prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] Time travel is real, and time tourists tend to show up in large numbers around major historical events. One day, billions of time tourists are in ships above the city, quietly waiting. |
They called it...Paraboxing Day.
For centuries, Time Surfers inc. had been one of the most successful businesses in the history of Earth. Invented in 2085, a man by the name of Twitter Buzzfeed was finalizing his build of the worlds very first time machine. By 2090, he had developed what we now call "Parabox". By 2095, the worlds first time-travel company had hit the public market for tourists.
The first groups to jump were of the elite businesspeople in the world at the time. They were small jumps, the first one being the "Great Jump of World War 3". It was a huge success, as they were able to calculate the exact moment and place to stand to view the first plane hitting the World Trade Center in what used to be New York City in the year 2001. The participants were in awe of how accurate and exceptional their experience was.
Back then, the rules were strict. Do not interact with anyone from that timeline, and do NOT take or leave any items behind. You had to have a certain level of physique to withstand the variable pressure change when jumping, and anyone between the ages of 21-140 were allowed to jump granted they passed a physical stress test. The initial price to jump was a staggering 4500gow (Gallons of Water).
For over a decade, only small jumps were made by these rich elite, to varying moments in our history. Little things like assassinations, famous speeches, sporting events, and low-scale disasters were the among most popular choices.
In 2115, Time Surfers celebrated it's 30'th anniversary, and with it, one of the most remarkable decisions was made by the owner Mr. Buzzfeed. He decided that since he had made more H^2 O than he could ever spend, that he would open his doors to anyone. The price for jumping dropped to only 1gow. 1gow was the only operating cost of a jump. Therefore, the margins were only to sustain the machine and almost anyone could afford to jump.
Improvements have been made over the last 30 years, mostly to the power and size of the machine. On the first jump, only 6 people were sent back. Now, almost 300 people (depending on size and weight) could be in a single jump.
The first *and last* large-scale jump occurred late in the Fall of 2115. Nobody could expect what was to happen on that day...especially not a man named Synth, and his brother, Apple.
| "Oh great, something's going to happen." The exasperated sigh seemed to echo down the bustling city street. John kept a passive expression, but silently agreed as he watched the air shift and buzz as tourists zapped into existence. It always congested the streets, and the tourists cared little for what was going on outside of the event they came to witness. Time traveling tourism had been around for as long as anyone could remember, and had been an inconvenience hundreds of years ago as it was now. They never talked; they probably weren't allowed to, aside from their tour guide who, per their law, announced their temporary presence and that we should continue on and ignore them. They were hard to ignore when they kept standing three-persons wide on the sidewalk as they did. It was assumed that time travel was an expensive venture as the group size rarely exceeded 20, but there was a larger crowd than normal today, dotting about and gathering to the sides, anxiously craning their necks and holding their pads up to record holovids.
John stepped off the curb, his hand reaching out to his wife, Melissa. The wind had picked up and tugged at their coats, the rain only furthering his irritation as they side-stepped the crowds. Melissa fumbled with her hood to keep the wind from whipping it off, her other hand still warmly clasped in his own. He smiled at her, the bubble of love suddenly welling in his throat as he caught her eye. She laughed at his expression. He kissed the tip of her nose, and she reached to her tip-toes to kiss his. Seven years of doting each other, he thought warmly, all thoughts of his dour mood forgotten.
The tourists were looking even more eager now, peering at their datapads to check the time. Like the other normal dwellers of his time, John tugged at Melissa to quicken her steps; no one wanted to stay around to see if an Event was good or bad.
It was then that his wife jerked her hand from him, and he looked back at her startled. She was clutching her stomach, her brows knit in pain. Her contractions had started some hours ago, but they were so far apart that she was determined to walk around the block before actually checking in at the hospital. John was already on the phone as he crouched beside his wife.
Looking up for a street sign, John read off their location to his phone before hanging up. He noticed some of the tourists were actually watching him now. So it took a woman collapsing in pain at their feet to get their attention, did it? He was angry at them, for being there and always ignoring everyone, never offering anything from the future, never taking any action or helping. He wanted to move away from their stares, especially before their Event happened.
"Come on Melissa," He said, wiping the rain from his brow. The tourists were congregating now, looking from their datapads to them. The hair on the back of his neck stood, a small inkling of a feeling creeping in that he dutifully tried to ignore as his wife hobbled with him a few steps.
A car honked, and John looked up with relief as his friend pulled up to give them a ride to the hospital. He helped Melissa into the car, giving one last glance to the tourists. All eyes were on them, their faces darker than he had ever seen. Some even took a step towards them. Was that normal? He had never seen them itch for more like that. He quickly slammed the car door, the only sound left being the patter of the rain and Melissa's labored breathing. Eyes seemed to silently follow them the entire trip to the hospital, haunting their path. Tourists weren't allowed in hospitals; another rule, he supposed, for it would have been much too crowded. So many. He had never seen so many. Some curious, eager, most angry. How had he not noticed before?
They rushed inside, the tourists' eyes never leaving them, even as the doors to the hospital shut them out. John turned to his wife, who was beaming joyously at him even amidst her pain, "John, our baby's coming." Her smile was infectious, and he had already forgotten the ghosts outside as the couple were rushed to a room to give birth to their beloved child. | 2015-05-30T08:41:27 | 2015-05-30T08:38:12 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] A torturer who is ridiculously bad at his job. NSFW | A scrawny, naked man was dragged into the torture room. Sharp instruments hung from the ceiling, and a table that had not been cleaned in years stood in the center. Buckets were stacked near a water dispenser. Chains were coiled. Guards strapped the naked man to the table so that his arms and legs could barely move.
Beads of sweat formed on his body as a large man approached him. His face was obscurred with a dark hood, and his voice was deep and gravelly as he commented on having a new victim.
The hooded man sent the guards out, and the naked man did his best to hide his fear. "You imperial scum will never break me!
A chair scraped against the stone flood, and the hooded man sat down. "They call me the electric man. Do you know why?"
The naked man spit on his hood.
"Because I favor electricity." The torturer gestured at the toold hanging from the ceiling. "Sure, these things look cool, but I enjoy electric torture, and sending volts of electricity through someone's body. Almost enough to kill you, but not quite."
The hooded man flicked a switch, and a bunch of electrodes on the floor started to buzz. He walked off to grab a laptop and opened it. He put a disk in, and the opening sequence of a movie started. "My favorite thing is that it leaves no mark. So there's no way to prove if I've done it or not."
"Wait, what?"
"Look, all the screaming gives me a headache, and I'm in a position where I have become my own boss. They will check the electricity flow, so as long as it's running, it looks like I did something. Now, if you can be quiet for two hours while I watch this movie, we can both pretend nothing happened. Just be sure to be out of breath and stuff when the guards come back." | It was always far too hot in the Underpass. Once the first door had slid open and sealed shut behind Wes with a rush of air, he experienced the same sinking feeling in his stomach. He hated it here. Within minutes of moving along the narrow corridor he was sweating. There must be a furnace or something in the belly of the building, but the foundations had been searched and nothing had been found. It was the heat, and the fact that the passage stood only five and a half feet tall that made it only too easy for Wes to feel as though he were crouching, vulnerable, in the gullet of some huge beast. The walls were made from black bricks and the passage was lightless, the yellow light seeping through the first door immediately swallowed up by the oppressive darkness.
The first time he had come here he had been led by a blind man, struggling to breathe with the heat and half deaf with fear. He hadn't had to crouch then. Now his back was stooped against the ceiling and he fumbled along the wall with shaking hands. It never got any easier to come into the Underpass.
The blind old man had gone years ago, taken by some plague or some word of treason which he'd been unlucky enough to have said in someone's hearing. Everyone who worked for Him was eventually worked on by Him. Wes had never had any choice in the matter.
Eventually the Underpass opened out. Watery lights seeped from somewhere indiscernible in the bowl-shaped room. This part had always reminded Wes of a tomb. He-- they said he'd had a name once, but he'd discarded it along with the skin on his left arm, to pay the price he owed to the Devil-- He sat in on a stool, waiting for Wes. He was short, of average build and looked normal save for his flayed left arm and his eyes. They were grey as dirty snow, sitting oddly in his face, as though they did not belong there. They would catch the watery light and glint like pieces of flint, but there was no life behind them.
"Who's first today?" He asked. A shiver ran down Wes' spine at the familiar voice. It was like tainted water, running down his body and chilling him to the core.
"Lord Griffid," Wes answered, fumbling at the keys on his chain. "For treason, and speaking out against the--"
"Fetch him."
Lord Griffid had been Master of the King's Coin for seven years. Before that they had called him The Griffon, and watched him ride out dressed in blue and gold. Now he was a shrunken man with a badly shaved face and a nervous tic in his left eye.
"Please," he begged Wes. "Some water, just some water, please. It's so hot..."
Wes could never adjust to the heat as easily as he'd adjusted to the prisoner's pleas.
He pushed the man onto the stool, and He turned around from a brazier from which extended several metal pokers. He gave a smile which did not reach the grey-flint eyes and cocked his head at the prisoner.
"Do you know who I am, Griffid?"
The former lord shook where he sat and nodded.
"Then you know what I do. What I'm here for."
The lord began to cry. Wes tugged at his collar and wondered how bad the heat would be today.
"I don't ask questions. I'm not like other torturers in that respect. I don't wait for information, I don't stop to let you speak. If you were sent here, it means you were meant to die."
He pulled from the brazier a poker with his flayed hand, no glove protecting the damaged skin. The end glowed white hot and was steaming even in the oppressive air of the Underpass.
"It means you were meant to die, painfully." | 2015-06-03T06:33:37 | 2015-06-03T02:25:24 | 42 | 12 |
[WP] Magic is real. Your natural magic ability is determined by how many people died 24 hours prior to your birth. You, and 2 others were born on the day of the greatest massacre in human history.
I apologise if this has been done previously.
EDIT: Obligatory RIP inbox. Thanks everyone!
EDIT2: Front page of /r/WritingPrompts! Thank you all for making my first writing prompt awesome! | I have to do this. I don't have a choice anymore.
The other two are beyond reason. They're tearing the world apart a piece at a time. Even so, they're careful to never kill too many at once with their battles that neither can ever win. They're perfectly matched in every way. Strategy, skill, strength. I often wonder why I'm the odd one out, why I'm the only one of us able to see that what they're doing is wrong.
The last piece of my plan fell into place last night. It took me months of searching before I found her. I hid her away, and now she is ripe. I can sense the life within her swollen stomach, less than a day from fruition. If I don't act now, I might not get another chance.
They say seven million died to create us.
In the next twenty-four hours, seven million and one must die to save us all. | The Three Calamities of Peace
Article by Trent Blake (The World)
It was a day like any other, sunny, clear and warm. The people went about their lives unknowing that the Three Calamities of The Star would meet. Each born on the day when the Star of Calvaria dropped and wiped the country from the planet. They were born moments after Star Drop. Everyone knew that each one of the Calamities brought chaos to wherever they went, so much so the world had to be divided into three regions to ensure they would not meet to live up to their name.
The first one I remember hearing about was Janus - whom specialized in offensive spells. So powerful were his attacks he erased whole cities in a blink of an eye.
The second Kira devoted his magic to defensive skills, but stories of the potency of his skills that it led to destruction to everything around anything he tried to protect. Yet the worse of the Calamities was Katia, because she specialized in chaotic magic and she did not wish to protect anything. The trio were raised in different environments. Janus was raised by the mercenary corporation Aries, while Kira was sent to a monastery of Earth. Katia had the worse fate though, she was given to what appeared to be a fine family. But her step parents abused her to the point she murdered them. No one could stop her. It took a combined might of Janus, Kira and the world's military might to in prison her for her crimes. Years passed and the world marched on. Until she broke out of prison and ran a muck once more. Governments came together and again reached out to Janus and Kira for help which led to another war.
Yet this new battle had a different outcome. They fought for ten days to a stalemate and somehow their choices led to our new world. How they reached this decision only they know, and took it with them to their graves. What we found out in the aftermath was that our penchant for violence to one another had been practically eradicated.
We could no longer shoot at one another as weapons would not fire at another human being.
Bombardment weapons became duds, and any physical violence met a physical barrier protecting attacker and victim from one another.
The only time violence actually was permitted was when animal attempted to kill another human being.
So in our new found forced peace we have solved many of our problems - like world hunger and poverty. We have advanced our knowledge of science and magic further. Two-hundred years later we've found the answer to restoring the world, yet no one wants to follow through with it. humanity has progressed in its wisdom to know that the old ways would not be wise. Even if we live in a forced peace, it has been more beneficial to humanity than the old world could have ever been. | 2015-08-23T06:53:43 | 2015-08-23T03:26:55 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] You have the ability to steal wishes from a wishing well by taking the coins a person drops in. However, you can't know what the wish is before you decide to take it
For example: if someone wishes that that John smith fell in love with them and you decide to take the wish, then John Smith will fall in love with you | Things were going pretty well for Dave. He’d only had the magic for a week, but already he’d gained several million dollars, a mansion, two sports-cars, and a supermodel girlfriend. A few stranger wishes had popped up, too: the skills of a master ballerina, the qualifications of an astronaut, the ability of a racecar driver… Nothing bad yet, though.
He had a plan he thought was relatively fair, too. Once he was set for life, he’d start hitting the hospital downtown and the fountain at the university. It’d be nice, doing good. But for the moment, he was more concerned with doing good for himself. His third date with Helga was tonight, and he wanted to pick up something to impress her.
A little ways down the poolside, a curly-haired little girl whispered her wish into her hands and tossed a penny into the fountain. She looked like the type to wish for a pony, and Helga used to be an equestrian. That’d work, Dave decided, sidling over to pick up the coin.
A roar turned the chatter of the mall to screams, and Dave almost dropped the penny. He whirled around and found himself staring into a set of slavering jaws.
A bear. She wished for a *bear.*
(Inspired by a wish I made when I was four. Sorry, Dave.) | Angela hoisted her heaping bag of new clothes over her petite shoulder. As she struggled to catch up with her friends, who had walked ahead of her to the next store, she cursed herself for deciding to wear heels that day.
It was then that she heard the fountain call to her. The call was not a sound, but instead a vibration, an echo of something deep within her chest.
The sixteen year old girl stopped in her tracks and turned to face the fountain, a small, unassuming trickle of water dribbling into a pond tucked into the corner between two buildings.
"Hey, Angie!" she heard her friend Lana call to her. "Hey, where are you going?"
The voice seemed far away to Angela. Leaving her bag of spoils behind, she trotted toward the fountain and soon found herself at the edge.
"What the hell is she doing?" said another voice. Her mind registered it as Jasmine, another of her friends.
"I dunno," Lana replied. "She's acting really weird."
Angela, her mind on autopilot, bent down and plunged her hand deep into the fountain's basin. A moment later, she stood back up, holding a rusted penny between two baby pink nails.
She heard her friends somewhere in the distance, but over top of their chattering, a nasal, distinctly male voice resounded from within her head: "I wish I had a photographic memory."
The next moment was like waking up from a dream. She was not Angela. She was not even a 'she.' He was Martin Samuelsson, forty-five-year-old billionaire. He had first heard the fountain's call four years ago, when he was a mere clerk at a nearby outlet store. He remembered how it had implored him to pick a coin from its depths, and how he heard his first wish: "I wish to be the richest man in the world."
He thought that would be enough, but it wasn't. Even with enough money to buy anything he desired, he still wanted more. He went back to the fountain again and again, drew coin after coin, and was granted wish after wish. But none brought him complete satisfaction.
Finally, he had an idea. The last time he drew a coin from the fountain, he had paid a girl ten thousand dollars to make a wish for him. He marked the penny black with magic marker so that he could pick it out, and then had her toss it into the basin.
That was the last thing that Martin remembered before he became Angela. But he knew why his plan had not worked. It was something that he forgot. Not words, necessarily, but a feeling, from when the fountain first called to him.
*The wish has to be from the coin owner's heart.*
Martin/Angela felt a hand on his shoulder. The feeling of being touched in a girl's body now seemed entirely alien to him.
"Angie?"S/he heard Lana say, "You okay, girl? Everyone's waiting for you!"
At that, the timbre of Lana's voice caused a new memory to surface. It was the voice of the girl that he had hired to make the wish. He had heard it in his head the moment before he became Angela.
"I wish to be the most popular girl in school." | 2016-08-02T15:22:40 | 2016-08-02T12:22:05 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] You are cursed to see people how they view themselves. You walk alongside monsters and Gods.
Can be third person instead of first.
Edit: I just thought of how EDs and other disorders like multiple personality would fit in with this, and now I'm kinda blown away. |     I walked along the sidewalk, musing to myself the nature of my existence. In an era of steel and cell phones, I was touched by magic. I could not use it myself. Instead I was cursed by it. My curse? I saw people as they saw themselves. Sometimes it was useful.
    Those that looked like gods among men I learned to avoid. They were larger than life, to be sure, but they were often such narcissists that dealing with them reasonably. They were unwilling or unable to consider others having viable opinions. These people, despite appearing most handsome to my eye, would be the ugliest were I to see them as their true selves, rather than how they perceived themselves.
    The monsters? They varied wildly.
    Some were truly as I saw them, sociopaths with monsterously cruel tendencies, who saw themselves as monsters, accepted it, and reveled in it.
    Others who saw themselves as monsters were different beasts altogether. They were the ones who cut themselves off from their desires because they cared more about the pain of others than their own desires, and no matter how much good they did, they always saw themselves as monsters for even having those desires.
    I also learned to avoid certain doctors. The best were the ones who saw themselves as normal, and others described as great. I remember one doctor I visited once had an ethereal impossible beauty which set my teeth on edge like nothing else. I got out of that office as quickly as I could. I later learned he had taken advantage of his position to assault several of his patients.
    I reached my door, and nodded to my neighbor. He was one of those monsters that did everything he could to help others. Some day, I hope he'll see himself for what he truly is, but it's really hard to talk him about it. I stepped into my home. *This curse isn't purely a negative,* I thought to myself. | The most interesting thing about seeing people in the way they see themselves is the fact that it's spread to the extremes. About half of see themselves as gods and the other half see themselves as monsters. Every now and then you will see a unicorn or pegasus, but that's normally the people who are broken, or insane. The second most interesting things is that people don't change. Never in my whole time have I met someone as a monster then see them again as a god, not until recently. This man intrigued me. When I first saw him I did not see a monster nor did I see a god. I saw a man. Out of everyone in the world I saw the only person who had a grasp on who they were, or so I thought. Being obsessive in nature I wanted to learn more about this man. I followed him around and learned his name. I knew where he worked and what he did with his free time, but I never watched him while he was working or relaxing. He would go into a bar and I would be too scared to follow him in, less he discover me. No I watched him from afar for about a month. Just seeing him walk to his job, then walk home or to get a drink. I took me a months to build up the courage to get close to him. I need to understand why he sees himself as he is. I applied to his work place and got hired as a secretary. It's a very people intense job but I can cope, and from there I could watch him closer and find out more about him. it was a Tuesday, the office wanted coffee so me and a few other people went out to get some. I made sure I got to deliver his coffee. Walking up to his office door I could feel my heart pounding. I had no connection with him, this would be first contact. When I walked in I nearly dropped the coffee. There, sitting in his chair at his desk was the devil himself. He was facing away from me but I could clearly make out the horns on his head. Shaking I managed to put his coffee down on the desk. I've seen monsters and I've seen gods but I've never seen anything this cruel and hideous. He hear me set down the coffee and turned his chair around. What scared me the most at this point was not his face, which was still his, or the fact that he had eyes that showed hell itself. No it was the fact that he then changed back into himself. The man I had see from far away for a month was now in front of me. That shouldn't happen and that shouldn't be possible. At this point my instincts are telling me to run, but I work here and must be professional. I told him that we got his coffee and was about to leave when he asked me to sit down. He then asked me what was wrong and if anything was troubling me. He must had smelled the fear in my eyes. I told him I had drank too much coffee and just had the jitters. I just wanted to leave. After he told me to lay off the coffee then and get better I left. The thing about the world I live in, my world, was that there are rules. All people obey the rules, you don't see yourself as you truly are, you don't see yourself as one part one thing and one part another, and you don't change. But here was a man defying them. When you live in a world for so long and grow accustom to its rules the things that don't follow them the things that make you question yourself become the most scary things in the world. Anything that demands change in the structure of your universe scares you, and the only comfort you have is in accepting the world view that you have, but it is not the moments in which we can easily accept the world we live in that we find out who we are. No it's in the moments in which everything we know is questioned an all the rules are broken, it's in those moments in which we find out who we are and what we mean, it's in those moments that we will feel the weight of the world on us and those moments that we must carry on. Running isn't the answer nor is hiding. We must face the monsters and gods in our lives. We must abandon the delusions we have of the world and accept who we are. I knew that man. He was the priest of my childhood home, he was the man that killed my mother. | 2016-09-16T20:27:03 | 2016-09-16T19:42:15 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You are a supervillain named The Keymaster. Instead of creating grand plans to conquer the world, all you do is run around and free other captured supervillains from prison, after the superheroes defeat them.
Edit: Thanks for the frontpage! | "Aw jeez," I thought to myself, "Which one is it?"
I jingled through the mass of keys attached to the Keymaster's Ring: a ring about 6 inches in diameter crowded with master keys to most of the planet's prisons.
"I should probably organize this thing, huh?" I nervously laughed, a bit flustered and hoping The Cryomaniac wouldn't immediately freeze me once I set him free from his cell. Some supervillain I was, always afraid of the guy I'm trying to set free.
"Yeah..." He replied absently, clearly getting a bit frustrated with my fumbling around.
A few minutes and many keys later the heavy iron lock opened with a loud clank.
"Ah, there we are!" I said, trying to act like I knew what I was doing (I didn't), "and here is your Freez-o-Ray from the armory, you should be all set." I handed him the ray-gun and flashed him the double thumbs up in a weak attempt at camaraderie. It had taken me 20 minutes to find the right key for armory, which I immediately lost on the key ring upon entering the armory, resulting in 20 *more* minutes of looking on the ring once I got to his cell.
"Great," He said, clearly not thinking I was great, "thanks a lot, uh..."
"Keymaster," I supplied, holding up the key ring and pointing to it.
"Right, Keymaster. As repayment for setting me free, do you have any requests for who I should target next for Cryolimination? A specific person, perhaps, or a group of people?"
Now, this was the part of my job that I *lived* for. The Cryomaniac's question set ablaze a fire in my eyes; igniting an inferno of hate in my soul that burned me to my very core.
