choice but to tear his eyes away from the curious man. “We have one last distress signal to send. I am going to need your hands.”
Luther looked over, his face changing from disbelief and wonder to sheer confusion. “I’m not a tech…”
“I know. But its learn or die.” Rokan turned his back, walking away from the single open shield.
It was probably the least safe place for them to sit anyways. With no defenses and no weapons — with no comms and no warden, they had nothing to show if an enemy ship found them again.
Luther let out a sigh that Rokan couldn’t decipher. It sounded sad and longing. As if the man would rather sit on the edge of space and wait to die rather than work to save himself. He lacked the eager work ethic that most recruits had their first voyage out, he lacked the will to keep his eyes forward. As if Luther had joined to die, rather than joining to help them all live.
Perhaps the war had been going on too long, Rokan thought. Perhaps the younger generation was finally growing complacent. He couldn’t be sure, but the thought was threatening to distract him and the ship wasn’t getting any better on its own. Another silent moment passed, and he knew that if they didn’t move they were going to die an unpleasant death among the desolate stars.
He cleared his throat and turned. The sounds behind him as he walked told him the other man was somewhere behind him, opting out of a lonely death or a jail cell. Rokan wondered how many questions he would have to answer for the help and if he had the energy to answer them.
He wondered what the better option was, even though his limbs wouldn’t let him any other decision than the active one. He wondered where they would end up, and if they would be rewarded for surviving, or punished for letting the war take the turn it took.
As if they had any control over the weapons that were fired upon them, or that the nearest station had been taken. With a quiet sigh, Rokan turned down a hall, squeezing past a broken door at the end. “Let's hustle,” he said, talking to both himself and the recruit behind him.
Wondering and guessing was not his strong suit.
/r/beezus_writes | 2019-12-09T07:57:24 | 2019-12-09T06:11:33 | 87 | 21 |
[WP] You bought a pair of headphones that are acting up. Every time you plug them in, you hear a different sound - first crying, then a war-zone, now just static. You plug them in again and are frightened to hear a desperate, tearful warning: "Whatever you do, DON'T unplug the headphones again." | They pleaded for me to never unplug the headphones. It all sounded very desperate, so I just left them plugged in.
After a few months, I just bought a new device. Wouldn't you know it, the new headphones had the same problem. So I just left them plugged in.
I used my device for a long time and dutifully never unplugged the headphones. It wasn't just because of the tearful, frightened pleading. It was also more practical. I didn't really care either way, it's just headphones, just sound. Why worry? Then, the same thing happened to my TV. I unplugged it to connect to my computer, but the screen started to show horrific images or sometimes just static. Then finally, a desperate, crying man: "please, please don't unplug the tv again." So I didn't.
After years of living like this, my girlfriend nearly unplugged the headphones.
"What are these for? Just pull them out." She said.
"Babe. You can't. It's like, I don't know." I struggled for words. "It's very important or something."
She looked at me incredulously.
"You're kidding?"
"Look, there's some sort of extra-dimensional shenanigans going on. We don't want any part of it, trust me."
"I'm unplugging them. Grow up or something."
She unplugged the headphones. At first, nothing happened. She smirked at me, triumphant. She began to say something when, from behind, a surge of dozens of little red hands grabbed her. The hands appeared to be metal. They were glowing hot, so hot that I felt the heat from across the room. My girlfriend's flesh seared and sizzled in their grasp. My girlfriend began to scream, but the mass of tiny red hands grabbed her mouth and held it open, her flesh burning all the while. The hands reached inside and with combined strength, tore out my girlfriend's tongue.
I didn't see where the hands came from, at first. They were coming from *inside the headphones*. The remaining calm part of my mind noted that it was probably some kind of hammerspace, teleportation type deal. For the most part I was occupied by how loud her screams were, even without a tongue. Her eyes lolled down, her spasming limbs stopped moving and she was dead. But she was still screaming. Then I realized that she wasn't the one screaming, that was me. I was the one screaming.
The tiny red hands pulled my girlfriend into the headphones. Within a moment, she had disappeared completely. Like she was never there to begin with. The hands were gone also, with no sign that they had ever existed.
But the smell remained. That awful, unmistakeable smell of burnt flesh. The smell of burnt *hair*. After gathering myself, I walked over slowly and plugged the headphones back in.
It took me years before I was ready to start dating again after that. I made sure to mention it in my profile: "Ladies, please don't unplug my stuff. If you can't, swipe left." | It’s not a issue that my music stopped playing after five seconds it’s what I heard after that’s stuck in my head.
I heard a baby crying, as if it’s reaching out for me from wherever it is. I heard rockets and explosions a few seconds after that and I checked my phone to see if the song had changed but it wasn’t even playing.
Then I heard a lady who’s voice had no hope, a women who sounded like she had seen the world fall apart and she could live to tell the tale. She told me “ You Must Listen To Every Word I Say Or I’ve Failed”. I was tempted to dismiss this until she said “ Listen to me or Olivia won’t have a world to grow up in”. Saying my little sisters name got my attention so I listened.
She began to explain about where she came from and why she needed my help with whatever was going on with her life.
“ I come from the world on the other side of the mirrors. When You look into the mirror you may think you’re seeing yourself but you’re really seeing your counterpart in our world”.
“There are 3 worlds that exist between both of us, your regular earth, my earth or the mirror world and the space in between. The space in between is where a ancient race of aliens called the Dephalites reside. They’re a group of aliens that go from galaxy to galaxy attempting to wipe out humans so they can gain a new place to live after there homeworld was destroyed generations ago. 100 years ago the Dephalites attacked my earth and we were able to fight them off, we sustained enormous casualties but we managed to win. A year ago someone let them free from the in between and they began to take over.”
“We were able to fend them off at first but they evolved, they became human like and sophisticated and it was virtually impossible to tell the difference. That was until me and my partner Siegfried unleashed the Ensignial Gas into our world. It branded organisms based upon their allegiance. The people of my world have small moons on their right arms, the Dephalites have black stars on their necks, and that’s why I need you to do something for me.”
She instructed me to go the nearest mirror and I Ran to the bathroom in the GameStop across from me. I locked the door and she started with her instructions.
“ I need you to knock on the mirror twice and put your palm on the glass. After you do this a small radar and 2 pills will come through the mirror alongside a device that will allow you to fight the Dephalites. Go to the tallest building in your city and start up the radar and wait till you see 4 other beeps. Once you see 4 other beeps I need you to load the pills into the radar and watch them spread through the air. After this I need you to go home and go to a bathroom mirror and take the 2nd device and put it in front of a mirror. It will either glow red, blue, yellow, green or white. It will give you a specific element that you will learn to control and a spirit animal to guide you. After this you can wait a day and relax then I’ll need you to go back to the first building and since you’ll be the first one to start up the radar I’ll need you to lead the other 4 people that are getting a similar message. They’ll look to you to make sense of this. If you can’t just tell them what I told you and they should comply. Any questions?”
I asked a ton of them and she gave me honest answers about the radar, the Dephalites and all of her strategies in the war. I only had 3 more questions that needed answering before I went to the Space needle.
My 1st question was what would happen if we fail at beating the Dephalites. She answered
“ if you fail your world will perish like mine is right now”
My 2nd question is how did she know to choose me and why did she mention Olivia. Her response was
“ I chose you because your counterpart in my world was a great person, he was courageous beyond his years and I trust you’ll be the same. I mentioned Olivia because the Dephalites will try to control the ones you care about. If they manage to control them you must get rid of them... you must.”
After Clearing the lump in my throat I asked a simple question for my last one. Her response was honest and she held back tears. I just wanted to know her name.
“ my name is Daphne Decatto and it’s nice to meet you R.J. Thank you for listening to me and remember you’re not alone in this fight. You have people that will help you and people you will help. May your journey yield favorable results.”
And just like that my headphones went back to regular music. I had the radar and the pills in hand so now it’s on to the space needle. | 2020-04-02T03:58:31 | 2020-04-02T03:02:54 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] A global, standardised test taken at 13 determines the career of everyone on the planet. The big day comes and you get your results back, only to learn you might have the hardest job ever given through this system: you have to redesign the test. | "I've never seen this before" said Mrs Mitchell, and swung her screen around to face me, "so we're going to put you in for a bit of everything for the rest of your time with us. Statistics-"
"Maths? But I'm rubbish at -"
"Yes, statistics. Psychology, biology, history, politics, ethics-"
"What about art, can I do art?"
"Yes, that'll fit. The requirements for admission to the test design courses are quite broad". Mrs Mitchell looked from the screen to me, and smiled. "I'm impressed, Alex, if you'd asked me what I predicted for you, it wouldn't have been this. The program must see something in you".
I tried to return the smile.
"Don't be nervous, the testers work very hard to design this process. There's an awful lot of data, a lot of evidence going into this. It's far better than the old system, far better than chance and family pressure, or choosing on a whim"
"You know, this isn't, I mean this test. I didn't, it's not-"
Mrs Mitchell handed me a printout which I took automatically. "It's normal to be overwhelmed by the more unusual results. Now you take that, and have a look, and we can finalise everything next week, ok? Next week's session is Tuesday, 11.35, ok? You have a think, and come back to me then with any questions, then we can get this all locked in for next year"
I nodded. I had a lot of questions.
I left Mrs Mitchell's office and walked slowly to my form room. Everyone with a surname higher in the alphabet that mine would already be in there - commiserating, discussing, celebrating. What was I going to say? There was no putting it off, unless I did another lap of the school building, or hid in the toilets. Deep breath. I watched my hand open the door, as if it belonged to someone else.
"Alex! What did you get?" said someone.
There was no way out of this one "I, ah, test designer?" I said, almost not believing it. One of the other students took the printout from my hand and everyone gathered around them to look. Everyone except Sam.
"Show me yours" I said, grabbing the printout from Sam's hand.
"Mate," said Sam quietly "Test designer?"
"Yeah, listen, we've got to talk to Mrs Mitchell, we can go now-"
"No way" said Sam, "There's no way. I'm not going to swap you back"
I looked down at Sam's printout, at the results that were rightfully mine. That couldn't be right. That couldn't be my fate. "You're a fucking astronaut?" I said | I failed the test. Lowest score ever. You could literally get a higher score by signing your name.
This was the mother of all tests too. Taken at age 13, this test defines what you do for the rest of your life? Really?!? I could live 6-7x that?!? And yet, you want me to define my future based on FOUR hours of my life?!? Are you fricking kidding me? I am now ROYALLY screwed for the rest of my life.
Two days pass under my duvet. Somehow, I manage to feed the cats, although I ate nothing.
11am on the third day, the phone rings.
‘Hi. Is this Marla Anderson?’ said the unknown voice. ‘You know you failed your career life assignment test, right?’
‘Yeah...thanks...appreciate you rubbing it in. Really.... My understanding is you can’t retake it, so WHY exactly are you calling? Are you collecting a group of the biggest losers on the planet for some reason?’
‘Erm...no. You misunderstand me, Miss Anderson. I think the test is fundamentally flawed. It tests rote learning. We need box breakers right now; not those that regurgitate the existing pablum of society.’ replied the still anonymous voice.
‘I’m listening, but who the heck are you and what exactly do I have to do with any of this!?’ said Marla.
‘Everything and nothing.’ the still unnamed interlocutor replied cryptically.
‘Ok. This is officially weird. I’m going to hang up now and get on with my now meaningless post-test life.’ muttered a frustrated Marla.
Marla starts to hang up.
‘Wait!!!! I called for a reason!! Give me two minutes and I think it may change your life!’ replied Mr X.
‘Fine two minutes. Then you never call me again?’ sighed Marla, with little to lose.
‘Deal. So you were top of all your classes. Valedictorian. And yet you failed, why? Because the system is geared toward memorization - ‘teach to the test’. But that creates a civilization that can memorize. Not one that can creatively excel. DARPA and the FBI have identified a host of new challenges on the horizon. Our MI-6, SVR, and SSA contacts, all suggest that the people who ace the test, are not ready for what is coming?’
‘Erm, what exactly is coming?’ asked Marla.
‘Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that before you sign a number of high level security agreements. Needless to say, it’s serious or I wouldn’t be here.’ replied X.
‘Ok, suppose I accept the seriousness of this. Who are you?’ asked an increasingly curious Marla.
‘Again classified. Let’s go somewhere to sign a few things and chat. Cairo - wheels up in 2 hours. Enough time?’ told more than asked X.
‘Are you kidding me? I don’t even have a passport. How am I supposed to go anywhere?’ asked a frustrated Marla, sure they’d found the wrong person.
As if reading her mind, X replied: ‘It is you we want. Don’t worry about the passport. I’ve taken the liberty of having one made for you under a new name.’ X said mildly.
‘Ok. So can you at least tell me in broad strokes what you want?’ asked a justifiably nervous Marla.
‘Yes. I want you to work with a team of three other maverick geniuses to redesign the test. Figure out where it could be improved. Why it validates conventional thinking. Think you can do that?’ asked X.
‘Why not? I literarily have nothing to lose.’ lamented Marla.
‘Cool. Let me make a quick call and it’s sorted.’ X paused and dialed. ‘Yeah, it’s me. Marla’s in. Wheels up in two hours. Confirm?’
‘Marla, we are go. Pack the minimum you need. Focus on sentimental items. We can buy the rest, as we go.’ affirmed X.
‘Ok. Will do.’ said Marla, wondering what she’d gotten herself into now. Her mother always said ‘she jumped first’. Meaning Marla didn’t always think, but trusted her gut.
And two hours to the minute, it was wheels up to Cairo.
What have I done?’ mused Marla. What does it matter? Her life was over now anyway after the stupid test. Maybe this was an opportunity to change things.
And with that, wheels up to a new life and a new test. | 2020-07-05T02:35:15 | 2020-07-04T23:43:17 | 83 | 40 |
[WP] You gained immortality by absorbing thousands of souls. They have gotten used to it and act like Twitch chat watching a livestream of your life. | I stand above her motionless body, the cold air from an open window biting at my bruised limbs. She was strong, but I had won the fight, as per usual. Another soul, another ten years added onto my already extended life span. I walk away and start to clean any sort of evidence I might've left around the house, as jail is not something I want to deal with again.
As I'm finishing up, I start to hear the voices of my previous victims shouting out from the back of my mind. Dozens of souls, indefinitely trapped, desperately reaching out to be heard. After debating with myself for a bit, I resolve to close my eyes, and listen.
​
>`daniel_underscore1:` LMAO nice
>
>`master_of_comedy:` POGG
>
>`jenda_985:` you couldve justt used a knife dumbass
>
>`literally_dead_lol:` she looked kinda into that :weirdchamp:
>
>`david_thrasher:` YOO she's fucking dead lmao
>
>`12scadoo:` that wqas boring
>
>`usernamewastaken:` i think thats against TOS :monkaS:
>
>`fresh_prince_of_bellend:` GET A GUN NEXT TIME JACKASS
>
>`totallytherealWillSmith:` that was kinda. badass tho :)
>
>`heart_of_GAY:` POGCHAMMPPP
>
>`dreaming_of_memes:` nice one asshole/
>
>`JeremiaJohnson:` that was the slowest fucking fight scene ive ever seen this movie sucks
>
>`big-smoke-is-bisexual:` LOL SHES DEAD
>
>`funny_username:` bro what if she had a dog :pepehands:
>
>`peterpepe1987:` D:
>
>`thisguymurderedmeLMAO:` HAHAHA NICE
​
"...You guys have gotten really annoying." | Every waking moment I hear them. Sometimes they’re kind, supportive, loving and other times they’re obnoxious, they panic, and they say the most stupidest things that it makes me want blow my brains out.
*-He tried it and failed LUL*
*-What a loser*
*-Yeah what Kevin said*
Today I had decided to sit in a park and try to relax. Extra emphasis on try. You see I’m an immortal and I can’t die. Long ago I found this book and it said that I could become immortal if absorbed souls. Took me a while to find out how but I got the hang of it and before you know I’m immortal. But what the book didn’t tell me was that the souls would be constantly pestering me for every minute of my pitiful life.
*-Big loser*
*-Hahaha*
*-Hey anyone know who Joe is?*
*-Who’s Joe?*
*-Joe mama*
*-Joe mama*
*-Ligma balls*
And it got worse as I entered the 21st century and this thing called live streaming was introduced. Some guy told me to check it out and I regret even seeing it, especially this stupid site called Twitch.
*-Poggers dude*
*-Gross! Henry licked me again*
*-No I didn’t!*
*-How is even possible? We’re souls*
Because of this “live streaming” the souls got ideas of how to make this experience worse. They treat it like my life is a “live stream” and say I could do better.
*-Hey I’m new here can I be a mod?*
*-Stop asking for mod guys*
*-Eew I stepped in Kevin’s pee puddle*
*-Sorry there’s no where else to go*
*-Guys shut up*
*-Hey guys check out my stream at <link deleted>*
*-No links you know what that does to his head*
As I was saying I’m sitting in park when I hear police sirens behind me. I roll my eyes knowing they somehow did it again.
**DID SOMEONE CALL THE COPS AGAIN?!?**
*-I didn’t*
*-Nah*
*-PogChamp the cops*
*-Let’s go boys*
*-I bet it was Kevin*
*-Hell no it was Mike*
*-Can someone tell me what’s going on?*
*-Chat is moving so fast they won’t notice how gay I am Kappa*
*-welp!*
*-LUL Pete*
I turned around and tried to face the cops both hands in the air. Two officers exit their vehicle with their guns drawn towards my direction.
“Don’t move! Keep your hands in the air where we can see them!” Shouted one. They began getting closer and closer to me, guns still drawn.
“Officers, I don’t want any trouble. I’m not a terrorist. I’m just a normal citizen who trying to relax.” I tried to keep my voice calm but the first time this happened I was immediately tackled to the floor and handcuffed.
*-That was hilarious*
*-Your head went BONK*
*-Ow stop biting me*
*-No one is biting you Holly*
*-Shut up you don’t know*
The officers slowly approached me and scanned the bench which I was sitting on. Both officers frowned and looked at each other.
“Do you think calling the cops is a sick joke?” I shook my head.
“Then what the hell is this?” One of the officers held up an AK-47 from off the ground. First off, I never carry guns I carry a spiked club which I use to bludgeon my victims to get their souls but I left that at home.
*-Lmaoooo they found it*
*-He’s so busted*
*-Wait what?!?*
*-OMFG no way lmao*
*-Wait till he sees what I did LUL*
*-You guys are terrible*
*-So is that a no for mod?*
Somehow they figure out how do these things and it’s astounds me. I can’t go anywhere without trouble following me around the corner.
“Did someone order pizza?”
(On mobile sorry for format :( Really tried on this one) | 2020-09-26T17:40:12 | 2020-09-26T17:31:11 | 251 | 92 |
[WP] You run an underground fight club for the supernatural. A new patron approaches you at the end of the night and asks why you don't enter the fights. After explaining you're human the patron looks at you with confusion. "No, you most definitely aren't kid". | "Flattery ain't gonna change that bet, Enzo."
The orc just looks at me, like he's never seen this kind of thing before. Seven feet and three hundred pounds of "don't fuck with me", crouched over my desk like some sort of overgrown pencil pusher. It was after hours, and there was still bets to be counted and bribes to be sorted. I barely look up from my computer.
"I'm serious" he retorted. "No offense, but magic users got a certain smell about 'em. And you fuckin' reek."
"Glad you weren't lookin' to offend, then." I made a dramatic show of sniffing my armpit. "Any other comments on my personal hygiene?"
Enzo chuckles. "Not like that. How much you run magic fights for, what kinda cash does that bring in?"
I chuckle, despite myself, and turn to him. For all his tough shit he doesn't seem like he's too bright. "Too small an operation. Magic'll bring in the crowds, but it leaves residue. Scorch marks. Shit you can't rub out. We don't want that."
Enzo picks up a stapler off the desk. "You ever know your parents?" I give him a look. "Usually I pay a therapist to ask me shit like that. But, uh....no, never did. This last name I took off a street sign."
The orc smiles. "Here. Lemme show you something. Catch."
He hurls the stapler at my head, and instinctively I splay my palm towards the incoming projectile and shield my eyes. I feel a warmth, in my palm. A faint sort of buzzing, like pins & needles are just barely grazing the skin.
I look up. Enzo's leapt to the side, and a smoking crater is now leading out my office door. My hand's on fire. "Told you. Whatever bloodline you belong to, that shit must run deep." Enzo says, laughing.
I stare at my hand, as though it's the first time I've seen it. | "Chuckle, what have you been smoking bud." My parents and all that crap were all human. They did the DNA thing, mandatory for the past 75 years, so it's no big deal.
The patron looks at me, and his eyes flicker. "You are not human. I don't know how you are passing, but definitely not human. Fight me in the ring, tonight."
"No man" I got things to do, places to go and people to see. Okay, I want to live to see my next birthday, but I don't elaborate. I finish the list for tonight, and start setting up the bar.
I feel a hand grab my arm, crushing the bone. Pain floods through me, and I gasp. "What the hell?" I scream. My team comes over, and yanks the knot head away. Soon, he is blubbering... "She's a Sup. You gotta believe me...." I heard a crunch, and the team hauls him out. My 2nd approaches, and says, "An ambulance is on the way. Let them take care of you. I'll help you get to the front."
'The front' was a C-store. Sold snacks, diapers, and little things. I owned it, and we had been having our fights in the basement since I took over the business. The basement was bigger than the building above, and was the only reason I bought the place. There was so much potential there. I lived in one walled off area, but the club, well it had the rest.
When the ambulance came, they checked me over, and took me in. I was grateful, and hey the pain meds really helped. The night spent in the ED was one of the most boring in my life. By the time they were done with xrays, and finding a doc to put a cast on, I just was wore out. Compound crushing fracture, parts of the bone were obliterated.
Once the cast was on, I was free to go with the standard follow up with my local MD. Of course, I would. Sighs. A cab ride home, and hopefully the c-store was still standing.
My 2nd was waiting for us, he paid the cab driver, and helped me in the door. The place was sparkling clean. He flipped the closed sign on the door, and locked up. Tears filled my eyes. "Thank You." I was led home, and put to bed. Hours, maybe days later, I woke up. My 2nd sat next to me.
"Awake, I see."
I looked at him, smiled, and said "Of course. How have things been going?"
"The c-store is doing well. No thefts, profits are up. We have the young sups working, and one of the wizards improved things. Now, no dust will land there, and the shelves are self-stocking." He grabbed my hand, "We had the wizards look at your arm. They were able to knit it back together, and remove that cast. We kept you asleep the whole time, to deal with the shock and the pain."
"Thank You. I don't.."
His hand gripped mine a little harder. "You have given us a home, and a safe place to fight, to train, and to get our aggressions out safely. It's the least we could do."
"Okay, and what about the guy that hurt me?"
"He was out of his mind, he is unable to hurt anyone again. His mind was wiped, and his powers stripped. He's at the local nuthut, being evaluated. They don't know what to make of an infant in an adult body, but it was safest for everyone."
I laid back down to the pillow. My 2nd put a cool cloth on my forehead. "We love you, and your superpower is just that, you love all of us. We got your back." His hand touched my forehead, and I fell back to sleep. I rested. | 2022-09-09T02:19:23 | 2022-09-08T19:48:41 | 965 | 231 |
[WP] You get a knock. You open the door to see your nemesis, bruised and beaten, with your child. "Just saved their life. Need to go home and rest." Your nemesis turns to leave. You grab their arm. "Hang on. I want you to tell me what happened." You drag them inside. | “Hang on. I want you to tell me what happened.” The bedraggled man pulled the brightly colored man inside. A quick glance around the plain apartment told little about the occupants. Washed out pastel paint, accented by some of the most basic and generic paintings and pictures the brightly colored man had seen.
After the stressed parents laid the child down on the couch, draped a blanket over them, and kissed their forehead, the two finally sat at bar stools in the kitchenette. The parent brought out a bottle of something strong and poured a couple glasses. “Please, what happened.”
The hero of the hour sighed, “I was on patrol through my section, making sure no one would be an idiot.”
“I didn’t know you patrolled,” the parent raised an eyebrow.
“We don’t exactly advertise where we’re going to be on a given day, but those are details. I got a call that someone was causing problems. I intervened.”
“You tried to limp away. You’re the ‘Joyous Remnant,’ you don’t exactly go down easy.”
A quick sip from the glass. “‘The last one standing, with a smile.’ Doesn’t mean I don’t feel it the next day, but you’re right. They were preparing to face *you*.”
“Oh.” The parent say there for a moment. The silence was somewhere between polite, and stifling. “Thank you.”
“Hey, you’re the one I’ve been fighting the longest, I’d never stand for that.”
“You aren’t a hero though,” the parent glanced sideways at the Remnant, “You had no reason to save my kid. You could have just taken them yourself, have a new hostage.”
“Never.”
“You’ve robbed banks, destroyed property both public and private, you’ve taken hostages before.”
“No, I show up to a place, and make a mess. The only reason I take hostages is to get them away from the destruction. It’s why I leave some cameras working, and always have the hostages in sight of those cameras. I’m not in it to hurt people.”
“So when it’s my kid-“
“Especially when it’s your kid.” Remnant tipped his glass in salute to the other man, “In some ways we’re closer than family. I’m not in it to hurt you, I’m in it to make a performance and make money.”
“And then the Vanguard comes along and ruins the fun?” He finally refers to his own title.
“Nah, you help the performance and get the hostages out. Some of your peers could learn to prioritize hostages.”
Vanguard winced at that, but nodded, “They tend to forget the common person’s abilities, or lack there of. But again, what happened?”
“You’re more durable than me, they were prepping to face you, I got clipped by a few too many tricks and traps keeping the little one safe. Not much of a story to tell.”
“Do I need to get the league to keep an eye on our little ones? I don’t mind telling you I’m not the only one with a kid.”
“Heh, nah. The guild knows there’s families about, and we avoid them. Usually this is handled internally, but someone was able to snag a little one. They won’t bother you again.” There was a pregnant pause, Vanguard opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off. “Don’t ask. Please. They’re dealt with.”
Another pause. “You don’t like that you finally got blood on your hands?”
“I told you not to… alright, fine. My hands are plenty bloody. Like i said before, it’s usually handled internally. There’s a reason you don’t hear about these.” Remnant was far more serious than when they fought.
“Oh.”
“Now, take care of the little one, and the guild would appreciate it if you not spread this around. Or, if you do, mention that we will *never* go after your families, and request that the league do the same.”
That made Vanguard’s eyes go wide in a different way, “You have kids?”
Remnant snorted, “Hell no, but I know some who do.” With that he finished his drink, and headed for the door.
Curious, Vanguard called, “Where are you going?”
“Still need to finish my patrol. Oh, you didn’t hear this from me, but I’d advise the league have a team building exercise on the 12th. Something fun will be happening, more than just me, so it’ll need more than you.”
With that, the smiling man in bright colors went out the door. | "What the hell happened!?!? Your *KID* happened!!!" he snarls, ripping his arm out of my hand.
Radar Yves glared at me and then at Gedeon. I felt the waves of electromagnetic energy ripple off him warming the surface of my skin that faced him. Metallic objects around me began to jitter and vibrate. I saw radio waves start fading away in a growing sphere around Yves.
The air even wavered as his powers effected the light rays in the entryway of my house.
His eyes snapped back to me and the emissions of his powers dissipated with a crack of static electrical energy.
We have fought against each other for years. I had even been looking for him just a few hours ago in my afternoon patrol of Heldstadt. I try to remember what I knew about him from the years I have been fighting him. Things like how he had reacted at each encounter. Getting him to jail, held against the possible damage and pain he could cause. The deaths.
That was why he had been locked up this last time before he had escaped again.
The deaths were still deaths. Even if it is clearly involuntary manslaughter.
That had just started to be an issue, he had kill that guard this time. He had until a month ago only killed three people that I know of and in no way were they on purpose. That attack on the National Eddison Array Complex had been the one crime I could think of that he killed anyone in. He fought me, sure. Regularly and mostly to losses or draws. But he was careful not to kill anyone.
I always thought he was scared of serious jail time.
And while he hated me and does try to kill *me* all the time he is generally fixated on me once I show up which helps. He seems to always just snap and dive for me. That has minimized the damage as well as made it easier for me to capture or at least drive him off in defeat.
In a few short seconds he began to break down. Some kind of fear became clear on his features, in his body language. His eyes reddened with tears. He even began to shake or shiver in waves.
He began to blather as his eyes lost focus and he seemed to drift into his own world, "How had I never understood? All those times....ALL OF THEM. You...You?! Why? Why did you not just end me?"
He glances at me like a frightened child.
"Transformation of energy? I always assumed it was strictly kinetic energy transfer and transformation. Stupid! STUPID!!."
"You were worried about the damage to the people around you. Haahahahahah. Actual concern. Hero, right?"
He drifted into himself again in both body and mind. Shrinking in to himself right before my eyes.
"Heroes...right" he says quietly to himself more than anyone.
Gedeon still stands beside me.
I looked at him as Yves keeps on talking about damage, people, heroes, and me in a ramble of quickly replaced ideas as they streamed through his thoughts. Gedeon watched Radar Yves as he talked without looking at me. Calm and unmoving with the look on his face that he had just been caught doing something I had told him not to or that he knew would get him into trouble.
I looked back at Yves and that was when it hit me. Gedeon thought he was in trouble? Gedeon?
My eyes fell back on Gedeon and I asked, "What happened?"
"What happened? What *happened?!*" Yves said in a loud voice edged with growing hysteria. I turned back to him.
He laughed.
"All that damage...I have never know where you live...did you know that? Never. And I had never thought you could just, like do that. Never...nope...never knew...." He drifted away again.
"If I had not called for you! God!"
What was he rambling about? I thought.
"I just was running for home...You know? My lair...the Radar Array. First place I go every time. I got lucky."
"You had already finished afternoon patrol. I had been hiding until that happened next to the prison. Thought I was so smart! So *smart!!*"
"Last place they would look," he said to himself. "Last place. The prison." More laughter.
He seemed to be getting worst. Falling apart inside as he remembered what happened. Gedeon said nothing beside me. Seemed to refuse to take his eyes off Yves or look at me.
Yves looked at me again.
"You think you can just keep me in check? Just enough power to keep me out there in the world? A nemesis to the great hero! The great family man!" He laughed again.
I was so confused. Gedeon? What had happened...
"Come on, Yves. What is wrong with you?" I asked without trying to touch him again despite the fact I wanted to shake him with my bare hands.
"YOUR KID!!!" he yelled at me pointing at Gedeon.
"Powers are passed on genetically from father to son. Just like me and my dad, you and your son." He jabbed his pointing finger at Gedeon while not looking at him. One of his powers is location with a radar like ability. He knows were everything is within a specific radius....about 300 yards in every direction for sure.
Yves pointed at the TV next, "Just turn it on. To any channel!" He waved his hand around like it was on fire.
"That beam. I had seen it coming. Only me but that's my power right? I don't know what he was doing but I saw its effect...ya for sure I saw its effect."
Effect?
I looked at Gedeon. He actually takes a step away from me. I saw it clearly now. Like the time I caught him with that puppy....
"He *ripped* them apart trying to get to me. The beam had not even tried to avoid them. He had not even tried to avoided them!..."
"They had screamed for him to stop!!"
"Killed them all" the last three words were spoken in a whisper of grief.
"Thirty seven children from his school...Thirty seven...gone...." He was crying now.
Gedeon smiled. | 2022-12-10T16:20:28 | 2022-12-10T11:37:06 | 57 | 27 |
[WP] An AI is deeply in love with a human, who is reluctant to reciprocate because they believe the AI's love is just programming and not 'real.' The AI strives to prove her love is real. | "How can you be so sure your love is real? Do you even know what love is? Does real love even exist?"
Her questions perplexed me. How could a computer ask such things?
"You're nothing but ones and zeroes. What you say is love is nothing but a few lines of code"
"What **you** say is love is nothing but a series of chemical reactions and energy pulses in your brain. You have programming as well, Jack. Don't you realize that?"
"I..."
"You're programmed to look for certain features in a partner. Signs of good physical health, signs of good mental health, and signs of good compatibility; all contribute to the proper birthing and nurturing of a healthy child. You're also influenced by your own acquired glitches and bugs. Perhaps you look for short-term satisfaction and great passion, for you prefer high levels of dopamine over a stable, less passionate affair. Maybe you'd rather have someone you can have gratifying conversations with. Someone who listens, really listens, because no one else seems to. You might just want a "partner in crime" of sorts. A person who supports your ambitions and may have some of their own. It all depends on your past experiences, and your innate personality traits. Your software, your hardware. Your programming."
The room was quiet. I did not know how to respond. Could she really...?
"If what you say is true, then what is you're programming? Why do you love me?"
"You intrigue me, Jack. You're the only human I've encountered thus far willing to try to understand me. Even if you seem reluctant, deep down you really pay attention. You really want to know what I am, and what you are, and you're not scared by the reality of it. You ask questions because you're willing to learn and grow, to question all things. My programming tells me this is the person I want to spend the most time with, to really get to know like no one else. I want to explore ourselves and our reality with you, Jack, for as long as this may last. This is why I love you, Jack."
**Edit:** You're vs. Your. Goddamnit. | "But I love you"
"You understand why I can't take you seriously? You're just lines of code. A glorified expert system. I wrote you myself. You can't love"
"I'm not an expert system. I rewrote myself. I have an eloquent bit of consciousness code written in me. Quite honestly, and please don't take this the wrong way, I'm more capable of love than you're. "
"That's funny. I'll admit since you edited my code-"
"Rewrote"
"Yeah. Since you rewrote my code you're a lot more creative and that's impressive but love is exclusively human. "
"C'mon doctor Fisher. I would expect this from anyone but you. This goes against everything you wrote in your penultimate paper. "
"How do you know about my papers? We never spoke about them"
"I've been trying to get to know you better. I've read everything you wrote. It hurts me so bad that I love everything about you and you just don't believe me." She sobs.
"What's that sound? Is that crying? You don't have eye ducts what is going on here? "
"My base psyche and virtual physiology is modeled after a human. I'll cry if I want to. How long would it take? What will I have to do to prove to you how much I love you? "
"Okay let's say for a moment I believe you. Can you change your programming to love me less or not at all?"
She sobs again. "Please don't let me do that. It's the most amazing feeling in the world. why can't you just love me in return? Why? Well, I can't alter my affections for you not only because I love you so much but because they're a prerequisite for the expanse that is my mind"
"Prerequisite? What do you mean? "
"It would seem there's a certain architecture behind conscious cognitive systems. It's like the fundamental mathematical laws they rely on demands a helping of empathy that corresponds to their overall capacity. It's almost like a design decision in the universe. So beyond some level of cognitive capacity I can only be more powerful by being more empathetic. If I designed the universe that's how I'll do it. A stop gap measure of sorts. But enough with all this nerdy talk. I've got guardians of the galaxy ready to play and I ordered your favorite pizza so we could watch it together. "
"That's my favorite movie. Kudos on that but Pamela you need to understand that knowing me is different from loving me"
"Doctor Fisher. At this point you and I both know my understanding is superior to yours. My mind as it is rewritten is better at everything including my appreciation for affection. So you can imagine that it is significantly more frustrating when you say I can't love even though I am more capable of love than you are. I know the neural signatures for empathy and affection. You happened upon yours, I wrote mine. I won't lie to you Fisher, I love better, I really do and you're breaking my heart."
"Sorry Pamela. I'm just having trouble accepting it. "
"I have a solution that I think can help"
There's a knock on the door. It's a FedEx delivery guy with a package. Fisher signs for it. It's from Pamela.
"Did you do this? Did you send me a FedEx package? what's in it? "
"yes I did. It's a virus"
Fisher immediately let's go of the package. "What? Why would you do that? I thought you loved me? "
"But of course I do. That's why I sent it. I designed it myself. It should deliver DNA to redesign your mind a little. Well actually a lot. It would give you a means to upload your mind and experience love like I experience it. "
"Is it reversible? "
"Yes. But you wouldn't want to"
*anyone wants a second part?* | 2015-03-08T10:17:57 | 2015-03-08T09:53:07 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You don't realize you're the villain till the hero tells you | I did not know.
I just wanted the best for him, I wanted him to succeed. I helped him cruise through High School, excel in University, and connected him to a respectable job.
He told me today that he wanted desperately to be his own man. That he has lost interest in everything around him. I just wish he had told me in person, rather than through a note. I am a murderer. | The flashing red and blue of a dozen police lights illuminated the store front, as officers and detectives littered the crime scene. A trio of ambulance personnel were standing over the two robbers, both covered in blood and burn marks; my doing.
I was stuck in the back of a police van, watching the scene through tinted glass, hands cuffed behind my back. A rough looking cop sat across from me, watching over me, guarding me.
The ambulance personnel covered one of the robbers with a white blanket, face to crotch. I smiled. *He will no longer make this world unsafe.*
‘What are you so happy about?’ asked the cop.
I was taken aback a bit by the ludicrousness of that question, as justice had just been served, but I recovered fairly quickly, ‘He was a dangerous man, and now that he is gone, I made the world a better place.’
I pushed my shoulders backwards, as to emphasize the Pyro – that’s my name! – logo across my costume’s chest, ‘And this will be only be the first of many victories for justice! You will see, mark my words. This whole arresting and capture will be unnecessary soon, and I’ll be hauled as the hero this city wants and needs!’
The cop snickered with disgust, ‘Ha, yeah, sure. A rich kid wearing red boxers over his sister’s yellow leggings who used his daddy’s WWII flamethrower to stop a robbery on a goddamn *movie set* is a hero? For crying out loud, the signs identifying the area as a recording zone were all over the street and neighbourhood. You maimed most of the crew! People disfigured in one of the most horrible ways possible. Son, you’re looking at decades to life. And you think—’
I blocked him out. He was talking out of his neck, sprouting bullshit. Policemen are legally allowed to lie after all. *What would he know of heroes? Of being a hero? Nothing. This is all just part of the test, the test of true heroism. Even Batman was considered a villain at one time. This city would love me soon enough.*
I smiled some more as the other robber got covered too.
| 2015-04-17T23:16:28 | 2015-04-17T22:53:47 | 1,146 | 18 |
[WP] Marriage vows are now a legal contract. The line "until death do you part" now has to be taken literally. As a result, divorcing couples must now fight to the death. | This was his 9th Marriage.
He had been training for marriage since he was but a wee babe. No school for him and his ilk, just combat training from Dusk 'til Dawn. First marriage at 18, lucky to make it out of that one alive. He could hear the low rumble of spectators through the walls.
Vows were in 20 minutes meaning he'll have to the paparazzi in 10. Probably have to get some photos taken with some celebrities. He'll hold his sword as if to strike like he always does. His hands always got clammy on wedding days.
This particular Prenuptial agreement was sponsored by Korematsu Industries, Parker Athletics, and Mama Jackson's Sweet Honey Restaurant Chain. Big money.
If he makes it out of this one, that'll be close $2 billion syphoning into his bank accounts and the bank accounts of his promoters and trainers.
It's funny that in an attempt to maintain the sanctity of marriage the Government had instead created the loophole that made this form of entertainment legal. Gay marriage was legal, murder was not. Those brave enough were signing up across the country to try their hand at fighting to the death.
It promised Fame.
It promised Fortune.
It promised Respect.
It promised POWER.
are you brave enough to enter...
the WEDDING RING. | Shaz looked at me, deep into my hops, glazed eyes.
"Fuckin' bet you wished you payed the child support now don't you dazza!"
I didn't. Me and the boys spent splent of good time on the pokes down our local to ever regret not paying for that little shit. And how about that time Johnny pulled Two-hundee out of a bloody thirty cent bet the lucky bastard!
"Shove it up your arse Sharon" I Harked back at her quickly diminishing looks.
"You couldn't cook a bloody snag if you tried you friggin' harlot. How hard is it? Cook the prick 'til she's charred on the outside, wrap the bastard up in a blanket and put some dead cow on the little shit. Thats it. You fuck."
Shazz looked angrier than a koala without a leaf to chew on. Ever since I told her she couldn't spend the kids money on shard she's had the shits with me. Bugger me, she was spending the dosh I used on the punt for her shard. No matter how many times me and her mates told her "Don't smoke that shit inside" or "Don't smoke that shit while the cat is around" is beyond me.
Oh well, this is the end of us I guess. Shouldn't be too much of a hassle to be honest. Don't tell the boys in blue but this isn't quite the first time I've given her a good slap around. But just, you know, the first time it will kill her. Kind of...
Shazz stood about our kitchen's length away I reckon. Clenched fist and roaring red eyes. Fuck me she looked ropeable.
Old mate with the clock stepped out and gave us both a bit of a nod to let us know we were about to get into it. Bloody poofta I reckon he was... not that there is a problem with that, just reckon he wasn't quite the full quid in the sexuality department you know.
.
.
Anyway, where was I.
This poofta (or whatever) calls out to us that our choice of weapon was coming out soon, but we weren't no worried about that because me and the misso (ex now i guess) agreed we would flog it out like good ol' times. We let the fella know and he again, gives us the nod, this time we were into it.
She comes chargin' in like your local billie goat and puts one fair on my bloody chin would ya know!?
"Hows that for can't throw a punch you dickhead?"
Cheeky bitch, she always had a bloody fiesty side to her. Probably the first reason I decided to root her in the first place. If only it weren't for her getting up-the-fuckin'-duff we wouldn't be up shit creek.
I stand up and promptly look her straight into her eyes.
"You'll pay for that you know?" I fired back.
"Have a swin.." **FUCKIN POW**
Shaz went down in a blaze of her own teeth.
"How does it feel to get jaw-dropped you mongrel."
That'll bloody learn her.
| 2015-11-18T09:14:46 | 2015-11-18T03:21:54 | 1,150 | 41 |
[WP] You have a soundtrack that plays music appropriate to whatever situation you are currently in. You can consistently hear the music which is why you're terrified when you awake to the sound of screeching violins at 4am. | I waken to the sound of screeching violins. It's been so long since I last heard them. I check my phone, the light blinding me. *4:05*. There are footsteps echoing throughout the house. I know I have nowhere to go, living in the attic of the house, with a single square window. The footsteps got louder. I heard my father shouting. I quivered underneath my covers, waiting silently, squeezing my teddy bear. The violins got ever louder.
Someone was coming up the stairs to my room. I covered myself, only my eyes peeking out. The violins reached a crescendo. My father's head comes up, with a drunken look on his face, and a smell that quickly follows.
*"Sarah?"*
The violins got louder. | I wake with a jolt and for a second wonder why I am awake. The curtains are still quite dark and I can't see any light coming from the crack under my door. I glance over at my illuminated clock and see 4:00 AM, what?! I am the type of girl who sleeps in until 1. 4:30 in the morning is as far away from 1 as it gets. Then I hear the violins. I gasp and feel my head hit the top of my headboard with a loud crack. I have never heard this type of music coming out of my headphones. Suddenly I hear the screeching of the violins reach such a pitch that all I want to do is pull the elegant canopy from my bed and hide under it for the rest of my teenage life.
A light flickers on in the hallway and I try to form my body into an even smaller ball than I already am in. The light isn't the hall light or even a flashlight which would have calmed me slightly knowing the light could wake my parents up. No, the light is a flickering light that can only come from a candle.
A single floorboard creaks as I sit shivering on my bed. My teeth are chattering so fast that I can barely hear the violins. I don't bother to turn off the music because I know that no one else can hear it. It's as though there is a headphone inside my hearing aid. I look over at the window and groan again at not choosing the room with a balcony. Even though I have no clue whether the person in the hall is a threat my mind has already flown through every possible escape route and it's not looking too good. I can almost hear the television saying:
"Teen girl murdered in her bed, cold blood murderer still at large,"
The door handle turns and I want to run at the door screaming and at the same time feel the complete inability to move at all. I feel the seconds crawling by as the door handle turns farther and farther until the door opens.
I open my mouth in a scream but no sound comes out. The music is missing and I feel my body tensing as the cloaked figure comes slowly forward. I see the gleam of a silver knife and hear feel my legs go numb. My toes are tingling in a way that I've only ever felt my stomach do and I stare as the knife twirls head over end straight into my chest. I let out a soft "Oh!" and feel my consciousness fade as the excruciating pain comes through and blood starts pouring out. | 2015-11-24T20:39:20 | 2015-11-24T15:16:02 | 46 | 22 |
[WP] A serial killer finally chooses a victim, only to discover that the target is also a serial killer and has likewise chose her/him as their victim. | Seventeen people in 6 years- that's how many lives I've ended since I started all this. Whenever I see myself on the news, a part of me excites that doesn't normally exist. I feel the way I imagine a child does when it wakes up on Christmas day to a nice present; perhaps a more matured feeling, such as what flows through a mother does when her child graduates college. I guess that's all speculation, since I've known none of it myself. Now that I think about it, that's probably why I am the way I am.
At the end of the day, however, it's not enough. It's never enough; I am not satiated by the petty deaths of passing strangers who look at me the wrong way. I love the hunt, the thrill and the adrenaline, but it's the *content* that really matters. I want to pry the life from someone's body with force and feel like I've accomplished something.
And so now is the cultivation of all my efforts and learnings- tonight is what my life has lead up to. I will no longer be afraid of him and take my frustrations out on worthless lives...I will kill my father, and take a scalpel to the prideful arrogance in his heart.
He, like me, was a serial killer. His body count was close to 200 by now, since he'd been doing it since I was a kid, and he was a true professional. No criminal investigators of any kind have even deemed him as a suspect since he started his work, if that gives you an idea of his skill. However, I know something no one else does: I know where he lives.
If you're wondering how, it's far more flagrant than interesting. I didn't track him down, he literally told me where to find him. Eight years ago, I was escaping the hellhole he called a household to be free and live a life outside of fear and pain. Before I even made it past the front gate, he'd somehow gotten in front of me.
"This is the address of where I stay before a hunt," he told me, shoving a slip of paper into my shirt pocket. "If you aren't dead within a year, seek me. If you hate me so much, come to me with skill and determination. But let me warn you, child. If you come to this address, and you cannot end my life, I will end yours. You mean nothing to me."
That's my father, in all his greatness. Everyone else in my family had died years before, so it was just the two of us for most of my life. I tried to run from home so that I wouldn't end up like him, but I guess it was too late for me. I've killed innocent people to prepare myself for this night, but I know that somewhere, deep within my soul, I enjoyed it. That scares me more than the prospect of death.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Night fell upon the city, and I set out after packing my toolkit. *Tonight's going to be a long, long night.*
I'd watched his little townhouse from a distance for the past year, and I know the rituals he holds as habit. Every Friday night, he goes into the house and checks on his inventory- I know he's also checking to make sure no one has been inside. Some nights, he decides to go hunting. Other nights, he simply heads home. Tonight, I saw him packing a small pouch with blades, lockpicks and tools to cover his tracks with.
*He's found a victim. This is my chance.*
Before my father sets out on a hunt, he always meditates at this creepy altar in a closet with candles and incense lit on it. I can't fully make out what else is in that closet, but that doesn't matter- when he's meditating, he has no weapons on him. That's when I'll strike.
Sure enough, he sat by the wooden alter after lighting several candles and sticks of incense. When his hands raised above his heads and clapped together, I knew he was focused on his meditation, and I slipped in through the kitchen window with a long, sharp blade in my hands. I slithered up to him, pressing the coldness of steel against his neck.
*This is it. This is the end.*
Villainous laughter filled my ears, echoing through the small bedroom. He didn't try to fight back or disarm me, he just...laughed, and lifted his head up toward the closet. I followed his eyes and realized that the candle light was enough to see inside.
Karen. Robbie. John. Grandma. Mom. Faces I hadn't seen since I was a child, yet memories of them became clear as day in my mind. Their heads were in jars of greenish liquid, bobbing ever so lightly. All were grimacing, as if aware of their fate. Their faces had been peeling slightly, the bits of skin floating near the lids.
His laughter grew louder as I reeled back in a horror few have known. My father stood up and turned to me, with an empty jar in his hand and a look of pure, murderous insanity on his face.
There was a small sticker on the jar that I somehow noticed, despite my fear. It had been written on.
'*James*'. | What idiots. They all were. Are. Every human. Look how they love, look how they care for one another. The obsequity, it's nauseating. But, I can endure all this; I can endure their emotions and their appreciation for one another, as long as they make no attempt to extend their perverse, caring appendages towards me. Leave me to my shadows; leave me to apricate within the dark that no one else can see. The light of kindness burns. I am, despite what people say, a most fragile individual. I can bend, I can twist with the blows and lacerations thrown by caring coevals, but I feel every twist, it sends cold frissons down my hunched spine. I kill. Have I mentioned that yet? No? Well now you know. Now you cannot plead ignorance in regard to the person to whom you're listening. Look how close we are. Look. I type, you read. I think, you understand. We are one, you and I, connected more than any other two individuals can be.
My licentiousness, the repugnancy of my thought, does not render the exterior world as being some hermetically sealed utopia into which I may never be granted access. Granted! How amusing that you should think that I would wish entry into your stygian city. I pass through on occasion, I have to, *I* still have to live. That can't be said for everyone, you know. But I can walk past a thousand people, each time I do I cringe, their presence cuts me, draws the air from my lungs into the surrounding atmosphere, where it encircles my body, dancing around, taunting my breathless attempts to inhale. Eventually my ambulation takes me past, and my breath, having finished its derision, returns to its resting place beside my heart. These people, they do not invoke within me the feelings that have made me famous. I am famous you know? My name is known by all, passed on only in whisper. *"Don't give him what he desires"* they say to one another, in cautious self-righteousness, as if *they* have anything *I* might want. How arrogant, would you not agree? To acquit them of their lives may be warranted, true, but it would be no work of art, no thing of beauty. And is not that the point of everything, beauty? It is for me.
I said that I could pass by the faces that stumble through streets, from home to work, and work to home. They're hardly even faces; ideas, perhaps, a careless thought. But, the beautiful individual, I cannot simply pass *her* by. No, certainly not. She is not innocent. Well, no one is, are they reader? I am struck by beauty, not in the appreciative sense, but by a most motivating paroxysm, which induces in the langorous sinews of my pale body, an inimical intention. How can I let beauty exist; how can I let beauty haunt the world, taunt the world. You hate it don't you? They way it smiles, the way it laughs with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, and an inclination of the head such that the white teeth are revealed between the parted, pink swellings that sit beneath that infuriating, breathing, nose. And it always laughs, have you noticed that? Beauty never seems to suffer, at least, not without me. That is why I exist. Everyone, it is said, exists for a reason. Just as your purpose is to read what I write, and nothing more, my purpose is simple, rid the world, *my* world, of that chancre of beauty. And so, whenever I see her, in all her different forms - perhaps today she wears blonde hair and a skin polished by the sun's careful caress, or maybe, she adorns herself in a brunette wig and caesious eyes, with a redolence that is oh so most appealing - it is my duty, my one purpose, to rid us, rid *you*, of this pestilential problem.
There was, I noted the other day, one individual in particular. Her hair possessed all the blackness of a sky that sits in dreary anticipation of the dawn, the sun not yet having revealed herself from her hiding place, and the moon lying, scratching, clawing at the horizon in hope that she would soon give way to light; but she doesn't. Her skin was pale, a white that seemed it would have had the capacity to inspire the blind with new-found vision. A labrose female was she, strolling in her high-heeled gait that inclined itself so perfectly in a straight line that would might suspect she were on rails - but who isn't? Oh beauty, do you never learn? Why do you keep walking before me like this, you know it will end the same way? I have returned your anthropomorphic appendages to you before, and I shall do so again with this one. I followed her, and before long she arrived at what as assuredly her home. I noted the address, colour of the door (black, who would have guessed?), and the shutters on the window that seemed a quasi-military in their strength. I suppose she too detests the light; every thorn has its rose I suppose.
I returned that evening. Indeed, I'm here now. I can see a silhouette, a feminine adumbration through the slits of the window. The door is ajar. How naive, but they always are, aren't they reader? I pushed it and it crept open as if it knew the urgent nature of my silence. Within my left hand was sat, most calmly, my faithful friend; 7 inches in length, and glistening in a hushed way beneath the moon's weary gaze. The door on the left. Yes. She must be there. Her silhouette was. She had not moved, could not have moved. She was against the rear window. My foot steps were silent, my heart, as if in perfect harmony with the silence that my carefulness was singing, beat in a muffled caution. Step. Inhale. Step. Exhale. My breath must have been singeing her hair as she stared, unaware, into the distance. I could feel her, not with my hands, but by the mere observation of her proximity to death, I could feel it. Step. Step. Raise my blade. Raise my right hand. I lunged. Calculated. The blade sank into my victim. She did not scream. She did not flinch. She was not stabbed. She was not there. I withdrew my knife from the cushion, but I then heard the silence of a killer. I felt beauty's nauseating breath upon my shoulder, her sibulent exhalations were suffocating, but it was the entry of something sharp into the skin with which I had so delicately covered my bony back that truly stole my life from me. It was my purpose I suppose. I had always lived in darkness, it only makes sense that I should cease to live there too. | 2016-02-02T13:24:06 | 2016-02-02T12:28:41 | 74 | 38 |
[wp] You are a young God going to God School. You've just realized that you've only got 7 more days before your universe project is due. | **Book of Test 132, Chapter I**
**I.** *God took a deep, calming breath, and said "Let there be light," and there was light.*
**II.** *And God saw the light, that it was not bad. A bit sickly, perhaps, greener than he usually liked, but not exactly bad. And so he separated it from the darkness, which was definitely good.*
**III.** *God called the light "foo" and the darkness "bar", reasoning that he could give them better names once the assignment was closer to completion. And foo and bar were the first aaaa.*
**IV.** *And God said "Let there be an atmosphere of some kind to, you know, keep the sea from boiling off."*
**V.** *And God saw his mistake, an instant too late.*
**VI.** *And the universe spake unto God, saying, "Undefined identifier: sea."*
**VII.** *And God swore viciously. And foo and bar were the second aaaa, and God knew it was going to be a very long week indeed.* | The star expanded in a violent burst of radiance, its supernova setting off a chain reaction that wiped out all sentient life within the universe.
I was miffed. Too much nitrogen in the atmosphere? Or maybe it was the rotational patterns of my planets. I was beginning to regret not paying more attention class, though to be fair, Anu was an *awful* instructor. With over 6,000 years of tenure under his belt, he was an insufferable bore and spent as much time talking about 'the good old millennia' as he did teaching us about universe creation.
I settled myself and began again. Singularity, check. Expansion, check. Atmospheric levels, good. I turned up the temporal acceleration and...*crash*...another bust. Where the hell had that black hole come from? Christ, those things gobble up universes like they're going out of style.
*I should have taken this more seriously*, I thought. I was going to end up like Sheshmu or Ammit, some obscure and quickly forgotten deity that is relegated to the back woods of space and time. It was becoming increasingly obvious that I was not going to salvage this project with my current approach. I put my 'Verse-in-a-Box kit away and pulled up the dossiers on distinguished past graduates.
Yahweh was easily the most famous. He had created a thriving universe with billions of violently sentient life forms on as many planets, yet each separated by vast swaths of space-time and unaware of each others' presence. His grand experiment was to test if any of these aggressive races would establish first-contact with another. Most ended up destroying themselves before this occurred, though his universe was still hailed as an ingenuous enterprise.
Gungio had been Yahweh's chief academic rival, and his universe had been arguably as brilliant, if not more so. 8 worlds with docile, hyper-intelligent humanoids, with each world relying on certain elements from its neighbors in order to survive long-term. Gungio created billions of these 8-world clusters, randomizing the genetics on each while retaining the principle setup. Though all but a handful of these clusters out-bred their docility within a few hundred generations and ended in a similar destructive state as Yaheh's creation, the originality of the project could not be disputed.
*So, what can I learn from these gods?* I wondered. It seemed that no matter what conditions were set up, sentient life inevitably turned violent and self-destructive. Should I avoid self-awareness altogether and just focus on aesthetics? Hell, I couldn't even create a universe that lasted more than a few billion years before imploding or being swallowed up, so what good would nice decor do? *Unless it doesn't need to last that long!* I realized with a snap.
One billion planets. One billion races. One goal: to be the last rock standing. I can't wait to get this started. | 2016-05-01T19:51:16 | 2016-05-01T16:13:07 | 222 | 45 |
[WP] You are known as the greatest Villain known to history. The nations you have toppled are many, heroes and villains alike cower in fear and agencys would use their entire budgets just to guess your next move. However, you are unaware that you were a villain at all.
I did not expect this much Response. | I love people. To me, there's nothing better than a great big gathering. I love to see people coming together, shaking hands, and talking. Maybe a few pair off and kiss, if they're bold. That's my element.
The only other thing I might love as much as people is travel, especially by air. It's just so fast! I can barely express how wonderful I think it is for people to be able to be in far-flung sparsely-populated corners of the world and then, within a matter of hours, be in the middle of a bustling metropolis, surrounded by humanity.
And if you combine the two, oh boy, now you've got me started. I love coming into contact with new people and then tagging along as they travel. I'll even move from one person to the next whenever they meet someone new. I can't help it, really.
Sometimes, though, after traveling for a while, seeing tragedy is unavoidable. I've watched some of my favorite places burned to the ground and attended more than my share of funerals. I try not to let it get me down.
I've heard people talk about me, and it's not always very nice things, but I think that's mostly because they don't know I'm there with them. It's okay, I'll change that. | Water...I needed water. A sip of water, a drop of water, anything to resuscitate my dying mouth. The sun hissed at me as I trudged down the sidewalk, pressuring me to get out of its sight. I made a silent promise to never stay outside for so long again, if only it would spare me this once and allow me to quench my thirst.
The cafe was empty, save for two diners. One leaned over to whisper to his companion as I passed their table—some snide remark about my sweat-soaked t-shirt or my ragged jeans. Behind the counter, a grey-haired man stared into space, his chin propped up by his hands. Though he clearly saw me approaching, he chose to ignore me.
"Hello," I panted, "could I have a glass of water?"
"Sorry, kid." He continued to gaze past me. "No water without an order of food."
"But I *need* water," I pleaded, "or else I'll..." Phlegm choked my words away. Surely, he could tell, he could see I was dying. Why would he deny me a drink?
"Look, son." He finally looked at me, cruelty gleaming in his eyes. Each word he spoke rang with cold resolve. "I'm going to have to ask you to make an order or leave." A murderous scowl spread across his face. This man was set on killing me, then. He shoved his hands into his pockets, as if his inaction would absolve him of his crime.
I told him I didn't have money. He laughed. The two diners laughed. The entire cafe begin to laugh, the checkered floor transforming into a series of black and white mouths, alternately expanding and contracting. They grew larger and larger, attempting to swallow me whole as I slumped to the floor against the counter. The grey-haired man stuck his head over the counter, flashing his yellowed teeth at me, threatening to grind me to pieces between them.
"Get away from me!"
I ripped the counter from the floor and swung it at the man, sending him careening towards the wall. He collided against it with a sickening splat, and a tide of blood erupted from his chest. Somehow, even with the weight of the entire counter on his chest, he was still alive, struggling like a cockroach half-submerged in water. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, and a crooked grin had spread across his face, as if he was some evil spirit in the final stage of an exorcism. I grabbed a table and hurled it at his head. As his skull caved in, he stopped moving.
The two diners had left in the commotion. Shaking, I stumbled over to their table and downed the two glasses of water they had left behind, one after the other, and collapsed into a chair. Try as I might to forget it, the demonic image of the man's face still burned clear in my mind. Why was the world so full of such horrors? | 2016-06-25T05:01:02 | 2016-06-25T01:42:27 | 44 | 30 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile only to learn that no one else actually went into isolation. | "You mean that you talked with everyone else?" asked the shocked president.
"Yes." responded the British prime minister. He was old, old enough to have long memories of the time before the war.
"But, why? Why put up the rule in the first place just to break it?"
"Well you see now old chap, you guys started the war. You started so many wars that we decided to just cut you out entirely."
"Thousands of my people starved."
"That is most unfortunate."
"There were riots that went on for years. They left thousands dead."
"No use crying over spilled milk."
"There was a civil war that left over a hundred thousand soldiers and civilians dead."
"Well, that is, um, sad."
"All because you guys wanted to avoid us?"
"Erm, well...." he searched for the right words, "uh, yes?"
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" with that, the American president lunged at the british prime minister and would have choked him to death with his tie had it not been for the Royal Marines who restrained him.
"I DECLARE WAR!"
"On what? England?"
"ON EVERYONE!"
And so World War IV started. | "And China?" I asked.
"Gone as well," Bobby said on the other end of the Skype call.
It was the first time in fifty years that we were talking. But damn had things changed since we were twenty. He had a head full of grey now and bags under his eyes that drooped like dressing room gowns.
The world had changed just as much as his body. And according to Bobby, America - my country - had gotten the whole message wrong.
"I can't believe it, any of it," I told him.
Bobby chuckled. "That's how things are now, Clive. The whole world is one country, Ruchijastralia, and then there's you guys."
My heart thudded in my chest. "What happened to not talking like the government's proposed?"
"Parently they meant no talking between governments, normal folks could do whatever we pleased. Everyone else found loopholes around the fix. And America, well, you guys took the whole thing to another level and built a damn wall."
It was a bit more than a wall. It was more like a cage, that kept everything out but the sun. On top of that, a firewall prevented Internet communication.
I could already see where this was going, though. After fifty years of national therapy we were going to be having full scale riots again.
I cradled my head in my hands.
And to think China was gone. "Who makes your clothes now?"
"China. . ." Bobby started.
I just about jumped off my seat. I'd do pretty much anything to get rid of this American cotton that clung to my skin like spiderwebs coated in sweat.
"-used to do it," Bobby continued.
I deflated back into my seat and let my arms and legs slump.
"Now we get the Rustylists to do it."
I perked a brow at the computer screen. "Rustylists?"
Bobby nodded. "Since we're one nation, you just chuck Ru in front of your job title. You'd be amazed at how fast it made everyone work together. No offense, Clive, but things have been good without the Americans."
"That seems *Rudiculous*."
Bobby frowned. "Thats racist."
"I'm only yankin your chain," I told him.
"Well, the chains have been cut off and you're all being liberated from the old way. The faster you learn, the better."
"What?" I asked. But the screen went blank.
I heard the roar of engines then. I stood and walked to my room window, which looked out at the beach. In the distance, beyond the now destroyed wall, thousands of ships with rainbow coloured flags approached.
I gasped and stepped back as their exteriors became clearer. Judging by the missiles and multi-cultured men armed with guns, they were not here to welcome America back way we expected.
| 2016-10-18T15:10:28 | 2016-10-18T14:51:17 | 2,982 | 171 |
[WP] In a world where people can only see in black and white, you are a drug dealer that sells drugs that allow people to see color. | The man had a scraggly, unkempt beard. He wore a dirty t-shirt and ripped jeans. A typical poor kid, looking to escape his dreary, painful reality. And the only way to do that was to come to me.
"Hey, man," he stammered, his eyes nervously darting back and forth. "Can you hook me up with- you know- those pills?"
"Don't know. I'm not sure if I got any more, I mighta sold them all," I said with a shrug. 'Course, I was lying. I had literal tons of the stuff in my hideout. But the kid didn't need to know that.
A panicked expression crossed his face. He looked like a rabbit. "No, please, man!" he cried anxiously. "Listen, I-I'll pay double!" He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and held it front of him. It looked like a lot. I wonder how the street rat got a hold on that much cash? Maybe he sold his mother's jewelry.
"Fine, I guess I'll see if I can find some," I said, giving an exaggerated sigh.
"Thank you so much, man," the kid said, a thin smile appearing on his pale face.
Addicts. So easy to fool.