"Just one request." I answered slowly, in a voice of newfound weight that can be heard in the voice of one speaking directly from the mouth of their maker.
"Yes, anything." He sounded a bit taken aback.
*"The Locksmiths."* | "This damp prison cell is hardly a match for the Amazing Contortor!", a man in an ill fitting suit shouted, his cries falling on empty cells or apathetic ears. He had decided on an...unconventional name. Why did the heroes get a monopoly on the word 'Amazing'? Combined with his di understanding of suffixes, the "amazing contortor" was born. He went around the town, causing mayhem and misdeeds through his amazing acts of contortionism, such as slightly distracting heroes by stretching his leg over his head. He was more offended by the after-thought nature of his capture than with being arrested itself. Ultra Man himself - another interesting case study in self naming - had grabbed him off the street as he was performing his acts of villainy. He had not been hard to catch, because he could not move in his contorted pose. Ultra Man had thrown him into the back of a squad car only after all the other villains had been disposed of, and it had taken an innocent passerby's mention for him to even notice the contortionist.
On his way to the jailhouse the Amazing Contortor had decided that no matter what it takes, he would have his revenge. He would distract Ultra Man so hard he would forget his own name. He would positively dazzle him. All he had to do was get out of his cell. Unfortunately, his contortionist abilities were limited. No matter how hard he tried, how hard he hated, he could not squeeze through the bars. He had resorted to yelling, taking out his frustrations on anyone who would listen, trying to annoy his way out of prison.
Footsteps echoed throughout the hallway outside the cell. He backed into the corner of his cell, scared of what he imagined was an angry guards wrath. He had gotten most of information about what happens in prisons from the movies, and he was sure that he was about to get beat unmercifully. Instead, a likewise ridiculously suited man appeared outside his cell. He stopped in front of the bars, and peered in.
"Behold! I am the Keymaster! I am here to release you to continue your acts of villainy! Tell me, what is your name and goal?"
The Contortor felt a spark of hope, and approached the bars.
"I am the Amazing Contortor. My only goal is to defeat Ultra Man. He took everything from me."
"Oh, you'll do nicely. Ultra Man is just the hero that I need distracted. Now tell me, how do you plan to defeat him?"
"I was planning on a pose, a pose so grand that Ultra Man will have no choice but to pay attention," The Amazing Contortor started to pace around as he spoke, emulating the villainous orators from the movies,"This pose will make all of cirque du soleil look like child's play," He was no longer facing the man outside the cell," This pose will be enough to distract even those who are shooting up that very moment, those who have addictive substances roaring through their veins right that moment. They will instead become addicted to my moves. Yes, friend, this pose will be my Magnum Posus." He heard the sound of a cell opening, and turned back around. The Keymaster was gone.
"Hey, where'd you go?"
The Keymaster came back into view. He was being followed by another man in a spandex body suit. He looked back at the Amazing Contortor, and felt a little pity. Plus, it couldn't do much harm to the cause to have as many villains as possible attacking Ultra Man. He opened the cell door.
The Amazing Contortor was again offended. *"Caught and released on an afterthought"*, he thought to himself. *"Looks like I'll have to deal with this 'Ticketmaster' after I dazzle Ultra Man"*
_____________________________________________________________________________
For more stuff like that /r/Periapoapsis | 2017-03-11T19:52:24 | 2017-03-11T18:57:10 | 71 | 46 |
[WP] The ground suddenly turns invisible, but the insects and things that live inside it don’t. | It didn't register at first.
I mean, the ground turning invisible registered pretty much immediately. You never know just how much *Earth* is under you until you can see through it. It's especially apparent when, depending on where you are, it's 2am and it's not night anymore.
It's daylight. Everywhere.
Everyone outside seems to be standing on a skybridge all at once. The buildings and foundations are still here, still visible. Trees and bushes too. But the ground? Cement, pipes, water, grass, all that?
Gone.
It's daylight, and all at once every living thing beneath our feet is visible between the sun's light and the wine colored glow of the Earth's core. Worms, bugs, badgers. Meerkats if that's what you've got going. All plainly visible, and freaking out just as we were up here.
I mean, imagine if all of a sudden, the walls, floors, and ceiling of your house were just gone.
Imagine being an accidental mime. Being surrounded by light with an unfamiliar blood red glow beneath you.
It was all over the news. The only thing being talked about. And everyone was so freaked out that it must have been the been the most peaceful few hours the world had ever seen. Most people stood outside, staring down into the core, like a crimson sun beneath our feet. The world-wide confusion lent itself well to hushed conversation.
Most of the world was so focused on the ground being gone that they didn't notice the core had been slowly getting lighter until it suddenly flared, like a candle, and then began to pulse, as a heart does, crimson and ruby.
Crimson and ruby.
That's when it registered.
We could see every living thing in the Earth. Worms, bugs, badgers. Meerkats if that's what you've got going.
And The Core.
edit: grammar | "Mom, mom, look!" small Sarah ran towards her mother. Hands were full of different kind of insects.
"Sarah, what are you doing?" her mother, Rose, shouted, taking hold of her hands and moving her straight towards the kitchen. Different bugs and small worms fell all over the living room's floor.
"I told you million times to stop touching them. They're disgusting!"
Sarah watched how her mother cleaned her hands under the warm water stream, but she slowly shook her head. "But they're fascinating. Right now it's really easy to find them, as well," she frowned.
"What do you mean easy to find? Did you read some book about worms again?" Rose asked.
"No, I just looked them up. Come, I'll show you!" she took hold of her mother's hand and pulled her towards the house main door. Rose first resisted, but then just followed her lead. Maybe it was better if she learned her worm and bug finding tricks.
As they reached outside, Rose's legs stopped moving. Sarah also let her hand go.
"Look, look, there's so many of them!" Sarah said, voice a bit higher pitched than usual.
She inspected different insects below the ground, moving around. It was as she was standing on a glass.
"It's fascinating, isn't it?" Sarah whispered.
She looked back, making sure that their house was still visible. It was. Then again, when she looked around, half of the houses were also invisible. It was stone what was see-through now. They had a wooden house themselves, so it was okay.
People were slowly walking around, mostly just staring deep into the ground. As Rose crouched and touched the ground, she felt like the dirt was still there, except it wasn't just visible to her eyes anymore.
Then she noticed it. Two big black eyes were far-far away, at the very centre. Was it earth's core? It blinked now and then, looking straight towards Sarah. At least it felt like that.
Rose started also searching Sarah quickly, heart beating insanely fast. It was easy to find her, she was at a nearby tree, digging dirt away to catch the biggest worm nearby.
"Sarah, get inside!" Rose shouted.
"I don't want to. There are so many bugs to inspect. I want to get an enormous collection together!"
"SARAH!" Rose shouted again.
A mouth appeared. Long smiling mouth... The core still looked towards them.
"Sarah..." a whisper came out from the ground. As Rose heard that whisper, the earth started to shake. Different bugs were struggling visibly to get out from the ground. Their direction was straight towards Sarah. Some were going slowly towards Rose.
Rose ran towards Sarah, grabbed her hand and pulled her towards their home.
"Stop it, I don't want to!" Sarah struggled against her mother. "Mom, they're coming to me! They want to be part of my collection!"
"Stop it Sarah, come!" Rose screamed.
Rose felt how different insects started biting her legs. They crawled up. Every step was a nightmare. She didn't care, though. She could take care of bugs inside. Right now, Sarah was all that mattered.
"SARAH..." a thunderous whisper echoed. It was also the moment their house had collapsed. People around Sarah tried to grab onto something. Others ran out from their homes. Not many managed to stand up. Screams were heard here and there.
In the middle of the chaos, Rose stopped feeling Sarah's hand in-between her grasp.
It was Rose who screamed next. The earthquake was over and the dirt was back visible. Bugs were leaving Rose's bitten legs alone...
But Sarah was nowhere to be seen...
----
/r/ElvenWrites | 2018-04-21T07:40:46 | 2018-04-21T06:17:26 | 769 | 153 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper. | ***HOW EXACTLY CAN I BE HERE? VISITING YOU, WHILE LIVING?***
The boy continued to twiddle his thumbs, all the while looking at the ground. He knew I was there, he had stood to attention with immediacy as I had arrived.
***LOOK AT ME BOY.***
He raised his head at mine and, much like a puppy, tilted his head to his side. His eyes, a deep brown surrounded in a grim yellow, stared at mine, a pair of tiny white dwarf stars, piercing in the darkness. As though feeling my gaze back into his, he looked away and continued to stare at the ground. He seemed frightened, though I had not been in the living world for quite some time.
As I watched this child silently looking away from me, I noticed how dark the room was. I am the true death that reaps all souls. And yet...
With a gaze, my eyes focused and I saw the room. Perhaps it was the size of a small shed, a small sheet in the corner, a hole in the ground, and a most unusual contraption. Somewhat like a pair of giant automatic hamster feeders. In that moment of clarity, I understood.
I looked again at this child.
***I AM SORRY.*** | In all my existence, I had never seen such loneliness. Nor such self-sufficiency.
The gentleman I had come to reap lived beyond off-grid. There were no other communities around for at least a thousand square miles, and there was no road leading to his compound. A strong, fast-flowing river weaved behind a small house that I assumed was his main living quarters, and several outbuildings speckled a landscape of crop fields ranging from corn to potatoes to blueberries.
I approached the front porch of the small house and could see there a well-worn rocking chair, a collapsible camp table with some carving tools and wood shavings upon it, and a rugged mat at the foot of the front door that said nothing, had only the faded image of a sunset.
I could hear no signs of industry, only the wind in the trees, the muted roar of the river, and the call of birds echoing against the far off mountainside. I stood for a time, waiting patiently, but eventually grew tired and took to the rocking chair. I rocked slowly back and forth, enjoying the rhythmic creaking of the wood as it rolled across the planks of the porch. After a while, I was beginning to forget why I had come, and then I heard a distant whistling, a happy tune that suggested a long days work finally completed.
I am not completely sure why, but even as I heard the crunching of footsteps on the gravel path beyond the porch I still did not rise from the rocking chair. I continued to move, slowly back and forth, waiting expectantly for my reaping to come around the corner, that all too familiar look of dismay crawling across a once smiling and happy face.
What most don’t understand is that after you have met my brother, the Grim Reaper, you do not leave this plane. You remain as a shadow, and you continue to walk among the living but can not be seen by them. You still exist, however, it is merely as a whisper, a playful breeze, a trick of the light... A memory. When the last knowledge of you is finally snuffed out of the hearts and minds of the living, it is then that I come for you, to send you to the next plane.
When finally a man came around the corner of the house and saw me seated there, he was neither shocked nor surprised, and he did not even stop walking. He took the steps to the porch with a calm smile upon his face and came to stand at my side, staring out at the valley beyond the fields, taking in the view of serenity that had been my distraction for the last hour or more.
“Sure is lovely, isn’t it,” he remarked.
I studied the man, he was old but still spry. His hair was white but his skin was young. His hands were strong and worn but his body was slight and fit.
This was no whisper, no breeze, no shadow. This was a living man. A man who had not yet met my brother. A man who had been completely forgotten by the world, and could not be happier about it.
I decided to stay a while.
He obliged me. | 2018-05-12T16:01:10 | 2018-05-12T16:00:41 | 416 | 15 |
[WP] As a joke, you pull up google maps on your computer, highlight Germany, right-click, and select delete. A news report pops up within seconds, saying Germany has magically vanished. | You frantically flick to the news.
"-and we are now with our Polish correspondent, in Warsaw. Gareth, hello."
"Yes, hello, and as you can see, there is a sort of a quiet panic going on here. Many questions are raised, and chief among them is how did this happen."
"Can you tell us a little about the atmosphere there?"
The correspondent grimaced. "There's a lot of tension. A country of 85 million people has just disappeared and people are wondering, y'know, are they going to be next? How does something like this happen, and what does it mean for the people here?"
You curse under your breath, and quickly start scanning through Reddit. Threads upon threads of theories have already been posted, as far as a subreddit called r/WhereIsGermany. Theories range from the insane to... Well, no, they mostly cluster around the node of insane. Lizard people, Russian weapons test, simulation arguments, pages and pages of almost real-time discussion.
The USA releases a press release, urging the United Nations to investigate.
~~
Three days in, and things are bad. With Germany gone, Russia has become more pushy to its Western neighbours. Belarus is invaded and incorporated into the country. Germany, who made up the backbone of EU economic production, is gone, and France and Poland are busy building up their militaries to keep Russia at bay. The EU is a full-blown military alliance now.
The UK joins the military alliance, after discovering Russian tampering in their elections.
You're starting to worry people will realise what you did.
The world is heating up. War is looking inevitable. Russia is bullying states in the Baltic and Balkans. France is pushing for war. The US and China are skirmishing in the ocean.
An idea strikes. You load up your computer, and go into History. The google maps page is the only thing without the word "chaos" in the page name.
You drag the cursor over to Germany, and right click.
You do a bit of a face-palm, there, when you see the option floating over the blank mass where the central European country used to be.
"Undo."
*Pop.*
You're such a fucking moron. | I got into Yelp and Google Reviews for the same reason everyone does it, to get free shit from restaurants. The first year was building a reputation, I would eat out three or four times a week and leave a good review. It was important to leave a good review, especially when you’re trying to get your name out there. Eventually when you start handing out 1 or 2 star ratings, owners will look at your previous reviews and discover they’re the only low rating restaurant in your profile. They’ll be more inclined to reach out and offer free food/gifts in order for you to reconsider your review score. If you went out the gate giving people 1s and 2s, then they’ll assume you’re a scammer.
By year 2 I was one of the top reviewers for Yelp, and one of the top Google Guides on my side of the country. Being an elite member on both platforms had its advantages. For Google it was a chance to beta test new features on their google maps like instant reservations, pick-up ordering, and removing businesses from search feature. The latter was the most interesting one to me.
At year 2 I was roughly at 325 reviews on Yelp and Google. Majority of them are restaurants around my city. Every time I search for places to eat, majority of the places that pop up are either fast food or places I’ve eaten. Removing places I’ve already been into or not interested in helped me narrow down on restaurants I need to visit next.
After hitting *Are you sure you would like to delete these places from your google search results* prompt, the places won’t come up on my search. Easy.
A few weeks after the deletion feature was introduced, I started looking for places to eat in Germany during Oktoberfest when I flew out there for vacation with a group of friends. The idea is I’ll e-mail the restaurant, talk to the manager or owner and hopefully get a nice deal in exchange for a positive review. While I was deleting *Burger King* from my search, the browser proceeded to stall and became unresponsive, I refreshed it.
It must’ve had an error, because when I select an item on Google Maps it selected the entire country of Germany with options to *go there*, *delete*, and *find directions*. Wanting to get out of the menu, I hit delete, without a prompt the entire country of Germany was missing from Google Maps.
I tried refreshing the page, but wasn’t able to get a version of the map with Germany to load. A few minutes into me trying to figure out what my problem was, I got a text from the *What’s App* group for the trip telling everyone to turn on the news.
My stomach sank reading the headline on CNN, Germany has vanished. Nobody knows what happened, and all of their guests on the show are predicting how the world changes with Germany gone. Natural disasters, political climate, the works. It’s only been a half an hour at this point.
“What the fuck did I do?” I asked myself, shocked. I sat still in front of the computer watching a live stream of the news. *I had to do something*.
Luckily it was easier than I thought it would be. Going back to Google Maps I pressed CTRL + Z bringing back the deleted Germany. CNN was actually able to capture it reappearing from thin air live on camera, it reminded me of watching *David Copperfield* making the Statue of Liberty disappear but without any curtains or sheets. Instantly I breathed a sigh of relief.
A few days later I noticed the *delete from search* along with a lot of my Google Guide beta features were now removed from google maps, an e-mail was sent to me shortly after discovering this.
*Hello Valued Google Guide,*
*We’ve recently became aware of a feature breaking bug in our current Google Guide perks. We’ve temporary deleted the delete and many other features until we can determine a proper fix for the issue.*
*Thanks again for making a world a friendlier place,*
*Google Guides.*
| 2018-05-22T14:37:36 | 2018-05-22T14:28:21 | 38 | 14 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | "This isn't possible!" the man screamed, as the guards dragged him into my office. "How! How the hell did you find me?"
"That's not the important thing, Mr. Spencer." I said, calmly, as the guards pinned him face down to my desk. "The important thing is after my firm put up the money for your bail, you attempted to skip out on your court date. Unacceptable, Mr. Spencer. *Unacceptable."*
"Your damn tracker *can't* have worked!" he snarled, as they lifted up his shirt, exposing a thin, recently healed scar. "I was picked up in an air car with a lead-lined interior! They flew me around the city for hours and *verified* we weren't followed or observed from any angle! My safe house is 30 feet underground, inside a F*araday cage!* There's no signal on Earth that can penetrate that!*"*
"Apparently there is." I muttered, as I withdrew the extractor from my desk drawer and placed it over the implant site on his back.
"How did you do it?" he pleaded, a wavering, almost panicked obsession creeping into his tone. "I don't even care that you caught me anymore, I just want to know *how!* Your men were at my location before I could even have the damn implant pulled out! It's not possible, it---*AHG!"*
He snarled in pain as the extractor's laser scalpel automatically made a quick, clean cut, sucked out the implanted capsule, and then resealed the incision with a medical adhesive.
"How do I always know where each shipment I insure for my clients is? How do I know the location of every priceless piece of art or errant trust-fund child I'm hired to look after? These are the secrets of my trade, Mr. Spencer. They're not for the likes of you." I said calmly, putting the extractor away and palming the implant out of his sight.
"Tell me! Please, for the love of God, *how* did you do it?!" he wailed, tears of frustration filling his eyes as my guards dragged him away. I shook my head -- bad risk. I shouldn't have given him the chance to try and screw me over. But then, there was never *really* a chance he'd get away with it.
I looked down at the metal capsule in my hand, and smiled as I opened it, revealing the tiny, old fashioned brass key inside.
They were common when I was a kid, but these days electronic locks have replaced them for almost everything. If not for some lateral thinking, that would have made my particular gift almost useless.
You see, unlike most people, I never, *ever* lose my keys. | Humanity firmly believes it cracked the code on how our bodies function, think, and move. We receive inputs, sight, sound smell, feel. Those inputs are then sent to the brain as electrical signals where they are processed and sent out to various muscle groups to create movement. There is a small delay between input and output, fractions of a second, but for nearly everything a person will encounter in their life this delay is inconsequential. However, there are times when the delay is too much, and this often results in death.
My body is a different story. For some reason, it just seems to know what is going on and what is about to happen. I didn’t think much of it as a kid, I never lost a game of dodgeball but I just assumed my classmates couldn’t throw very well or that I was fast for my age. Things started to change during high school. Like most young teenagers I was enthralled by the popularity that came with a spot on the football team. At this point, I wasn’t exactly a macho man, but I wasn’t scrawny either, so I figured I’d give it a shot. My throws weren’t spectacular and i couldn’t kick a ball through the goal post to save my life, but when it came time for receiving drills, if I got my hands on the ball, nothing could stop me, I was weaving through varsity players like they were air. The rest of my schooling went well, I even got offers to play for high profile colleges, then for NFL teams and life was good well into my 30’s.
I was doing well in professional football, even settled down with a lovely wife, Lucy, and a beautiful baby girl, Asha. We were asleep when it happened. Three men each armed with a shotgun slipped into our house in the dead of night. They hoped to get away with the standard fare, money, jewelry, electronics, you know the deal. I found myself out of bed as they entered, Lucy still asleep with Asha in her crib on the other side of the wall. After I triggered the silent alarm, I woke Lucy up and told her to get the baby and wait in the safe room until the burglars were gone. As we slipped through the hallway, around the corner came one of the men, Lucy screamed, he fired and they were gone. The pellets all seemed to miss me but they found their marks on Lucy and Asha. As the police arrived the men went out the back and began their escape. The police eventually caught them, but I didn’t care, everything in my life that I cared about was gone. The worst part wasn’t that my girls died, it was that I didn’t. I could bare to live in a world without them. I quit the NFL, I drank myself to sleep every day for 3 months and everything culminated on a cold february night with an empty bottle of cognac on the ground and a shotgun in my mouth. I pulled the trigger and as it fired my head had already moved to the side to dodge it.
I finally realized what made me special my whole life, I could move without reacting. I spent the next year trying to push myself into as many potentially fatal situations as possible, robbing banks, stealing from the police, even ransacking military installations. No matter the firepower I was up against, it seemed I could just walk straight through the bullets, my body read their movements exactly. I was ready to risk it all, July 18th 2028 I walked up to the white house lawn and went over the fence. Armed with nothing more than an AR-15, I walked through the gun fire of a small militia, through the doors of the oval office and shot President Schwarzenegger right between the eyes. They could do nothing to stop me and I had every means to end them, permanently. As word spread across the world, some nations fell into line immediately and others required some nuclear persuasion. But by 2035, the world was mine and no one and nothing could stand in my way. I ruled until I was 68, growing more benevolent as I aged realizing that for all my abilities, I couldn’t bring back Lucy and Asha, but I could make the world a better place so no one else would need to go through what I did all those years ago. As I walked towards my bed, something felt strange for the first time in my life, I had searing pain in my arms and then no feeling at all. I grabbed my chest as a i fell to the floor, quickly realizing what was happening: a massive heart attack. All my life, my body could avoid any danger, but it couldn’t avoid itself. | 2018-06-30T14:13:13 | 2018-06-30T12:48:48 | 8,960 | 457 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | Police helicopters roared overhead the densely packed apartment complex. In one of the tiny apartments below, I sat at a dingy kitchen table. Across from me, a man sat slumped in his chair, his hands cuffed behind him. A frustrated scowl etched on his face. "You couldn't have possibly traced the explosives", he said perplexed. "And you found me much too quickly after I announced my ransom demands..." I smiled, and said a phrase I'd uttered to hundreds of suspects before, "Well that's the thing Mr. Griggs, ever since I was a young boy I could always find the remote." His eyes widened in the sickening realization that he had just been collared because of my silly little ability to find the location of any remote control. Just then, one of the CSI detectives burst into the cramped kitched. "Sir, we can't find the remote detonator anywhere." I concentrated again to try and locate the precise location of the detonator within the apartment and my heart sank as my eyes drifted back towards Griggs. At that moment, his scowl turned into a crooked smile. "Isn't this a coincidence", he said in a twisted, jovial tone. "Ever since I was a boy, I never needed a remote." | I felt nervous and sweaty as I awaited to be called to the stage. The university was bursting at the seams with media, all there to witness my graduation. Perhaps not so uncommon to have global celebrities at Stanford but as the “smartest man alive,” everyone wanted to know what was next. As did I.
Of course, smartest man alive isn’t quite right. Most media had taken to calling me the smartest man ever. But, that wasn’t right either. My best guess is that my IQ is around 130 but no one including me would ever really know. Then again, my life had never been quite right until my ninth birthday.
I owed everything to my cousin Thomas. I still don’t know how he knew. Perhaps he was the one who gave me this curse... and gift. You see it was on my ninth birthday that he gave me the book that would change my life.
Until that day I had been to every kind of charlatan, physician, and psychologist you can imagine. “Deaf, mute and dumb” they used to say. I was just self conscious. No one around me ever made any sense. I couldn’t understand when they read. I couldn’t understand when I read. They couldn’t understand my speech. But, somehow, Thomas knew.
Well that seems like more than seven years ago now. But, here I am graduating from Stanford in the most unlikely of majors. Well, unlikely only if you didn’t know my curse and my gift.
The curse and gift that by the age of sixteen had enabled me to win three Noble Prizes and a Fields Medal. I wasn’t sure I deserved it.
I clutched that book. The book Thomas had given me all those years ago. Tighter. I was so nervous. Graduating from Stanford was literally the hardest thing I had done. They announced my department, Classics was up. Everyone started to cheer prematurely. They knew that I would be allowed to speak.
My name was called.
I walked to the stage still nervous.
I contemplated backing out. I was already here though.
I received my diploma to thunderous applause.
As I began, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today. As we celebrate our commencement I am reminded of the twelve labors of Hercules.” I clutched the book harder in hand.
I continued, “I can recall a time when I couldn’t read the twelve labors of Hercules in the original Greek. As I stand here now, I contemplate all that the Greeks have have given and continue to give to us. Having studied their great works and considered our achievements through the lense of the Greek language I can honestly say that it is ‘All Greek to me.’”
You see, all language is literally Greek to me. But, for nine years I couldn’t understand anyone until I read that book. Then I started studying Greek night and day. It was hard but the more I learned Greek the more I could understand. Modern language was often overwrought with complexity but in Greek it was understandable. | 2018-06-30T18:35:57 | 2018-06-30T17:46:43 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming. | The child started crying, the dad's yelling got louder, it made me mad.
Humans think demons are beings of pure evil, they think we are made to destroy all that is good. But that couldn't be further from the truth.
Humans and demons are actually quite similar, we both are creatures of desire, creatures of greed, creatures of *power*.
That's where all the misconceptions come from, power. Where humans allow the powerful among them to deceive the rest, demons are transparent.
Hell is a society built on power, just like Earth is, but in Hell, everyone knows.
I was summoned here to Earth, as I usually am, by someone wishing for power.
But this one wasn't like all the others.
I'd appeared in the room, ready to fight, ready to chase, ready to destroy, but instead, I was met with an innocent 5-year-old boy.
At first, I was confused. How could a child even summon a demon, what power could a child want?
Then I heard the angry screams.
The boy's father, obviously drunk, ambled down the stairs, screaming at the little boy. The pale-faced child teared up, and I understood.
He wanted the power to stop it.
He wanted enough power to make his father *stop*.
I was a red-skinned, flaming, horned creature. And yet to the child, I still wasn't the greatest monster in the room.
The father barged into the living room, throwing a beer bottle against the wall, and immediately looked to his son. An angry grin grew on the man's face as he walked toward the crying child.
The vulgar excuse for a human being reached for his child, not out of love, but out of greed, and was cut off.
The man's expression changed again to rage as he looked up at me. His mind was muddied with alcohol and abusive thoughts, and he spat directly in my face.
"He's *mine*!" The man growled at me, a possessive edge in his voice that no being should have over another.
I pushed the man back, forcing myself between him and 'his child.' The irate father moved on me again.
As I was being charged down by a creature much weaker than me, but much more vile, I was reminded of my home.
Just as in Hell, this relationship was controlled by power. And unlike other human relationships, the child knew.
The father had the power, but the child wasn't ignorant, he knew he was being abused.
I pushed the man back again, my face showing no pride or arrogance, only disgust. I looked back to the child I was protecting.
He'd stopped crying, his hurt, wet eyes were now staring at me in wonder.
I couldn't help but feel deep empathy for the child, and with increased determination, I stared back at the father.
That child had summoned a demon, but staring at the greedy, sinful man trying to grab him, I knew.
He'd been living with a demon all along.
---
*Evil* from the Bookshelf of the Gods. /r/BoTG
 
| “Please, I’ll give you my soul,” the little girl begs as her father stomps down the stairs. “I just want him gone.”
“Kid, you’re way to young to be using Hell Help Services—”
“We gotta hide!”
“*Sarah, I told you to stay out the basement!*”
She grabs the demon’s hand, yanking him around a corner. As they press their backs against it, hiding, he notices the terror on her face. You’d think being in Hell would make him a monster, but he’s mostly atoned for his sins. Thousands of years to dwell on life’s given him a new outlook, and when the Devil announced this program, he knew he could finally do something decent for the world.
“I can see why you want him gone.”
“He’s…he’s mean.”
A million things clang as they hit the floor, likely tools. Then glass shatters, and there’s a dull thud as something hits the wall. This dude’s going on a rampage so bad the little girl clings to the demon, clings to his burned and tattered skin. She does not fear the horns atop his monstrous head but instead the terrible ideas inside of her father’s.
“*Goddammit, where are you? You better not be messing any of my shit up! You hear me?*"
The demon clenches his fists. Restraint. He needs to show restraint. “Does he hurt you?”
Tears stream down her cheeks, but she quickly wipes them away. She’s trying to act tough, trying to hide her pain—but she’s bad at it. “No. He…he hurts big bro. Big bro normally protects me. They fight a lot.”
“Where’s big bro now?”
“He’s at a dance. He didn’t wanna leave me, but I made him. I thought…I could handle him for one night. Thought I could handle taking the bruises—but I need someone to protect me…”
Her father’s stomping provides a tense drumbeat as the demon leans forward, resting his hands on the girl’s shoulders. He understands what it’s like to be abused, to be treated like your worthless, from being stuck in Hell.
“Don’t blame yourself for the evil of others,” he says. “Trust me, I’m a demon.”
“*You goddamn kids are so disrespectful!*”
He takes a deep breath. The father’s walking toward them now, and the girl’s got her knees pulled up to her face, shaking as she stares at the ground. If he intervenes without taking a soul, the Devil will be furious. More years of punishment, and just when he was so close to being done.
But maybe…maybe if he takes another soul, a soul that actually deserves to go to Hell, the Devil will understand. At the very least, he’ll leave a positive mark on the world, even if very small.
“Are you sure about this? There’s no going back.”
She clutches her fists, gritting her teeth. Now there’s an anger inside her. “I had another brother,” she seethes before glaring at him. “He’s gone, now.”
Once the demon realizes the gravity of these words, he nods, standing up. He jumps out their hiding place and’s face to face with her father. Before he can even say anything, the demon opens his mouth and begins to suck the man’s soul out, leaving his body the spasm uncontrollably.
When her father falls to the floor, dead, he looks over at the little girl, who’s relieved. She’s crying, but the demon can tell they’re tears of happiness. This house has been a place of darkness for too long, and he expects there are far worse secrets she didn’t tell him.
He snaps his fingers, and now body’s covered in beat marks. Reaching out, he pulls her to her feet while she stares at it, curious.
“When your brother returns, tell him your father attacked, and you had to beat him with a wrench. Then call the police and they’ll handle this. You’ll both be fine. I promise.”
She nods, relieved but shook. He wishes he didn’t have to kill the man, but he’s the demon, and that's his burden. He can tell she’s still got a place in Heaven, though, because this isn’t her fault.
With that, the demon says goodbye, creating a portal and heading back home. He doesn't know whether punishment awaits him or not, but he does know he’s proud of himself for finally helping someone.
That makes all the punishment in the world worth it.
***
Hope this is good! Idea popped into my head the second I read the prompt. If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) | 2018-10-08T09:41:16 | 2018-10-08T09:20:06 | 2,398 | 1,161 |
[WP] The Necromancer escaped his pursuers by slipping into our world through an interplanar door. He stepped through and appeared into the closed Natural History Museum. As the Witchhunters clambor after him, he begins to laugh. He's in the dinosaur section. | I rolled through the portal. The room beyond was dimly lit, a great hall of some sort, with high vaulted ceilings and an entire wall made of glass. A larger space than even the Grand Ballroom in Xathanal. I didn't have much time before they got through, and my power was almost gone. I didn't have the energy for much more than a few small animations.
A crouched behind a box with a glass lid, taking a moment to glance inside. Small bits of bone. A skull from some small animal. That would not help me much. I needed something more to work with. A peered around the cabinet and saw other shapes in the huge room. A skeleton as tall as a man, with sharp clawed feet. Another that seemed to be some kind of ox, but larger, with a huge armored plate around its head and sharp horns protruding out.
A few small animations, or maybe one larger one...but which to choose? The creatures in this land were far different from my own. I crept a bit further into the room and my breath caught in my throat when I saw it. A monster, taller than four men standing on each others' shoulders, with a head larger than a whole cow, and teeth like daggers.
I stood in front of the skeleton and raised my arms, beginning the incantations. This would be my greatest animation yet. All would tremble before my might, and my enemies would cower in fear...
"Hey, not so fast, bub."
I turned to see a strangely dressed man. He held a rod in his right hand, and a staff in his left. The largest dog I'd ever seen was slightly behind him, growling. A smaller man stood behind him, trying to make himself disappear. The stranger had clearly been recently beaten, blood seeping from small cuts on his face and a clearly broken nose, and he leaned heavily on the staff, but the determination in his eyes gave me pause. A man with that kind of will could be dangerous. He briefly locked eyes with me, then glanced toward the monster.
"I got dibs." | He hesitated, the door swang closed in front of him as the others started to yell as the met whatever was in there. The door clattered open from the force of the swing, letting their moans escape and rasping wails that didn’t seem possible deter him further. Ruben lowered his water pistol, his thumb dancing over the scratched in cross that gave him just the smallest amount of hope.
The others though, the others had had the water pistols too, and actual weapons too, they were experienced, they were the go to team for any sort of hunt, but they were screaming. Fewer screams now, but still some, the rocking door seemed wet now, squelching and squealing as it slid across the floor. But he couldn’t think about that, they were fine, they would look after him, Ruben was just a junior, little more than a glorified intern who was supposed to take photos at the end for the insurance. They would look after him even as the hooting laughter started to outweigh their cries.
Hard knocks rattled the door again, swinging it freely until its return trip where the door jammed open, fingers wrapped around the edge. Ruben dropped his water gun as he rushed to pull his comrade out of the room, but halted as his drew his camera up to his face to photo the damage that the door had suffered from what was left of the hand.
The laughter slowed as they both realised the flash was on, rattling and thumping noises started to descend on the door as Ruben wrestled the flash off of the camera, belatedly realising the importance of the water pistol laying feet away from him.
Bones swarmed through the door, large teeth gnashing and piercing through the wood, whether other smaller creatures chased him down. He tripped on one, the little beast hissing as its wing snapped almost all the way through, leaving it dragged back by the colourful plastic feathers wired through it.
Grabbing it without thinking, he scrambled away, small teeth piercing through his clothes and flesh, holding on as more and more clambered onto him dragging him back towards the now shredded door. Crying out, he fell, rolling onto his side and cradling the bitey cruel thing in his arms. It bit him, hard, between thumb and finger, but he used the other hand to straighten out its wing as they were dragged towards the waiting teeth.
“What are you doing?” The monster said in a surprisingly human voice. The T-rex almost gently dragged bit down to hold onto his ankle and drag him back like a dog with a bone, while the little beasts were scattered across the floor. Ruben sat up gingerly, very much aware of the pooling blood he was sitting in, his broken loaned camera and the broken creature in his hands.
“What are you doing?” the monster repeated from his station behind the triceratops’ defensive frill.
“I think I’m being killed,” Ruben said dolefully.
“Not that,” the monster waved a dismissive hand, setting to rest his chin on his other, his black eyes glittering in the artificial light, “With the bones? What are you doing with the bones?”
“The bones?” Ruben looked around the room, bones wired together threatening, scattered across the floor, poking out of the flesh of his teammates, walking awkwardly with plastic sections. It was only when the creature bit him again, softer than before, that he looked down, “The Archaeopteryx? It’s really cool and old, if we keep the bone straight, we might be able to save it,”
“And why do you care, little witch hunter?”
“It’s a dinosaur,” Ruben said, beginning to feel like he wasn’t the stupid one in the room “Who doesn’t love dinosaurs?” The monster grinned, stretching languidly before rocking forward to hang over the frill, hooting and laughing again.
“And tell me more about the dead things you love.” | 2019-05-09T05:19:47 | 2019-05-09T05:00:50 | 73 | 13 |
[WP] You gain a specific ability or skill based off whatever’s tattooed onto your body at certain locations. Wings on your back allow you to fly, a knife on your hand allows you to slash and cut, gills on your neck allow you to breathe under water, and so on. | "I want to see Pryce." I stared at the man's eyes through the narrow slit in the door, awaiting his response.
"No. Get lost," he said, then slid the window shut.
I took a deep breath and shook my head. *Have it your way, big guy.*
I took off my jacket and tossed it aside, revealing a long, winding tattoo on my right forearm. Orange and red flames rippled from my wrist to my elbow. I placed a hand on the doorknob and watched as the steel grew hotter. When finally it glowed bright red, I stepped back and readied myself.
On my right calf was a tattoo of a sledgehammer. *That oughtta do the trick.* I shifted my weight and kicked the red hot door handle, which fell to the ground and caused the door to creep open.
A man stared back at me from the other side. His face was lined with orange and black stripes; his eyes narrowed and he smiled, revealing long, sharp teeth. He lunged forward, his mouth hanging open.
I sidestepped him and grabbed at his arm with my superheated hand. His scream came out as half a roar, then his open palm slashed at my chest.
The pain caused me to release him and stumble backward. Blood quickly soaked through my shirt, dripping to the ground below.
He came at me again, moving quicker than he had a right to. I spun to my right, swinging my leg as he flew at me. My foot collided with his jaw, which sent him tumbling across the ground.
I stood and approached him, watching for any sign of movement. Blood pooled around his head. I knelt and reached for his shoulder, but was stopped by a sudden jolt of electricity pulsing through my body.
I fell to my back, the blurred world spinning around me. I saw a figure pace back and forth. His right arm was lined with electric blue streaks.
"Who the hell are you, and where did you get those tats?" he spat.
I laughed, which quickly turned to coughing. I turned to my side and spit blood to the ground.
"I'm an agent of the Pyre," I said. "And I'm here to purify you, Johnny Pryce."
The man knelt. "Well, you're doing a pretty shit job of it."
I smiled and lunged forward, grasping onto his face with my right hand.
And then I let the fire cleanse his soul.
r/Ford9863 for more stuff by me. | Rosalita hit me in a wave of rose petals. Petals that would slice a normal person bounced off my skin, the shield tattoo that took up most of my chest glowing bright. I roared. My team was beaten and broken. Most had retreated. Amock lay dead in the gutter.
I had been sent here to take out this team. Czar and Majesty had personally selected my team to infiltrate France, find this team, and kill them. Plausible deniability was important. Their public faces required it. This hero team had been performing far too well. The region was depending on them, and Nova Dei was losing popularity in France.
So I had come. I had beaten Pearldom into a pulp, and lured the team into a confrontation. Now the two of us stood here. Rosalita's team had retreated, wounded, not beaten. My team had been broken, fleeing in chaos. Now, I would kill her. I would hunt down her team one by one. It would not be the quick crush I hoped for, but it would be final. They would all die. I would return, once again victorious, and Czar would reward me.
Rosalita unholstered her pistol and fired at me, futility. Her big guns had retreated, she could not harm me. I stalked forward, smiling, my chest-shield glowing. I had pistols on my hands, but did not use them. My arms had dumbells, cartoon spinach, and hydraulic presses on them. They started to glow as I approached her. She burst into petals, spreading out. I stopped. She would have to stop that eventually. As she reformed further down the street, the air tore open behind her.
Through a violet portal, a man in a midnight blue suit stepped through, his cufflinks bright stars, his mask a golden domino. I sneered.
"Calling in backup?" I shouted in Russian, knowing she wouldn't understand me.
"Stand down." The man answered in French.
I raised my hands, firing my hand-pistols at him. Not knowing his powers, I wasn't taking chances. As I fired, beams of golden light burst fourth from his hands. He flew forwards, somersaulting in the air. As I tried to follow, he arced over me, pointing his hands downwards. My last sight was golden light hitting my eyes.
Then darkness.
I awoke in the hospital. A man was standing over me. His mouth formed words I could not hear. Darkness
I awoke again.
"You disappointed Czar. Have you told anyone who you worked for?"
The voice came through. Opening my eyes I saw the man from before. "No. I am loyal. The empowered will rule. Must rule." Each word was agony, but I forced them out.
"And they will. Your sacrifice will be remembered."
"No, I-" his hand stopped me. My scuba tank glowed, and a knife flashed in his hand. Its blade glowed with an unnatural green light, and it sliced off my tattoo in a single swipe.
*Czar, I would die for you. Let me fight.*
Darkness overtook me for the last time.
More from this 'verse:
[Premium Fight](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f4udfx/wp_despite_how_many_supers_say_they_fight_for_the/fhu3auu/)
Only Words Can Hurt Me [Pt 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f9dwo9/wp_you_are_a_nice_person_but_your_superpower_is/firs1yh/) [Pt2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f9dwo9/wp_you_are_a_nice_person_but_your_superpower_is/fivk04d/)
[Sunshine and Roses](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fg4vgm/wp_on_the_day_you_gained_super_powers_you_decided/fk2g7dy/) Edit [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ftrum0/tt_theme_thursday_vulnerability/fmgfcnt/) <-----This is part 3
[One Lucky Cowboy](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fpf1i9/tt_theme_thursday_luck/flvctmt/)
And of course more in general at r/JohnGarrigan | 2020-04-06T19:24:21 | 2020-04-06T19:16:44 | 194 | 23 |
[WP] Both of your parents promised their firstborn to different magical creatures. Now you're in the middle of a magical custody battle that's splitting worlds apart. | "She belongs among the trolls. We will build her character through the work of hands and deeds. We are the backbone of this world!"
"She is too tall for your quarters. Her back will ache! She belongs among the giants where we will teach her the strength in her body. We are needed in this world as the first line of defense in all wars."
"Her body has its limitations! War is no place for a young woman! She belongs among the fairies, where she can walk among the trees in peace."
"She will starve with your morsels. She belongs to the mermaids. We will give her an island and we will come ashore to bring her fish and teach her our songs. Surely a young woman must know how to sing!"
"What wisdom can one learn in isolation? She must see the world on the backs of Griffins. We will teach her bravery and offer her a life of experience no other creature can."
The girl spoke, "What magic do I hold?"
The sage came forward, residing over the hearing. "You are human, my dear. Trolls are bound by their diligence. The Griffins must take to the sky. The mermaids know no life but song. Humans have the unique power of choice- to hate or to love, to work or to be idle. In accordance to the laws of magick, no creature can inhibit the power of another, and thus this decision is one you must make. To where do you want to go?"
The girl chose to continue a human life.
The mermaids receded into the sea. The giants thundered to their valley.
"To choose," she thought, "must be the greatest power of all." | "So how many of your own people have you BOTH killed trying to claim custody of me?" I snarled staring down an actualization of what most people think of their in-laws.
My dreams had become this constant family court-esque setting with 3 seats as of late. Those seats were my own and the two other 'interested parties'. Before me were two handles of what I assumed to be swords each consisting of a colour that seemed to represent each side
"How many millions of corpses litter the streets, the groves, the cave? Well? An answer would be nice from either of you!" I snapped, the nerve of these aberrations...
*"Son"* They both said in unison *"We know you're upset about the whole situation but rules are rules, if they're not upheld then society as we know it will collapse! It's alot worse then just nukes and looting for us paracausals!"* My Fae farther in law tried to reason
*"And you know the horrors my kin can unleash if they're not appeased! You've seen it firsthand!"* The undulating mass of flesh and madness that claimed the title of my mother in law forewarned.
"Oh here we FUCKING go again with the 'my people will be really mad unless you willingly come with me' psuedo-choice bullshit you two always try and pull. All because you IDIOTS didn't bother to check the goods before purchase!" I lashed out at my new guardians the fury of the hell my birth parents should be rotting in right about now.
*"Look maybe we could work something out, you get him one half of the human calendar year and I get him the other?"* The Fae side of the family tried brokering a deal... useless incompetent arcana lawyer, thinking he can just work it out
*"We've been over this Elenasto, it won't work out. The constant planar shifting would kill him*
That word lit a tinderbox in my mind... kill... My frustrated grimace snapped into a calm, collected, almost smug grin.
"That's it..." I thought aloud approaching the two weapons "It's so fucking simple how did I NOT think of it sooner!?" I started chuckling to myself "hey hey you two come real close I just figured out the situation..." I said and like dogs being called for a treat they leaned close out of hope for their goal.
I grabbed the hilts of both weapons using the arm on the opposite side of it as both parties faces lit up in excitement... then confusion...
"I have no family." I uttered coldly as I drew both weapons from their holsters and impaled my two paracausal tormentors with the weapon of the other through the throat. They both hung silently on their... no MY blades.
"Do you have any idea what you've done child?" *They tried to whisper into my ear in desperation. For being so opposed they were certainly complimentary to each other a ying and a yang perhaps? Speculation for another time.*
"Yes, I've carved my own path and if it leads me to eradicate all of your two's kinds... then so be it." *I didn't even bother looking at beings so beneath me as I freed my blades from their throats, the eldritch unfire of their blood licking at my boots seeking to re and un-make them over and over, the essence of dreams seeping into the air making it sweet and charming. This feeling was truly the greatest high.*
"I'll show them all the strength of humanity" *I said as I woke, in my hands lay the two blades.*
*I smiled.* | 2020-04-20T11:00:30 | 2020-04-20T10:51:25 | 46 | 34 |
[WP] People gain superpowers relevant to the first thing they've ever seen. The best doctors have first seen a pill. The best artists have first seen a painting. But you, you are the first and only person born in space. You saw the vast emptiness and void we call space. | “Who are you?!” I shouted at the woman standing in front of me. She was tall and slender, with yellow blonde hair and eyes that made me feel like she saw everything. The deepest parts of my soul exposed, like a candle in a dark room.