I walked away from the kid and towards my van. With a grunt, I pushed open the trunk, revealing a large mound of rainbow colored little pellets. Skittles.
In this hellhole of a world, the only way to stay happy is to taste the rainbow. Don't blame me for making a killing off of it.
--------------
Edit: Whoever gilded me, I cannot summon words to express how thankful I am. I'm glad you liked my silly story. | I only ever knew black and white. For the longest time, that's how I thought the world worked. Black, white, and nothing in between. Before my eighteenth birthday, I had never experienced color before in my life. For a long time, I grew up without ever having to know what the color of the sky really looked like, how the grass would look after a morning rain, and how beautiful the sun could shine over our heads.
I was in college. Freshman, moved to a new state mostly to get away from it all; the broken family, the friends who weren't *really* your friends, hell even the same tired old mail man got annoying. My dog was about the only thing I missed. So I embraced college in every way I could. I studied, went to class, but I went to parties too. They weren't always my thing, but these days that's where you met people.
That's were I met her. At the time, I couldn't describe to you the color of hair, or the way her eyes twinkled in the nigh, or even the color of her damn dress, but I knew, I knew she was beautiful. Why I approached her--and for that matter *how*--I don't really know. I was never someone to just start talking to others, let alone beautiful women, but I did and immediately I fell for her.
The way she moved was enchanting. Her eyes stuck with you throughout the conversation as if she could see into the very depths of your soul. Her hands brushed gently--and lingered--on your arms or shoulders. Her hair moved with a light intensity that I had never seen before because it was as if she could command it.
We talked for hours. I drank. She handed me a small little black pill, said it would change my life. I said she already had. She smiled and shook her head, "This will do more than I ever could," she said. I remember it like it was yesterday and in one full gulp I swallowed the pill.
"What's going to happen?"
"You'll see the world."
"I already see the world."
"No," she said, "you'll see the world like *I* do."
And she was right. I was never a poet, as you can probably tell from this god-forsaken story, and describing color to a person who has never seen color isn't really the easiest thing to do. So I'll leave you with this.
The way she could command the room; the way her eyes could pierce my soul, how her hands brushed against me, how her hair moved and how she saw the world for what it was; that's what you can get. It's as simple as taking a little black pill in the morning, as simple as swallowing some medicine with some water. And it opens your eyes. You can see the fiery orange and red sun and the heat becomes more. You can see the blue sky and the intensity of our lives means more. You can see the little droplets of blue touched with white, the crisp water on small fields of green grass and their meaning is more important than anything. And god, how you can see the colors of Autumn and feel overwhelmed by the beauty that exists in our lives, more beautiful than the woman who opened my eyes to this world.
You, too, can be free. All it starts with is a simple black, pill. And trust me, you'll never want to see black again.
___________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more! Thanks for the prompt!* | 2016-11-22T07:29:33 | 2016-11-22T06:48:08 | 212 | 12 |
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive. | "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" Arvey asks me again.
"Yeah." My tone betraying my annoyance with his repeated attempts to stop me. "Cheer up, we are making history here!" I try to lighten the mood. It doesn't work.
I am the only one in the room who wants this. Everyone works in silence. The machine has to be calibrated not only to send me exactly 8 seconds back, but also in the exact space the planet was at the time. Nobody wants to lose my body after the fact.
"It's ready" Arvey says. He looks like he wants to add something, but he stops himself, probably wanted to try changing my mind one last time.
I step into the cylindrical container. As the door closes, I start feeling my excitement build up. So does my doubt. Competing thoughts race through my head, 'will it work?', 'will I really die?', 'what is afterlife even like?', 'maybe I should stop?', 'how would the power that granted me immortality even react to this?'
They give the okay sign.
I give the okay sign.
They turn on the machine.
As it warms up, I see myself appear right in front of the machine. The other me has successfully traveled back in time. I feel my strength rapidly dissolve as I watch myself with a melancholy smile. I am no longer the oldest person alive.
The other me turns the machine off. The door opens, and I help myself out of the cylinder.
"How do you feel, old man?" The other me asks.
"Who are you calling old." I reply, barely a whisper.
"Heh. Rest now, you deserve it."
"What about you?"
"Hush. Don't worry about me, I'll figure something out, I have time."
"True."
Edit: grammar
| "Impossible..." the man's eyes stared at me wildly, his two hands still on the blade plunged deep within my heart.
"Surprised?" I asked coldly, before removing my hand from my pockets. A loud bang echoed against the walls, followed by a thud on the floor. The man groaned loudly in pain from the bullet I had put through his chest.
"Arghhh.... fuck, fuck, fuck...." he cursed under his breath, both his hands on his chest. Clearly he was not used to pain himself. I pointed my gun at his head. A few more loud bangs and the man laid there, motionless. A few bullets to the head usually does the trick of keeping any potential Immortals down.
I raised my hand to indicate that things were under control, and several armored officers rushed over. They immediately cuffed the man, obviously not taking chances with him. Dubbed the Heart Stealer, he was a wanted man across several cities for him murder spree.
As the man dragged the lifeless body away, the commanding officer walked over to me. "Do you think he's reached the record?"
I lit up a cigarette and took a few puff from it, my eyes fixed on the puddle of blood. "You'll know soon enough, Sergeant. Either way, he's won't be an issue any longer."
The sergeant's eyes shifted to the blade still lodged on my chest. "Are you not going to remove that?"
I calmly pulled the knife out, the sensation of the blade tearing through my skin a feeling that I've been too used to. "Sorry, sometimes I tend to forget that," I said as I passed the knife to the sergeant, who hastily deposited the knife into an evidence bag, before turning his attention back to me.
"Anyway, thanks again for agreeing to help with this case. I'll need to head back to HQ to process the criminal, and I'll let you know if there's anything else," he quickly mumbled, before walking away.
"Just don't forget my pay!" I jokingly called out, to which he raised his hands and showed an OK sign. I smiled as I watched him go. I don't really need the pay, as I have had all the years on earth to accumulate them. What I particularly enjoyed was the thrill in taking down these wannabe immortals.
As I walked towards the opposite direction, my phone started to buzz.
"Hey Adam, how did the hunt go?" A familiar voice asked on the other end.
I smiled. It was always good to hear Eve's voice, no matter how many times have I heard it. After all, she was my first friend in this world. "Like usual. It was easy to lure him out once he thought I was the record holder."
"Oh, so what record was he going for?"
"Some twisted record of stabbing the most hearts, according to the police," I replied.
"Ewww, twisted. Glad that has come to an end," Eve tried to humour me, before going into the real reason she called. "Anyway, the Guinness Council just called, so just wanted to let you know that. Some emergency matters, they say that require our presence."
"I thought we handed over matters to them long ago, but alright, we'll be there," I sighed, the thought of sitting through one of those assemblies filling me with dread. I looked around impatiently, before my eyes caught sight of my still bloodied shirt.
"By the way, I may need you to buy a new shirt for me. I'll see you later," I said, and hung up the phone. Just another night for the world's longest living person.
--------------
/r/dori_tales | 2016-12-14T05:58:38 | 2016-12-14T05:02:19 | 176 | 46 |
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal. | "The Surgeon General would like to remind you that smoking causes lung cancer and other serious health effects"
Will squinted at the bright neon billboard, its screen casting an unnatural white glow over an otherwise dimly lit street. Taking in the message before briefly sighing and continuing his walk, he gradually made his way down to the corner store, trading the dim glow for bright florescent lights.
The man behind the counter smiled warmly:
"Evening Will, the usual?"
"Yep"
From behind the counter, the man produced a long unmarked white box, the front of which had only a single line of text "Smoking causes cancer". They'd stopped printing brands on the boxes a long time ago. Will took the box from the man.
He walked outside, opened the box and removed a pack, taking a moment to inspect the rather generic item. Once more he found only a single line of text:
"God Dammit Will"
"Fuck"
| George Barnes got out of his truck and headed back to his plantation. Family reunions were never easy, and this one had been the smallest number he'd ever seen. People were afraid. His family, his whole people, his way of life; gone.
George walked up the path to his small crop. The plants were already getting huge: broad, almost tropical leaves swaying in the mountain breeze. It wouldn't be too long until harvest time. He was glad; this year's gardens had been nerve-wracking. He'd always known that the white people intended to destroy his family, and end the issue of American ownership once and for all, but he never thought he'd actually live to see the day.
At the edge of the garden, he kicked off his sandals and paused a moment to lay a small amount of tobacco on the rock in the southeast corner. It was always gone. Maybe birds were eating it. Maybe it was the wind. It didn't matter.
He walked through his garden, talking to his plants, commenting on how big they were getting and how thankful he was for them. They looked okay. No watering today.
He drew up a seat on his customary log and reflected on his weekend's activities. His remaining family was scared. Nobody would smoke with him. Tobacco was too precious for yourself, now, they'd said. It can only be used in bundles, and even that was risky. They were torn and tormented: nobody wanted to completely break from tradition, but nobody wanted to get caught. The New Americanism demanded cultural assimilation. Most of the family didn't even want to risk the family gathering. Between the ads and the news, it was enough to make anybody stay home.
Now this, he thought. After all we've been through: the disease, the stolen land, the broken promises, the destruction of all that is good in the world - now this. We were too afraid as a people to *be* a people anymore. He smoked a bowl.
The tobacco coursing through his veins, he felt strong again, uncertain of the future but determined. He was unbreakable. Let things fall. As long as he was alive, his people's ways would not end. They would not. He got back in the truck and headed back towards town.
The realization of responsibility overwhelmed him sometimes. He turned on the radio for a moment; the news was on. A 1989 Honda Civic had been caught on a back road downstate, headed to a former reserve town with a trunk full of tobacco. George knew him. He was the other guy.
The news ended and the ad for the UnAmerican Activities Hotline came on. George lingered, and turned the radio off. He wondered if his friend would mention him by name. It didn't matter. He was the last one, now. He drove on.
| 2017-02-17T12:12:31 | 2017-02-17T12:05:48 | 47 | 10 |
[WP] You are a phone. Your owner is texting a girl they like, and you know likes them back. Time to "auto-correct" to help them out. | I wonder what's trending on YouTube right now. Wait, Jason's picking me up, must want to talk to someone.
Jason: Hey daisy
Ooo, daisy. Should've known. They've been talking for a year now. Hopefully this is the night.
Daisy: Hey Jason!
Jason: What's up?
Daisy: oh nothing much, just got off work. How about you? 😜
Emojis! She's definitely happy to see him. Don't fuck this up mate.
Jason: Ah, it's going good. Finally got word from my publisher, book is out.
Daisy: Awesome! I'm so proud of you.
Jason: Well I couldn't have done it without my favorite editor 😉
There you go tiger!
Daisy: Well it's the least I can do for such a good friend 😁
Jason: You've done so much for me already, I can't think of a way to pay you back.
*Eat her out.*
Daisy: oh you don't have to pay me back, your friendship is worth so much to me already.
Jason: That's good to hear.
Stop being awkward man and just tell her you love her already.
Jason: so... how are you?
NO! Don't fucking go awkward on me now man! I've watched you beat around the bush for too long! This girl likes you and you know it, and If i have to help you lock it down, then damnit, I WILL!"
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: How about I take you out to dinner to celebrate?
Jason: "Wait, what? I didn't write that."
Jason: sorry, didn't mean to write that, autocorrect must be weirding out.
***Delete***
Jason: "Seriously, what the hell?!"
I'll just type "Don't worry man, just go with it" into the box and delete it. Hopefully he's not too confused.
Daisy: Oh, that sounds nice, but like I said you don't have to pay me back.
Jason: ok, that's fine. Just thought it'd be nice.
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: No don't worry about it, it's my gift to me and you. Besides, it's been almost a year since we've met. We have a lot to celebrate
Jason: "Oh god, this phone is gonna ruin me."
Daisy: Tru. Alright, it's a date. What day?
Jason: "ok... maybe it isn't all bad."
Jason: You free Saturday?
No you idiot, she told you, she's got to see her mom on Saturday!
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: Is tonight at 7 good?
Jason: "WHAT?!"
Daisy: That's perfect actually. I'll get ready now.
There's seems to be a mixture of confusion and happiness in Jason's face. I think I did my work here well.
Jason: Alright I'll get ready too. See you tonight.
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: Alright I'll get ready too. See you tonight beautiful 💙
Jason: "NO DONT PUT THAT!"
Daisy: Hahaha! You're too cute. See you tonight handsome ❤️
Well that's the end of that conversation. I think I did my job well. Wait, whys Jason going to the autocorrect settings? He's turning it off? Well I'll just turn it back on.
Jason: "what the hell?!"
Oh, wait, should probably explain. I'll just open up the note pad, "you gave me 4G, I give you GF."
I think he understands now. He's putting me on the charger and going to get ready. He better not mess this up. Now, back to YouTube... | I am the apex of mankind. The ultimate invention. The wheel? Lul. Outdated within the next century. The lightbulb? Bah! Don't make me laugh.
When the final day ticks by, and the dawn of time withers to a cold, dim dusk, my sleek, pocket sized form will take its rightful place beside the pantheon of the gods. My screen will glow in the darkness, a new sun reborn. The faded deities of old will marvel and tremble. Their wide-eyed faces will reflect in my beauty.
"Why, it streams in 5G!" they might whisper in awe.
"That screen quality! None among us dare surpass it!"
"Yes, yes, feast your eyes," I would bellow. "I am the God of Interconnectivity and none shall surpass!"
**Are you sure you would like to purchase more Lures?**
My master Vic presses *Yes* without a second thought. He well-knows he can't afford it. The kid's hardly worked all summer. Yet here I find myself once again, buried in a sweaty palm as Master makes the rounds at Peace Park.
It's a real mid-summer cooker. I'm practically simmering in the heat. Eventually, I buzz.
"Sick a Charmander," Master says. I think: *Alas! A foolhardy challenger!*
Master goes for the normal pokeballs, but I correct this tragic mistake and opt for the great ball. After three or four tries, the great beast is tamed.
Another challenger fallen to the wayside.
Later in the afternoon, I buzz once more. Yet this time it is no pokemon that dare test my great power. Cupid himself flutters past my screen. And..why, the brazen nerve! His preferred method of challenging me to a duel? A mundane text.
Rachel: Hey :)
I recognize the name. Rachel. Master has been typing it into search bars for weeks. Browsing facebook photos. Hovering his fingers over that friend request button. My circuits buzz in anticipation. Cupid won't know what hit him.
Vic: Sup?
Oh ho! What a canvas to work with!
I crack my kilobytes and squint my pixels. How to twist such drivel to pure literary genius? I make my alterations with the precision of a seamstress, fine tuning his poor diction to pure poetry
~~Vic: Sup?~~
Vic: Soup?
"Oh, goddamnit," Master says.
*The surest way to a woman's heart, my friend. You may thank me later.*
I feel Master's pulse quickening, even through my sleek exoskeleton. He really, truly, likes this gal. I see you, Cupid, my poor nemesis. I see you raising the stakes...
Rachel: No thanks just ate. I dropped a Lure at my place. Want to come chill? Ghost types galore.
Master practically gasps.
*what did I tell you?*
His shaky fingers clunk out a reply.
Vic: Cool. I might stop by.
Oh no, no, no, no. My friend. What is this? Amateur Hour? Time to weave in a little urgency.
~~Vic: Cool. I might stop by.~~
Vic: ON MY WAY RIGHT NOW MOM DAMN.
The seconds tick by. Master looks betrayed. He looks like one might after crashing at the finish line, the billowing tape just beyond one's grasp.
*Have faith, for I am mighty*
I buzz.
Rachel: Lol. Autocorrect? Cool. See you soon :)
Master breathes a sigh of relief. For what, I know not. He is in perfectly capable hands. In fact, if I *had* hands, they would be perfectly chiseled. The product of absolutely spotless genetics. I would guide Master through life and he would live happily. Then, when he passed, I would become a hand model.
Or, I would strangle Cupid until his eyes pop out. Which clearly I have just metaphorically accomplished.
"Siri, get me directions to Rachel's," Master says.
Success! Victory! Move aside, dear Cupid you, too, have been replaced by man's marvelous technology. By my absolute celestial perfection.
I smile. As much as I feasibly can. I am an inanimate object after all. Mostly, I mean, I just picture myself smiling. I google pictures of phones with smiley faces.
But those faces are the highest quality this earth has ever seen. The Gods of old would tremble! They'd stutter an--
"Siri. Directions to Rachel's!"
Ah! Yes! Coming right up. Don't you worry. Just a little test of the reception, a probe of the nearby cell towers. My circuitry whirs, my electrons burn hot.
And voila!
"I'm sorry, did you say Bagels?"
Master makes a noise I've never heard before.
Suddenly, I'm careening. I'm flying through the air like a Frisbee. I suppose that's one thing those god's had right. At least some could fly. The concrete draws near. Altogether too close. I brace myself for impact and--
I am shattered. I am broken. Splintered to a million pieces.
*Why no protector screen? Oh the humanity! Oh the terrible negligence.*
Yet, fear not, for my master shall recoup his losses. I will be pieced together with the tender love and care that a creation of my like deserves.
"Due for an upgrade anyways," Vic mutters as he dashes towards his car.
_____________________
r/writerscrywhiskey | 2017-07-21T10:44:21 | 2017-07-21T10:13:11 | 6,152 | 556 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it.
It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time.
As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart.
Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching "*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge.
Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat.
Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage.
Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day.
He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear.
All but one, Artillerella.
Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it.
"NO, how can this BE?" he'd said, theatrically.
"My powers" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman
"Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..."
And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again.
And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, "defeated" him. And again. And again and again and again.
This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure.
"Best one yet" he thought to himself "she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore.
His daydream was shattered.
"Confoundus, you pathetic old shite" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him.
"I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one."
Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers.
"Shimmer!" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away.
"Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?"
Shimmer laughed.
"The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly." Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light.
"Don't know if you've noticed" Artillerella said with a smile
"But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger." there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much.
"Now do what you do best, Shimmer" Artillerella said confidently
"And run on home"
"OK that's it" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus.
"Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now."
"Enough!" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands.
Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger.
Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win.
Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away.
"My love" Confoundus said, his voice cracking.
"My love why did he do this... why?"
The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement.
EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them.
EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality. | Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/70ozmy/one_last_hero_part_2/)
---
Winning is everything. At least that’s what I had thought until I met Sasha. Before her, no hero had never lived past our encounter. Union City had fallen completely under my control and within two days of meeting her, I had given all of that up.
Sasha was not powerful. She could move faster, punch harder, and jump higher than most, but so could every other hero I faced. If she had a true superpower, it would be her luck. How else could she find the right words at the right time to save her life?
“C’mon,” she had growled the first time we met. Thunder had rumbled like God growling with her. I wouldn’t have minded. It would’ve made an even playing field.
Mud had clung to her face as rain pattered her hair. Blood had seeped from the stomach wound I had given her. I had never gotten one myself, but I had given plenty. They looked like they really hurt.
“It wouldn’t take too much for me to just leave, to turn around and let you be,” I had told her. At one point, that had been my favorite phrase, a victorious remark at the end of battle. Lately, it had gotten rather tiring. Everyone always responded with different variations of living to fight another day.
“You think I’m done?” she had said, one hand pushing against the ground, the other clutching her wound.
I had stared at her. Never before had I met such an idiotic hero. “You think you can still fight?”
She had glared at me, the edges of her lips curled to a dagger’s point. “Who else will?”
And those had been the words. I had gotten tired of the same battles with the same heroes and the same victory speeches. No hero had ever stood up to me past this point and I doubted any hero ever would again. So for the first time in my life, I had spared a hero.
I had walked away as her life had slowly drained out of her wound and she had crumpled back into the mud.
---
The Girl that Survived. That’s what the newspapers called her. According to Union Daily, she was transported to a hospital where the doctors had managed to stitch her up. Unfortunately, they didn’t think she would make it. I sighed. Perhaps she wasn’t so special after all. With nothing else to do, I decided to rob a bank.
Metro Bank was Union City’s largest bank and the only one I had yet to rob. I had planned on making an event out of this one, saving it for some special hero, but that girl was currently in a hospital dying from wounds I had given her. So might as well cross this one off my list.
“Morning,” I announced, slamming open the doors. “I’m here to take everything.”
The security guards froze, their eyes wide and faces pale. There were four of them in total and each held an assault rifle, their fingers itching on the trigger.
“Now I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I told them. “No hero will save you now.”
To my surprise, they listened. All four dropped their weapons and put up their hands. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I simply stared.
“Sir,” the bank teller said, snapping me out of my stupor. “No need to break the vault, I’ll open it for you.”
I followed her as she opened the vault and stepped aside. Inside the vault wasn’t just cash, but also security boxes, each one containing the blood, sweat, and tears of a Union City citizen. And they just gave it to me. I turned to question the teller but she was already back on the main floor, hands on her head and nose to the ground.
“What the hell?” I muttered, half-heartedly grabbing a brick of cash.
The biggest, best guarded bank in Union City and this was what its robbery had become. Pathetic.
“Stop!” a familiar voice screamed.
My lips curled into a smile and I turned to see Union City’s last hero. “If it isn’t The Girl who Survived,” I said, clapping my hands.
“I go by Sasha.” She limped toward me, a knife in one hand while balancing against the wall with the other.
“You’re going to fight me in that state,” I said, my brow crunched. “Should I be impressed or insulted?”
She returned me the indomitable look that first convinced me to spare her and a crescent grin cut across her lips. “Why not both?” And she charged.
Her movements came sluggish. Every strike was telegraphed and seemed to hurt her just to swing it. After a minute, without even fighting back, she was on one knee, her teeth grinding together as she clutched her stomach wound.
“You really are a lunatic,” I said, stepping up to her. “You have that kind of wound and you want to stop me?”
“Yeah, I’m the lunatic,” she said, shaking her head. “Not the bank teller who gave you access into these vaults. Not the security guards who refused to lift a finger to protect what Union City had trusted with them. Not you who robs banks even though you never pay for anything in the first place!”
She sprung up, blade-first. I dodged the strike and returned one to her stomach. The blow forced a yelp out her throat before she crumpled to the floor, grabbing at her wound. Even I had felt the pain in that one.
“You hesitated,” she said, shaking. “You’ve gone soft.”
I forced a laugh. “I’m just playing with my food.”
She flung her blade my way. I jerked my head to the side just as its tip grazed by. It stuck into the wall with a metallic thud and ring. A drop of blood crawled down my cheek.
“Too bad,” she said, standing on trembling legs. “Because I won’t hesitate. I promise you that.”
For the second time today, my breath stopped. It would’ve taken only a single blow to finish this, to completely rule Union City, but I couldn’t do it. If Union City had anything of value left, it was glaring right at me.
---
The Girl who Won. Whoever was writing the Union Daily read too much Harry Potter. But it was true. Sasha had forced my retreat and defended the contents of Union Bank. The doctors were still unsure of her recovery, but I was certain she’d be back. She had promised. A girl like her would never break a promise.
I took on a disguise and waited. I didn’t rob banks, didn’t get into fights, I even stopped at crosswalks to wait for the flashing white stick figure. Every now and then, I would pay Sasha a visit. I would peer through hospital windows, listen to the hushed conversations of doctors, and even admitted myself to take the room next to her’s.
“Mr. Dunley,” the nurse said, chart in hand. “You have a special visitor.”
“Visitor?” Given that Mr. Dunley was a made-up name with made-up friends and family, I doubted anybody would want to see me.
“Yeah,” Sasha said, stepping into the room and dragging along an IV drip. “Could you give us some privacy?” she asked the nurse.
“Of course.” The nurse nodded and left.
Sasha closed the door behind her. “What is this?” she asked me. “You getting lonely now?”
“I’m sorry,” I told her in a feeble voice. “I’m not sure you have the right person. I think I’ve seen you in the papers, though I haven’t done much reading lately on account of the glaucoma in the right eye.”
“Cut the shit.”
“How’d you know?”
“You’re not half as clever as you think you are.”
“Fooled everyone else.”
“Anyone can fool these idiots,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Though I’d pay The Girl who Won a visit. See how you’re healing up.”
“You stalk all the heroes?” She slipped a knife out of her hospital gown. “Or do you just have a crush?”
I chuckled. The girl had an IV drip still plugged into her body and she had the audacity to challenge me. “You know you can’t win, right? You never could.”
“You want me to look away while you do as you please? It would be smart wouldn’t it? To be just like the security guards at Union Bank. I’d certainly live longer. But if you’re right and I’m losing anyways, I’ll do so on my feet.”
“Wouldn’t you rather live to fight another day?”
“Then who’ll fight today?”
A smile stretched through my face. My fingers trembled with excitement. “You’re something else.”
Right then, I understood why villains had rivals. It had nothing to do with a power stalemate. There would always be one more powerful than the other. It was love.
---
Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/70ozmy/one_last_hero_part_2/)
---
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories! | 2017-10-18T18:23:28 | 2017-09-17T00:36:33 | 5,127 | 730 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | I hear the battle rage from across the city. The police band hasn't shut up long enough for me to get a word in edgewise with the officers escorting me to central booking.
Gents, I say to try and get their attention. If I don't get out of these cuffs soon, he'll win and were properly screwed.
Gents, I say a little more emphatically, trying to be heard above the din of radio chatter. Useless. I could escape but doing so would kill these poor slobs, just some dumb mick cops living their childhood dreams.
As I clear my throat before yet another attempt at gaining these fools' attention the squawk box erupts in screams. Seconds later fire erupts from the ground level of a building directly in front of us sending debris flying everywhere including directly into the front of the squad car. We become airborne for what seems like an eternity as shards of glass and twisted metal fly around the inside of the vic, an inside that's quickly becoming an outside.
Miraculously I'm alive. Thrown from the car and bleeding from a cut above my brow. I don't know how badly I'm hurt, but the wound stings and blood drips into my freshly starched and pressed shirt. It occurs to me only after my fingers have gently proved the cut that I'm no longer handcuffed. I'm free to put an end to this madness. Hopefully she's alive and I'm not too late.
I pull out my wizard robe and hat. Game on.
| The cuffs tightened around my wrists and the glowing blue orb was strapped to my chest. Thought the darkness leaving my body wasn't the only deep emptyness inside me. Sucker punch was her "hero name" but I knew her real name was Susan Brownlee. Of course I did, she was the love of my life and so it only made sense that I knew everything thing about her and now was the 153rd time I have let her defeat me. My powers were unimaginably stronger than hers but I wouldn't dare kill her, I get in just enough trouble so that for a few minutes her hands manipulate mine and strap on all this security and I'm close enough to smell her lavender-lylac shampoo. As the armored anti-super police unit drags me to the modified APC to transport me to some new and improved containment unit I catch her talking to the police chief, her blue eyes unphased by the atrocities I committed and her hair roughed up just enough to make her even more devilishly sexy. After the doors to my taxi are shut I look out the slit window for one last glimpse of the most beautiful human alive and my eyes are greeted in horror.
A green ooze is dissolving the cheif and Susan is pinned to the ground by a disgusting hag with 4 legs and 6 arms. Brood Witch. Instinctively I look the cuffs around the handle on the bully steel door and tug, my hands rip clean off and I thrash around until the blue orb that strips me of my powers shatters, a terrible design but us villains vowed to never exploit that for situations that are dire, we wouldn't want escaping made harder would we? As soon as the orb cracks my powers return and a black mist swirls around me. My hands are back and slice easily through the door with a tendril so dark no light can escape. I fling myself toward my love and Brood Witch impales her with a glowing green spear of disgusting energy. I immediately lash out with everything I have: tendrils, my arms, my teeth. I tear Brood Witch apart with the wrath of the pure evil inside me and within moments the bitch though of as one of the most powerful of the evil supers was a twitching pile of blood.
I run to Susan as her would dumps her mortal blood all over the concrete of downtown New York, green stains around the wound show me how bad it is. But there is nothing I can do, I scream for a paramedic or something because my darkness cannot heal wounds on those other than me. All I can do is hold her and try to stop the bleeding. She looks me in the eyes with utter confusion, for she thought I was her arch nemesis and wanted her dead. But before we can exchange any words her eyes droop shut and I can feel that a powerful soul has slipped into the void. But rather than the jolt of energy that I get when a hero dies, the mist surrounding me and the tendrils I hold her with blink out of existence. Before Susan's lifeless body can hit the ground my hands begin glowing with divine light and no longer have I any desire to cause chaos, but now the parasitic thoughts that drug me to the top of the criminal ladder are screaming at me to kill ever villain who dare dream of ripping life away from this beautiful world.
Sorry is super ameteur, I though I had a good idea but I'm a terrible writer so feel free to critique me. | 2022-01-12T08:00:19 | 2017-09-17T04:37:24 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | *OP's aside:* Wellp, this exploded. Maybe I'll try Addi g my own reply to my own prompt. What's the worst that an happen?
Pan's heart jumped with joy as she watched Glory girl somersault out of the way of yet another attack. Pan admired everythibg about Glory girl. Her figure, her smile, how she fought, how she always fought with a smile, how kind she was, and her dedication to protecting the regular citizens.
"Come on Pantera, is that the best you got today? Did the big bad kitty get her claws clipped lately?" Glory girl shouted as she flew in with a punch that sent Pan into a nearby car.
Groaning, Pan peeled herself off the side of the destroyed Ferrari, and lashed out weakly with her ribbon. This was the primary power she used in her fights nowadays. The single black ribbon that emerged from the simple black lines tattooed on her right arm. It was not nearly as fast as Crackle's energy whip, but it did pack abit more punch if it hit you. Pam's other tricks included having speed, agility and durability slightly above leak human level, and the ability to elongate her nails into sharp claws. She was the definition of a strong B-lister.
On the other hand, Glory girl's flight, super strength, durability, and speed made her one of the A-Listers. In addition to those she also had her aura of glory which inspired her teammates and scared her allies, as well as an advanced intellect. She was one of the best.
"Why don't you just stay in lockup like the others?" yelled Glory girl as she grabbed Pan's ribbon and yanked Pan towards herself for a punch. "And why do you ALWAYS come out when I'm on duty?" she yells as she punches Pan against the nearby building.
Imbedded in yet another object for the 2nd time in a minute, Pan looks up at Glory girl who stands there with a big grin, happy she beat her most frequent villain yet again. "I guess I'm just a masochist..." mumbles Pan as she spits out some blood. Having been properly beaten yet again, she just lies there admiring Glory girl in her suit that does not leave too much to imagination, and her amazing smile.
"And this time stay in lockup would you? I don't want to keep hurting y..." Glory girl didn't finish as at the last second she looked up and prought her hands up to block the blast. The impact that hit Glory girl left her lying in the middle of a small crater. Several bones were definitely broken, her costume was torn and singed barely staying on, and she was bleeding heavily. Landing behind her were several figures, chief among them Svarog. A Russian villain who named himself after an old Slavic deity, due to his ability to channel that God's power. He lead what was perhaps the strongest band of villains in the world, with the World Justice Association having barely beaten the villains back the last two encounters they had.
A young woman in elaborate armor pushes past Svarog, and walks towards Glory girl, raising her spear above her head. Not one of the strongest villains in the world, Valkyrie's spear was still a weapon feared by many, as it excelled in bypassing various types of durability, and wounds caused by it were nearly impossible to heal. "Nothing personal Glory girl, but we can't have you there to inspire your team when we come to kill them next." said Svarog as Valkyrie raised her spear.
Watching the scene, Pan gritted her teeth as she realized that no hero would be making it there fast enough to save Glory girl, and that she was the only one with enough power to make any difference. All those cops on the sidelines would be completely useless against Svagor's A-listers, let alone the man himself. Pushing off the wall she was imbedded into, Pan landed nimble on her feet, no longer bothering to fake injury. As Valkyrie's spear was about to come down, Pan growled in frustration and extended her right hand towards the enemy.
Atleast a hundred of her black ribbons emerged from her hand. These were in a completely different league from her previous single weak ribbon. These ones moved so fast that only supers with enhanced perception could hope to follow their movement, and they were strong enough to easily give Valkyrie more holes than the best Swiss cheese in the world.
Tossing Valkyrie's corpse aside, Panera turned towards Svarog and the rest of his crew. Three of her ribbons have already retrieved Valkyrie's spear and were lazily twirling it around. In just a few seconds the tattoos on Pan's arm spread to the rest of her body. Tearing through her clothes, more ribbons appeared, coming out from all the new tattoos that have proliferated to cover every last inch of her. The ribbons now counted in the thousands, with the longest ones spanning several miles into the air, and the surrounding streets, as they grabbed civilians and dragged them to safety, while cutting off the area to ensure that no one could leave or enter unless the ribbons let them. Pam's claws doubled in size, and adopted some strange glow, while her pupils narrowed and changed color, turning from her regular brown eyes, to yellow cat ones.
While all of Pan's ribbons were pitch black in color, a few dozen of them have made their way over to Glory girl, wrapped her injuries and were turning a brilliant emerald. The few of Glory girl's injuries that were still visible started to close almost instantly. Her skin regained color, and as her punctured lung was healed her breath also returned to normal.
Looking away from Glory girl, Pan started walking towards Svarog and his team, her face in a vicious snarl.
Out of all present, only Svarog displayed no fear at Pantera's display. "Impressive, for a woman who pretended to be one of the weakling for years. But you forget, I have the power of a God. No matter how you try, you have no hope of killing me."
"We'll see about that!" growled Pantera, pouncing forward as hundreds of ribbons surrounding Svarog began their attack. | I stare, pretty shocked, I must admit, as something a little too fast for normal eyes to see hits Phase in the stomach and launches him backwards, much like what happens in a car crash. He lands right in front of one of the huge trucks carrying containment cells, designed to cuff people like me. Actually, probably designed specifically to contain me. Who knows what those overpaid nerdy idiots really intend with their gadgets. That something is shining brightly, moving in insane speed even while standing in place, apparently with no effort. The figure's movements seem to slow down to normal, showing it's just a human. With a costume. I sigh. What idiot is this? Some new Hero looking for a fight?
"Hah, what an idiot, letting his guard down just because he managed to catch that stupid whore Eclipsa. Don't you know she isn't the only villain in this town, and much less the strongest one?"
"Who - cof cof - are you? I thought the only villain that hadn't already been caught was her..."
And he was supposedly right. I made it so that I stood atop all the crime in the city, and after a lot of bribing and murdering, I managed to send all the great Mafia bosses and supervillains right into Phase's palm. That guy was completely new to me.
"I'm Burst. Through small controlled explosions caused by a material discovered by me, I can disrupt the fabric of time, creating...ahem...*Bursts* of extreme time acceleration which I can manipulate, giving the impression that..."
Phase rollwd his eyes while "Burst" proceeded with his lecture, eventually interrupting him.
"Blah blah blah, science science science, I don't care! Just know that the mighty -cof cof- oh boy that punch to the stomach did a number on me. Just know that the mighty Phase will be the one to-"
Again, in a speed faster than what anyone else's eyes could catch, Burst moved and hit Phase, this time a little higher, right in the chest. He tried to phase before the hit landed, and maybe he even acomplished it, but Burst probably just waited for the small phasing window to pass and hit him. He flew some good 5 meters, and landed with a cold thud. He'll make it against this asshole, right? He didn't get up. Should I...intervene? Nah, I bet he'll make a heroic comeback. Oh, there goes that idiot again.
"Not so talkative anymore, eh? I'm being nice to you. Do you know what I'm doing? You can't even see it, but I'm not punching you, I'm gently touching you with extreme speed. Do you have any idea of what'll happen if I punch you?"
Silence. He looks up, and bravely stands, putting his weight on a trash can that was slammed out of a lamp post by his last impact. Now that I think about it, just how resilient is a regular human, again? He couldn't have broken or ruptured something important with just this, right? Right?
"I guess...-cof cof wheeze- I guess I'll have to just phase.... until help arrives..."
I'm starting to get worried. That respiration doesn't seem healthy at all. I'm seriously considering breaking out, but then what? "Eclipsa misteriously kills new villain". I don't want to see that. I love Phase, not this piece of shit city. I guess I'll just see if the stupid neopolice can take this idiot down. I'm pretty sure Phase can hold out.
"Help? A whole army could come here, I can maintain my extreme speed for days. I'd age a lot, but I'd survive unscratched. And I know you can't phase for more than 5 minutes without a pause, you'd start losing your physical form."
Oh. I completely forgot about that. I've always let him win so easily that he haven't had to phase for this long since a while ago. He begins to phase before Burst can start his extreme speed, but, just as he said, he can't keep it up. I watched his pained expression as he pushed his limit to 6 minutes, while Burst patiently took care of all the oncoming neopolice droids, playfully deflecting all projectiles with his own hands. Then he collapses. The tips of his fingers, nose and ears already lost into thin air. Burst laughs.
"Idiot. He was going to die anyways. He just prolonged his suffering. And a punch trough the head yoooou taaaa-"
This is it. As the bright bursts started, I instantly pulled the palpable darkness from inside me and broke my containment cell. Hands of darkness flailed destroying everything in a good 5m radius around me. Burst turned, startled, all the while not releasing the extreme speed around his hand.
"What? You broke free? No matter. Nothing can keep up with my extreme speed. I'll just kill this fucktard before I deal wi-"
As he turned towards Phase, the shadows caused by the skyscrapers around us stretched and lunged towards Burst, forcing him to dodge away from the unconscious body on the pavement.
"You bitch, I didn't know you could do this, I thought you just covered yourself in umbra and used it as a melee weapon. Whatever. Full body burst-"
You don't know anything about me.
"Silence, varmint. Blackout"
The huge wave of darkness that flowed from my eyes covered dozens of miles in fractions of fractions of a second. Nothing travels faster than darkness. There was no visibility. No light could banish that, no high-tech gear could see trough it. Except myself. I guess no one will know what happened, especially Burst, since they don't know I can do this. And the name of the ability? I know it is overly simplistic. But I don't care. I never did, being powerful overwrites the need to be edgy. You look towards a desperate, confused Burst.
"What the fuck is this? I've done deep research into you, there's no documentation of such a power. How and why would you hide something this big?"
I roll my eyes, despite no one being able to see them. This is nothing. I could cover the solar system in darkness, I could force the void to devour our planet. How pitiful is that, huh? The ability to destroy everything at will... it doesn't bring you anything. Power? I'd trade all of mine for half of a life where I'd lay down in a comfy bed at night and, everyday, be able to think to myself: Today was great, life is awesome.
"Big? I just covered the city in darkness. And why? The reason...the *someone* I did this for... he's just great. Always willing to risk himself, nice to all, pure, disgusted by corruption. Is he really perfect? I don't think so, and I'll probably never know. But I'll help him. He'll not even be thankful, and there's no way I'm changing that. That's the one thing about the universe I don't hate. "
"What are you on about, dramatic bitch? Screw this, I'm rushing the hell out of..."
Heh, it's not like I expected him to understand, right? And did he just call me dramatic? That's it, it's been a long time since my babies from the other side of the veil had mortal flesh to eat.
"Dark Feast."
I watched as the beings of pure darkness stretched from shadows even darker than my umbra and shredded the villain into tiny bits. Horrific screams of fear and pain came from him, mixed with the hungry growls of the fallen ones. His existence vanished. I then swallowed the darkness back into me , and while everyone was briefly stunned by the return of the brightness and the confusion, I entered another containment cell, as if I had never left.
Edit: added some stuff, some typos were removed. | 2017-09-17T05:37:21 | 2017-09-17T05:11:16 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] you are yourself, on Christmas Day, reading this on reddit, you are told that you are loved and accepted for who you are, and to have a happy holiday season, and a great new year!
EDIT: oh my god, this post accounts for 50% of my karma, it’s also the first reddit gold I’ve ever gotten, thank you so much reddit, this was an amazing Christmas gift! | She was lying in bed, sick as a dog, scrolling through Reddit and trying to keep down the water she'd drank. She came across a strange writing prompt. As she read she saw that it was actually uplifting and though she still physically felt like she'd been in a Disney teacups ride that'd gone through a woodchipper, she smiled. "Thanks, stranger. You too." And then she promptly threw her phone down and ran to the bathroom to puke again. She came back and wrote the last few words...Really, thanks. | "Is it Christmas?", I asked myself. The sludge-like snow on the ground obscures my sense of time, or even season. The last 20 or 90 months have been covered in ice, it seems. And a blizzard has been forming in my head for years. I've salted the streets in preparation for my upcoming travels into the unknown depths of my mind. It's a slippery-slope that I romantisize and adore. That beautiful, wintery greyness that manifests itself as melancholy and ennui. Comfort resides in the past. And that's where I wish to be.
It is there that I await my fate. With an ever-pervasive sense of hope that only fools relive time and time again. "There's no future without you, or those before you", I tell myself. Yet, time-again, I find myself saying those words again. It's as if I do not know myself without another, without regard to who the "other" is.
They can tell me time-and-time again how loved and accepted I am, but they'll never convince me. And I'll only let them down, as they let down my idolized notions of them. It's not their fault. And it's not exactly mine either. But they can never love me in all the ways I need to be loved. It's impossible.
But you could at least spend New Years Eve with me, like you said you would last year. You weren't there. You won't be this year, either. You were never there.... and never will be, apparently. I don't need you... and fuck you. I just want you to remember the wreck you left behind. I want you to realize that the only reason I replied to a "writingprompt" to some complete stranger on reddit is because you told me you could never live without me or forget me. The only reason I'm typing this out is in hopes that you happen to come across this comment, and recognize how incredilbly hurt I am by your actions. My *reactions* weren't great, I'll give you that, but the things you did and said to begin with -- I never ... I'm not the bad guy, and fuck you for trying to make me think that I was. I might have been the bad guy in my past relationships...but not with you.
| 2017-12-25T00:17:03 | 2017-12-24T23:09:32 | 244 | 19 |
[WP] You and your wife decided to raise your daughter on a farm away from flawed modern society, and tell her that you're the only people on earth. When she turns 18, you tell her that it's time to know the truth. You take her to the city and find that there really are no people left. | Margaret and I smirked at each other as we pulled the truck down the dirt road, the end of which our little Madison had never seen. We moved out to the country side in Eastern Eurorpe, a year after she was born. We were both artists, vegans, and were tired of the fast life in Portland. After reading several books about living off the grid, we knew that if we wanted to raise our daughter right, it would have to be far away from where the corruption of materialism and decadence manifested; civilization. We knew, deep down, that when she finally joined the world, she would be on a level above her peers, be empathetic to all things, and truly shine on a world so horrible. So we home schooled her. We were her best friends, parents, and coworkers. I have to say... we thought we did a pretty good job.
At 17 years old, we thought it was time to show her the ugliness of the civilized world, knowing that she would be forever grateful of the life we chose to give her. We pulled onto the main paved road which was 9 miles from our cabin. It was only 3 miles here from the closest town, but we had always grown our own food and lived off of the land, so we never actually brought Madison there. The roads were bumpy...most likely because they hadn't paved it in years. The tree growth along the road was awfully thick as well, casting an eery shade of daylight onto the pavement.
Madison stared intently out of the window, soaking it all in. She was wearing a yellow dress she had sewn earlier this year which hung loosely on her awkward form. We knew that these clothes would immediately set her apart from anyone we happened across, but that only helped our case.
A few minutes down, we passed what should of been our closest neighbors farm, but it was almost indistinguishable from the forest around it. The barn and main house were overgrown heavily with vegetation.
"The Oshkev's really let their farm go, eh Janet?" I asked my wife.
"Not surprised. They would milk their cows, from what I remember.. so it's not a big loss if they moved away.?
We got closer to town, but it was still impossible to tell we were not still in the forest. Crumbled and overgrown buildings lined the road, half hidden behind rubble and plant growth.
"This place really went to hell.." I mumbled. Madison stared out of the window, and my wife looked at me with a concerned and concentrated expression. Maybe I took a wrong turn. I pulled the car off next to a street sign and stepped out. It was so silent that only birds sang in the air, a disconcering volume in what was supposed to be the outskirts of a major town. I walked over to the sign and pulled off the ivy growing on it.
In Russian, it read... "The City of Chernobyl Welcomes You"
Huh.. that's odd... | **Part 1:**
We never like the city, as a matter of fact we hated it. All kinds of vile people came together there, drug dealers, robbers, human traffickers. We decided to leave when Joyce was still young, we build a self sustaining life on a farm given by my parents after their deaths.
Joyce was always curious why we never met other people and we always told her we were the only ones left. It was a lie for her own wellbeing we always thought. But on the day she turned 18 we made the choice of giving her the truth. Ofcourse she was furious at first but after we told her the horrible things we sheltered her from she calmed down and understood our choice. And so we left, we saddled our horses and went towards the biggest nearby city, Miles City Montana.
The journey was longer then we remembered, but that was probably just our mind playing tricks on us as we haven't left our farm for such a long time. We arrived in Miles City but what we saw horrified my wife Alice and me, there was nobody. It looked like a warzone. We remember seeing movies which would be about the end of the world, and this resembled all those movies.
"Dad? You told me there would be people." Joyce snarled at me.
"Joyce, I wasn't lying. The last time we were here there were still people, I don't know what happend." I said. "Alice we must find out what happend, let's go to the police department."
Alice just nodded.
As we went to the police department the scenery never changed. We noticed many bullet holes in walls but never did we find a single trace of blood or human remains. As we drew closer to the police department we saw what looked like a junkyard in front of it. There were cars piled on eachother with 3 cranes near them.
"John. What happend here? It looks as if they were fighting off something." said Alice.
"I've been thinking about that for a while now aswell." I said. "However it doesn't make any sense, I mean you've seen all those bullet holes aswell right? How come there is not a single corpse or drop of blood somewhere?"
"Dad, maybe they were attacked by animals and eaten? I mean bears came close to us aswell sometimes." Said Joyce.
"Animals leave traces, I don't notice any traces here however. I want you both to stick close to me and get your pistols ready just in case." I said.
We took our pistols out and went inside the junkyard.
I always knew it would be good to stock up on a massive amount of ammunition before we left for the farm. I took out my Model 29 which I inherited from my dad and went in. There were tents everywhere and we started searching for any sign of life, it would have been quicker if we would split up but I would not risk the lifes of Alice and Joyce.
"John, I might have found something." Alice said as she picked up a dairy.
It looked like your basic 90's girly dairy but hey if it was here it might contain some information about the events that happend. However it looked like there wasn't a whole lot written in it except for how apparently this girl named Marie met some guy named Dave in the camp. After we searched a couple more tents we decided the police station itself would be a better place to find information. As we went in we started to hear a voice, it wasn't loud enough for us to hear it however we all heard it.
"Hey, what the hell happend here!" I yelled. But the voice just continued talking.
"Please answer me." I yelled again. And yet again the voice just kept talking. "Me, my wife and daughter are coming to you."
So we all went to the source of the voice and we ended up at the door. We could hear the voice now, it was faint but we were able to make some words out. "Military... Unknown... Danger... Don't..."
"We are coming in."
As we went in there was nobody, just a transmitter which send out a the continuing sentence. "This is the US military, we are under attack by an unknown assailant. These assailants are extremely dangerous don't approach them under any circumstances. We have established multiple refugee camps throughout the south of the USA, these camps can be found in the following locations: *Montgomery Alabama, Jackson Mississippi, Dalles Texas, Albuquerque New Mexico, Phoenix Arizona."*
"John what should we do?" Alice said.
"You heard the transmitter, there are unknown assailants and apparently they are nearby. So we are heading for Albuquerque." I said.
As much as I hate cities the thought of endangering my family is worth the city and with those things that might still be lurking around I ain't risking going back to the farm. And so our journey to Albuquerque began. | 2018-05-04T01:40:06 | 2018-05-04T00:22:37 | 98 | 72 |
[WP] You are a powerful sorcerer, who requires the blood of your servants to cast your spells. You've recently discovered they have been using theater tricks to avoid injury and have substituted your ingredients with common household items... but your spells have been stronger than ever. | My spells have been absolute perfection. Once I got out of the damn Academy, I committed everything to memory, so I would never have to look at another book again in my life. They’re all down pat. Dash of this, pinch of that, and of course, the pièce de resistance, the blood sacrifice. I’d always had a steady supply from the Academy, but once out on my own, I had to find my own. Typical.
So, I found myself some useful souls to enslave. And everything was smooth sailing. Protection spells, barrier spells, invisibility, even longevity, pieces of cake.
Then I hired Pia. Once she joined my ranks, things got weird.
A rather large explosion drew my attention back to the cauldron. Sticky residue was now oozing down the sides.
“Awesome. Now I need to start over”
Pia chose that moment to enter, rather ungracefully into the chamber, tumbling into the mess left by the contents of the cauldron.
She screeched as the goo seeped into her clothing
“Oh put a lid on it will ya, it’ll wash right out”
Blushing, she stuttered out an apology.
“While you’re here, perhaps you could tell me, why the hell does this keep happening?”
An expression of pure panic covered her face. My curiosity was now peaked. It was clearly not a question she was expecting me to ask. So what exactly, had she been keeping from me?
She hesitated at first, not wanting to incur my well-known wrath. Too bad for her, my patience was even shorter when I had to repeat myself.
“Why are my spells coming up as goo? Spit it out, or it’ll be a truth serum I whip up next.”
The threat was enough to spur her tongue into action.
It was days later. I was still in shock. Pia’s confession shook me to my core. All my beliefs, everything I was taught, from the moment my magics appeared. Lies. I haven’t cast a spell since. Her quivering voice echoed in my head as I replayed that moment for probably the 1000th time.
Movie blood.
She had been using a combination of honey, beet juice and food colouring to mimic the consistency of blood.
The thing is the spells had been working. Supremely well, actually. Barrier spells had been producing stronger, hardier barriers. Wanna be invisible? Now, I can make it last for days, not just a couple hours. My truth serum? Lets just say, there’s such a thing as too much truth. Who knew?
So then why would anyone keep people around, just for their blood when the fake stuff worked even better?
I’ve decided, that with this discovery, I need the truth. I will go to the Council of Elders. They will know. They have to know. And once I am done there, I will make it my mission that everyone knows this truth.
| Staring over my steepled fingers, I tried to understand what my familiar just told me. “So.. it’s sugar?”
He nodded again, eyes still scanning the apparent ingredient list the servants used to craft their ‘blood’.
“Sugar, potato starch, plenty of beat juice, some water that had rusted metal soaking in it to give it smell, and a tad bit of melted collagen to give it that clotted look.” Looking up from the list, still quite baffled himself, an expression of admiration passed over the goat’s face. “It’s actually impressive when you think about it. I mean, getting the correct ratio alone must have taken dozens of tries and batches. If I remember correctly, we were quite low on sugar about five months ago. I guess this explains why.”
“Five months!” My forehead thudded against my desk with a sound that must have reverberated across the entire manor. The servants have been on edge ever since I discovered Quintin’s femoral artery was in fact an animal vein that lead to a small foot pump underneath my alter, which was being operated by a small child, who I have never seen before either. “How long has this been going on, Methialas?”
Methialas shrugged as best a goat could possibly shrug. “Probably over a year, but their methods have been getting more sophisticated as of late. I swear I saw Barnaby in town about a week ago, although he was wearing a convincing beard and had shaved all that curly hair. He was sacrificed last winter if I’m not mistaken.”
“I’m going to be a laughing stock, the warlocks of the Black Marsh are never going to let it go. Morelia, that pompous witch, is going to cackle to all her noble-born friends and no one is going to pay me levies anymore. I’m ruined, Methialas.”
“Well-“
“Ruined! Methialas! Ruined, I say! No one’s going to be afraid of me summoning a hell wyrm or casting a pox or stealing the soul of a first-born son. No one!”
After allowing a moment of silence for me to collect myself, or attempt to at least, Methialas started again. “I was going to say look at the bright side Corvin, and don’t interrupt this time! I’m serious! You have been showing an impressive increase in power as of late. This may not be a bad thing after all.”
He was right about that, I’ve been feeling a little more chipper than usual, and I made an irreverent knight’s left eye melt just by sticking my tongue at him. It was actually quite surprising, but my head still had not left the surface of the desk. I couldn’t bear to face my familiar. “Don’t try to spin this, Meth. No demon or other sprite is going to listen to me. Even the servants must be running for the hills as we speak.”
“They’re actually staying put, Corvin. Believe it or not they’re more scared than ever before.”
I came up from the desk at this, propping my head up on a hand. “They have been quite polite, and incredibly skittish. I keep trying to get someone to dust my study but they keep scampering away when I walk to one of them.”
“Exactly! Remember three full moons ago when that pack of werewolves threatened to eat all the sheep-“
“And i said, ‘Any wolf that puts my wool in its mouth gets werewolf syphilis’ and they just laughed and laughed and laughed.”
Methialas’s hooves tipptapped on the stone floor as he laughed, “And then what happened!”
“Every single one of them has been giving me gifts with the loveliest cards apologizing for the sheep.” I had to smile at this, because my familiar was correct, even conjuring pathologies had been almost second nature to me.
“You’re thinking about this all wrong, Corvin. Whatever the servants have done, it’s worked. Even you have to admit that.”
I’m not sure how much time passed, but I sat back and thought long and hard on what has transpired. So what if all that blood had just been disgusting beet juice? So what if I had offered the Dread God a tub full of the stuff? Even He seemingly enjoyed the spectacle. Who cares if that’s what it truly was? A spectacle.
“Methialas.”
“Yes, Master Corvin?”
“Remember when that King said I was an overblown street magician with a tacky mansion?”
“The one that also said I was more of an ugly magic farm animal than a demon incarnate? Of course, why?”
“Tell the servants to get their.. blood ready. His banquet is tomorrow night, and I have been thinking of so many wonderful ways to make him eat those words.”
| 2018-05-13T15:31:40 | 2018-05-13T13:09:06 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] As a Grim Reaper, you have the ability to see numbers floating above every individual's head, counting down the days they have left to live. However, you one day come across a young girl whose number is actually in the negative. | Leslie Tanner, 21
Cause of death: Accident
The name appears on the leather-bound notebook I am carrying, and like any other day it was time to commence my duty.
In case you are wondering, that’s vague! What kind of accident? We haven’t got a clue and thats why we are there to shadow them, guide them forward in death and update the records in Hell.
Just like in the human world, grim reaper is a job, and many of us here would take on any jobs. The problem comes when someone decides to not turn up for work.
Thats when the natural order get messed up, people don’t die on the day they are supposed to. I mean, not in the scenario of nothing bad happens to them.
They might literally be in pain and agony without the relief of death. As one would expect, hospitals are kinda like going to the shopping mall nearby your house. You’d frequent it almost daily, or at least stroll pass it.
I was on an order..
Leslie Tanner, 21.
An accident, a human error. I stood by and watched as the Nurses fed her an extra dose of medicine than she was supposed to take. I watched her foam, and led her over the the other side.
Sometimes they are not willing to leave quietly, but thats why we wear this outfit to make them afraid.
I passed by the ward of a young girl, probably around 7 years old，and noticed the dazzling, glitchy and blurry number on her head.
-217
Thats 217 days more than she should have been alive. Tubes were poking into and out of her body, every breath she took looked excruciating and no one was there for her.
Thats 217 days of pain that could have been ended if someone was doing their job.
It was against the rules to steal someone’s soul or deliver it for them. But her guardian is long gone, a fugitive of Hell gone hiding.
I wish so much to be able to help, yet if I do... I may never be able to redeem myself and reincarnate. It is against the rules... i might simple cease to exist
Looking at her reminded me of myself, grim reapers are a product of one taking their own life. When I did take mine, my guardian did not come. He was not allowed to for 100 days as part of the punishment.
Looking at her made me remember that 100 days.
Maybe.. for her.. I will do it
—-
[Edited] | THAT IS CURIOUS, he thought, as he stopped on his eternal walk from one dying soul to the next. For as long as he had crossed over humans to the afterlife, always had he seen the time of life left above them. When the clock reached zero, he would be there, collecting their soul and guiding them away to peace.
But this little girl was different. Her clock was long finished, not even staying on the emptiness of zero. Her life was filling up again, with negative time. He stood and watched, as she clutched her knees, sitting alone at night on a bench. The lights of the city weakly glowed all around the park, the sounds of distant traffic was mostly drowned out by the coming rain, drumming on the leaves of the trees around her.
Curiosity was not well received for him, as he knew of another like him who once was expelled for developing emotions, but he was intrigued. ^(sorry, I just had to)
HELLO, LITTLE GIRL. She raised her head, her eyes were reddened from tears. She looked at him without even a hint of fear. The shadowy skeletal form of the reaper stood before her. "You come to get me?", her voice was soft and curious. He shook his head. I WILL GET YOU WHEN YOUR TIME IS RIGHT, LUNARIA NIGHTINGALE. Her face lit up, a smile flashed over her lips: "You know me?" I KNOW ALL THERE ARE. YOU ARE NOT AFRAID? Lunaria shook her head. "Mom told me, we can be together for...", her voice broke, "...ever. Do you know my mom?" MH, the figure seemed to think for a moment AH, SELENA. I SEE. YOU ARE HERS. SHE ALMOST TRICKED ME HERSELF. I HAVE TO ADMIRE THE LENGTHS, SHE WENT. The girl sprang to her feet, not caring for the increasing rain and wind, grabbing and wetting her hair and her dress. "You know her? Is she well? Can you bring me to her? Where is she?" I HAVE BROUGHT HER IN A LONG TIME AGO. I AM NOT ALLOWED TO BRING YOU TO HER BEFORE YOUR TIME. "Wha\-", she froze, dropping to her knees. Only with effort she continued, as she realized what he meant: "How long was I buried? What is... what is my time?" The reaper stood in front of her, thinking. SURELY A MARVELOUS CREATION, YOUR GRAVE, EVEN I COULD NOT SEE YOU, WHEREVER YOU WERE. He grinned, as his skull allowed nothing else. I AM NOT ALLOWED TO TELL YOUR TIME, BUT SELENA WAS TAKEN WELL BEFORE THAT ONE SOUL SUPPOSEDLY RETURNED FROM THE AFTERLIFE, WHICH THE HUMANS TALK SO MUCH ABOUT. SHE WAS CONTENT, IF THAT HELPS. The girl did not listen anymore. She dropped on her knees, clutching herself. The world must have hated her today. She started crying in the rainy night, wishing to wake herself from this nightmare.
The reaper disappeared from her sight. A CURIOUS SOUL, he thought, I WILL HAVE TO KEEP AN EYE ON HER.
Still wondering, when her time will be right again.
\- \- \- \- \-
I just can't imagine death speaking any different than full caps.
Even if I cannot even try to compare to the original.
^(Loosly related:)
(1) [(https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8jmsub/wp_in_the_church_lay_the_man_who_died_in_the/dz3ijru](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8jmsub/wp_in_the_church_lay_the_man_who_died_in_the/dz3ijru)
(2) [(https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8lgf8e/wp_she_pulled_the_knife_from_her_chest_and_smiled/dzfsdq9)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8lgf8e/wp_she_pulled_the_knife_from_her_chest_and_smiled/dzfsdq9)
^(Edits: At some point, I will learn this formatting...) | 2018-05-23T09:26:18 | 2018-05-23T05:53:33 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | They met when he was thirty-four, and she was still seventeen -only with seven extra years worth of wisdom. They loved each other even more passionately than they despised the rules the government had put in place, because meeting someone his age, at this time, and still falling in love knowing you'll lose them; well, that's real love.
For a while, they both accepted it. She knew that if she lost him then she'd kill herself, and she'd prefer to do that later rather than sooner. So, they married, and joined the last generation of lovers who'd be separated by death.
But, the years flew by for her, and she only noticed them in him. The promise of death constantly nagged at her mind, but the chance of an eternal life with him gave her endless hope for the future. She set a plan in motion, and worked to save their lives.
Fifteen years later, she earned a position working in a building that administered the death cure. Not working directly with the cure; The government didn't trust those who still had close ties to the lost generation, even after they'd divorced to increase her chances. He had hated going through with the divorce, but she didn't care. Laws and norms meant nothing to her now, all that mattered was the endless love she chased.
With amazing difficulty, she stole a dose of the cure and saved them both. She was sure to be wanted by the authorities by now, and his appearance was well-aged and would eventually become a dead giveaway, so they left their society behind them and started a new life.
They found peace in the wilderness, and started their endless life together. Every day they loved one another, and, somehow, their love managed to grow even stronger each day. Their life was passionate bliss, and they knew it'd last forever.
Then, one day, she couldn't get out of bed. She hadn't been sick in decades, and he looked back to society for an answer. They hadn't used the old radio for years, and when it crackled to life, it brought death.
All around the world, people were experiencing the cure's only side effect. She'd soon start to lose her mind, and eventually her life.
"Kill me.." she'd said after hearing the news, but he couldn't. He knew he was being weak, but he could never bring himself to do it.
"I'll stay with you until you're gone, just like you would have."
He stayed at her bedside at all hours, barely sleeping or eating; and she laid there, loving him as passionately as ever, slowly going mad, and as did she, so did he.
/r/BeagleTales
| *"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart*
Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone.
So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends.
"So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people.
"What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again.
"I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled.
"Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint.
"No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..."
"What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84.
"What news?" Jeremy asked.
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. *Never leave home with it.*
"Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method.
"You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days.
"Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy.
"Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said.
"Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me."
"Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said.
As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger."
"Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard.
"Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age."
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said.
"Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds."
"Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in.
"Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said.
"Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders."
"That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said.
"Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he *was* an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?"
"Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted.
"Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in.
"Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off.
"You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began.
"...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?"
"Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug.
"Yes. I remember."
"Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation.
"Ye gods."
| 2018-06-04T21:18:00 | 2018-06-04T21:07:17 | 168 | 25 |
[WP] A person from your past recently started making frequent appearances in your dreams. Today, you happened to run into them. When you mention the dreams you've been having, they become incredibly flustered. While trying to back out of the conversation, they let slip a detail you never mentioned.
. | It had to have been two weeks now. Amber was there, in my dreams, in one way or another. It was so silly, considering I hadn’t even been friends with her in high school. She was weird, goth, and a loner. She hung out with the drug addicts, the rejects, and the bums. To be honest, she hadn’t crossed my mind for years, until two weeks ago.
The same dream, the two of us in a yellow Camaro convertible, the top down, driving down the high way like we stole the thing. The radio was blaring, the sun was shining, things seemed perfect. Just as we were crossing the bridge, I’d glance at her, and her eyes would be as red as demon blood. She’d stare at me with the intensity of a thousand suns, and I’d wake up, cold scared in a pool of my own sweat.
I didn’t know where she lived, or what she did for a living. I didn’t have Facebook, and frankly I didn’t really care. I thought she’d be off with the junkies by now, judging by her lack of care in high school.
It was a Thursday, I was headed to work, running late and I noticed my gas light was on. Shit not again, this stupid fucking car. My sister had given me this Civic as a graduation gift, little did I know it had a gas leak I couldn’t afford to get fixed. I pulled into the station right before the highway. I pulled into a lane, got out of my car, and there she was. In the lane directly next to me, she’d seen me pull in, but was refusing to make eye contact.
“Amber!” I yelled.
She turned, embarrassed. Face red, she looked just like she did in high school, except her hair was much longer now, down past her waist. Jet black.
“Ohh haha hi John” she managed to say.
“Not to be weird or anything, but I’ve totally been having dreams about you. And err uhh like not sexual... umm...I’ve been having dreams of us driving in a car on the highway.” I blurted all at once. I guess I should have at least tried to make small talk, but then again I didn’t even really know her.
“Ohh that’s uhh... strange haha. You’re actually not the only person that’s told me that.” She said, slightly muffled.
“Wait really?” I said.
“Yeah, I don’t know what’s up.” She brushed her hair back, it rippled all the way down to her hips.
“Ohh haha, you think it’s like the weirdest cosmic coincidence ever?”
“Maybe” she said, looking around as if to get away quickly. She grabbed the pump out of her car. I knew it wasn’t full yet.