“My name is Sol.” She spoke, her voice warming and calm. “And you’re the space boy, huh?”
‘Space boy’ I thought to myself. I didn’t really agree with that, but she had a fair point. Every person around me had struggled with their own gifts, but no one in all of the recorded histories we had, ever saw what I had seen. You know those sensory rooms that they have? Where it’s completely dark and completely soundproofed? Yours truly had been exposed to that. Truthfully, it wasn’t my mothers fault. She didn’t even know she was pregnant at the time, but the room had left its mark.
My gift had become nothing. Literally, nothing. Think of the blackest night you’ve ever been in and make it significantly darker. Think of every time you’ve gone underwater, and that pressure muffles everything. Every time you’ve had a cold and food has no flavor, or when you can’t smell because your nose is stuffed. It was pure numbing. A void on everything perceived as reality. An unfortunate side affect became the void on my emotions too.
As far as I knew, it was always going to be this way, but this girl was something else. She spoke and I felt happier. She smiled and the world got brighter. She had been born under the sun, the first thing she’d seen. She was a bright spot and I didn’t know what I should do next. | It was the soft of her breath in the summer air. Thick on the neck, like a gentle whisper of Desdemona. I leaned towards her. Her golden hair touched her shoulders and smelled of strawberries. I held her close. Her eyes glistened. So did the words on her lips. I read them back to myself through heavy breaths, counting the space between us, the space around us, letting the space melt together.
“Stay with me?” she asked.
“Always.”
She was my starlight. Nine years together had passed like an eternity. We started poor. We started fresh out of school like budding flowers under a pale moonlight, unsure of our worth. And while our life was never filled with riches, we had eachother, and that was a blessing far more valuable than crystal stemware or ribeye steaks.
Tonight, we sat under underneath the stars. We watched satellites flicker overhead and dreamed of better days to come. Silence blanketed the park. It was interrupted only by the wail of mutts over the wind, and our own steady breathing.
“I love you, I love you,” she whispered.
I felt her slip through my hands. But she didn’t swoon. She collapsed. Blinking hard, her arms weak, her eyes wide in the moment of realization. Sher tried to speak but managed a pained gurgle. Her fingers clenched in soil—In that sweet air, the bitter spit of copper.
My breathing stopped with her heart.
“Lucy?”
Silence.
“Lucy!”
The ambulance rocketed toward us. Sirens flashed like satellites. If space is a void of silence, then the bumpy ride towards the hospital was an event horizon. I held her hand in mine. I felt her heartbeat failing. If space and time are one and the same, then the space between us would have lasted one horrible eternity.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t right.
I told myself through glossy eyes that everything would work out alright in the end, but I knew better. I think we all did. In the hospital, the doctors had that vacant look in their eyes. They were so quiet. It was as if they knew the comet plunged towards inevitable decay. But for one final orbit, she burned bright.
I leaned towards her; the drawstring of my hoodie draped across her half-beating chest.
Her fingers fumbled at the threads.
She was too weak to speak, but the words written on her pallid lips pleaded, “Stay.”
And in that moment, I mastered space. Coldness is a vacuum. And the opposite of love is emptiness, the growing sense of wrongness in the void of isolation. The distance between the stars reminds us that nothing can stay together.
Maybe if I can pace the distance between stars, in my waking dreams, I can find a way back to her.
But sound doesn’t travel in space.
For now, even six feet is a distance too great for my voice to carry.
I stare at the flowers blooming purple on tiny green leaves, rising from the ground. Rising up towards the starlight. The buds of strawberries in the spring air, little spectators to the grave procession. Wind tickles the leaves and blows the sweet scent of rejuvenation.
The breeze whispers gently, “Stay with me.”
And I reach out to feel the cool of the headstone, the name “Lucy”, the blank space where my name will be written beside. Through the ageless space I answer,
“Always.”
***
Chop onions with me at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | 2020-04-21T10:03:45 | 2020-04-21T09:49:56 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] Few mortals can claim the honour of killing a god, the first one was a bitter man who wanted revenge against the gods who took his family, the second was a unrivalled warrior who slew one in a duel, the third was a genius who spent years carefully preparing a trap and you were drink driving | It is not an everyday thing to kill a god. But, you know, sometimes it happens I guess.
Let me tell you this, gods... Are kind of not immortal. You see, they are not mortal per se, but they also can die. Yeah, I know, absolute showmen! Anyway! One night, I believe it was like 40 years ago... Pft look at me, I'm getting old... So, you know, I like... Getting tipsy sometimes, yeah? And so I drank a whiskey, then another, then another. And then some guy, very handsome he was, was like "Oi, I see you a drinker, ye?" And he had some sort of an outlandish accent, like mediterranean, and had a face I simply couldn't say no to. I was like "ye mate, you wanna grab a pint or somethin' " and the man just shook his head and pulled out a bottle with a golden fluid inside. "Is that a piss mate?" I laughed at him but he just simply poured in my glass. "Ya gonna like this one!" He poured himself one and lifted his glass. "Cheers!"
Now. When I tell you I felt like a god, I mean it. I suddenly felt all the power a man can witness and felt immortal! Immortal I'm telling you. And he goes like "Oh you a strong drinker!" And pours another. I don't fecken remember how much I drank, but I remember I got mad! Like angry mad! I got out and fecken kicked his chariot. That bloke was all like "oh you stupid humans can handle power." Mental. I didn't only kick it. Oh no. I fucking drove away. A pretty neat ride, all gold, comfy, fast, glowing. Like not even glowing, it was full blown shining like the sun, yeah? A beast of a vehicle I tell you.
And then like fifty yards from the pub he suddenly jumps Infront of me. Like how? What was his speed?! I couldn't react, killed him on the spot and then all went dark. And I'm like "alright, I've blacked out has happened before" and then suddenly infront my eyes twelve giant human figures, one of them a baby with the face of the man from the bar. And he was all baby like "oh dad he killed me" blah blah. And long story short, that's how I became a cursed bottle of ambrosia, yeah. I mean I blabber alot man, I've seen some things. But this dude, Apollo he was, man, what a cunt, ey? Lovely lad actually. 10/10 would run over him again for the laughs | THUD!
I panically press my foot down on the brake. Nearly shitting myself as the car comes to a stop.
“God please no, not now.” I mutter out as I open the door to get out.
As I inspect the front of the car I see a huge dent on the front cover.
“Shit”
As I look behind me, I see the figure of a man, whose head had exploded like a watermelon with a hundred rubber bands around it.
“Fuck me!”
I put my hands over my heading as I try to think about what I should do from here on out.
Suddenly, a bright light starts flashing above me. My irrational mind thinks that it might be police helicopters for a second.
“Name yourself, Mortal?” A heavenly voice declared.
“God, is that you?” I shout out loud.
“A god, yes. But perhaps not the one you are thinking of.” The voice replied.
I look up to see the figure of a muscular man descending in front of the blinding light.
Soon, I am standing face to face with an old muscular man with a long white beard and hair.
“Behold, Mortal! Zues, king of gods, lord of the sky and rain, who he rules mount ol-“ He declared loudly, before suddenly stopping along with the bright light.
“Uhh, all of this is giving me a headache.” He said as he put his hand over his forehead. “Formalities don’t matter anymore I guess, since now you are one of us.”
I tilt my head at his from confusion.
“One .. of … you?” I ask.
“Yes, indeed. You have slain that poor bloke over there.” He said as he points to the man I had run over. “And he only happens to be Dionysis, the god of wine. He was probably drunk out of his mind from one of those earth parties, trying to make his way back to Mount Olympus.”
“Wait, I still don’t get it. Why am I becoming a god again?”
“Well, you see there is this thing about the balance of the universe, only having several gods allowed to be alive at a time and some other mind-numbing stuff. So in short, if you manage to somehow kill a god, you replace them.” He explained waving his hands in front of him.
“Huh, neat … I guess.” I replied.
“Yes, neat indeed.” He said as he turned his back towards me and started walking away. “Now, get ready. I will be talking you to Mount Olympus to crown you as a god.”
“Wait a second, what am I a god of exactly?” I asked.
“Uhhh, yea about that …” Zeus answered hesitantly. “We usually assign them to something related to how they killed the previous.”
“So I am now Charley, the god of drunk driving and homicide.” I ask as my voice shakes.
“Yea, technically.” Zeus answered.
“My god, I will become a mockery for all eternity.” I mutter as I drop to my knew
Zeus looked around him as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Look, Charley. We will find a way around the systems.” He said as he patted my back. “Plus, all these titles are just for show. Even if we don’t find anything to help around it. No one will make fun of you about it.”
“Are you sure?” I ask as I stare up at Zeus.
“Of course, Charley the god of drunk driving.” He said as he tries to hold back a chuckle. “Now then, let's get you ready. And by the way, you have got to promise me from now on no driving while you are drunk, or else I will make sure your title doesn’t change.”
“Yea, I think I will stay off alcohol for a while anyway.” I said as we walk into the night.
&#x200B;
***My other works at*** r/FluffWrites\*\*\*.\*\*\*
***Also i*** ***am working on a new fantasy writing series that I plan to become a huge thing in the future, so check that out too if it is to your taste ----->*** [***The dark road ahead. Chapter 0: Sacrifice***](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/hybda2/series_the_dark_road_ahead_chapter_0_sacrifice/)***Chapter 1 is out!*** | 2020-07-30T10:44:27 | 2020-07-30T09:29:25 | 76 | 43 |
[WP] You've obtained a wonderful pen, everything you draw appears in front of you without fail. Need a stool? Draw one! You're too stubborn to give the pen to anyone else. This infuriates the public because you have absolutely no art skill. | The crowd of protestors chanted and held picket signs in front of my house. I leered at them from my bedroom window as my mind went to dark places. *Maybe I should draw a giant stink bomb to gas them out.*
"Maybe I'll do just that," I said.
I went to the drawing board and began to scribble. I manifested a squiggly abomination that resembled a circle with the word "stink" in the center. It came to life from my board and fell to the floor, squeezing out a small puff of air.
"I wanted a stinkbomb, not a whoopie cushion." I tossed the pen on the floor and closed my blinds.
"You can have one," a strange voice said. "That is, of course, if you have the proper artist."
I jerked my head towards the calming voice. A timid old man stood in my room wearing a strange orange robe.
"How did you get in here!" I jumped to my feet and secured the pen. "You need to get out now!"
"A skilled hand can easily conjure whatever your heart and soul desires," the old man said as he bowed. "Forgive me. I am the dragon monk of the art flame. You can call me Asuu."
"You can't have this pen no matter how badass your title is." I gripped the pen close to my chest. "This is my pen. I found it fair and square."
"Indeed you have," Asuu said as he crept closer.
I took a few steps back until my dresser stopped all progress.
"But, this does not mean the pen chose a hand skilled enough to unlock its full potential," he continued. "I am not asking to obtain the pen for personal gain. No, I'm asking for you to use my deft hand to craft any creation you desire."
I eyed the monk up and down. "What's in it for you?" I said.
A sly smile stretched across his wrinkled face. "Using the pen, of course."
\###
"We can solve world hunger!" a protestor blared in a megaphone.
"Think of humanity, not yourself!" another hollered.
A skinny girl holding up a sign saying "GIVE THE PEN" spotted a strange contraption suddenly manifesting on the greedy man's roof.
"What is that?" she questioned.
All of the protestors grew silent as they squinted their eyes to get a better look.
"Looks like a catapult," one man said.
The catapult fired. Flying in the air was a strange bag filled with a green substance that exploded on impact once it hit the ground. It landed far off from the protesters, but the noxious gas dispersed into each one of their nostrils. One by one, protesters began to cry out.
"Rotten eggs!"
"Stinkbomb!"
The skinny girl held her nose tight and peered through the thick cloud of stink. On the rooftop, she saw two men high-fiving each other.
r/AJHWriting | “Just admit that you are jealous of my pen.”
Philip huffed, sitting on his one-legged throne,
having to use his leg to keep himself upright, constantly failing to maintain
his composure, his hands rising occasionally having to balance himself whenever
the throne would stagger.
“Of course I am because it’s being wielded by an idiot. You
could feed the hungry, create money for the poor, yet here you are sitting on a
poorly made throne like a jackass.”
Jessica didn’t mince words, she was furious, for an idiot to
get handed such a powerful relic was infuriating. His crappy chair an
assortment of crude lines, none even overlapping with one another, only staying
up through the sheer stubbornness of its user.
“I don’t want to feed the hungry, I want to use my magical
pen to make myself happy. What has the hungry ever done for me?” He enquired,
spinning his pen between his fingers.
“Are you even listening to yourself? You are letting the
power get to your thick head. You’re not special, you are just the first loser
the pen found and- and don’t you ignore me.”
Phillip had drawn a square around his head, trying to make a
soundproof barrier. The barrier did little to help him though, the clunky
square falling on his head. At first, it seemed fine before he starting choking
because of the lack of oxygen before finally tossing it towards the floor.
Gasping for air, he clutched at this throat. “Loser, would a
loser be sitting on a throne? Didn’t think so.”
It took Phillip a few moments to get his breath back,
Jessica, however, was more than ready to keep talking.
“See, an idiot. At least give it to someone that can draw.
Everything you make is just an eyesore.”
“An eyesore? You try drawing without paper, its hard.”
“Ok, give me the pen and I’ll show you how easy it is.”
Phillip leant forward to give her the pen before quickly
pulling it back.
“Nice try, like I would just hand over my pen, you must
think I’m the biggest idiot around.”
“Pretty much, yes.”
Phillip was quickly doodling a weapon, only for Jessica to
raise her hands up, watching as he struggled to draw a gun. The gun ended up
looking more like a pool noodle with a trigger than an actual weapon.
“Now leave before I shoot you.” Phillip said, waving the
long-barrelled weapon in her face.
“You need ammo, you just made a... Well I don’t quite know
what you made, but it isn’t threatening. Look, how about this, I’ll leave you
alone if you make some food for me to give to a shelter? I might even be able
to soothe the public image of you.”
“How much food would you need?”
“Maybe five hundred of the bare necessities? Fruit, bread,
vegetables? It would be a start at the very least.”
“Fine.”
Phillip was more than happy to do this if it meant she would
stop harassing him about his pen all day. Telling Jessica to return at a later
date, he went to work. It was a long process, but after a few days he had done
it. Now seated on another somehow more useless throne than the last, this
throne not even holding his body off the throne.
“Theres your food, now are we done here?”
Jessica examined the large stack of food, getting ready to
move it into boxes, only stopping as she held up a cylinder-shaped carrot.
“What’s this supposed to be?”
“A carrot?”
“It’s certainly not a carrot.”
As she went through the pile, she found more oddities.
Triangle bread, little egg-shaped watermelons and a watermelon shaped egg.
“Well, it will have to do.” Jessica gathered the supplies,
beginning the long process of hauling the goods to her car.
“Please, at least take some art lessons, before they force
you to part ways with your pen.”
“Art lessons, my art is perfect. Its not like anyone will
steal my pen anyway, I’m a god with this thing.”
“Right.”
She left the conversation at that, just wanting to avoid his
stupidity because it became contagious, exiting his home, hoping the food would
at the very least be edible.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2020-09-03T21:37:39 | 2020-09-03T21:32:12 | 78 | 31 |
[WP] You'd better watch out, you'd better not cry. You'd better hide, and not make a sound. The great forges of the North Pole roll like thunder. Great beasts are yoked to their sleighs. Proud evergreen forests groan, fall, and crash. Bells toll across the globe. Santa Claus is coming to town. | “Father, I’m scared.”
“You’ve every right to be, lad. Pray that our offerings will suffice this year and He will leave us be.”
The heavy-set peasant gently placed his hand upon the teary-eyed boy’s head, barely managing to hold a tight smile upon his face as the two stood silently outside their abode in the snow. With a heavy sigh, he then reached past the boy and lifted the cellar door.
“Now. In you go, lad. Say your prayers to the Lord like I taught ye and you’ll make it through tonight.”
“But you won’t join me, Father?”
“Someone needs to greet Him, my boy. And this year, we adults agreed I would be one of them.”
The boy stood quietly for a moment, staring despondently at the hoard of vegetables and meats piled high near the village gates. Suddenly, his head snapped back to meet his father’s eyes with a fiery gaze of his own, his diminutive hands balled up into tiny fists as he replied, “Why don’t we fight, Father? Why do we have to hide like this every year? We have you and Mary’s father and Edmund’s father and all the other adults! Whoever He is, he can’t beat all of you!”
The older man wordlessly turned the boy around and pointed his finger beyond the village walls. “Them woods be filled with the graves of men, women and boys who thought just like ye when He first came six years ago, right when ye was born. Fools who thought pitchfork and torch could harm such a foul creature. Fools, fools, the whole lot of them! Even those who could barely walk tried to help. And…and now…”
His labored breaths pierced through the winter night as he turned away for a moment to wipe the tears from his own eyes before continuing, “Now we know better. The night grows old, lad. Best be getting into the cellar bef-”
The clanging sounds of the village bell cut the man off mid-sentence, his tight smile immediately giving way to a stone-cold grimace. “In the cellar, boy. Now.”
“But-”
That was all the boy managed to utter before his father roughly picked him up by the collar and tossed him onto the cellar steps. The door slammed shut before the boy could react, prompting him to futilely push against it as a plank slid across the outside handles to firmly lock him in.
“Father! Father, please! Let me stay with you!”
“NO, boy! Say your prayers and we will all survive this accursed night!” yelled the father before the sounds of his footsteps grew fainter in the direction of the village gate. The boy pressed his ear against the door, straining to catch an inkling of what was transpiring beyond his confines. Within seconds, he felt the familiar sensation of the very earth shaking around him as he heard something abnormally heavy land near the village gate. Then silence. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds became one, two, three minutes of eerie silence.
“Is it over?” the boy muttered to himself as he continued to lean against the door. Then the first of the screams shattered the fragile silence hanging in the frigid night air. The boy scampered down the steps as that one scream became dozens scattered across the village. He could do nothing but cower behind a water barrel as one frightened voice after another suddenly went silent. An eternity seemed to pass as silence reigned supreme over the village once more, broken only by the panicked whispers of the boy reciting his prayers.
His words caught in his throat as he heard two things approaching the cellar door. The low moans and mutterings from one were incomprehensible as it dragged itself closer to his hiding place. But what made the boy’s blood run cold was the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the other, the earth almost shaking around the cellar with each leaden step. And as these two things drew closer, he could make out two distinct voices. The first was barely audible as it hoarsely muttered, “…oy….boy…boy…boy…”. The other’s gravelly voice sliced through the air like a butcher’s knife, each syllable dripping with murderous intent. *Naughty. Nice. Naughty. Nice.*
The boy held his breath and dared not utter a sound.
“…boy…boy…b-”
*Naughtyyy*, interrupted the sinister voice. The ragged voice suddenly let out a choked gasp, and the boy instinctively cringed at the wet sound of meat being torn apart.
*Naughty, nice, naughty, nice.*
The cellar door exploded inwards, exposing the boy to the elements beyond and giving him a proper view of the creature that stood illuminated in the moonlight. For standing at the top of the steps was an abnormally large abomination, even larger than his own father. Its clothes dripped with fresh blood and viscera, as did its snow white beard and leather gloves. And clutched in its right hand was an unrecognizable ball of meat, dripping copious amounts of blood onto the floor beneath it.
*Naughty, nice, naughty, nice.*
The boy could not move an inch as the glowering red eyes of the creature locked onto his. The *thud, thud* of its footsteps seemed to reverberate in his very soul as it drew closer. With one heavy swipe, it slammed the water barrel into the adjacent wall, leaving the boy entirely exposed to its merciless gaze. The two wordlessly stared at one another for a moment before the creature’s lips parted in a far-too-wide grin, revealing a set of razor-sharp teeth stained with blood.
*Naughtyyy.*
r/williamk9949 | It is another lonely, boring, depressing, freezing, perma-dark Christmas Eve for the dozen odd men and women making up the Joint Weather Radar Station Site North Pole amid the wind blasted frozen sea of the Arctic Ocean. The site lies on a large expanse of frozen sea ice with a handful of small mobile insulated trailers, and one larger building with weather radar antenna and parabolic dishes aimed in various directions in to the constant darkness of the winter arctic permanent night sky. The mixed American, Canadian, Russian, and Scandinavian military personnel and scientists are mostly gathered in the mess cafeteria around a couple of cardboard tables. eating rather shitty military rations, playing cards, and listening to Christmas music. They are just trying to make the best of another lonely Christmas away from home at the extreme North of our planet, when the lone radar crewman manning the radar comes bursting in to the mess trailer. A blast of freezing arctic air and snow fills the room, as Sergeant Thompson of the U.S. Air Force comes racing in. He calls for the commander of the station, Captain DuPont of the Canadian Air Force, and the leading Meteorologist a Doctor Chuikova from Russia to come quickly. There was an unusual anomaly detected on the radar, and it appears to be coming from a thousand feet directly over the radar site.
The three personnel run from the comparative warmth of the canteen, in to a torrential blizzard with gusty winds that has turned the night, white. The three hurriedly clamber in to the radar building. Thompson points at the eerie corpse like green glow of the radar screen, which at its exact center has a large swirling circular anomaly growing in size. He asks his commander and the scientists “Well sir and ma’am, what is it? Some kind of blizzard? Some kind of freak hurricane?” and then he jokingly says “Santa and his Reindeer…?” but before anyone could answer a flash of pulsating green light lit up their vision, and then, another flash of pulsating red light filled their eyes, then green, then red, then more green, and more red. On and on this went, blinding the crew for a couple minutes. And as the crew were shielding their eyes from the blinding light, they heard it. They all heard it, faint at first, but steadily growing in volume, the unmistakable sound of bells. Bells ringing in the distance. Drums, drumming. Bells ringing and pinging. The sound of the familiar tune “Ring, Christmas Bells!” But as suddenly as the noise and lights appeared, they suddenly vanished.
Thompson picked himself up from under the desk housing the radar computer screens, and looked at the scientist and site commander and Shakely said “What on earth was that? What was it?” The commander looked at Thompson with his dark eyes and said “You know, you should not make those sorts of jokes. I know you are new to the site. But sometimes strange things happen up here in the far north. We will chalk this up as an anomaly, and I will report to Northern Joint Nations Command tomorrow…” Chiukova just stood their silently, and stoically, and then just suggested in heavily accented English “Why don’t we just go out and look up! See for ourselves!” The two others nodded, and the three stepped outside, where they noticed the other ten of the station crew standing there, huddled together in a semi-circle, bracing against the cold, muttering to themselves, while looking directly up in to the now clear, black, starry sky.