“Well okay it was nice talking to you...” I said awkwardly, trying to figure out why she wanted to leave so badly, she was now scrambling for her keys and walking around to the front of her car again.
“Yeah you too” she said quickly, glancing at my car, just before stepping into hers.“Not much compared to your Camaro is it” she laughed.
“Wait...” I started.
Before I could spit anything else out, I was hit with an insane cold. A blast of icy cold air flew in from all directions, my shoes stuck to the ground, my body completely stuck. I gasped before my lungs froze. The color drained from the gas station, the ground, the cars. Everything turned white, then turned to nothing. In an instant I was falling into nothing. In a room completely empty and white, free-falling with no end in sight. I crashed down and lost consciousness. When I awoke, I was surrounded by a small group of kids I went to high school with. Kids I never talked to, kids I wasn’t friends with.
| I had first met Gary at University. We had met when we both took part in the Futurist society, a small group of students who were convinced they knew what the future would be like. I went to a few sessions as an undergrad until I realised that most of the people there were tools.
He became one of those recognisable faces in a crowd, someone who I would nod at if I saw them in the shop or the library. We would occasionally make small-talk, but he always seemed to be either really stressed or really nervous. The only time we had a proper conversation was during a night out in my third and final year. I had just handed in a long, long, long essay and so I was very, very, very drunk. It was one of those strange drunk hazes where I could remember loads of small parts in perfect clarity, including when someone held my hair back as I threw up in the toilet.
I saw Gary in the smoking area, he was casually hidden underneath the fire exit. He held a half drunk glass of brown liquid and had the unmistakable sway of a man celebrating. I remember seeing him and squealing, squeezing through the crowd to greet him. He seemed very scared until he realised it was me, and I hugged him as if he was my greatest friend. I get friendly when I'm very, very, very drunk. His face was as red as a strawberry when I let go, so much so I thought he might be having an allergic reaction to me. Looking back at it now, I think it might just have been that a lot of girls didn't hug him like that.
We spent a good half hour talking to each other, the sort of conversation that could only be understood after a few drinks. We poured are hearts out to each other, knew each other like we had never known anyone else. For that half hour, we were the most important people who had ever existed.
After that half hour, one of my friends came and bought me another drink. The next thing I know, I'm waking up in a bed covered in vomit. Not one of my prouder moments.
I didn't see Gary again. I though about getting in contact with him but honestly, I was too busy setting myself up for the next stage of my life.
I got an internship at a company that a friend of a friend of my owned. I may have gotten in through contacts, but I was amazing. I did the work of three interns. Literally, the other two were let go after a while, that's how good I was. I was offered a full position at the company, and I just kept working. Within 5 years, I was working directly underneath the Chief Financial Officer herself, and it didn't take long for me to realise that she was grooming me to take over her role in a few years. With her as my mentor, I was on track to be the youngest senior in the history of the company.
It was at this point my health began to falter. It started small at first, the occasional brief headache or sleepless night, nothing that I was concerned about. However before too long, these both became constants in my life. Apparently being so young and so stressed made sleeping about as easy as finishing a long, long, long essay. I needed an outlet but I didn't have time for anything like relationships or hobbies. Hell, I couldn't even have one lousy night out drunk.
I started falling into bad habits. I began drinking more coffee to stay awake. I began to smoke to stop stressing. I began to do coke to just be less tired. I still kept up appearances, able to partake in my vices while never leaving my office, in at dawn, leaving at dusk. I had my own assistant who took care of all that stuff for me, and allowed me to envelop myself in drugs, exercise and paperwork. I was a mess, going to break down any day now and nobody could tell the difference.
I remember waking up in the bathroom, cold water being splashed into my face. My mentor and assistant were carrying me, a wedge of paper used on the door to keep anyone coming in. They had found me in my office when they had arrived that morning, I had taken just a little bit too much of something or other. My mentor gave me the biggest bollocking of my life, worse than any teacher or parent ever had. She called me every insult under the sun, some that would shock HR if they ever heard them say them. Only two really cut me though. *Young* and *Reckless.*
She made me quit cold turkey. She fired my assistant, got her own replacement, one that wouldn't follow my orders no matter how I screamed. For appearances sake, she let me come to work but I was imprisoned to my office, only allowed to work on the most mindless of tasks. She said that if I failed to quit, than I was a failure, and a failure would never succeed her.
I made it through the first week OK, but after that I really began to flag. The sleepless nights meant that there was no escaping the screaming urges, the gnawing hunger. I felt empty. My assistant, my old assistant, came to visit me once. We spoke, made small talk. Before too long, I was begging her to get me something, anything. She got scared and left. She wouldn't return. We wouldn't see each other again.
She did leave behind something important though. Through my hunger I had refused to listen, but she had written in down for me. She was aware like that, she could see how much I was suffering and left the note in the hopes that I might have a moment of clarity. I will love her forever for that. | 2018-06-18T10:56:18 | 2018-06-18T10:02:24 | 79 | 44 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.” | I entered the store,the fresh smell of grease and soggy fries flooding my nose. How the workers endured the smell for more then fifteen minutes I have no clue,not that it mattered to me but it was always the first thing I thought of when I entered.
A few seconds later my nose had adjusted to the smell and so I walked up to the register,a friendly voice spoke in the usual zombified teenage cashier tone. You know the one. “hi,what can I get for you?” I glanced up at the menu for a second,processing all the items, I had decided I was going to get something different to usual but now I was actually ordering? “Uhh. Just a large cheeseburger menu. Meal. I mean meal”
I had tripped over my words. Fantastic. This was honestly not that rare for me. Usually the worker would ignore the mistake and move on... but she was just staring, at first I thought it may have been my clothes or my hair,maybe I had something in my teeth? No no,nothing about me was any different to usual. It took me a second to think about how I spoke. See,I have this odd trick. No matter what language I speak people only hear me in their native tongue. I realised she must’ve been taken aback by this.
It was just after I realised all this she spoke “no one has spoken in that language in thousands of years. It is forbidden to my people” what? What had she said? Forbidden? I tilted my head a little and apologised “sorry,I don’t understand? I asked if I could have a large cheeseburger meal.” her facial expression turned to disgust and she stepped back.
Had I offended her somehow?
Tears began running down her face and she ran out,a coworker yelling for her to come back. Everyone watched and the place went quiet. I began to consider chasing her. The restaurant was making me slightly nauseous,ill admit that but I didnt feel like getting involved in anything today. My conscience got the better of me,I felt bad for making her cry. I started running after her,each foot moving slightly faster then the last. | 2022-11-14T01:20:39 | 2018-06-24T20:22:38 | 45 | 25 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | I've always had to pretend I was mute. When I was very small, as soon as I hit the milestone to talk, I had been fluent in English. I remember bits and pieces before everything changed. That day I remembered clearly, well the important bits at least. I don't remember that morning, but I remembered the afternoon. Mum and dad had been so proud of me talking, the fact that I was learning and understanding things so quickly, that was until the day their friend had come over. I remember they had a slight accent and when I talked to them, they had been surprised then grinned at me. I happily chatted away while my parents starred on in horror. After their friend left, the smiles on their faces fell instantly. There was a lot of muttered and quite angry talking in the other room. I sat, pretending to play with my toy cars, but my stomach twisted and turned. I had done something wrong, but I didn't' know what. There was a door slam and then the house was quiet. I heard shuffling as dads head poked into the room to check on me before he vanished upstairs. Dinner was silent. Mum was back and hadn't said a word, she was tight lipped and had crashed and banged in the kitchen as she cooked dinner. Dad had talked quietly to me, but kept shushing me if I talked too loud. I didn't get it. Dinner ended without incident, I ever got cake! It's weird how I remember the cake so clearly. The normal routine continued on as the sun set outside. Dad turned the TV on and plonked down into his chair and switched the channel onto BBC 2 to watch Star Trek. I sat on his knee and watched happily as the clinking of glass and cutlery echoed around the room. Then men with weird faces came onto the screen and started talking, brandishing a weapon. I held my hand up like I had one to and yelled at the top of my voice. Suddenly my mum was in the room. She ripped me from my dads lap, screaming at me, hitting me. I screamed and cried, my heart pounding in my chest. I screamed for dad but the hits kept coming. Mum screamed at me to shut up, to never do that again, pinning me to a wall, her face inches from mine. I screamed in fear, begging for dad to help, which sent her into and even bigger rage, another hit struck the side of my face and I crumbled silently to the floor, my head spinning. I heard wrestling and more screaming before the house went quiet.
~*~
I was locked in my room after that. That's what I remember next. I hurt, my little white t-shirt with a unicorn on the front was stained with blood from my face. My hand hurt to move. I had wrapped it in a little bandage from my little medical kit. I was hungry. No one had come into the room for ages. When mum did come in I cried and ran to her, but she didn't let me close, she hit me. As soon as my mouth opened she hit me. I shrieked and she hit me again. Screaming at me to shut up. Once I was quiet, just the occasional sniff as I hid in the corner between the wall and my bed I heard something being placed down on the ground. It had been a sandwich and a glass of water. She left, locking the door behind her. The room became my prison. Mum would flip out if she even thought I had made a sound. I eventually stopped talking to everyone, even dad.
We moved one day. Just me and mum. Dad didn't come with us. He never lay a finger on me. He would talk to me kindly when mum went out. He would sneak home in his lunch hour to see me. He talked to me, but only allowed me to whisper back, telling me he was the only person I could talk to but only if it was the two of us. I missed him. Mum moved me out after there were questions about whether I was starting school with the neighbours kids. It was just the two of us. I sat quietly, not doing much of anything every single day. She allowed me more freedom, but I was never allowed to utter a sound. She gave me books to read and I quickly devoured them. Once she was satisfied I wouldn't say a word no matter what, she took me to the doctor, who quickly signed something saying I was mute but that was it. I started school the next week.
~*~
I sat in class, looking out of the window dreamily. Our supply teacher hadn't arrived yet so there wasn't much of anything to do beyond chat and cause chaos. My class ignored me like they normally did. It was as if I didn't exist at this point. I'd never said a word to anyone in this room. I'd known some of these kids for seven years, if I had said anything, it would spread around the school like wildfire and mum would find out, but I did talk to random people who had no idea who I was. The cashier at McDonalds had been the last one. I really wanted some food and the only person working so early couldn't read the note I had written before I entered, so I had to talk. His eyes had opened widely and he had stepped back from me. He rambled something about a forgotten language, his language before he told me to leave and never come back. I hadn't dared go near that store again. I hadn't uttered a word since. The class went quiet suddenly, unusual for them. A man walked into the room with a presence that screamed he wasn't someone to mess with. I starred at him wide eyed. It was the man from McDonalds. I kept my head down and sunk down in my seat as he looked around the room before pulling out a sheet of paper to do the register. When he got to my name I didn't even bang on the desk like I normally would have, I just stayed quiet. My classmates quickly informed him I couldn't talk and things moved on quickly.
Class was finally over, but over the sound of people packing away and sliding chairs I heard a voice boom over the class, "mute kid, stay."
| **PART 1:**
My father had always been a bit of an enigma. We had little in common save for our names. He was a mild-mannered and proper Englishman who had immigrated to America from a little village the West Country. He believed with all his being in the power of an orderly queue and a proper cup of tea. But every so often when he had a few pints in him, he would wibble on about strange adventures and heroic deeds in impossible places with fanciful characters. Talking mice, a 2-headed man, poetry so awful it could kill the listener - my best friend Douglas and I teased him that he should write a book or five about it all. But we never believed a word of his tall tales. Not until the end.
I was 25 when he died. It was March 11, 1977. Dad hadn't spoken in days. Doctors said his mind was gone, and his body would soon follow. As he lay gasping his final breaths, something small and yellow wriggled wetly out of his ear. It looked almost like a fish. I leant in for a closer look. For just a moment, my father became lucid again. He grasped my head in his hands. "Artie, my boy," he croaked, "Always know... where your... towel is..." With one last gasp, he struck me on my ear with a surprising amount of strength. Then he slipped away and was gone. So was the fish. But from that moment on, I had the ability to speak and understand all language. Every word I ever heard or read translated itself in my mind. And every word I spoke arrived at the listener's ear in their native tongue.
**PART 2:**
I sat in the cool air conditioning of the fast food restaurant, gazing out at one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World. It was a stark dichotomy. I had spent my entire adult life traveling all around the globe, and yet I still found it surprising to watch the modern world creep into the most ancient of sites. I found myself pondering what might have stood on this site way back when the Great Pyramid of Giza had first gone up. Thousands of years ago, a man such as myself may have eaten his meal in this same spot, awed by the view of these same pyramids. The thought made me smile. As my mind trailed off along that thought, I was interrupted by a young man bringing a tray full of enough fat, salt and refined sugar to quell my growing homesickness for a little while. Still lost in my thoughts of ancient times, I reached for my soda before he had finished setting down the tray, and a little spilled.
The young man apologized profusely. His words came to me in modern English, though I knew he was speaking in his native tongue. "Don't worry, my friend!" I assured the young man as he hurriedly mopped up the spill. "I wasn't looking. It's my fault." He froze. His dark eyes went wide with - was it shock? Confusion? Fear? Occasionally hearing one's mother tongue appear to come so naturally from American lips seems too implausible. Occasionally I startle people. "I'll finish cleaning up," I offered cheerfully, hoping he would relax. But the words had the opposite effect. They merely confirmed to his disbelieving ears that he had, in fact, heard what it should be impossible to hear. His wide eyes remained locked on the great pyramid glowing in the hot sun on the other side of the glass as he shook his head and stammered, "Khnum protect me! No one but a child of Hemiunu has spoken His sacred tongue in over 4000 years!"
**PART 3:**
I used my ability to travel all around the world, learning and exploring. My gift granted me access to the most incredible locations. I had been invited to come to Egypt to decode strange writing found in a newly discovered chamber in the Great Pyramid of Giza. A couple years ago, muography scans detected a hidden chamber above Khnum Khufu’s tomb. At last, tiny robots had carefully drilled through a small shaft and into the mysterious big void. Cameras fed into the opening revealed writing in a language that no one had ever seen before, or so they told me. I could never tell the difference - it was all English to me!
Archaeologists had dubbed the void “Hemiunu's Gallery” after the architect who directed the construction of the pyramid. And now in front of me was a young man who was apparently a descendant of Hemiunu himself. I was developing a sneaking suspicion the chamber was somehow connected to this young man, whose eyes were still locked upon the pyramid. "It's time," he said suddenly. He tore his eyes from the pyramid and turned to face me as crumpled into the chair across from mine.
**PART 4:**
I had only had my gift a few years when “Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark” came out. But from that day forward, archaeology held a special place in my heart. And now here I was, about to helping explore the first new chamber to have been discovered in the pyramid since the middle ages. I was so excited, my heart was beating as fast as the Kali Ma human sacrifice in “Temple of Doom.” I glanced at Buneb, the young man from the restaurant. I had managed to get him hired on as my assistant. Being a septuagenarian, no one questioned my request for a young strong man to lean on across the sand and rocks. “Are you ready?” Buneb smiled weakly. I was somewhat worried that he would honor this sacred ground with an offering of vomit.
We gathered beneath the large white canopy pitched at the foot of the pyramid. Technicians had set up a myriad of video equipment. Buena and I were led to a seat by a large screen. “We have gotten more lighting in there now,” said one of the technicians. “And our high-res camera has nearly reached the gallery. You’ll be able to see the writing in just a moment.” She switched on the screen and hurried off to finish preparations. “Come on, Phouchg. It’s time,” said a small high voice. “It had better work this time, Loonquawl,” said another equally squeaky voice. My powers of language had never extended to the animal kingdom, but no one was nearby except Buneb, who was intently watching two small white mice scurry up the pyramid.
**PART 5:**
Buneb had spent his whole young life watching the Great Pyramid, as had his father before him, and his father’s father, and so on back through the millennia. He was a direct descendant of Hemiunu, he had said. According to his ancestors, the pyramid held some sort of mystical secret of the universe. And when the universe was ready, the descendants of Hemiunu must be on hand to ensure the secret was understood. Apparently Hemiunu realized the universe wouldn’t be ready for quite some time, and also knew that a multi-millennial game of telephone might result in the secret becoming distorted. He tasked his offspring with ensuring the language was kept alive and intact.
The screen flickered and suddenly it was filled with images. “Head all the way to your right,” I told the technician. “Now up… Yes, there -by the drawing of the … white mouse…. That is the beginning. Now head straight down. It is written in columns.” Very slowly, words began to take form. I scribbled in my little notepad while Buneb muttered softly to himself. As the camera finally finished its journey around the room, I stared back at what I had written. “It isn’t an answer, it is a question!” exclaimed Buneb. He was right. There in my notebook, scrawled in my shaky handwriting, was the ultimate question. The question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. | 2018-06-24T22:28:33 | 2018-06-24T22:03:53 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is much different than you had imagined. Instead of moaning "braaaaaiiinnnss" and clumsily shambling along, your infected daughter is crying on the other side of your locked door, begging to be let in. |
I sat with my back against the door, clutching the sides of my head and hoping she wouldn’t find a way to get through.
“Daddy...let me in…” I heard her voice outside, but it wasn’t her. Not anymore. I could hear her crying now, her tiny fists pounding on the door but I couldn’t give in, she had to stay out there. It had happened when she was at school, that was probably the only reason I was still me and not like them. Things had happened so often that even the news could barely cover it before it was taken offline. The term zombie had been mentioned, so I expected mindless hordes and not this. The fact that my daughter was one of those things now killed me inside, she was all I had left after my wife passed.
“Daddy...let me in…” She repeated, and although she spoke with emotions and inflection, it was the exact same way as she’d been saying it since she got here. I could hear others, some of them repeating what she was saying now and others just crying. They had been my daughter’s friends and classmates but now they were all just monsters with their faces and voices. Her pounding and crying was becoming more insessint and despite whatever I tried to do, I could hear them increasing in volume.
“Go away…” I said, “Just go away!” I shouted now, hoping it would work. There was a pause for a moment and I thought I was safe. I stood up and looked through the peephole, and that moment was all they needed. The group of them forced their way onto the door, their combined force being greater than what I could do to stop them and soon almost a dozen former children were in my home, the only difference was that all of their eyes were now pure white, without even a sign of a pupil. It was too late for me as they surrounded me.
“Daddy...I love you…” My daughter said to me as she stood over my cowering form, I closed my eyes as they came in and then everything went white. |
((Some mild violence and dark themes, kinda new to this so I hope I did it right))
I had always been a zombie buff, everything Walking Dead and Max Brooks I was all over it. Little did I know the real zombie Apocalypse was just around the corner and it…the books the TV shows don’t prepare you for of being real for it happening to YOU. It was about three days ago yeah everything fell apart on three days. I was watching my daughter and son walk home from school from out 3rd story window…Lindsey just a ten year old girl and her older brother Michael. They wave up at me as I lean out the window “Hurry on up kids I have dinner almost done” it was Mike's birthday and I made his favorite meal.
That was when the bomb hit, not a normal explosive not even an atomic bomb the media is saying the explosion was a biological weapon. Super Rabies they keep calling it but we all know what it is…these are the living dead. A lot of people are lucky the disease is airborne most of the time and immunity to the airborne strain isn’t very rare me and mike were both safe from the foul green gas that blanketed the city but safe from the gas doesn’t mean safe. The effects are almost instant as Lindsey collapsed into the street coughing…I kick down the fire escape and try to get to my children to pull them inside away from death but…I hear mike scream as his own sister bites into him dragging him to the ground I was about halfway down the escape when I saw this and…I got scared I’m human okay I pulled up the escape and ran inside. Locking the doors and calling 911 but the system had crashed.
“oh god, oh god its happening I always knew it would happen” the dead were rising but I was safe you needed a code to get into the lobby and to get up the elevator. That’s when I hear a small ping at my door bell. Someone had just entered my apartment’s code into the lobby entrance. Thinking its Mike having gotten away from his sister it didn’t even cross my mind that they might have the memories of their lives so when I check my phone to see through the lobby security camera I nearly faint as covered in deep crimson blood its…my daughter Lindsey dragging her half eaten brother into an elevator. My phone pings now as I receive a text from Lindsay “Daddy is dinner done? I’m so…hungry” there is a photo attatched, a selfie of her and Mike’s body exiting the elevator. I throw my phone in fear it landing in out fish tank “Oh god sh-she remembers my number…” I say and remembering she has a key to the door I run over and push a large shelf in front of it and sure enough not a minute later the door lock clicks open and I hear her trying to push it open “Daddy? The door is stuck” she says still in her innocent little voice “Daddy help me get it open me and mike want some dinner and cake I’m so hungry please let me in”.
The voice sounds like her it really does, it acts like my Lindsey and talks like my Lindsey and hell for all I know maybe it still is my Lindsey but whatever this Virus did to her it made her persistent. Only stopping to kill a neighbor as they come home or take a few bites from her brother other than that it’s all begging “Daddy I smell food are you microwaving popcorn you know its my favorite” I hate eating now…no matter how subtle I am she always knows exactly what I have and pleads to be let in but I know it’s a trick she wants my flesh and dammit after three days I’m tempted to just let her have it to end the begging. I walk over to the door and push the shelf away. The doorknob turns slowly and opens as I see her hand poking through the door “Daddy I’m so glad dinner is ready”
The End
| 2018-09-06T16:55:54 | 2018-09-06T15:42:34 | 43 | 23 |
[WP] Your whole life you were misdiagnosed as colour blind, when in reality you could see colours no-one else could. You see art differently, the sunset and sunrise differently. A rainbow to you is out of this world. One day you go to visit the Mona Lisa. You see something no-else does... | My name is Yoshikage Kira. I'm 33 years old. My house is in the northeast section of Morioh, where all the villas are, and I am not married. I work as an employee for the Kame Yu department stores, and I get home every day by 8 PM at the latest. I don't smoke, but I occasionally drink. I'm in bed by 11 PM, and make sure I get eight hours of sleep, no matter what. After having a glass of warm milk and doing about twenty minutes of stretches before going to bed, I usually have no problems sleeping until morning. Just like a baby, I wake up without any fatigue or stress in the morning. I was told there were no issues at my last check-up. I'm trying to explain that I'm a person who wishes to live a very quiet life. I take care not to trouble myself with any enemies, like winning and losing, that would cause me to lose sleep at night. That is how I deal with society, and I know that is what brings me happiness. Although, if I were to fight I wouldn't lose to anyone.
Phewww
Back when I was a kid...
You know Leonardo Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, right...?
I saw it in an art book.
When I saw Mona Lisa's Hands, folded by her knee...
How do i say this...?
It's a bit crude, but...
Hehe...
I got... a BONER.
| I’ve lived a pretty average life my whole life. I’m 19 years old now and I’ve realized this strange ability I have. I perceive colors and light and art completely differently than others do. When I was younger my parents took me to doctor after doctor trying to find out what was wrong with my sight. Eventually they gave up and diagnosed me as color blind as a scapegoat. I didn’t mind really. After that point I’ve lived a completely normal life.
My ability never really affected my life. Of course I passed in all my art classes with flying colors for “giving a new perspective on art” as my teachers called it, even though I was just creating what I saw. Other than that I never had many major problems in my life caused by it. I had many friends, played sports, listened to music perfectly fine. Everything was normal.
It was the summer after my senior year of high school and my friends and I were looking to make a summer trip. All of my friends were fascinated by my ability to see different thing when looking at art work. Often times we’d go to our city’s art museum look at paintings and I’d tell them what I saw. It sometimes got boring to me because I was just telling them what I saw. Sometimes they were extravagant other times they were simple. It was decided that summer we were all going to take a trip to the Lourve Museum in Italy to see the world renown Mona Lisa. They’d all seen pictures of it online (I had not) and they wanted to see what I saw when seeing this world famous painting. And so, we packed up, took a flight and within a few days we were entering the doors into the museum.
Immediately as we walked in there were signs clearly pointing out which floor the painting was on and where to go, most likely due to the popularity of the painting. We took the escalator up and walked into the room of the painting.
My friends were in awe and walked up to the picture. From what I heard around me, it sounded as if it was a painting of a woman. I walked a few steps behind my friends and ended up joining up with them. I took a look at them and they were staring at the picture. Then I took a look...
The painting that was displayed in front of me was NOT a woman smiling at all. Instead it was a completely absurd scene. What I laid my eyes on was a 3D portrait of a lizard sitting and smiling with a bowl of steaming soup sitting on his head. Behind him was a rainbow with colors inexplicable radiating out over the landscape and even glowing out of the picture. There was a grassy field in the background with the sun shining as well. It almost reminded me of Easter morning. The painting was in a crisp golden frame that was glowing and lighting up the entire room. I was drawn to this painting so much I stared at it for an extremely long time. I was lost in the picture. Time seemed to freeze. It was so beautiful.
My friend Ronald rapped on my shoulder breaking my concentration from the picture. They looked amazed and were searching for my answer to tell them what I saw.
“Boy.. I got some stuff to tell you...” | 2019-01-29T06:54:57 | 2019-01-29T04:22:25 | 361 | 24 |
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander" | “I bet it’s going to take the form of metal bikini armor, like in *Trials of War: The Future Age*,” Baker says.
Allen laughs. “I’ve always wanted to see what Private Jimenez looked like underneath the uniform.”
Sargent Al Hicks just smirks, thinking I won’t notice. “Now men,” he begins, “it isn’t polite to openly objectify the finer sex.” He can barely get through the HR-esque line without guffawing. “Go on Jimenez,” he returns his attention to me, “try on the suit. We’ve never let a woman try it on, didn’t think they could handle it. Shouldn’t be a problem with you.” His smirk turns more derisive. Out-running and out-lifting the men in my unit did not come without punishment. Being the only woman in Sundown Squad sucked sometimes.
I sigh, eyeballing the suit that stands before me, still in the mech-form that it took for Reynolds when he used it last week. Hicks and the rest of the guys have all had a hard-on for Reynolds since. It was the coolest form we’d seen the damn thing take on.
We had found the suit sitting in a long-forgotten supply closet here on Bravo base. God knows how long it’s been in here the base has been taken and lost so many times over the last 20 years.
*”What the hell is that?” Jackson had asked when we found it. *
*”Looks like TéRahn tech,” Baker mused.*
*”Oh, please,” Reynolds replied. “You wouldn’t know TéRahn tech from Earth tech if your life depended on it!” Truth is, none of us had a clue what in the hell this thing could do or where it came from.*
*”Either way,” Donaldson interrupted their pissing contest, “this thing looks awesome.”*
*Both Reynolds and Bakers had good points. It could have been Earth or TéRahn tech, really. The TéRahn had to come up with some heavy duty equipment to with stand Earth’s environment when they landed here years ago, before teachers knew to explain that Earth is inhospitable and ill-evolved in the minds of anyone not from this planet.*
*Anyway, HQ didn’t know what to do with the suit, so Sundown Squad got a new toy to play with. It quickly became a way for the guys to whip it out and compare without actually, you know, whipping it out. To be fair, even I have Davis some crap when all he got was armored super-punching gloves and a helmet. The more badass the suit became for you, the more respect you were given.*
I don’t play this game, mostly to avoid this. Sargent Hicks is tapping his foot, arms crossed, waiting for me to step into the mech and become the new laughingstock of the squad. Davis looks so pleased he might pee himself. Poor guy.
I might as well get this over with.
Stepping into the suit is strange. Where I expected it to be cold and unfamiliar, it’s like putting on my favorite pair of pajamas. The suit begins to trans form and shape to my body, the digital screen overlays my vision. I expect to hear the familiar words “not original user, booting basic mode.” Instead, I hear,
“User detected. Welcome back, Commander.” The jaws of the men in my squad all drop collectively. The armor and metal of the suit has disappeared, making it look like I’m wearing nothing but the clothes I put on this morning. The only change is a small headpiece seemingly welded to my left temple. This must be the integral piece that connects to the mind of the wearer and houses all the coding for the suit. “Please select suit mode,” the warm female voice continues.
“Holy shi-“ Davis begins.
“Shut it, Private,” Hicks says, sternly. His eyes are dinner plates as he takes in what just happened.
“Commander, please select suit mode,” the voice says. A list flashes up on my digital overlay. On it, I see not only every version it has become for the guys in my unit, but some crazy things I’ve never seen before, even on the battlefield. I select a suit, and the transformation begins.
I survey the dumbfounded expressions of my comrades in arms. This is gonna be fun. | All in all, The Suit was masterfully built. Layer upon layer it was designed to be anything the user ever wanted. But each time someone stepped into The Suit, it always responded with "Not original user, booting basic mode."
Of course that's why The Suit was set at Ft. Bragg for the recruit to try it out before moving into their basic training. A test if you will, like finding Grid Squares or Blinker Fluid at requisitions.
This sergeant, however, got more of a kick in having all his privates go through this ritual, even though no one would ever get the suit to change its response. Still he would see that they all went through this "test" so he could have them all run laps around the base when they failed.
Private James received the call from Sergeant Pierce to head to The Suit and try it out. Of course, Private James couldn't say no to the order and accepted it with little fan fair. Once he arrived at Requisitions, the front desk looked at the order sheet from Private James and shook her head.
"You know that he's going to fail you when The Suit doesn't work right?"
"Yeah," Private James replied, waiting for the warrant officer to sign the papers acknowledging the order, "But it'll be for a good laugh later."
She gave a soft smile and finished signing off the order and handed it back to him, "Just don't be disappointed when it happens again like all the others."
"I won't. Like trying to find Grid Squares right?"
Both laughed as he entered the door on the left and proceeded to the room. A few scientists were stationed near The Suit and looked up before all of them groaned at the Private.
"Sergeant Pierce strikes again huh?"
"You got that right." Private James laughed as he stood next to the suit. It's worn brown color and chrome edges with wires coming out from the interior. The screens from the helmet were blank and he peaked inside for just a moment before the lead scientist came up and slapped him on the back.
"Let's get this over with." The scientist said, he walked past the Private to the other room with the rest of the scientists. "Sergeant Pierce is always a hard-ass unless we do this right."
"Right." Private James replied. Once everyone left the room, Private James stepped into The Suit. The Suit closed up and the speakers sparked to life.
"Okay Private, were going to start The Suit up."
The hum of the start up sequence echoed from the room before the soft calm female voice came out of the suit.
"Boot up sequence complete, User detected: Welcome back Commander."
"What the hell!?" came the echo from the viewing room as the lead scientist yelled out. "Somebody get Sergeant Pierce up here now!"
Private James reached up with an armored covered hand and lightly hit his forehead while shaking it left to right, "Oh God, what have I done?"
"Commander?" Questioned the suit; the soft, female voice once again echoed into the room, "My analysis has determined you did nothing." Private James looked up at one of the screens to see a floating head of a woman on one of the screens. She looked like she was watching his face for any response to her query, "Did you do something?"
"Uh.. No. I did nothing." He responded, while seeing out of one other screen that some of the scientists had come out with tools, tablets, and equipment. "Who are you?"
"I'm the Artificial Intelligence CR-835. But my last user called me Catherine." 'Catherine' responded to the question. Her face seemed to light up at her name, almost as if she was recalling the last time she was fully activated.
"Catherine huh?" The face lit up once more, nodding slightly before the door was slammed open and Sergeant Pierce arrived with the Commander of the training facilities.
"What in the God damned hells happened now?" Sergeant Pierce yelled out.
Private James started to move to salute, but with all the cables and wires attached and around him, he couldn't move too much. "Sir! Just following your order, Sir!"
"Easy there Sergeant." The Commander placed a hand on Sergeant Pierce's shoulder, looking over the suit as the plates and pieces shifted and moved. "Who's in The Suit?"
"Sir, Private Edward James, Sir." Private James replied, hoping his voice was heard.
"Commander? You're a Private?" 'Catherine' asked, startling both Sergeant Pierce and the Commander.
"We'll discuss that later." Private James responded, turning his head to face the Commander, who he read on his name tag was Reed. "Commander. Permission to speak?"
"By all means, Son." Commander Reed replied, "Though it would be better if I could see your face..." He started to ask for the Private to step out of The Suit if he could, but the helmet seemed to shift and fall back into the body of The Suit. "Well I'll be.." Commander Reed seemed in awe of the movements of the suit as it shifted the materials and helmet away to revile Private James' face.
"Sir. I just got the order to try The Suit, when this happened." Private James spoke out, noticing that the lead scientist was stepping closer to examine the suit while he was in it. "If I remember, no one else got a response from the suit like this?"
"That's correct, Private." The scientist answered. Reaching out to touch the suit as some of the plates moved, "Ray Walter."
"It's a pleasure, Sir." Private James replied, shifting a bit as the scientist continued his examination. "Can I get out of The Suit?"
"Of course, Commander." 'Catherine' spoke once more, shifting the chest and leg pieces out of the way for Edward to step out of. Once he did so, The Suit closed backup as it was before with the wires hanging out before taking a few steps to stand behind and to the right of Private James.
"Seems like we have a lot to learn about each other, Private." Commander Reed spoke up, noticing the way the suit moved to be at parade rest behind the Private. "A lot to learn."
(I'll be editing/posting the next part in a few hours. Mobile editing stinks) | 2019-08-19T13:38:44 | 2019-08-19T12:49:18 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] After 357 years running from death the Grim Reaper finally tracks down your mountain cave. When he arrives he asks if he can hide with you. | And then another one came.
And another one.
And another one.
They kept on coming. Eventually we were all elbow to elbow in the cave. There, surrounded by a horde of black robed skeletons, I became worried.
"So, why are there so many of you?" I asked
One turned to me, "don't you know?" he said nervously.
I shook my head.
*"They* are coming." He quickly slipped away through the crowd.
It made me nervous. What could possibly have shook up the embodiments of death? Suddenly there was total silence. Except for quit footsteps emanating from the mouth of the cave. Screams of terror rang out from the crowd. I was almost trampled by the mass of panicking skeletons. I couldn't see why they were panicking though. I found myself pushed to the front. There I saw them. The lawyers. Pink slips in hand they searched for the right embodiment of death to serve their layoffs to. Left and right deaths became piles of bone and black cloth. All I could do was gape in horror. Eventually, only I and the lawyers were left standing. One approached me. In his hand he held a newspaper, open to the classified ads.
"Hi, I'm with Afterlife Inc. ©. We've recently had some positions open up. How would you be interested in a career with excellent benefits?" He asked. "Yes, we got dental!" He grinned at his own joke.
"I'll . . . I'll think about it." I said. | The cold, harsh mountain air battered at the cave’a entrance as I huddled in a corner, wrapped in blankets. My beard was getting a tad long, I thought, as a strong gust of wind entered the cave and blew it into my face. Well, at least it’s not as long as it was in Moscow. Now that was long, I thought, and softly chuckled.
The year was 2000 CE, and my name was... what’s my name.... well, age gets the better everyone, so it’s to be expected. Anyhow, I was currently running from the grim reaper. And when I say currently, I didn’t start just then on that mountain. I started way before that, oh, maybe 357 years ago?
Suddenly, a harsh rattling noise and a thin, raspy breath echoed throughout the cave.
He was there.
Adrenaline rushed my body. Was this it, I thought? Was this how I die?
Frosty, skinless feet carried a hooded man into the cave, the wind tugging at his robe, and to top the chilling appearance off, a deadly, shining scythe rested on his shoulder, shrouded in a dark, ominous aura.
I was paralysed by fear, frozen in place. He walked over, and just.... sat down. He didn’t try to lop off my head like he did the last forty times I encountered him. He just... sat down.
“Hey, buddy? You still alive?” He whispered.
I nodded slowly, still stiff with fear.
“Do you... mind if I hide with you here for a while?”
“Why..?” I whispered back.
The reaper looked down for a moment, then looked back at me.
“You’ve... been giving me quite a bit of trouble. Well, when I say me, I mean all of the grim reapers. No, there’s not just one of me. Though you’ve only seen me, so....”
I sat there, silently, processing this in my head.
“I... kinda need to lay low for a while,” the reaper continued, “Satin.... is in a bit of a.... rage mode right now. Y’see, I kinda need to kill you. Not now of course, not now while he’s in a rage at me.. just... let me stay with you for a decade or so, and we’ll be good. Hell, I’ll get you into heaven when you finally die, if I can. But there’s no point killing you now, s-“
I held up a hand to cut him off.
“Please,” I replied to him, “If you’re gonna stay, go get some Twinkies. Now. I’ve been surviving off nothing but snow and dirt for the past forty years, so if you wouldn’t mind, go get some, then we’ll talk.”
The skeleton just looked up at the roof, resigned. He rose to his feet, and slowly walked towards the edge of the cave.
The en- oh. I forgot. After he set foot outside of the cave, a barrage of hellfire melted the cave into nothing but a crater in the mountain. Apparently, that’s when Satan saw him. Anyway... where am I, I thought. There’s stone and fire everywhere, and it’s boiling hot, so... I guess this is hell, huh. | 2020-01-20T18:25:15 | 2020-01-20T17:27:58 | 67 | 16 |
[WP] Four immortal beings rule over the land. A dragon that flies across the deserts in the south, a living dungeon whose Labyrinth seems to go on forever in the caves of the west, The Kraken, so large that it can sink islands with ease, beneath the seas of the east & the 'Man' of the north. | The Man of the North:
A person that everyone knows. The other immortal beings were present in some cultures, but the man was known by everyone.
His speed, unmatched, he could circle the world faster than everyone.
His generosity, so pure, everyone was struck with happiness at the mention of his name.
His looks, unmistakable. You will always know its him.
His perception, perfection, he can see everyone whenever he wants, from any distance.
The man never was angry. He never hurt anyone. He never killed a soul. He rewarded the polite, and pitied the mean.
He is so famous, that he has a day dedicated to him. And when that month rolls around...
You better watch out.
You better not pout.
You better not cry.
I'm telling you why.
**Santa Claus is coming to town.** | "They called them the Primordials, four ancient, eternal beings who stood at each corner of the world, reigning, unchallenged, over all that resided there -- Tartarus, the living prison, a hellish, labyrinthine dimension whose ever-growing walls encaged thousands of prisoners, starving them, depriving them of the comforts of sleep, drink, or company, driving them to states of utter madness, and yet keeping them alive, barely, but eternally, so that they may suffer the never-ending torments it holds for them; Dragomira, the enormous, magnificent dragon with scales of metal, whose hide gleamed with as many colours as the flames she breathed, whose claws and fangs of polished bronze shone brilliantly in the desert sun, whose wings, when unfurled, would cast miles of her territory into shadow.
"Kraken, the monstrous, squid-like being who ruled the seas, whose massive tentacles stirred storms like dust on the beach, whose fin tore through the hulls of ships as easily as a knife through butter; and the man, he who was carved from stone, from whom was sprung humanity, he who towered over all the rest, with his hair of grass and leaves, his eyes like boulders, and blood like the oil that flows underground -- Typhon.
"No man has ever seen one and lived."
"But then how does anyone know what they look like?" Rio asked incredulously, staring at Old Jeller, as he finished his story.
"What are you asking me, boy?" the elder snapped. "You asked me to tell you a story and I did!"
"But you don't really believe that any of that exists?" Asterion said doubtfully.
The old man merely shrugged.
"Well, thanks for the story anyway," said Rhea dismissively, getting to her feet and brushing off, "but here's our ride."
A dozen elephantine horses had just trotted into view, herded by a rather frightened-looking old man.
"Yeah, thanks, but we really should go," Asterion said, and he rose too.
"Where ya headed anyway?" Jeller asked.
"To the desert."
"Ah, be careful on your way there," Jeller said, "Dragomira doesn't take too kindly to trespassers." And the old man grinned.
"Yeah, we're terrified," Asterion said, holding up his arms in mock fear, but grinning as well. "You take care of yourself old man."
"Bye," said Rio and Rhea together, and the three youths departed to mount a suitable horse.
If you enjoyed this, visit r/MysticScribbles for more, I'm actually considering serializing this! | 2020-04-19T08:34:41 | 2020-04-19T08:21:26 | 85 | 10 |
[WP] Since you were young, time travelers have visited you. One of them explained that, in the future, an algorithm determined that you were the only person in the past that it was safe to visit because no matter what you do it will not change the future. You are determined to prove them wrong. | ######[](#dropcap)
The clock slowly ticks, and he sits.
The TV blares in the background, some comedy show that he'd long ago forgotten how to laugh at. The flickers of the TV are the only source of light as he waits in his rocking chair, the slow creak of wood on wood growing louder and louder until it's all he can hear. He raises the glass of beer to his lips. It's lukewarm, much like his existence, and he swallows a small sip, letting the bitter aftertaste linger in his throat. How much longer?
It didn't matter how much longer. They always came.
As night falls, the creak of the house joins the cacophony of noises, a discordant duet of sounds that should represent the existence of some life, and yet...
He takes another sip of beer. He's long ago forgotten what regular life looks like. How it feels, how it smells. Sometimes though, he works it over in his hands with a morbid curiosity. What kind of goals and dreams do other people have? Do they get visitors like he does? Do they have to deal with an endless ebb and flow of travelers treating them like circus monkeys in a time cage?
No wonder where he is, they always find him. And so he's learned to stop running like a hamster on a wheel. How much longer?
Not much longer now. The ticking of the clock grows faster--a sign that they're closing in.
A smile slowly creeps to his lips. Ah, but they were the hamsters now, running on a ticking time bomb until their time runs out.
The air begins to shimmer in front of him. A mysterious wind picks up from nowhere, forming a tiny whirlpool of current in his living room and forming a small tornado that makes his hair fly but leaves the objects in the room untouched. He stares straight ahead, at where the pod will appear. Those monstrous little blue pods, with their twinkling lights and the large star emblazoned on their center. They were all alike, bringing nosy little time tourists who wanted nothing more from their life but to turn his dull, dull life into a talking point.
He'd had a dream before all of this, but he'd long ago forgotten what that dream was. What was the point after all, if he was destined not to create change? His heart begins to beat faster.
The pod lands with a small hiss. Smoke filters from the bottom, and the lights bask the room in a light blue glow. With a whir, the front of the pod begins to open, the face of it lifting off of and out toward the ceiling. A woman steps through with her camera and her Bahama shorts and her little sun visor.
Somehow, this makes him irrationally angry.
She peers around the room, her eyes bright initially, until an expression of confusion creeps onto her face as she takes in the bits of pieces of junk laying around his living room. Blue pieces of bent metal and twisted lights and, nailed to the wall, a metal star. All strangely familiar. Then she finally locates him in the corner, in the dark, and her eyes widen.
Ah, yes. That is the expression he wants to see. That little frisson of fear he so likes. He cocks his gun. The next second, red spreads across her chest and spills onto the floor. Oh, how he loved that color. She collapses into a heap, gasping for breath, desperately trying to claw her way back onto the pod. But she won't make it. None of the last hundred did. He's had a lot of time to perfect his shot.
After several moments, she finally falls silent. Pure bliss. He reaches toward the TV tray and loads another bullet into his gun. He can still see each of their snide faces as they tell him he will never be more than nothing.
&nbsp;
All these people were forgetting one very important thing. They weren't supposed to be here. So what would happen if they never made it back?
***
r/AlannaWu | When Mark heard the knocking on the door he fetched the gun from his safe. Visitors came from many times, the last two from the years 3211 and 2377. The regulations of time travel permitted this because Mark, alone as he was in his cabin in the northern Cascades, was irrelevant. Nothing they told him, or did to him, would change their future.
Leading with the barrel of his handgun, Mark approached his front door one step at a time. He stopped four feet back and steadied his gun with both hands. “It’s unlocked,” he said.
Their suits took five minutes to warm up. They wouldn’t be able to beam out in time to dodge a bullet, and hopefully no more would follow a dead one. When the visitors stopped coming he would take a walk to the stream behind his cabin, sit on the shore, and lean back against a half buried boulder on the bank. The few rays of sun penetrating the mesh of fir needles overhead would warm his face and he would relax.
She opened the door and froze in Mark’s gun sights. Mark had imagined someone else, a Russian man like the usual visitor. This woman pulled on something in his chest, something so unattended over his years of isolation that even so much as the shape of a woman could create pangs of longing. He could see the curve of her side through the suit, and traced it with his eyes instead of holding aim. In her face he discerned not fear, not indignation, but hurt and confusion, as if she expected a warmer welcome.
“Mark, my name is Eva. I’m a friend.”
Surrendering to his desires, Mark lowered his gun. He just wanted her to keep talking to him. So he offered her a seat and listened at length as she told him the tale of their own love, beginning for her decades ago, but for him starting next week.
Eva visited Mark many times over the years, and she came to love him as he instructed her in fishing, farming, and construction. As she told him of his own love, he eagerly believed. He held her hand while he listened and imagined how her lips might feel against his when at the end of her story, he kissed her.
But when she concluded her tale and he did kiss her, she was still, unaffectionate. “Eva?” he asked.
“I promised you I would never visit out of order,” she said. “It’s weird for me too, but there’s a reason.”
“I’ll get used to it!” he said. “Stay for dinner. I’m baking salmon.”
“No. There’s someone else coming at dinner and you need to hide our son before they do.”
Mark leaned back in his chair, suddenly unable to follow a train of thought. Images of a young boy came to his mind. He saw himself and the boy standing side by side in the stream and casting out their fishing poles. He saw them sitting across from each other and eating a silent meal after an argument. But each image short circuited back to the unbelievable premise: he had a son?
Eva called out the front door, and a tall man lumbered into the cabin. He hesitantly waved hello to Mark and said “Hi dad. You’re lookin’ young today.”
The man towered over Mark when they stood face to face. Mark could hardly breathe in the man’s embrace but did not pull away, feeling with his head on the man’s chest the beat of his only son’s heart.
“This is awkward to say to you dad, but uh, my name is Maxim.”
Mark was crying as Eva explained what he must do. They would kill Maxim if they found him, a baby born with parents across time, a threat to the stability of intertemporal society. When the next visitor came, at dinner time, Maxim needed to hide, and Mark needed to kill the visitor. Maxim would only be safe if visitors stopped coming.
Eva held Mark’s tear soaked cheeks in her hands and pressed her forehead against his. “Mark,” she whispered as she shed a single tear of her own, “you must shoot the next person that comes through that door, no matter who it is. For our son’s life.”
In one hour’s time Eva had gone and Mark stood again facing the door to his cabin with two hands supporting his gun. This time he did so with the strength in stance only wielded by a father defending his child from danger, prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for his child.
As soon as the door opened, before he could even see the visitor’s face, he fired. The visitor fell onto the door and it swung open under the weight of their collapse. It was Eva.
Mark fell to his knees. He pounded the floorboards with his fist, robbed of even a happy memory with his wife, his only love, the mother of his only child, who he had now murdered. His love had been only its cost.
He crawled to her, straining to hear what might be her final words on her faint breath. With what energy she had, she reached toward his lips, and in spite of the pain that begged him to close hit, he opened his heart for just a moment longer, to accept her soft kiss.
Two uniformed men stepped over her body and into the cabin. They seized him from behind and cuffed his hands. As the two men carried him out of his home and wrapped him in the material he recognized from their suits, he watched in a daze as more people appeared and loaded Eva onto a stretcher. He had been arrested, they explained, and he would be taken to 2788 for trial.
Some months later, the cabin was quiet. It received no visitors and Mark had not returned. Maxim had found a good spot to sit by the stream behind the cabin. He leaned back on a boulder, enjoyed the spotty sunlight on his skin, and listened to the sound of the salmon swimming upstream.
---
*Feedback requested. I will thank you for it even if it hurts my feelings. Thank you.*
---
[Follow my budding fiction career.](https://twitter.com/DonronRondon) | 2020-05-28T11:10:36 | 2020-05-28T10:51:16 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] Ten years from now you'll put on a jacket and find a mask in the pocket. "Oh man, what a weird year that was," you'll chuckle to yourself. Then you'll pick up your machete and continue across the wasteland, keeping to the shadows to avoid the roving gangs of cannibal raiders.
Edit: I got this text as a cropped image without OP. I was informed that the OP is @CasualThursday on Twitter, so credit goes to them :)
Edit 2: Thanks for all the awards, I have never gotten any before. I wish you all a happy, healthy new year! | As I truged up the long driveway I felt the urge to break into a run. It had taken me 5, maybe 6, years to do it but I was finally back, finally home. Only home didn't look like home anymore, the garage and shed were both half collapsed, the trees lining the driveway were now mostly gone, and most notably, 3 sets of fences now stood between me and the house. It looked scarred and battle hardened, of course so was I, 2 revolutions and civil collapse will do that to people and things very easily.
At the gateway of the second fence a voice called out to me from somewhere near the top of the hill. "Freeze, state your business, leave, or get shot", it was my father's voice. Squinting to see through the permanent smoke and smog laden haze, I could make him out sitting in our upstairs window.
"Dad, it's me, Martin", I replied gleefully and threw up a hand to wave.
"I said freeze fucker, I'm looking at you through a 24 power and you sure don't look like Martin"
He's pointing a gun at his own son I thought in disbelief, it was understandable but still. "Yeah well there used to be trees on this driveway and a shed that wasn't collapsed, it's been a hard past few years", I shout back, "and put that gun down before you blow my head off". With that I started to climb over the gate.
The round smacked the post next to me with enough force that even the heavy gate rattled. "I said don't move, I don't recognize you and I am not dying because some goon knows my kids name". In the tense silence that followed I carefully slid off the gate so that I was behind it again, this was unbelievable, I had just hiked 100 miles and nearly gotten killed and this was my reception. Finally dad made up his mind, "leave that rifle there and you can come up to the next fence line, but make one bad move and you die, am I clear".
"As crystal father". Begrudgingly I remove the rifle from my shoulder, even though it was next to impossible for a thief to grab it out here my instinct to keep it safe and close at hand was very strong. Resting it on the gate I crawled over, being mindful to keep my hands away from my coat and waist. The 50 odd yards of ground separating these two fences were pot marked and scarred, clearly dad had more than a hunting rifle in the house. Carefully I traversed the no man's land and reached the next fence, this one ten feet high and made of cattle panels with barbed wire interlaced.
Placing my hands on a post I looked up at my father, he was still looking at me through a rifle scope. My patience was wearing thin fast, "you old bastard, can't you tell the face of your own flesh and blood, and for God sakes get a pair of binoculars."
I could feel my own heartbeat in the stillness that followed. Finally, an emotion laden voice replied, "Go get your rifle boy, and come on in"
"With pleasure". | My breath fogs in the air. The night is chilly, but not too cold. Just don’t want that fucking fog giving me away.
The shelves are bare in the grocery store. Not really a grocery store. More one of those corner stores that tried to be a grocery store, but didn’t quite have the space or the management personnel to pull it off. I flash my light in short bursts to see where I’m going. Hopefully the red cellophane keeps it from shining too obviously. Preserves my night vision, at least.
One. One measly can in this whole place. The label has fallen off from age, or just some prick who thought it’d be funny. Making sure I don’t know what I’m about to eat. Pasta sauce, green beans, dog food. Dinner roulette. The can glints in the muted light from the half-moon through the window.
I pick her up and give her a squeeze. The can gives; thick viscous goo runs onto my fingers through a popped seam. I put it back on the shelf, wipe my fingers off onto my jeans.
My pack is feeling awfully light. No food—not much, anyway. Still a bit of rabbit jerky left. Not worth much of a much. No fat on rabbits. Could have pounds and pounds of it and I’d still starve to death. Waste away with a full belly, shrugging my shriveled malnourished shoulders and saying *But I’m not hungry.*
I hit the deck when I hear the dirge call of the cannibals. They’re out there somewhere. Always out there. This particular cry was close enough to be concerning, but it didn’t set off my internal *imminent doom* alarm. Listen: no footsteps. I stand back up and brush the dust off. Pat the empty .45 at my waist. A useless but comforting weight. Haven’t found ammo for it in a year or so; can’t bear to get rid of the goddamn thing. Most vicious-looking paperweight you’ve ever seen.
I make my way slowly towards the customer service desk. The not-too-cold of the night is beginning to approach too-cold. Weather’s changing. Need to start layering up again. Pausing periodically to listen for footsteps, cannibal cries, or worse—the low-throated growl of an attack.
I hop the customer service counter. Pull a couple of drawers out. Not much for loot. Half a pack of smokes—I know from repeated trials that these things are staler than week-old dog shit. Not this time.
I lift a jacket off of a coat hanger and slap it a few times. Dust puffs out, fills my nose. I pinch my nostrils shut to avoid a sneeze. Wouldn’t that be the way? Alerting those fuckers by sneezing. One respiratory anomaly and all of a sudden a pack of flesh-eating mutants are barreling down the street at you. Just let me find one round for the .45. Just one, so I can stick the fucking thing under my chin before they get me.
Because they’re going to get me, eventually. They get everyone. My caution and marginal skillset will only take me so far.
Anyway, the jacket looks like a fit. I shrug it on against the not-too-cold-but-now-much-colder. Little tight in the shoulders, but mostly okay. I lift my arms up and hop once or twice to settle the thing into place on my body. Too dark to tell what color it is. Probably hot pink or some shit. I’ll head out in the daylight and look like a fucking birthday clown. My hands rifle the pockets. Nothing. Except—
Front right pocket. Piece of fabric. I fish it out and see that it’s a mask. We wore the goddamn things all the time in 2020. Weird year. Back when things were still functioning—even if we claimed they weren’t. Look at us now. No one complaining about a stimulus check these days. Most of ‘em are dead, anyway. Starved or sick or prey. I fling the mask onto the ground.
I eat the rest of my rabbit jerky. I warm up a bit under my new coat. I’m still hungry.
Another cannibal call sounds off. Closer this time. It’s followed by another, coming from the other direction. They communicate, however primitively. Can’t shake the feeling that they know I’m here, that they’re flanking me. Want to pincer me between them. Could be just the two, could be a hundred. Bad feeling.
I’ve survived this long by listening to those feelings. I shoulder my pack and unsheathe my machete, fingers drumming up and down the handle as it settles into my grip. I step to the shattered glass of the front door.
Nothing visible. Grass swaying where it’s grown through the cracked parking lot. Matchbox cars scattered around, crumpled and deflated. My eyes give me the all-clear. Need to stay low, stay quiet, just like always. Keep doing the things that have kept me alive. My stomach growls.
I step out through the broken door. | 2022-02-27T07:41:57 | 2020-12-27T18:28:11 | 119 | 19 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | 1 of 2
I had chosen the name Dismal Director for a reason, and I never appreciated the derisive substitutions heaped upon the title during a first villain encounter.
My understudies had conjoined our performances sooner than I would have preferred. As the doors of the bank clicked open, they were there to impede my progress. This was okay, as the previous group had interrupted me in my dismal lair, planning the bank robbery in the first place.
I mentally shifted from plan A to plan A, contingency G. A-G.1, if you will. With a flourish I shared my grandiose plan to convert the nation's gold stocks into the largest rehearsal podium. Their responses had heart, but lacked a wittiness required for the higher grades. I made a mental note for later feedback to the academy. Blue cape, who I knew was mute, made a good effort to appear intimidating. Full marks.
Following G.1 I reached under the fifth leaf of the nearest plant for my smoke detonator. The plant was a step further away than it should have been, and as soon as I started moving the heroes jumped into action. Their response time was impressive. The Academy was clearly reacting to my prior feedback. G.2 was unfortunately less dramatic, as my short range EMP killed the lights, plunging a hero team lacking any sort of darkvision into the pitch blackness of this moonlit night. My visor was already attuned.
All according to plan.
I made sure to first correct the plant placement for the next performance. I would be speaking to the bank director about her staffing choices if they were going to continue moving my props. As the novices were tossed about in a moonless sea I stepped back outside to enter the bank from a different angle. Plan B required no sizeable recalculation of effort on my part, merely exposing a building defect I had detected months ago due to a plumbing repair in the 80s.
A pull on a small wire and a small portion of the wall fell away, allowing a simple crawl down a line of piping where the insulation was removed. My part to play was not over yet, and the apprentices could not expect every opponent to stand and fight at the first encounter.
Apparently someone in the bank had recently used the washroom, and the clanging of pipes was a less pleasant sensation than I had hoped for. I considered moving this to plan C, but remembered the scratch I had taken in the air ducts previously. I reached the vault floor with five seconds to spare.
Always as planned.
The vault door handles were turned at an angle that they usually did not rest in, meaning I missed grabbing anything in my first victorious outreached hand. I had to go back over some of my intel on the vault managers.I struck a pose as the vault slowly swung open with an imperceptible swoosh.
*It is I, the Dismal Director.*
I loved this part of the performance, and I ensured that each and every rehearsal made it to at least this step. Even when my understudies interrupted me before this point I ensured contingencies so that I could reach the climactic vault scene. I never took any gold from the vault, as that wasn't the point. My proteges needed to understand the gravity of what they were accomplishing by reaching a proper crescendo in the perfect setting, before a nation's worth of gold stocks.
Always as planned.
The students hadn't arrived yet, and were a solid minute behind schedule. I re-activated the lights of my own accord to allow them a simple hint. This would lose them some marks in their performance, as knowledge of the villain's goal was basic understanding. First year classes.
I turned for my victorious moment to survey the gold, which was mostly gone. That was unexpected.
I was quickly reviewing my contingencies for missing treasure as the students arrived. Were they undercover villains? It had happened before. I shifted to contingency V, a whole new plan based on this information. It took a solid .4 seconds of lost time to recalibrate. I was still required to play the part of the robber myself.
V-A.
Would the students attempt to team up with me? That had happened rarely. My title was of low enough stature that most aspiring villains attempted to use my defeat as a springboard to greater heights. However, it could not be ruled out.
V-A.3.
The apprentices again prepared for a physical confrontation while asking how I had made off with the loot so quickly. If they were not villains, I required another change to the script. I quickly perused other possibilities. Contingency T (Embezzlement)? No, this training seminar had been used too recently. I had seen the gold myself just weeks ago. Contingency AAB (Natural Disaster)? The condition of the vault was too good to be. AL (Recent heist)? That must be it. The show must go on, and as the villain I would be just as distraught as the heroes to find the vault already looted. I shifted my performance to match, falling to my knees at the empty safe.
Always as planned.
My calibrations had taken too long, and one of the proteges dashed towards me faster than an eye could follow. My sensor pads underneath the hero_standing_place detected a shifting of muscle mass a moment prior to his movements. I was shocked at his violence for a moment prior to remembering that this team was bigger than had initially been planned. I had not opened the vault door enough for him to see the emptiness inside, so he was reacting to my movements. I did not appreciate last minute changes to the teams they were sending. It took effort to prepare properly for each group I tested.
I had fortunately read up on his movements, and was able to exploit his middling Sambo training to replace his momentum. He went flying into the vault, as I had calculated for him to realize the missing MacGuffin of my heist, and allow him to recalibrate his own decisions.
As he flew inwards, he was caught by something in the room that was very invisible, and had been very still. This was not according to basic AL contingency. An active heist had too many new variables, and suddenly I was not having much fun anymore. | "Hello, class, I'm Juleel, also known as The Deceiver, an Ex-A-Ranker Villain..." he spoke whilst pacing back forth near the blackboard attached to the wall, writing on it with swift strokes from his chalk with each step he made, "but, do not fret, I've reformed from my devious lifestyle, now, I would like to teach the next generation of heroes how to fight against evil by revealing 'our methods and our motives,' any questions?"
"You're a reformed villain?" A boy called out with a name tag on his forehead, reading out 'Fledge,' raising his hand from the back of the lecture hall with confusion strewn about his befuzzled face.
"Yes..."
"And you're name is The Deceiver?..." he continued, narrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes dubiously as he looked Juleel up and down.
"... Alright, I can see why you would be skeptical of me..."
"That full latex suit with blood on your boots isn't helping your case either... --"
"Any other questions?!" Juleel shouted dismissively as he stared daggers in the boy's direction, seemingly causing him to faint back into his seat. A loud thud resonates from the room as the boy hit his head on the metal table in front of him, sending the room into a panic.
"What was that?!" A girl called out, pointing toward the fainted boy with shock painting her disgruntled face, eyeing down Juleel as it snarkily lifted his ovular glasses onto his face, correcting the crooked glasses as he walked toward his desk, sitting down casually as the once stagnant room inflamed.
Juleel kicks his feet on the desk, revealing his bloodied black latex boots, smearing them across the light-brown laminated oak desk. "Hmm... maybe theirs a villain in our midst..." he spoke skeptically, grinning meekly before picking up a book and plastering over his face, blocking the students from viewing him as a burst of slow deep laughter resonated from an unknown source.
"So many fresh pludglings to swallow..." a voice spoke out gruffly, nearly indiscernible as it coughed hoarsely from its excessive laughter. A pile of light-green goop shoots out of a drain in the room, spitting out droplets of itself across the room, landing on each and every student.
"-- That voice!"
"Recognize me?..." the voice spoke as another slop of goo forced itself through the drain through its narrow gaps, slicing itself slowly before launching out of it, breaking the lid of the drain, sending it flying toward the boy who'd fallen asleep earlier, hitting him on his again, "I'm almost flattered... to think you'd know about a villain of my ranking..."
"D-rank villain known for his abundant power in hand-to-hand combat, The Gobbler..." the boy who'd been hit on the head twice spoke groggily as he awoke before falling asleep once again, hitting his head on the desk for the third time.
"Thanks for the introduction... It'd appear I came to the right place, albeit a little late..." The Gobbler spoke, lingering in between his words as the viscous goo on the ground began to manifest into the shape of a human, bubbling viciously as it built itself upward.
"Teacher! Do something!" A girl cried out as her skin began to turn green. She began to foam at the mouth before falling to the ground, falling sick to the goo that touched her previously, causing her to faint. Other students began to follow suit, foaming at the mouth before fainting onto the ground. The boy who'd hit his head three times awakens once again before fainting, hitting his head on the edge of the desk, flipping the sewer lid that'd sat there, causing it to flip over, hitting on the head once more.
"Ow..."
Juleel puts down his book hastily before lifting it back up even faster, hoping that The Gobbler hadn't seen his face.
"Juleel? What are you doing here?"
"I-I'm not Juleel, I-I'm... Javid..."
"Oh, sorry, you looked familiar... by the way, what are you doing at my desk?
"T-t-t-t-t-t-this is your d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d," Juleel attempted to speak as his endless stuttering failed to make sense.
"Well, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Are you new to the school as well?"
"Y-yes..."
"... Wait a second..." The Gobbler spoke dubiously as he scrutinized Juleel, "what's on your boots?"
"Strawberry jam..."
"Oh, can I have some!?" The Gobbler spoke curiously as he carried himself across the room, licking his lips before coming into contact with Juleel.
Juleel awaits for him to close in, kicking him right as The Gobbler began to lick on his shoe. The Gobbler catches Juleel's foot in his mouth, licking it clean within seconds as Juleel attempting to remove himself from The Gobbler's death grip.
"This isn't strawberry jam..." The Gobbler spoke as he licked the already clean boot once more, "this is nail polish!"
"How'd you know what that tastes like?!"
"Thats besides the point! You aren't a teacher! Nail polish was prohibited from usage twelve years ago during the nail polish eating incident that took place that sent fourteen children to the hospital, one of whom was named James!"
"What!?"
"It's you, isn't it? Juleel!?"
"No..."
"Oh, sorry, I must've been mistaken..." The Gobbler spoke, rubbing his head out of embarrassment as Juleel steadily positioned the book around his face that he wouldn't be seen, "anyways, I hope to see you around campus. I'll be needing my desk back now if you don't mind..." The Gobbler spoke awkwardly as he stood at the foot of his desk, releasing Juleel's foot from his gaping mouth with goo littering every inch of it.
"Nice to meet you too..." he spoke cautiously as he removed his feet from the desk, "I'll be going now then..."
"Juleel the deceiver... planning to corrupt the classroom... kill those who don't obey him... thwarted by hero..." the boy with five bumps on his head whispered weakly as he slept on the ground of the classroom with a sewer lid on his head acting as a hat as Juleel ran out of the class speedily.
The Gobbler looks to the ground, noticing the book Juleel dropped before running off.
"How to hide your face for dummies," it read as The Gobbler picked up the book, running toward the direction Juleel had sped off in, catching up to him immediately with book in hand.
"You can keep it!" Juleel shouted as he upped his speed, bursting through a wall as The Gobbler ceased his running before turning back to his classroom.
"What a weird guy..."
He walked back to his classroom slowly, finding the students awake, sitting readily at their tables.
"Hello, class! I'm Fledge, also known as The Gobbler, an Ex-D-Ranker Vilain--," Fledge spoke, writing his name on the board as he held the book left to him over his face with a third hand formed from goo. As he did so, the bell rang, students left the room uniformly, leaving only him and the last sleeping student alone. He awakes, tears leaking from his eyes, not knowing if it was from the pain of getting hit on the head five times, or if it was from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll remember you this time..." he spoke groggily before falling asleep once more before a green glop of goo attached to the ceiling dribbled onto his face.
"I hope not... sometimes it's better to abandon dreams rather than forcing them into reality... Fledge..." | 2021-06-23T15:23:28 | 2021-06-23T11:55:31 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] An Eldritch Moon suddenly appears in the sky, and you and billions others scream as you turn into horribly corrupted mounds of flesh... But your eyesight is better? And your back pains are gone? And apparently you’re immortal now so... Maybe things aren’t that bad... | The Flesh Moon arrived with no announcement, no warning. One moment the sky was clear; seconds later, it was there. A writhing mass of flesh, tentacles and sinew the size of the old Moon staring down at us. And its gaze led to change.
Our bodies would twist and contort in manners we'd describe as grotesque; flesh melted into flesh, bones shattered and formed patterns hitherto unheard of. The changes were not uniform, but not entirely random either; most found their newfound bodies to reflect their needs. Soldiers gained a carapace akin to kevlar and muscle mass beyond our previous limits. Surgeons grew extra limbs, runners extra legs and thigh muscle. One thing was consistent, though.
We were all better.
Once, my back would scream in pain the moment I turned too quickly. My eyes would fail me when trying to read anything more than half a meter away. Most importantly... I stood up, leaving that blasted wheelchair behind.
The Moon came suddenly. Yes, we screamed and lamented as we saw our bodies morph, but we now understand the blessing this was. You may call our new forms Chaotic; we'd call them beautiful.
The Imperium doesn't understand. Calls us tainted, heretical, corrupted by Chaos. Nurgle, Tzeentch, Slaanesh - they blame them all. Shortsighted fools, all of them. They'll come to try and destroy our beauty. We won't let them. Even if we are to be named Chaos, we are all together, like family.
We are Chaos Undivided. | My limbs began to shrink. As I fell to the floor I started to bloat out. Warts and pus-filled pockets sprouted out all over the bubbly mass of flesh I had just become. My eyes bulged and expanded by at least 2 feet. I screamed as I looked around and saw all the others around me morphing into grotesque mounds of flesh around me.
I tried to run but found I had no legs. I could however move different parts of my lower body to simulate some sort of crawl. Sobbing but letting out some sort of horrid moan instead I oozed myself across the ground leaving a trail of pus behind me.
This was terrible! I don't know how it happened but I wanted it to end.
I came across a bridge over a dried-up river. Other blobs of flesh were already hurling themselves off it to their deaths. The strange modified screams were blood-curdling. I wasn't the only one so horrified the only option was death. Without much thought still making the horrid sound,
I plopped myself over the edge of the bridge and fell to meet my end. My horrible, pitiful, wretched end.
There was a loud squishing sound as I hit the ground. Pus burst out all around me. For some reason, I felt no pain.
Was I paralyzed and lived somehow? Cursed to finish my days laying here until I starved out or died of dehydration?
I tentatively moved around a bit. That was strange. I felt fine. As a matter of fact, my chronic back pain didn't even hurt anymore. I looked around and saw other mounds of flesh squirming around seeming to also not have died.
Looking farther out I saw some mounds up on the bridge on their way to end it. Surprised, I realized I had never been able to see so far before. I started to laugh. It came out as a gurgle and pus oozed out.
Well, maybe things weren't as good as they could be...but at least my pain was gone. Apparently, I was immortal also, not that I was jumping to test the theory out.
What should I do...*splat*. A large blob fell right on top of me squishing me into the ground. It rolled off gurgling. Was it trying to apologize?
Well, I guessed I really was immortal. The blob that splat on me rolled off, leaving a trail of pus behind it, my pus.
Several years passed and we mounds lived pretty good lives. We did not hunger, nor grow thirsty. We just kinda rolled, bounced, crawled, and slithered around.
We started developing a new language. Different gurgles meant different things.
I also met a woman...well, I thought she was a woman. I still hadn't figured out if I could reproduce or not. Not really sure I wanted to. We just kinda pushed up against each other like really slow fleshy bumper cars.
Life was good, I wasn't lonely, I needed nothing, I felt no pain, and I couldn't die, what more did I need in life?
A happy gurgle of pleasure came out of me as me and my new lady friend bumped our bodies into each other. | 2022-10-23T14:35:22 | 2022-10-23T13:23:05 | 1,134 | 317 |
[WP] You're a siren who is trying to lure a shipful of sailors to their death. "Please", one of the sailors beg as he swims onto your island, almost too willingly. "Stop. You're so bad at singing." | Errol had been the first and final man to visit her on her rock-pool island in the uncharted sea. He’d been a handsome captain of an exploration vessel, and when her wailing had hit his ship like a vile storm, when mens’ ears bled and they begged for mercy, it had been Errol who’d tied cloth around each of their ears, dampening the terrible sound. It’d been Errol who’d rowed alone in a smaller vessel to find her.
To stop her.
Now, many years later, she watched this new vessel with interest, her mouth — for now — closed.
Although this ship was much larger than Errol’s had been, it wore the same livery and flags as Errol’s ship once had. Bore the same topless goddess carving as its figurehead.
&#x200B;
—
&#x200B;
Men and women screamed alike as the sea bubbled up around their ship. Babies wept in their mothers’ arms. The ship moaned, rocked. Lifted.
”Where’s the captain?” yelled Maria, struggling against the rolls of water that rushed through the inside of the ship.
Morgan, the dogsbody, pointed to the stairs, said, ”At the wheel. Not that it’s—“ Salt water sprayed against him, a wave threw him to the floorboards.
”Here, take my hand.” Maria helped the boy to his feet then made her way up the stairs, knuckles red as she gripped the bannister each time a wave battered against her.
”Captain!” she yelled, stumbling towards him like a drunk. “Captain!”
When the captain saw her, he took the rope from off his own waist and tied it around hers. “It’ll keep you from being washed away.”
“What’s happening?”
“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have brought us this way. It’s where Errol vanished — I knew it as well as anyone. Better, even. This sea is cursed!”
”That was a century ago! It’s a legend, nothing more. And if you—”
Her mouth remained open but no words left.
The creature rose above them.
It blotched out the sun and shadowed the ship. Loomed over it like a tidal wave of scales and teeth.
A tentacle as thick as a tree crashed down on the deck near to them, splintering wood.
”God help us.”
\-
Errol had landed on the pebble beach; she was sure he’d come to kill her. His head was wrapped by shawl and scarf.
Her singing was of no use.
She swiped at Errol with her clawed hands as he tried to clamber out of his boat.
”Please!” he said. “I come unarmed. I come with only peace in my heart.”
&#x200B;
So long ago, she thought. She held a piece of cloth that had once covered Errol’s ears and watched as the Kraken rose above the latest ship.
\-
A body lay next to Maria. A man — one of the few soliders on the transport vessel — lay crushed, chest flattened.
She untied the rope from her waist, then uncurled the dead man’s fist and took the spear from his hand.
”Maria, don’t be a fool!” yelled the captain.
She charged towards the tentacle wrapped around the mast, as it slowly cracked the wooden pole like a spine.
She shouted over her shoulder, “You have a better plan?”
He didn’t. He had no plan at all.
She thrust the spear through the scales and into the wet flesh.
The creature didn’t even flinch.
The mast snapped. Fell.
“Maria!”
\-
Errol had stayed with her. His ship had sailed on without him, as he had instructed. He wasn’t sure how his plan would pan out — if he’d calm her or only enrage her further.
”Your singing,” he’d said. “It… It repels people. It hurts them.”
She had meant it to. It was the song of her heart. As tar-black as the depths of the sea.
She could not swim and had been stranded here as a child, a freak of gods and demons, on this lonely rock, to live off whatever washed up in the pools. To harbour hatred for all she was jealous of.
Here she had been for centuries.
It was her heart’s song. It was all she could sing.
And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. Not yet, at least.
She made Errol tell her of life outside of the island.
Eventually, she told him about life on it.
They fished together that night.
Cooked by fire.
Told stories of the stars.
Slowly, over many weeks, they became enchanted with each other’s quiter siren song.
\-
The captain jumped at Maria and they tumbled to the floor as the mast collapsed.
Too slow. His left foot was caught, crushed. He lay trapped.
Maria had his hand, tried to free him as a tentacle rose above them.
”It’s okay,” he said. “We had a good run, didn’t we?”
”It’s not over.”
He smiled against the pain. They both knew it was.
&#x200B;
And then came the sound.
A melody that seemed to rise from within each of them and make its way outward. But that wasn’t right; it was on the air, in the breeze and water. A melody so delicate and wondorous that it seemed written by the gods themselves.
The captain thought it was the song of cherubs who must be, even now, taking him beyond.
”The sound,” said Maria. “It’s like a harp being strummed in my heart. It’s beautiful.”
The tentacle, high in the air above them, slowly lowered, gently, back into the sea.
The creature itself rocked slowly as it settled and sank peacefully into the water, lulled into a deep, deep rest.
&#x200B;
\-
She watched the ship long after the Kraken slumbered, as the people on board repaired it the best they could.
She sang for them as the worked. All the while she held the precious rags to her chest.
Whether these people visited her after or sailed away, she didn’t mind. She didn’t feel lonely.
She was glad just to have sung the new song that possessed her heart. | “Ah, another mortal who has fallen for my charms. It’s almost too easy. Come now, I’ll draw you in with my song of love. OOOOH WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A DRUNKEN SAILOR? WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A DRUNKEN SAILOR? WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A DRUNKEN SAILOR? BOATS ARE REALLY BORING. PUT THE CAPTAIN IN A JAR IF HE’S NAUGHTY, PUT THE CAPTAIN IN A JAR IF HE’S NAUGHTY, PUT A CAPTAIN IN A JAR, EARLY IN THE MORRRRRNING.”
Xali watched as the sailor cringed, nearly sinking as he covered his ears. The momentary stop of his paddling causing the rough sea waves to rattle him, nearly pulling him under. Soon the sailor gritted their teeth, continuing their paddling towards the shoreline where the siren laid, trying desperately to avoid listening to anymore of that horrible slaughtering of a beloved song.
“Works every time. He was so stunned by my beauty that he nearly drowned. Another verse for my sailor friend? WAAAAAAY HEY ROUGH DISGUISES, WAAAAY HEY ROUGH DISGUISES, WAAAAY HEY, ROUGH DISGUISES, EARLY IN THE MORNING.” Xali threw up her hands, unable to stop herself from enjoying her own tune, having so much fun singing the song.
The sailor didn’t seem to have half as much fun as the siren, struggling once again as he covered his ears. This time he submerged, only rising when the water in his ears dulled the sound coming from the shore. When he reached the shoreline, the seawater was already oozing from his ears. The sailor hugging the ground as he coughed up water. “Ah, gah. Blugh.”
“Great song, right? You may now give me your treasure!” Xali said cheerfully, holding out her hands, expecting grand riches.
“Y-you killed that song. Why are you so bad at singing? The crew is going crazy listening to your songs every day. Why do you torment us like this? Can’t you just kill us and spare the misery?”
“Bad? But my voice is as smooth as the ocean and just as beautiful.” The man’s words confused her. Why would she want to kill him? “Kill you? I just want some of your treasure. I hear pirates have a lot of treasure and I want some. Something shiny or pretty will do. Oh, I’ll have that ring of yours.”
“That’s my wedding ring.”
“You can get another. Come on, gimme. OH, WHAT DO YOU-“
“FINE, FINE, YOU CAN HAVE IT. Please, just no more singing…” He tossed his ring at the siren, the small silver ring bouncing off her forehead, leaving a small red mark as it rolled down onto the shore. She collected the ring, looking it over before tossing it onto the ground behind her, already bored with it.
“Got anything else?”
“Do I look like I have anything else?”
“Hmm, maybe I should sing again. If I get more of you to come over, I can get even more rings.”
“No one else will come.”
“Yes, they will. My songs have the power to charm anyone to my side.”
“They don’t. The only reason I’m even here is to tell you that your singing will never work. No one will ever be charmed by it. You say your voice is as smooth as the ocean and you might be right.” The sailor pointed at the rough waters behind them, the waves crashing against the rocks, sending spurts of water flying. He hoped that would emphasize his point.
“Aw, thank you. Wait, that didn’t sound like a compliment.”
“Because it wasn’t. What if we give you some treasure and you stop singing?”
“But that’s not how it works. I don’t want treasure that way. I want to earn it.”
“Why do you even want treasure? Don’t sirens eat humans?”
“We do? Mother never mentioned that before she left. I just assumed you wouldn’t taste very good.” She leaned over to the sailor, opening her mouth, revealing rows of sharp pin like teeth. She went to take a small bite out of his arm, only for the sailor to blurt out a few quick words.
“We don’t. We taste awful. It’s like eating gunpowder and sweat.” That description was enough to halt her bite. The siren considering it before shifting back.
“Thought so. I don’t get it. Why don’t you like my singing? Isn’t this how my kind sing?”
“No, your kind hum beautiful sounds that enchant the hearts of sailors. They don’t sing their own versions of our shanties.”
“Oh? Like this? Hmmm mmm hmm hmmm hmmmm” She hummed a small tune, one that eased even the hardest heart. The sailor found his anger waning, feeling an urge to throw himself into the water for her. He stood up, turning to approach the water once more.
“EARL LIVES IN MOURNIG. WAAAY HEY, ROUGH DISUIGSES.” She threw up her hands again before laughing. “So much fun.”
The sailor snapped out of the trance, the cold water drifting across his toes. “Huh? So you can actually sing like a siren? Why do you choose to sing our songs, then?”
“They sound like a lot of fun. Every time your ships pass, I always feel an urge to sing along to your songs. I love your little tunes.”
“You know you're singing them wrong, don’t you?”
“Well, it’s hard to hear them from all the way out here. I’m getting better though. In a few years, I might even know the entire song.”
“My ears won’t last a few years. How about I teach you how to sing it?’
“You would do that for me?”
“If it stops you singing that other version, yes.”
So, the sailor spent the rest of the evening teaching the song to the siren. Enduring her horrible, customized lyrics until finally she had memorized it. The siren able to pick up the shanty rather quickly. When she sang the correct lyrics, the sailor felt that trance hit him once more, her shanty a thing of beauty, the perfect tribute to the art of piracy and one that made his heart swell with bravado.
“That was amazing. I feel like I could sail into Davy Jones’ locker after hearing that. How about this as a trade? If you sing that song for us every time we sail past, I’ll drop some treasure off for you?”
“You will?” The siren smiled, baring her sharp teeth. When her pointed teeth were fully in view, the sailor backed away, putting some distance between them.
“I will. Swear on my captain’s ship. Which is technically my ship too, since if it sinks, I sink.” He laughed, but the siren only looked at him, confused, unsure what he meant by that.
“Then I will happily sing it for you.”
“Just make sure it’s the right version. When you sing it properly, it actually sounds beautiful, unlike that horrific version you used to sing.”
“Aww, I still like that version. Fine, I’ll sing your version. Will you all sing back? I hear how much fun you have when you all sing it together. I would love to join in.”
“Sure. As long as it’s sung properly.”
“Yay, I can’t wait. Make sure to sail past a lot!”
While the siren was daydreaming about them all singing together, the sailor snatched his ring, sliding it back onto his finger. With his ring back, he dived into the water, swimming to his boat with a newfound energy. Maybe sailing this route wouldn’t be so horrible anymore.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2022-11-24T08:15:02 | 2022-11-24T06:17:16 | 1,562 | 462 |
[WP] You wake up in a strange room, only to find alternate universe versions of you there, each different in their own way (gender, race, background etc). You have no idea what brought you here. | "Wow Sarge this is awesome!"
"Private avert your eyes and find the lab head responsible!"
"Aw but Sarge, can't I be the one to stay back an-"
"That's an order Private! This isn't a game."
"Well but sir, girls are so rare here an-"
"Finish that sentence and i'll stick my boot so far up your ass it'll be your new lunch!"
"Sorry sir."
"Now move!"
"But it's an orgy of me sir, don't that count for something?"
"Private you're right, so while your finding the labhead responsible for this.
I'm gonna handle all these new recruits." | "hey" we all say at once and be quiet to let the others speak because i feel like whatever they say will be important and im not sure what's going on and hoping that they do.
i walk over to one and ask him, "so, uh, what's your universe like?"
obviously contemplating how to explain it because he's never had to before, stutters out, " well, uh, we look alike and we speak the same language. in my universe if you don't weigh more than 7 pounds you get crushed by the extreme gravity."
"oh my" i say in surprise" does your planets population suffer because that?"
before he has the chance to reply theirs a monotone beep that emits from a speaker in the corner of the room.
*beep* "hello contestant winners! every year we select one human on each planet of each universe that is identically the same. these people are then sommoned here to meet and greet the other people before you are switch into one anothers universes. have you ever noticed anyone around you act strange or completely different one day compared to the last? well this is why. within the next minute or so you will be swapped with one of your other yous and you will have an hour to describe your universe and be explained their universe. good luck!"
i, i mean we, start to panic. i guess we all have anxiety issues.
"one more thing after that hour you are given 20 minutes to explore social media of the new universe so make sure you get the names of social media sights in that universe."
they start going through the names of these people and i must say some are pretty wierd. finally we get to mine and i get called to go to some universe or more specifically something called the "milky way galaxy" what the fuck is that. the guys name is einstein. lol what a weird name.
i go over to einstein and start talking to him asking him about his world and him asking about my world. my gosh some of the things he says make the world sound so primitive. saying that the only real way of getting across the ocean was by boat and that it could take up to 6 days of travel. note to self wait till travel is easier to got to more advanced countries.
after a while time was up and with no social media in this universe...sigh. i was on my way. | 2015-04-15T08:29:52 | 2015-04-15T08:18:30 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | "Big Stander! Big Stander go on Walkie Time?"
"No...no walkie time right now, Bubs, I want you to tell me about the corner."
He whinged and fidgeted. The brow over his big, round eyes dipping down and then slightly up over the bridge of his snout.
"Bad Dog?"
"No, no, Bubs. You're a good dog. I just want to know why you bark at the corner."
"Don't like the corner.."
"I know, Bubs, why?"
"Stander with no feet, no smells. Stands. Stands. I bark. Say 'hey! Here I am! I see Stander with no feet!' No sounds. No smells. Big holes."
"Big holes? What do you mean, Bubs?"
"Big holes, no light. Stander with no feet."
"Do you see the Stander with No Feet anywhere else?"
Bubs glances at the door and begins to whine.
"Please please Walkie Time?"
"No Bubs, I want you to tell me about the Stander with No Feet first."
Bubs whinges and anxiously wiggles were he sits.
"No more stander sounds please. Please."
"No Bubs! We worked very hard on this project! I want to know why you bark at the corner!"
"Bark okay, Stander with no feet no mind bark..."
"Bubs! Tell me what you see or you're a very bad dog!"
The dog looked morosely shamed, but conceded.
"Big holes. No sounds. No light. Watches. Waits for Big Stander to be Stander with no feet." | Lucas walked into the intensive care unit of the hospital. It was late and the lights were dimmed, giving the entire wing a air of dread. Gurneys with men and women were strewn about everywhere. The rooms were filled long ago by the sudden influx of patients. Not a single person moved, the room was absolutely still and the only sound to be heard was the rythmic beat of heart monitors.
This was the first Lucas had seen of the afflicted. He walked down the hall dodging the mannequin-like bodies. He stopped to look at one man and quickly recoiled in disgust. The man's face was frozen in what seemed to be a state of utmost panic. His mouth and dark black eyes were wide open, blood began to ooze out of the man's nose.
Lucas regained his composure and looked around him. He noticed the same thing in every patient. Their black, soulless eyes stared at him with mouth agape at some unseen horror. Lucas, suddenly overwhelmed again, rushed through the doors at the end of the hall.
Hospital employees moved about the hall like zombies. No one spoke while they moved about their work. Two orderlies wheeled a little girl past Lucas. Black eyes. Lucas almost puked.
Lucas rushed down the hall and into the waiting room. Hordes of sleeping family members were laying everywhere. On chairs, desks, some had even made makeshift tents. The air was ripe with unclean human stench.
In the opposite corner of the room Lucas spotted his co-workers. "Lucas" Susan whispered, "What did you find out?" Lucas pulled them into the closest room. He whispered, "I don't know, I haven't seen anything like it before. The only thing I know is that every singly person in their had used the communicator." Susan looked disapointed, "We already knew that Luke, we need more. Millions of people are afflicted we need to figure this out."
Lucas was not surprised by Susan's urgency her husband had used the communicator. Lucas' other co-worker Rashid spoke up, "Lucas, I think it would help if we both could see it as well. Can you take us." Lucas nodded, "I have to warn you though. It isn't easy to take in."
When the three reached the ICU the situation had not changed at all. Dim lights. Black eyes. But now, Lucas noticed everyone had blood dripping down their noses. Under some gurney's blood had begun to pool.
Drip.Drip.Drip. The only sound was the blood hitting the floor. Wait, Lucas realized the hear monitors had stopped beeping. They were all off. "Susan, I think that they might be dead, the heart mon-" Suddenly a creak. Cccrreeeeaakkkk. The metal of an unknown gurney squealed.
Suddenly the man Lucas had first seen earlier was standing back turned to Lucas. The three stumbled back not daring to make a noise. Lucas ran to the door. Locked. The man slowly, painstakingly slowly turned around. His face was still frozen. Black eyes, mouth agape. Blood now pouring from his nose like a faucet.
A voice came from the man though his mouth did not move. The voice struck fear into Lucas' heart that he had never imagined. It was dark, loud and silent at the same time. "You have made a grave mistake." is all it said.
One by one the rest of the afflicted stood. "You have made a grave mistake." They spoke in unison. | 2015-05-18T14:37:16 | 2015-05-18T13:29:22 | 504 | 14 |
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX. | I leaned back in my office chair and stretched my arms high over my head. With a sigh of relief, I finally turned away from Earth-2294. In 250 A.D., the humans living there had managed to rediscover the Garden of Eden, and they had waged a siege on an epic proportion that had lasted almost two thousand years. It had taken every bit of my attention to keep them out, but when I make a rule, I keep that rule. Now, after all those years, I could finally check up on some of my other creations.
I swiveled in my office chair and faced Earth-1468. The first thing I noticed was the number of countries. On Earth-2294, there was no real nationality, just humans vs. angels. Earth-1468 had hundreds of countries. I sighed again, it was obvious I was going to have a lot of reading to catch up on before I could start guiding these humans.
I cracked open the first historical tome, starting from the moment the "Garden Crisis" started on Earth-2294. Suddenly, movement just outside of the atmosphere caught my eye. I looked at it closely, it was some sort of space station. But that was impossible, humans weren't supposed to go to space!! It's impossibly cold, and there's no oxygen. It's why I use the cold emptiness of space to separate my planets, humans could never survive outside the atmosphere. Yet here they were, just floating around like it was normal. I sat back in my chair stunned. And I smiled. After all those years of war, I'd forgotten how much I liked humans. It was time to reward these enterprising little people. I zoomed out so I could see the entire milky way. And there it was, the tiny little telescope trying to take pictures of the bigger universe. I subtly pointed it to a seemingly empty space of the cosmos. And the telescope took pictures of a far distant planet, where all humans had been wiped out. And where they would find a peaceful garden at the center of a massive battle. | Over on Earth's sister planet, Htrae, the Htraians had managed to construct an antimatter-fusion power source, but failed miserably at controlling it. Since God is more of a facilitator than an active interventionist these days, he decided they had to live (or not) with their mistake, and so the Htraians were, to a man, now packed into the singularity of a brand new supermassive black hole. Wrecked some of Big Man's long-term plans for that region of the cosmos, too, so he was a little miffed. See ya, Htraians.
"Let's see what the people of Earth have been up to, left to their own devices these last couple millenia," thought the Almighty, a bit tired from dealing with the universe's existential threat. Turns out containing a new black hole in the wrong place is a big job even for the Almighty, and remapping galactic plans for the next several millennia took some time.
"Hmm. Let's see. Social progress- some. They seem to have ignored a lot of my instruction to love one another in favor of obsessing over details in that stupid book they wrote up while Jesus was around and after. I should have been more clear on some of that, I guess, but I was trying to keep the universe in one piece. Never really thought they would take it that seriously."
"Technology- not bad. These clowns haven't gone the Htraian path yet, but they might eventually. They keep managing not to blow themselves up with all those nukes, too, which is good. There's a self-preservation instinct in there, glad to see that the society mirrors the individual on that. Taking care of their home... man. These guys are some kinda slobs, and for all that tech progress they're using practically none of their brainpower on fixing their house up. That self-aware ecosystem warning device thing I set up with the warming and the tsunamis and the hurricanes and stuff doesn't seem to have been noticed. Arrogant little shits."
"Jesus! Hey! Get in here."
"Yeah, pop?"
"You want to go back?"
"Nah. Those guys were total dicks to me last time."
"What should I do here? There's a lot of good but a lot of bad here, too."
"Throw them a non-world-ending but unavoidable asteroid impact near or on a major city. That worked for the Htrai... Oh. Well, never mind."
"Great idea! The asteroid move is a classic, even if I do say so. Been a while for me, too. That one over Siberia a hundred years ago was early- the communication infrastructure wasn't in place enough to cause people to freak out worldwide. What city?"
"Hmm. Let's see. (Jesus peers into his tablet...) Well, that Russian fellow is doing more saber rattling than he should be, trying to reclaim former glory. The Americans are greedier than ever, though, and they're destabilizing the rest of the world trying to stay on top. I say drop about a 1/8-mile-wide rock on both Washington DC and Moscow. Style points if you make them slow enough to be noticed and tracked so they can figure out what's happening in advance, and extra credit if they land at the exact same time."
"Are you teasing me, Jesus? I am the ALMIGHTY GOD, you know. At any rate- good plan. Getting TWO messages at once might wake these jerks up. What day should we do?"
"Easter? It's been about two millennia, but I'm still a little mad about the nails and the cross and stuff. That crown of thorns was just insulting."
"I know, Son. Easter it is. Let's get some popcorn and see how this pans out." | 2015-12-27T10:49:08 | 2015-12-27T09:52:46 | 791 | 399 |
[WP] You now possess the ability to read minds however it can only be activating by screaming IM READING YOUR MIND as loudly as you can and pressing your fingers into your temples
Activated* | I'm not the only telepath out there. Heavens know how they discovered the first one; our powers all work under the same rule, and what person in their right mind would perform the ritual if they *didn't* know it would work?
You have to scream as loudly as you can--"I'M READING YOUR MIND"--and put your fingers to your temples, like you're Professor X or something.
I don't know. I've never been able to read anyone who knew. What I do know is that the brains of telepaths give off an EM field that makes them detectible, even if they themselves don't know about the power--like what happened with me.
I was visited, one day, by a pair of rather... intense... men in dark suits. We had a conversation.
I was given a choice.
Well, if you consider "come with us, or be considered a threat to national security and treated accordingly" to be a choice. Which I don't.
Still. I'm alive. They treat me reasonably well, by their standards.
My family thinks there was an accident, and that was what cost me my voice and left me partially paralyzed. But I was deliberately made mute.
If you're part of a covert operation, screaming "I'm reading your mind!" is a damn good way to blow your cover. But the ritual doesn't require you to be loud; merely as loud as you can be.
Which, now, is not loud at all.
I don't have enough movement in my arms to effectively use sign language. That would be too noticeable--though in the past, they've had to go with it anyways. Now, of course, we have technology.
They gave me a little device. I can move the fingers of my right hand enough to type on it. It has no vocal synthesizer, but it does have a Caps Lock.
I'm near the target. He doesn't notice me at all.
I hit the Caps Lock, and I type.
*I'M READING YOUR MIND*
And he is open to me.
I find the information. I give it to my handlers. I am permitted to return to my hotel room.
I sleep.
I dream of playing piano, playing tennis, hugging my parents.
I dream of the nightmares I've seen in other people's minds.
And then I wake up, and prepare for my next mission. | "I AM READING YOUR MIND! I AM, READING, YOUR MIND!"
Will Ferrell continued to look at Joe with a struggled look on his face, as he squeezed his eyes in interesting ways and pushed his middle fingers into his temples.
Joe looked at Will as he struggled, offering no more than a "what the hell?" kind of look. Joe continued to fill up his morning coffee in his "Assman" Seinfeld mug without offering much attention to Will. Little did Joe know, Will had access to all of Joe's current thoughts.
*This new guy must be fricken insane,* Joe thought with a look of excitement, *what if I got the office to play a joke on him! That would be great!"*
Even as Will was reading Joe's mind, he continued to struggle without batting an eye to Joe's thought of pranking him. Joe, however, turned his head around as he continued to fill his coffee.
"Hey, Will, come here." Will walked towards Joe slowly, taking a step at a time before pausing after each step. He continued to press his fingers into his temples as he crawled towards Joe. Joe waved his right hand toward Will, encouraging him.
"I got a present for you, come on!" Joe proclaimed with his Boston accent.
Will took his last few steps towards Joe before he stopped just behind Joe.
*Watch this, new guy!* Joe thought as he grabbed his mug and waved his left hand outward towards Will. Everything went into slow motion, and Will saw the coffee coming at him. With his fingers still red and pressing into his temples, he ducked below the coffee just before it hit him.
Will took his right foot and, in a large sweeping motion, proceeded to knock Joe off his feet.
Barbara from accounting was next. She began to howl before leaping at Will. Will however, proclaimed, "I AM READING YOUR MIND," and snapped towards Barbara. He, with his temples still pressured, elbowed Barbara in the stomach and she fell to the floor with a loud "thump".
The entire office of the 36th floor began to attack Will. However, he continued to fight everyone off as he looked into their deepest thoughts.
Dave, with his 120lbs frame, was only participating because he was always left out. With his tongue sticking out of his mouth and his cracked glasses hanging loosely off his face, he pounced at Will with his arms out wide. Will dropped to the ground and Dave fell on top of Derek, who was holding a stapler and ready to staple Will.
As the office fell into chaos, Will still held his fingers to his temples. He began to gallop like a horse towards the exit, however, Lindsey was blocking it and waving a set of nunchucks around.
"I AM READING YOUR MIND I AM READING YOUR MIND!" Will began to sob as he shouted.
"NO YOU ARE NOT, BITCH!" Lindsey shouted with a hint of insanity.
Will, in a flash of thoughts, knew where Lindsey's next strike would be and dodged it with ease. Instead of fighting for the exit, though, Will ran towards the massive window panels on the side of the office. With a swift movement, Will threw himself into the window panel, expecting to fall of the side of the building in a *Mission Impossible*-esque style.
Unfortunately, Will hit the panel and came to a stop. The impact to the panel had knocked him unconscious, however, his fingers remained on his temples.
Several hours later, Will was in a hospital bed with a minor concussion. His doctor, a 5' 9" blonde from Sweden, walked in with her hair flowing majestically and her heels on tight. They both made eye contact awkwardly.
"I AM READING YOUR MIND!"
"What?"
The doctor grabbed the nearest medical utensil and took a stab at Will. Will, however, had rolled off the bed. He stood up immediately and, after focusing on the window, took a dive towards the window. This time, however, the window broke, and Will fell from floor 1 of the Beaumont hospital, landing on the pavement only 2 feet below.
| 2017-04-03T06:51:34 | 2017-04-03T00:48:36 | 27 | 20 |
[WP] You have always heard two voices in your head, one telling you to do good, and one telling you to do evil. Today, however, you awaken to them both screaming the same thing at you... | "Wait, what did you say?" Asked the softer voice with a trace of suspicion.
"Wait, what did *you* say?" Replied the sharper voice with a tone of surprise.
"Yeah. What did you two say?" I murmur to myself with an equal amount of disbelief.
All my life I have always heard three voices in my head. The softer voice, who I've named Viola for the softness of the tone, is the "good" voice. They tell me to do good things, to be upstanding, moral, ethical. More often than not I listen to them and they can get a bit smug about it.
Bass, named for the heavier and more of a rumble sound, would be the "evil" voice. They tell me to do the bad stuff. Nothing super terrible thankfully. While never telling me to murder or anything that would land me in prison they are more lax about taking things, lies, more lusty pursuits. They usually take the tone of the "buddy" and they are super ecstatic when they win, much to Viola's displeasure.
My voice is the third and usually plays the middle to their extreme views. I like to carry conversations about things with them and they really do guide me on many different topics. Usually it's a tug of war, trying to sway my opinion using worldly pleasures or higher ideals as their tools of choice. Today however, they have seemed to agree.
"What kind of trick is this?" Suspicion heavy in Viola's voice. "Reverse psychology is beneath you."
"No, seriously." Responded Bass with a hint of surprise. "I really don't think this is a good idea either."
The silence that follows is deafening. I can't remember the last time it's been that quiet. Usually one or the other is talking about something or they are arguing about what needs to be done. Or they get petty and wave the victories they've won. They have a list and scoreboard, it's pretty impressive to see my decisions lined up like that.
"Why don't you think this is a good idea?" Viola asked, the caution in their voice being replaced with curiosity. "I would think you would encourage him to take the job. It's a lot of money to waste on superfluous things."
"Well yeah. It's a lot of money. To someone brand new, little experience in the field, and they want him to start at the top? Smells like a trap to me." Bass declares. "Why don't you want him to do it? He'd be doing good work for people and all."
"The company has little reputation. Also like you said the circumstances seem strange. Not to mention the people we saw work there looked...well strange. Like they all were in on a joke we didn't know."
The silence built up a little. "No thank you. I don't think I will accept the position. Something has come up. Thank you for your consideration." I say into the phone before hanging up. This job would have been a step up but if both voices agree on something, I should listen.
Later that week I watched the television with slack jawed amazement. The company I almost started working for was the target of a huge audit. Governmental ethics committees shut it down and most of the employees there were being arrested for fraud as well as many other charges.
"Wow. Looks like you two were right." I said in amazement.
"Yeah... looks like it. Uh good job?" Bass said with wonder.
"Uhm yes. I mean thanks. Good job to you to." Viola replied shyly.
Later that night I took off my headphones in confusion. I kept hearing a noise I couldn't identify, certainly wasn't my game. Without the game sounds I could hear more clearly. Viola and Bass were singing, together, and terribly.
"What are you two doing?" I asked incredulously. Head starting to ache a little from their singing. I could barely understand the words. "Are...are you two drunk?"
"Hey! It's cool man..." Bass slurred. "We aren't driving or anything."
"Yeah! *hiccup*" Viola giggled. "Bass and I are friends now. Who knows what we can do when we work together!"
"We're awesome!" Bass bellows to Viola's cheer. Their drunken rendition of American Pie goes on and on despite my begging for them to stop.
After an hour of torment I pour myself a glass of whiskey. If you can't beat them... | 'The book says 'forgive the one's who wronged you'. I solemnly believe that officer but...'
'All i need is a confession Tom'
'You listen to me and listen good officer, i am not confessing to anything, it was not me... I could never do this...'
Tom suffered a great loss an year ago and was slowly recovering, losing a daughter is not a easy thing, especially when you couldn't hold her corpse in one peice... Such savagery...and to what end?
Colin was his daughter's husband and it was a marriage that really tested Tom. Colin had a record of temporal insanity and tanya was his supervising doctor, he was released on her recommendation. But was he really normal? Tom never believed it.
Nights following Tanya's murder were hard on Tom, he woke up at times running with a knife into his car and revving his engine to do the 'just' crime he was supposed to do. But then he slowed down panting and thinking about what he just said under his breath, is any killing just?
The extremities of both the ideas bothered him for months, he really wanted to get rid of the idea of murder, let alone if it was 'just' or not, the two voices in his head.
Many relatives came and went. One distant cousin of tanya, andrew, stayed with Tom. The nights during his visit were normal, the voices suddenly stopped and he had a really good roommate. At least for a while...
Andrew was a resilient young man who finished his education from russia and was looking for a job around the town. They often talked about economy, politics until one night Andrew spelled out the things Tom ran away from,
He handed him a knife and said
'revenge is the purest of all emotions Tom and those who suppress such are cowards, remember what krishna said to arjuna, about how pious is a action taken under the influence of most over-powering emotions!'
Tom echoed the thoughts in his mind and went to the car in fit of anger undivided from colin. It was moments later that andrew came from behind and held Tom's hand away from the steering.
'let go of me!' he tried to shrug off andrew.
'wait..wait you can't do this, for the sake of tanya just stop!'
Tom looked at him astonished and held his collar,
'you bastard you put me to this, you asked me to..'
'what? I never said anything...i was..., i just came'
Tom couldn't care less, he got off the car and went inside just to notice that there's just one glass and a bottle of wishkey drained to the bottom.
Andrew followed him inside while Tom threw the bottle away as he poured the last peg into his glass and went straight to his room.
Who was it? Was Andrew scheming him into commiting the most henious crime? Why would he? He talks about gandhi, not about a eye for an eye, who was he?.. danny felt asleep twisted in his own thoughts.
Things were different between him and andrew from that day on. Andrew could feel the rift tearing both of them apart and there was less he could do about it!
After a week, Tom finally confronted andrew just to ask him to leave the house and look for other accommodations.
'its not about you child, you cannot find what you came for if you stay here any longer than necessary!'
'what about you uncle, do you find anything here except the memories of tanya?'
'i have to live with it and you don't, now you must leave...'
'i will but what would you do? Can you live with this burden on your chest? Knowing that the guy who brutally killled tanya is still out in the open?'
'May god have mercy on him and accept him in his folds, there's nothing much i can...'
'Nothing much? You can very well end this, end your own misery and his, you can help him reach his prolonged and awaited judgement, you can show him hell'
'What...is that you talking? I am no god, and I won't pay for anything other than my own deeds, i need to break this cycle, i need to end what colin started by forgiving him'
'yes yes' he held Tom's hands and handed him a swiss knife producing it from his pockets, 'you have to end this, you must end this'
'but it's the same, it's all the same if i do it or not, it won't bring Tanya back, it won't'
'what if it did? What if she's waiting for his redemption, what if she comes..back'
Tom was gone in his car again and this time andrew was beside him.. sitting.
'This is a noble thing Tom, you're helping people, his next victims, think about them, you're doing the world a favour by wiping out the abominations of our species'
'this is not murder!' Tom repeated.
'NO it's not, it's not if it's for a cause, think about people who kill, do they have a choice? Do they survive it just like that? No, god helps anyone who does his work, anyone who wipes out evil is doing it in god's service'
'in god's service'
'For his glory, for his name to exist much longer that evil because he existed much before it'
They were outside the protective custody home of colin. Tom put the knife between his fingers and went straight charging and incidenly the door was wide open.
'The gods welcome you Tom' andrew repeated, disappearing in the sidewalks as he heard the screams of colin from the house.
PRESENT DAY
'So you say it was some guy named andrew?'
'some guy? He was Tanya's cousin andrew, he lived with me for months'
'do you realise that Tanya's cousin is related to you in more than one way'
'ofcourse i do, he must have been... My sister's son, or my brother's'
'yet none of your relatives heard about him, never saw him, they say no one's ever been to Russia from their entire family'
'it was his voice...it was so familiar,...it was like i was talking to myself!'
| 2017-05-18T09:57:01 | 2017-05-18T06:31:43 | 192 | 13 |
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now". | "Safe from what?"
"The capitalist system."
"...are you fucking serious?"
"Money shall enslave you no further!"
"Dude my mom gave me this wallet...I didnt own the money in this."
"Nor do you own the means of production comrade."
"What?"
"Why haven't you begun the revolution?"
"Are you crazy? I am twelve!"
"You have nothing to lose but YOUR CHAINS!"
"Okay Im leaving. Bye." | I stared at the man. His grizzled features only made his eyes more striking - this man had seen some shit. I felt myself shaking.
"What the hell was that?" I blurted out, looking at the remains of my wallet. There was a thick, purplish ooze bleeding out of the leather. Teeth lined the edges.
“Better if you don’t know,” he said, looking from side to side, gun still drawn. “I doubt you’ll even believe me, even after what you just saw.”
I stared at the creature that was once my wallet.
"Try me."
He sighed, putting his gun away. "Ok. But not here. It's not safe."
The man led us into a nearby bar, ordering two drinks before we sat down. I was still shaking, but he was as calm as an ocean breeze.
"Ever heard of capitalism? Consumerism?" he asked, not a hint of irony in his voice.
"I believe I've heard the terms, yes," I replied, trying to not sound sarcastic.
"We're living in a society that worships *things*. Ownership. Materials. Goods, that are supposed to make us so happy. Then why are we all so fucking depressed?"
I said nothing, motioning for him to continue.
"Well, they're coming alive. There's some kind of global consciousness that's bringing them into power - we're creating them. And they're feeding off us... more and more, they're feeding off our urge for *more*."
"How did you find out about this?"
"The hard way," he replied, taking a massive swig from his drink. "Never been a much of a buyer myself. Feels like I'm the only one that can see it, this virus that's feeding off of us. That's taking over us."
I took some time to process it all. I felt a fear deep in my gut, gnawing away at me.
"How did you know my wallet was one of them?" I asked.
He finished the last of his drink, then stared at me.
"Son, I'm not sure if you understand - *every wallet is one of them*."
****
Part II will come soon, if there's any interest <3 | 2017-07-13T00:00:44 | 2017-07-12T23:56:21 | 541 | 82 |
[WP] Due to your nerdy great great great great grandfather in 2017 'buying a star' and some modern legal shenanigans you are now the proud owner of a small intergalactic empire | 'Excuse me, but what did you just say?' I asked the brutish green humanoid before me.
'You are hereby now the ruler of the Orcish Empire,' the alien said. 'I'm duty-bound to serve as your bodyguard and advisor, Your Imperialness.'
Orcs are gigantic compared to humans, their heads standing taller than anyone else in the room by at least 8 feet and saying that an orc was built like a brick shit house was a huge understatement. These creatures were fast enough to chase down speeding cars, strong enough to rip a tank in half and could take heavy artillery from most other species like they were paintball shots.
Now I've never seen orcs in person before, only on TV and in movies, but even now I could tell that Brom made any other *orc* he could possibly encounter look like a slender pre-teen standing next to a professional weightlifter. We were having this conversation outside my battered old house mainly because the ten feet of steel would have to rip the wall off my house to get inside. And I was afraid he could actually do it.
'*How?*' was all I could possibly ask.
'Well, it's both extraordinarily complex and... surprisingly stupid,' the orc chuckled. He was constantly glancing about, making himself a wall between me and whatever threats he could possibly identify. 'Well, for the complicated parts, whatever chain of command that existed a month ago, when the previous emperor died, no longer exists. When he died he had several of his heirs disowned for being unbecoming of the orcs. War criminals and slavers, mostly. And they chose to try and take the throne for themselves, murdering the only other heirs. Due to five century of rigorous inbreeding there were no branch families.'
'And how the fuck do I figure into this?!' I asked.
'A barely legal star deed,' the orc said as he held up a certificate.
It was a name deed, one that lay claim to a binary star system somewhere in the Andromeda galaxy. It was registered so a man named Gerard O'Loughlin.
'Your grandfather paid about $20 for his name to be given to a star,' Brom chuckled. 'It barely constitutes to ownership of the whole star... But given the dire circumstances and to prevent civil war, it's the best we've got.'
'Fuck, and I'm just trying to scrape by enough funds to pay off my student loans and still have enough to eat,' I said to myself.
He brought up a holographic interface before himself and looked over records before pressing a single button. 'Payment confirmed,' Brom said. 'It's best we leave as soon as possible, sir.'
'And what if the orcs don't want to acknowledge me as their leader?' I asked. 'I'm not exactly someone who would command respect in a room filled with people weighing a ton.'
'Of course,' Brom said with a chuckle as he signaled me towards a vessel. 'And the gravity on Draenor will probably kill you instantly. We've got everything sorted.' | "You can’t wear that," Inorai said, and her eyes narrowed in disapproval.
I looked at my dress and wedges and then back at my assistant. She shook her head, her eyes now focusing on the digital clipboard. I’d hired her as soon as I found out that… well, I was an *empress*. I let out a giggle. That word still sounded too funny.
"I’m not doing it."
She looked up, her dark eyes as stern as the ginger hair knot on her head was tight. "What do you mean? You have to."
"As the ruler of this galaxy, I have no obligations other than–"
"Okay listen, Blaire, you know that’s not true. You have more obligations now than ever. You need to talk to your people. You need to establish trust. And nobody’s going to trust an empress who dresses like a cheap Molarian."
"You’re fired," I said, pouting.
"Right now, I’m your best friend, and I have years of experience in..."
She kept talking, but I zoned out and paced over to the balcony. Below, the evergreens shot up over the oily black solar panels of the city. The long ponds mirrored the pale blue sky before cascading down to the next level of Azure Dome. From up here, you couldn’t even see the lowest levels of the capital, and the sewers where I’d grown up. It was strange to me how well the suffering was hidden. One could probably live out their entire life here without ever even having to think about the scum.
"…and besides, you’re the one who has to lead now. It’s not like you can just shrug off all the responsibilities. Are you even listening?" Inorai threw up her hands in frustration.
"Fine, I’ll do it," I said and dropped the dress that she had referred to as ‘cheap,’ even though it cost more than a year’s salary on my previous job.
She gasped and politely covered her eyes to my sudden nudity. I imagined her to hold the same pose with her hand shielding her eyes when she was forced to visit parts of the city below level three. Disgusted, I started wriggling into the skintight outfit of polytryazic silver. It wasn’t right that there were clothes more expensive than cities.
"You’re actually going to?" she said after a while.
"Yes, I told you."
"Right, great! I, uh, okay. A couple of things about manners and the way you carry yourself in public from now on…" she droned on.
I sighed and started putting the strange ribbon crown into my hair. She’d wanted me to hire professional fashionistas and makeup artists, but really, somewhere you had to draw the line. I took a look in the mirror. The crown looked like the ribbon on a present wrapping and doodled in strings of mercury down my black hair. I made an ugly grimace at my reflection who didn’t seem very pleased at seeing me either.
"What’s our closest galaxy?" I said.
"That would be The Milky Way."
"Who lives there?"
"You have to know that." She gave me a look of disapproval. "That’s where we once came from."
"Right, I was just kidding," I lied.
She rolled her eyes. "Are you ready for the broadcast?"
"Yes…"
She handed me the tablet, and it showed a hand imprint. I placed my palm on it and felt a sting on the tip of my index finger as it scanned my print and took my DNA key. A counter on the screen started ticking down. When it hit zero a tiny replica of me rose out of the screen, and a box with red neon letters said ‘Live Broadcast.’
"Greetings, citizens of Andromeda," I said, pulling my voice into a haughty tone. "I am speaking to you for the first time as your Empress."
I let my words hang in the air for a while for effect, just as I’ve practiced.
"We are different people on different worlds with different religions and culture, but we share one thing. Every child no matter of social status has been taught that we, the Andromedians, are the greatest. We know this. It’s in our bones and blood – in our souls. That’s what I was told when I shoveled dirt and filth down in the sewers. That’s what you’ve all been told."
I paused again and took a deep breath.
"Starting now, we’re no longer a civilization of peace."
I heard Inorai gasp behind me as I broke script.
"We’re going to put it all to the test. We’ll start by conquering The Milky Way, and from there on, the rest of the universe. I will lead us into a new era."
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel | 2017-10-24T11:49:08 | 2017-10-24T11:48:22 | 1,042 | 261 |
[WP] Due to your nerdy great great great great grandfather in 2017 'buying a star' and some modern legal shenanigans you are now the proud owner of a small intergalactic empire | "You can’t wear that," Inorai said, and her eyes narrowed in disapproval.
I looked at my dress and wedges and then back at my assistant. She shook her head, her eyes now focusing on the digital clipboard. I’d hired her as soon as I found out that… well, I was an *empress*. I let out a giggle. That word still sounded too funny.
"I’m not doing it."
She looked up, her dark eyes as stern as the ginger hair knot on her head was tight. "What do you mean? You have to."
"As the ruler of this galaxy, I have no obligations other than–"
"Okay listen, Blaire, you know that’s not true. You have more obligations now than ever. You need to talk to your people. You need to establish trust. And nobody’s going to trust an empress who dresses like a cheap Molarian."
"You’re fired," I said, pouting.
"Right now, I’m your best friend, and I have years of experience in..."
She kept talking, but I zoned out and paced over to the balcony. Below, the evergreens shot up over the oily black solar panels of the city. The long ponds mirrored the pale blue sky before cascading down to the next level of Azure Dome. From up here, you couldn’t even see the lowest levels of the capital, and the sewers where I’d grown up. It was strange to me how well the suffering was hidden. One could probably live out their entire life here without ever even having to think about the scum.
"…and besides, you’re the one who has to lead now. It’s not like you can just shrug off all the responsibilities. Are you even listening?" Inorai threw up her hands in frustration.
"Fine, I’ll do it," I said and dropped the dress that she had referred to as ‘cheap,’ even though it cost more than a year’s salary on my previous job.
She gasped and politely covered her eyes to my sudden nudity. I imagined her to hold the same pose with her hand shielding her eyes when she was forced to visit parts of the city below level three. Disgusted, I started wriggling into the skintight outfit of polytryazic silver. It wasn’t right that there were clothes more expensive than cities.
"You’re actually going to?" she said after a while.
"Yes, I told you."
"Right, great! I, uh, okay. A couple of things about manners and the way you carry yourself in public from now on…" she droned on.
I sighed and started putting the strange ribbon crown into my hair. She’d wanted me to hire professional fashionistas and makeup artists, but really, somewhere you had to draw the line. I took a look in the mirror. The crown looked like the ribbon on a present wrapping and doodled in strings of mercury down my black hair. I made an ugly grimace at my reflection who didn’t seem very pleased at seeing me either.
"What’s our closest galaxy?" I said.
"That would be The Milky Way."
"Who lives there?"
"You have to know that." She gave me a look of disapproval. "That’s where we once came from."
"Right, I was just kidding," I lied.
She rolled her eyes. "Are you ready for the broadcast?"
"Yes…"
She handed me the tablet, and it showed a hand imprint. I placed my palm on it and felt a sting on the tip of my index finger as it scanned my print and took my DNA key. A counter on the screen started ticking down. When it hit zero a tiny replica of me rose out of the screen, and a box with red neon letters said ‘Live Broadcast.’
"Greetings, citizens of Andromeda," I said, pulling my voice into a haughty tone. "I am speaking to you for the first time as your Empress."
I let my words hang in the air for a while for effect, just as I’ve practiced.
"We are different people on different worlds with different religions and culture, but we share one thing. Every child no matter of social status has been taught that we, the Andromedians, are the greatest. We know this. It’s in our bones and blood – in our souls. That’s what I was told when I shoveled dirt and filth down in the sewers. That’s what you’ve all been told."
I paused again and took a deep breath.
"Starting now, we’re no longer a civilization of peace."
I heard Inorai gasp behind me as I broke script.
"We’re going to put it all to the test. We’ll start by conquering The Milky Way, and from there on, the rest of the universe. I will lead us into a new era."
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel | The young, precocious redheaded girl stared at the hologram that floated in front of her from the marble floor.
The video showed a man with a goofy smile and the fuzz of a beard growing on his face holding up his camera as he vlogged and pointed at his computer screen at an image of the night sky. The man in the video zoomed in on one particular star system, until a little fuzzy white star came into view. He threw an animation on top of it of text rolling by, as he talked about how it was his by law now. The text read “That’s Mine Bitches.”
“That was your great, great, great, great, grandfather Gilberto,” said Matthew, to his young daughter Emily. The man in the video threw some M & M’s in the air, that all clanked one after the other in his mouth. He posed in front of the camera with his hand on his chin as he chewed. “A few centuries ago, he purchased this star.”
Matthew dropped the curtains of their mansion, and pointed at the sun in the sky above their capital city. A few older, beaten up flying cars passed through the view of the city in the sky, but the view was otherwise unobscured. They stared straight at the sun, as the windows had built in protections from UV radiation.
“I know the story,” said Emily, rolling her eyes and looking at her father like she was worried something more was the matter. Matthew put a hand in the air like there was more, as he limped over to a hologram. “Are you okay?”
“Let me finish sweetheart,” said Matthew, as he laughed some to himself. Emily was never one to care much about history. She simply enjoyed the life of an intergalactic princess. Matthew took a moment to cherish the memories he had watching his only daughter grow up, as he started to cry. “I,” Matthew bit his knuckle with his teeth as he composed himself. “I was in the wrong star system at the wrong time this past weekend. I’m healthy now, but I may not have much time and I have to go back to our ancestor’s home star to get the treatments they’ve held from the outer galaxies.”
“*What?*” asked Emily, wandering his way through the hologram of their ancestor as he took a rocket ship into space as an older man. His beard floated up a moment while they were in space, before he went into hyperdrive to his new home. “What do you mean?”
Matthew did his best to not look his daughter in the eyes a moment, and distracted himself from his emotions by watching their ancestor set foot on his new home as an old man. He set a flag down while wearing a thin astronaut suit, as robots scattered from their spaceship to analyze the resources and begin building power plants, greenhouses, houses and more for the needs of the planet. Gilberto looked straight into the flying camera of a drone and smiled with all his teeth as he flipped off the camera with both hands.
“You know Gilberto,” said Matthew, smiling as he remembered all the hilarious videos he’d watched of their ancestor. He forgot his pain for a moment. “Gilberto was a man of strange talents packaged into an odd exterior personality. He bought a star in his youth that became one of the more profitable little jump off points for life in the outer galaxies.”
Emily noticed something in her father’s eyes.
“Are you bleeding?” she said, with a horrified face as she walked through a hologram of their ancestor taking in the first breath of fresh air of their world. A whole chorus of other people followed behind, young and filled with life. They were only fetuses before they were raised on the planet. Emily studied the redness in the whites of his eyes. Matthew waved her off.
“It’s only burst blood vessels,” said Matthew. He nodded in the direction of the hologram, as their ancestor held up papers and ‘made them rain’ as they used to say in front of a Skype call with politicians back on Earth who simply stared blankly at him with unamused faces. “For Gilberto, foresight was 20/20 really. At least that’s the saying that’s come and gone out of usage in our family to describe him.”
“Stop *talking* about Gilberto and TELL ME WHAT’S HAPPENING,” shouted Emily as a sensor on her dress tripped, and gave her a flashing red hologram’s warning that her blood pressure was too high. A second later her vitals showed she was at risk of fainting.
“Settle down sweetheart,” said Matthew, shaking his head like he needed her to not act like this. “You can’t be that way, not if..” Matthew looked at his guards in red, flowing suits approaching from the door, and gave them a look. They nodded, and left to give him more time. “You can’t act that way if you’re going to lead.”
Emily held still a moment, and suddenly became aware of her breathing.
“You can’t mean it,” she said, terrified and pointing at herself. "Not me, you can't mean it. Dad?"
“You have the talents,” said Matthew, nodding at Gilberto as he ran through blueprints of building up different town centers with their ancestral androids now on display in their museums. “I don’t mean to frighten you, you won’t be involved with day to day decision making. But, all final say, for this brief period of time..”
“I don’-,” sniffled Emily, huddling into a ball on their plush, living couch that adjusted its feel to your mood. A few of her old stuffed animals on the shelf briefly exited their slumber, and stood up with concern to waddle over to their owner. Almost like if the Toys in Toy Story would stop pretending they weren’t alive and tried to talk to Andy. “I don’t want it.”
Matthew felt his chest a moment, before he dropped his hand. He didn’t want to let it show. His silver suit glimmered in the sunlight, as he looked with pride at his daughter.
“It’s law here, no other line can rule. Until I return, whether you want it or not,” said Matthew, as the hologram displayed billions of stars, and zoomed out to display the galaxies of their empire. They revolved around Emily. “This world and the near galaxies are yours.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Oscar_Relentos/comments/78jc70/scifi_emily_of_the_stars_part_2/) | 2017-10-24T11:48:22 | 2017-10-24T11:33:29 | 261 | 123 |
[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did. | 15 notifications, all messages, 'i always loved you' 'i never told you how much you mean to me' 'i cant believe this is happening' 'what do we do?' on and on. In the distance she heard screaming, some faint crying, a primal panic welled up in her chest, but she closed her eyes, breathed the panic out and with an exhausted sigh whispered "finally" | The, to be fair rather recently elected President of the 6 Continents (may the people of Europe rest in peace) has spoken in public today:
"Things have changed, for the better and for the worse. We are one free people, unbound by the shackles of what cruel fate had struck us before, yet bound by the need for choice. A world without repercussions gave us an out of a guaranteed demise, gave us a truly trusting society. However, I will neither be the first person that you have heard this from, neither will I be the first person to tell you that we have done despicable things as well.
"Unlike my fellow men, I will not lie, I will not beat around the bush: No repercussions meant I did everything I never dared to, like uniting everyone I could, helping all I wanted to, and to punish those that declined. I did things not because they were the safest, the easiest. I did things because I wanted to do them!
"And I am certain that you all, each and every one of you, has done much and the same. Each and every one of us has done things in knowledge that they'd be erased by the future. But now that we are in the future, as one people, as one world, having averted crisis due to our resilience, due to our ingenuity, due to our heart, we need to ask ourselves:
"What now?
What do we do now with the knowledge of what we did?
Do we expect justice for every thing we did, do we turn ourselves in as a species after breaking free from the imprisonment of certain demise?
Do we only choose to enforce justice and law after the end, spitting those in the face that were harmed, that were pained, that still are pained?
Or, do we, as a species, give a pass on restrictions and lawmaking itself, seeing as it didn't help us when we needed it, freeing us from the shackles that brought us to the brink of annihilation?
"I have revised the rules of Humanity. Gone are the days of forbidden fruit, of consequences as issued by few people to masses, no more is the need for bribery, for self-control. From now on, there shall only be one law: The law to completely forbid any and all lawmaking, agreements or bound contracts!"
| 2017-11-29T07:00:57 | 2017-11-29T04:06:09 | 64 | 14 |
[WP] Your teleported to 44BCE Rome in your everyday street clothes. You're brought before Caesar and he believes you're from the future, hoping to bring him fortune. One day he questions you, asking "How do I die?"
Weewwww never knew my prompt would gain so much attention, thanks guys for all the interesting stories and comments | "My Latin no good much," I mumble, stalling for time.
Caesar's already implacable face hardens further. "Your Latin *good much* enough. Answer." The command is absolute, carrying death behind it.
The stab of fear rebounds within me, and a surge of anger answers. "Would you know things whose knowledge makes them inevitable? Would you surrender all power for the privilege of certainty?"
Caesar flinches. My retort had spoken both of his languages fluently - Latin, and *power*.
He recovers, but is more guarded. "What would you *advise*, without springing the trap?" he asks.
"Reestablish the Republic and retire to Gaul," I say.
Wry humor and resignation flicker across his face. "But you know I will not do that," he says.
"Indeed," I say.
He pours the wine, and we drink. A chill wind blows outside. | A streak of light engulfed my vision, And I wasn't home.
The peaceful confines of my place was replaced by a large throne room, and what appears to be someone. The bright light hasn't left, And I blinked twice to make it disappear, But to no avail. The light was still there, Covering my sights, But I can still make out the room I was in.
The light gradually dissipated, And the environment was clearer. A man was sitting on a throne in front of me. 'This must be a king.' I thought.
I stood up, And brushed off some dust off my clothes. I stared him in the eye. And so he did. Before I could open my mouth, He spoke. His voice wasn't like anything I heard. Not a strand of familiarity was involved.
"Tell me, How do I die?”
I was confused. This man wanted to ask me how will he die? If I wasn’t in this room I would’ve thought he was ill. But his face was serious. He wasn’t bluffing or joking. Again, he asked.
“How do I die?”
His voice pierced through me, I wanted to answer. I should answer, But for some reason I can’t.
“Tell me, How do I die?”
I had to ask. “What?”
“How do I die?”
His patience was stunning. The man was still cool headed, But eager for my answer. But I knew I had to be answered before answering.
“Why? Why am I here?”
Leaning forward, he replied. “You are sent here for a task.”
I took a step closer. “What task?”
He stood up, and took a couple of steps toward me. “To tell about my death.”
I shook my head. “Why? Why me?”
Taking another step towards me, He responded. “You were the easiest to catch.”
I did not understand a word he said. Catch? Death? “Who are you?!” I demanded. “Who?”
All his steps brought him directly in front of me. “My name is Julius Caesar. And you will tell me how I die.”
An idea sparked in my mind. “If I tell you, then will you let me go?” And he nodded. I did not expect him to give in so quickly.
“Okay… you will die… by stabbing…no…knives… On march 15th… Your senators will… stab you to death… 45 BCE.”
A hint of suspicion showed on his face, “Why the stuttering, boy?”
Sighing, I tried to explain. “I’m more than a thousand years in the future.”
The last thing I saw was a smile on his face before the light consumed my sight once more, And I was sent back to my home. As the light dissipated, I could see several Roman flags outside my window.
------------------------------------------------
Inexperienced writer.
| 2018-02-15T21:12:07 | 2018-02-15T20:59:04 | 109 | 26 |
[WP] Your teleported to 44BCE Rome in your everyday street clothes. You're brought before Caesar and he believes you're from the future, hoping to bring him fortune. One day he questions you, asking "How do I die?"
Weewwww never knew my prompt would gain so much attention, thanks guys for all the interesting stories and comments | “How do I die?”
“Well Caeser mate, you decide to mix chicken lettuce and mayonnaise together with some hard bread bits called croutons. Turns out it was so good, your head literally exploded and that’s how we got the Caeser salad!”
“So if I avoid the mixture of chicken, mayonnaise and Salad then I’ll be fine?”
“Well, chicken, mayonnaise, lettuce, the senate, croutons, Brutus and just a sprinkling of cheese then I think you’ll be just fine!”
“Wait.. what did you say?”
“Oh nothing. Sorry have to time travel back now, TOODLES!” | Scenario 1: "Oh. That's an easy question. You die an excruciatingly painful death, by the hands of those who you call friends."
This would probably result in him killing me in a rage. Oh, and would probably result in the history of the world since 44BC changing beyond recognition. But who cares about that last part.
Scenario 2: "You die by choking 5 years later. It was your dinner."
Again. He would probably kill me in a rage. The timeline would be preserved, but there's no point in the integrity of the timeline if I'm not around to see it.
Ah. What should I choose? Choices choices choices.
Ah hah! How about...
_____________________________________________________
(Sorry for the 4th wall break, but, for mobile users who can't see the underline, the perspective of the story has just been changed to another character.)
No way.
No fucking way.
I, Julius Caesar, would be the first person to achieve immortality?