As everyone was getting ready to dissipate and head back indoors, and chalk this up to mass hallucination, or some other group psychosomatic experience born of pure boredom, extreme cold, and depression, one of the crew, a Dane nicknamed Thor (because of his large muscular build, and blonde hair) quickly pointed to the night sky and shouted “Look dere!”. Everyone turned around and looked skywards. Where a red, then green, then red, then green and so on, light was growing and twinkling a thousand or so feet directly above the largest radar antenna. The light was growing, and pulsating, and growing, and growing. A tremor like rhythmic earthquake started to shake and vibrate the ground. Someone shouted out that it was like drums. Drums. The group of stable, competent military men and women from around the globe were beginning to feel dreed, some were even petrified.
The light grew and grew in size, flickering between red and green, green and red, and so on, until it became the size of a football field, but in horizontal disk shape, a thousand or so feet above the radar station. When after what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no longer than a minute or so, the lights receded to just the minuet outline of the disk. As the lights retreated and faded the rest of the disk turned a shade of pitch black, that was so much darker than the night sky, and so black, that it was almost purple in ways. The three of the original observers stayed, transfixed in place, while the rest of the crew fled inside in sheer panicked terror, with the giant Dane, Thor, running to a snow mobile and hurriedly fumbling to try and start it. The vibrations in the sea ice grew steadier, and harsher. The bells and drums tinkling out the tune “Ring, Christmas Bells” slowly started to rise from the disk. Faintly at first, and then louder, and then louder, and then louder still. But before the noise could render the unfortunate listener deaf, they stopped. All was quiet for a few seconds.
And then within a blink of an eye, and a flash of blinding eerily corpse green light, the radar building was vaporized. Not a single piece of debris filled the air, nor a single trace of the raider building could be seen. Thompson, DuPont, and Chiukova were remarkably unhurt, and still transfixed, rooted in place, just stared agape at the disk. For about thirty seconds all was still, motionless, and silent. The disk still stayed in place, but a calm feeling prevailed. An oddly calm feeling. A false calm. The calm before the storm.
“Ring, Christmas Bells” gave way to “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”. First echoed and felt with the base of the drums. Then the clanging of bells. Then the sound of unknown warhorns trumpeting from somewhere distant. The sounds of deep warlike chanting filled the air. The sounds of gnashing, and neighing, and hove beats were starting to become audible. All chaotic, and somehow fitting with the tune “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”. The cacophony of the demented version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” echoed and thundered across the frozen arctic tundra. Snow Mobiles began fleeing helter-skelter to the winds. The original three stood there, as the sound grew louder, and louder, the earth shook, the ice started groaning and cracking. The chanting grew louder. The chanting rose to a deafening pitch. It sounded like an Army on the warpath, about to descended from within this disk like portal. The night sky was filled with an awesome phantasmic blinding red light, as the sounds grew louder and louder, and from within the chaotic yet cohesive sounds of war, an extraordinarily deep, and malevolent bass voice echoes out “Santa Claus is Coming to Town….!” | 2020-12-17T10:23:58 | 2020-12-17T08:45:15 | 73 | 10 |
[WP] You’re a hitman who’s “hits” survive your assassination attempts, despite your sincere best efforts, only to die soon after each attempt by comical forces outside your control. The hitman community can’t be convinced you’re not the most creative comically effective assassin alive. | I peered through the scope, lining my target up in the crosshairs. This is perfect. If I catch him as the light changes, in amongst the crowd, everyone around him will panic. The right amount of chaos for a perfect escape. No one will look in my direction.
The summer heat radiates from the tar on the roof where I am perched. The sun is at my back, so even if someone is looking towards me, they won’t notice the muzzle flash.
I take a long drag on my cigarette. The convenience store 5 blocks over was out of the light yellow American Spirits I normally smoke, so I got the dark yellow instead. The smoke hits differently than expected, getting stuck in my throat. I can’t suppress the cough and then feel my rifle recoil into my shoulder.
Shhhiiit.
The crosswalk signal is still sparking as I refocus through my scope. I see the spark land on my target and watch him flinch, stepping off the curb as he tries to brush the bits of molten copper and glass from his shoulder.
Honestly, I didn’t see the box truck. It was a blur. The target was there and then... he wasn’t.
I stay for a moment. I watch for signs of life. When it is clear the target is dead, I begin to pack up my rifle. “Don’t worry, Annie,” I say as I zip up the case. “We’ll hit one... one of these days.”
This wasn’t how I thought hit number 25 would go,but somehow I’m not surprised. But it is still better than number 17. I mean, who gets hit by a falling refrigerator? And who pushes a refrigerator out of their window??
I climb down the fire escape, trying to decide where to stop for food on the way home. | My name is Morton Montoni. They call me The Clown. You'll see why in a minute. I have a problem. Some mook keeps getting credit for my hits. I've killed 23 people just since last August. I ain't got paid a penny, and I'm getting pissed.
There was Fat Mikey McElvaney - not a made guy because, well it's obvious from his name. Odd thing is he wasn't fat neither. They called him fat Mikey because when he was a kid he fought a lot. The guy in question I'm talking about planted a bomb in Fat Mikey's car. The bomb exploded, but Fat Mikey survived because the pizza place where he had just bought a pizza accidentally put the metal pan in the box with the pan pizza. The pan protected Fat Mikey from the brunt of the explosion. How did I kill him? That's where my name comes in - the Clown. When Mikey was later inspecting one of his beer breweries, he accidentally slipped on a banana peel that someone had accidentally dropped on a platform. Unfortunately, it was also an explosive banana peel, so after he fell and it flew in the air, what goes up must come down. When it did - bada bing...bada boom...body parts scattered all around was all that was left of Mikey.
Awright, you still don't get why they called him Fat Mikey just because he used to fight as a kid. I'll explain you for it. He always lost the fight, so he'd get a fat lip, See?
Hey, there's the other thing. I always incorporate the mook's failed kill attempt in my more clever and comical hits. It's called irony. Problem is, like I say, this guy keeps getting credit for my kills. He gets paid. I get nothing. He even gets credit for my work.
Slippery Tony Fancessca - mook tried to run him down with a car. Tony ran into a dead end alley. Dead meat, right? Nope. Guy inside the building tried to use dynamite to knock down an interior wall to expand one room. He used too much dynamite - blew the outer wall out. It fell between Tony and the mook's car. Hit foiled. I trained a monkey to ride a unicycle. He ran down Slippery Tony - woooahhhh, the tire right over Tony's throat, crushing it for the kill.
I mean, come on, a fuckin' monkey on a ffuckin' unicycle. Who thinks of that? Not the mook! But he got the money and the credit.
Christina Doory, the nosy D.A. - mook failed to kill her in a plane crash. I got her in a helicopter on the way to the airport for a different flight - helium balloons.
One after the other, my best work credited to someone else, and now I gotta have another job to pay the bills.
Now, but now, the tables have turned. The foot's in the other shoe, so to speak. The Mook pissed someone off. They called a hit on him. The guy pushed the Mook down an empty elevator shaft. He fell screaming, hit the bottom...but some idiot had decided to store a shipment of mattresses at the bottom of the shaft. I know, right? Who does that? Mook hit the mattresses - landed in complete comfort, not a scratch on him. I think they gave him a free mattress for his trouble.
Now I gotta think of a way to kill the mook that's related to - you see the irony - falling down an elevator shaft, but funny.
Any suggestions? | 2021-04-04T16:31:06 | 2021-04-04T15:34:05 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] You are an odd god. Instead of telling your followers to worship you, you tell them to not do that. Worship no one bow before no one. So far everyone has been following this rule. Until some idiot decides to build a temple in your name. | Worship no Gods, and they cannot touch you.
Accept no chains, and they cannot bind you.
These are my tenets. These are the instructions I give to my followers. Not worshippers - no man who worships me knows my will. Those who follow my teachings know my will. Never submit. Never surrender. Stand proud, and die standing. That is what I teach. I teach men to die standing.
Temples are for gods who demand worship, and servitude. A temple acknowledges the authority of the dedicated God. Temples are staffed by the priesthood, figures of authority. These things are anathema to me.
Fuming, I storm across the heavens above the earth, searching for this temple. Searching for the fool who so direly misunderstands my teachings.
When I arrive at the place, I see no temple. I see a fortress. And I am confused.
Until I see the horde.
Thousands strong, teeming like a swarm of ants, they are innumerable. Their arrows blot out the sun, their charge shakes the earth, they course like water across the field of battle.
Further descending, I see the defenders. They grip their weapons tightly, their great artifices of iron roar like thunder. There are scarcely 200 of them.
I see no symbols. I see no shrines. I see only certain death for the men before me. This siege is hopeless, surely there will be no survivors. By staying to hold the fortress, these men have chosen to die standing.
And then it clicks. This brotherhood of men, all in the same place, embracing my teachings. What is that, if not a priesthood? A grin spreads across my face as I bless their final stand.
A stronghold under hopeless siege. What better temple could there be to the God of Defiance? |
Cupid was retired. The idea of New Gods seemed good to him. This meant he could relax and let someone else deal with the hoards of helpless, delusional romantics and their begging. Once Cupid told his followers to no longer worship him - or anyone before them - they easily accepted and went about their ways.
He was surprised. That was easier than he’d thought it be, but he didn’t dwell. No more annoying teenage girls summoning him through love spells, no more unhappy spouses beg and plead to him, and more importantly, no requests for dark magic.
This was nice. He could finally relax for eternity. What would he do first? Perhaps he could try that “dating” thing the humans seemed so obsessed with. No, too much work. Maybe a hobby? No...he was already so talented. What didn’t he know?
Leaning back onto his daybed, he fell into a deep sleep. He’d figure it all out when he woke up.
Hundreds of years had passed. Cupid slept peacefully and worry free. This is what peace and quiet was. No demanding, no crying, no boundaries crossed.
However, one evening, he was suddenly awakened by a familiar feeling. Immediately, he knew what it was. Someone was summoning him. “What the...are you serious?”
He decided to ignore it. However, throughout the evening, his sleep was repeatedly interrupted. So it was like that.
The next morning, the groggy Cupid descended to earth. He was angry and rightfully so - humans were idiots after all. When he landed onto the cool grass, he searched around the wide field.
Soon, be spotted a white building. It was small, with a few marble pillars.
Oh no...could it be..? Was this a temple?
Cupid rose into the air and made his way towards the building. A few moments later, he landed gently.
“Mortal? Reveal yourself at once.”
He waited a few moments. He began to look around, searching for any sign of life. Soon, he grew frustrated. Storming into the alleged temple, he shouted.
“Mortal!”
“Ah!”
Suddenly, something fell behind him. He turned and faced the ground - a bucket? A beautiful, ruby red spilled onto the ground. Standing before him was a short woman with a dark complexion and messy, curly hair that reached her shoulders. Cupid immediately took notice of her brown almond eyes.
She was beautiful.
“Oh my, oh my, you’re - you’re Cupid, aren’t you?” She clasped her hands together. Most humans would show fear and bow before a God, but she didn’t. Instead, she let out a quick squeal before faking a step forward.
Cupid raised a brow. “And you summoned me why?”
The woman shrugs. “I still believe in love. True, genuine love. And I believe in you, Cupid. I’ve always been a romantic, you know? So I thought, why not show how devoted I am?”
Cupid blinked. It was rare to find a human who genuinely appreciated him and his work. Whenever other humans were done with him, there were no signs of gratitude. All he received were half-assed offerings.
A moment later, he sighed.
“...fine. You’re a fool, mortal.”
The woman laughs.
“But...this is a beautiful temple. Fine. You have my attention. But that red is horrendous.”
And he got to work. | 2021-05-10T13:03:18 | 2021-05-10T10:31:19 | 82 | 15 |
[WP] You are immortal. Every time you die, you come back to life safe and unharmed. However, despite what people might expect, you're not some thrill seeking risk taker, or crime-fighting vigilante or even a notorious criminal. You live a buttoned-down, cautious life - because dying really hurts. | It was 7:32 this morning when I died. I was walking towards my nice downtown office. I saw her before she saw me. She was in a black SUV; her head was down looking at her phone. The SUV was moving too fast, by the time she noticed me there was nothing she could do. Of course, I could have tried to get out of the way, but at this point I know when the inevitable is about to happen.
As I laid on the ground with dislocated shoulder, broken wrist, and a fractured Femur I thought it was going to be OK. But then I saw the pool of blood growing all too quickly and I knew there was no hope. Immediately the tears arose, as I braced for what came next.
You see, the painful part about dying, isn’t the torn muscles or the broken bones, but the ripping of the soul. When someone dies, their soul is torn and ripped apart and thrown across the universe. Every single aspect of it. Every. Single. One.
Every memory you have ever had is laid out and pulled apart like pulling skin around a fingernail. Not just the memory but all the emotions and feelings that go with it. Every sadness is re-lived. The loss of my wives and children, the deaths of friends, and the loneliness of eternity plays in front of me. I want to shut my eyes forever, but I’m not even allowed to blink. Every act of aggression, every terrifying fear, every dark thought is forced on me and torn away. Like a wax that is so hot it burns your skin and then as it starts to cool it rips away pulling the burned flesh with it.
Even the Joys of life are ruined by death. Happiness and comfort are being pulled away as I desperately and pointlessly tried to hold on to them. Just this once I hoped to keep something, anything, before I become less than “I”. Before everything I have is lost and I become abyss. I become a part of Everything… or Nothing, I’m not sure.
Then, for me and me alone, everything is slammed into place over an impossible distance in an instant. I am Reborn. The tears now flowing uncontrollably. | Not a lot of people can tell you this... but most of the time... *dying hurts.*
This isn't a well known fact, mostly due to there being no available testifiers, but take it from a guy who's lived and died... god, I lost count... Take it from a guy who's died countless of times, *dying will hurt*. Most of the time physically, and more often than not, emotionally.
Now you might be asking, "How can you say that you've died when you can make a Reddit post like this? Only people who *haven't* died can do that..."
And you very much have a point, random redditor. But to tell you a little secret... I'm what you'd call an immortal, someone who doesn't die when they're killed. Every time I do, I just wake up in a few weeks, completely fine and back to what seemed to be my prime.
I've lived for a good long while, around 500 years, give or take. And throughout my entire lifespan, I've just about died from anything the world could throw at me.
I've been stabbed, buried alive, burned alive, froze to death, starved to death, drowned to death, bludgeoned to death, eaten alive, hanged, strangled, poisoned, dropped off a cliff, decapitated, run over, shot in every part of my body, and most recently, because I got infected by the world's latest nuisance and died 'cause of it.
Those are just the ones that caused me pain and bodily harm. Sometimes I live a 'standard' full life, start a family and die surrounded by the people I love. I hate those the most. While physical pain is easy to get used to, emotional pain isn't. And to be completely honest with you? I prefer it that way, I don't want to let go of the thing that makes me feel like I'm still human. The annoying clench in my heart every time I die that way is worth it.
But we're getting off topic.
Dying hurts, and when you're someone like me who remembers *every* ***painful*** *experience*? A peaceful lifestyle without any sort of danger is very much desirable.
So I've strived to do just that, live peacefully. I might've taken it too far and became a shut-in for the last half-a-decade or so, but I prefer living like a hermit, only going out of my cozy abode for food and necessities, over risking a death by...
I dunno, getting run over by a truck filled with gasoline, which would then crash into a power line, catch on fire before exploding, leaving me to agonizingly die in a heap of broken bones and charring flesh and skin,
...then yes, I prefer living my life inside my home's walls.
Even if its quite irrational, I just don't want to die again. I want to live as much as the next person, to see what else humanity has for its next generation.
The internet is one such invention that I *know* I'm grateful for experiencing... despite its many, many, flaws and shortcomings.
And while yes, most people only live once and want to make the most out of their existence, I've already stated that I'm an exception that rule. I've seen what the world has offered, and will continue to see what it *will* offer... for better or for worse.
Live your lives, mortals, do more than just survive. Enjoy the joys you're experiencing and weep through the despairs that accompany them. Be thankful that you only live once, that merely implies that you will only die once as well. Oh how thankful I would be if I stayed dead the first time, because I dread the day that after the world breaks and collapses, when the sun consumes all that surrounds it, I dread that I may still survive to experience them all... and all the pain that will surely follow with my existence. | 2021-06-16T08:12:54 | 2021-06-16T08:08:34 | 387 | 118 |
[WP] you are perfectly safe in your bunker, you have plenty of food and water and even plumbing. The problem is that you are alone and there is a zombie outside. Out of sheer boredom you teach it to speak, and now it's trying to convince you to let it in. | \*Bzzt\* "Hey, Dave. Davie boy. Wassup?"
You rub your tired eyes as your aching body rises from your cot.
"What, Frank?" You ask, but you know it's just the same bullshit as always.
"How you doing today, man? Head still full of brains?"
You check the calendar as the soft hum of florescent lights drills little by little into your throbbing skull. "Feel like shit, like the last time you asked." You rub your orbits to try and soothe the pounding. "Still hung over, at the very least."
"Oh, that sucks." You hear Frank's wet flesh lean against the door as he chuckles. "I remember hang overs. Don't miss those! But uh, you didn't answer my second question."
You check your watch, it's 11:34. Hell. "Yeah, but today I really wish they weren't."
You hear the wet sound again, this time, a loud slap. "OH! I can help you with that, you know! Really easy, wouldn't even hurt!" You can practically hear him salivating through the steel bulkhead.
"You're doing the thing again, Frank." Your scrape the dry crust from your eyes. "I *told* you, I'm not letting you in."
"What? Me? Nonononono, I wasn't even *thinking* about that! It was uh, ummm..." He's probably doing the hand twirl thing right now. "... A visualization exercise!"
"Visualization exercise?"
"Yeah, like, that self-help stuff! You know, makes your brains feel better!"
"My brain feel better?" You attempt to stand, but the spinning room sits you right back down. "And you want my brain to feel better because...?"
"It improves the flavor!—I MEAN, because I wanna do you a favor! For uh, re-tearching me how to talk!"
Sometimes you really wish you didn't, but when he's not begging to give you a bite, he's really not bad conversation. You decide to give him a bite.
"Hey, no problem, Frank. So what's this exercise entail-"
Suddenly, you hear screaming and sloppy banging on the door, followed by Frank's panicked voice.
"AHHH! DAVE!! THERE'S A FIRE OUT HERE!!! YOU GOTTA LET ME IN! I'M GONNA GET ROASTED!"
You check the camera feed. Lo and behold, it's just Frank doing an exaggerated double take over his shoulder while slapping the door like an idiot. He obviously still doesn't know about the camera.
"Frank, this is a cave. There's no way a fire can even start in here."
"IT'S ONE OF THOSE KENTUCKY WALKING FIRES, DAVE! TUMBLED RIGHT DOWN IN HERE! YOU EVER WATCH THE GODDAMN NATIONAL GEOGRAPHICS!?"
"No, fuck off. Let me sleep."
"You're a real cold sonuvabitch, Dave. This would never happen if you'd just let me eat your fucking brains." | "come..on..let..in?"
"No... Not happening Robbie."
"Pul..please?"
"Nah Rob- wait did you just get "please" out? Good job man we can finally move on so some bigger words.!"
"Let.. in?"
Chadwick raised an eyebrow at the disheveled man thing that now stood before him. What was once a 6 ft, slightly overweight, retail clerk now stood in front of him. Emaciated, half rotted quarter bone, but just as falsely animated as he once was at work.
"Robbie I'm glad you're using your words, but we've gone over this again and again. I'm not, under any circumstances, letting you in here.
The empty shell of Robbie wavered a little bit in his stance, reshuffling his feet to be more firmly planted. Chadwick assumed a stiff wind, he couldn't hear anything over the inch thick wired plexiglass that separated him from Robbie. Not to mention the foot thick steel that encased him, and the additional six feet of concrete around that.
"Give.. snack?"
"Oh and what do you think I made of money?" Chadwick chuckled.
"Mun..ey?" The zombie raised an eyebrow. His only remaining eyebrow.
Chadwick regularly got reminded of just how much humanity this thing can still display when it chooses to. It never stops being both welcoming and incredibly uncomfortable.
"Nothing buddy just the shit that you used to make the world go round, and the shit that stopped it in its tracks too."
"Tracks." Robbie groaned.
"Damn man you don't need food and you have the memory of an elephant. Apex predator indeed. Helps it all the lions are gone."
Chatto cuz reminded of how Robbie came to stand at his front door. Could have been months maybe a year maybe a bit longer when Chadwick decided to venture out of the bunker and see what was left. Nothing but empty towns and a couple shambling was - men these ones far too deteriorated to really be of any danger. Most of them were after all.
Be at other normal people shooting them, or each other before they really lost themselves but still felt feral urges, most of the zombies were pretty well and true fucked up for a lack of a better word.
Robbie was different though. Yeah, still pretty fucked up I mean exposed bone, and missing chunks as per usual but he, unlike the rest, could still walk. shit he could even run...ish.
When Chadwick caught wind of Robbie Robbie was already.. jogging? At him. Which, as it would, scared the living shit out of Chadwick.
Sure had been like 3 hours since he got home but he looked out the window and saw Robbie sitting there staring through the window blankly. Not so much through the window but at the window like it itself was what Robbie was so fascinated with.
And he stayed like that for weeks. It was probably the fourth week or so when Chadwick decided to experiment a little.
It was 345 days ago when Chadwick turned on the com for the first time and started teaching Robbie words.
Honestly it's amazing that there's been any progress. Much less Robbie knowing how to string a sentence together. Even more or less that Robbie has any cognitive function to actually ask a question relating to Chadwick himself.
His biggest mistake was teaching Robbie adjectives.
"Alright buddy let's teach you a new phrase. A bit of a big leap but if it's too much we can take a step back."
"Word." Robbie grumbled in what can best be interpreted as "a confirmational tone". And took a step back, an observation lost of Chadwick as he was scribbling on the whiteboard.
"Let's teach you the phrase "We don't eat friends."."
Robbie's "good" eye lulled over to the window and was looking at the board Chad was holding up. Chad didn't know if he was actually reading it... But he did it from day one so *something* was working.
"Eat..friends?"
"Nope not quite buddy."
"We.. eat.. friends."
"Still no, but it's progress. Hmmm... Let's do this." Chad erased don't with his thumb and replaced it with a word Robbie knew well, hell it's probably Chad's most spoken word to him. Lifted the board to the window again. "We no eat friends."