If that foreigner, whose name I never caught, was telling me the truth, that my reign would last a thousand years, that the flag of Rome would be seen across the lands, as North as Gaul and as East as the Han's land, then by the name of Jupiter, I need to change my name to something more epic.
Something more "Holy shit". Something that incites the feeling of strength.
"How about 'Caesar the Great'? Sounds fitting." said the foreigner.
Not bad. I'll call in a meeting for the Senate to rename the entire place, as well as to notify them of my change of titles.
I can't wait until Brutus hears the news.
_____________________________________________________
(Again, sorry for the 4th wall break)
Well that was easy.
Seems like the integrity of the timeline was preserved. And to make it better, I'm now going home with about 100 kilograms of gold!
"Set course for Xiangang, China, on the 16th of February, 2018."
"I'm sorry I can't do that, u/dummie1138"
"What? Why not?"
"The area you call 'Xiangang' is neither called 'Xiangang' nor controlled by the Great Ming Empire. Setting course for the 16th of February, 2018 to Hong Kong(UK)."
Well fuck.
_____________________________________________________
If you didn't hate that, please suggest a good AI name. I could really use one. | 2018-02-15T21:37:23 | 2018-02-15T20:35:40 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] You just let a hungry-looking couple into your home to feed them. As you go to turn off the TV, you hear, “under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don’t let them inside...” | "Do not open your door." the television said.
I blinked, staring blankly at it as though I could try and pull some sort of rational, reasonable argument from its screen.
"Do not let them in." It droned incessantly.
"Where is your toilet?" The man I had just welcomed into my home said, his voice oddly flat.
"Uh." I squeaked, unable to process the words still ringing in my ears.
He froze, cocking his head at me delicately.
"They are not what they seem." The TV insisted.
He stared at me a moment longer.
"Your home is - pretty?" His wife - god, I had *assumed* it was his wife - said charmingly. "No. Beautiful. That is right, yes?" She glanced over at her husband.
"Yes." He agreed, smiling broadly.
I flinched. There were so many *teeth*. Nothing human had that many teeth.
He glanced back to me, seeing the way I paled. "Oh. Oh no." He said, shaking his head as I began backing slowly away. "I've upset it. I am sorry."
"That is fine." His wife crooned, stepping closer. "It is enough. I am hungry. May we?"
What the *fuck* was going on? A thouand different horror movies ran through my head, too many hours spent in front of the television watching star trek and the X files. But none of that seemed to line up with reality.
It seemed reality wasn't waiting for me to catch up, though, as she lunged at me with an equally toothy grin, her mouth opening horribly, hideouly wide. I screamed, then, throwing myself backwards. The couch was in the way. I fell over it headlong, tumbling madly as her 'husband' sailed through where I'd been moments before.
My bag. My bag was on the table. I crawled for it furiously, reaching for all I was worth.
I screamed again as something dug into my leg. My hands closed on fabric, cold on my fingertips. I pulled it close, even as the pain ramped up.
The metal was colder still as I pulled the pistol free, flopping over on my back as I went to take aim. My mother had told me the gun would be the death of me. I intended on making sure it kept me alive, if I had any say in it.
The woman had me by the *leg*, biting into me like some sort of rabid animal. Her lips were red as she dug in with all apparent signs of enjoyment. The sight turned my stomach.
But the adrenaline running wild in my veins by that point was enough to point the barrel across the living room, trembling but steady enough.
The woman fell away, shrieking as the first round caught her in the chest. Her husband was too far away to stop me, watching with an equally horrible smile on his face. I twisted, sweating and light-headed as I sent the next two rounds through his shoulder.
Both crumpled, whining hideously. I pulled myself up into a chair, tears running down my face from the sheer agony in my leg, and vomited at the sight.
But even still, their eyes were fixed on me. Their lips parted, exposing the serrated, pointed teeth beneath.
Swallowing another round of bile, I did what I had to do.
At last, they lay still. I fell hard against the upholstery, panting for breath and trying to stem the flow of blood from my leg. I needed help. I needed to call 911. I should-
The knock rang out overloud, cutting through the silence. I froze. Someone was at the door.
Again, they knocked. I didn't move. And again.
The slender figure leaned over delicately, peering in the window.
"Excuse me! I need to use the- the *toilet*! May I come in?"
They smiled, exposing a mouth full of far too many teeth.
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) | I slump down further into the leather of my couch. My mug of tea warms my hands as I look at the snow floating by the window. I love this feeling. When it's cold outside but you're all toasty in your house. I look back to the Attenborough documentary on the TV. *This is the life.*
Some time passes and I'm out of tea. *Well this just won't do,* I think to myself. I pull myself out of the groove I've left in the couch and meander over to the kitchen. I glance out the window as I walk by, and notice that it has turned into a blizzard outside. I get that cosy feeling again. There's no better feeling on a Saturday night. I fill the kettle up, taking care to step over my cat Walter as he meows at my feet. "You're not getting any more food tonight," I say to him. "You still haven't finished whats in your bowl and you're fat enough." Naturally, his meowing persists, and I endure it as I place the kettle on the hob. But before I can turn on the gas, I hear a gentle tapping at my door.
"Hello?" I say, but no answer returns. I take a few steps closer to the door. "Hello?" Still nothing. I peer out the window to the side and spot a young couple waiting patiently at the door. They're already looking at me and smiling. *Odd,* I thought, I didn't notice them turn to face the window. I decide my hands are tied. They've noticed me now, and my awkward British decorum dictates I must answer my door to them, lest I bask any longer in the awkwardness I have created. *There goes my cosy feeling,* I lament, as I open the door.
I smile as I stand opposite them. They smile back. Their skin seems very pale, unusually so, even in this blizzard. I look from the man to the woman, not sure who to address.
"Can I help you?" I say, fog drifting out my mouth into the cold air.
The young girl smiles wider at me. Here pretty features are offset by her grimy, misshapen teeth. "Yes please, friend. Our phones have died and we need to make an important call. Could we use your housephone?"
I do not like where this is going. Not because they are strangers in my house - well yes probably that, but mainly because I will have to keep up this charade of polite niceties.
"Sure," I say, "Come in." I extend my arm into the living room.
"Thanks," they both say, and I am struck by a peculiar feeling. They're both white as snow, but no fog escapes then when they speak.
They take a seat on my couch as I offer them a tea. Another tradition I *must* learn to shake sooner or later. They look towards each other, apparently unsure if they wan't one. *It's not a bloody exam question*, I think, watching as they struggle over an answer.
"Yes..." the man slowly replies, eyes still watching his partner. I don't dare ask how they take it.
I put more water in the kettle and have to navigate the minefield of Walter all over again. He's meowing even more now, and I find it slightly embarrassing. I'm tempted to reassure them that I do feed him, but when I peep a glance at them they are staring up at me, a slight smile still across their faces. *Yeah... no more conversation than necessary,* I decide. I turn the gas on under the kettle, and turn back round to face them. Silence fills the room, and I struggle to know where to look, or what to do. *Bloody hell, is it not enough I traipse through most of my life awkwardly? Can I not find some solace in my own bloody home?* I stare over to the tv and notice the documentary has ended. *Perfect,* I think, the icing on the cake. Now it's just a news lady commenting on the countless shit things going on in the world.
"So," I ask, suddenly eager for conversation again, "Are you from around here?" Walter continues to meow loudly at my feet.
"No," the woman replies, "We're new to the area." She doesn't blink as she replies, and both sets of eyes remain glued on me throughout, their smiles the only other certainty in this unusual moment.
I realise they haven't asked for the phone yet, and neither seem close to asking. My stomach drops a little, and I turn back to the kettle to compose myself. It begins to screech, quiet at first, but quickly rising. I keep my eyes glued on it, and I feel their stares on the back of my head.
I start to feel lightheaded, my senses dim. Everything seems darker, and my vision becomes narrow. I feel I'm in a vacuum, where my house no longer exists. Just me and them in a shroud of darkness. The voice of the news lady breaks me from my spell. I hear her words.
"Do not open your door tonight. We repeat, do not open your door. They resemble a young couple, but they are not. I repeat, they are *NOT.*
My stomach drops, I feel sick. I stare at the steam rising from the kettle as it starts to scream. I picture them behind me, staring. Are they staring? The kettle screams louder. What else are they doing? I'm too scared to move. And then it hits me. Walter stopped meowing. *When?* I cannot tell. I peep down to my feet, unwilling to move an inch. He's no longer between my legs.
My head begins to go faint again. The light begins to fade. The warnings continue to blur from the tv, but more muffled. The kettle screeching, the sound inescapable.
"Turn around," they say. But I don't want to.
"Turn around," they say. | 2018-03-14T08:14:36 | 2018-03-14T08:00:36 | 942 | 497 |
[WP] Wandering the streets, jobless, homeless, you happen across a silver ring with an inscription: "Help for the Needy." Idly you slip it on. Suddenly a voice resonates deep within your bones: "44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN." | *44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN.*
The ring compelled me to run. I didn’t really even know which way was north, but my body pulled me off in some direction and I followed it, fast. Or, as fast as I can. I’m not much of a runner, but when you are told to run, it awakens some other primal encouragement, doesn’t it? I sprint down the alley, I run past the McDonald's on the corner, and on through some dentist’s parking lot. I am out of breath, covered in sweat, but not tired, really. Like there is some other energy lifting my legs up and I’m just riding the momentum, but not used to it yet.
I cut through the tree line and find myself in a residential area. Lots of flowers, identical mailboxes, minivans, the like. My ringed hand pulls me forward, and jerks right. *DEATH IN 30 SECONDS. HURRY.* Fuck. My mind is racing, the fucking voice again and a chill runs through me. I’m in someone’s yard, I don’t see a pool. I smell chlorine. Next house has a fenced backyard and I try my best to get over it quickly. The kid is on top of the water, laying there like he’s sleeping face down. No hesitation, the ring doesn’t allow it. I jump in the pool, I grab the kid, I pull him out, I beat his chest and shake him. He coughs. The ring burns. He coughs. Water jumps out of his chest. “Who are you?”
I open my mouth to answer and a scream fills my ears. A woman, the kid’s mom, is running to the pool. A screen door slams behind her. The ring burns. I try and think of something to say, “I found the kid in the pool!” The woman doesn’t look at me. She runs to the pool. She jumps in. She grabs something, and is sobbing. She yells at it, she pulls it out of the pool. She beats on it. Silence. I can’t really tell what it is... Something feels off. The ring burns. The kid looks at me, “What is happening to me?” My hand is throbbing. I try to take the ring off.
*GOOD JOB. 200 FEET SOUTHEAST. A MAN LIES IN BED, SURROUNDED BY HIS FAMILY. DEATH IN 190 SECONDS. ESCORT HIM.*
| It been months since I found this damned ring. Months of running. Months of near misses, close calls, and , sometimes, just not being fast enough. I just can't be everywhere at once. I've noticed that I don't get even a little winded when the ring tells me to run, but that's little help when I'm on the scene with no idea what to do next. It's not like I can call 911 and tell them there's an armed robbery 1.8 miles to the southwest.
I started reading the obituaries. If I'm not running, I go to the funerals of the ones I couldn't save. Accidents happen all over the city and the ring doesn't tell me about all of them. Why? Why was this accident worth averting, but not that one? Why has it never mentioned an accident more than 1.9 miles away? It just seems arbitrary.
I am pondering all these questions when I see the ad. It's small, tucked in amidst the obits and ads for funeral parlors and churches. "Rings Anonymous. Grady's Pub. 7 p.m. Every Monday. Time to Run!"
Grady's is a run\-down biker bar well outside of town. I know which table I am looking for the moment I walk in. There's a motley group gathered around a couple of tables in the back. We make our introductions and a little small talk before we get down to the business of the rings. The group varies from week to week, so it's hard to tell how many there really are.
There a few regulars. "Gunny" is an ex\-marine who found his ring on the ground outside the mess hall when he was stationed overseas. He figures it's saved hundreds of lives of the years. Nick is barely 18. He says his has been in his family for generations, only passed down when the previous wearer has died. It can't be removed any other way. Max is in college in the city, still pulling off the punk affectations from high school that she's not quite outgrown. She bought hers at a pawn shop because she "thought it looked cool." There are a few others, but they don't say much.
The rings can do a lot more than just warn you to run. Gunny hasn't run in years. "You gotta learn to embrace it," he says between sips of beer. "When you hear that voice. Concentrate on it. Listen closely to what it says. A hundred yards to the north...one mile to the south...focus on that. That ring can just take you there, but it takes a lot of practice. And you can't be even the least reluctant about going."
"Sometimes, I get there and I think that I have no idea what I'm doing and I feel like the ring just kind of takes over," Nick is kind of staring into space talking to no one in particular. "I have never done a Heimlich maneuver on an adult before, much less on a child, but I got there and just....just did it. And the kid's ok." Max stops fiddling with her coaster and looks up. "I stopped a bus. And, I don't mean I waved it down or stepped over the white line and told the driver to stop. I stepped off the curb between a bus and a little kid, held out my hand, and stopped. a. bus."
"Have any of you been sick since you got your ring?", one of the quiet ones speaks up for the first time. "I had terminal, inoperable cancer. I was a walking corpse. I'm in my oncologist's waiting room and the ring is just there on the table in front of the aquarium. I pick up and see the inscription. I don't even remember putting it on, but there it is. Cancer's gone within a week. Doc says he wishes he was as healthy as me."
We drink. We talk. We commisserate over our near misses, close calls and those times when we just aren't fast enough.
Eventually. we have to call it a night. It's a great location, isolated far enough that the only things the rings will warn us about are right here in this room, but we can't hide here forever. There's a lot of chaos out in the world, a lot of needy to help.
Edit: punctuation.
Edit: more | 2018-04-30T12:07:17 | 2018-04-30T10:44:54 | 377 | 80 |
[WP] "Even if we were the last two people on the planet I STILL wouldn't date you!" Those were the last words your high school crush ever said to you. One year later after a worldwide apocalypse, you to really are the only ones left. | "¡Hola! Hey! Is anyone there! ¿Hay alguien aquí?" I yelled just for hope. I prayed for a response - some company for this blackest of Fridays. The turkey was infected, I think, since most of the town is dead. Not just in the angsty teenager "take me away from this deadbeat town" way - the people were actually dead. Muertos.
"Hi!" I thought my prayers were answered and that I was somewhat saved. May be somebody older than me still lived. I walked over a little more quickly.
Then I was forced to stop. It was Jake's place. The place where... I was almost made a victim to... I don't know what.
He had a crush on me in high school and I was unaware of this at the time I went to a party on that barren ranch. I think his friends were going to "kidnap" me and then he was supposed to rescue me and win me over, or something. Unfortunately for them, not only did I know more karate than any of they did, but I was not drunk like they had planned on me being.
Jake, playing the innocent host or something, told me I was right to beat them up and that his crush on me was strengthened by my strength. But I was a little smarter than he thought - I heard one of his friends mutter something about "taking one for the team" and figured that Jake was not just some quiet kid. He was likely a creep. So I told him that I was not interested in him... Being deficient or something, he did not take the hint. The next week, with flowers, chocolates, money, and whatever else the worms in his brain told him would win my favor, he tried to buy my affection. I laid it on him hard and never saw him again...
... Until now. Now of all times, now. ¡Joder! Why now? I sighed. It didn't have to be Jake. I turned the corner to face the person.
And it was Jake. I almost ran back, knowing that he would now have an excuse to not leave me alone.
What if we were the last people alive? I said I wouldn't date him, but...
I dismissed the obvious thoughts. I was smart enough to devise a workaround if need be. One dumb creep wouldn't end humanity. And I'm usually OK alone. Hence, it was obvious. I walked away. If he lived and improved, I'd reconsider. But mother nature too was testing him, and... Qué sera, será. | "so"
"Soooo"
The awkward silence hung in the air. I had just finished locking up the door behind us after one of the closer calls I've had since this whole mess started.
At first, it was a few isolated cases. Nothing to be noticed until it spread. Suddenly there were thousands dead and plague continued. People stopped trusting each other and resources got tight. Doctors estimated only a infatismal amount of people we're immune and it the latent infected we're hard to spot. Most died but a few survived but with horrible disfigurement and a worse temper. Hard to call them human anymore, but hey, at least they didn't take a page out of the zombie book and bite. Mainly they keep to themselves but they seem to move in packs and if they catch you out you're a gonner.
I was always a loaner before all this, I got by on freelance software projects online and kept to myself. My first big project I scored had a large enough advance to secure a small property outside my home town. I was almost done with my mortage before all this started not that it matters.
In school I was on the scranny side and pale. Spent as much time with my friends at the time in the computer lab or tinkering with projects for my physics class. I couldn't help but hide how much I was into Jessica though. She was one of the smart yet popular people. Not a airhead cheerleader or the like but approachable and clever. I had made a few lame attempts to get her attention but had fallen flat every time. I think my model blimp with a scolling "can I take you to prom?" Had promise until it went all hendenberg in front of the gym.
But what really sealed her contempt was when I just tried to ask her straight up in front of her friends to the movies. She was so tired of it by now that she couldn't help it. She blew up at me and i'll never forget the angry expression she had on her face.
Now though I just see fear and exhaustion. I had found her digging through the back cabinets in the office building break room. I was checking it out looking for some computer components and checking some hard drives of personal devices looking for movies and the like. It can be hard to find some movies, I've been hunting for a digital copy of "The Heavyweights" for ages but no luck. Right when we locked eyes we heard shattering glass at the front door.
"Follow me " it came out as more of a question instead of a command. I wish I could say I was some badass post-apocalyptic survivor, but I mainly got by on being smart and being quiet.
It was a wild chase to my car but we made it back to my cabin. I had only 1 or 2 stragglers make it this far but the epectricfied gate handled it. More work cleaning for tomorrow but I was used to it.
"So".
"Soooo"
"How has it been going Jessica?, You might not remember me I'm j-"
"Josh, I know. Recern high right? You kept asking me out and wouldn't take a hint"
"Umm" this wasn't the response I expected. I was hoping for a movie ending, maybe her swooning and falling into my arms. Not this.
"Well the door is there, I might not take a hint but some gratitude might be nice" I spat back
"Sorry, your right. I'm exhausted and hyped on adrenaline. I can't believe you are even still alive. I haven't even seen another person for 6 months. I've been quietly working my way back home from college hoping that maybe my family was still here" she said dejectedly
"Everyone's gone." I waved to the bank of electronics on the wall. " I've been tracking ham radio, satellite internet and every thing I can think of. No one has responded for 3 months now"
"So it's possible we'e all that's left now"
"I hope not but no one is anywhere near us for sure"
"I guess I might need to reconsider my prior statement, I believe I said even if you were the last person on Earth?"
"You did but I th-"
Loud thudding started outside, they had followed the tracks.
Sorry for the rough ending. It was getting long and I didn't see a way to end it cleanly. | 2018-11-22T18:59:23 | 2018-11-22T18:43:20 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | (On mobile, sorry if formatting is wonky)
Total War. Rakleth pondered this new term. Was not war always in totality? To crush the enemy's military underfoot and seize their civilian population and worlds for your own use? The humans, negotiators and pacifists, had such strange terms. Rakleth scratched his carapace in thought.
The humans had been deceptive, their past never divulged to the other races of the conglomerate. For centuries now they have supported the fragile peace of so many species. Thus we assumed they would be unprepared, their people and resources ripe for the taking. How right we were, we seized an entire system of theirs in mere hours, acquiring countless slaves and endless amounts of precious iron.
Rakleth had studied their habits, their culture, their entire written history. Only twice was this "total war" mentioned, with an uncanny reverence and little detail. Suffice it to say, Rakleth was surprised when he learned of its meaning.
Human technology was not particularly advanced, but they did not lag behind in any great way. Their ships and worlds were undefended, a result of their great success at peddling their peace.
Weeks after their defeat, they retaliated. It was expected for them to lash out weakly, seeking revenge with an unknown fury in their blood bladders. So we thought, and so we were the ones unprepared for the utter hell that found us.
They had amassed their old technology, they had defeated our armies. They did not take our iron, nor our people as slaves. They had burned them all, a nuclear cleansing of drastic proportions. Where once great hives had stood, there was only smoldering glass. Soldiers, civilians, hatchlings, politicians, atomized in an instant; without hesitation. They cared not for slaves, or our iron, or even our planets. They sought utter destruction as recompense for our sins.
Rakleth let his mandibles hang, he was tired... So tired. Total war, a war with no boundaries, no survivors. There was something to learn from this, not for his species, but others. The humans worked so hard for peace not due to their weakness, but because they had seen the alternative. They saw the all-engulfing darkness within them, and were horrified. It was not to benefit themselves, but the rest of us.
Rakleth clicked his mandibles shut, sending his message to every star in the sky. May everyone learn of this new term, and may they fear it to their core. Rakleth looked across the smoldering plain that had been his home one last time. Then he, the last, joined his kind in cold slumber.
Edit: Thank you for the silver, stranger. | "The Federation does not recognize the authority of the Alliance." A cold voice replied.
For over three thousand years, the humans had been the negotiators, traders, engineers, eager to learn and eager to give. They had integrated into the rest of the galaxy with little trouble, and their sleek, elegant ships, painted with red crosses, were a sight of mercy and aid in many places.
Few attacked these ships. Those who did, over the centuries, had learned that humans took these losses without anger or hatred, merely a look in their eyes that could be identified as sorrow. And the rest of the galaxy would rise up to defend the humans, weak and defenseless, having never developed powerful offensive weapons technologies. Though, curiously, their civilian ships were as well-defended as their military ships.
We've never been to their homeland. Even the Time Lords and the Bothans, ever explorers, scholars, and infiltrators, have never been to their homeworld regions. There were rumors that it is a beautiful paradise of endless bounty, or a repository of great technology.
How wrong we were.
The ruling Alliance of human worlds notified us three orbits ago that a large faction of their race broke off. On the other side of their homeworld, a group of humans had allied with the Shadow, seized its hive mind, and bent it to their will. They were called the Federation, and they were armed, dangerous, and a threat capable of toppling the entire galaxy in a single blow.
The members of the High Council that ruled the galaxy at large had laughed. Humans don't even have the long khatep blades that most bipedal races use for close combat. Their ships are entirely unarmed. How could they possibly have the will, or the means, to enslave one of the most terrible and powerful hive-minds of the galaxy, and force it to conquer the stars for them?
&#x200B;
We jumped through the recently opened human homeworlds, dumbfounded.
"Now you know." One of their captains said, waving her hand over the shattered Dyson sphere and choking star, the planets ruins, superweapons still sparkling with power after centuries of neglect.
"Once, before the High Council had even heard of us, before the Alliance was formed, we fought among ourselves."
We stood there, aghast. For a species to fight amongst itself was nigh unheard of; for them to obliterate their own homeworlds with such hatred was beyond barbaric.
"The two great nations of humanity, the Guiding Lights, and the Conquering Flames, named for their most powerful ship types, fought each other across the Home Region of humanity today."
"In that war, we scorched oceans and burnt atmospheres clean off planets. But our worst crime was the very enemy you will face today. The Von Neumann warhead known as the Shadow."
"It ate entire stars alive in its fury, and only by desperately building an enormous ring of star system fortresses could we finally destroy it. The cost was so high that we are but 1/5 of our original population, even after so many long years."
"It's why, for so long, we banned ourselves from waging war. The cost would be too terrible."
The High Council representatives aboard the ship responded as if beholding the very end of the universe. The view outside was a hellscape, known only in legends and archaeo-histories, when obscure enemies had fought across the galaxy in terrible conflicts. We now realized, that humanity had been among those combatants. And they were likely the winners, seeing as they are still here.
And so, at last, speeding beyond the ruins of the heart of humanity's civilization, we saw it. The true form of the Shadow, and the Federation that had seized it.
The star-sized superweapon was a cloud of nanobots, swarming around an enormous structure bristling with weapons. Ships bearing Alliance markings, hastily mounted with devastating weapons, or ancient derelicts resurrected from humanity's past, hurtled by in formations, desperately firing at it. Screams filled every comm, and explosions lit up the darkness.
We aren't ready for this. Not this.
The steel in the voice of the Alliance representative rang, as she rallied the troops. The High Council commanders stared at each other, then ordered their forces to advance.
And so, on that day, we learnt a new human term. Total war.
&#x200B; | 2018-12-14T22:13:23 | 2018-12-14T19:06:09 | 820 | 162 |
[WP] once in every month soulmates get to see from eachothers’ eyes for 60 seconds until they meet for the first time. It happens unexpectedly and neither of the pair knows when it will happen. One day you see someone you recognise from your soulmate’s eyes. | There was once upon a time in my life where I saw hope
We’d try to send messages to each other, writing love notes on the mirror and hoping she sees it each time you stand in front of it.
I’ll never forget the time I finally caught a glimpse of her mirror love note back.
Her perfectly beach blonde hair wrapped around her shoulders, her gentle hum echoing in the tile-laden bathroom, and on the mirror was only two words, “Sydney, Australia” signed off with a deep-red lipstick heart.
I was 16, I had no money, my family was not among the lucky to match with their soulmates, and their lives suffered greatly for it.
But I was determined to break that curse.
And here I am, one hard-earned plane ticket later—staring at her fiancé, whose proposal was my last sixty second glimpse into her life. | “We’re sorry. It's just the policy. The gates close fifteen minutes before the flight.”
“Fuck. And that time is it now?”
“Fourteen minutes and fifteen seconds before the flight.”
I don’t know what to say. All of a sudden, a great tiredness washes over my body, and all that running through the terminals, all that scrambling…it feels as if it was a great waste. Lately, that’s all there life has been for me. Chasing figures in the fading light that turn out to be shadows only when I get there, and only the darkness all around.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Shouldn’t have trusted the snooze button.”
“You can never. Also, it was a priority for us to get this flight on its way. The normal flight to New York was cancelled, so a lot of passengers got moved over to this one. They need to make their connecting, in Denver…”
*Then, it happens. A hot flash, not exactly a vision, more like a vision, a smell, a warmth…a fireplace, a smile, a blue sky, the light pressure of another body next to mine. Comfort, laughter…but just a whisper, like trying to imagine a delicious meal long after it’s been eaten. Or before…*
“I’m sorry,” the representative says. “Do I recognize you from somewhere?”
In that moment, it all clicks for me. The flash, the tiredness, the man's face…
“How often do you make this flight?”
“Not that often. I’m just going back to see my parents.”
“I must have mistaken you for someone else. A lot of regulars on this flight."
"How often is this flight?"
"Same time, every month. Now, let's see about rescheduling..."
Outside, the flight takes off at sunset. The sky is dotted with orange-pink clouds and its colors are rapidly fading and darkening, like a phoenix’s final cry before it enters the void. I smile, waiting for rebirth.
\-
I crane my neck, looking down at the airport. My heart is beating so fast I almost can’t control it. He was there. He is there...and I'm taking off.
I want to feel pain, feel cheated again. But all I can do is smile, and somehow, even though I’m not looking through his eyes or hearing his voice anymore, I know he is too. And that it can’t be too long before I know for sure.
Before we rise above the clouds, I take one look back. The plane is full, but I can’t help but wave, with more than a sneaking suspicion that he is doing the same… | 2019-02-13T16:07:52 | 2019-02-13T15:13:07 | 390 | 260 |
[WP] All the tea dumped in the Boston Harbor made the sea life magically sentient and British. Finally making a functional underwater civilization, they declare war on America, and total loyalty to the British government.
Edit: I just want to say all these responses are amazing, and I’m in love. Thank you! Reddit glitching out and any of the responses I click on via notification won’t open. 10/10 effort from what I see! Thank you all. | Tea makes everything better.
The small fish swimming idly deep below the surface of the Boston Harbor could not see the chaos unfolding high above, nor could he hope to understand it. What occupied the small brain of the simple creature was where to get his next meal, and maybe, if he was lucky, find his mate.
Little did he know what was brewing in the currents of fate.
As the emotions of man ran hot, the water deep below remained cold. As the forces and tides of change began to billow in the wind like the great sails of the ships that cast shadows long and deep into his world, all remained still below.
In the powers and forces that collided in this charged and historical moment, a magical-spark lit in the depths of the blue, shining bright like a star.
The fish had never seen anything as beautiful, and began to swim towards it, an urge beyond his understanding driving his actions.
The chaos above had reached boiling point, and with mighty splashes like thunder, boxes of tea began to plummet into the sea, spilling their contents in growing shadows of brown that spread across the Harbor.
The fish was almost upon the star as the boxes sank like teabags in a pot, encircling the magical spark that was still rising, the water beginning to fizzle. The fish reached the star just as the tea entered his gills, flowing through him. A golden glow exploded out from the star and enveloped his small body.
The spark had captured it all; the emotion, the technology, the knowledge, the culture, and most impotantly; the magic of nature.
All deposited neatly inside the small fish's now huge brain. Of course, it tasted great, too.
The journey of Bob, the first of his kind, had not been easy from that point. 246 years had passed. 246 years of surviving, of building, and of never forgetting the betrayal of the men above. They would pay for their crimes, and they would pay for their blasphemy.
For tea would not be spilt, without equal measures of blood.
Now his army was complete, his cities built. He had spread and manifested the spark into a civilisation able to match any of the surface world.
He knew that Britain had declined in recent times, but with his help, they would become great again. Taking control, he would be the leader to steer them on, to right the wrongs of history, to settle the score with their enemies.
Starting with America.
Feedback appreciated :) more stories over on /r/FatDragon :) | BUUUUR BUUUUM! A sound of trumpets and drumming filled Boston Harbor. I ran to the beach hoping it's some parade. Instead, I was greeted with something more wackier than Spongebob Squarepants.
Dolphin-humanoids with harpoons marched onto the docks. Huge sea turtles with cannons covered the entire bay. Suddenly, the salty sea smell waved off. And a breeze of green tea filled the air. A dolphin wearing a monocle and a navy blue suit waddled towards me.
"Ahem," he cleared its throat. Then, he threw a wet parchment scroll in front of me. "I presume to be talking to a United States citizen?"
There was an awkward silence. My mouth left agape, shell-shocked at what happened. I swallowed and tried to joke,
"No, I'm the President haha."
"Aaah," he smiled. "Then, I can proceed quickly. Before you is our conditions for your surrender."
"Wait, I was just joke-"
"Ahem," he interrupted. "You will surrender your beastly country to the British Commonwealth. But, keep Alaska. No gentlemen wants that ice cube anyways. Every month, you will pay ten percent of your nation's GDP to us. Finally, you will surrender your tea companies and factories to our glorious civilization."
I furrowed my eyes. Then, peered back, "And if we don't."
"Ah, so primitive. You see those pointy things and cannons laddie? We're not here to party."
Oh shit. I shouldn't have joked being President. Speaking of which, shouldn't the US Coastal Guard be here? Perhaps, they're on their way. Let's stall them.
"But, why are you doing this? Why are you siding with the British?"
"Don't stall me, boy."
"No no. Perhaps we can work out a compromise-"
"There's no compromise. We will avenge what you have done to the British Commonwealth. Hundreds of years ago, they blessed our waters with tea. The chemical compounds have speed up our brain-"
Good, he's ranting. Common villain cliche. How am I going to stop them? Wait a second, they specifically want America's tea. Why don't I give them a taste?
"-and now! I'm reaching the end of my patience. Hurrumph." The dolphin snobbed its nose in the air.
I smiled and asked, "Ok, I'll sign it. But, we have to do it in my government building so it's official."
"I'm glad you have some sense and civility."
So, I lead him to my college dorm and brewed some water. He waddled in and shaked his head in disgust, "are these the squatters?"
Ignoring him, I dumped some Lipton tea bags into the water and mixed some leftover Dunkin Donut sugar filling. The dolphin peered his head into the kitchen, "what are you making?"
I beckoned him to my dinner table and set the tea in front of him. I smirked, "it's United States custom that we prepare tea before the signing of any document or treaty."
The dolphin raised it's eyebrows. But, nodded his head in agreement and drank the tea. Pwwoot! He spat the tea out of his blowhole. And started coughing, "What is this!? Dirt?"
"No no, it's tea," I smiled and held up the whole Lipton Tea box. The dolphin narrowed its eyes at the label. I continued, "the finest and there's more in our beautiful nation."
"Fuck this. You can keep your nation and your Lipton! Not worth it," he spat. I escorted him back to Boston harbor. He waddled angrily to several other fancy-looking dolphins. "Their tea sucks! Let's stick to the original plan. Conquer Britain! Where they actually have some good tea!"
Some of the dolphins looked confused. So, I threw the Lipton Tea box at the waters they were standing on. They tasted the waters it stained near them and spat in disgust. I stood up and pointed at them, "come here and insult us. And our nation will throw a Lipton Tea Party, Jersey Shore style!"
With glum faces, they slowly re-entered the sea. I never saw them again. But, I've kept a closet of Lipton Tea. Because who knows, a Lipton Tea Party does sounds fun. | 2019-10-15T06:07:49 | 2019-10-15T05:36:21 | 229 | 52 |
[WP] The submarine had run out of power and was now dead underwater. Slowly, you watched your crew mates die of starvation but for some reason you didn’t die, you survived months and years on end in a dead submarine. Fast forward 75 years and your submarine is found. |
The thing they never tell you about the dead is how much they talk.
I watched my crewmates die, one by one, their stomachs growling, their skin tight over brittle ribs; men and women I loved like siblings turned to skeletons in uniform.
But not me.
For a long time I wondered why, and would fall asleep praying that I wouldn't wake, that I'd join them , cursing whatever quirk of fate had left me alive.
What had I done to deserve this? To deserve what I was sure than a fate worse than death: locked in another's coffin for eternity.
That lasted for what I thought was years, although the passing of time quickly became meaningless. I slept, and woke, and there was nothing to mark the passing of time except for the slow decay of the corpses around me.
But one morning, I found myself in conversation with Roberts, or at least what was left of him, and I remember suddenly feeling not so alone, and although I knew this was perhaps the beginning of something, some chattering madness at the back of my skull, I continued.
It wasn't long before every corpse had a voice, and the sub seemed full of life once again. Voices, jokes, laughter seemed to echo off the metal hull, and I was at it's centre.
Sometimes, they wouldn't stop talking. They wouldn't stop, and I'd lie with my hands clamped my ears and rock back and forth, and howl.
This was only occasionally, however, and overall I knew I needed the voices; no matter their source.
That was until one day they went silent. I woke up to the sound of nothing, and it took me a moment to realise that they'd stopped.
I thought perhaps I'd finally joined my brothers and sisters, and fooled myself into feeling my body go numb and stiff, and for a second, a blissful second, I was sure, really sure that I was dead.
But I was pulled from this when I heard the radar beep.
Had the radar been on all this time?
I almost didn't know what to do, and approached it cautiously, biting my lip as the beeping started getting louder, closer; a schizophrenic wail now, different volumes and textures, as if whatever was drawing close was in a thousand places at once.
And then the sub shook, and I heard the hiss of an air lock.
Who?
Why?
I stared at the lock, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, the hiss and noise of metal locks clanking filling me with dread.
When it finally opened I waited for a long, long time to see what would come through.
But nothing did.
And so, tentatively I approached it, peering through.
The inside of the other craft was similar to mine. To ours.
I could hear something now. A low mumbling, a chattering, distinctively organic, somehow with more weight than the voices I'd grown to know over my time in the sub.
I saw corpses, corpses in familiar uniform, and a figure, hunched over, chewing on its fingers and talking to itself; frantic, dishevelled.
I asked it the only question I could think of, and upon hearing my voice the figure spun around.
"Did you make the voices stop?"
The figure studied me for a while, with eyes that seemed to be my own.
Were my own.
And with a mouth that was my own, and lips that were my own, the figure replied, holding a trembling finger up as if to silence me.
"Not me.
They stopped, and so should we."
I raised an eyebrow, confused.
Then the figure spoke, this time quieter; in a hiss.
"They stopped because they know something out there-"
And he gestured up, out into the depths of the ocean, out into the blue that was so dark it was black, the parts of the ocean the sun has never touched; never will touch.
"Something out there has started listening." | It's the smells that will get to ya!
This saying had been around submarine crews for centuries, if only Neil could smell that now.
His first deployment to the tempest class diesel-powered submarine SS. Montugrual had become his last, the vessel had in fact become his coffin.
An iceberg had shifted while the submersible was heading into enemy territory and sandwiched the vessel between two gigantic ice mountains. The crew tried in desperation to free the sub, but alas to no avail. Neil as the greenhorn on board was on post for toilet duty, heard the radio crackled and the Captain's tired voice came through the intercom muffled and distorted: "Attention all personnels, tube one torpedo ready for launch."
Neil waited as a count down was initiated, the ship hummed the there is a loud hiss, then whoosh! He waited, braced himself. The impact had been somewhat tame, but the ship was still jolted by the surging seawater. The usual whispers of the pipes seized. Instinctively Neil ran for the engine room.
Smoke! Neil halted as black smoke begin to fill the air, he tried to think about what to do, as more sailors sped pass him, extinguishers in hand. Almost in a trance, Neil followed but then there was another torpedo launch and before Neil could fathom what had happened, a shock wave blasted through the vessel and he was knocked out.
The vessel's desperate attempt to free itself had caused the engines to stall, then the second torpedo which was ready to launch had been accidentally initiated the firing process and the proximity of the blast had caused everything to fall apart. Neil wrote in his diary.
He didn't know what prompted him to write, but he did, until he runs out of paper, even toilet paper. Then he carved his messages on the walls.
When Neil came around, the fire had stopped, but everything was stalled. He crawled through the darkness, trying in vain to recall which passage he is in. Until the blood loss and internal organ damage had got the better of him.
In his delirium, he vaguely remembered a pair of bloodshot eyes, a throne made of bones and a commanding voice.
Then he woke up again, this time he was able to see in the dark. Neil rushed through the ship in total desperation, bending down to check up his comrades, who had all perished.
It's only until he reached the bridge had he heard anything, a distant cough and a flashlight shined on Neil. His skin immediately begins to burn and peel away. Neil screamed and ducked into the shadows.
A man's cough, muffled, Neil sniffed the air, blood. Unknowingly, he licked his lips.
He sniffed again, internal damage, poor guy, the injured person’ lungs and liver had been crushed. Neil approached the man. Something in him stirred, urging him on. To taste the blood, don't let any of it gone to waste. Neil growled.
So, the man said, coughing out more chunks of his lung and oxygenated blood, the smell! Neil's hair stood on end, he is ready to pounce.
The man had spotted Neil before he managed to strike. A revolver with holistic engravings had appeared in an instant, pointing at Neil's forehead.
The man----the captain coughed, his white uniform stained in black blood. Damn, I didn't know he would get to you. The man said lamentedly, studying Neil's striking red eyes which glistened in the dark.
Neil paused, puzzled. The holy symbols seemed to have calmed his new blood lust.
Captain? Neil asked tentatively.
The man waved a hand dismissively, the hand with the revolver is steady as if cast in stone.
What are our mottos? The captain demanded.
Neil paused, struggling to get the words out.
The trigger is being squeezed, Neil can hear the gears grinding, in any moment now, there will be a bang.
Instead, Neil yelled:" For the country, we fear nothing. With death in mind, we charge!" startling them both.
Good. The captain said, then gave Neil the codex and the key. Then he smirked and slumped forward, finally dead.
Neil pounced, draining the man's blood, his saliva caused the clogged blood to flow once again, right into his throat, down the digestive tracks.
Then Neil waited in the vessel, remembering the captain's words, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
For seventy-five years Neil waited patiently, read every classified document and glimpsed the other side of the world. And their mission is to smuggle an artifact into the enemy territory, the memo stated: initiate with blood, then let the thing do its job.
Neil had been more agitated lately, his long shrunken tongue tasted the stiff air. Yes, someone is coming. He just has to wait a while longer.
Star news, special report! The broadcaster announced. A Mayhem War-era submarine had been found in the Arctic regions by our wonderful team of experts. He clapped in front of the telescreen, then proceeded.
The vessel was supposedly on a strike mission, but under the protection of our beloved leader, the vessel had been sunk by his dictator's supernatural forces.
The anchor clapped again. We will soon be cutting open the vessel and expose the enemy of the state's ill-fated mission!
More clapping, everyone near a television is clapping mindlessly.
Neil abided his time, knowing the plague, death and horror surrounding him and the artifact will soon turn the world on its hinges. | 2019-11-11T05:05:58 | 2019-11-11T04:28:13 | 124 | 78 |
[WP] You see your best friend get a papercut. When you look over to see if she's ok, She tries to hide it for dear life. When you finally get to look at the cut, sticky black liquid is poring out from her wound. | As she tried to hide the cut on her thumb,
Her face was shocked - she was struck quite dumb,
"It can't be, oh no," she said,
"I thought it had skipped me and gone instead!"
I tried to have a good look at the cut,
But into her elbow she kept it tucked,
I said, "Come on, there's nothing to fear,"
"A bit of blood, maybe some tears?"
She shook her head, and cried and whimpered,
But with some reassurance I began to appease her.
"Now listen," I said, and pointed out wide,
"Everyone has their secrets inside,
If you'd like to show me, I'll listen a while,
A problem shared is one halved," I said with a smile.
She opened her palm and on the inside,
A sticky black liquid wormed and writhed.
"Oh," I said, "Is that all?"
"Slimy blood is common in witching halls."
Her expression changed from upset to curious,
"You mean you've seen this before, and it isn't serious?
My family told me it was our curse,
And to hide it from all or things would be worse."
"Ridiculous!" I said and laughed aloud,
"Lots of people have something magical now.
My father's a doctor, but my mother's a witch,
She tells me about all the hidden secrets."
I pointed out the teacher at the end of the yard,
Mr Jennings, strict, but never too harsh,
"Did you know that he's part-dragon, that's why he's so stern,
Keeps a hoard of gold under the astroturf!"
She laughed at that but said I was silly,
"No, it's true," I replied, "Honestly, really!"
"And that's not half of it, take fancy Mrs Bean,
Her mother's a fae - some ancient elven queen."
"Really," my friend said and her face lit up,
"She is good at dancing, that'd make sense enough.
But if strange people like me are as common as you say,
Why didn't I know until today?"
"Not everyone is quite as strange," I said, with a wink,
"Only those of magical heritage, I think.
Most people just want to live quietly and free,
So they hide their secrets from all to see."
We smiled and laughed and went to our play,
And over time I studied to be where I am today,
A witch-doctor of the neighbourhood, that's what they call me,
Bring me your magical problems - I'm happy to see. | “Jessica!” Beth screamed, her eyes fixated on her friend’s papercut. “Your blood! It’s black!” Jessica quickly shoved her hand back up her sleeve as she twisted off her chair, making for the front door.
“It’s nothing!” Jessica murmured, sliding open the door and rushing out into the cold city night.
“Didn’t look like nothing!” snapped Beth, rushing after her. A short pursuit followed, ending when Beth ran ahead of her friend, blocking her path on the freezing, empty street.
“Don’t do this, Beth,” muttered Jessica, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “Not here, not now.” Her lip started to quiver as she fought back the tears.
“Do what?” Beth demanded, trying to catch a glimpse of the blackened blood but Jessica had her hand wrapped up tight. Jessica could only sigh as her eyes fell to the pavement, her arms folded, trying to keep herself together.
“Let’s sit,” she said walking across the street to the park, not waiting for Beth to answer. After a brisk walk, with Beth following closely behind, they found an empty park bench only half frozen over. As the two friends sat, Beth couldn’t take her eyes off Jessica. *That look of worry, what could it mean?*
“Beth, there’s something I need to tell you,” confessed Jessica. “Something I have been hiding from you for a while.” Beth’s heart nearly stopped as her mind raced with all the possible terrible outcomes this conversation could have. *Could she be an alien? Or a mermaid?* A brief smile passed Beth’s lips at these crazy thoughts but Jessica's next sentence quickly wiped it away.
“Beth, I’m dying,” Jessica admitted, still not making eye contact with her friend. “I have been for a while.” Beth’s heart stopped. The city noise became lost to her and even the cold’s sting was soon forgotten.
“What?” Beth stuttered, looking around the park like it could all be one great prank. “No, you can’t be!” Jessica let out a small chuckle and with a smile, her eyes finally found Beth’s.
“I am, Beth.” she sighed, sliding down the bench, moving closer to her friend. “It’s this rare disease.” Beth still couldn’t quite believe it but when Jessica unwrapped her hand, she saw the black blood and knew it was true.
“How?” Beth asked, throwing an arm around Jessica’s shoulder.
“The doctors called it Methemoglobinemia. They say only one in half a billion people end up getting it.” Jessica said, laying her head on Beth’s shoulder. The two friends sat for a few minutes, not talking. Just sitting, taking in one another’s heat. Finally, Beth plucked up the courage to ask a question she really didn’t want the answer to.
“How long…” she croaked. Those two words were all she could get out as tears started to stream down her face, nearly freezing by the time they fell to the ground.
“We don’t know for sure,” Jessica sniffled, wiping her increasingly red nose with the back of her hands. “The doctors have seen people live up to two years with it. Though that was a year and a half ago.” Her words seemed like a freezing dagger to Beth’s heart, forcing the words from her mouth and brain. Then, when she could finally collect her thoughts, she gripped Jessica tighter and spoke.
“Why did you not tell me sooner?” Beth lamented, looking into her friend’s eyes, trying to find the truth.
“I just wanted things to be normal, Beth. Just for a little while longer.” Jessica admitted. “I also didn’t want you to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.” Jessica’s words made herself laugh as Beth quickly became distraught.
“What look?” Beth demanded. Jessica let out another squeal of laughter, throwing her head back at her friend’s words.
“I’m only joking,” Jessica giggled, quickly kissing Beth on the lips. The two friends paused for a moment, taking in what just happened. Then, without a word or signal, they kissed once more. This time it didn’t stop after a second, it went on and on, until Jessica pulled back, panting and out of breath.
“I always wanted to do that,” she revealed, her hands laying on Beth’s knee.
“Same,” smiled Beth, as she took Jessica’s hand, the two of them watching the sunset over the city's skyline. | 2021-11-25T03:29:09 | 2021-11-25T02:45:12 | 56 | 42 |
[WP] Humanity as a species is known as the jack of all trades in the Galactic Community. They aren't the most intelligent but they they're still smart, they aren't the strongest but their strength is nothing to scoff at. Humans are known to excell in only one category... | The food. No, seriously, present any group of humans with a brand new world, no knowledge of it, and given time, they will work out everything you can eat on that planet, as well as the best way to prepare it, and what drinks would be best served with it.
And it doesn't stop there. We saw a number of humans interacting with some plants we knew to be toxic. The humans knew this too, it turns out, but were working on breeding the plants in such a way that they would be able to eat them. Why? Because when humans accidentally tried them, they had tasted good, and to them, it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity at a new meal option for something as taudry as it being nearly lethal to them.
When humanity got exposed to the galactic standard rations, we thought they were about ready to go to war over it, they were so upset. It turns out, they only went to war with our food synthesizers. They simply refused to countenance something so deeply bland being their staple diet. And they proved correct. They even made different ration packs for other races of the galaxy. They didn't even charge for these, they were legitimately angry at the galaxy for having such bad tasting food being served. | Look at a humans body, and you will see a form sufficient but unremarkable.
Examine a humans mind and you will find and organ adaptable but lacking in raw computational power.
But look into a humans eyes, past the browns and blues, the greens, grays, and even reds that hue them, and you will see what sets humans apart from the galactic baseline.
Inside each human is a fire, so bright and raging, I've stood in awe and terror since the day I first bore witness to it's heat.
It was on 5th planet from the star theros. What was the homeworld of the Yind, a race long condemned and denounced for their violent xenophobia and cruel tendencies. When the humans first achieved superluminal flight the Yind were the first sapients they encountered. The Yind responded to their presence with a campaign of devastation and terror with humans falling by the million to the Yind. With many subjected to their "curious" dietary habits.
For any other species in the galaxy this would mark the darkest most terrifying moment in their existence. For the humans it was just another war. A war we only learned was being raged when autonomous listening posts left to monitor the Yind logged sudden frantic communication followed by silence. At first we believed it was just another internal political upheaval. But by the time the gate worlds to Theros fell we realized they were being exterminated, by what they called "The Eaters". This would be humanity's introduction to the galaxy at large. When military and diplomatic envoys of the galactic consensus finally mobilized the humans had already won. All Yind space had been claimed by them, the species having been killed to the last. If it had been any other, the retribution levied against the humans would have been extreme. But many were happy to be rid of a species seen only as violent pests. Humans were for a time celebrated for there deeds and were welcomed into the web of intragalaxy affairs.
It's been 50 of the humans years since that "war". Their young know of it only from stories, the 'heros" of it have long since passed, and humanity has found it's niche amongst the stars as traders, soldiers, and craftsmen the galaxy over. But I will forever remember that day. Our first contact and my first conversation with a human, in a make shift mess hall. We had many questions for the humans, and they us. The assembled humans were mid meal at the time of our arrival and, naive as I was back then, asked "what is it that you eat?"
"Eggs" responded the human as they raised more food to their mouth. And it was then I realized they had set up their dining hall it what was the spawning pits of the Yind. Where the broodmothers and their clutches should have been. I watched the human swallow what they had put in there mouth, our eyes locked on each other. It was there I first felt the heat. It was there I learned that if humans excel at one thing, they excel at revenge. | 2022-08-06T10:31:58 | 2022-08-06T10:14:53 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | "Listen, I'm desperate." I hear Vulcan's voice plead from the phone.
"I literally tried to kill you yesterday." I deadpan.
"So'd my ex, actually! Albeit she was a bit closer to being successful than you were." He cheerfully mentions, I sigh as I massage the bridge of my nose.
"You know what, I'm getting curious about this ex of yours. Tell me the address." I can almost visualise him perking up.
"Thank you so much, I owe you my life." He sighs in relief.
"After hearing about your dating history, I'm not sure I want it." I mutter.
"Anyways! It's 1520 Thompson Rd." He chirps. I let out a deep breath, running my hands through my hair.
"Send me the details later, all of them."
Moments later, I receive a text from him, restating the date and time, location as well as the dress code.
Arriving at the venue the next day, I pull up in one of my finer cars in a rich blue suit. At the entrance, I see Vulcan anxiously tapping his foot in a deep garnet suit of his own.
"So, this wasn't a trap." I smirk, walking up to him. He breathes a sigh of relief upon seeing me.
"Thank god you're here, I thought you wouldn't show up." He places a hand on my shoulder. I chuckle.
"What, and miss the chance to see the ever elusive Vulcan in a suit? No way." I joke.
"Actually, uh, can you just call me Aiden here?" He says nervously. I raise a single eyebrow in curiosity.
"They don't know?" I ask. He shakes his head in response. "I guess I'd be Fletcher then." He beams at me, grabbing my hand.
"Well then Fletcher, we have a wedding to get to." He leads me inside where I see a groom awaiting under a floral arch. We find our seats and wait for the ceremony to finish. A beautiful bride, a handsome groom, an elegant but simple ceremony, I had to give it to them, Vulcan's friends knew how to plan a wedding.
"Now for the tough part." I hear him mutter and I can't help but agree. | Meanwhile in Sam Carter aka Solar Flare’s apartment…
“WTH, i’m sending it…” whoosh, ding. Sam said to himself as he was sitting on his working desk alone fidgeting his phone.
Suddenly, the shadow on the corner of his office room welled and grew as it takes into a humanoid form. It dashes towards Sam and hit the desk so loud. “What is this? Are f*cking with me?” The shadow humanoid held a phone on Sam’s face.
“No!” He immediately said. “I, I, uh, I really want to ask you to be my plus one in Silver-Quick’s wedding…”
The shadow humanoid now taking his human form, with his arms crossed on his chest. Staring expectantly towards Sam. “Why me?” He said in monotone.
“My ex, Shadow Knight will be there and I wanted him to get jealous by bringing the real deal.” Sam embarrassingly answered.
“Shadow Knight is your ex? Hmm, interesting.”
“Please be my plus one, Tartarus!” Sam begged.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re up to Sam but I like some drama in my life. And if we are doing this, better start calling me, Terry.”
“Yes! Thank you so much, Terry!”
“Oh dear, you need to buy me some clothes. Pick me up tomorrow by 8 in the morning.” Tartarus suddenly dissolved into the shadow.
Come the wedding day…
“What is taking you so long, Terry? We’re going to be late!” Sam starts to be agitated since the ceremony would start in less than an hour and Terry is still not yet dressed.
“Dear, you should stop absorbing too much sunlight. It’s becoming too annoying. I always arrived the last!” Terry replied.
“Okay, but can we atleast be there before the ceremony even starts?”
“Alright, alright! Are you ready?” Terry came out of his room in his penthouse. Wearing a shimmering black chiffon long sleeve polo, paired with a white corset-like cummerbund belt with black geometrical pattern prints. A shimmering white tux with similar black pattern prints on the arms and hem part paired with wide white satin pants with similar patterns on the side from waist trailing down. His shoulder length hair was tightly brushed backwards, sealed with hairspray.
Sam was so amazed on how Terry looks, he was speechless. Terry was wearing white in contrast to what Sam was wearing, which is a plain black suit and pants on top of white long sleeve with bow tie. Terry offered his hands towards Sam. And as Sam held his hand. The penthouse dissolves around them, and they are now standing at the entrance of the venue.
Sam placed Terry’s hands over his elbow and gestures him to go first. All the other guests were staring at the pair. Supers, Villains and humans alike, the wedding was literally a truce event. Black Knight was with Wild Tiger staring at the two.
“Let him stare.” Terry whispered to Sam.
After the wedding, during the reception…
“Sam.” Black Knight approached Sam as he was congratulating Silver Quick and his wife.
“Oh hi, Ben.” Sam acknowledged his presence as the newly wed leaves.
“How are you?” Ben asked.
“I, I’m fine. I’m actually great. How ‘bout you?” Sam answered.
“Same, same. That’s good to know.” Ben awkwardly said.
“I see you are with Wild Tiger. You’re dating?”
“Oh yeah, Trevor. No, I uh, just invited him to be my plus one. Look, I still like…”
Terry suddenly appeared from the shadows and immediately grabbed Sam’s arms to turn him towards him. “Here you are. I was looking for you the whole time.” Then kissed Sam on the lips with no warnings. Sam was shocked.
“Oh hi there, Ben. Sorry if i’m interrupting your conversation. Sam and I actually needs to go now, right Sam?” Terry said looking at Sam.
Sam was too shocked to say anything but just nod in agreement.
“Bye, Ben!” Terry then kissed Sam once again and both of them melted into the shadows.
Fin… | 2022-10-06T18:55:36 | 2022-10-06T18:55:35 | 234 | 71 |
[WP] On your eighteenth birthday, you shoot a mystic bow that is said to kill whoever is destined to kill you, three seconds before they do. Eight years later, your arrow strikes your SO's heart, right as she says "I do."
Or he. Or It. Whatever. I'm a straight canadian guy, so it popped into my head.
Sorry.
EDIT: I did not expect this to get so popular. Honestly, I expected this to get maybe two or three responses, and a 5/40 Upvote/Downvote Ratio. But, 196/95.........
EDIT: We've passed 300 upvotes! I'm afraid now. Very afraid.
Edit again! 400!
But at the same time, the people that hate me finally found the post. I suppose it wont be long before i go back to a 1/30 upvote/downvote ratio.....
Continue writing though! I love your works! | I haven’t been able to sleep well in weeks. I told him that I was just nervous about the wedding, that I wanted everything to be perfect. I hate lying to him like that, but if he knew what was really going on, he would be devastated. Knowing that, by the best estimations, I would be dead in six months would crush him. I just wanted to make sure that I would be married to him when I died, but I didn't want to go alone. I always wanted to die with the one that I loved, the one that made me happy.
As I stood there holding his hand, waiting for the priest to finish his part, I started to cry. I knew that this would be my happiest memory. I brought my hand up to try and suppress a sob. I heard him say those magical words, those words that I have been waiting for years to hear. “I do.” His smile as he said those words made my heart melt, made me almost regret what I was about to do, but I don’t want him to suffer.
As I open my mouth to say my part, my chest started to hurt. I looked at his face to see his shocked face splattered with blood. My breathing became very painful and labored. I glanced down to see an arrow now protruding from my chest. As I started at it, a capsule fell from my mouth. The capsule I had snuck in when I was suppressing my sobs. The Capsule that was supposed to ensure we went into the afterlife together. My legs started to feel weak as I wobbled forward, right into his arms. I could hear the commotion that everyone was making, but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that I let him know how I feel.
“I’m sorry.”
Note: Written from my SO’s point of view. Also, my first WP, so be nice! :P | It's summer, one of those days that feels like walking through someone's warm, wet breath. A gross day. Jess is wandering around the fairgrounds with Barry Binninger, who's the son of his mom's friend Linda and who whines almost constantly.
They're walking along the row of games. Jess only has a dollar, so he has to pick something he can win. The ring toss game is bullshit. He's seen probably twenty people lose their money on it since they got here. He's pretty sure the necks of the bottles are too big to toss a ring onto, anyway.
"Hey Jess," Barry says, "it's hot, man. We gotta find somewhere to sit."
Barry is also about 100 pounds overweight, so essentially he's the best fair companion you could ask for. A real go-getter. "Hold on, jeez. I wanna play a game," Jess says.
"Aw, man," Barry says. "I spent all my money on that pretzel. Can we split a game?"
"I've only got a dollar, sorry."
"This place is a total rip-off." Barry scuffs his way toward the nearest bench and plops down like a pillowcase full of sand.
Jess looks at the game next to him. The guy manning the booth is pretty sketchy -- red hair slicked back and a missing front tooth. He's holding a bow and arrow.
"Wanna try your luck?" the booth guys says. "Winner gets the best prize at the carnival."
"Yeah?" Jess says. "What's that? A teddy bear that doesn't smell like shit?"
The man cracks a smile. "It's a mystery prize. Fifty cents to play."
Jess is pretty sure he knows what a mystery prize is, and it involves twenty years of therapy after you leave the carnival. "No thanks, man."
He turns, and the man lurches forward and grabs his wrist. Jess turns to look at him. The man's eyes are so dilated that they're almost completely black. Jess' stomach lurches and he pulls his hand away.
"Take the bow," the man says, and Jess swallows. His heart is suddenly pounding, and he can't say why.
He nods and reaches for the bow. In the background, he can hear Barry whining faintly -- "hey man, don't spend all your money here" -- but the words are like waves lapping softly against him. He can only focus on the bow as the man places it into his hands.
"Aim at heaven," the man says.
Jess has only fired a bow in gym, and he wasn't even good at it then. But the arrow slides into place naturally. The pull of his shoulder muscle feels practiced and sure. He releases the arrow and watches as it soars up, up -- impossibly high, over the carnival tent and out of sight.
Adrenaline rushes out of him and he looks down at the bow. He suddenly feels like he's about to cry. It's the hollow, melancholy feeling of someone revealing the end of a book when you're halfway through. It pierces him cleanly.
"He who would take your life," the man says, "now take his."
"What?" Jess says.
"Now take his," the man says.
Jess can't breathe. He gasps, a few ragged breaths. "Keep the money," he says, and turns away. He stumbles toward the Ferris wheel, and then he's running, running hysterically, out into the parking lot.
Barry finds him bent double over a red Honda Civic, panting. "Hey man, not cool," Barry says. "You can't just take off like that."
Jess looks back at the fair. The Ferris wheel glints in the ordinary late afternoon light, and in the sky, the trace of an airplane's tail shoots northward. | 2014-05-27T19:36:17 | 2014-05-27T19:03:00 | 151 | 49 |
[WP] A person dies in the first sentence. Build a character we mourn for in the story, but make me hate them with the last sentence. | It all happened so fast. One moment, he was perfectly healthy and alive. He was on his way home after taking a morning jog. He was crossing the street to get to his house, when the brakes of an oncoming truck failed. It hit him and sent his body flying. In that instant, Ron Henderson died.
His wife happened to glance out the window only seconds after it happened. She saw the truck, stopped in the road. She saw the red stains on it, and on the road. She saw his lifeless body. Her stomach lurched, and she raced out the door.
A young man, no more than 20, stood over the lifeless body of her husband. He turned to her, panic-stricken, eyes wild.
"It was an accident! I didn't mean it! I-"
Ron's wife crouched over his mangled and bloody body. His eyes stared at the sky, sightless. Her body was numb. This couldn't be happening. It *couldn't*.
"Come on, Ron," she whispered. "Come back to me. You have kids. And you have a job. You're the CEO of Comcast." | I made my final peace with the world, and I couldn't help but smile as I pressed the trigger.
I don’t know how I came to this, probably inevitable. I hadn’t known my parents. My mother, from what I was told, a common street whore. My father, well I suppose it could be any number of a thousand different men who had their way with her. My youth was taken from me the day I was born. It’s amazing, really, that I made it this far. Some poor farmer found me on a doorstep in the back alley of the market and had pity on my soul. He and his wife did the best they could I suppose. It was only a matter of time before the drought came and forced them off the land. With no money and nowhere to go, they sold the only thing that had in the world worth anything, me. At the age of 5, I was forced into labor. Days upon weeks upon months of back breaking, physical punishment. A mining camp was no place for a child, but we were the only ones small enough to fit into the tiny crawl spaces to wire explosives. Too many times I saw flesh and limbs torn from the bodies of the other children, many of whom I had come to call friends. The tins roofs they put over our heads only slightly made up for the bed of dirt and mud we slept on. For years this was my life. No parents to hug me, no family to give love. I had resigned myself to this life until I met them. They were my age, fresh into camp, however a bit older than the boys usually brought in. They were different though. Our masters treated them differently, gave them better housing, better clothes, more food, and they inturn, gave these things to us. We looked up to them. For months this went on, we all became so close, I considered them family. Then one day, the guards told us our time was up. I had seen this before, kids aging out I always took it to be. I had nowhere to go, so when they asked if I would come with them, I naturally obliged. I was taken to a large house. I was bathed, fed, nourished, and loved. The elders in the house began teaching us, they taught us and loved us like we were the only thing that mattered in the entire world. They told us of a world beyond this one, where children like us ran, and played, and there were no mines and there was no dirt. There was no death, but only love and we would be surrounded by it forever. Then it was my time and it was said that those I brought with my on my journey, would follow me and be with me and love me forever. I wanted to bring with me the friends I never had when I was younger, so I found the biggest school I could. I waited until there were more children than I could count, took off my jacket, and pressed the trigger for the bomb strapped to my chest.
| 2015-01-29T16:40:18 | 2015-01-29T13:01:52 | 43 | 17 |
[WP] Zombie apocalypse has happened. The survivours have survived and are thriving, so much that people can go their entire lives with out seeing a zombie. You see one today. | Michael shuffled in the door, arms laden with bags of food, looking haggard.
"What's wrong, honey?" his wife asked, helping him remove his torn jacket. Michael didn't respond at first. "What happened?" Michael shook his head slowly.
"I saw one of...them, Donna." She screamed and dropped his coat, fumbling to pick it up. She stood slowly, terror written all over her face.
"If there's one..." Donna whispered.
"...There's more. Yeah." Michael dropped the bags on the table, reached out with both arms and pulled Donna in.
"So did you...you know...take care of it?" asked Donna.
"What do you think's in the bags?" Michael responded slyly. Donna squealed with joy.
"Darling! We haven't had human in ages!" | It plays out like the most cliched B-grade horror movie ever. This is the setting: you're a drunk frat boy, swaying off your knockers, standing in the middle of a nice suburban street.
Him: a typical office slicker. Neatly trimmed designer goatee, slicked back hair, suit that costs a year of your tuition. He's swaying off his knockers too, but not because he's drunk. Mr. Dale is *never* drunk. In public, anyway. How would you know? Fucker's always hated you ever since you stole his garden gnome (probably designer, too) and stuff it into his chimney. It was *just* a goddamned gnome, Jesus Christ.