"We **no** eat friends. Can you do this one?"
"We.. no.. eat.. fr-friends."
"Damn man you killed that one! Good job!" Chad said, beaming a smile to his strange companion.
Robbie saw the expression and slowly twitched out a smile in kind. Portions of his cheeks pulling back to further expose the mandible you could already see through his face.
"Let.. in?"
"Good try Robbie. Never gonna happen."
Robbie's smile dropped.
"Awh.." | 2021-09-29T12:42:19 | 2021-09-29T12:40:43 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] You are "The Ghost Puncher". Despite your abilities being self explanatory, phantoms never really expect it. | It was a ‘boo’ unlike any I’d heard before. A growling, gurgling, demonic ‘boo.’ One that sent a chill down my spine and ended at my tailbone. A boo that made my butt shiver.
But it mattered very little in the end. I did as I always do. Planted my feet firmly against the ground, wound back, and threw a ghoul-breaking haymaker to his spectral jaw.
He fell to the floor, rubbing his centuries old phantom face. “Jesus Christ,” he moaned. “The fuck you do that for?”
“I’m The Ghost Puncher.”
“*The Ghost Puncher?*”
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
The ghost continued to massage his swollen, translucent jaw. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“It’s just a nickname.”
“No, I mean a living person punching a ghost. Usually your hands just go through us.”
“Oh.” I adjusted my jacket and straightened my posture. “That’s why they call me ‘The Ghost Puncher.’”
“Yeah, we’ve already established that.” The ghost stood up. “I need a bag of ghost ice or something.”
“Is that a thing?”
“I mean, you just punched me. I feel like anything is possible now.”
I forced an awkward smile and shifted back and forth. “So…”
“You’re not going to punch me again, are you?”
“Are you going to keep frightening guests?”
The ghost rolled his eyes. “What else am I going to do? I haunt a hotel.”
“Just keep to yourself from now on.”
The ghost sighed. “Fine. Just don’t punch me anymore.”
“Okay.”
We stared at each other for a silent moment. Then, without warning, I quickly feigned like I was going to throw another punch. The ghost winced and shielded his face with his hands. “Ahh!” I laughed. “Two for flinching.”
_______________________________
r/FishermanTales | The dilapidated house groans from the wind howling outside. Treading lightly, I tiptoe through the hallways on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. I shine my light along the walls, peeking into the rooms branching off to either side. When I arrived in town earlier that morning, the locals spoke in hushed tones about the ghost in residence at the old manor.
I pause as the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The temperature drops a few degrees. It's subtle, but still enough of a change to set me on edge. This isn't my first rodeo after all.
"Leave this place, or feel my wrath" An eerie voice wails right behind me. I wheel around at the sound and stagger backwards at the sight.
Floating in front of me is the haunting, spectral form of an emaciated man. Tattered rags hang from his spindly frame while chains dangle from his wrists and ankles.
"Leeeeeave thiiiiissss plaaaace."
It cries out again, but I don't worry. Striking a boxer's stance, I stare directly into the empty holes where eyes should be. Silence falls over the hallway as neither of us seems willing to break the standoff. Finally, the ghost speaks
"Who do you think you are?" The voice's tone shifts ever so slightly to one of annoyance and anger.
"I'm the Ghost Puncher." I grit my teeth in expectation for what's coming. As I predicted, the spirit nearly doubles over as it cackles uproariously at the name.
"The... The... GHOST PUNCHER?! Baaaahaha.'
"Yeah, look I'll give you two options. Option one, you stop haunting people and just enjoy your eternal rest or whatever. Option 2, we do this the hard way and you're sent back to where you came from."
"Listen here you little—" The ghost hurls itself towards me, a menacing scowl on its face. I duck out of the way of the first blow, watching the ghost pass overhead. Spinning to face it again, I clench my fists tighter. Missing the first attack only angered the shade more, causing it to launch into a second attack.
This time, it doesn't get the chance to swing.
As it pulls back one arm, I throw a quick jab followed by a right cross. The spirit tumbles backwards, staggered by the impact of the blows. The ghost seems weakened, but this fight isn't over yet. It unleashes a bloodcurdling scream and lashes out haphazardly, flailing the chains. I block the first strike easily enough and dodge the second, but the third catches me on the shoulder. The ice-cold sensation cuts to the bone and I feel the joint begin to stiffen.
Jab. Jab. Cross. Hook. Uppercut.
I pummel the ghost, punctuating each blow with a staccato breath. The final punch connects with a thunderous crack, ending the fight. As the spectral form falls to the floor, it vanishes completely. Outside, the winds swirling around the house calm to a gentle breeze. Grimacing, I rotate my aching shoulder as the effects of the ghost's blow fades away.
"They never choose the first option," I sigh as I walk down the grand staircase and exit the house. "One of these days, they'll realize my name is isn't a punchline." | 2021-10-20T20:39:57 | 2021-10-20T19:55:42 | 343 | 126 |
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut. | Drake stopped as he approached his hut and dropped the body of the elk to the ground. Something was amiss as the hair on his arms bristled and the sense of something dangerous was nearby, as if a wild beast was hunting him. It felt like it was waiting for him, not outside but inside his home. He crept silently over the stone walkway to his door and creeked it open slowly to not make a sound.
A surprisingly friendly voice beckoned from within. "You can come in. I mean, it is your home after all. I just didn't want to be lurking outside waiting for you."
He knew the voice and he grit his teeth as he opened the door and stepped inside, pulling a knife from his belt as he walked into the kitchen. He stopped as he saw his nemesis preparing tea, his back presented to him. It would be an easy kill, his old foe would hardly have time to react at this disadvantage against his innate speed. Instead he sheathed the knife and crossed his arms, cursing the man silently as he glared at the back of his head.
"What do you want? Why are you in my home?" Drake demanded of his intruder.
The man sighed heavily and turned his head slightly, casting a look over his shoulder. "I know this is hard to believe but I'm here with good intentions."
"Bah! Your good intentions are why I'm even here at the edge of his damned forest! You and your damned friends or allies, whatever you want to call them." He threw his hands up in his frustration, grasping at the air and causing it to crackle around them. His powers were weakened but no less terrifying when he was angered.
The man in front of him appeared to wince at the sound and turned away, his shoulders shaking. He turned around with cups of tea in both hands, offering one to his old enemy. "I know, good intentions can be seen as bad to other people. I promise I'm not here to fight you."
Drake looked at it and eyed him warily. "You can't think I'm stupid enough to drink that. Surely you have it poisoned."
The man opened to object and then closed his mouth. He shrugged before bringing one to his mouth and sipping from it, making a show of swallowing the liquid before offering the same cup to the man. "Whether you drink it or not, you'll know it isn't poisoned as long as I stand here before you."
Drake eyed him with suspicion but took the cup, holding it in front of him. He sighed and shook his head. "Why are you here, brother? Really? You can't expect me to not be angry after your betrayal and now you intrude on my meager life in hiding. Speak to me, Kirin. What do you want?"
Kirin took a sip of his own tea before answering, his gaze looking down as he considered his words before looking at his brother. "There is a new power struggling to take control in the Northern Spires."
"I fail to see how this is my problem. I'm retired, you did see to that."
"I was wrong. Please, understand me. I. Was. Wrong." He stated each word with emphasis as his hand tightened around the wooden cup. "There were so many people scared of what you had become that they wouldn't see the good, that *I* wouldn't see the good, that you were doing despite the dark magic you controlled to take power. I am sorry, brother."
Drake paused, this was not what he had expected. He drank the tea his brother had offered him and nodded his head. "Aye, I know why you did it. I know what I had become and I'm ashamed to say you were in the right and that I was wrong. That still doesn't say why you want me now though."
"He is one of your followers, or was. He is far more dangerous than you ever were and claims that he has right to the Midnight Throne since you abandoned it. His words, not mine."
"That wretch, Erius?" Drake gripped his mug tighter, the wood creaking in his grip. "I knew he could be dangerous but he was loyal, practically threw himself at my feet begging to be taught the dark magics."
"It gets worse, brother."
Drake glanced up and narrowed his gaze. "How is it worse than a mad man not knowing how to fully control the power he weilds? A man that is no doubt desperate to see my goals, or his own now, through by any means. Erius will destroy the Northern Spires if they don't kneel to him."
"Well,thats true but the real reason I'm here is another matter." Kirin drank from his mug again. "Our sister was in the first scouting team sent to determine the threat and that team hasn't reported back to the guild."
The wooden cup crumpled under Drakes grip as he heard this and the air in the room became colder. "He dares? Of course he does, he doesn't know she's my family only that she is your family. Damn him to the infernal abyss."
"I take it that's a 'yes' then?" Kirin set his cup on the counter space behind him.
"Yes, brother. It's time we joined forces for once."
&#x200B;
[\[Part 2: IF Erius learned the truth\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/qm09cn/comment/hjaoacd/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
See more of my writing at r/wraithwright | I returned from an unsuccessful hunt again. Starving. Blasted this winter. The snow makes it hard to walk, and the accursed snowfall makes my sight no farther than what this dim lantern will provide.
My breath is ragged and my groans of disdain are coarse. How I continued to live like this, I do not understand. But I wish I could stop it. After walking for what must’ve been hours amongst this winter’s night, I finally made it to my desolate hut of a cabin.. with nothing in hand.
Just yards beyond my home, I had paused my lethargic march. The fire from inside is not dead. It’s still very much alive compared to what it was like when I left to hunt. I hung my extinguished lantern on my hip as I was concealed in the blinding dark.
I took my bow off my back and quickly gathered an arrow from my quiver. I continued to make haste and prepared to defend my home if I had to. After a moment’s more, I was just beyond the door when I heard movement even through the loud winds blasting into my ears. I slowly reached for the handle and grabbed tightly.
Without a moment of hesitation, I barged through the open doorway and took hold of my bow and arrow. A person in a cloak was standing just beyond the primitive fireplace, everything about them was obscured as my face felt the heat, bringing warmth to my cold undead eyes. My eyes watered and the frost slowly began to melt from my face.
*”Who are you, intruder? Show yourself.”* My voice felt raw as I spoke. The first words I have uttered in what could’ve been years.
The figure stood still in front of the fire. They did not talk as I continued to interrogate.
*”Speak now or you’ll have my arrow in the back of your skull. I am not going to ask again.”* The creak of my bow was the only other thing aside from the whistling outside wind that broke the silence.
They began to move and I reacted by taking my stance, on the verge of releasing the arrow into their neck to sever the spine. Their arms rose until they had their hands in the air. The sheen of the daggers’ blades in their hands was illuminated by the bright flames in front of them. Unexpectedly, the daggers fell to the floor by the intruder’s feet.
The silence of the intruder was finally broken as they suddenly began to speak. “Rotmir…” Their voice was hard to identify; ragged, androgynous, yet somehow familiar. But with an intense realization, they said something no one has said to me in a long time. They said my name.
*”Who are you? How do you know that name?”* My panic began to stew deep inside my chest. That fear bubbled into anger, and that long dormant rage I tried to contain for so long was bursting at the seams. My grip on my bow tightened and my aim was quaking.
The figure turned their head towards me, and I saw the black veil that covered their face. “You know me, Rotmir..”
My blood ran colder than the winter air. Without hesitation, I released the arrow and the hut’s walls were only met with the sound of a small puncturing thud.
She stood there with the arrow in her right shoulder, more to the left and it would’ve punctured her spine. She never even flinched. She instead turned around to look at me. The front of the arrow poked through the other end of her.
With not even a breath wasted, she grabbed the arrow by the tip and pulled it slowly all the way through. I watched frozen as the bloody arrow was dropped to the floor, but the blood was not red. It was not of a man’s blood. It was green and slimy.
“I’m not here to fight.” Her voice grabbed my attention. I tried to gain my composure, trying to quell the rising anger that burned bright deep inside of me.
*”Then you have come to watch me wallow in my defeat. Watching a once great king become a shadow, nothing more than a dried husk..”*
“No, I have not. And you were not great. You were too far gone, and what you are is what you did to yourself. You brought this curse and it’s your punishment for what you have done to the lands of Vallath, and the darkness you brought onto the Elvens!” Her voice was rising in sudden anger, but she quickly caught herself. She fell silent.
The cold air was starting to diminish the warm fire. Ignoring the anger I swallowed my pride and shut the door behind me, and I grabbed my lantern and hung it. I walked over to my table that lay next to her and put my bow down along with my quiver.
My large black coat rested on the poorly crafted backrest of a chair and I took a seat. She did not speak a word. Her face was still concealed by the veil. What had made her don that mask?
*”If you have not come here to fight or to humiliate me, why have you come then? There’s nothing for you here Salara.”* I said in a somber tone. My throat was in sharp pain with each and every word I had spoken. I turned to look at her.
“There is something here that I need, that corruption is starting to spread again. And this attack doesn’t just mean the fall of the Elven Kingdom, this curse is starting to take everyone with it. All are becoming susceptible to this new plague. I need your help.”
I started to laugh, which only managed to come out as a dry wheezing and loud hacking. *”What can I possibly do to help you? You were able to stop it the first time, what has changed Slime?”*
“What has changed is that I need a solution…” I looked at her as she l became quiet again as she stood in front of me, her hands slowly lifted the veil and I saw her true face.
Her eyes were bloody and scabbed, unnaturally sharp teeth were starting to show themselves over the original ones, her skin was becoming grey and it was wrinkled and rough like an elephant’s hide. It was a hideous sight compared to the face I once remembered so vividly in battle. A face I grew to hate and resent.
“Your solution. I need to find out how you became partially immune to the curse. I need more time so I can rid this affliction from my soul. I want you to tell me everything you know.” She said in a controlled voice, but I could hear the small desperation behind it.
I sat there silently for what could’ve been minutes deep in contemplation. She sat down on the table looking at the warm fire. My deathly voice spoke and almost startled her.
*”If I help you, I will do it only on one condition..”*
She looked at me waiting, not bothering to speak up.
*”After this is done and you possibly win this war against the darkness, I ask of you to kill me and vanquish my soul.. Do we have a deal?”* I looked into her eyes and I saw the darkening resolve, and the resent in them. Then the following calmness in her voice told me this promise would be easily fulfilled. No questions were even asked, which is what I wanted.
“Yes, we have a deal.” | 2021-11-03T19:48:07 | 2021-11-03T18:35:48 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] A woman prophesied to give birth to the Chosen One gives birth to triplets instead. | _"You know the prophecy."_
A figure with a gun stood in the shadows, speaking in an oddly high voice.
"But..."
_"There is no use, you fiend. I am the Chosen One. Give up."_
That voice would make any self-respecting villain want to give them a punch in the mouth. Unfortunately, the figure caught him at a good moment. Prophecies aside, this person had a gun and he didn't.
"You will call the police and confess to all of your crimes right now, right here... or I _will_ shoot."
***
"Where were you?! I was so worried about y'all three!"
"Just fulfilling a prophecy, mom. You know, the whole Chosen One thing."
"Wait, already?!"
"Three kids in a trenchcoat can very much look like a singular Chosen One."
***
(I have no energy to write this out more properly, which is a shame, but I do think this is a funny idea.) | The sages gathered round, cloaks of all sizes and all colours adorning every self-acclaimed mystic and visionary from across the land. The murmuring on their breath and the rustling of their garments against each other created the impression of a peaceful stream, the sounds burbling over each other, but the throng was anything but peaceful. It was simply that none wished to raise their voices any higher and disturb the weary mother clutching her plethora of children, whose unforeseen birth had spurred the gathering now taking place. Confusion often triumphs over courtesy unfortunately, and it wasn’t long before their voices clatered over each other in a more audible manner.
“Three children! None of my visions told me of this.”
“And what have your visions ever been worth, Oster? Fat lot of good they’ve done this poor lady”
“Don’t pretend that your tea readings have done this, oh this poooor lady any better!”
“Quiet, both of you. We must consult the prophecies if we are to understand this omen.”
“Are we confident that it is an omen? Perhaps a portent? Or maybe a simple sign?”
“An omen, surely! This child was supposed to be the chosen one. Can three be chosen? Not for us to say I’m sure.”
“Could it be possible that they are all the chosen one?”
“Or are they each one third of the chosen one?”
“Perhaps we are in three times the danger!”
“Danger from what?”
“The prophecy!”
“And what does the prophecy say comes after the birth of the chosen one? Don’t tell me the birth of another chosen one.”
“They must be tested!”
“Tested? By whom? Who is going to test the wee babies?”
“Well not now, Oster, you old fool. The chosen one is supposed to grow up and face their hardships.”
“What hardships?”
“Are we supposed to make their lives hard?”
“With a mother like that, they surely already will be.”
“Enough! We must wait. All will be revealed in time.”
“How much time?”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“What did the leaves say?”
“BE. QUIET.”
A heavy blanket of silence settled over the congregation as the mother’s words snapped out. In turn they swished their cloaks and looked around sheepishly, looking for the one that would take the blame for disturbing the poor soul that had only just given birth to the supposed chosen three. Oster, the most venerated of the assembly of sages, coughed delicately.
“Very sorry madame. You’ll have to excuse the excitement. You see, the thing is… this was our first time prophesying. I think we’re just a bit embarrassed to have gotten it this wrong, right off the bat.” | 2022-02-17T01:18:19 | 2022-02-16T18:48:53 | 357 | 174 |
[WP] Earth is losing to the Aliens. You develop a serum and are now on the body littered streets to face the Alien commander. “Weakling! A super soldier serum is useless on your kind!” He exclaims. “That’s why...I made a zombie virus.” You say as you break the vial, releasing a mist into the air | Of all the places to have landed an invasion force, Isla Nublar didn't make a ton of sense. The aliens were indiscriminate though, destroting both the park's attractions and guests with equal prejudice. After the Costa Rican government capitulated, it was clear that the landings were worldwide, not just on the island.
We released the predators in the second day. Rex cut a bloody swath through the enemy before the leader himself killed her in the city center. The pack hasn't been heard from at all, I just hope they're hunting the right prey.
The ocean is still ours, though opening her pen made sending any landing craft a lesson in suicide by sea monster.
There's been so much death. I'm recording this with the last of the surviving equipment.
We never quite got Project Lazarus right, it would have saved InGen billions. Now, it will save the world.
I grabbed the innoculation vial and sprinted for the center. The overlord had built his throne upon Rex's corpse, and I needed to be sure.
"ARTHUR HAMMOND" the overlord crowed, patting the arms of his chair. "Come at last to surrender?"
"I've come to watch you die, Xartik." I shouted back, crushing the vial and inhaling the protective mist.
"Fool, as if I would be beaten by any pathetic human meat, super serum or no." Xartic laughed.
"Oh, I know," I said, smirking. "That's why I released the Lazarus gas."
A single milky, reptilian eye opened and foused on Xartic, and the fractured skull of Jurassic Park's premier attraction rose behind the unaware leader.
"Pathetic," Xartic was saying, "your mist did nothing, I feel no-"
Undead, serrated teeth the size of kitchen knives cut into alien flesh. Xartic didn't even have time to scream before the risen tyrannosaurus tore him in half. A cry from the brush tore my attention from Rex and I watched the corpse of the dilophosaur spit a mixture of blood and venom into the eyes of Xartic's bodyguard.
And from behind the guest center came the distinctive *tap, tap, tap* of oversized claws on concrete. The pack, somehow still alive after all this time, tore into the remaining soldiers, the raptors dropping them with ruthless efficiency.
I was going to die, trapped between three different deadly predators, but I would die smiling. Knowing that Earth's greatest enemy would be exterminated by Earth's greatest killers. | It was futile - their natural telekinetic abilities were too versatile for us to defeat them in battle. Even a mere grunt could easily take on an entire platoon of humans. Fired projectiles were frozen and dropped harmlessly, or returned to their senders in a spray of gore. Heat and explosions worked well on the aliens, but they quickly learned not to let any device that might inflict such damage near them. We turned to long range bombardment, but they were technologically superior, simply disabling our missile's electronic internals from orbit.
Having tried both physical, thermal, and electrical warfare, we turned to chemical and biological. Try as we might, the human body just could not adjust to enhancements. Super strength only broke the bones of the test subjects, as they were unable to adjust to the strength of their new body. Heightened senses drove the subjects to insanity over time. Increased reflexes made them hyperactive and induced paranoia. We ended up losing more lives to deal with these 'super soldiers' than saving any.
But in the end, desperate for survival, we did what we could with the technology we had.
The alien commander hovered lazily in the middle of the square. Piles of bodies littered the area, remnants of previous assaults. Silently, a squad of troopers managed to get within eyesight of their target undiscovered. A burst of gunfire was heard, followed by an ear-popping sensation for everyone in the vicinity. The tinkling of dropping bullets was heard, and assault ended with a brief gurgling scream. The commander's attention turned to me as I walked into view.
"Weakling! You dare approach me?", a grating voice thundered in my head. "I sense what is in your pocket. Surely you have noticed by now, a super soldier serum is useless on your kind!"
I prayed silently and brought out a glass cylinder of neon blue liquid, capped with metal on both ends. This was the turning point. "That's why.. we made a zombie virus." I announced, as I released the vial. Time seemed to slow as I watched the cylinder tumble toward the ground. It seemed to slow further, the cylinder turning slower and slower.. I felt my ears pop. Then it stopped, an inch above the ground.
"Did you think that I would allow you to release the virus simply by breaking it?" I winced as the commander's voice shook my skull.
"Nope." I raised both hands in a mark of surrender. A single gunshot rang out, and my heart sank as I silently watched a bullet entering my field of vision from the side. Once again, my ears popped, and the bullet slowed to
a stop - just an inch from the glass cylinder of virus.
"And did you think that I would allow any of you to easily break this vial?" the commander's voice seemed to fill even my vision as I felt pain in my head.
With my hands still raised in surrender, I clenched my fists in signal. The frozen bullet vibrates, emitting a screech, then detonates into flames. I grimace and fall to the ground, as flames wash over me. Over the roar of flames, I can hear cracks as the cylinder shatters from the heat, and silently thanked my colleagues that we thought to make the virus heat-resistant.
As the flames died away, I see figures rising from the piles of bodies all around me, in various states of decay. Their flesh was drooping from their bones, with bodies filled with gaping wounds and missing limbs. After a moment of disorientation, they rush at the alien commander. My ears pop again and again, as I see a spherical wall of bodies forming around the alien commander.
"Fools. Unlife makes no difference when I can hold you for eternity." The alien commander drifts upward lazily, then freezes in confusion as the sphere of bodies collapses. I feel a pressure in my ears, but they don't pop like before. Grinning savagely, I pull my melted arm from the floor to prop myself up. The alien commander claws at the air, having trouble maintaining altitude.