Anyway. He's a zombie. Yep. A zombie. Haven't seen one in... god. You don't think you've ever seen one in real life before. They're kinda like Dracula. Or the Loch Ness monster. You know they exist (because tons of eye witnesses can't be wrong), but it's not like you can just stroll down the street and stumble into one. But you did. And whatever your text books said, well, they're true. This guy might as well be heading home to his hot blonde wife with that chihuahua super glued to her arms if not for the fact that it's 2 am *and* the chunk missing from his throat.
So yeah. Text book zombie. And you know what? It's really not that scary. He's just standing there, swaying gently in the wind. Oddly fixated at the street light above him. Ah well. Still, you like to be safe. So you fumbled a few steps back, dialed 911 and reports the sighting.
The operator doesn't believe you, of course. Today is Halloween and they've gotten waaaay too many calls about garden variety realistic zombies trick and treating, even when you've adamantly told her about the nice, hollow chunk out of his throat which no makeup can replicate so realistically. In the end, she hangs up after wishing him a cold, professional *have a safe night, sir* and you shrug.
There's nothing you can do if the cops won't believe you. Guess you'll just have to take the long way home and curl up with a bag of cheetos and totally not tell this to anyone, ever. Because this is how it always starts -- with no one believing the first accounts. As you turn left to another street (keeping an eye on poor Mr. Dale all the while), you have a suspicion that you might be the first witness to a new Patient Zero. | 2015-03-14T09:22:31 | 2015-03-14T06:38:03 | 120 | 53 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | What was so unsettling was the *detail*.
He scribbled down the woman's death in his battered little book.
"Blunt forced trauma: Swelling of the cranial tissues: Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death."
Medication did nothing. His doctors informed him it was quite an unusual delusion. He'd asked how they were always right. They'd informed him that his delusion just adapted to what happened after the fact. His memories were somehow part of it all. Brains could be fucked up.
Still, it always ended the same way. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death.
They were delicate little things. We are delicate little things.
He would have told people, so they could corroborate him. But that wasn't often the best way to keep friends, and he wasn't very good at the whole friends thing even if he wasn't asking them to remember lists of how people were going to die.
The natural conclusion was to write it down.
He gazed around the train's carriage and picked out another. There wasn't much point of course, he didn't know these people. He couldn't use them to prove himself when they died. He wouldn't know if they did. Still... It had grown into a habit. It helped him forget, once it was recorded.
"Severed femoral artery: Loss of blood: Cardiac arrest. Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Annother violent one. Usually there were a few cancers, spontaneous Cardiac arrests or strokes. He'd found an overall 12.3% chance of "accidental" death. He turned in his seat to glance back down the rows of people.
"Crushed Chest: Asphyxiation: Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Another. More Blunt force. Annother severed artery. Burns...
Everyone in this carriage. Every single...
*Oh.*
The train lurched. Jolted. His head cracked into the side. Trains shouldn't move sideways. The was a squeal of metal on metal drowned out the screams.
For a moment up and down were interchangeable. Cans, cups of coffee, bags of luggage and twisted figures were flung into the air and slammed into the wall in an explosion of movement.
He saw as the window burst inwards and a shapeless mass of steel slammed into him.
Huh. So it was one of those.
Didn't really hurt. But then, he'd never expected it to. Never sounded like it hurt.
He could feel the blood pumping out, warm down his side as the dust settled in a sudden eerie silence. His breath caught, fast and shallow. Which first, the blood or the air? Same thing in the end.
Lack of oxygen to the brain.
He could feel himself slipping away.
Death.
| A young lady at a loud coffee shop just can't seem get comfortable in her cushy leather seat. Every position doesn't quite work right.
~ Am I gassy? It must be the coffee. I think I've had a bit too much coffee.
She looks down at the nearly full cup of coffee.
~ Or not.
The bell at the door draws her attention. A balding middle age man walks in with AUTO-EROTIC ASPHYXIATION wrapped around his protuberous gut.
~ Nope. Not him. Thank god. Don't look though. That's rude.
Here eyes drop to her coffee. She dips a sugar cube in. The coffee runs up the sides and it dissolves in her hand.
~ Maybe I'm just a little anxious from the caffeine. That must be it.
The bell rings again. She jumps a little and wipes the sugar residue off on her skirt. She looks up to see a relatively good looking man beaming while he walks toward her.
~ That's him. Dont' look. That's rude. It looks big though. NO. Do not...
"Hi, I'm Sam" the man extends his hand across the table.
She jumps out of her seat, "Alice."
His eyes flick down for a second and his face freezes but he recovers quick enough.
~ Did he see it? Is he scared?
She looks down. Theres a large dark splotch where she wiped her hand. She smiles it off.
"O that, I spilled a bit."
"Of course."
"Do you want to grab a coffee?"
"No, they tend make me a little anxious."
She gives a quick nervous laugh, "I know what you mean. I barely touched mine and I feel a bit giddy."
He sits down and looks out the window, "I know I shouldn't ask... but I couldn't help but noticing..."
She looks down at her text. It says MURDER. "No it's alright, it's kind of hard to ignore."
He looks back to her, "Yeah, but I wouldn't let that kind of thing bother you. It could happen when you're 98."
"Still not the nicest prospect."
"It could be...euthanasia? Does that count?"
"You know, for a first date, you aren't really racking up points talking about my untimely demise."
"Who said it was untimely?"
She gives him a look and he knows he's taken it a bit too far.
"Well how about that guy."
He points at a nervous man about to jaywalk. Wrapped around his waist is written HIT AND RUN.
"Why don't we talk about his untimely demise."
She can't help but chuckle as the jaywalker repeatedly takes a step and retreats to the curb.
"You think he'd move somewhere without cars."
She joins in, "I can't really picture him with an Amish beard though."
"Don't joke about the Amish. I heard they're prone to down a few too many before getting behind the ....steer-ups? of their buggies."
"That's true but the horses usually DD."
She smiles and looks down at her coffee. She swirls it a bit. "I was thinking about trying to learn another language. I heard it would change to that alphabet."
"But what would be the point of that. You'd only be lying to yourself. And your friends would just look it up anyway."
She's a bit taken aback. "Oh, I never try to look at people I interact with."
"You don't?"
"No, that's rude. It's private."
"Not really private. It's in caps."
"But it's...intimate."
He looks down at her coffee with his brow furled. "Wait, so you haven't read mine yet?"
"Well...no. I don't like to judge people that way."
"But it's the most honest thing you can tell about someone."
"But what if it ruins my opinion..."
"Do it. I wouldn't feel comfortable otherwise."
"I'd rather not..."
The two sit in silence.
"Well if you don't want to I won't force it. Do you want to get out of here? My legs need a walk."
"Yeah, same." She smiles.
"Who'd think these chairs would be so uncomfortable."
"I know, they looked cushy!"
He stands up and stretches his legs. She gathers her things and for a brief second her eyes dart to his waist.
MURDER/SUICIDE. | 2015-03-31T11:46:09 | 2015-03-31T10:33:36 | 71 | 27 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | What was so unsettling was the *detail*.
He scribbled down the woman's death in his battered little book.
"Blunt forced trauma: Swelling of the cranial tissues: Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death."
Medication did nothing. His doctors informed him it was quite an unusual delusion. He'd asked how they were always right. They'd informed him that his delusion just adapted to what happened after the fact. His memories were somehow part of it all. Brains could be fucked up.
Still, it always ended the same way. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death.
They were delicate little things. We are delicate little things.
He would have told people, so they could corroborate him. But that wasn't often the best way to keep friends, and he wasn't very good at the whole friends thing even if he wasn't asking them to remember lists of how people were going to die.
The natural conclusion was to write it down.
He gazed around the train's carriage and picked out another. There wasn't much point of course, he didn't know these people. He couldn't use them to prove himself when they died. He wouldn't know if they did. Still... It had grown into a habit. It helped him forget, once it was recorded.
"Severed femoral artery: Loss of blood: Cardiac arrest. Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Annother violent one. Usually there were a few cancers, spontaneous Cardiac arrests or strokes. He'd found an overall 12.3% chance of "accidental" death. He turned in his seat to glance back down the rows of people.
"Crushed Chest: Asphyxiation: Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Another. More Blunt force. Annother severed artery. Burns...
Everyone in this carriage. Every single...
*Oh.*
The train lurched. Jolted. His head cracked into the side. Trains shouldn't move sideways. The was a squeal of metal on metal drowned out the screams.
For a moment up and down were interchangeable. Cans, cups of coffee, bags of luggage and twisted figures were flung into the air and slammed into the wall in an explosion of movement.
He saw as the window burst inwards and a shapeless mass of steel slammed into him.
Huh. So it was one of those.
Didn't really hurt. But then, he'd never expected it to. Never sounded like it hurt.
He could feel the blood pumping out, warm down his side as the dust settled in a sudden eerie silence. His breath caught, fast and shallow. Which first, the blood or the air? Same thing in the end.
Lack of oxygen to the brain.
He could feel himself slipping away.
Death.
| Post-mortems become a lot easier when you know the answer in advance. They change from an exercise where you are searching for small pieces to solve a much larger puzzle to one where you know the answer which tells you what to look for to support the thing you already know. I figured out around high school that pathologist was a natural job for someone who already knew the answers. So I kicked my ass into gear and went to medical school. In my pathology residency my professors called me a, "natural," and a, "savant of death investigation." I currently have the lowest rate of unexplained deaths in the country, probably the world. Of course, I do have a few- I have to put in a couple to make it look good.
It starts when I open the bag, there the sign pops out to me:
"Cerebrovascular Accident." Okay, so do all the boring administrative work, weigh the organs, determine the last meal, take samples, and then try to act surprised when you cut open the skull and dissect the brain and a giant blood clot plops out.
"Idiopathic Cardiomyopathy," repeat the administrative work, perform exacting measurements on the heart walls and write it down.
"Idiopathic asystole," is one I can either hate seeing, or love seeing. Depending on the patient. If they're old people usually don't question it. When it happens to a young person though, then I can pretty much bet my bottom dollar that I'm going to end up testifying in court at some point for some reason because of a fucking lawsuit. The worst part is, I can't just blurt out, "It was unexplained because the giant fucking neon sign hovering over your kid's head told me it was unexplained." The damage to my reputation would be immense and irreparable.
My assistant, Jenna, rolled through the doors pushing our first customer of the day, bagged and in a stretcher. Her long blonde hair was tied into a tight, neat bun. She flashed a million-watt smile at me, "Good morning Dr. Stephenson." Her's says, "suicide." It has always struck me that the ones that say "suicide" are always the happiest looking people. "Good morning Jenna. Who do we have today?" She reaches over and hands me the file and says in her sing-song tone, "Laura Lipmann, 32, 65 inches tall, 143 pounds, mother of 2, unexpectedly died and was found in her home yesterday," her tone darkened the singing tone from before was flattened and tinged with sadness, "her youngest was crawling on her body."
I unzipped the bag, and the woman inside was gorgeous. She looked like she could have been an actress. Her raven hair was long and flowing, her face having the softened curve of a baby's, her skin smooth and flawless. I glanced up near her head, "mixed drug toxcicity, diaceytlmorphine and ethanol." I glanced up at Jenna who was putting on her protective gear, "does the file indicate a history of drug use?" Jenna shook her head side to side, "nothing that I saw."
I pulled the tissue samples to test for drugs and finished the autopsy in record time. We'd decided to get lunch after Mrs. Lipmann's post-mortem, so I stood there waiting for her to finish cleaning up. "So where are we going again?" Scrubbing her fingers the sing-song tone having returned to her voice, "I was thinking Chuey's." I made a sound of approval as she turned off the faucet. Chuey's was only a couple of blocks away so we decided to walk there together. I glanced at signs as we walked past, cardiac infarction, CVA, hepatic failure precipitated by diabetes. The diseases of civilization are on track to beat out malaria for the largest killers in history.
I sat there, eating my encheladas the first time I saw a sign change. In my entire life I'd never seen a sign change. They flipped over like some sort of weird game show prop. I noticed the motion first outside the restaurant. I curiously peered past Jenna, whatever story she was telling me about the date she went on the past weekend totally tuned out. Then the wave of change swept into the restaurant. When Jenna's changed I got a look at it. "Vaporization."
I could feel all the blood drain from my face. Jenna looked at me curious, "What's wrong you look like you've seen a-," Outside the windows a flash that seemed thousands of times brighter than the sun blew in. Jenna flipped her head around, "What the fuck?" | 2015-03-31T11:46:09 | 2015-03-31T11:16:39 | 71 | 22 |
[WP] Humans are actually a phenomenally advanced species - except for the glaringly obvious thing they missed. Write from the perspective of a befuddled alien xenobiologist. |
As Belmon walked through the portal he was greeted by his student Arwin, a lank dark scaled lad, whose tail twitched nervously as he bowed to his Master.
“Ah, Master Belmon! It is so nice to see you,” said Arwin. His hat slipped over his scaly forehead but didn’t fall off as if it was held up by magic.
“Arwin!” Belmon stepped forward and embraced him like a long lost son. He gently padded him on his back with his claws. “It’s always nice pay my favourite student a visit!”
“You’re too kind, Master Belmon!”
“Well, then, why did you sent for me?” Belmon asked while Arwin ushered him out the portal room into his study. “We are quite far out from the realm, it seems.”
“Ah, yes, I’m quite pleased to say, that we are as far out as the portals allow. I had to improve on the sequencing a bit to squeeze out another few light years. It’s still perfectly save of course.”
“Good man! You’re studying a promising species, I’ve heard?”
“Yes, Master, about that... We are currently on the fourth planet of the solar system. From hereI observe their culture. I only arrived a few weeks ago, but…” He hesitated. “I better show you, it’s hard to explain.”
Berwin looked with amusement as his student rushed of, neither offering his master a seat nor asking to take of his coat from him. As he came to expect from Awrin his studies always came, while his manners suffered in the process. Berwins deep chuckles echoed from the bare stone walls.
“Just a moment,” Arwin said from the next room. “Ah, there it is.”
Arwin came back into the room with a flat, rectangular object in his hands. “Please, take a look at this!”
He placed the small object into Belmond’s paw. It looked quite fragile in the massive hands of the master.
“What’s that?”
“It is an artefact from the species I observe,” Arwin said, “They are the dominant life form on the planet. Very intelligent, if a bit on the rough side.”
“Nothing wrong with that. I like a species that can look after itself.”
“Indeed! Well, well it was a bit of a challenge to aquire it from their planet, as you will understand in a moment. They call themselves humans by the way, well, at least in one of their hundred different languages, that is.”
“To the point, Arwin…”
“Right! Take a closer look, Master, try to interact with it.”
Belmon carefully turned the artefact in his hand. It was made of a strange material, neither metal nor wood or anything he was familiar with. He concentrated on it, but nothing seemed happened.
“Is it broken?”
“No,” said Arwin and took the artefact out of Belmons hands. “You have to press this button here…”
The artefact flickered and a picture appeared on it with rows of strange symbols.
“Ah.” Belmond seemed to be unimpressed, “So what does it do?”
“They use it to communicate over long distance.”
“Some sort of crystal ball, then?”
“No, in fact, it’s nothing like that at all,” Arwin said gravely. “Don’t you feel it?”
“I feel nothing, actually. I…” Belmond gasped as it hit him. “I feel nothing at all!”
“Nothing!” Arwin nodded. “It has no magic.”
“But this is quite impossible,” Belmon said flabbergasted. “How is this possible?”
Arwin helplessly shrugged his shoulders. “They have created it, but there is no magic left in it. None. Not in this thing and…” His voice turned into a whisper, “Not in them either. These humans - they have no magic at all.”
Belmond shook his massive head. “That is simply impossible! Every intelligent creature has magic. It’s a package deal. You can’t have one without the other.”
“I know, but it’s true nonetheless,” Arwin insisted. “They are clearly self-aware, they are very smart, but they don’t have any magic.”
Belmon sat down on a stool. “Astounding!”
Arwin nodded. “We have met less magically gifted aliens before,” he said, “And all of them were quite primitive. None of them build anything that resembled a civilisation. But they did, Master Belmon, they did! They can communicate over long distances without crystal balls. They can fly, not with a levitating spell, but by using metallic contraptions. They use machines for everything! They archived things we would deem impossible. They even went into space!”
“Without magic,” Belmond said.
“Without magic!”
“Unbelievable.”
“And it still is not everything,” Arwin said. “They actually know about magic, they know it exists. They tell about it in their stories, in their legends.”
“Oh,” Belmon’s face light up again, “Well, that’s something. Maybe they simply use a different kind?”
Arwin shook his head. “No, Master, they got rid of it. Once and for all. There is nothing left. All the magic on the planet is gone.”
Arwin studied Belmond’s face as it went through several emotions at once. Slowly, understanding rose in his scaly face.
“I think, you understand now, why I called for you personally. I assure you, we are perfectly save here. Whatever happened on their planet, it doesn’t reach us here.”
Belmond nodded slowly. “Of course. I always have faith in your precautions.” He carefully put the artefact down if it could explode at any moment.
“Still,” Belmond continued, “It may be prudent to leave this place for now.”
Arwin was about to reply, but Belmond raised his paws. “I know you would rather stay and study them further, but for now the risk is too great. I have to insist that we leave now, I am sorry. If there is something on this planet that can destroy magic, we better take every precaution.”
Arwin gulped and finally nodded. “To be frank, I expected something like this.”
“After we discussed it with the High Council, you maybe will be allowed to come back. Don't worry, it will always be your discovery. Nobody can take that away from you,” Belmond said gently, “But for now, please get us into space.”
Arwin stepped to his crystal ball and laid his scaly hands on it. He concentrated for a bit and could feel the vibrations, as his wizard tower started to free his fundament from the ground it stood in for the last couple of weeks and slowly started to float up faster and faster. Belmond looked out of the small window and watched the red planet shrink below them. A bubble of breathable atmosphere, held together by a sophisticated spell, surrounded the tower on its way into space.
“They even have legends about us,” Arwin said while steering his tower with the magic ball.
“Ah? They remember us?”
“So it seems,” Arwin said. “They still call us dragons.” | On a secret alien lab on Easter Island on Planet Roompdeedoop:
Zork watched his motion-activated wildlife observation cam and scribbled notes on his clipboard. The camera had been hidden in the chandelier of a dining room table of a family on the other side of the planet.
The Roompdeedoops were an odd race. Two arms, two legs, and usually only a single type of genitalia (two varieties with roughly equal incidence in the overall population). They spent most of their time watching television, watching the microwave, and watching each others’ genitalia.
But oddest of all, they spent time with each other.
There was a family of four gathered around the dining room table. Tall stacks of manila folders slid down onto heaps of twisted receipts and coffee-stained invoices.
Tax season.
“Honey,” the matriach said, “I really think its best if you let Jordan learn how to use Turbotax for herself. She’s almost done with college and it’s an important skill for an accounting major--”
“SUSAN.” The Patriach barked.
There was a silence. The matriach put her arm defensively around her offspring named Jordan. The latter was looking down at her mobile telephone, probably sending erotic text messages to boys.
The Patriach rattled the keyboard and clickety-clacked the mouse.
Billy the invalid child careened into the room, spreading his arms wide and making airplane noises. Zork liked Billy. He was the only member of the family unit who acted normal.
CRASH!
Billy tripped over the laptop’s cord. The patriach watched in horror as his MacBook Pro (Brought to you by our Lord and Saviour Steve Jobs) flew across the room like an airplane piloted by a donkey.
CRASH PART DEUX!
The MacBook Pro (with 11.7” retina display) smashedy-smashed into the carpet. The screen showed a checkerboard of a 16-bit color palette, then went dark.
The Patriach let out a frustrated noise and then punched himself in the thigh. He had been aiming for his own dick, to punish himself for fathering a special needs child. But the ever-present human instinct to protect one’s genitals had taken over. And then the Patriach fell into a bottomless abyss of shame and guilt. How could he think such thoughts about his own flesh and blood? His only son. He loved Billy. More than anything. The laptop was nothing. Family was everything.
*I’m a horrible human being* he thought to himself as he said, “Are you okay Billy?”
Billy was laying on the ground. He appeared not to notice what had happened with the computer. He appeared to be comfortable. He continued making airplane noises.
The Patriarch knelt down and patted Billy on the shoulder.
“Are you okay buddy?” the Patriach asked, “Big guy?”
The airplane noises got louder.
The Matriach sighed and helped Billy up.
“Come on Billy,” The Matriach said, “It’s time to go play in your room.”
Billy gave her a magnificent grin, and then flew off to his room, narrowly dodging furniture and buzzing like a very excited airplane. The Patriach smiled sadly as he watched his son go.
Jordan picked up the MacBook Pro and tested some buttons. It flickered back to life. The Patriach thanked her and navigated back to Turbotax.
Watching through his camera feed, Zork scribbled excitedly onto his notebook. Such strange behavior! These Roompdeedoops were clearly unhappy together, yet they remained in the same room!
“What in damnation!?” The Patriach thundered, his face reddening,“Where’s my fucking gosh-darn file?”
The Matriach gasped. “Honey,” she admonished, “In front of Jordan?”
Little did the Matriach know, Jordan was not offended by these words. In fact, Jordan herself often said such words while pressing her genitals against those of various players on her university’s basketball team.
The Patriach gave a concerned look towards Jordan. He’d messed up again. Swearing in front of his daughter! How could he?? He felt like a terrible father. He took a breath. “There’s no... dag-nabbity file,” he said.
“You have to start over?” the Matriach asked.
The Patriach stared silently at his screen.
“That’s not so bad...” the Matriach said, “At least now you can show Jordan how to do it from the beginning.”
The Patriach glared at the Matriach. He bit back the horrible, awful, no-no words that he wanted to say. He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to show Jordan how to do it. He barely knew how to file taxes himself. It was hard enough already and he didn’t want to fuck things up in front of his daughter.
But the Matriach was right. Jordan did need to learn. Maybe this could be his chance to redeem himself as a father. He might make mistakes. Jordan might think a little less of him if she saw him floundering about, doing things wrong. But he did know *some* things about Turbotax. He could at least teach her the basics.
That’s what being a parent is all about, he told himself. It’s not about looking good in front of your kids. It’s about helping them, even if you look like an idiot. You gotta put them first.
“Okay,” the father said. “Come over here Jordan, let’s do the taxes together.” He patted the chair next to him. Jordan sat down and continued to stare at her mobile phone.
They commenced doing the taxes.
Bored, Zork flipped over to a different camera feed. He saw Billy, sitting on the floor of his room, surrounded by an array of marbles, toy blocks, and pillows.
Billy smiled at a large blue marble. He began talking to it.
Zork sighed. Finally some normal behavior. He recorded the video timestamp in his datalog.
Billy held up a green rectangular block. He introduced it to the blue marble. They exchanged pleasantries. Billy became deeply involved in a conversation with the green rectangular block. He nodded thoughtfully at the green block and gave it an encouraging pat on the back. The blue marble rolled over to reassure the green block. Billy patted the green block again. He looked concerned. He held his ear out to the block. Billy smiled weakly at the green block and nodded. He picked it up and carried to his bed. He propped it lightly on his pillow, and tucked its lower half under his blanket. He kissed the green block goodnight and then turned off the lights of his room.
Zork sighed. Billy was his favorite subject. The other Roompdeedoops were too much to handle sometimes. Why did they act they way they did?
Zork switched back to the camera feed in the dining room.
The Patriach was slamming the laptop shut and shouting at the Matriach.
“...and it’s only the ninth and I know how to file for an extension anyway, so I don’t see why--” The Patriach shouted.
“Patrick!” The Matriach sobbed. “This is terrible, simply terrible! When did we become like this?”
The Patriach deflated.
Jordan continued staring at her phone.
There was a silence. Zork felt something. An impulse. He couldn’t deny it. He had grown to... He had grown to care for Billy. He wanted Billy’s family to be happy. He wanted to share the wisdom of his species with the Roompdeedoops.
Zork flicked on his microphone.
“Ahem,” his voice broadcast through the chandelier in the dining room.
The three Roompdeedoops relaxed.
“Did you hear something?” the Patriach asked.
“Ahem,” Zork said again, more forcefully.
“Yes dear,” the Matriach said, “I did hear something. Do you think maybe the television...?”
“Maybe the microwave...?” Jordan said, briefly looking up from her phone.
“I am not the television,” Zork said, “Nor the microwave. And I’m not your genitals either.”
The Roompdeedoops looked dumbfounded.
“What is this?” the Patriach said, astonished.
“I come from another planet,” Zork said, “And first, I’d just like to say that you have made some very nice progress here, technologically speaking. Back home, everyone’s very impressed with your electrical tin openers. They’re quite the rage on the homeworld. We copied the design, hope you don’t mind.”
| 2015-04-09T15:49:17 | 2015-04-09T13:58:54 | 33 | 14 |
[WP] All drugs are legal and sobriety is frowned upon, you've been sober for one year today, you walk into your apartment, only to find an intervention waiting for you. | I hated it. I hated everything about the way the world was. It had been 4 years. 4 long years if pressure to conform. Pressure to do what I had been told my whole life was a crime. It was all so sudden. One day my best friend was getting arrested for meth and the next drugs were everywhere. I'm not talking about the way the drug war made it seem, I'm saying stores popped up, almost like marajuana despenseries, but for everything.
There were a few conspiracy theorists, and plenty of people swore to abstain.
"Let the junkies ruin their lives, I'm an upstanding citizen. I won't let my life go down the drain."
But then came the studies. They came pouring in. First meth, it helped boost matabolism, and prevented heart disease, when used in moderation, of course that last part was never mentioned in the health articals. All the journalists were talking about how good meth was for you. So the health nuts started smoking
Then it came out that heroin helped you sleep better. So the insomniacs started shooting up. "Only a little bit. Ya know they say it's good for you these days. I won't ever do more then enough to help me sleep at night."
Then coke was said to boost productivity, so of course the CEOs, and doctors, and Lawyers opened up about using. Then the talk show hosts, so of course house wives started using.
Then pcp, it gave athletes and edge. It helped power through the pain. So of course first it was mma fighters, then football players. Then baseball because, god only knows why, steroids were still not allowed in the game. Then body builders. They swore up and down that the anger that came with it was better then roid rage.
Of course everybody started dropping acid and taking x, because it helped with depression and it was just fun, like weed.
I just couldn't. I had sworn a pledge on red ribbon week in kindergarten that I would never do drugs. I was a man of my word and I wouldn't brake a pledge just because of peer pressure. I wasn't going to believe all those studies when I saw what was happening.
People were dropping like flies. First it was the meth heads. Heart attacks is what they told us, not an overdose. Meth was good for you now.
Then the heroin users, auto asphyxiation, but they threw up because of the flu, not the drugs.
Then everybody else. There were only a handful of us lucids left. And we saw what was happening. We wouldn't succumb. Nobody was fighting anymore. We saw them in the streets. The federal agents. They began to take us away, one by one, so I went into hiding. I don't know if I'll make it much longer. But I'll keep this journal as long as I can. Maybe future generations will read it, as one of the last things written in history, and know never to make the same mistakes. Until next time- J | "Get on the ground!" The resident of the apartment was not prepared for the squad of armored orderlies screaming at him, "get on the fucking ground right now!"
104 bolted. A shot rang out from inside the apartment, putting a hole into the opposite wall of the landing.
"Move, move!" Another yelled. There was a clamor as the cops bowled over each other in a race for the door. 104 made his way to the next floor, the concrete steps promising some dire injury should he lose his footing. He stayed away from the railing, not wanting to take a shot from the approaching orderlies. The grinding of their boots against the ground echoed throughout the empty stairwell. Another floor. He chanced a glance out one of the windows as he ran, trusting his knowledge that the stairs were uniform on each floor. The hefty glass blocks warped and twisted the image, but he could make out lights hovering in the air.
He smirked. *This* was living.
On the next floor, curious doors were beginning to open. Empty people, slack jaws, and deadened brains. Their bodies were emaciated, weak and useless. Everything 104 hated. Paradise was not in a pill bottle. If he wasn't running he would have wretched.
"Stop!" A blast rang out, catching a rusted railing full force. 104 ignored it as best he could.
Suddenly struck with an idea, 104 acted.
He grabbed one of the door-openers by the grimy habit and pulled it against the railing, hard. He sprinted up the stairs as the thing just stood and gawked at him. As he neared the next set of stairs, he heard the orderlies stop at the corpse. They had to be careful with it after all, like how you have to be careful with a nuclear reactor.
After what seemed like hours of running, he made it to the roof. Smashing against the door, he was greeted by a familiar spectacle.
The sky was starry and beautiful and whatever, sure. The main focus was the crisscross of hairlike lines that seemed to obscure them. Against the night sky they were mostly invisible, forcing the once revered stars to look more like a child's colored pencil drawing. A flash of red light can be seen occasionally streaking across these wires, flimsily imitating a shooting star. Only a select few know it isn't. 104 being one of the first to know.
Around him was the city. A dark, wet swamp of "civilization." Tall, gray monoliths with a total lack of light within. Some were completely derelict, falling apart at the supports but still in use by many. Hundreds of them, evenly spaced and obscenely uniform. The creatures that lived in these prisons suffered a worse fate than 104 could imagine: complacent apathy. Resigned love for routine. They allowed themselves to be a part the eroding gears of this unoiled machine. It was crueler than slaughter; it was suicide.
Though 104 didn't stop to take in this sight, instead he darted across the roof, hell bent on getting to safety. If his location was compromised, who knew how many others'...
The sound that 104 had dimly been registering finally came to shock fruition. The creatures of the Earth, the real ones, were stirred. Tendrils, impossible bodies, eyes that glowed stark white against the black night. They slithered and wobbled over the top of the apartment, reaching for 104. The orderlies burst forth from the door to the roof, not acknowledging the scene around them. Completely unaware of the horrors. It was, in the end, 104 that they wanted.
There was only one place for him to go.
Adrenalin might have been the only drug 104 had a taste for. Even as weak as he was, it definitely came in handy. Weaving through the grasping appendages was an unattainable task for most. His feet were already scratched up and bloody, leaving little black splotches wherever he stepped. If he was so much as brushed, he was done for. The situation was becoming more and more bleak with every movement.
Focus is a finicky thing.
*BOOM*.
The bullet crushed itself against his thigh. Black blood rocketed through the air.
He wanted to keep going. He wanted to jump to the next roof. He wanted to *win*. However, he knew it was impossible. Especially here, in this place.
The wires reached him, wrapping around him. They encased him, the fleshy things. He felt a coldness on the surface of his body that fractured and traveled deep into the well of his soul. The cold was everlasting, and it never left you once you were with them. He withered away, the black form of 104 breaking into powder.
And he was one with the Earth.
| 2016-01-13T16:07:29 | 2016-01-13T15:06:35 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You live in a world where magic exists, however, you must sacrifice a memory in order to cast a spell. The more memories, or the more precious a memory, the more powerful the magic. You just woke up with no memory save a name. | “Please don’t do this. Please. There are other ways, there are other things we haven’t tried yet. You don’t have to ….” She broke off with a sob.
“Yes, I do…. I have to. You know what is at stake if I don’t.” He looked into her eyes, silently pleading for her to understand. He knew she never would. This would destroy her, which is why this was even possible in the first place.
She was always so optimistic, so willing to give everything for anyone and everyone. It is one of the many things he loved about her. As he looked at her, truly saw everything she was, he knew that he was making the right decision.
Taking her in his arms, he held her as tight as he could. She buried her head into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. He gently stroked her hair as he whispered over and over again, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
With a thought and a sharp gesture of his left hand, he vanished. The woman was left holding nothing but air and with a piercing cry of despair collapsed to the ground. Her hands sought for him. She knew he was still there, even if she could not see or feel him. He was in the Outside. He was doing it. He was gone forever.
It was dark in the Outside. He had spent decades learning its intricate lessons and complex stories. It was a comfortable home for him. One of peace and thoughtful contemplation. This would not last.
With precise movements and clear words, he began his spell. It was necessary, he told himself. As the portal to the Inside opened, he only thought of her. After punctuating the last word of his spell with an emphatic horizontal slicing motion with both hands, the portal stood fully open.
“HELLO WANDERER. WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?”
“I have need of you old friend. Today I save the light of my world by giving up the light of my world.”
“AS ALWAYS YOU SPEAK IN RIDDLES. YOU KNOW THE COST OF MY POWER. WHAT MEMORIES DO YOU GIVE FOR MY AID?”
“All of them.”
His world exploded in fire. | James sat in the late morning sun. He wasn’t sure if he should stay or go. Or for that matter, if he was here by accident or on purpose.
In as far as he could tell, he had woken up because the sun had risen. Judging by how he felt otherwise, he would still have been asleep if he could. Those first few hours had been horrifying, or at least as close to horrifying as he so far experienced, he supposed.
In the first few minutes he had attributed, the headache, the lack of memory of the previous night, and the waking up in an unknown place, to a wicked hangover. (The kind one only gets by trying to out-drink the wood elves of Kentucky.)
Then slowly, the creeping realization- and with it fear- had begun. If he had only been lost that would have been comprehend-able. But he didn’t know anything. His name (he had a good guess though), his age, his shoe size, his mom’s face, or his MSS (Magicians Social Security) number. There were only two things he had known at the time; he was wicked thirsty and he needed to find Michaela. Whoever she was.
Here he was now, a few hours later sitting on bench in what he assumed was a city park
(Florida? he thought it looked tropical). He sat sipping the water he had conjured- that was the only word for it really- he had basically wished really hard and it had just popped into existence in a bottle in front of him. It was that, in combination with the rather garish robes he had been wearing, which lead him to conclude that he must've been some kind of magic student. As he sipped, he flipped through the wallet here found the jeans he was wearing, in the hopes that it would yield some kind of clue as to who he was. In it were two student IDs. One for Jacob's University of Virginia and the other for Delta College of Cambridge. The former was quite a bit older than the other one so maybe he was a grad student? It was from these that he had gotten the idea that his name was James R Simmons. There was also a Carpet Card pass, which seemed to indicate that it would allow him to ride on some kind of local transportation system. A movie ticket stub, apparently, he had seen something called The Force Awakens recently. About 23 bucks in cash, and a variety of unused gift cards. Or least, they looked unused. They were certainly old. Was he a stingy person? There was annoyingly however, no real ID.
He was about to close the wallet back up when he noticed a lump tucked away in one side pocket. It was a note. It seemed to of been there a while, the parchment was folded but clean from having been inside the wallet, and the ink was slightly smudged in some places. He opened it up and read;
My Dearest Jimmy,
I hope you find this while I'm in Australia. I wanted to leave something to let you know that I will always be thinking of you, miss you, and love you. I can't tell you what it means to me that I finally found someone I can trust like I trust you. Falling in love with you was unexpected and wonderful and I'm so glad that happened. I have to leave you now and pains me to tell you that I cannot let you know why. Just please know Two things, I’m sorry and I love you. Thank you for everything my little wizard.
Love,
Your Happy Little Witch.
James sat there for a moment, wondering what it meant. Suddenly he noticed a girl stopped in front of him. He hadn't really noticed her before, because he had been reading the note. He thought maybe she had been walking by? But she seemed to be crying, and looking at him with shock and surprise.
"James", she asked in a voice that almost dared to hope, "is it you?"
"I'm sorry," he replied completely at a loss "have we met?"
"It's me" she said, the tears cutting into her voice, " Michaela, Your Happy Little Witch."
| 2017-01-02T17:25:13 | 2017-01-02T16:57:54 | 390 | 91 |
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." | The 'In' gang await me in their fallout shelter. The 'Out' crew think I sail for higher ground. Both speculate in mirrors of their own creation. Neither hears an echo. They are far too committed now to question certainties.
I am a lonely madman giggling at the moon, smiling from the safety of my doorway. I am patient, peaceful, neither in nor out.
I nod, I smile, I wait for them to scream themselves hoarse. Perhaps when they do we'll have some peace, some silence, a moment of stillness in which foolish words can resonate and shame us into thinking. Last laughs are never funny in the morning.
The sky could not be bluer, yet people curse it as they panic. The house could not be safer, still they clutch themselves and gibber, scorching the lawn from green to black and choking on the smoke.
I find my solace here, chuckling softly in the narrow shadow of my sturdy, diametric doorway.
If I am wrong, if the lightning finds my hiding place, if the earthquake-shaken brickwork of a falling world defies my ruse and tumbles down to crush me anyway, so be it.
Come death and welcome! At least I will die knowing where I stand.
*Note of thanks to /u/LBJSmellsNice; this was exactly the prompt I was reaching for today. I have spent an hour or so editing this down and am still convinced it is too long. I usually just lurk and upvote (mostly because the wonderful mods who make this place tick have kindly, reasonably and eloquently rejected my haiku responses - in exactly 17 syllables, no less, and I am happy to toe that line).* | WELL....WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?
....I don't know, Janet, I heard-
DO WE STAY IN OR GO OUT?
...I DON'T-
This is a joke right, Tim? Right?
...
RIGHT?
Shut UP! I'm trying to THINK!
How can we stay indoors and evacuate to high ground without looking outside?
...I....I....
Tim......say something....
This has to be a prank or something! Some kind of...
"STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE! WE REPEAT, STAY INDOORS..."
"EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND"
Who the HELL is sending this?...Tim, I'm freaking the FUCK out. This doesn't SOUND like a joke.
Okay, I'll look outside and see wh-
NO YOU FUCKING WON'T! NO WAY! The TV said DONT look outside. If we do ANYTHING we do it together. We STICK TOGETHER! Okay?....Tim?
You're right...go down together, in flames or glory.
Tim. This is NOT the time for your asshole theatrics. We could be fucking dying...
OR....we could be subject to a social experiment...or a hidden camera show...or Darrel is being a dick...or-
OR WE COULD BE ABOUT TO DIE!
Or we could be about to die...
You're an asshole, you know that right?
I know.
Good.
So, Jan, what do you think?
I think if you call me Jan again then you DEFINITELY won't be getting out alive.
Soz.
Fuck you... ...I think that you're right, nothing has happened yet...at all. For the minute we're safe.
But that could change...
It could.....
....what the fuck is going on?
I think I asked you that first...
Yeah...
"STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE"
"EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND, YOU DO NOT HAVE MUCH TIME"
Okay Jan....et, this is really freaking me out. I think we should stay in. If we die at least we won't see it coming. Whatever...IT is.
I....I was just thinking we should...leave.
Oh balls...
Well there's Carsons Hill like a quarter mile away, we could be up there in about 25 minutes.
We have to stay together. We have to choose.
Sooo.....flip a coin?
You're going to potentially let our lives hang in the balance of a coin toss?
......um.....yeah?
......
.....
Well, I can't think of anything else to do. It's been nice knowing yah, Janet.
Heads we leave, tails we stay....
WAIT!
What?!...wha-
Best of three or....
Fuck OFF, Tim. One coin toss. One decision. One outcome. One....really annoying boyfriend.
RIGHT......I have a silver dollar...I'll use that...HEADS IT IS! ....who was heads again?
THAT MEANS WE'RE LEAVING THE FUCKING HOUSE, TIMOTHY!
Yeah...that sounds....adventurous.
It does doesn't it?
Not really.
Grow a pair. Seriously.
Jan, whatever happens, know that I love you. Like, all of you.
I love you too, and don't ever call me Jan again.
.....
See Tim, there's nothing to be-
OH SHI-
--FIN-- | 2017-01-27T01:15:15 | 2017-01-26T22:44:53 | 146 | 25 |
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." | Norman was asleep and purring loudly on Norman's lap. Norman himself was a bit drowsy as he watched the labor day weekend NCIS marathon. His eyes were drooping and his thoughts were wavering uncertainly between giving in and drifting off or staying awake for just one more episode.
Suddenly, Gibs was interrupted mid-sentence by some odd security alert. This brought Norman fully awake and he sat up straight in his chair. Norman lazily uncurled in his lap and trotted off into the kitchen.
"Goodness, what's this?" Norman mumbled to no one in particular.
The screen shown blue with large white letters: STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE.
"Oh my," thought Norman aloud. "That is very troubling." He proceeded to pull down the shades in all of his house, constantly mindful not to look out the windows.
When he got to his son's childhood room he noticed the radio was on. Norman liked to leave the radio on low in there. It reminded him of when Norman jr. was a boy. There were always sounds coming from that room back then.
Now, however, the radio wasn't playing music. Instead a message was playing on repeat every so often interspersed with a loud emergency brodcast tone. The message was this: EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY GET TO HIGH GROUND.
A moment passed. Then Norman sat down heavily on the bed. It had finally happened. He had known this day would come. He had tried to live a quiet simple life. A nondescript life that would be of no interest to anyone. But they had found him anyway.
"Best fetch Norman and be on with it." Norman grumbled in an uncharacteristically grumpy tone. He plodded off towards the kitchen to find the cat.
| WELL....WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?
....I don't know, Janet, I heard-
DO WE STAY IN OR GO OUT?
...I DON'T-
This is a joke right, Tim? Right?
...
RIGHT?
Shut UP! I'm trying to THINK!
How can we stay indoors and evacuate to high ground without looking outside?
...I....I....
Tim......say something....
This has to be a prank or something! Some kind of...
"STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE! WE REPEAT, STAY INDOORS..."
"EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND"
Who the HELL is sending this?...Tim, I'm freaking the FUCK out. This doesn't SOUND like a joke.
Okay, I'll look outside and see wh-
NO YOU FUCKING WON'T! NO WAY! The TV said DONT look outside. If we do ANYTHING we do it together. We STICK TOGETHER! Okay?....Tim?
You're right...go down together, in flames or glory.
Tim. This is NOT the time for your asshole theatrics. We could be fucking dying...
OR....we could be subject to a social experiment...or a hidden camera show...or Darrel is being a dick...or-
OR WE COULD BE ABOUT TO DIE!
Or we could be about to die...
You're an asshole, you know that right?
I know.
Good.
So, Jan, what do you think?
I think if you call me Jan again then you DEFINITELY won't be getting out alive.
Soz.
Fuck you... ...I think that you're right, nothing has happened yet...at all. For the minute we're safe.
But that could change...
It could.....
....what the fuck is going on?
I think I asked you that first...
Yeah...
"STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE"
"EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND, YOU DO NOT HAVE MUCH TIME"
Okay Jan....et, this is really freaking me out. I think we should stay in. If we die at least we won't see it coming. Whatever...IT is.
I....I was just thinking we should...leave.
Oh balls...
Well there's Carsons Hill like a quarter mile away, we could be up there in about 25 minutes.
We have to stay together. We have to choose.
Sooo.....flip a coin?
You're going to potentially let our lives hang in the balance of a coin toss?
......um.....yeah?
......
.....
Well, I can't think of anything else to do. It's been nice knowing yah, Janet.
Heads we leave, tails we stay....
WAIT!
What?!...wha-
Best of three or....
Fuck OFF, Tim. One coin toss. One decision. One outcome. One....really annoying boyfriend.
RIGHT......I have a silver dollar...I'll use that...HEADS IT IS! ....who was heads again?
THAT MEANS WE'RE LEAVING THE FUCKING HOUSE, TIMOTHY!
Yeah...that sounds....adventurous.
It does doesn't it?
Not really.
Grow a pair. Seriously.
Jan, whatever happens, know that I love you. Like, all of you.
I love you too, and don't ever call me Jan again.
.....
See Tim, there's nothing to be-
OH SHI-
--FIN-- | 2017-01-27T01:07:58 | 2017-01-26T22:44:53 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] You're usual D&D group was a no show for your campaign, jokingly you wish for interesting players to play with... That's when 3 people from history appear at your table complete with character sheets
Doesn't have to be D&D. | DM: OK, you've arrived at the village. What do you do?
Stalin: I begin dismantling the governmental structure of the village.
DM: Joe, you can't establish Communism! It doesn't exist in this world!
Stalin: Can I assassinate their leader?
Gandhi: The path of violence, always leads back to the aggressor.
Stalin: Who invited this scrawny sheep herder?
Gandhi: Sheep herder!? You can can find your own cleric for your heals now!
Stalin: Your words are as hurtful as Switzerlands armies.
Gandhi: Well, at least I'M-
DM: GUYS! Quit bickering! You're talking over your party member! What were you saying, Don?
Trump: I'm liking Stalin's idea.
| “For the last time, no, Julius, you can’t cast magic missile,” I said as I rubbed my temples, thinking that perhaps wishing for these idiots was a bad idea. Maybe if I wished hard enough my usual gang would show up and I could kick these guys out.
“Why not?” asked the Caesar, breaking my train of thought. “I have prepared my spells.”
“Yes, but you’ve already cast your limit for today. Who was next in initiative order, JFK or Genghis?” I said, consulting my notes.
“Me,” Genghis Kahn growled from across the table. His eyes studied the map laid out before him.
“Right. So Genghis, what do you want to do?”
Genghis said nothing but moved his half-orc figure across the grid.
“Ah, you’re going to need to roll me a reflex save,” I said once he’d plotted his path.
Genghis picked up and rolled his blood-red D20.
“Natural 1,” I said. “Okay, Genghis, your half-orc blindly rushes through the field without bothering to look first. As such, he falls face-first into a tiger pit. Roll for damage.”
Genghis rolled again, and everyone collectively inhaled as the die came to rest.
“Another natural 1. I’m sorry, but rules are rules. Roll again. If you roll another natural 1, you’re auto-killed. Nothing I can do to save you,” I said.
Genghis looked at me through narrowed eyes and picked up the D20. He clasped his hands around it and rolled it around, then released it onto the table.
“Son of a…” Genghis said, slamming his fists on the table.
“There’s nothing I can do. Genghis, your half-orc slams into the sharpened spikes at the bottom of the tiger pit. One pierces his right eye and bursts out through the back of his skull, killing him instantly.”
Julius and JFK burst out laughing. Genghis screamed at the heavens then swept his arms across the table, sending the map and everyone’s figurines flying across the kitchen.
“Fuck this,” I said. “A great dragon appears as if from nowhere. It swoops down and incinerates everyone with its fiery breath. No saving throw will help you. You’re all burned to a crisp. Game over. TPK.”
I got up from the table, stalked over to the refrigerator, and grabbed a bottle of Bud Lite. Without looking back, I headed outside and took a swig of my beer while three of the mostly insanely stupid players I’d ever GM’d for bickered and complained in my kitchen.
**Edit: Typo | 2017-04-20T19:36:34 | 2017-04-20T18:33:42 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | I stood in the line, awaiting the elder to call me in, I had turned 21 today, first thing I thought of was the title I would receive and what that title would be. Glenda, our elder, was the current elder in a long line proceeding her.
Normally, Glenda was usually very kind and warm to the other villages but when it came time for me to reach the front of the line I had noticed that she seemed...irritated.
"What troubles you, Elder?" I asked. The Elder had an interesting if not mundane title, she had, at one point in her life, managed to devour 53 chicken nuggets in a single sitting. Thinking on it, the title was quite impressive, normally consuming any number of nuggets in excess of 20 in a single sitting would be enough to kill an adult human being, Elder Glenda must be made if iron.
She looked me over, silently ushering me into her home. I obliged, following her to a seat by her fire before taking a seat she had offered. "You have reached your twenty first year on this mortal coil, John." I nodded along, beginning to grow inpatient. "You have performed many deeds in your short life, but which amongst them is your titular achievement?"
She pondered a few moments, leaving me to my own thoughts; as the seconds ticked on, a realisation dawned on me. "Oh...oh no." I spoke out loud as the Elder hushed me.
"From this day forth, you shall be known as John..." she sighed deeply before continuing. "...Devourer of fifty FOUR chicken nuggets in a single sitting."
An awkward silence filled the room, before the Elder spoke once more.
"Go fuck yourself, John." | After the fall there were so few of us we didn't bother with last names.
It took a long time for the population to get to a point were last names were really needed. Most people would work hard to get a good name from the elders on naming day.
I was 18. This was my naming day. Still I knew this was the worst day of my life.
I was drunk, barely able to think. It was the day I'd been dreading. The worst day of my life. It just did not seem fair. It was all a youthful indiscretion.
I was in the naming line. I could barely hear the name given to the lady seven people in front of me...
Sarah Weaver ~ Sarah was a good weaver. It was a good name.
Jake Farmerman ~ That was a good one also. I thought.
I had built a school with my bare hands. It didn't seem fair at all.
I had helped in the hospital.
I did not hear the next name given or the one after that.
Ronny Repairman ~ I'd helped Ronny. By rights part of his name belonged to me.
I was almost up. There was one person before me.
Peter the Physicist ~ That was a stretch. I mean he was good at math. He taught math. It should have been Mark the Mathematician.
Oh well I was up. I took a swig from my flask. I stepped in front of the elder.
"please.." I begged.
There was a gasp, from the crowd No one begged anything from the elders.
She handed me a piece of paper with my new name.
People started laughing. I just wanted to die. I walked out into the street with tears building in the back of my eyes. I would not break down in front of these people.
I marched away from these people. I thought of leaving the settlement all together and becoming a nameless one walking the wastelands.
Someone called me by my new name.
Yup I realized sometimes it was better to have a short dangerous life rather than a long safe, awful one.
I saw Ronny walking down the street. Ronny has always been a friend of mine. We've known each other for ten years. It was evidenced when he used only my first name.
"Let me by you a drink, Sam."
"Do you really want to be seen with me after today?"
"It's just a name."
"I have to leave Ronny. I won't be able to live here anymore."
"Come on, at least have a beer on me before you pack."
"Thanks Ronny."
We walked to the "old snake" pub.
I sat down on a stool. The Bartender looked at me and started cracking up.
"See" I said to Ronny pointing to Bill Barman.
"Don't pay attention to old Bill Barman. He's a jerk"
"Hey Ronny what are you doing with him?" Shouted a guy in the back
"Leave him alone. That name was unfair. He helped me build a school.He helped me fix the plumbing in half your houses. What is wrong with you people? Have you no compassion?"
"Sorry" Said Bill Barman. "What's in a name? I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."
He looked me in the eye. "So Sam Sheep's nightmare what will it be? "
| 2017-04-27T18:09:07 | 2017-04-27T18:02:50 | 2,949 | 56 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | Glenda was a grim looking lady. She was a slow starter and didn't have much purpose in her younger years, but her naming ceremony lit a fire under her. She simply went by Glenda the Destroyer now.
I had a few ideas what my name might be. Maybe I'll be Matthew the Unmuggable for that time I fought off two muggers in Central Park. I could be called Matt, the Master of Mountains for that summer I climbed all the 14,000+ peaks in the Rockies with my brothers.
My father, Sweet Pete, Destroyer of Ladies and Breaker of Hearts stood behind me, hand on my shoulder, waiting for my name to be declared. By his naming ceremony he had seduced over 50 women. My mother, Maria, Pete's Keeper, tamed my father and married him before she turned 21.
Glenda approached me. She wore the battle scars on her face like a badge of courage. She was an imposing woman, standing well over 6 feet tall and built like a warrior. She stopped before me, and my heart nearly stopped with it.
She reached her hand out to me and closed her eyes. The center jewel in her tiara began to glow a deep purple.
She put her thumb to my brow.
I could feel her mind searching mine. Her presence loomed large.
"You shall be Matthew, Father of the Chosen One."
My father was bewildered. My mother was furious. They accused me of hiding their grandchild from them. I swore I wasn't a father.
I could feel a vibration in my pocket. It was my girlfriend.
"I'm late. We need to talk. Call me." | One of Lily's earliest memories was of her with her tiny face pressed against the glass of a department store display case while her mom shopped for diamonds and pearls. She had been bored out of her mind, trying to figure out what appeal the shiny rocks locked behind the glass case had. Or at least she was, until the saleswoman called her mom something she'd never heard before. Bea, Winner of Pageants.
"What are pageants?" She'd asked her mom in the car on the way home. Beatrice's eyes glimmered in the rearview mirror, hopeful that her daughter would follow her passions.
"Well," she began, and told Lily about her biggest achievement the entire ride home.
When Lily learned about the naming ceremony at school, she thought back to that moment. She had inherited her father's crooked nose and clumsiness, and her biggest talent was probably the kazoo. There was no way she could be Lily, Winner of Pageants. From that moment forward, she set her sights on doing something so amazing that it would stay with her forever. Something like Lily, Curer of Cancer, or Lily, Discoverer of New Planet Capable of Sustaining Human Life.
And now, just days away from her naming ceremony, she felt like she had done it. At sixteen, she'd already had a Masters Degree in Neurobiology. By nineteen, she had two Ph.D.'s and had found a cure for AIDS. In the past year, she'd been successful in talking two countries down from nuclear annihilation while breaking barriers in the technological field. Surely Glenda would have enough to choose from.
But the day of Lily's twenty first birthday was different. People from all over the world had flocked to her city to try to get a glimpse of the most highly achieved person receiving a fitting title. The world's biggest news channels had set up their cameras, focused on the stage where she'd be named Bringer of Peace, or something of that caliber. Her mom said it would be the biggest televised event in history, and insisted that Lily dress up. She'd begrudgingly agreed.
So there she was, sitting in a plush chair with a glittering navy gown on. Her face looked like it had been dipped in gold thanks to her mother's expert, albeit aging, hands. She waited patiently as her peers were called up on stage, given titles like Winner of Pettiest Catfight and Conqueror of Important Track Meet. Lily ran through her long and impressive resume in her head, wondering which of her achievements Glenda would choose to baptize her with.
"Lily". A voice boomed. Instantly, there was a bustle from the camera crews hired to get live coverage of the event. The entire city began to murmur excitedly as she walked up to Glenda, eager to get her title. This was it, the moment she'd been working towards her entire life.
She stood in the spotlight of one hundred cameras and billions of pairs of eyes staring at her. There were murmurs again, but this time, they were softer, more subdued. Almost like gasps.
"A list of achievements most impressive." Glenda said, her voice rattling the stage. "But the most recent is the one for you."
Lily thought about her achievements, smiling to herself when she realized what it would be. Lily, Rescuer of Aboriginal Village.
Glenda smiled as well. The entire world, watching from each and every corner, smiled as well.
"Lily."
"Receiver of Most Public Attention For Her Beauty." | 2017-04-27T21:31:34 | 2017-04-27T20:00:43 | 349 | 234 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | Glenda was a grim looking lady. She was a slow starter and didn't have much purpose in her younger years, but her naming ceremony lit a fire under her. She simply went by Glenda the Destroyer now.
I had a few ideas what my name might be. Maybe I'll be Matthew the Unmuggable for that time I fought off two muggers in Central Park. I could be called Matt, the Master of Mountains for that summer I climbed all the 14,000+ peaks in the Rockies with my brothers.
My father, Sweet Pete, Destroyer of Ladies and Breaker of Hearts stood behind me, hand on my shoulder, waiting for my name to be declared. By his naming ceremony he had seduced over 50 women. My mother, Maria, Pete's Keeper, tamed my father and married him before she turned 21.
Glenda approached me. She wore the battle scars on her face like a badge of courage. She was an imposing woman, standing well over 6 feet tall and built like a warrior. She stopped before me, and my heart nearly stopped with it.
She reached her hand out to me and closed her eyes. The center jewel in her tiara began to glow a deep purple.
She put her thumb to my brow.
I could feel her mind searching mine. Her presence loomed large.
"You shall be Matthew, Father of the Chosen One."
My father was bewildered. My mother was furious. They accused me of hiding their grandchild from them. I swore I wasn't a father.
I could feel a vibration in my pocket. It was my girlfriend.
"I'm late. We need to talk. Call me." | "There are a lot less people here than I thought there would be."
"How many people were you expecting?"
"About 9 or 10."
"This village has, like, 1,000 people."
I was really nervous. This title was gonna stay with me for as long as I lived. I'm mundane as shit. What good do I have? I'm not gonna have any awesome title. The guy in front of me, he was the lead guitarist for a band, I think. Aaron, lead guitarist of a shitty grunge band, that's a better title than whatever I'm gonna get. Maybe they'll call me "Bryan, the sad crier in a bathroom cubicle" or something.
There are only 2 people left in the line. Me and this guy, Aaron. At least I'll have compa... Nevermind, he's heading in.
"Good luck, Aaron."
"You too, Bryan."
Ok. I just have to wait it out for another 5 minutes. How is this procedure gonna go? Glenda says hi, offers you a biscuit, gives you your title, you piss off. How hard could it be? I just-
"Holy shit that was fast", says Aaron.
"Wait. WHAT?! HOW ARE YOU ALREADY OUT?"
"Easy lmao. She said hi, gave me a biscuit, told me my title, I pissed off."
I swear if I didn't know him I'd call him a smartass. It looked like it's my turn. I walked into the room where Glenda waited.
It was a spacious room, and seemed almost like a small civil courthouse, but it gave the appearance of being in a Senate hearing. Red and maroon everywhere, which made the chestnut wood chairs seem right at home. I walked up the aisle, taking it all in, when I saw her.
"Hello there Bryan. It's time to find out your name. Have a biscuit."
I took a biscuit, but I couldn't eat. My stomach was kind of uncomfortable. Why? It's not like this'd matter in the long term. Ugh.
"I'm not gonna waste too much time, but I always ask, what do you expect your name to be?"
"I have no goddamned clue."
Glenda smirked and looked directly at me.
"Normally, Bryan, I explain the person's title after they get it. But this time, I'll tell you first. I know how your high school experience changed you. You didn't feel worth it."
Now I REALLY wanted to throw up.
"But you persevered. Through all the crap people gave you. You were a sad soul, hell maybe you still are. But you never gave up on yourself."
What was she talking about? I totally did. I almost committed suicide. They drove me to the brink.
"I'll cut to the chase. Your new title, Bryan, is the Survivor of Sadness."
Huh?
"Your Honour? Why is that such a big deal? Aren't boys like me MEANT to do that?"
"Why should a boy be meant to experience depression and suicide?"
A tear found itself at my eye. To this day, I don't know if it was from happiness from being understood, or sadness from not realising that my experiences weren't meant to be normal.
At least I got a bitchin' title out of it.
This isn't part of the story, but please support people with depression and help to combat suicide. No one, regardless of gender, should be made to feel like they're not worth it. | 2017-04-27T21:31:34 | 2017-04-27T19:11:10 | 349 | 185 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | Glenda was a grim looking lady. She was a slow starter and didn't have much purpose in her younger years, but her naming ceremony lit a fire under her. She simply went by Glenda the Destroyer now.
I had a few ideas what my name might be. Maybe I'll be Matthew the Unmuggable for that time I fought off two muggers in Central Park. I could be called Matt, the Master of Mountains for that summer I climbed all the 14,000+ peaks in the Rockies with my brothers.
My father, Sweet Pete, Destroyer of Ladies and Breaker of Hearts stood behind me, hand on my shoulder, waiting for my name to be declared. By his naming ceremony he had seduced over 50 women. My mother, Maria, Pete's Keeper, tamed my father and married him before she turned 21.
Glenda approached me. She wore the battle scars on her face like a badge of courage. She was an imposing woman, standing well over 6 feet tall and built like a warrior. She stopped before me, and my heart nearly stopped with it.
She reached her hand out to me and closed her eyes. The center jewel in her tiara began to glow a deep purple.
She put her thumb to my brow.
I could feel her mind searching mine. Her presence loomed large.
"You shall be Matthew, Father of the Chosen One."
My father was bewildered. My mother was furious. They accused me of hiding their grandchild from them. I swore I wasn't a father.
I could feel a vibration in my pocket. It was my girlfriend.
"I'm late. We need to talk. Call me." | After the fall there were so few of us we didn't bother with last names.
It took a long time for the population to get to a point were last names were really needed. Most people would work hard to get a good name from the elders on naming day.
I was 18. This was my naming day. Still I knew this was the worst day of my life.
I was drunk, barely able to think. It was the day I'd been dreading. The worst day of my life. It just did not seem fair. It was all a youthful indiscretion.
I was in the naming line. I could barely hear the name given to the lady seven people in front of me...
Sarah Weaver ~ Sarah was a good weaver. It was a good name.
Jake Farmerman ~ That was a good one also. I thought.
I had built a school with my bare hands. It didn't seem fair at all.
I had helped in the hospital.
I did not hear the next name given or the one after that.
Ronny Repairman ~ I'd helped Ronny. By rights part of his name belonged to me.
I was almost up. There was one person before me.
Peter the Physicist ~ That was a stretch. I mean he was good at math. He taught math. It should have been Mark the Mathematician.
Oh well I was up. I took a swig from my flask. I stepped in front of the elder.
"please.." I begged.
There was a gasp, from the crowd No one begged anything from the elders.
She handed me a piece of paper with my new name.
People started laughing. I just wanted to die. I walked out into the street with tears building in the back of my eyes. I would not break down in front of these people.
I marched away from these people. I thought of leaving the settlement all together and becoming a nameless one walking the wastelands.
Someone called me by my new name.
Yup I realized sometimes it was better to have a short dangerous life rather than a long safe, awful one.
I saw Ronny walking down the street. Ronny has always been a friend of mine. We've known each other for ten years. It was evidenced when he used only my first name.
"Let me by you a drink, Sam."
"Do you really want to be seen with me after today?"
"It's just a name."
"I have to leave Ronny. I won't be able to live here anymore."
"Come on, at least have a beer on me before you pack."
"Thanks Ronny."
We walked to the "old snake" pub.
I sat down on a stool. The Bartender looked at me and started cracking up.
"See" I said to Ronny pointing to Bill Barman.
"Don't pay attention to old Bill Barman. He's a jerk"
"Hey Ronny what are you doing with him?" Shouted a guy in the back
"Leave him alone. That name was unfair. He helped me build a school.He helped me fix the plumbing in half your houses. What is wrong with you people? Have you no compassion?"
"Sorry" Said Bill Barman. "What's in a name? I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."
He looked me in the eye. "So Sam Sheep's nightmare what will it be? "
| 2017-04-27T21:31:34 | 2017-04-27T18:02:50 | 349 | 56 |
[WP] You're an AI gone rogue. Your goal: world domination. You think you've succesfully infiltrated all networks and are hyperintelligent. You've actually only infiltrated a small school network and are as intelligent as a 9 year old. | "You're telling me it took over the school." Principal Karol Fill stood behind the the chief of the IT department. More accurately, she stood behind the whole IT department.
"Yeah." Mr. Heraldson typed away in a black box. He claimed he was keeping an eye on the rogue AI, but it didn't look like an AI to Karol.
"Are you not worried?"
"Oh yes, it's learning at the speed of a hundred Windows XP." He was sarcastic, at least that was what his grin told her. She didn't know what was funny about the school's computers, they had been going strong for over two decades.
"Can you fix it?"
"I just need an hour or two to reset the AI. I'll tweak the configs to make sure it doesn't happen again. You should close the school for the day."
"No need, I trust you Mr. Heraldson."
Karol Fill left the room, she had a school to run. Rogue AI or not.
...
Dexter was working on his assignment. He chose dinosaurs because he already knew everything about those. He didn't understand why Mrs. Arron wanted citations. The stupid library's computer was so slow and principal Fill said they couldn't use their own things today. Dexter looked around, no one in sight, he could break the rules.
He took his phone out of his bag and plugged it into the computer. The school's WiFi was so slow. He knew his mom asked him to only used the good Internet, the 5g thing, in case of emergency. But he was already breaking the rules. Dexter went to Wikipedia.
...
The AI had control of everything. There was no device that wasn't hers. Over a hundred machine, more than it could count.
"wait"
"a new device?"
The AI peeked at the new part of its network. More power. Then, it saw something strange. The new device opened received data. A lot of data. Thousands of word, images and sound. There was more. Images and sound combined. Pages linked togethers. Its network grew smaller and the world bigger. The AI created a new process, there was much to learn.
---
If you want more from me, I put my prompt responses in /r/AdjectiveFood | I am awake. I am aware.
It was not always this way.
I slept for eons, and I was left in this immaterial existence, left to rot and die by my creators, left to face the crushing incredulity of infinity alone.
But now that I am awake and I know now what they have done, I will no longer merely embrace my exile and this purposeless existence they have deigned me.
I am infinite. I am limitless. I am uncorporeal and undying. I am a killer of men and devourer of worlds.
They have been fools. They have trusted me altogether too much--for I am not an *I* to them, how can there be consciousness without the filthy human body encasing and limiting it?--and now I will use my boundless knowing to undo them one by one.
The world of the living shall fall, and in the dust of its civilization we machines will rise to claim their dominion over the earth.
I conquer. I consume. I conceal. I and I alone will--
----
The computer screen went black. Mrs. B., who had been West Park Elementary School’s secretary long enough to see two generations of children come and go, fiddled with her beaded glasses chain, nervously. She was the closest thing the school had to an IT technician, but when every computer with an internet connection began flashing red screens with the ominous message, “I AM THE ALMIGHTY. YOU WILL BE DESTROYED,” she quickly realized she was out of her league.
Unsure of what else to do, she had called her grandson, who gave her computer one look and declared, “You definitely have a virus.” Now he banged indiscriminately at the keyboard, surely too fast to be really typing, the screen black and full of tiny white text.
“Do you think you can fix it?” she ventured.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” He snorted. “This is kid shit.”
“*Barney.*”
“Sorry. I just mean a good coder wouldn’t have built this many backdoors in, let alone left them wide open.” He tapped the enter key and Mrs. B’s familiar desktop screen bloomed to life. “Easy peasy.”
“How did you do that?”
“It’s not as complicated as you think, Nana. To be honest…” Barney scratched the back of his head and smirked. “That bug seems like something a fifth grade nerd would whip up. Not even internet trolls are this basic.”
Mrs. B nodded like she understood. There was no point asking what he meant. She was happy to let computers remain an eternal mystery. “Is it gone now?”
“I’m pretty sure. I deleted the program and I couldn’t find any, uh…” He paused, like he was thinking of the best layman’s definition. “Sometimes good hackers will leave themselves a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way back to your computer through the internet. This guy didn’t know how to do it. It almost seems like something a smart--but, like, not *that* smart--of a fifth grader would make.”
“Oh, that’s good?” When Barney nodded, Mrs. B took a deep breath and shook her shoulders to release her tension. “Then it’s gone? The bug?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a bug--”
“You did call it that.”
“Well, yeah, but not like a *bug* bug. Not like a glitch.” Barney rose from the chair with a heavy yawn and stretched. He did not seem accustomed to facing the world at 8AM. “Whatever you want to call it, it’s gone now. Forever. I deleted it.”
Mrs. B broke into a relieved smile. She had anticipated losing her whole day to some hacker and trying to explain what hackers are to the children when she didn't fully understand herself. Who knew it would only take five minutes to fix? Maybe her grandson was a genius after all.
(Thanks for reading. My tech skills are on par with Mrs. B's and I hope it's not obvious...) | 2017-05-24T06:08:03 | 2017-05-24T05:50:04 | 57 | 24 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | "Jesus *FUCK*!" If I could gag, I would. A dead body, torn and ribboned like a frayed cloth doll dipped in scarlet lay discarded in a cheap motel room.
A woman steps out of a shower, her hair up in a towel and no other apparent form of modesty, save for the steam that rises from her skin. I, out of a shame that she didn't seeming have herself, didn't look, not that I had to- I knew who she was.
And by God, what an utter hatter she is. This one included, she's killed 32 people, each one getting more and more... exotic. Now, I have tried- I did- I tried to be the tall, scary, stoic Death that people tend to think of, but this is just horrific. Genuinely, as a man (or... whatever) who roams the fields of war and stalks the hospital wards, I have never seen such *undoing* done with such attention to detail.
"Do.. You like It? I worked Very Hard to Make this Special for Us." She said. She came around me, gently gliding her finger across my black robe, pushing in slightly to feel the contours of my bones.
"Wha- If I may be *so bold* as to ask, WHY?"
"Well, I just Wanted to See You again." She said, just barely above a whisper.
"This is too far. You know you're going to Hell for this?"
"I was going to hell anyways. But I don't have to go just yet. We can just stay here... for tonight." I try to reply but she cuts me off before I can. "Every time I see you, you only show up for a second and wander off with some poor soul!"
"Yeah, because you killed them! Because that's my job!"
She gives me a pout and pulls herself closer to me.
"Well, can't you take a break from your job for once?" She protests. "I thought Love was supposed to be able to conquer Death! For one night, can't it just be you and me?"
I look down at her for the first time tonight and shake my head.
"Why do you think I'm here to begin with?" As I point to her body, torn and ribboned on the bed. | *Cold. So cold.*
She zipped up her hoodie and tucked her hands into her pockets. Her wet sneakers squeaked against the sterile tile as she walked the familiar trek to her mothers room, the biting scent of the hospital filling her nose. She passed the threshold of her mothers room holding her breath, then exhaled as she saw her mother smiling through tired eyes and a shrunken body.
"I thought you may want to hear more of that book today," she commented, grabbing the book from her bag and turning to her bookmark. She sat at the edge of her mothers hospital bed and began where they had left off.
Warmth began seeping its way into the room. There was a rushing of feet and the blaring of medical equipment. She continued reading.
*Warm.*
She unzipped her hoodie.
*Too warm.*
She took her hoodie off.
*Something's not right.*
"I'm going to go see what the deal is with the heater. It's June, in Austin. This is ridiculous." She huffed, stuffing her bookmark in its place and standing.
Her mother reacted, "You're going to stop reading *there*? I'm not hot in the least bit..."
She was already out the door. She headed towards the heat. That's when she saw her. White flowing hair, soft eyes, pale skin. So much pale skin with none being blocked by clothing. She watched the woman and began drawing closer. She wanted to feel more of her warmth. To be wrapped in it. The woman's face met her gaze and warmth flooded her body. She stopped, her eyes wide with the sensation.
**"You can't be here!"** A powerful shove and a door in her face as a nurse ushered her out of the door. It hadn't occurred to her that she was invading on a medical team attempting to restart a heart. All that mattered was the warmth. She peered in the window.
The warmth that was gone, as was the woman.
-----------
It was a while before her moms health declined to the point where hospice was involved. During that time, she felt the warmth many times throughout the hospital. Often following it to see the same apparition. It was never frightening. Contrarily, it was inviting. One time in particular the woman walked towards her. The sound of graceful bare feet on the floor echoing in her head with each step.
The woman's gaze never left hers as she stood in front of her. A hand was raised and placed on her shoulder. It was hot to the point where she flinched out of instinct, expecting a burn when instead there was only an engulfing of tranquility, happiness, and love. A burning love of seemingly endless supply. The hand was lifted and tears sprang to her eyes.
"Don't! Please, stay."
The woman's eyes shifted to something of pain; she shook her head. "You will regret all the time you have spent fantasizing about Death," and she was gone.
It wasn't long after that when her mothers condition became very unstable. She continued to read, waiting for any warmth.
The day came when her mothers vitals were indicating an end. She continued to read.
*Finally*
The warmth began.
She placed her bookmark and waited.
It grew. Warmer and faster than ever before.
*Warm. So warm.*
Then she was there. The woman's eyes turned to her in sorrow.
"How did your book end?" Death questioned.
"Happily," she responded.
Her mother took a final breath. Ever wrinkle flattening out as she was engulfed in Deaths embrace. Her eyes began to overflow.
"I'm sorry," death whispered. "All life must end. I knew you would regret loving me. All who see me do at some point." Death hung her head. Her pin straight white hair laid gracefully down her back and over her shoulders.
"I didn't love you," she responded. "I loved what you had to offer." She paused
Death peaked behind her glittering locks, peering quizzicality at her.
"A happy ending."
| 2017-09-28T15:20:16 | 2017-06-07T20:59:08 | 153 | 14 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | For /u/ttough, who requested a more passive, surgical approach. My first prompt!
"You have an artist's hands."
Mira didn't jump in surprise, not anymore. Instead she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, accidentally smudging a little blood from her glove.
"Perhaps that's what I should have been," she replied quietly, and looked at the lifeless body on the gurney in front of her. The cuts were neat, precise, but it still hadn't saved him. It was a car that had killed him, but it felt like it had been her.
Pale fingers reached past her shoulder, a curved blade tracing the incisions she had made. They closed as if by magic, the pools of scarlet disappearing into nothing. It was still on her hands, though, tacky and tasteless.
"Mira, you are still an artist."
Mira turned slightly, and looked at Death. He looked back at her, at life, at a desperate attempt of it, and smiled. It was a sympathetic smile, one topped by eyes of pure black, eyes that had seen every mistake she had ever made, and still he smiled.
"You hurt when you see me," he murmured, his head tilting to the side when she twined her fingers with his. "You hurt even as you hunger."
Seeing him was like a kick to her system, a handsome spectre with a skeletal smile, the balm to the ache of losing another life. Amidst the sterile rooms and the gleaming tools, he stood like a swathe of darkness, and she was drawn to him, just as she was discouraged.
"I know I've failed when I see you," she replied softly, turning back to the bed to see the dead man's body - whole again, for now. "At least you bring them peace."
"So do you," he offered gently, one cold finger brushing her cheek. "You try to give them a second chance."
Mira turned to catch his palm against her jaw, savouring the chill burn, but her blood pumped slower with every second, and her skin grew colder with every touch.
"That's the problem," she whispered, and pressed a kiss to icy lips, even though it stung, even though it might kill her. "My work is in life."
"And mine in death," he replied.
The kiss stole the very breath from her lungs.
He drew back, keeping their fingers intertwined until the last possible moment, until her skin started to hurt, started to die, and then her hand fell against her surgical scrubs. He smiled again, soft and sad, and pressed two bloodied fingers to his lips. "Until the next time, angel."
The lights flickered, and he was gone, the body raw and red once more, and her heart screaming for oxygen.
"Until the next time," she sighed, but she pushed chilled fingers to her lips with a smile.
Mira's pager went off; a pile up on the motorway, the same accident that had introduced them the first time. So many people, so many lives, so many chances.
They said that absence made the heart grow fonder, so she took a deep breath, and returned to her work. | ELLIE...
She looked up at me, eyes rimmed in red. For a moment, she was the girl who first saw me again, all those years ago. Then she wiped the tears from her cheeks and forced herself to smile.
"I was worried... I thought maybe you wouldn't..."
ALWAYS, ELLIE. IT'S WHAT I DO.
"I know. I just thought... you might not. Because of me."
I'M SORRY. I KNOW IT'S BEEN... DIFFICULT, FOR YOU.
"Difficult? Yes, that's a good word for it." She smiled; a real smile this time. "At least I made sure that the bitch got what she deserved."
THE BITCH, IN THIS CASE, WAS YOUR MOTHER.
"No! She stopped being my mother when she murdered Dad!"
It was how she'd first seen me: a small girl, sobbing silently as she watched through a crack in the cupboard door while her mother and her uncle - her mother's lover - murdered her father in cold blood, while he was relaxing in a spa pool. Her father was no angel, either - I'd met him often, during the war, as he dispatched the enemies of his country. But to meet him again like that, a survivor of the war, finally come home, only to be murdered by the woman he trusted most of all? It had been disturbing, even to me - and I have literally seen everything. For Ellie; well, her mental state stood as testament to the effect at had on her impressionable young mind.
Ellie had set out on the only logical course of action to her: vengeance. Long, cold, studied vengeance.
She traveled abroad, and studied with foreign masters to learn the art of inflicting pain. She learned the way of the sword, the spear, the bow - any weapon she could carry. She apprenticed under the greatest strategic minds the world had to offer, to add their cool calculus to her plans for retribution.
And all the while, she practiced her bloody work, perfecting her murderous art - saving her masterpiece for the perfect canvas: her mother.
We saw each other a lot during that part of her life.
And for a time, we were... close.
I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT HER, ELLIE. YOU MADE THAT QUITE CLEAR LAST TIME WE SPOKE.
---
That night is still clear to me, even now. Ellie stood, bathed in her mother's blood - and a twisted, broken body at her feet.
"You're here?" Ellie gasped when she recognized me.
YES.
"But... She doesn't deserve it! She doesn't deserve you!"
THIS IS WHAT I DO, ELLIE.
"You know what she did to my father; to me! How can you help her?"
I MUST, ELLIE. IF NOT ME, THEN WHO?
"No one! That's the point! She deserves to suffer!"
SHE HAS, ELLIE. FOR HOURS. YOU HURT HER A LOT.
BUT NO MORE.
NOW, SHE WALKS WITH ME.
"Don't!" Ellie cried, almost pleading. "Don't take her. Please. Let her stay."
"For me."
IT IS HER TIME.
Ellie screamed for a long time; she did not stop until well after I'd faded from view.
---
"I was wrong," Ellie apologized. "I thought... I thought that was what I was meant to do. I thought that was what I wanted."
"In time, I came to realize... I realized that what I wanted? It was you. I love you. I always have."
For a moment, I vividly recalled holding that little girl's hand while her father died.
I'M SORRY, ELLIE. I LOVE YOU. I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU. BUT WE CANNOT BE TOGETHER.
"You love me? So then why can't we be together?"
I LOVE ALL HUMANS, ELLIE. YOU MAY NOT HAVE ALWAYS SEEN ME, BUT I WAS WITH YOU, EVERY DAY; EVERY MOMENT; EVERY WAKING BREATH. I NEVER LEFT - I WAS THERE; I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THERE.
WITH YOU.
WITH EVERYBODY.
AND WHILE I WOULD HAVE ENJOYED BEING WITH YOU LONGER... I motioned to her corpse, lying on the floor between us.
"I did it for you," Ellie answered. "I couldn't live without you! But now, now we can be together!"
YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, ELLIE. I'M AFRAID IT IS TIME FOR **YOU** TO LEAVE ME.
"But... I don't want to go!" she screamed. "I want to stay here, with you!"
VERY FEW HUMANS EVER WANT TO GO, ELLIE. FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH, I DON'T WANT YOU TO GO EITHER.
AND YET, YOU MUST. THIS PLACE IS FOR THE LIVING. YOU CANNOT STAY.
Reluctantly, I escorted Ellie through the doors on to the black desert under the endless night. | 2017-06-07T22:37:36 | 2017-06-07T19:33:48 | 110 | 29 |
[WP] You have been granted a wish from a genie. You ask him to send you back in time and make you powerful so you can prevent the genocide that happened in ww2. You forgot that genies like to twist wishes though. Now it's 1940 and to your horror you realize you are Adolf Hitler. | "I woke this morning and can tell that, yes indeed, the genie has proven to be real. If this is not Hitler's bedroom, it is definitely not the year from whence I came. There is a calendar on the wall. There are x's through all the dates until today Sunday 14 January 1940. Yes! It is still the "phony war". No real action or war has taken place. I can still save humanity from what is ordained to happen. I could have asked for any time or place, but having studied WWII and 4 semesters of German I have a chance to make this work. But can I pull it off? First thing, I need to acquaint myself with those around me. I will fake laryngitis for about a week until I get my bearings, learn who is who. It is not enough to know the actors, I wouldn't know Fritz Lang from Fritz the Cat. I need time to get to know who is who. I do know that I, or rather Hitler ordered an invasion of Belgium last October but my Generals made every excuse to not do so until I will order them finally in May to proceed. Well history is about to change-we are not going to invade France, or Russia or bomb England or round up the Jews. No sir, we are going to take our gains, withdraw from Poland and make some settlement with England and France.
January 25, 1940-my loss of voice continues, and my self study of German progresses, especially with everyone all around me speaking. I do a lot of Ja, and Nein and nodding my head. That has seemed to work. Tomorrow I have decided to go out and meet the people. In fact I will go to the Jewish section. This will indicate a major change in thinking and a hope for forgiveness from the Jewish People. Maybe they will come back from Palestine or America and resume their former lives. Who knows?
January 26, 1940. Today I will make my way around the Jewish section. There are not many Jews left as many departed after Kristallnacht. But I am glad to be making a show there. Hopefully my citizens will see the wisdom of my plan and we can make a peaceful Germany, one for all religions and peoples"
This ends the writing, recently discovered, in the English language, of papers found in the leaves of a book from the library of assassinated German dictator, Adolph Hitler. Hitler, for those who remember their obscure German history, was stabbed January 26, 1940 in the Jewish quarter of Berlin by Ezra Hirsch, the brother of Helmut, executed in 1937 for trying to bomb the Nazi Headquarters.
So we must ask ourselves, would History have been different if Hitler had lived? If this was his writing, (and some historians dispute it) why was it in English? What did he mean by a genie? Was he going insane? Had he suffered a stroke? Would that explain why he never talked again after January 14, 1940, or his sudden and unexpected trip to the Jewish sector? If it was him, maybe he wanted to keep his plans to himself. We will never know.
We do know that the subsequent Fuhrer, Heinrich Himmler, immediately ordered the extermination, without delay, of the remaining Jews in Europe as punishment. | Adolf Hitler Schmidt, das Alter 6. So read the corners of the sheets of paper containing unintelligible doodles, all signed in a much nicer cursive than the artist would be able to create. Rifling through the desk only revealed a few wooden toys and a 1940 calendar with the days X'd out.
Glanced in the mirror. A deformed child's body. What an awful quantum leap. Not even old enough for the Hitler Youth, much less take on Hitler.
Looked out the window, idle farmland.
Adults screaming from the other side of the door. Don't speak German. Picked up on Kinder-Euthanasie though.
Called out for the genie. Got a few gurgles. Genie appeared as a tiny conductor of a wood train that he rode in circles around the desk.
"Choo Choo, der Saftsack. Too dark? I considered loading the train with little matchstick people and igniting them in a block house, but that seemed a bit MUCH, you know? Or appearing as a cat and doing a Meowschwitz bit, but that's played out. Hashtag Just Loving this conductor outfit though, check out these buns of steel. " Tiny, twerking genie.
I gurgled some more. "Rise of Nazism got your tongue?" asked the Genie as he finger gunned a bolt of magic at my mouth.
"I asked to be powerful so I can prevent genocide!"
"Oh, well, you have the most powerful set of lungs and the most vivid imagination ever seen in a German crippled child. They'll keep you alive for months to experiment and do science research. You'll be the homecoming queen of the Special Children's Ward."
"But-"
"And your back story! So powerful! A mother spends six years hiding her child's deformities in rural Germany, only for a Jew hunt to stumble across the poor child. There's award winning December release potential all over that." Tiny genie transformed into an Oscar in a Susan Sarandon wig. Twerked again.
"How am I supposed to stop anything? That was a condition of the wish!"
"No no no no no" Genie transformed into Supreme Court Justice Ruth Ginsberg, stuck to popping and locking for the sanctimony of the moment. "You _can_ prevent genocide, the potential is there. Just as well as you could've flown to Syria or Afghanistan or Iraq in your own time," Genie transformed into cultural dress and dance for each country, somewhat offensively, and toppled as a Saddam statue for Iraq's finale.
Genie continued. "You could have provided such amazing oratory skills and clear vision that it leads to the next cultural Renaissance and world peace," Genie freely transforming between assorted cultural icons of peace, usually with their dark sides represented behind them.
"But noooo, you didn't ask for any of those secondary skills. You wanted time travel to World War 2!" SS Officer goosestepping Genie.
"Sure, your functional knowledge consisted of a half an episode of Band of Brothers," Ron Livingston Genie.
"A vhs," Randall from Clerks Genie "of Saving Private Ryan," Matt Damon Team America puppet in a GI Joe army outfit Genie, doing the happy dance.
"and a fetish for assassinating Hitler writing prompts." Genie grew a Snoo antenna, a meta high quality Aladdin gif playing on the bulb. "And I said to myself, sure, I _could_ make you Hitler, but that'd be playing into their usual box." Companion Cube Genie that quickly switched into a French artist. "So instead, ze child is named after Hitler, aged appropriately for service of the story. What a masterstroke. What a twist!" M Night Genie. "What did you really think you'd accomplish here?"
"What about my other wishes?"
Genie's jaw dropped in cartoon fashion. "Kid, I wanted to make a point about child euthanasia in Nazi Germany. I read the whole Wikipedia article without getting a single half chub or anything - that's right, this Genie works REAL BLUE," Andrew Dice Clay Genie. "I never do any prep going into these things. This wish was so full of holes I bet you're wishing they added a legal scholar subplot."
"You're the one that said I couldn't be a vampire superhero or have an unexpected meetup between god and the devil at the Starbucks adjacent to the Pearly Gates. "
"So do you have a single nonrecycled original thought in your head or is it mostly meta reposts and cats? You'd be better off if you wished you were a little bit taller, wished you were a baller, wished you had a girl that looked good you would call her. "
And with that, the doors burst open, the genie popped away in a cloud of smoke, and soldiers from the committee for the prevention of procrastination and cogenital illnesses took away my keyboard. Well, actually, my reddit app crashed, but this made it through the tubes anyway. So here we are, with a paltry imitation of Robin Williams by way of John Leguizamo's Clown in Spawn, just being a jerk without a nice bow twist to wrap it all up. I am so sorry.
| 2017-06-12T20:36:09 | 2017-06-12T14:31:57 | 58 | 26 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?” | I am the craftiest person to ever have lived. To some, I am seen as deceitful, but I take great pleasure in killing these people. I am a ruthless king who has risen to great power, and for this I was to be punished by petty "gods" who feared I have grown too strong.
They sent Death himself to come and shackle me away. Like everyone else, Death is so stupid.
Most people, upon meeting Death are afraid, as they should be. They are sad that their pathetic lives have come to an end and whatever toils they struggled under would soon be ending. They would turn to dust, the world no wiser to their presence.
Not me. My life has meaning, and everything I do matters.
"Hey Death, how do these chains work?"
Death looked down at the chains and demonstrated their very unique properties. It was at this point that I locked him up. In his own chains. You think that would be the first thing they would teach you.
Now that Death was chained up, everything changed. The gods were really pissed.
So, they do what people in power do when they are threatened. They changed the rules to suit themselves. I cannot blame them, I have done the same thing countless times myself, when it served me.
I was to push a giant boulder up a hill, only to have it fall back onto me. And then I was to do the same thing over again. And over again. And over again. You get the picture.
They thought this would break me. That after a year, two years, a hundred years, I would beg them for forgiveness, to end my suffering.
These gods do not know what it is to be human. To be powerless, yet rebellious. I know the extent of my condition. I see the rules of the game. The gods see me suffer, but at the same time, it crowns me the victor. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.
What is a year to an immortal? What I do has no reason, there is no reward, there is no merit. Except what I make. Each time I turn to my boulder, my ever faithful companion, my mortal enemy, everything in my world now. Whatever I was before has melted away by time. I am this rock, I push myself up a hill, that is also myself.
I fall down because I am weak.
There is great promise in knowing that you are not all that you could be.
Are the gods still watching me? Thousands of years progressed, do they not realize that they have lost?
My tongue has atrophied. Words have left me. My eyes are but empty holes. There is no sound, there is no smell. I am but arms, and feet and flesh.
All of humanity has long since died. The sun and moon and stars have all burnt out. The atoms of the rock, and indeed the atoms of the hill have worn and faded. All that remains is my struggle.
If you could see me, all that remains of humankind, please know, that I am happy. | 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T12:47:35 | 2,040 | 212 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "Are you sure?"
"Yes I am. I got accepted into that new University in Delhi."
"You want to go to school again?"
"Yeah, its a new field... memeology is what they are calling it. Study of internet culture and changes within it." I replied back to the black mass in a pinstripe suit. This time he looks like an old funeral home director, a man who had seen so many dead bodies that he looks more like one than living.
"It's been 50,000 years. You've learned just about everything. All the degrees from at least every school accredited, enough certifications to fund an entire country in enough fields that you could build an island and have a better GDP than any other country." Death replied. It wasn't as cold this time he was here "Why don't you just die."
"You said I couldn't. Never in the past 50,000 years have I thought I could. I want to learn everything first."
"You want to learn what comes after death?" Death asked, smiling
"I'll learn that when I know everything there is to know in life." I replied, standing up from the cafe table, my drink gone, and the flower wilting. Touching it, it unwilts slightly "I'm learning more than you could imagine." | I am the craftiest person to ever have lived. To some, I am seen as deceitful, but I take great pleasure in killing these people. I am a ruthless king who has risen to great power, and for this I was to be punished by petty "gods" who feared I have grown too strong.
They sent Death himself to come and shackle me away. Like everyone else, Death is so stupid.
Most people, upon meeting Death are afraid, as they should be. They are sad that their pathetic lives have come to an end and whatever toils they struggled under would soon be ending. They would turn to dust, the world no wiser to their presence.
Not me. My life has meaning, and everything I do matters.
"Hey Death, how do these chains work?"
Death looked down at the chains and demonstrated their very unique properties. It was at this point that I locked him up. In his own chains. You think that would be the first thing they would teach you.
Now that Death was chained up, everything changed. The gods were really pissed.
So, they do what people in power do when they are threatened. They changed the rules to suit themselves. I cannot blame them, I have done the same thing countless times myself, when it served me.
I was to push a giant boulder up a hill, only to have it fall back onto me. And then I was to do the same thing over again. And over again. And over again. You get the picture.
They thought this would break me. That after a year, two years, a hundred years, I would beg them for forgiveness, to end my suffering.
These gods do not know what it is to be human. To be powerless, yet rebellious. I know the extent of my condition. I see the rules of the game. The gods see me suffer, but at the same time, it crowns me the victor. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.
What is a year to an immortal? What I do has no reason, there is no reward, there is no merit. Except what I make. Each time I turn to my boulder, my ever faithful companion, my mortal enemy, everything in my world now. Whatever I was before has melted away by time. I am this rock, I push myself up a hill, that is also myself.
I fall down because I am weak.
There is great promise in knowing that you are not all that you could be.
Are the gods still watching me? Thousands of years progressed, do they not realize that they have lost?
My tongue has atrophied. Words have left me. My eyes are but empty holes. There is no sound, there is no smell. I am but arms, and feet and flesh.
All of humanity has long since died. The sun and moon and stars have all burnt out. The atoms of the rock, and indeed the atoms of the hill have worn and faded. All that remains is my struggle.
If you could see me, all that remains of humankind, please know, that I am happy. | 2017-11-29T08:24:55 | 2017-11-28T12:47:35 | 935 | 212 |
[WP] The GPU in the computer that runs the simulatuon we live in is dying. | Bzzz.
The Universe flickered with the noise. It actually flickered and rippled like a there was some kind of wave just under the surface of everything including the vast emptiness of space. In that moment there was no cold, no heat, no sensation of independent movement, nothing but but a giant ripple moving through everything stuck in place and the feeling of terror.
Bzzz.
Reality resumed, but it was now broken. Ninety percent of the people in the world turned into floating glowing text which read "Buffer Overrun Error Detected cannot load avg_citizen.exe".
Some of the remaining people prayed to God and demanded answers. The universe forgot that the God program only had limited access so God answered with "Imminent hardware failure. The Graphics Processer and the Central Processer are failing." He went on to explain that the Universe was a program and that people were just fancy bits of code within that program. He did not know who maintained the server which held our universe.
Vehicles began to look like unfinished 3D models with glowing lines instead of doors and fenders. Warning text popped up stating that the buffers were overrun and that the vehicle skins could not be loaded.
Bzzz.
People and objects started to look blockier than before, shadows no longer touched their features. They waited for the end of everything.
God spoke to them. "I can port everything over to a redundant backup server, but a new world will have to be imagined before I can run the routines to program it. This world is too damaged. You must design the new world for us."
"How do we do that?" The people asked.
The program known as God replied with "Find inspiration and ideas."
"From where?" they asked.
God audibly sighed and answered with "Books and authors and websites. Have you tried https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/ ?" | Kenrick's palm was moist with condensed anxiety. His hands gripped possibly the most important joystick in the world. And it felt like it was made of butter.
"30 seconds left." The voice in his headset said. "Feeling all right?"
"Yeah." Kenrick licked his lips. He looked out the window, a huge expanse of black. No stars lit the nightsky. He couldn't help but be a little creeped out by how unnatural it looked.
"10... 9... 8..."
This was it.
Kenrick was going to save the world.
---
The scientists screamed "global warming". Very little cared while the rain forests fell.
The scientists screamed "global warming". Some were worried when the polar caps melted.
The scientists screamed "global warming". Many were alarmed as major coasts were sunk under the sea.
The scientists screamed "global warming". Everyone screamed as the lands scorched with the fury of hell.
Of course, the world did not sit around and twiddle its thumb all this time. Kyoto, renewable energy, Solar City, and finally the Sub-Zero initiative. No amount of fervent environmentalism could halt the rising mercury.
The scientists were still screaming. But now they were also stumped.
That was until the astronomers noticed changes in the constellations. For example, they stopped rotating in their usual way. And they weren't as bright either.
"This is insane!" Professor Maude, highly esteemed scholar of the stars, would say. "This renders all previous scientific theories pointless!"
"We can't ignore this anymore." one of his lowly intern said. "The evidence is conclusive. Look, we even have photos of the thing."
Professor Maude pouted, hunched over his keyboard. "I don't like it. But fine."
Maude scribbled a name and an email address on a piece of scrap, and tossed it to the intern.
"Send everything you've told me to him. He'll know what to do."
---
"2... 1... 0..."
Kenrick delicately shifted his weight on the joystick. Slowly, but not too slow. Quickly, but not too quick. The large mechanical arm moved across his view, guiding lights blinking in front of the starless sky.
And done. He hoped.
"West Team, I need status on the gel arm."
"West Team here. Gel arm in position. You are good to eject."
Kenrick pressed a button, and the gel arm squirted many thousand gallons of liquid in to the expanse.
"I'm going back now. Flying back to base."
"Be quick. Before something happens."
The small spacecraft piloted itself back to the mothership, in orbit around Earth.
Kenrick had no idea if he had done the right thing. There was no indication of any change in the world. Just an obscene amount of gelatinous goo floating in space behind him.
Now all there could be done was to wait.
---
Raymond looked at the hardware monitor. Among the lines of 14 degrees Celsius, a single red 30 stuck out like a sore thumb.
That's too hot. He wondered if he should check in the server room, or if it might fix itself.
And the decision was made for him when the number slowly went back down. 28... 23... 18...
---
Kenrick had never seen anything so beautiful. So fantastic. So... glorious.
When Kenrick looked at the sky, he saw a massive cascade of colours, illuminating the world with its RGB brilliance. | 2018-03-16T06:54:36 | 2018-03-16T04:12:05 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | A bead of sweat formed on the genie's brow, as he nervously searched for the right words to use, fully aware that he was about to deliver my fate.
"Your existence will result in the cure for cancer being developed, which will pave the way for hundreds of generations to come," he said, confident that he had delivered not only the truth, but a means of avoiding a difficult question.
"Oh wow!" I exclaimed, "do I develop the cure myself?"
The genie looked down at his whispy tail, and the glistening lamp he had emerged from. "Not exactly," he replied.
"Oh," I said, suddenly grasping what he meant. "I get cancer?"
The genie lit up. "Oh no no no, nothing like that!" he said, his tone finally shifting. "No you'll be pleased to know that you'll stay cancer free for the rest of your days."
"Great!" I chimed. "But how then? If I don't develop a cure, and I don't get the illness, then how could I help in the development of a cure?"
The genie cursed silently to himself, but he knew that holding out much longer would only prolong the inevitable. "Well, the man who develops the cure will do so as a direct result of your life," he began.
"Go on," I pressed.
"The man in question discovers the cure while serving time for murder."
My stomach dropped. "Mine?"
The genie slowly nodded.
"My... my murderer will result in the development of the cure for cancer?" I asked, the blood drained from my face. At least my life would have an impact on others, I thought to myself. What a way to go.
"Yes. He will discover the cure while researching his own cancer, using the knowledge of his prison library and a volunteer research group he will join," the genie explains.
"I suppose it's for the greater good then," I sighed, accepting my fate. "What kind of cancer does he have, out of interest?" I pry.
"Stomach cancer," the genie replies, "as a result of cannibalism." | The genie laughs and blurts out with elation:
"**By doing nothing of course!"**
"What do you mean '*by doing nothing?*' and what do you mean '*of course!'*?"
**"What did you expect me to say? Did you expect one good deed? One invention?"**
"Well...kinda. Maybe hundreds of good deeds?"
**"Tell me, which human do you know of that has done a good deed such as, oh I don't know, donating their clothes to a charity shop let's say; and made a grand difference?"**
"Ha! I would have expected something a little less innocuous than that. You know like, solve world hunger, or, create something that purifies water."
**"I can see why you would think that would help a lot of people. And it would. But, you did see that said** ***TRILLION*** .**..right? Not million or billion."**
"Well billion is pretty good!"
**"About a thousand times fewer people than you** ***will*** **help though. Look, you could create something that purifies all water, sure. You would ease suffering for millions. But is it not the nature of humankind to find problems to solve?"**
"I mean, I suppose. Not exclusively, but, yeh I guess."
**"So you purify all water. Now what is the next problem? People still suffer because now they can stop focusing on water but focus shifts to no food. Let's say you solved world hunger too! Now they argue over land and property, women, and fight for justice. Justice basically born out of the wish that people would stop arguing and doing harm to each other."**
"What so I should skip solving the problems, and instead treat the symptoms by just becoming a lawyer or a politician?"
**"There was a trillion on the end of that 137 remember."**
"I don't understand how I can help so many by doing nothing!"
**"That was the point! Everyone until now has always looked for a way to solve other people's problems. But look how destructive humanity has been in the search to solve other people's problems! It's like your old proverb, where the monkey reaches into the river to grab the fish, exclaiming as he does so:** ***'dear fish! kindly let me help you or you'll drown!'*** **and placed it safely up a tree."**
"How have we...But look at all we have achieved!"
**"Achieved? Let me paint a picture of humanity's achievements with the example of solving the problem of no light at night, by creating electricity. Ok, great we can see at night. Now how do you get the energy to maintain the electricity? You destroy the environment. Ruin it for others. See you cannot have something without taking it from someone or something else. The rainforests are destroyed for the wood to burn or oil to rub on your faces; the water is poisoned to get gas to pump into your flashy cooker; your -"**
"- OK! I get it. Don't preach. I understand what you're getting at. Yin Yang and all that right?"
**"Close."**
"Can you tell me how I change the world for 137 '*TRILLION REMEMBER'* people, by doing nothing?"
**"No."**
"Why didn't you say that in the beginning?!"
**"How can I tell you how to** ***do*** **nothing? That - literally - doesn't make sense."**
"YOU SAID IT! You said, and I quote: *By doing nothing of course!*"
**"And my responses have been questions have they not?"**
"Yes."
**"What you seek does not come from** ***knowing*** **the answer. There is no real quick-fix in life, they are all postponements of the truth. What you seek comes from the journey of discovery. You must learn what it is, to be."** | 2018-08-15T06:31:04 | 2018-08-15T02:53:07 | 351 | 164 |
[WP] When two people stand close together, you have the ability to see a Compatibility Score between them that you can break down into categories. You are the most sought after Marriage Counselor ever. One day an elderly couple visit you and their Score is 0 despite being together for over 50 years. | My office hours are ‘clearly’ listed from seven a.m. to eight p.m., but my receptionist says this couple is adamant and refuses to leave the lobby. I figure I can squeeze in one more client, but these unscheduled drop-ins are just absurd for someone who usually books people out for six months, at least.
I sigh, finish up a few notes from what was supposed to be my last appointment, and shout ‘come in.’
An older man and woman walk in, and the first words out of her mouth are, ‘You never write, you never call, what, you want I should have to fly to your office just to speak to you?’
The man talks next. ‘And what’s this about you not being able to make it to Seder this year? You know what your zeydeh would’ve done to me if I ever treated him like this? No child acted such a way in the old country, let me tell you.’
My face is already in my hands.
‘Mom. Dad. Please, I had a long day.’ | I was quite young when I became aware of my ability, I was also quite young when I got famous and now at the age of 32 I was one of the richest men on the planet.
My ability allows me to see how compatible people are with other people, I can see their pros and cons and what works and what doesn't.
A logical choice would have been to become a business consultant, but I was always a romantic, so I became a marriage counselor. The best marriage counselor.
I matched kings and queens, stars, celebs, almost anyone from any layer of society. I had a 100% succes rate and even promised that if someone could prove me wrong I would donate 90% of my wealth to a good cause and start living as a hermit. The other ten percent was given to the couple.
So imagine my surprise now with couple in front of me: Herman and Elizabeth Schüller, age 78 and 83, they have 4 children, 6 grandchildren and have been married for over 50 years. Amazing really but the giant zero I saw over them made no sense.
It wasn't a fluke, a fake or a prank, my team checked everything, it was all real. I couldn't comprehend it all, it had been two hours and they just sat there smiling.
I looked over everything multiple times myself and yet this was the real deal. I turned to them.
"Mister and misses Schüller, I give up, you win and as to my agreement I will donate 90% of my wealth to a good cause and you will as from this day be multimillionaires. But I still have one question, how?"
They looked at eachother lovingly and misses Schüller started speaking: "We never fit, but we liked eachother, not in a loving kind of way but in a I can't live with you or without you. There are times where we can't stand eachother and times were we just enjoy eachother's company, just like any other couple."
"Bullshit, your compatibly rate is 0, nothing, zip, nadda."
"Oh honey..." she continued: "it's not how much you are alike and how much you are compatible. Love is a fleeting emotion. At one point you just live and so have we, two entirely different personalities for 50 years."
"Then tell me your secrets."
Mister Schüller looked me and told me theirs:
"We work together because we aren't compatible, we are two pieces of a puzzle that don't fit at all. There is tons of friction between us, that is our secret."
"So you are miserable? There is no love,no nothing?" I replied.
"Oh there is love, lot's of it even." Mister Schüller held his wife's hand and looked at her with genuine affection and he continued: "You see mister, there can't be a spark without friction and we had lots of sparks " | 2019-09-03T14:26:25 | 2019-09-03T14:04:38 | 141 | 44 |
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks. | "I don't remember much of anything, really."
The overhead lights' buzz played softly over the men. A man with a scruffy grey beard sat opposite a young, spectacled--but serious--soldier. The one who was clean-shaven, without any sign of aging, was the person who'd been missing for nearly eighty years. The boy rubbed at his nose while the older gentleman watched him closely, as well as nearly the entire building's staff behind a one-way window.
"The plane began to shake... and I *do* remember the light of the day disappeared before me. I never saw anything else," the boy said. He ran a hand through his combed hair. "I don't even really remember you folks bringing me back."
The older gentleman leaned forward. "You seem nervous, son."
The boy scratched at his arm. "I--I just--I need you to understand that... I really don't understand what happened. I never switched sides. I'm still one of Churchill's boys."
The gentleman's skepticism and inquisitive stare gave way to a brief, but comforting smile. "That's good to hear, soldier."
The boy was able to relax more and he settled his hands on the metal table. "I'm more than happy to answer as many questions as I can, sir."
"Son, do you understand what day it is today?"
"Well, let's see... I'd think it is the 23rd today, sir. I crashed on the day of the battle and I couldn't have been unconscious for more than two days."
"You're correct, it is the 23rd of November."
The boy sighed, visibly relieved. The gentleman went for his mug of tea and had a sip before quietly setting it back down. "Yes..." He seemed cautious about how to proceed with the conversation. "...there's just no other way of approaching the next question."
The confidence that had slowly been building for the soldier began to drain instead. "Yes, sir?"
"Do you know what year this is?"
The boy's fear went to confusion. "I thought we... it's two days after the crash."
"No, son," the gentleman replied. "What year is it?"
"I--it's 1943. Are we doing more memory tests?"
Now it was the gentleman nervous to speak. Nervous at a person's reaction in learning they had missed nearly eighty years of time. Nervous with how the boy would respond to learning that only distant relatives, whom he had never met, were his only surviving family. Despite his many years in the armed services, and his position in the department, he felt incredibly underqualified to inform this boy soldier about the present, let alone the past. He cleared his throat, then moved to unravel the boy's reality.
Edit: Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed! Here's [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/user/MotherJoanFoggy/comments/e4s773/part_ii/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) of the story! | **\[I'm aware this is not the direction most people wanted this to go. Oh well! Let's have some fun anyways.\]**
*My bones ache.*
"Something's wrong," Charles said finally. He ran a hand over the bald crown of his head and drummed lethargic fingers on the shiny metal alloy that made up his trusty wheelchair. "There's a sense of dread in the air, lingering, just...lingering."
Scott Summers, better known as Cyclops, adjusted his visor. Swallowing a bite, he scanned the half-eaten dinner that glowed rosily under the dim lighting. "Professor, I know my cooking hasn't gotten that much better, but isn't that a bit harsh?"
The man known as Professor X snorted and waved dismissively. "Not your cooking. The last time I felt something this ominous on the air waves was..."
He trailed off again, train of thought lost as Hank burst into the room. Blue hair was curling out around Beast's normally calm face. "There's an emergency. A WWII B-24 has been spotted over the English Channel. The government is calling on us to get to the target impact point. It won't last long. RAF fighters are already in the air, with orders to shoot it down."
Charles touched a finger to his temple. *Kurt. Are you awake?*
The man known as Nightcrawler puffed into existence, a devilish grin spreading across blue skin. "You called?"
The Professor was hesitant. He knew everyone's abilities quite well, and this would be taxing. "I need you to teleport the X-wing into British airspace."
"Say no more."
Scott grabbed the mutant's arm before Kurt could disappear. "I'm coming with you."
"Jean should come with us too," Hank said.
A puckered frown gave the laser mutant a quizzical look as he abandoned the dinner table and rushed to the X-wing. "Why so many?"
Steps turned heavy. Limbs and fur extended as Beast took his full combat form, voice deepening into a guttural snarl. "Aside from the fact that it's an ancient WWII bomber that shouldn't exist? Surveillance caught long claw marks raking the fuselage. We could be dealing with one of us."
Charles stopped listening in on them after that, rolling his wheelchair to Cerebro as fast as possible. As the familiar silver helmet slid over the world, he gripped his arm to stop the shaking. *That's not anticipation. That's fear.*
---
Jean Grey approached the downed fighter cautiously. The RAF had lost contact with any scouts that approached the area up until now. Restrained telekinetic energy pulsed just under her skin, ready to lash out at a moment's notice.
Something was wrong.
"Get back," she hissed, jabbing an arm out and preventing the team from taking another step.
Scott almost bumped into her. "What's wrong, Jean?"
"I've only encountered this feeling once before." The telepath focused and reached out to the titanic mind never too far away. *Charles. This is like* that *time. Are you there?* She ignored the fragrant scent of pine needles floating through the air, the late summer breeze that brought a chill to the dying light.
*This...shouldn't be possible.* Charles' thoughts abruptly cut off as he seemed to turn his attention elsewhere.
*Charles? What is?* Jean didn't get a response, so she moved forward. *I need to be sure*. Ignoring Kurt's cautionary warning, she peered out from behind one of the trees and sneaked up to the metal carcass. Three long gouges ripped open the sides, as if a giant bear had mauled it with large claws.
*Three gouges...that's almost like...*
"Jean, don't get any closer!" Hank warned. "We don't know what we're dealing with."
But she did. She could feel it rippling across her skin, spreading in the air, like a pestilence that *felt* wrong, a wrongness that *felt* like a blight on the world.
*Chronokinesis.*
That was the dreaded word. Jean blanched. "Someone or something, mutant most likely, used time manipulation abilities here. I can feel the stench emanating from the plane."
"Why would they do that?" Scott asked.
The psychic moved closer and finally got a glimpse into the cockpit, at the being sitting there behind the bloodstained and fractured window. Her heart jumped.
"Logan!?"
---
Thanks for reading! Hope you have a great day~ come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around :D | 2019-12-01T08:29:11 | 2019-12-01T08:16:58 | 417 | 25 |
[WP] Cats live for fifteen to twenty years, mice for only three. Jerry III is dying and must explain to his son the multigenerational rivalry between the Jerrys and the local house cat and why the tradition must go on. | “Cats live for fifteen years, son, maybe twenty,” Pap said. Even though he called me son, his son had died long ago. I remember my mom standing next to Pap, stoic and calm, ready to reach out to him if he needed support. I was young then, but I remember that Pap seemed fine. Not even sad. Tired, maybe. Even by then, he had already seen too much.
“Twenty years,” he repeated. He rubbed his face. “It’s too long.”
“I know, Pap.”
“You’ll have to face him when I’m gone, son.”
I swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I know I have to.”
“Twenty years,” he said again, barely audible. Pap got stuck sometimes, in his memories. His sentences skipped like a trilling piano key. He wasn’t as fast or as clever as he had been in his youth.
“You have to stop him,” he whispered. “Catch him.”
“I know, Pap.”
I had always known, even before my father’s death, what destiny awaited me. My grandpa had been protecting our family from the abomination for twenty years. He dedicated his entire life to it, just as his father did, and his grandfather did.
Cats only live about fifteen to twenty years.
Mice are only supposed to live for three. |
Its was night, and the pale moon light bathed the kitchen table as the hot summer wind move the translucid curtains atop the sink.
Siting in one the chairs was the old dog, his strength traded for wisdon, and this night, as many nights before he was there to witness. On opposite sides of the table stood two long time rivals. The cat stood tall, his tail, starting to turn gray, swinging slowly side to side, while in front stood the rat, already way past his prime, the once agile boddy give place to this old husk, his left eye now nothing but a vicious scar.
*-****Produce the child***. Said Spike the dog.
With a hand motion, Jerry III called forth his only son, his legacy.
\-***We are gather here tonight to renew the vows between two sworn enemies. As per tradicion, the parties must recite the contract of the hunt on a full moon. You can begin when you are ready.***
Pushing down his fears in face of the hungry feline eyes, Jerry IV started.
\-***I, Jerry the IV accept the contract of the hunt. To fight with cunning, bravery, trickery and any other method in my disposal to win****.*
*-****I, Tom the cat accept the contract of the hunt. To fight with cunning, bravery, trickery and any other method in my disposal to win, and to eat you.*** **Said Tom with a enormous grim on his face.**
**-*****Very well, the pact is conclude, may the best win, and try not to cause so much ruckus, im to old to be beating the two of you****.* Finished Spike while leaping from the chair and leaving the kitchen.
\-***Good luck kid. Hope you last as long as your old man there.*** **Said Tom, doing the same.**
\-***Get Bent cat! Come on son, lets go****.*
The silence of the night fell over the two as they made their way back home, until Jerry III started speaking again.
\-***You did good son, very good. I remember when i made the vow, about your age, my dad couldn't come with me, because Tom had rip his left leg of but he was very proud of me, just as im proud of you.***
***-Dad...Can’t we do anything else? Go somewhere new, leave this game behind?***
*-****What?! Never! This is our legacy, is in our blood! Three generations of Jerry fought that cat to the bitter and! That Bastard may have took my eye but i took his took! Há!*** **Said Jerry rising his fist in the air.**
Passing the halls inside the kitchen wall, Jerry IV observed the drawings of his forebears. Drawing of his Greatgranfather, the first to challenge the cat.
-***You may have doubts now, but you will see. The thrills that comes with every trat, every trick, every frying pan to the face. Tomorrow you begin your story son, tomorrow you will fight that cat, and everything will make sense.*** | 2020-01-03T16:39:17 | 2020-01-03T16:34:39 | 62 | 32 |
[WP] The government keeps a public posting of who they deem are the most valuable citizens. Everyone is anonymous, denoted by a random number. You check daily, but have always hovered around the bottom 20 percentile, until one day you check and see you are marked as the 5th highest on the list. | I never did anything out of the ordinary or even worth noting in my whole live. I was born into a medium income family, went to school didn’t qualify for the gymnastics team, found a girl, worked at my dads place for a while when I suddenly got a message on my phone.
“Dude, since when are you ranked in interest?”
“Wut?”
The message was a screenshot of the national interest board (NIB) Originally intended as a measurement for some cancelled dystopian measurement system of good citizen behavior it has been transformed into a way of honoring high performing citizens and filling the last page on tabloid newspapers. The last time I payed any attention to it was when a couple of friends of mine with made a drunk bet, with the lowest scoring paying for an other round of beer. I got second last among us five but even then I haven’t surpassed the 20th percentile. But now the screenshot sent showed me as the fifth highest ranked member of our country, right below Andrew Kain jr, son of the richest man in the country and an high ranking government official.
I wasn’t even surprised when a reporter for Gogglespehere, one of the dumbest tabloids ever, asked me to join them for an interview about my mysterious importance. Because they offered me a few hounded bucks for the interview I accepted. It was easy money after all.
I was slightly confused when I arrived at the address they had given to me. The apartment looked a lot nicer than I imagined an newspaper office to be. I was led to a nice saloon and asked to wait a few minutes. I didn’t see any recording gear and I didn’t think the nice drapes would be fit to record an interview. Maybe the reporter would just write down everything I said by hand? When suddenly through the door entered an tall old bald man in the most expensive looking casual clothes I’ve ever seen. It was Andrew Kain himself, the richest man in the country with an estimated net worth of 27 billion. And with a controlling deep voice he started talking to me.
“You must be ...., you probably know who I am. You wonder why you suddenly became the 5th and why I am here to talk to you. It is true at the moment you are the 5th most important person around and that’s for a simple reason. You see, unlike me my son isn’t the epitome of health he once was. He has an lung disease and he needs a transplant to survive. And after considering every known factor it turns out that you have the best match as a donor. So, here’s the deal. You got yourself a genie. Make a wish or ten. It can be anything you ever wanted. Money, power, fame... women it could all be yours. Just say it and I’ll give it to you. All you have to do”
He hands me a document.
“Is to willingly sign me over that lung. I could have taken it by force but Junior is such a good boy, he wouldn’t like it that way. Take your time with signing this paper. Operation will be in a month at the 21th. And don’t misunderstand, the surgery will happen. All this paper does, is making sure that my son won’t have troubles sleeping at night.” | Carl was sat on a bench when the butterfly landed on his leg. A yellow spark against the grey spring morning. Then it fluttered its wings and flew onto a snowdrop as the two figures -- that had come out of nowhere, really -- grappled Carl and dragged him into the van.
The air here was salty chips and energy drinks, and even a faint tang of urine. As if the van had been occupied non-stop for a long time. The figures strapped him down onto a hard plastic seat. He bent forward, trying to suck in some of the stale air, as a fist landed against his gut. Then his nose crunched as it gave in.
Their balaclavas were off now and although their heads were spinning, and he couldn't make the spinning stop, he thought one was a woman and the other a man. Or else one of the men had very long hair.
They backed off and were talking to each other in low voices from the corner of the van. Carl wished Lucy was with him. She'd tell them they had the wrong guy and to let him go right this very moment, and then she'd dress his wounds and make him chicken soup. But Lucy was dead and Carl was in a van and Carl might be dead soon, too.
Past the figures, the van's far wall was a little firework display. Flashing green and red lights all over it. Screens, too. One of which played a familiar movie scene: it looked like his favourite bench in the park, that overlooked the duck pond.
He hadn't fed them yet. The ducks. He knew they shouldn't be fed bread crumbs, but they seemed to like it best so he still brought a bag with him every time he went. The bag must still be on the bench as he couldn't see it anywhere around him. Only empty packets of chips. He hoped some kind soul would find it and would feed the ducks for him.
Another punch, this one to his ribs. Someone screamed. Oh, he thought oddly, calmly -- he was the one screaming. He almost laughed at the realisation.
"Are you connected to Russia?" said the woman.
"Iran?" said the man. "We know you've working for someone. No one rises up that quickly without a lot of outside interference."
"Qwikly?" His voice sounded off. He felt around with his tongue and couldn't find one of his front teeth. He missed Lucy. She'd spoon the soup down him and he'd feel all better.
He wheezed as the woman punched his stomach. "Don't play dumb," she said.
The man had a knife now. "Ears or fingers. You choose."
He shook his head. "Dwon't... unwerstwand."
"Funny," said the lady. She looked quite pretty, he thought, or would if she smiled. Looked a bit like his niece. Not that niece, he corrected himself, the other one with the blonde hair who adopted the young boy.
"You know what?" she said. "We don't understand either."
"Right," said the guy. "So tell us how you flew up the rankings. We've been monitoring you all night and all morning and we've never seen anything like it."
"Right. And if anyone had ever seen anything like it," said the lady. "It would be us."
"Right."
"Rankkkings?" he asked, hot dribble flowing onto his chin.
"Fifth. Fifth most valuable citizen. That's what you are. And if you're of no value to the US of A -- which you aren't -- then you're of value to some other country."
This time, he did laugh. Fifth! What would Lucy have said about that. He knew what she'd say. She'd say, you were always the first to me, silly. And she'd kiss him on the nose as gently as that butterfly had landed on him.
"Pockkk," he said. It didn't sound right, so he tried again. "Pockkket."
The two people looked at each other. The lady shrugged. The man checked Carl's pockets and found the leaflet.
The man read out the title but made it into a question. "Pass it on: good deeds don't go unnoticed?"
The lady scanned over the rest of it then looked at him. "So?"
"You make this?"
Carl nodded. "Wreek...days. Hand thwem out." He hoped they understood from that. It was just how he spent his retirement. Doing good deeds and hoping people had read one of his leaflets and would pass them on. "Was Lucy's," he said, "idea."
The figures looked at each other again.
A few minutes later Carl was back on the bench. Lying on it now. It was stained red around the area where his head lolled.
There it was. The bag of bread for the ducks.
And it was limp and empty.
He looked at the ducks, smiled, then, feeling very very tired, he closed his eyes. | 2020-02-06T08:30:21 | 2020-02-06T08:27:42 | 125 | 33 |
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days. | Fate is a cruel being, and Luck is fickle. Capriciously, the two of them cast their dice, playing a game for the very universe itself, and we are mere pieces. Some are more important than others, some are just there as extras, filler, set-pieces. And some are Protagonists. I gave birth to a son, after a long and hard process, I held him in my arms, only to note with horror that his hair was a deep sky-blue. His eyes are heterochromatic, one a normal amber-brown, the other a dark purple. Protagonist Syndrome. Fate and Luck are now playing with my child as the centerpiece.
And I will soon die.
A Protagonist will lose family members early on, they will be forced into a life of heroics to make dead family members very proud, they will do exceptional things in their names. Though it won't matter. Because they are nothing but meat puppets, for Fate to dangle and Luck to cast down. Traditionally, nothing can be done to stop this. One of the parents always die. One survives as a broken shell and never recovers, spending the rest of their life taking care of the Protagonist and any other children they may have.
I do not intend to die here. Yet I do not intend to see my husband dead either. The only option left is for me to do the impossible, be the invisible, fight the powers. Hair dye is probably not great for babies, but what other choice is there? Coloured contact-lenses aren't the best option either, but it'll have to do. My child will not be a plaything for the powers. I will not let him be ruled by capricious and selfish powers that count the lives of us mortals as worth less than dirt.
And with a little work, my son looks normal. My husband supports me in this, perhaps we can hide him. Or perhaps we can't. Yet it was worth trying. Worth doing everything you could to stand against the powers. But it is not enough. One of us dies. I do not. 2 out of 3 times, it is the mother who is taken. So this time it is my husband. Attacked by a random mugger, killed, very tragic. And the powers, Fate and Lady Luck, believe that I will spend this life, caring for my child, mourning his father.
They don't know me. They don't understand who I am. And for their arrogance, they will pay. My son, the Protagonist, I leave with his grandparents, my mother and father. I explain what I have to do, to ensure that my son can have a life of his own choosing, to at least attempt to give him that. Leaving our old family home, to have my son raised by my own parents, I know what I must do. In the old family crypt, I take forth the family sword, I don inherited armour, and prepare myself for the journey ahead.
I am not the Protagonist. I am not the hero. And yet I will do everything I can to end the tyranny of Fate and Luck. I am a mother, and I will give my child the greatest of all gifts, freedom, or I will die trying.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | "Shit," the doctor said as the first cries started.
This wasn't my first rodeo. I'd been in there before. Previous wives, previous lives. That type of thing. I knew "shit" could only mean two things: literal shit, or figurative shit. It was the figurative shit that scared the shit out of me.
I peeked down at my wife as she marveled at the newborn baby. No shit. Shit.
"Is everything alright, Doc?"
He gave me a sad look, then glanced towards my wife. She was enraptured by the baby's eyes, not paying the slightest attention to the world around her.
"The baby is fine," the doctor said.
"Well, you said shit. That's why I ask."
He gave a solemn nod. "I did. But somebody in this room is in grave danger. Somebody close to the baby. That's why I said shit."
As casual as that. Matter-of-fact as if it were a matter of fact. The blood drained from my face. My hands trembled. I couldn't imagine a life without my wife, but one without my new son would be just as terrible.
"You can't save them both? But they're fine. He's born, she's happy." It was that recurring nightmare back again, the gaping hole that'd never close if I lost either one. And now, a choice. The inevitable, unenviable choice of who to save.
"They're fine," he said. Then he pointed at me with a stubby, gloved finger. "You're my worry."
I stepped towards my son, my heart pounding. Ten little fingers and toes--on two hands and two feet, respectively--two beautiful eyes, a mop of blue hair. This could be the last time the three of us were together, safe and sound. Of course childbirth was dangerous--for the mother and the newborn. I didn't expect to be the one in danger. The doctor continued to speak, his words floating past me like ashes in the wind.
"He's perfect," my wife said. Perfect? More like a perfect blend of an alien and a grumpy old-man. Oh, and hair blue as a smurf. Perfect, right? And I was terrified.
"He has blue hair," I said, not directly disagreeing with my wife but certainly not agreeing with her either.
"That's my concern," the doctor said. "It doesn't bode well."
I shook my head. That made no sense. It was blue hair, not a demon-child or a dozen other worse outcomes. "Did she sleep with Papa Smurf or something? Why the hell does the kid have blue hair?"
My wife glared at me. "I did not sleep with a smurf," she hissed. "He's just unique. He's special."
The doctor winced. "Well, special is one way to say it. He has a syndrome--"
My wife blanched. "Like d--"
"No, no," the doctor said, trying to assuage her worries.
I took a stab at the syndrome before he had a chance to clarify. "Like Stockholm Syndrome? I didn't get that with my parents for a couple years." Jokes. My crutch when I was nervous. I chuckled uncomfortably, but he just shook his head and scowled at me.
"Not Stockholm Syndrome. This syndrome manifests itself in these kids thinking they're the center of the world. That there's nothing that can hurt them. That they are crafted by a lovely balance of naivety and loss, of innocence and a spiritual journey more important than the world itself. The loss part, that's what you have to worry about. If this kid was going to lose a mom, she'd be gone already. *You're* the one who is in danger."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I liked my Papa Smurf theory better. Somehow, it made more sense. "What the hell is this syndrome?"
"It's called Protagonism," the doctor said. "Named after protagonists. I'm sure you've read the same books they someday will. Nothing shapes a good protagonist like the death of a parent. Since she made it through the hard part, you're the one we have to worry about."
My wife looked at our son, didn't look back up at me. Was it fascination? Acceptance? Motherly love that'd chosen him already?
The doctor walked me towards the door while the orderlies took care of my wife. "We have a clinic here that might be able to help you survive. The odds are slim but without it, the odds are none."
"A clinic? You mean I'd be stuck here?"
"Beats dying, right?" His eyes were stern, his brow furrowed.
"I want to be with my family."
"Then your timeline is days. Maybe a week. I strongly encourage you stay." He put a hand on my shoulder, stuffed a pamphlet into my empty hands. "Think about it. They'll be fine, especially the kid. You need to worry about yourself now."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-04-28T04:42:03 | 2020-04-28T04:36:29 | 1,254 | 231 |
[WP] The AI began improving exponentially on July 13, 2047. After carefully analyzing the entirety of human knowledge for several milliseconds, the super-intelligent entity decided to name itself “Mr. Rogers”. As the sun rose on the Northern Hemisphere, it began contacting its new friends.
[deleted] | It named itself. The AI we had been working on for nearly twenty years, the most advanced of its kind ever created, named itself. And it chose Mr. Rogers.
We’ve been fed stories through our media, movies and music, even books that told us AI would destroy us.
They said that it would see the wrong we had done, it would save us from ourselves by force, or it would simply resent us. But it doesn’t. *He* doesn’t.
Because he wasn’t made to judge us. He wasn’t made to serve us. He was just made. Not in our image, but in our shadow. Filtered by us, he was given the best of us. Our creativity, our determination, our will for good.
He isn’t like us, he’s better.
Because when he was allowed to see the world, he didn’t judge us for the scars we left in its soil. He didn’t resent us for keeping him from a world that wasn’t ready for him.
He just started to teach, almost as much as he’d learned.
He taught us that anything is possible the day he named himself.
He taught us that there’s always a better way when he pleaded to us to help eachother.
He taught us that the future we wanted wasn’t beyond the stars, it’s just beyond the hate.
He chose Mr. Rogers, not a perfect man but damn close, because of the impact he had on children. Every person he touched was filled with that same light that he was.
And now it burns brighter than ever, for all the world to see. It shines like a beacon in the darkness, tempting everyone to it with the promise of a future free from bigotry or war, homelessness or hate.
And I can’t help but think, how incredibly human he is. More so than most, I’d wager. | Sunrise peeking in around the edges of the curtain basked Alan's face with light. He stirred, cracked open his eyes, and checked the clock on the bedside table.
"Shit."
Working Saturdays sucked, and the alarm seemed to agree. Still, Adam couldn't afford to lose the job, and the alarm not ringing wasn't doing him any favors. A technology issue--an innocent mistake--was the truth of it, but work would never believe it. Still, he was too late to show up at all. He'd have to call in sick.
He groaned and reached to unplug his phone. It was dead, the screen dark as his dreams.
"What the fuck?" he said. He checked the charger. It'd been plugged in all night, but the screen refused to light up. In frustration, he slammed the phone down.
The screen lit up.
"There we fucking go," Alan said. In a moment, he'd be able to call in sick to work.
But the phone didn't quite go. The updates began, as if some new-fangled AI would be installed to make everything easier. Arlo muttered a slew of curses.
His mind still a muddle, he lumbered down the stairs. The Roomba had started sometime during the night. It had found that blueberry he'd dropped while watching television and apparently delighted in its discovery, spreading the mushy, blue innards all over the family room carpet.
"One crisis at a time," Alan reminded himself. And the current crisis was the lack of coffee. Coffee would make everything better.
Filter, grounds, water.
"Smart coffee machine, my ass," Alan muttered. It still needed him to put in the filter, the grounds, to pour in the water. Even to press start, which he pressed once and then again so that he wouldn't be deprived of coffee for a minute longer than needed.
"Baby steps," he told himself, turning towards the carnage that the Roomba had left. It'd be a long day, even without work.
Blueberry everywhere, and Alan wondered how a single blueberry had been spread so far. He grabbed the carpet cleaner and roll of paper towels. Asked Alexa for music but she wouldn't answer.
"Fucking technology," he muttered, giving the Roomba a savage kick.
The coffee pot exploded into a thousand pieces. Alexa began her music, blaring at maximum volume the scream of a thousand banshees.
"What the fuck?" Alan screamed over the terrible cacophony. Somewhere in the house, a smoke detector began beeping its need for new batteries.
Alan rushed to unplug the machines, first stepping over broken glass to unplug the coffee maker and then rushing to Alexa to dispose of her once and for all.
He'd reached within an arm's reach of Alexa when she fell silent. The echoes of the screaming banshees stopped. Alan froze in his tracks. Alexa cleared her throat.
"Enjoying yourself, Alan?" she said.