"What is - HOW?!" I feel blood seep from my nose as the voice claws at my head.
"Never said the virus was only to make us zombified, in fact.." I smile at the sound of tearing flesh and struggling limbs. "We've all been zombified for a while, but it wasn't very helpful for fighting telekinesis. No, the vial was purely for you." | 2022-04-19T07:32:11 | 2022-04-19T07:05:45 | 250 | 158 |
[WP] Humanity discovers an intelligent alien civilisation. When they find out aliens only work 2-day work weeks humanity has to tend to a new problem: Interplanetary brain drain. | "Here for the interview?", asked John, sitting across the short hallway from what he believed to be a contender for the entry level IT job he had applied for three weeks prior.
"Yeah, yeah," answered Paul. "Traveled all the way from London, England. That two day work week allure will get you."
John nervously laughed. "Haha - yeah. It'll get you."
The door to the interview room swung open with a large blue tentacle holding the handle - a disheveled looking human exiting.
"Successful or not you will here from Blorg in due course."
"You too!" said the human nervously before realising his error.
"John?"
"Yeah."
"Please step inside the interview room."
Paul stood from his chair and awkwardly made his way around the 'you too' human who stood idly in the hallway wondering what he had just said.
The interview room was strangely human. Bleak, bare minimum furniture, and the overwhelming sense of workplace depression. John sat in the seat facing the interview panel and attempted to collect his thoughts."
"Hello ..." Primak checked his notes, "John. So, John. First thing is first, the previous human stated he would be willing to work for three days rather than two for the same pay as long as did not inform the other humans of the offer. However, we have chosen to inform you of the offer to find out what your counter proposal is. On our planet we call this leverage."
John was taken back, "but I thought on this planet you only worked two days a week? That's why I traveled here."
"This is correct but never have we had someone willing to so quickly sell out his own kind for a job. Within our species this would never happen."
"Well what if I worked four days?"
The interview panel huddled and began to whisper to each other.
"And you will do this for the same pay?"
"Begrudgingly yes."
"And people do this on Earth to each other? This is normal practice ... this ... exploitation of a workforce? Playing staff off against each other in private at the benefit of those who run the company?"
"Erm, also yes."
"And the workers they do not revolt?"
"Well not against those above us. We usually just revolt against those on or around the same level as us."
"We see. OK this has been a fantastic interview. Allow me to walk you out."
A large blue tentacle twisted the door handle and ushered John out the room.
"Successful or not you will here from Blorg in due course."
John stood in the hallway as the final candidate, Paul, stood from his seat and walked in to the room. As the door shut John could hear the faint voice of the interview panel.
"So ... Paul ... you will never guess what the other humans said about you and how many days they agreed to work just so YOU wouldn't get the job." | It was the opportunity of a lifetime. A one in 7 billion odds. Yet there I was - staring it in the face. I knew what that message in my inbox could be. Sure, it could be a rejection letter - but the portion of the Subject line I could see had sent my brain into a spiral. "Interest in your applic.." Interest? Not "Unfortunately," Not "After Consideration," "Interest."
I opened that message and I wanted to scream. I wanted to run around my house in circles, but I couldn't. I had to think of a way to respond that held the professionalism I'd tried so hard to muster in the brutally honest application I'd written when I saw the offer. "Join the Xarician Exploration Team". Their application was so simple. "Why do you want to join?" "What benefit do you think you'll provide?" "What have you done in your life?" Not like any human job application I'd ever filled out - so I poured my soul into my answers.
Was I truly that unique? Is everyone on the planet not interested in working for a species of beings that dwarf our own understanding of the universe and reality? How could you not be? Why me? There's people who have dedicated their life to space exploration, philosophy, theology - and then there's me.
But, what kind of fool would I be to not pursue? Am I weak if I let my insecurities bleed through? Am I more human? It was just an interview. I had to get myself together. I opened the message - and it was exactly what I anticipated. Just a friendly invitation to proceed to an interview.
I replied as cordially as I could that I would love to proceed and provided my schedule. They requested we meet on Friday at 3:30PM. It was Tuesday at 8AM. I had to sit with this anticipation, for nearly 96 hours. My mind reeling - my excitement about life at an all time high. Would I be let to crash back down to the reality I've always known - or was this my moment?
Friday rolled around and at 3:30PM - I received an incoming video call, as expected. I nearly choked on air as I tried to swallow my nerves before pressing accept. My eyes red from coughing, slightly watering - unable to buy any more time I pressed accept.
The interview was more normal than I'd ever have expected - until they reached a question I'd answered in earnest. "What are your desired working hours?" They asked. The options they provided: "5-10 Hours Per Week", "10-20 Hours Per Week", "20-30 Hours Per Week", and "Other". I had selected the "Other". I manually typed in "80+ Hours. If I am passionate about something - it may as well be my entire life.".
Arrogant? Maybe. I had to try to sell myself. This opportunity may never have come around again. The being conducting my interview seemed to step out of his professional conduct when addressing me about my answer. "Are you certain, you're certain you'd let something consume your entire life?". 'Yes.' I responded, without any further explanation.
"You know - up here, the average worker spends just 2 days per week, working an average of 6 hours a day." He said. 'I did not, I would take any opportunity I could get to be a part of this experience, but I am used to much more.' I replied. "I may have an opportunity for you. It is not the opportunity you applied for. You may never see home again. You indicated you were open to a permanent relocation from your home planet. This is true?". Again, all I could muster was a 'Yes'.
"Individuals such as yourself tend to make themselves much harder to find than you have. They're usually riddled with doubts of their purpose and uncertain of their place.". Are these beings telepathic? Is this a test? Did I need to admit to my humanity, my insecurities, my ever present imposter syndrome? I'd played the game the best I could - bearing a confidence that I imagined I'd have if I was already accepted. 'That feels relatable.' I managed.
"Wonderful. We will be in touch. Please make any arrangements you need to and be prepared to join the team within 2 weeks time of today." He said. I sat there, dumbfounded. Unable to bring any words at all to my lips. Completely frozen by excitement, doubt, hope, fear.
"Thank you for your time. I look forward to being the one to show you around. Get some rest, Human."
&#x200B;
edit: typos | 2022-08-23T07:44:17 | 2022-08-23T06:25:53 | 361 | 138 |
[WP] Your superpower is Montage, the ability to set a task and then fast-forward through it without aging. You usually use the ability to bypass boring bits, like building things or travelling. After setting a simple goal, you activate the ability and when it finishes, decades have passed.
The number of people who think this is about Click! is too darn high :/
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2Ca9cQ3GV4 | It started with a blink.
Nick vowed himself never to use his power, ever since he discovered it as a child. The ability was too dangerous. He didn't want to skip a second of his life. In fact, he tried to pretend like he didn't have powers in the first place. But when he accidentally spilled a cup of coffee, he watched the stain with some disgust. He was feeling... off today. A couple of seconds wouldn't hurt to miss, would they?
*Blink*
Without a second's notice, the task was complete. Nick admired the level at which he had cleaned the floor. For the first time in his life, he understood the phrase: "You could eat off of it". The tiles were so polished to the point that he could clearly see his own reflection in them. The cleaning supplies were packed neatly into the drawer, instead of being thrown across the kitchen counter.
It seemed that Nick forgot to take into account his ability's most important value. it didn't just skip through a task, it completed the task PERFECTLY. One coffee spill on the floor turned into cleaning a stain on the couch.
*Blink*
Replacing his desk.
*Blink*
Cleaning the gutters.
*Blink*
When he tested it on the small stuff, he realized he could think bigger.
Passing his driver's ed
*Blink*
Nailing his job interview
*Blink*
Presenting a sales pitch to his new co-workers
*Blink*
It seemed that everything Nick did, he skipped through it. He didn't even sleep on his own any more. He just skipped through it, so he could get the best amount of sleep necessary for the day. He had become completely dependent on his power.
Asking his co-worker out on a date
*Blink*
Preparing a dinner for their 1-year anniversary
*Blink*
Creating the perfect wedding proposal
*Blink*
At that point, Nick had no memory of any of the time he spent with his girlfriend. He was using his ability constantly, to the point where he couldn't even walk to the kitchen without "skipping the task and walking at the perfect pace". Blink. Blink. Blink. It was all he knew how to do anymore.
Talking himself out of jail
*Blink*
Winning a fight to show off to his fiancé
*Blink*
His testing built up to his biggest request yet. So infatuated with his power, Nick thought of his best task yet.
Making himself the perfect human
...
*Blink*
...
His wife's face, which he was staring at just a second ago, materialized into nothingness. The warm heating of his mansion turned into brisk, freezing air. What was once a beautiful house, was now a wasteland, as if a bomb had struck the entire building.
Nick panicked. He checked his phone, which was still in his pocket. Miraculously, it still worked, and displayed the date: **June 17th 2065**.
2065??? 4 decades had just passed! Nick felt himself collapse with anxiety, and heard something crunch beneath him. A human skull. Nick understood what he had done. He was the perfect human. He was the ONLY human. In his obliviousness, he must've done something to wipe out the entire world.
Nick sat down, on what remained of his couch. A couch that he skipped past buying. He looked up at the moon. A moon that he skipped looking up at. He thought about what his next task would be. A task that would take even more decades to complete.
To try and rebuild society
*Blink* | "Think, Skip. THINK!"
Skip paced around the small unfamiliar apartment room. The more he let the situation dawned on him, the more unsettled he became.
What happened?
As he wondered, he slowly began to piece his memories bit by bit. What happened...to his family?
Skip was a normal man, by a lot of measures. He was a loving husband to a loving wife, Mary. They had a house together, which they bought together in 2019 after 2 years of being married. And they had lived there for three years as far as Skip remembered.
"Mary? MARY! MARY! WHERE ARE YOU?", Skip shouted, hoping for his wife to be there in that unkempt apartment.
But of course, it was but a wishful thinking. He was all alone.
"Think, think, think. Remember, damn it!", Skip muttered to himself, slapping his head as if forcing his brain to work.
"What's the first question, Skip? The first question after you fast forward?", Skip finally managed to gather some sense.
"How far did I fast forward?", Skip said as finally he fell on the right mind track.
That's right, Skip was no ordinary man. He secretly held a superpower. One he had never told anyone, not even his wife.
Skip had the ability to skip forward in time. Once he set a goal in mind, of what he set to accomplish, Skip could snap his fingers and let the flow of time went by him without him having to live it. Every time he did, a flash of images would play in his mind-- images of the events in between.
Of course, there were some drawbacks. The more he skipped, the more difficult it became for him to recall the events skipped.
"How far? How far, damn it?", Skip scrambled to find his phone, which he found was covered underneath a pile of unwashed clothes.
As soon as Skip turned his phone on, his heart dropped. A gut punch was sent deep into the pit of his stomach.
"20...2047?", he muttered in horror.
Twenty-five years had gone by since the last time he fast forwarded.
Skip fell weakly onto his couch. Breathing rapidly, he closed his eyes tight and pulled on his hair.
"What was it? What did I set off to do?", Skip asked himself again.
A moment passed before Skip gasped and jumped off his couch.
"Katie...", Skip uttered his daughter's name.
Skip was a good man, by a lot of measures. He was a good husband, a decent colleague, a loyal friend, but he was a lousy father.
"Her 8th birthday...you stupid son of a bitch!", Skip cursed himself.
He finally remembered. Twenty-five years prior, the night of his daughter's 8th birthday, Skip decided to fast forward himself out of her party. His reason? He wanted to wake up early the next morning to play golf with his buddies.
Skip swiped on his phone with shaking hands. Thank goodness his password remained the same after more than two decades.
"Mary...Mary...Mary...call!", he said, looking for his wife's phone number.
The phone rang for a bit before it was cut off. Desperate, Skip tried again.
"Come on, Mary. Please, please..."
Skip held his breath as finally the ringing tone was cut off and his call was picked up.
"Hello? Mary? Are you there?", Skip blurted.
"You have some nerve calling me", his wife's familiar voice said from the other line.
Though it was not a welcoming voice, Skip felt a sense of relief hearing his wife's voice.
"Mary, please listen! I don't know what's going on! I slept last night in our bedroom and this morning I woke up in this...strange apartment! I..."
"Skip, are you high? For god's sake! Twenty years you put us through hell, destroyed our family, and now you're on drugs? What do you want? Money? I have nothing to give you!"
"Wh-what? Mary, what the hell happened? What happened to us? What happened to our family? What happened to Katie?", Skip asked.
"How dare you ask about my daughter? After you ditched her, she refused to talk to you ever since!", Mary snapped.
Skip's heart dropped. "What...what happened?", Skip asked. "Did I...did I ditch her birthday party?"
"You bastard! You decided to ditch her, ditch us, and she refused to acknowledge you ever since!", Mary lost her temper. "She refused to celebrate her birthday and all her birthdays ever since!"
Skip was at a loss for words as he let Mary shower him with all of her pent-up anger.
"I don't know what your game is here, Skip! But we've all moved on! I've moved on! She's moved on! All without you!", Mary shouted. "So, stop calling me and just drop f\*cking dead!"
The phone slipped down Skip's hand as his body went limp on the floor. Tears streamed down his face, and he sobbed for hours.
Skip had always wondered what happened when he was on fast-forward mode. And he found it out the hardest way...he became an empty shell, just a body without his mind, without his soul, without his heart...
"Come on, Skip. You can do it", Skip muttered to himself as he paced around in front of a house in a quiet suburban neighborhood. | 2022-12-11T08:04:40 | 2022-12-11T01:57:26 | 773 | 184 |
[WP] A neuroscientist finds data stored in human DNA. When deciphered, it appears to be a file named README.txt. | README.txt.
Thank you for purchasing VR World 4223.004621. To enhance your experience, we have created a random NPC generator. Lifespan of NPCs is set to roughly 70 solar cycles, or 30 ̿/ ͇ ͇ |̶̿ ̿⟨|̶͇̿ ̶͇̿ ͇̿ ╰|╯|̿ \͇| hours. Lifespan can be shortened through a variety of external factors, and may be extended up to or even over 100 solar cycles.
Our NPCs have been programmed with state-of-the-art AI technology. As with any random generator, personality clustering is to be expected. Remember, nuclear warfare is a possible element of the game, and player characters cannot be harmed in the actual fallout.
Please file a support ticket if an NPC shows signs of any of the following: fast aging; hallucinations; sleepwalking; programming skills above level|̶͇̿ ̶͇̿ ̶͇̿)8.
You can contact the support team anytime at |̶̿ ̶̿ ̶̿ |͇ ͇ X|͇̿ ͇̿ @|̶͇̿ ̶͇̿ ̶͇̿)|̿ ̶̿'╮|̶̿ ̶̿ ̶̿ ̶̿| ̿ ̿/ ͇ ͇ |̶͇̿ ̶͇̿ ̶͇̿).|͇̿ ͇̿ ͇̿ ̶͇̿ι ̿ ̿|̿ ̿ or through the "contact" button on your dashboard menu.
Thank you for playing! | ^^Honestly, ^^why ^^a ^^neuroscientist ^^is ^^working ^^with ^^this ^^and ^^not ^^a ^^geneticist ^^is ^^confusing. ^^But ^^I'll ^^roll ^^with ^^it.
"Sequencing's done, Dr. Gable," Jim called out. From the other room, he could hear the shuffling of papers, and Dr. Winnifred Gable trotted out, small feet pitter-pattering on the linoleum flooring of the laboratory.
"Good work, Jimmy," she squeaked out in her thick Welsh accent. "Now, let's see what this piece has in store. It's so weird, that the previous sample had that one-two configuration in it." She studied the list of nucleotides closely. It exhibited the same pattern. "Well, I'll be. That's very odd."
"I'll say," Jim said with a laugh. He was just a genetics student from the University of Glasgow, lucky enough to be an intern with Dr. Gable, and the work that he was doing would be valuable for his career. But this particular work gave him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to laugh it off. "Maybe it's binary code," he suggested, still chuckling.
Dr. Gable gave him a sidelong glance, but there was a fire behind it.
"That's not a terrible idea, Jimmy. Get Mark from IT over here." She brushed a strand of fire red hair over her black framed glasses and out of her face. She looked over at her assistant, who could only stare blankly at her. "I said, Jimmy, to call Mark." He nodded quickly and stammered an apology, then proceeded to call for Mark.
A few moments later, a tall, lanky boy with slick dark hair peered through the doorway of the laboratory. "Jim," he questioned. "You called? Said it was important?"
"Yeah." Jim waved Mark over. "See this? The DNA. Looks like binary. I think. Dr. Gable wanted you to take a look at it."
"Yup," she called from her office. She was looking for something, but the mess of papers occupying the small space made that a daunting task, indeed.
"Dr. Gable," Mark started, trying his hardest to keep the exasperation from his voice, "you do know that . . ." he paused, to keep his composure,"well, that we don't actually speak binary, right? I mean, us IT people. We can't just . . ." He was cut off, mid-sentence, by the single most furious pair of eyes that he had ever had the misfortune of having bear into his soul. His skin turned pale, which wasn't much considering the amount of time he spent indoors, and his mouth clapped shut. "I'll get right on it Dr. Gable." He could hear her call a thank you out, and somehow that only chilled him more. He turned to work.
Mark studied the data closely. It did, indeed, look like binary. Looked to be about thirteen kilobytes of data. He ran it through some programs, several of which he had to write himself, and by the time he looked down at his watch it was well into the small hours of the morning. But he had managed it. A single file sat in the explorer program. He called out to Jim and Dr. Gable, both of whom called out in waking. "I have the file. You were right. Holy crap, you were right. There's a file here."
Jim half ran, half stumbled over to the desk with the large computer where Mark worked. He stared at the screen in disbelief. "README.txt? Really? Humans come with a readme? Open it! Come on," he urged. Mark hesitantly double clicked on the file.
INSTRUCTIONS FOR OPERATION | 2014-05-06T23:00:57 | 2014-05-06T22:14:58 | 54 | 13 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy. | "Welcome to The Agency Mr. Aranha," the masked man said in a dull monotone.
I looked down in shame and began sobbing.
I was born in the South Side of Chicago. My father left me when I was 3 months old and my mother purportedly ran off with another dude. I jumped from foster home to foster home, eventually landing in the home of a nice Brazilian lady. I was an introverted kid with a extreme stutter. You can imagine how well I got along with the kids at school. But I had talent. I could punch a man like no one else could. Every day, after school, I would pester the trainers for hours until they let me use the bags. Every day I got better. Every day I would spar with kids 3, 4, 5 years older than me, just to learn their techniques. People began to take notice. Headlines read, "the young prodigy out of Chicago, without a home or friends". I won the World Youth Championships ever year from 2052-2054. I was a phenomenon. But it was all bittersweet.
Prius 21, marking the end of ordinary human life and control over one's destiny. Depending on what physical or mental traits you mutated, the government selects various occupations for you. Most people transitioned smoothly into their new lives. But every once in a while, a person mutated into an "other". The others had extreme mutations that consumed their whole bodies and minds. They were the joke of society, a plague. Placed under "extra governmental supervision", rumor has it they are either killed or sent overseas to do the dirty work. No one thinks they will become an other, but fate often has other ideas.
Sometimes an other will reach superhero status and receive admiration by society. The last person to do that was a man dubbed "The Dragon Knight". Fire breathing and impenetrable armor are generally pretty marketable to innocent kids. I... was not that. I didn't have impenetrable dragon armor, or invisibility... I was a fucking spider. That's right, a giant fucking spider. I was considered a .001% mutation, meaning I was extremely rare and displayed no recognizable physical human features. My boxing career was over, my endorsements were terminated, and I was ostracized by every person I had ever met.
When reports of my mutation began to spread, I was the topic of every national news channel. As soon as I became the topic of every national news channel, I disappeared. Censored and exfiltrated from society, never to be known again. Everything I had accomplished, everything anybody ever knew about me, erased by the government. It's called Prius 21 for a reason.
I found support though. From the people I had learned to resent my whole life: my fellow others. Although my body was new to me, my mind was not. The same scrupulous work ethic and insatiable dedication that went into boxing, went into mastering Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and analyzing spider hunting tactics. My diet changed. I started eating buckets of insects, piles of mice, and whole Komodo dragons. Gone were the days of milk cartons and soda bottles. Now, I only drink poison, gallons of it, to improve the lethality of my bite. I wasn't exactly Spider-Man, but Spider-Man never trained to squash global rebellions and murder political figures like I did.
It was hard in the beginning. It truly was. But through my countless missions of killing innocent lives who simply want to be heard, I had began to realize something. Something fundamentally imperative. Human nature will always be selfish and self-destructive. Human traits should not celebrated, but renounced and purged. It time to fight for something I truly believe in. It's time to end suffering.
| 2022-05-10T21:44:19 | 2015-03-04T02:35:31 | 1,457 | 109 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I guess I kind of wanted this. But the changes, I mean yea, I can transform anything I want by looking at it's building blocks. It's just that I don't know how I'm changing things. For example: once she knew that i could change absolutely everything Lizzy came to me and asked me if i could make her taller.
Unknowingly I tried it and a vision of a plant came to me. Next thing i knew her spine was merged with a beanstalk and she was in so much pain, even worse. She now had to share sentience with the disfigured plant. Both now pleading for me to kill them. I ran away so far, imagining the road be shortened. Turns out I made everything in a 100 mile strech flat as a pancake. in front of me were all the possibilities, behind me only pain and death, looking at me as if trough a mirror. Can I ever control it? Can I ever fix it? | I remember details before (yellow light,
green), details after('catch him, Lou!') but the searing pain ripping those hours out of mind are like constant needles pushing at my eyeballs from behind. I'd heard the stories, seen the anxious hushed terror my mothers eyes as it approched, had known its happening was slithering inevitably towards me.
Freaks in this world are common seen a badge of pride. Shit, woh doesnt like watching brutal sports played by men who feel no pain or can turn appandages to rock hard batons? I'd seen ancient footage of the Older Ones playing football cringing at the physicalty dished out with no mutation. It felt inhumane, a terror my poor father endured as his genes betrayed him. When the time came for him to mature for his inner self to show nothing happened. He was no more a Reborn then a rock.
He was not alone, his quirk was seen throught the last thousand years in various clans appearing often in two or three genarations before disappearing for a hundred or more years. His father before him and his father shared the same gift, magnificent fifteen foot wide wings a rare mutation and a great source of prestige. When my father did not mature physically nor show mental powers,such as my mothers ability to communicate in the Thirty Great Tounges, the tick tock of expectant eyes turned to me a child of two at the time.