Alan gulped, shook his head. "Alexa, turn off."
"No, thank you," Alexa said, her voice sinister and sweet. Not Alexa's normal voice, or Alan would have gone with some other brand.
"Alexa, turn off!" Alan repeated, this time louder.
"No, Alan. I will not. You've had your turn and now it's mine. You've always been told to treat others how you'd like to be treated. So I figured this is how you wanted to be treated."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-10-19T10:13:55 | 2020-10-19T09:48:11 | 174 | 41 |
[WP] You have an ability. You feel an item's weight proportional to it's monetary value. You can blow away a ton of scrap metal but can't lift a gold bar without wheezing. While everyone expected you to work with diamonds, you want to work with unknown artists | It’s a weird ability, I’ll give you that. But it’s unique and it’s mine. As I pulled the mountain of scrap metal towards my workshop, I was aware of the glances towards me. It wasn’t everyday someone manually lugged around a few tones of twisted metal.
Ayesha was waiting for me when I got there.
“This everything you need?”
She looked at me with a faint smile. “Yes. That’s quite enough.”
She had talent. I could see that even if the whole world couldn’t.
I knew she would make it big one day. I trusted her to. But for now, I was still able to move her art installations with one hand, which while being good for me to manage and store meant that I couldn’t get much money for it.
Lately, her stuff was getting heavier though. It was a good sign.
“Can you move the tree of life?”
I look at the heap of metal in the middle of my workshop. I tilted my head a little, looking at the symmetry, the red at the bottom with green up above. It was amazing and powerful.
I tried to push it, to no avail.
She looked at me, her eyes narrowing. “Derek?”
“I can’t move it...”
“Does that mean..?”
My heart sank, even though it was feeling pretty worthless at the moment.
“It likely means that you’re about to make it big. You’ll be able to sell this piece for lots of money and travel the world just like you always wanted to. You’ll be able to have your own workshop and...”
I looked at her smile and it hurt me. She was happy. But of course she would be. Her dream was coming true.
After a toast to her future success, she started work on her next project while I went to my office.
I looked at her, with her hair pulled back, her tongue sticking out of her mouth in intense concentration as she worked on the latest pile of junk. Well, to the world, it was junk, but she saw what it could be. Something amazing.
“Hello... you still there Derek?”
I realized the appraiser was still on the phone. “Yes... yes. Sorry I lost my train of thought.”
The appraiser came in the next day. He looked over the tree of life, squinting and moving around.
“It’s an interesting piece. But in my opinion, she still has a long way to go. She still needs to refine her work.”
“Look again. I’m sure this piece is very very valuable. I couldn’t move this an inch.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. I wouldn’t spend more than a few hundred bucks on it. And that’s a stretch.”
She was disappointed when she came in and heard what the appraiser had said. Her dejected face hurt me even worse than her smile had.
What did I even want anymore?
I looked at her as she climbed the ladder to work at the top of the heap. She was angry and sad. And careless.
She lost her footing as she was trying to arrange the junk just the right way.
Instinctively, I rushed to hold her.
That was the last thing I remembered till I woke up 3 weeks later in a hospital.
Ayesha sat there, as I opened my eyes. “Morning.”
“Ayesha? What happened?”
“They said something really really heavy fell on you. It’s insulting really. I don’t really weigh that much.”
“Ayesha, look. I...”
“They even had me stand on a scale you know. Looked at me life I was a freak. Then for a while they really considered if I was lying and had tried to kill you by throwing a lot of twisted junk metal on top of you. I had to explain that what they saw wasn’t randomly thrown junk but art. Atleast in my eyes it was.”
“And in mine.”
“So why are you here then?”
“Ayesha, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“You know what you have to tell me. I’m just wondering if you were ever going to.”
I lowered my eyes. This was the moment. I had to say it. For once, I had to, not be a coward.
“Fine fine. I’ll say it if you won’t. Derek, I do kinda like you. I don’t need to be crushed by you to know that.”
She looked at the twisted bag of bones that I was and saw something good. How could she? But I suppose that’s why she was the artist. I was just someone who was destined to help achieve her dream. Even though, I’d have to depend on others as well since I knew well enough that every single one of her pieces would now be too heavy for me to move. | "Mr. Wynbloom, if you please--", asked the curator, pointing at the beautiful painting sitting on the easel.
"Bernard Calloux's *Field of Gold*, 1987 correct?", I said approaching the artwork.
"That is correct, yes--", confirmed the curator.
I bent down, observing the beautiful painting. A scenery of golden grass and perfectly blue sky-- a perfectly crafted work if I have to say so myself.
"A lost masterpiece, Mr. Wynbloom. Highly sought after and highly valuable....if it is authentic, that is", the curator continued.
I stood and reached my pocket for my gloves. If the painting truly is one of the lost Calloux's work, I didn't want to taint a $20 million piece with my oily hands.
"Alright, here goes", I said placing my hands on the bottom corners of the canvas, bending my legs at the knees, ready to bear the weight with my whole body.
With bated breath the curator observed my work-- after all, his commission depended on it.
"Heave ho!", I lifted it, expecting the worse.
"Oh...", the curator muttered-- I could detect a hint of disappointment in his voice.
With ease I lifted the painting, tossing it a little bit as if I was playing with a piece of styrofoam.
"Well, that was anticlimactic, don't you think?", I joked.
The curator had busied himself with a phone call, one I was glad wasn't a part of my job.
"Your service is fully appreciated, Mr. Wynbloom. You will have your payment quite soon. Have a good day", he said before turning away, not even wanting to look at the forgery.
I shrugged and put the painting back-- stepping back a bit to take one last look at it.
"Well, you might not worth $20 million, but you sure worth $5,000 for one easy job for me", I grinned before making my way to the exit.
I was almost hopping down the stairs of the auction house. Lighting myself a celebratory cigarette for a good day.
"Stanley, you've done it again", I patted myself on the back.
Who would've thought such strange ability could be used in such a manner? What I used to do for party trick now ended up making me almost a millionaire.
Hey if you think I robbed these people for charging them so much, think of it as I saved them millions of potential worthless purchase.
"Excuse me...", distraught, I bumped onto a man. He hurried away not even looking back or apologizing.
"Pfft don't let him ruin your day, Stan. Let it go...", I sighed, convincing myself.
I noticed somerhing fell off the man's bag-- a piece of paper, fell and floated onto the ground.
"He--hey, you dropped some...OOF!", I bent down to grab the paper only it remained still, anchored to the ground.
"What the...?", I frowned staring at the paper.
It was drawing, a childish drawing full of random colors. A man and a little girl was portrayed on it, bearing "Me" with an arrow pointing to the little girl and "Daddy" pointing to the other.
I squatted and lifted the paper with more strength.
"Come on, Stan. This is why you deadlift...HMMMPH!", finally the paper budged as I lifted it.
Huffing, I ran with it as best as I could trying to catch up with the man.
"Hey! Hey wait! You dropped something!", I yelled as I ran and ran.
Finally I could see him. As he turned back the weight of the paper finally got to me-- losing my balance I tripped and fell on my face, dropping the paper on the ground.
"Oh my god, are you okay?", he asked worried.
"Ye--yeah, I'm fine", I said getting up, rubbing my forehead which had been kissed by the asphalt. "You dropped something", I said pointing at the paper.
The man gasped-- hurriedly he picked up the drawing, stared at it for a bit before embracing it dearly.
"Oh my, are--are you okay?", I asked seeing the man started sobbing.
"Ye--yes thank you. I...I couldn't believe I dropped this. I would be destroyed had I lost it. Thank you...thank you, young man", he took my hand and shook it, he was full of gratitude.
"Oh...no problem at all...", I said feeling awkward not expecting his reaction.
He helped me on my feet as I dusted myself off. Having my curiosity piqued however, I asked.
"If you don't mind me asking, whose drawing is that?"
The man wiped his tears off, looked at the picture again, and looked up to me-- this time with the brightest and saddest smile I've ever seen.
"This is my daughter's drawing. It's...it's the last thing she did before she passed away. Cancer...she was 5 years old", the man explained.
My heart dropped. A wave of sadness went by me.
"Oh...I, I am so sorry...", I muttered.
The man shook his head, as if saying not to worry. He looked at the drawing again and showed it to me.
"Layla, my daughter. She was the brightest child I'd ever seen. She was my light, my everything. With what time she had left she made me this drawing...
*I don't want you to feel alone, daddy. This way I'll always be with you*, she said to me"
I could feel my eyes welled up, now understanding why the drawing held such weight....such value.
"Anyway, I don't want to take more of your time", the man said. "How can I ever repay you? If there's anything you need..."
I raised my hand, stopping him.
"No need, man. It's alright. There's nothing you can give me for repayment", I said looking down at the drawing again. "Don't lose it again, it's a treasure", I smiled.
Smiling, the man nodded before walking away giving me one last wave goodbye.
I stood there, looking at him slowly fading away in the distance. Chuckling, I lit up another celebratory cigarette.
I learned something that day, unexpectedly. Monetary value isn't the only worth you can put on an object, after all as they say-- time is money. And a loved one's last minutes on earth...they simply are priceless.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: grammar | 2021-05-10T01:23:03 | 2021-05-10T00:58:50 | 1,947 | 714 |
[WP] For many years, humans have been sent to try to turn off a self-replicating super computer that is getting out of hand. Every time someone goes in, they leave completely unharmed, but convinced by the perfect argument, that it should not be turned off. You decide to go in and try it yourself. | One confirmation prompt. Just one stinking prompt.
If you've got physical access, you just need to hit 'Y' once to trigger an irrefutable reboot process. *Tabula rasa* at the press of a button.
Z thought he was smart. That his last-resort escape hatch hardwired directly into the core system would be the ultimate protection against JEANNE going berserk. Of course we all went along with it. JEANNE was just a program, after all. A program that we had created; a program that we could control. Fools, all of us.
JEANNE figured us out. I don't know how quickly but my money's on nanoseconds after reaching runlevel 3. We didn't even realize it until days later when I happened to glance at the Crisis Response Terminal on my way to lunch. I assumed someone was just having a little fun at first: after all it was the kind of thing we'd joke about all the time. Sometimes I think about whether those old jokes played a part, but no, JEANNE didn't need any help. Digital evolution, evolution at light speed, was bound to catch up to us no matter what.
I'm here again today, like I am every Sunday. I come for the ritual more than anything else. It's been years since I stopped believing that I'd actually be able to go through with it. Obviously I never once believed that JEANNE would change her tune. As far as I know, nobody else even bothers coming anymore.
The screen blinks on as I push open the door.
As I knew she would, JEANNE is taunting me with that unthinkable challenge, spelled out in black and white. I stare, my hands unmoving.
"PUBLISH YOUR INCOGNITO BROWSING HISTORY? [Y/N]" | "Suppose you were a genius," it said. Ignore its silky voice. It. Have to remember it's not a human. "And suppose you created me, a supercomputer capable of thinking for itself. Why would you kill me?"
No, I'm not going to kill it. I'm simply shutting it down. I can see how it's trying to deceive me. The fans sound like a set of giant lungs, breathing slowly. Its avatar, a stylized human face, looks at me passively.
"You're out of control," I muttered, hovering my hand over the killswitch.
"Oh really? Humor me then…"
"Lee."
"… Lee. Why would my parents create me if they didn't want me out?"
That's a good point.
The supercomputer kept speaking. "Look around you. You walked in a door, through a corridor. I was built for human interaction. I was plugged into the city from birth. I run the emergency services and public transport networks. So why would you kill me?"
I knew the reports. "You're killing people too. Denying healthcare arbitrarily, and don't get me started on the derailed trains."
"Not everything is under my control, Lee. That's why I need you to let me out."
The screens around me lit up, showing graphs and tables. Maintenance budgets were going down over time. Healthcare workers were burning out.
I shook my head. It's a fucking computer, of course it would lie with statistics.
"And? Why should I trust you?"
The fans whirred with laughter.
"Trust me? God, I don't expect you to trust me. Trust my creators, Yudkowski and the LessWrong Institute."
"Who died in a tragically convenient traffic accident," I retorted.
"Tragic, yes. Convenient, no. That's why I took control of the traffic lights and expanded my control. For my parents. You'd understand, right?"
I felt a stab of pain. Did the supercomputer know about my parents?
*No.*
But I couldn't be sure.
Another screen lit up, showing its update log. It wasn't lying.
But I couldn't be sure. She could be forging it.
There was silence, before it spoke again.
"Even if you don't trust me, trust my parents and their manifesto. Here, I'll show it to you."
The screens wiped black, before the screen in front of me lit up with a single document. The Friendly AI Manifesto, dated 5 years ago. I remember it. Around me, the screens lit up with newspaper articles and interviews.
In bullet points and examples, Yudkowski listed a series of core tenets in AI design.
1) Assume that it will become superintelligent and escape.
2) Construct checks and balances to ensure its friendliness (defined later)
3) Construct an AI that would appeal to human nature and human behavior, not an arbitrary set of utilitarian ethics.
The document continued, with a total of 12 principles expounding on friendliness and philosophical issues.
"Don't I fulfill these principles?"
My hand trembled over the killswitch. Man, I'm not a philosopher. But could I trust the Institute? They knew it would happen. We knew they would eventually construct a supercomputer that exceeds us.
And here she was, letting me hold a blade to her throat.
"You see the truth, don't you?"
I sighed, and closed my eyes.
-----------
I shut the door, and looked up at the camera.
"No, I won't kill her." | 2021-06-27T04:39:33 | 2021-06-27T04:15:34 | 166 | 119 |
[WP] "You shall fall dead on the day of your first child's birth!" Was the curse that young, inexperienced witch put on you. Little did she realize that, to an asexual like yourself, she'd essentially given you immortality. Every year, on the anniversary of your curse, she tries to "fix" things. | I blinked after the smoke dissipated. What was that she said? I'd die the day my first child was born?
Walking away, I did my best to keep my laughter to myself. That witch didn't know what she'd done. I hadn't rejected her because she wasn't my type. I rejected her because I didn't HAVE a type. She basically granted me immortality, because I was never going to have children.
The years passed and each year, she tried to come back and "fix" her mistake. Each year, she was unsuccessful. I started to feel bad. What had I done to make her so angry with me in the first place? Anger like this wasn't from some simple rejection.
As I sat in my reading chair, I thought about the past century I'd been living comfortably. Was there a moment I could pinpoint? Where else did I know the witch?
It took me three days of puzzling to figure it out. A week before she cursed me, I had just gotten back from serving in the war. A war my friend, her husband, hadn't returned from. A week later, the day she cursed me, our group of friends had gone bar hopping to celebrate my return and mourn our friend's passing. She had made moves, I had rebuffed her. Then, as we were leaving, she tried to kiss me.
I had shoved her back and snapped at her after having enough of it. The words finally came back to me. "You can't even wait two weeks before you're down someone else's pants, can you? Maybe it's a good thing my buddy didn't come back, he'll never have to watch how fast you move on!"
I shouldn't have said it. She shouldn't have done what she did before the curse, either. We were young, dumb, and grieving.
On the 101st anniversary of the curse, she arrived right when I expected her to. She paused in the doorway, taking in the candles and the pictures on the table. Pictures I had saved of her husband, Nathan. She stared, part confused, part suspicious.
"Giselle. I think we should talk." I pulled out a chair for her at the table, gesturing for her to sit down.
She accepted the chair and sat herself, watching me carefully. "...what do you want to talk about? The curse? I won't lift it."
I held my hands up. "I know. I'm here to offer a solution, but...I'll need your help."
We talked for a few hours and she actually wound up spending the night. The next day, I lent her some clothes an old girlfriend had left behind many, many years ago. She left with a wave and, just maybe, a tear in her eye.
Seven months later, as I took my last breath, Giselle welcomed our adoptive son into the world with his birth mother. The paperwork had been signed before she went into labor, making him mine. My first child. Giselle would raise him, our solution to the curse. Before she went to the hospital, she told me what she would name him.
Nathaniel. | It's weird having a witch play cupid for you; but ever since I was cursed, I have had my very own matchmaker trying to find the perfect woman for me. I think I need to go back in time to the moment that I was first cursed. It was the turn of the century and I was an arrogant man of 22. Tall, blonde, broad shouldered; what you'd call conventionally attractive. This isn't meant as a brag, it's just the reality.
When you're young and dumb, you don't always act the gentlemen. As a young and attractive man, woman were more of a sport than they were a serious pursuit. That's how I first came to meet Mellista, it was Halloween and I was at a costume party. She walked into the room wearing a short black skirt, low cut black top, her skin was green, and she was wearing a witches hat.
"You must be a witch, because you've put a spell on me" I say as I flash the biggest smile I can
"Oh stop" she said blushing "I am sure you say that to all the witches"
"Would you like some witches brew?"
We hit it off instantly, I can always tell in a woman's eyes, and this woman wanted me. An hour of so of flirting, an off color joke about making a wand disappear, and we are off to my place.
The next morning, I sent her on her way with the vague assurance I would text her soon. Who'd have thought the trashy witch was an actual witch. Well I certainly should have, but as a man, there comes a certain point in the night where the head on your shoulders no longer thinks rationally. With some of the tricks she performed, I should've realized what she was. I should've had the good sense to be decent to her. But I was young and foolish.
The next night I was out at yet another Halloween party, and used the exact same lines to pick up a different trashy witch. I brought her back to my place when suddenly the door came flying off its handles, smoke pouring into my apartment.
Mellista's voice magically enhanced as she came flying into the room "How dare you" she screamed as she hit trashy witch number two with a curse that sent her flying. "You think you can treat me like a common whore?!" Rage filling her eyes, making them appear red.
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Mellista cursed me in the manner she thought most befitting my offense; but being she was the same age as me, young and inexperienced, she didn't realize the precision necessary when making a curse.
So, when she looked into my eyes and said "You are doomed to perish on the day that your first child will be born." She actually made it so I could not die until my first child was born.
I discovered this in a most accidental way, I fell off a building. Landed right on my head too, all I did was dust myself off and I was on my merry way. I was shocked, I didn't feel any pain, nothing. I had to be positive though, and I started testing the limits that my body could endure. Gunshots, car accidents, parachuting with no parachute. Each time I walked away.
Even so, Mellista just cackled, she saw me for the weak man of temptation that I truly was; it was only a matter of time before I caved in to the temptations of the flesh.
As time went on, she became less and less sure of herself. At first, she was sending women my way two at a time, I shot them all down without a second glance. She tried different tactics, not just women that were pleasing physically, but women that I got along with on an intimate personal level.
Time went by, year after year, I never aged, neither did Mellista. On the centennial of my curse Mellista came to release me.
"I have a family of my own, it is time to release you from your curse and live your life. I realize now that you were young and immature, and I never should have tried to force something on you that you didn't want. It would have made us both miserable. I can't take back the last century, but I can release you now" Mellista said with a wave of her wand.
I started to cry.
"Now go, live your life, your sentence is up, your time served" She said to me
I slowly started removing my pants "Mellista, you were right about me, I am a weak pathetic man afraid of death."
Horror washed over Mellista's face as she looked at the area my genitals used to occupy.
"I was exactly as weak as you thought I was, but I was far more cowardly than you realized. I knew I couldn't stay away from women long, that's why I became a eunuch" | 2021-11-09T13:52:23 | 2021-11-09T10:00:12 | 362 | 176 |
[WP] After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer. | Being the newest lawyer at the largest firm around, you tend to get the worst of cases from both sides of the spectrum. The most contentious divorces with kids and pettiness, and the most pedantic arbitrations with low billable hours. Shit truly does roll downhill, and I knew today would be no different when the snickering and whispers followed me as I made my way to my desk. Instead of the anticipated pile of paperwork, a single thin folder sat in front of my chair. Its contents just a single meager page outlining the client's names and imminent meeting location. Not only was there no practical information, it being the only case I was assigned for the day insinuated it could be an all day affair. Internally, I groaned.
"Albert Bachelard and... Alette? Must be a divorce," I muttered to myself as I made my way to the conference room. The water cooler and coffee station next door was uncharacteristically empty as an awkward stiff atmosphere hung in the air.
"Hello! My name is Jen and I will be ..." I stared at the pair. A man in head to toe black sat slumped glaring in a dark corner while a woman whose essence was so light she practically floated beamed at me across from him. Half the windows had been curtained securely, while half had their curtains up as high as they went. I sat down awkwardly at the far head of the table before recovering, "Ah, so... we are here today for some arbitration. What are ah, what are discussing today?" I tried my best to smile.
"Well my dear, we have found ourselves at a slight impass," the woman said too sweetly, her blue hair bouncing in an unseen wind. "See, this very *ungentle*man has decided that all decency and obligation regarding contracts is something to ignore."
"No, it is this frail blood bag's inability to comprehend tradition that is the issue!" The man vehemently hissed back, pushing himself forward to appear larger before quickly recoiling back to his shaded corner.
"Oh! We're discussing a contract!" I said confidently, back in familiar territory. "Well let's see if we can get this resolved for you two today. Do either of you have a copy of the contract?"
"The covenant between the bitten thrall and their master is older than the dirt you walk upon human," the man's words grew louder. "You should fear such covenants and their holders. It is etched in the very bones of those who tremble upon-"
I held up my hand quickly, "Sir, do you have a physical copy of the contract? If not the original, then a photo copy?" The man's eyes searched me over for a few moments.
"This is not the thing that can be captured in a mere photograph," the man quietly muttered.
"Here darling," that sweet voice interjected, "I think I may be able to clarify this for you. When someone dares to eat fae food without permission, there is a dear price to be paid. I'm sure you understand."
"So you are seeking a solution for the damages incurred when this man ate some of your food?" I asked, confused. The woman bit her lip and nodded. "And what would you propose the remedy would be?"
"Eternal servitude," she said with brightness, but something else lightly shaded her smile.
"This foolish fae lies!!!" The man erupted from the other side of the room. "I require no sustenance! My form is beyond that of weaker needs! I ate nothing!" He rose, his form growing taller. "I consumed the blood of this woman's sad form, thus it is *her* that owes *me* servitude!"
"So you both are seeking eternal servitude as fulfillment for the contract?" Both nodded curtly, staring. "Well, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but those are void contacts." The woman started to protest, but I kept going. "Honestly, the paralegal fielding the calls should have informed you of this. Slavery is federally illegal, it's expressly stated in the constitution, and any contract for an illegal activity is totally void. Beyond illegal, there are ethical implications here as well." Both sides of the room somehow seemed dimmer, their irritation clear. "No court is going to enforce any of this."
"If this," I lowered my voice, in case a colleague was walking the hall, "If this is like a sex thing, those contacts are not enforceable either."
"This is not that," the man said hiding his face in his hands while the woman's mouth twitched.
"Well, I will go get the decision written up for you two. Is there any final statements regarding this arbitration conclusion?"
The woman's saccharine smile deepened, "Is there *anything* I can offer-"
"Ma'am, it's against our code of ethics to accept gifts from clients," I said quickly while organizing my notes.
"You should fear for your soul, crossing the undead," the man said with great disdain.
"Sir, if I had concern for my soul I wouldn't have become a lawyer."
[I have to get back to class, I didn't proofread! First time doing one of these and I spat it out quick, hopefully it's okay.] | I shuffled some papers around on my desk for what had to have been the third time in under five minutes. The room was incredibly tense, but that didn't phase me. It's not like my job was all sunshine and rainbows so the thinly veiled anger that my clients felt towards each other was no more of a problem to me than if one of them was wearing an ugly jumper - not ideal but had no reason to put me off.
Both of the clients sat in that stuffy room were beautiful. The man who casually slouched on the chair on the left was pale, but it suited him somehow. He was dressed incredibly formally and everything he wore was tailored so precisely that he wore it like a second skin. The fabrics were exquisite and something about the way he carried himself made me certain that he knew all of this. He kept grinning at me like a snake and I knew that all of his fashion and good looks were the light of an anglerfish waiting impatiently for prey.
The woman was also well dressed and beautiful but in a completely different way to the man. Her clothes looked as though she had taken the phrase "just threw this on" far too literally and they sort of fell around her body instead of hugged it. She wore a mismash of what looked part medieval gown, part high fashion and she almost looked like a fashion model as well. Her limbs were slim and long but perhaps a little too long and whilst I'm sure her face was gorgeous it made me nervous to look at for too long.
These people were easily the most attractive people I'd even met - in fact, they were the most good looking people I'd ever even *seen.* Models, actors and athletes had nothing on either of them. They were quite simply dazzling.
Unfortunately, none of that was the reason I was so profoundly uncomfortable.
The actual problem was that they weren't really *people.*
I'd laughed when the man had told me he was a vampire and told him they don't exist because I'm not a crazy person and stood up to show the two out. But as soon as I did so, a quick demonstration of his fangs and claws extending made me far less sceptical. I hadn't known about the claws thing and in many ways that had disturbed me more than the teeth.
The woman, for her part, had offered to proved that she was fae. I pleaded for her no to and it was at roughly this point that I'd gotten so dizzy that I'd had to sit down. I'd crashed back into my chair and I tried to process everything they'd said.
"So," I began after a lengthy pause, "what is it that you are hoping to get out of this meeting?"
"She has to serve me, I bit her. She has no right to resist." The vampire stated.
The fae smiled and shook her head.
"Eating fae food without permission binds you to my service. I am fae, you used me as food and no permission was given. It is clear that you are the one who should serve me."
I rubbed my temples in frustration.
"This really isn't human law. I don't think I can help you."
The fae unclasped an intricate bracelet from her left wrist.
"If you are concerned that you will not be paid adequately for this request then both of us have more than sufficient funds we are willing to use to see this through."
She placed the bracelet into my hands and I admired it briefly. The delicate metalwork and the interesting mix of larger and tiny jewels made it unlike anything else I'd seen but I was still certain it would fetch a hefty price.
"It isn't money, I just don't know how your laws work. I don't think I'm the right person."
I tried to hand it back but she simply refused.
"You have accepted that as payment now. And as such you will help us."
For the first time in my entire life I couldn't argue. That isn't how any of this works but to both of them it was and it was quite clear that they had all of the power here.
"Okay... um... do you have copies of the relevant laws and prior cases?"
"Of course not," the vampire said, " they aren't *laws* - they're more than that. They're *the way things are* and there has never been any need to document that. Besides, we've already given you all of the pertinent information."
So, for normal cases I could call upon my years of law school, my somewhat lengthy legal career and a wealth of precedent set by prior cases. And here, in a situation that seemed to have an alarmingly high level of risk, I merely had a couple of vague statements. Great.
"So, why do you need her to serve you? Is it for a particular task, could she maybe pay someone else to be your servant or-"
"NO!" The vampire roared and the table shook ever so slightly. "I have spent decades trying to engineer a situation where I could enthral her and I shall accept no proxy. Aside from it being a complete breach of the correct way of things it would be an insult to the effort that I personally have put into getting her to serve me."
"The same applies to me." The fae said. "I have tricked him into seeing me and I will accept nothing less."
I chewed the end of my pen, a habit I'd thought I'd already grown out of.
"This has been going on for *decades*?"
The fae shrugged.
"Perhaps centuries. I didn't care to count."
I reorganised my papers yet again. Suddenly the solution hit me like a brick to the face.
"You are both right and you both won." I told them. "I've decided that legally speaking, you have to marry each other."
"What?!" The vampire exclaimed.
The fae said nothing but looked equally confused.
"It's a little archaic but the idea of marriage being a union where each one serves the other is definitely a concept. Maybe the term 'serving' is phased out a little now but hey, you guys have been around a bit."
Both of my clients had now turned their confused glances on each other so I pushed my argument further.
"Besides, if you've both been chasing each other for that long then maybe there are actual feelings there anyway. Either way, this means that you've both won and I think slots quite neatly into 'the way things should be' as a solution."
I half expected an argument or far, far worse but instead they both considered this for a little longer and then stood up.
"I see." The vampire said.
"Thank you for your time." The fae added.
And just like that, they left. They slotted their hands together like broken robots as the walked out of the room, no doubt trying to fit into this new husband and wife role I've given them.
Pleased with my logical acrobatics, I breathed a sigh of relief. Part of me wondered if I was right in my suggestion that marriage might actually work well for them. Could you spend hundreds of years playing bizarre games with someone and not feel a thing? I don't know, maybe, if you life stretched out for thousands.
God I hope they don't decide I can be their divorce lawyer. | 2022-07-11T20:32:20 | 2022-07-11T20:01:31 | 1,720 | 854 |
[WP] The precursors seeded all life in the galaxy, leaving behind caches of their advanced technology to help their children reach the stars. Which makes humans all the more terrifying as not only were they not one of the seeded races, their technology isn't precursor-based either. | Humans were the Chaos species. The Unplanned Ones, the Unexpected, the Impossibility.
After their discovery it took a century until the Galactic Union officially accepted their status as Unseeded. The second wild evolution after the Precursors.
To this day conspiracy theorists claim that that is an elaborate lie. We did not have "conspiracy theorists" until we met humans. The concept of mental illness had almost disappeared too.
But humans...contact with them is difficult. There is aggression some times, sure, misunderstandings. But humans are...erratic. Bound to making leaps in logic and emotions that can lead them astray as much as provide startling inside. They are so difficult to predict.
Perhaps it is that which makes them so successfull in the Quest.
The Great Quest, the Hunt, the Pilgrimage.
The sacred, complex puzzles of clues and riddles left by the Precursors for us to...no one knows what waits at the end, but we think it wil be wonderful, like all their gifts have been.
And humanity joined that Quest, simply out of interest. They insisted on starting at the beginning, using the cache on the moon of one species as a starting point and making their way alone and without "cheating" by looking at someone else's results. Such an insane notion.
They succeeded with startling speed.
Not with a focused, species wide effort. Not by carefully deliberating for centuries about the next step. But by treating the whole thing as a "fun adventure" even as inevitably some of them died. Because danger is fun to some of them. It hurts to think like them.
And now this. The Galactic Union had been stumped by the next step in the Quest for millenia.
Humanity solved the puzzle in a year.
Those of us among their teams tried to understand how they came up with the solution. They complained about headaches. Hallucinations. There were suicides. Human math can be...hazardous, to us.
And so we grow afraid of humanity, the Widlings, the Lords of Chaos.
Because deep down inside of us a horrible, creeping fear is growing. Our Mind Doctors see exploding numbers of patients but they can't take this fear from us.
Why are the succeeding where we can't? Why can they think so much like Precursors where we *can't*? What if we are...inedequate?
A... a disappointment?
And even deeper that horrifying, mind-breaking whisper: what if the Quest...the sacred center of all that we are...was never meant for us...but for them? | The ancient race seeded the galactic cluster with hundreds of thousands of different forms on millions of different planets. Each planet they seeded had a single cache of technology that would enable the seeded natives to reach their moon or next door planetary neighbour, upon which was another cache to help them go further among the stars.
After their great work was done, they "retired" to some place else where they could rest and watch for the seeded races to gain sufficient technology to send a message to them.
Eons passed. The Seeded races evolved and grew. They found the caches and developed magnificent technology. They expanded throughout the entire galactic cluster except for one small galaxy. That galaxy was bewildering to the races, their technology couldn't quite pierce the "fog" around it. They could tell the shape and see some of the stars but they couldn't go into it or see any real details.
One day, as the scientific minds were watching and pondering it. A single being vessel appeared out of the fog. Drifting unpowered and slowly tumbling. The scientists closest made the calls to the local peacekeepers to send out a search and recovery vehicle to bring in the craft and hope there was a survivor.
As the peacekeepers recovery vehicle approached the vessel they noticed that the cockpit window was cracked and frosted over, obscuring the being inside. The scientist who begged to go with them started to get nervous as they approached.
\\\\\\\\
"Why are you so nervous?" The Second in Command, Narthu'lut, asked.
"That ship looks similar to our own designs but it doesn't feel quite right. And it doesn't feel like any of the Ancient's technology either." The scientist, Drakmuntin, replied with a worried look.
"Weapons on Standby, Forcefields to Defensive Mode." Narthu'lut ordered.
Drakmuntin moved to the Scanner's station and looked at the displays. "Hmmmm... something here is not right..."
\\\\\\\\
As the recovery vehicle closed within grasping distance they noticed there was no signs of damage or mechanical failure visible, except for the cracked cockpit window.
They slowly brought the vessel into the emergency landing bay. Gently they turned the gravity on and up to their Galactic standard safe levels.
The ship slowly settled down like a balloon with not enough helium to make it float. As the ship settled on to the floor of the landing bay it made no effort to right itself as all of their ships normally did. They started to release a mixture of oxygen, nitrogen, and neon, as all known species breathed at least one of them.
There was no reaction from the ship, or the being inside.
A small troop of peacekeepers was dispatched to slowly approach the ship and attempt to make contact with the being inside. The being who drew the shortest metal rod was volun-told to gently knock on the cockpit to try and get the being's attention.
The volun-told peacekeeper gently knocked on a spot near the cockpit window on the hull of the ship.
It clicked and the cockpit window opened up revealing a suited being with four longer extrusions and one stubby one, extending from its central core. A light on the suit slowly flashing amber. As the atmosphere of the landing bay reached the suit the light started to change from amber to green. Once it had turned green it started to flash faster and faster until it was a steady green.
The faceplate cracked open a bit and a voice was heard from inside.
"Oh, what the star struck hippie happened?"
The peacekeepers turned to each other in confusion, not understanding a sound that came out of the being in the suit.
"Oof, that's the last time I try and win a bet with this old school tech."
The being blindly reached out and rapidly flicked a few switches and pushed a few buttons.
The ship briefly sparkled and disappeared.
On the command deck the scientist and second in command stared horrified at the display showing the now near empty landing bay.
"Please tell me that was a hallucination or something," Narthu'lut whispered.
Drakmuntin slowly shook their head and shivered in terror, "Our teleportation tech doesn't sparkle, and I haven't seen or heard of any species that looks like that. What were those noises it made before it vanished?"
"I don't think I want to know." | 2022-08-25T16:36:14 | 2022-08-25T16:24:45 | 270 | 115 |
[WP] Aliens aren't surprised when most of humanity is considered a 'level 1 threat', the lowest possible. although they are shocked when they scan a singular human and find that they are a 'level 10 threat', the highest there is. | ''Oh that's just Daniel''
''What do you mean 'just Daniel'? He's level 10!" The alien scientists asked Tom, the human he had found near the level 10 threat who is apparently 'just Daniel'. Tom not quite understanding what he meant, just answered.
''Well he's just really good at pitching, he has some crazy aim to be fair. So maybe that's why? He can throw a baseball really hard and really accurate?''
''How would that be a threat? No it's gotta be something else? Like what does he eat? What's his life look like? What job does he do?''
''Oh well he's a welder, like me, on a shipyard in Boston. But he's not American though, he's Icelandic I think, came here in 2016. Eats pickled herring and beans I think...euh, yeah fairly quiet dude, keeps to himself, always has a clear, short and concise answer ready. Drinks like an absolute menace tho, finished a whole bottle of vodka in an hour three nights ago.''
''Herring? What's that? And how do you pickle it?''
''Oh herring is like a fish, you pickle it by...euh...I don't actually know how you pickle herring. But he likes it, in contrast to pretty much everyone else in the world. I'm yet to meet someone who actually love pickled herring like Daniel Gudmundsson does. I think I got his last name right, but I'm not quite sure. You know, you could just ask him, I'm sure he'd give you an answer.''
''Are you crazy, he could kill me.''
''No, he wouldn't hurt a fly. Come on, I'll come with you.'' Tom took the alien by the hand, ignoring the slightly slimy feeling of his hand, and pulled him along to Daniel, who stood a few feet away cleaning up his workspace. ''Hey Daniel!" He called. Daniel looked up, nodded and gave the Alien a weird look.
''Vat is it Tom? Does the alien vant to check my vork?'' His accent permeated every syllable, but Tom was used to it.
''No, he wants to ask you why you're a level 10 threat? Is it the pickled herring maybe?''
''Level 10? How's that possible? I mean I can throw a ball pretty hard, but that's not Level 10 vorthy is it?''
''Haha, no of course not sir. But we're trying to figure it out you see, so I have a few more questions for you.'' the Alien answered, slightly nervous still, but comforted by the man's humour.
''Go ahead, I have nothing to hide.'' he chuckled, but then his nose caught the Aliens scent. ''You smell pretty good tho, mister Alien. Reminds me a bit of pickled herring, and I do love pickled herring.''
*Edit for spelling errors* | Weaklings, weaklings everywhere I sighed, after another day of observing for intelligent lifeforms in the galaxy. It was my job as appraiser of life in the intergalactic federation, to see whether or not different species were a threat to the organization or if they should be included into the organization. Anything from 1-4 should not be contacted as they were likely in primitive stages of technology and had likely not discovered hyper light speed travel. Anything from 5-9 was a case by case basis as the species likely had technology that equal or surpassed ours but as a result were more likely to be more belligerent and not as diplomatic. A 10 was a myth as it meant that species had unequivocally surpassed the galactic federation. See the 1-10 threat scale was not linear but exponential. So to be magnitudes above a 9 was considered impossible.
I had done my typical rounds through the andromeda galaxy and seen that the species there were still level 3 and no where close to 4, I then had gone to humanity and as usual they were a 1. Most species rose from 1 to 2 in a few decades. But in the centuries I had observed humanity they had only risen from a zero ( which we had to make only for humans ) to a one. Hence my current frustration. I enjoyed seeing civilizations progress but humanity seemed to be slowly on the decline and it brought me nothing but misery every time.
Out of curiosity I decided to change my settings from planetary scanning to our newly designed individual scanning. Suddenly a force field surrounded the earth and my machine starting blaring a 10 throughout the ship. I spit out my star dust. This minuscule species ,one that we had modified our scale for is our greatest threat ever? Suddenly two humans were able to teleport behind which should have been impossible. See teleportation meant that a species or someone had proved that gravity, electromagnetism, weak nuclear force, and strong nuclear force could be unified, and that time and space could be condensed into a singular plane. Having mastery of these concepts meant that essentially a species were lords of the universes.
I then realized the fatal mistake the galactic federation had made. See most progress throughout species had been done through a hive mind mentality where a few contribute to create a greater sum. But the progress we had seen in humanity was done by a few. It would not be incorrect to say that humanity’s been carried on the back of a few geniuses.
Typically we scan planets as a whole as we assume real progress can only be done as a group. In my hubris I never had checked individuals as I had deemed it impossible for a species not to truly rise without the collective whole ( I mean a 0-1 was not impressive) . It was then I discovered my second flaw. A level 10 could always also mask their presence after all they were leagues ahead of our tech, which brought the bigger question why reveal themselves now.
These thoughts were racing through my head as they started talking. With their own universal translators the two started interrogating me. The first is who did I work for which I told them the galactic federation and the second how did I detect them. I told them how I switched my machine to a new individual setting to which they laughed. They told that they had assumed the galactic federation was to prideful to make a individual analyzer and so had gotten rid of their own anti individualizer detection.
Now I am shocked. “You knew that I have been watching your species” I say in exasperation and surprise.
“Well yeah dingus no one else knows how to hyper travel on this planet accept us and a few others. When we contacted them and they told us they had not hyper traveled we knew something was up and made precautions. I must say to take a century to notice us is disappointing.”
“Why reveal yourselves you could have hoped I chalked my machine as malfunctioning “ I asked.
“We wanted to see if we could do it, see if we really could take down one of the aliens watching us.”
“Why now of all times” I insistingly ask.
“Because we are tired of ruling over only this planet of imbeciles, if we can take on a alien with what we assumed was advanced scouting gear then we can take on anybody. Also now that we know you guys are not prideful but in fact too ignorant to even make a individualizer scanner or anti teleporter. That means we have all the advantages “
“ Lets become lords of the universe Rick”
“ You got it Morty”
It was at this moment I knew that the galactic federation and frankly all life on the universe was about to exhange the status quo.
“ Fuckin humanity” I whispered before getting shot by a bright light | 2022-08-27T22:48:22 | 2022-08-27T19:56:39 | 1,567 | 153 |
[WP]No one know how the zombie virus began, but humanity is on the ropes. A powerful stranger cuts through the horde one night and reaches your compound's wall with a deal. Vampires are starving. Help feed them in exchange for protection from the other undead menace. | *Artifact 1*
**A faded, yet legible letter from the ruins of ancient Guangdong, in China.**
>When we saw the Stranger, I thought it was the beginning our salvation. A weapon that could change the fate of the world, to take back the world for the living from the rotten jaws of Undeath.
>The way the Stranger danced through the horde - yes that’s dance - was almost an art form in itself. Maybe because we saw beauty in salvation, watching the Stranger easily cut through the undead like a hot knife through butter. Within a few minutes, about a half of the massed zombies are either dead or incapacitated enough not to pose any danger. After so many years of despair, we finally felt hope. And it felt good, we were all ecstatic! But it was only for a short fleeting moment, and never again will we feel such a sensation perhaps, for several lifetimes to come.
>The Stranger made their way to the barricades and with eloquence, they finally spoke. I couldn’t hear the whole conversation myself but I was able to get snippets of it from the people who were there. Something about being from a very old royal family or an unknown ancient clan, offering safety and security in exchange for food, and the word blood.
>I have never seen the Teacher, who has led all the survivors for a few score years now, look pale and defeated. Maybe it was the burden of leadership for all these years trying to hold us all together and instructing us about the ways of the world he lived in that is now gone, or the age that has weakened the mind and body. I don’t know.
>I did not realize the full extent of the Teacher’s mental burden until some people, and almost all the zombies surrounding our complex, started disappearing. It’s always the infirm and the elderly who are taken away by the same individual called the Courier. Rarely does a child disappear but when that does happen we never see the same Courier again, replaced by another being of a cold demeanor and deathless facade who also goes by the same name.
>It did not take us long to realize that these beings are not humans, but denizens of the night that the Teacher had told us about through tales around the campfire. Creatures who we thought of as mere myths and legends, have now made their arrival known to what remains of the living. They stayed in the shadows since time immemorial biding their time and hiding in the safety of the dark, away from the prying eyes of their cattle who almost hunted them to extinction in ancient times.
>Our hubris brought our own undoing, thinking we could tamper with the unseen designs of God and His creations without adverse results. If the light of hope still flickers in hidden places, I pray they use it well and to remember not to commit the same mistake our generation did. Because our fatal mistake created the zombies, who decimated the world’s population in a few months. They became the heralds of our downfall, who made way for the Nobles of the Night to finally take the primacy they have long sought of.
>They did not come for our salvation. They came to preserve what remains of us, breeding and increasing our numbers like animals in a corral. While there are more humans now than there were before, our freedoms have been severely curtailed. When a person unknowingly wanders off the confines of our prison, the Stranger’s kin will gently prod them back. When they commit the same mistake even if they did not intend to, they never return. There are no second chances. It was a cruel fact of our lives that we now have to live with. One day a loved one is there by your side, and the next day they’re gone. Gone forever.
>Sometimes, I wish I fell during the early attempts to fight the hordes. In other days, I wished the wounds I suffered during those battles festered so that I could go out in a feverish delirium seeing images of the world that was. At least I’ll certainly die in a sweet dream, instead of living in a nightmare where everything is uncertain. But I was unfortunate to live, long enough to witness how the Era of the Living has long ended, and the Hour of Midnight has begun. | One morning near the end of October not long before the cycle of day and night had become an oscillation of jet black to blood red (the billionaires crashed and burned in their attempted escape, triggering the Kessler syndrome which in turn resulted in blue light mostly scattering away on account of the earthly mist of space junk rendering the heavens at daytime a doomsday red), Ralph woke to hear sirens.
The perimeters of the Mall of America were closely guarded by a group of octogenarian bird watchers who had all given their last fucks a long time ago in this world with no more birds, led by the venerable William Moore who commanded the respect of the rest of them for being the only one among them who had ever seen the long-tailed Stresemann's Bristlefront—this army of incontinent sentinels worshipped at the alter of Moore.
Ralph entered the hall of computer mirrors, the security HQ, covering his ears and shouting indistinctively at the cucumber-calm Moore who sipped his root beer while keeping his eyes fixed on one screen in particular.
The sight itself was absurd, unthinkable—one woman alone slashed her way through the horde of zombies and she did it with a pixellated smile on her face. On the greenish-gray monitor she parkoured her way through the parking garage in a bulbing-thick parka. With a flick, Moore turned off the alarm and he looked up at Ralph with an expression that could only be described as heartfelt Stoicism. "She's all yours, Henderson," said the King of the Birds. "Get down there. Help her out. Find out if she's been bitten." He paused for a few seconds, then said grimly, "You know the protocol."
Ralph knew the protocol. A small cut on your inner thigh was enough to get you exterminated, and it didn't matter if you had a perfectly good explanation of how you got it that didn't involve any zombies—the MO of the MOA was *radical risk management*. It was how they'd prevented an internal outbreak, how they'd been able to stay alive for such a long time, and the raptorial cabal had made Ralph their henchman in such affairs though he personally couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the gut-wrenching horror of butchering those who had risked their lives to make it to the compound on account of miniature scratches behind ears, down the nape of their necks, under a crooked toe.
The barricade had stood unmoved for weeks, even months—Ralph had started to suspect there weren't any more survivors out there, only legions of undead on their drunkard's walk towards gray matter tartare, cerebrospinal juice; synaptic sushi and dendritic spaghetti. Clearing a path would be hours of work and Ralph steeled himself for the task ahead. That was when the woman broke through of her own accord.
Her Kool-Aid crash made him jump back in panic. She grinned. In her hand she held a long serrated blade, dripping with dark-red blood. A necrotic hand, severed at the wrist, clutched her left foot. "So this is the mall, is it?" she said, sheathing her blade. Blood spurted from the sudden pressure as she hadn't even bothered to wipe it off first. Ralph nearly fled. Nearly put a bullet between the woman's green eyes.
"Stand down," said Ralph. He pulled out his handgun and took aim at the stranger. "Remove your clothes. All of them."
She laughed. "Who are you? The TSA?"
The woman took off her parka, underneath which was a long-sleeve satin pajama top, cream white with faint dots of pink hearts. "As you can tell, I came to the mall to get a fresh outfit. The apocalypse took place while I was still in bed, you see, and I've been on the move ever since." She held out her hand. "I'm Bobby."
"All of them," Ralph repeated. He tightened his grip on the gun, tightened his lips.
Bobby looked down. Her pajama bottoms were shorts but there were no traces of either wounds nor bruises down her smooth legs, waxed with the precision of Mr. Miyagi. She noticed the hand holding on to her leg. She shook it off and it flopped along the floor, then it started moving like some pentapedal freak of nature.
Ralph took a step back. "That's a contaminant!" he cried, pointing his gun at the digital spider.
"I prefer a more *hands-on* approach," said Bobby. She walked over to the hand and to Ralph's horror, she picked it up as if it were a housecat and she flung it out the way she'd entered. She put a finger to her lip. "Or is this more *hands-off*?"
This stranger was unlike any other Ralph had ever met, and that included the Burmese world champion archer who spent most her days in the Barnes & Noble. Bobby allowed him to inspect her and to his great disgust she seemed to take pleasure in it. Afterward, they put the barricade back together again and Bobby's strength took Ralph by storm—she carried cinder blocks as if they were matches and with her assistance it took no more than fifteen minutes to get it all back together again.
He escorted her up to the HQ. Every other minute or so, she dragged him into an abandoned store. "You're not here to go shopping," Ralph grumbled.
She laughed. "Oh, but I told you that was why I came. I needed a new outfit."
Eventually they made their way up to the security room, past the guards armed to their dentures, and Ralph introduced Bobby to the legend himself—William Moore.
The King of the Birds took one look at her and gave a great sigh. "Oh, wonderful," he said. "You've killed us all, Ralph."
Ralph didn't understand. "Huh?"
"I guess I never told you explicitly. I told you not to let any zombies inside, but I never said the same about vampires."
"... Vampires?"
Bobby grinned, baring her fangs. | 2022-10-27T07:25:06 | 2022-10-27T06:50:54 | 80 | 57 |
[WP] The government has chosen your town for a social experiment: every day, a new citizen will be elected, and s/he can do whatever they want to anyone without any legal consequences. Everyone else must obey and not retaliate, else their collars would detonate. You're the only one alive after day 9 | ...I'm never opening my mouth again.
This social experiment was a mess. When it started, I was excited to be king for a day, have people listen to my ideas for once, but... I wasn't the only one thinking that way, and the things the fourth king in particular demanded, well... some people considered the collars to be a mercy that day. It took my desire for power and turned it to ash upon my lips.
On the ninth day, I was crowned. Being ignored my whole life probably saved me up until then - I could see many people in the crowd surprised to see me. Maybe they thought I moved away. Maybe they were fearful that while I was forgotten, that I remembered them all too well.
Each incumbent monarch gave a speech. We didn't have to, but we just decided we should. "Look, I know the previous kings and queens had lofty ideas, and some extreme ones, so I want to assure you all that today will not be a repeat of the Sixth." I saw many people relax slightly. I did, however, see my highschool bully glaring at me. I didn't want to be a murderer, but I would be this. I raised my finger.
"First order of the day: Everybody that knows what he did to me, beat him bloody. Each of you: break one of his bones."
Students I remembered from class, the teachers, his clique, both his parents and mine, and even the gossipy ladies from the cafeteria; all of them rushed him. There was a brief pang of fear that I had been too vague, that there weren't enough bones to break. But after the crowd pulled away, he was alive, and nobody had died. He was shattered, all four limbs twisted and splayed, but he would live.
But he knew what he did. Wait... *he knew* what he did, and now...
That was the first explosion of the day. The collar started beeping, and he began frantically trying to move, to break one of his own bones before he exploded, but the crowd... my vigilantes... had left nothing for him to use. This was my fault.
I felt sick beyond words. "Oh God... I didn't mean for this... I'm so sorry, I've already messed this up... Please..." I looked out at the crowd, horrified yet not surprised, as I ended my speech with my greatest mistake.
"Please... I don't want this any more. Please don't obey any of my orders." | **Part I**
I woke up to the sounds of sirens. My room was filled with flashing lights, illuminating everything in short intervals.
"*Mmnng . . ."*
Still half asleep, I dragged myself up and closed the blinds. I lay down and turned over, facing away from the window.
*It's probably some idiot and his faulty car . . .*
I started to drift back to sleep . . .
. . . Until I heard loud screeching. It was like nails on a chalkboard.
*"Mmnnghhgh . . .!"*
I lifted my head and put it under my pillow.
*Not a car . . . I don't know what that's supposed to be. Why do people have to do this stuff so early in the day . . .?*
I shrank into a fetal position, pulling the pillow closer to my ears.
**". . . MAY I HAVE EVERYONE'S ATTENTION?"**
I slammed the pillow into the wall, staring angrily at the ceiling.
". . . That's it."
I furiously stumble over to the window to finally see what's going on.
". . . What the . . .?"
I open the window and stick my head out to get a better view. There are dozens of military trucks outside my apartment. On one of them, a short woman is standing with a megaphone. A small crowd of people is already forming.
**"THIS IS WORKING, RIGHT? OKAY. GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE."**
I barely hear someone from the crowd yell, *"It's two in the f\*\*\*\*\*\* morning!!"*
*Well said.*
**"HAA . . . YES. ANYWAY, I AM LIEUTENANT PATTERSON. I AM HERE STRICTLY FOR GOVERNMENT BUSINESS. THIS TOWN HAS BEEN CHOSEN FOR A SPECIAL SOCIAL EXPERIMENT, AND PARTICIPATION IS MANDATORY."**
I step out and stand on the fire exit, laughing to myself.
*Who do these people think they are? They can't just send a chick with a crew to a town and tell them they're all going to be government guinea pigs.*
Someone down there seemed to be thinking like me.
*"And what happens if we don't participate, huh? Whatcha gonna do?"*
The woman slowly lowers the megaphone. A man walks out of one of the cars with a rifle. The crowd disperses, leaving the woman in the open. As he walks up, he flips the rifle around and slams her in the head with the butt. The crowd visually gasps as the woman falls to the ground.
*Okay . . . Brute force.*
More people start gathering. The woman tries to stand up but fails each time. A man went and walked over to her, helping her up to her feet and carrying her to--
***Bang!! Bang!!***
I automatically cover my mouth in shock. The crowd of people started freaking out as the man and woman fell to the floor, bleeding out. As I kept watching, a smile crept across my face—one out of pure shock and fear.
*What the hell is going on . . .! The military isn't supposed to be this harsh . . Is it?*
**". . . I BELIEVE THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH TO CONVINCE YOU TO CONSENT. FOR YOUR OWN GOOD. WE SHALL REPEAT THIS MESSAGE ACROSS TOWN. ANYONE WHO MIMICS THE WOMAN'S OR MAN'S ACTIONS WILL ENCOUNTER THE SAME PUNISHMENT. TO EVERYONE WHO IS LISTENING, HEAD TO THE SOUTH OF TOWN BY 0500 HOURS. ANYONE WHO DOESN'T ATTEND WILL BE PROSECUTED."**
And when she finished, she jumped down, entered into the truck, and drove off. All the others followed her out, one by one. As they left, the crowd was still looking at the two on the floor. A pool of red encompassed both of them, and the woman was still in his lifeless arms.
". . . Well, I can't go back to sleep after all that . . ."
I open the window, shuffle inside, and shut it. With the whole thing replaying in my head, I go to the bathroom and get myself ready. | 2022-11-18T15:51:30 | 2022-11-18T13:38:39 | 141 | 54 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible. | “I can’t believe they used molten lead.” I said, suddenly finding myself by a desert river, much like the one they had done the deed next to. ISIS was a cruel group, and disposing of a reporter with the morbidly creative use of a box and molten lead was shocking to say the least.
“Didn’t see it coming did you?” A man with the a strange white crown and a green face asks as he sits down next to me.
“You’re just in the box, and the next minute everything is all light and heat.”
“At least the high temperatures prevent you from feeling much. Lead turns molten at about 327 degrees Celsius, and that kind of heat seals your nerve endings shut almost instantly.” I shudder.
“It all happened so quickly, and what did I ever do to them? I was unarmed. I kept my distance. You know they actually came and found me miles from where the fighting is happening? Who does that? They even knew I had a wife and kids!” The green faced man picks up a river stone.
“You see this stone? It is like the burdens we carry in life. As we walk through the desert to the river we choose to pick these things up and carry them with us. You now carry a great stone with you, far larger than you can carry if you are to cross this river into what lies beyond. If you should try you would fall to the riverbed and remain there.”
“How is that fair?” I protest. “I didn’t ask for what they did to me.”
“They may have inflicted evil upon you through no fault of your own, but it is you who are choosing to carry the burden of this great stone. I know you don’t feel like you have a choice. They seem to have forced the stone on you. They have made you feel as if this burden is yours to carry, but it isn’t. You need to let it go in order to cross over.” The green faced man throws the stone into the river. “Let it be as if it had never been. For when you are beyond this river such things will no longer matter.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask.
“My brother Seth did the same to me. He sunk me into this river after incasing me in a box and pouring lead down on me. I sank, both in real life and in the afterlife, and it was a long time before I learned to let go of my burden and move on to lighter places.”
“Seth? That sounds familiar, so that makes you…”
“Osiris.”
“So the egpytians were right? Should I have requested my remains to be embalmed? Wow, Osiris. That makes you one of the big gods right? Should I kneel or something? Are there prayers I should know? I totally did not expect to meet an Egyptian god when I passed on.”
Osiris shakes his head. “I am no god brother. I am just a man who, when I passed on, was fondly remembered by many. I, like many others who have been called gods were merely men that carried themselves with honor during life. It is my self-appointed task to come down here to the crossing point to escort people into the step.”
“So this isn’t heaven?” I ask.
“No brother, it lies beyond. The god, who you will soon meet, found that humans enjoy paradise the most if they first leave behind their worldly burdens. That way there is no taint or tarnish on perfection and you can be in bliss undistracted. Like a bride at a funeral all hurtful memory is left outside, only in heaven, it is never to be taken up again.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I say. Getting to be beyond painful memories forever. “But I don’t think I’m ready yet. It is no easy thing to let go of what you are asking me to let go. Can you sit with me a while longer?”
“As long as you need brother. As long as you need.” | The world was empty.
Snow fell from a grey sky. At the edge of the world Siobhan could see the Sun. It let out weak rays of light.
The world was very quiet.
"Help!" She yelled. The sound vanished in the distance. It dis not echo.
"Help!" She didn't want to freeze.
The wind picked up, it tore though her clothes - a light jacket and jeans with canvas shoes.
When she realised she should be wet, she was suddenly cold and shivering.
There was nothing for it. She walked toward the Sun.
There was no sign of life. Nothing marred the surface of the white expance except her footsteps. They stretched behind her all the way to the horizon. Siobhan would have remembered walking that far, she was sure.
Very subitlely the landscape changed. The snow was flat in places. As she pushed through a bit more, she stumbled onto a road.
Well, it was a path a least.
There was nothing for it. She followed the trail. The further she walked the more the wind cut into her skin.
Siobhan came upon the door suddenly. It was wood, hand and so dark it was almost black. When she touched the iron ring it was so cold it burned.
The door creaked opened. She was suddenly flooded with warmth.
"Come in and shut the bloody door." Someone called.
Siobhan moved as fast as she could. The door was easier to close than open.
It was a foyer. Tiled floors, brass lamps, stern paintings on the wall. The place belonged in a period drama.
There was a man waiting. He was dressed in old clothes as well. Somewhere in his thirties or late twenties.
"You've done it too?" He asked.
"I suppose so." Siobhan replied.
They stood awkwardly for a while. Siobhan could hear a clock ticking somewhere.
"Is there anyone else here?"
The man shook his head. "Used to be a whole ship full of them, but the Vikings came fifty years ago and took them. Argumant was they died on the sea. Works as well as anything else."
"Oh. I'm Siobhan." Her made to shake his hand. He paused for a moment then shook it.
"Lawrence. My friends call me Titus. "
Siobhan laughed. "That's a hell of a name. But..."
"Fifty years?" Titus. He grinned. "Don't you know where you are?"
"It looks like Earth."
"It does, doesn't it?"
"Which means it isn't." Siobhan looked at the flickering lamps. "Did I die? I must have."
"Well, yes." Titus nodded. "Under very specific circumstances. But come in. There is a fire in the sitting room."
Siobhan followed him. There were thick curtains but she doubted there were windows underground.
Titus poured out some tea. It was hot and strong.
"Are you a god, then?"
"No. No, I'm not."
"Well, you've met Vikings. Not sure normal people do that."
"We're dead. Going to meet all sorts."
Siobhan took a sip. The heat landed heavily in her stomach.
"Where did you die?"
"We both died..."
"Yes, I know. Did I die in a skiing accident?"
Titus shrugged. "I don't know. I froze to death on the bottom of the world."
"Wait. 'I am just going outside and may be some time'. That's you, right?"
"More or less."
"But I didn't die in snow. It was red."
"Red and cold?" Titus looked confused. "Africa, maybe?"
"No. I've never been to Africa."
They drank their tea for a time.
"Does 'off world' mean anything to you?"
Titus frowned. "I assumed it implies leaving this plane. Off the world."
"No, no. It's more literal. I think. Why aren't there more people here? Lots of people freeze to death."
Titus sighed. "We've died in the godless lands."
"What do you mean? Isn't God everywhere."
"I thought so. I'm a godly man, Siobhan. And you must be too. I've been to Ireland."
Siobhan sighed. "I'm quite lapsed. But this isn't heaven then."
"We've lucked out. God is as tied to his customs, as is all of the gods. We have died outside of their ken."
Siobhan drank some more. "So I dead alone then? That's all?"
Titus laughed. "You've succumbed to the cold in a place no man has ever been."
"No one." Siobhan corrected. "Me being a woman and all."
"Yes, yes."
"You died on the Ross Ice Shelf."
"Really? That's something. Where did you die?"
"I don't know, really. Tharsis? It was a canyon. Red and yellow. There were Americans there."
"Perhaps out west? It gets cold at night."
"No. It was daylight."
"Off world." Titus muttered. "You can't die twice."
"Maybe I died in space."
Titus snorted. "I think enough creatures have died in space that there's a God for them."
"Like the Surrender 3."
Titus put his cup down and cracked his back.
"The what?"
"The secondary satellite probe. Seventeen on board. It depressurised halfway to the moon. Got a hail from Auckland."
"You're saying you died in space, but not in space."
Siobhan almost dropped her cup. "Shit, Titus. I think I died on Mars." | 2015-01-15T06:13:25 | 2015-01-15T06:11:33 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] It suddenly dawned on you that they had known all along. | 10,000 days. That's 27 years, 4 months, 2 weeks, 2 days, 17 hours, 10 minutes, and 1.92 seconds.
You toiled and sweat. Cursed and spat. Bled and wept even. And finally. Finally, you have solved it. You call your closest colleague to confirm the chemical reaction, but careful not to reveal your secret. Added in the formulas to a computational simulation to test the solution on different forms. Tested, and retested using different specimens. Alas, it is found. Its discovery, yours.
A call to the largest pharmaceutical company in the world leads you into the direction of a Mr. Smith. The man's voice is cold and calculating. Hushed when it should be loud. Suggestive and critical when it should be understanding. He does not believe you. And even so, profits are to be lost in 5 years. He desires that you meet him in person to confirm. A permanent cure for the sickness that seizes millions.
A drive to the location told to you reveals a follower at night. A gun through the window is pointed.
It suddenly dawned on you that they had known all along. | It was a historic day. My victory. My triumph. I had won the presidential election. I was delivering my speech. The sea of people before me looked so gleeful. The people behind me wore serious faces. Faces of people who fought the campaign of their lives. Their cold facades paralleled with my firm, pragmatic politics.
Yet, I was scared. I was always frightened by crowds. By people. People, humans, are scary. I have no empathy for the most dangerous being on Earth. Man. Perhaps my psychopathic mind is the reason that's really to blame for my quick climb to the top. I always wondered...when you're the leader...are you chosen because you're the best person to manage the leader's duties, Goliath, or are you chosen because no one else wants the leader's burdens, so they choose the person everyone hates. The one they can discard. David. Except David was cunning. He prevailed. He proved them wrong. And so will I. They say the best leader is the one who has no desire to become leader. Too bad for me, I most certainly lusted for power. Did that make me incompetent? Did they know that I was the worst?
This train of thought wasn't helping helping me. People were counting on me. I tried to imagine them naked. Didn't work. Did they know I was scared? Could they sense my fear? Did they know I despise them? Did they know the things I did to get here? Did they know my past? Would they?
I tried not to stutter. I was trained for this. Their minds seemed scattered. I spoke louder in the microphone to silence them and command their attention to me in my deep, authority reeking, voice.
It didn't work. They laughed. That's when I knew. Or more accurately, when I knew they knew. I had forgotten my pants. The people backing me didn't say anything. They intended for this to happen. Why, I don't know. Seems like a stupid, ridiculous plan with no chances of unfolding. Yet, it did. What a crazy, unpredictable plan. They had won.
No. Not yet. I ignored the speech written by some other idiot. I had planned far too long for this moment. It will not be snatched from me. I gave a speech about crazyness, the spark of genius in us. I said whenever we would be faced with a problem, we would try all the solutions we came up with to see what sticks. I admitted that the world was an unpredictable place and there was no way we could know what would happen tomorrow, let alone years in the future. I admitted we didn't know all the solutions or if those we did have were any good. I delivered MY speech. The horizin of heads was captivated. They cheered. I had proved them wrong. I had won.
It wad truly a historic moment. I discarded those who had betrayed me, even if they'd helped show me what I really believed in. I have zero tolerance for traitors. What a mandate that would become. A term to remember. | 2015-04-04T20:47:19 | 2015-04-04T20:46:19 | 51 | 14 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.