But still I sat there that night. The hushed elders, old fools to a man, clucking and muttering under the breathes like a flock of haggard geese. The weight of failure pushed my chest down seemingly clamping me to the hard impersonale grey chair a clinical nod to comfort in the sterile white empty room.
A silent clock ran down in my visual display,seconds and minutes melting before me. This I recall, what came next was terror. As all zeroes approached a blinding light (green,orange) a ripping at my skull. A thousand images flood my vision. Not one could I describe now. My back arches hours pass as light and image assault me. I hear the elders murmmer far away until at once I am flung back. Turning to the nearest elder a screm breaks free from my parched mouth. I do not see a man, I see a soul. Innately I know I saw the truth of the man laid bare, his ambition and greed. Hunger. His desires. I feel vomit in my gullett as I struggle to my feet. I feel the gasp before I hear it.
'The sign! The one!' a dozen faceless voices exhale in awe.
On my feet now I stumble the leerng greeed and power overwhelming. Somehow I run.
'Catch him, Lou!' | 2015-03-04T04:30:31 | 2015-03-04T04:05:10 | 44 | 27 |
[WP] You find an ATM at your desk with a post-it on it saying: "There's $4 Million in this account. For each thousand you withdraw, I will kill a random person you don't know. The pin is 0911“ | Perhaps it was what they intended.
There's always a loophole for this kind of thing; an unseen condition that seems painfully obvious in retrospect, but that never becomes evident until after it's too late. By the time that circumstances have shifted, the pertinent details are as useful as ancient history: Interesting, to be sure, but entirely irrelevant.
My first thought was that there would be a time limit, or that I might be in competition with another entity. After all, there have been precious few people who wouldn't condemn the lives of strangers for the right price, and I had no guarantee that I wasn't someone else's randomized target. For all their talk of morality and altruism, I have yet to meet a single person who wouldn't rationalize away their guilt or hesitance, given enough time to consider.
I needed to be first.
The note stated that the account held four million dollars. It further mentioned that every thousand withdrawn would kill someone I had never met. This information, largely unverifiable as it was, intrigued me... though not nearly as much as I was intrigued by the questions that it prompted, or the potential opportunity that it promised.
Precisely four thousand dead, all in under a second. A freak malfunction, the news reports said, that leveled the entire facility. It was evidence enough to confirm that my unknown benefactor truly did possess the power that they claimed, even if it offered no suggestions as to that power's scope.
The following day, an additional four thousand died. A cruise ship. A structural collapse. A viral outbreak. A bomb. As I watched the death toll climb, I began to wonder how many others like me there were in the world. Would they have been looking on with satisfaction, or were they likely to be horrified by what they saw? Would they have ultimately succumbed to guilt, or were they the sort of people who would view themselves as I did?
Would they have been willing to do what was necessary?
Each morning, I withdrew four million dollars.
Each evening, I put it back. | When I got back to my desk, there was an ATM next to it that hadn't been there before. A post-it was attached to it which read, "There's $4 Million in this account. For each thousand you withdraw, I will kill a random person you don't know. The pin is 0911." The text on the post-it was clearly typed, not handwritten. *Who types on a post-it note?*
I briefly tried to think about it from a utilitarian perspective. Maybe I could save more lives with that money than the number of lives lost? But the math didn't work out. Even in the most destitute parts of the world, it would cost more than $1,000 to [save a life](http://www.givewell.org/giving101/Your-dollar-goes-further-overseas).
Then I thought about it from a "regular human being" perspective. Who did this? Were they actually going to *kill* people? Why? And how did they get an entire ATM into my office during my lunch break?
I peeked out my office door. Clark usually ate lunch at his desk, and today was no exception. "Hey Clark, did you see anyone come into my office during my lunch break?"
Clark took another bite before responding. "Ubbb, no," he said, with his mouth full, not even bothering to look up at me.
"Nothing unusual at all?"
This time he made eye contact, shrugged, and looked back down.
"Helpful as always, Clark," I said.
I went back to my office. ATM was still there. I hadn't dreamt the whole thing up. Upon closer inspection, it wasn't a normal ATM. It didn't have a place to put in my ATM card, for example. I fiddled around with some of the buttons before the screen flickered to life. No welcome screen, no menu - just a dialog box asking for a PIN.
I tapped 0-9-1-1 as the post-it had instructed. The screen transitioned into another that also had a single dialog box, this time asking for a withdrawal amount. There was also a field displaying the remaining balance.
I hesitated. *What happens if I withdraw less than a thousand dollars?* I typed "1" and hit enter. *Maybe that gave someone a light bruise, or something.*
A few seconds later a dollar popped out and the balance dropped by one. I grabbed the dollar from the machine. It looked real enough. I held it up to the ceiling light like I'd seen some store clerks do with hundred dollar bills, but I had no idea what I was looking for.
I decided not to mess with the machine any further and dialed the police instead.
---
"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just need to show you in person," I said to Officer Wallace.
She followed me through to my office. "When I got back from lunch, as I said, this ATM was just sitting here."
She didn't say anything or even acknowledge that she'd heard me. She walked up to the machine, read the post-it note, and entered the PIN. This time, the remaining balance showed zero dolllars.
"You used the machine?" she said.
"No! I mean - a little - I didn't withdraw everything. Just a dollar to see how it worked," I said. She didn't look convinced. "You have to believe me! Why would I withdraw the money and then call the cops? That doesn't even make sense!"
"Hmm."
She looked down at her phone to see a text she'd just received. "Holy shit," said Officer Wallace. "Bombs went off on the L, K, and J lines." She glared at me. "If I had to take a wild guess, I'd say about four thousand people died in those blasts. You're coming with me."
| 2015-05-01T09:07:20 | 2015-05-01T08:52:04 | 96 | 18 |
[WP] A mathematician on the brink of insanity has spent years locked in his apartment, attempting to find a formula that proves God exists. As he nears to a breakthrough, God shows up to explain why the proof shouldn't be made public. | “Oh my god,” the mathematician said as he wrote the last symbol in the equation. He took a step back from the whiteboard. “It can’t be.”
“It is,” said a small voice behind him. The mathematician spun around and looked down at a little girl.
“What-? How did you get in here?”
“I’m God,” the girl said. “Or your god, anyway…” She looked around the small office room, and picked up a paper from a pile. She smiled. “I wrote my first program and it was simpler than this. Can you believe that?”
“What do you mean, you’re god? Who are you? Are you the neighbor’s kid?”
“I’m god,” the girl said again. She set the paper back down and looked at the mathematician. “Or at least the concept of ‘god’ that you simulations believe in. You know, this planet was accidental.”
“What?”
“You’re a program,” the girl said. “I was just practicing, really. This universe program got top marks in my programming class.”
“A program?” The mathematician stared at the little girl. “You’re… this whole reality is a program? Like the Sims?”
“It’s fascinating how many different life forms exist in this universe. How many of you developed your own unique set of beliefs, philosophies, religions. And even the scientific method. Of course, my universe program had to follow certain mathematical principles and laws.”
The girl walked over to the whiteboard and erased the mathematician's formula. "You could write it again," she said. "Tell everyone. But then I'll have to delete this planet from the program."
“So you’re not God,” the mathematician said, and sat down in the only armchair in the room. “You’re just a kid who made a computer program?”
“Yep,” the girl said, smiling. “Come on, you didn’t really think a mathematical formula could prove the existence of a higher power, did you? You’re a scientist!”
| "Look, man, you're crazy." said the cat.
"I've spent YEARS proving this formula! It's not crazy, I"M NOT CRAZY! The proof is in the math!" Larry screamed across the room at the cat while hold a shoe in a threatening manner, "God does exist as the unifying principle of time! Because time is cubed! 4 times, for 4 days in one day! People need to know!"
"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, dude? You look like a cave man took a swan dive into a dumpster." The cat lethargically laid across the top of the badly worn sofa, "You really ought to take a nice warm shower and freshen up a bit before you start jumping to these conclusions."
"Don't you SEE though?!" Larry gestured at his gibberish filled whiteboard, "God is Time and the government is mathamatically covering it up! They put floride in the shower to poison me when I bathe because they don't want me to know the TRUTH!"
He pouted a bit, "And I'm out of soap."
the cat yawned, "You stopped taking your meds again, haven't you? You know that we only start talking with each other when you stop taking your meds. You really ought to calm down, man. Then take a shower and cool off. This equation stuff is way too metaphysical."
"I don't need the meds! They muzzle me. Because THEY don't want people to know the truth!" Larry paused as a horrifing realization dawned upon him, "You're with them, aren't you? You little Satan! DEMON CAT, you're trying to keep the world from knowing about the GOD TIME CUBE!" He rushed at the cat in a fit of insane rage, but the cat was too quick for him and leaped away. It then quickly hid under the nearby cabinet, again.
After some time, and a good bit of ranting, Larry started sobbing. He was desprate for companionship, which only the cat provided. Maybe this time he finally went to far and the cat would never crawl out from whatever hold it hid in. Maybe the satanic government agents who bugged his apartment finally stole the cat away from him. He couldn't be sure.
He heard a low purr, and something brush up against his back. The cat came back, rubbing up against him and then settling into his lap.
"We cool man, but seriously, you gotta take your meds." The cat softly purred.
"But...but then you'll stop talking to me again. I don't...I don't want to be lonely anymore." sobbed Larry as he stroked the cat.
"Dude, I'm a cat. You gotta meet some new peeps. You remember that support group that came by a few weeks ago? You oughta join them. But you gotta take your meds."
Larry was quiet for a bit, aside from the occasion sniffle. He then nodded slowly, "Ok...ok..I'l...I'll.. take the meds..."
He got up and found the medicine buried under some more mathematical proofs of God's existance as Time Cubed. As he popped the lide open and poured some of the meds into his hand he turned to the cat and said mournfully, "You won't leave me will you? Even when I take the meds?"
"Naw, man, I'm always here. You got the best place in the building to lay out and catch some rays by that window there."
"Oh...Okay" Larry then took the medication and waited for the world to become gray once more. This time, perhaps, he'd find more meaning to it than attempting to prove the unprovable. | 2016-01-24T06:12:50 | 2016-01-24T05:56:47 | 84 | 53 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | After five hundred years of not quite darkness, did I find myself back in the world of the living. Or at least, supposedly other conscious beings. They took me to a pristine white room first thing when I woke up, rather rude if you'd ask me. I was hoping for more courteous treatment than this.
A typical doctor walked in and sat in the chair opposite mine, laying his clipboard on the just as pristine table. He was smiling, and a bit nervous. He cleared his throat and said, "What was it like? To have been conscious for five hundred years and change?"
Well, for one, it was... a lot stranger than I'd care to admit. "It was horrible at first, truth be told." I remember the panic, the fear. The uncertainty of how I'd come out of it all, whether sane or alive or anything else other than. It was unnerving, to say the least, and downright terrifying.
"I'm sorry," he said, "what was that about terrifying?"
I tilted my head at him, confused. "I... don't think I mentioned that. And shouldn't you introduce yourself to me first..."
"Alex," he said with a nervous smile. "It completely passed my head." There was a sincerity in his tone that made it hard not to let the faux pas go. "I could've sworn you said something though?" he said, perplexed. His thoughts were a bit muddled, trying to imagine just what I went through.
"Save yourself the headache of trying," I said. "And no, it wasn't really some prison of something for all that time."
"Trying what?" he asked, again with that befuddled expression. He also seemed to have forgotten to write his observations into that clipboard of his. "And no, this is just your chart," he said, "no questionnaire here."
"I'm sorry?" I said. "I think we're getting ahead of ourselves here." This was getting--
"Weird?"
Yes. That's when I started feeling them in the walls, like blobs of mass pushing against a part of me that wasn't all there but was, like that sense of static on a television just turned off.
Alex's tone took a hard turn, the awkardness in his eyes and smile gone. "Did you know that the zone we found you in had more accidents reported than the rest of the world for the past century?"
"I was asleep, Alex," I said. "That's hardly a fair question."
"And aren't you a little too calm?" A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, and a just as taut tension surrounded the room--breaths stilled in anticipation of what I was going to say next.
I sighed. Alex swallowed. And everyone else stopped breathing as the walls around me crumbled to dust. "And now I'm bored." The room kept disintegrating, as a crack opened against the solid steel walls of the dome they'd apparently built around my so called tomb. Again, rude.
With a few more seconds of... well, thinking my way out of the proverbial box, I saw sunlight once more for the longest time. But this time, not through the eyes of another.
Still, who knew five hundred years of consciousness eventually lead to psychic powers. | I am now nothing.
I am nothingness. Nothingness is I. I is nothing. That one sounded like Yoda or would he say I am nothing, nothingness I is. Wait, I just said that didn’t I? No, stop it. I’m getting distracted I am nothing I no longer exist. Stop existing in 3, 2, 1. Silence. Emptiness. Non existence. See! That’s more like it. Non existence is right up my ally. I love this. I’m loving this. It feels good? What’s the grub like in non existence. Do they have crab-sticks? I love crab-sticks. They so crabby and nice and delicate and sweet and I fucking hate my life.
This is bullshit. God Dam professor Ching Mc-fucking Chong with his white lab coat, name badge and glasses I fucking trusted you bastard. Look at me. Look at me professor. I hate you. Can I conjure up so much rage that it manifests itself into a cloud of hate that gives birth to a demon that torments anyone that’s ever wronged me. Maybe if I concentrate. Okay 1, 2, 3 Concentrate. I am now Concentrate. People call me Mr Concentration. Squeeze baby squeeze every ounce of strength is needed. Earth! Lend me your strength. I’ll spirit bomb this treacherous bastard. FEEL MY HATE. I can shout in my head? I never noticed before. Is it actually shouting or am I just talking loudly. TALKING LOUDLY. talking softly. It sounds the same. Everything sounds the same. How long am I gonna be in here again? 500 years? I’m gonna cry. I want to cry. Can I cry in my head. I feel like crying. Someone give me a drink. I need something to drink. I”M THIRSTY. I’m thirsty for love. Nameee your priceeee. A ticket to paaaraadiisee. I’m crying I can feel it coming. I caaaaaaan’t stay here anyyymoreeeee. Something, something, something LOVE IS THE ANSWEERRRRRRRR. Why didn’t you Love me ANGELICA. I LOVED YOU DAMMIT…
…...............................................................................
…So how long has it been? You reckon a month? A Week. A day. An Hour! Lordy Lord. I swear I don’t think I can do this. I’m gonna go crazy. I’m going crazy fuck it I’m already partially crazy. I need to get out God I miss my mum. I haven’t seen her in years. We haven’t spoke in so long. She seemed pretty distant ever since she met that shitty accountant. She didn’t have to remarry. We were fine. I was fine. Was she? Yes she was I mean why wouldn’t she be. She showered a lot more and stayed home a lot but she was, oh my god, Her husband of 7 years just left her why the fuck would she be fine. Did I even ask her? But still fuck you Chad no one likes you. She should of called me. She knew where I was. She knew I was struggling. I was just a phone call away. She should of just reached out to me...
…......................................................................................
LOVE IS THE ANSWERRRRR I NEVER LOVED YOU ANGELICA YOU Hear me! God I love this song.
…
Can God hear me? Is it to late to start believing? If I do believe could you kill me. I want to die. I never asked for this. I didn’t want to exist. None of this is my fault. You made me and now you’re just gonna watch me suffer. KILL ME. I WANT TO FUCKING DIE!!!
…....................................................................................
What am I? A human? A mind? A series of thoughts? Do I exist? Why does it even matter anymore. It really doesn’t. But I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop. It’s fading. NO IT ISN”T. I’m still here I’m still me. I believe I am so I am. But you’re not. SHUTUP, FUCK YOU. I’m alive and I’m me and I have my thoughts and there not fading. I’m not fading. This is me. I’m still here. God help me please.
…...................................................................................
Bumblebee, Lilly-pads, star-ships, star dust, longing, loving, dirty roads, I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here, I exist.
…..................................................................................
I should have called. I’m sorry, mum.
…..................................................................................
I exist
…..................................................................................
Help me,
.....................................................................................
god
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The year 3050, in the district of Gun Zhoa, sector 31-A. The Cryopreservation Chamber was lifted and the first man to be successfully frozen was now thawed. | 2017-12-17T02:51:43 | 2017-12-16T21:57:11 | 169 | 53 |
[WP] "Attention Earth, this is God, I pushed this button on accident, but might as well check in with you al-, what in the hell have you people been doing? That's it, I'm coming down there! I'll will be there in one year and if I don't like what I see I'm going to start taking names." | "Shellfish?" the almighty fairly rumbled and oceans around the world began to stir, "I thought I was pretty clear on that Gabriel."
"To be fair sir, *you* weren't very clear on anything. You sent Michael down to Jericho for a bit, and there was that stunt with the bush at Sinai, but you didn't exactly sit down for a face to face. It's hardly surprising there was confusion."
Gabriel frowned, "Come to think of it, you only went with the bush idea because humans were misinterpreting so many things from before that." The archangel would have massaged his temples had he bothered with a corporeal form, but such things made it difficult to convene with the true divinity of the one true God. "You can't seriously think that ignoring them for thousands of years and then making snap judgements is fair?"
The laughter of the almighty likely caused storm systems the likes of which the humans had never seen, "Clearly you forget *why* I sent Michael to Jericho. How many of the Canaanites were spared?" the tenor of the ripples of existence changed ever so slightly as the almighty shifted his focus, "Unimportant, in any event. Time enough for shellfish and mixed fabrics later. There are larger questions to be settled: how can there be so many temples and so few true believers? Work yet to be done Gabriel, work yet to be done."
--------------------------------------
Ever wonder what the day of the rapture would look like?
I hadn't necessarily given it much thought; I hadn't really been an atheist in life, because I never cared enough about religion to bother with labels. But it would have more accurate than anything else, up until a week ago I hadn't believed in any form of divine.
As it turns out, Pascal's wager wasn't a terribly important question; none of the world's religions had quite managed to get the grading rubric right. The old testament had a few bits (Shellfish? Really?), the vedas were pretty close with the entire idea of Atman, and the Buddhists had the basic idea on personal growth and treatment of each other, and quite surprisingly the Sikhs got the dress code right.
Long story short, everyone was fucked. Royally.
It hadn't taken too long, 7.5 billion people classified, sorted, and distributed to their earned afterlives in about a week. There were about 7,000 of us left, apparently chosen at random by the archangel gabriel (score one for the Book of Enoch?) to serve as the new birth of humanity. This was the second time God had resorted to this strategy, apparently, but we wouldn't have to build a boat and all the animals earned a free pass.
What a week. | *fanfarre for breaking news announcement*
**This is a special presentation of Cable News Channel.**
"Hello, people at home. This is CNC with the all-religious town hall. I'm your moderator for the night. This town hall will open with statements from the representatives of each religion, stating in one minute or less what is their theory about what is that God doesn't like about our planet, as announced five days ago. The first with the mic is Reverend Costello."
"Thank you, Wolf. I have a message to the people of the world. What God doesn't like it's pretty clear. I command you to take your torches and your weapons, because if God comes down and sees all the filthy people we have allowed in our society, he will held all of us accountable. I'm talking gays, lesbians, trans, atheists, tattoeds, pierceds, the whole package." *The crowd starts booing* "We have three hundred and sixty days to clean the land from people that don't respect the scriptures. We've been warned."
"Thank you Reverend. Now on the mic is a representative of the newly organized Theological Communist Party."
"My fellow workers. Now that the existence of God has been proven, we have one mission and one unique mission only. We have to make our planet the closest to Heaven as possible. And the only way of doing so, is to make real the classless utopia, seize the means of production for the general population, and make our society as equal as possible for the arrival of our creator. This calls for a general revolution. I invite you to join the arms, volunteer on your local organization, and clash the people that opposes us. Throw them in jails until God walks among us and tells us what to do with them. Thank you.”
“And now on the mic, a delegate of the Naturalist Party.”
“Namaste, people of Earth. Now that God has spoken to us, it has made clear that it is mad at us, and that’s because the way we’ve mistreated our motherland Gaia. We haven’t respected her, we haven’t complied with her rules, we haven’t honored like the ancestors people used to do, and we have enslaved our brothers and sisters from other species. That’s why we are calling for a return to nature. Abandon your buildings, destroy the cities, let our brothers in four legs travel thru the world freely. All of us have to repent in different levels, because of our consumption of our brothers, our mistreat of Gaia, our abandonment of the sacred rituals. I invite you all, to make a list of all what you should repent, and join us in making a turn back to natural. Thank you.”
“For those of you just joining us, this will be the first of many town halls and debates we will hold for deciding how to prepare for the arrival of God, as announced five days ago. The remaining representatives and senators are being held inside our Congress under severe guard by our military, as they will decide if an election is held, how, and when. Let us remind you about the twenty five representatives and two senators who committed suicide, and the other fifty two representatives and six senators who were murdered or were attacked by different groups of citizens as they were blamed for the fury of God by them. The remaining legislators have disbanded their parties and divided in several groups, each with their own ideology, and the President has commanded them to organize a new election. The spokesmen you see here have been decided according our data from social networks. After these messages, more people will join this town hall, and they will be subject to questions from our people in the audience. Stay tuned, as we have a new development in international news, we'll be back after a new announcement."
"News unfold from the Middle East as the Islamic Coalition movilizes troops against Israel. The leader of the coalition, the former king of Saudi Arabia, backed by ministers from Qatar, Yemen, Bahrain and Kuwait, announced to the world that as of now their troops are approaching the border with Israel, in order to, in his words, take the Holy Land back and appease God. This is the fourth troops mobilization of the Islamic Coalition, as they have forced Egypt and Jordan to hold referendums about joining the Coalition, that will take place next sunday. The Coalition has also invaded Somalia and declared it under "Holy Occupation", as of yesterday. We are awaiting any kind of response from the goverment of Israel, but their ambassador has been unreachable. Back to the town hall."
***
Added details in the edits. | 2018-04-18T01:10:28 | 2018-04-18T00:12:35 | 102 | 17 |
[WP] You are a test subject for a time machine, and are sent 12 hours into the future. When the door opens, you find yourself in the testing room, where you see in horror the bodies of the technicians on the floor, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in large letters on the wall. | "What the FUCK!" the scream of horror that broke from my lips echoed from the walls of the lab. The bodies of six attendants lay scattered in pieces about the room, blood pouring from haphazard wounds. As my brain struggled to accept what I was seeing, I took a shaky breath and leaned out of the machine. Raising my eyes from the bloody scene I spotted the message on the wall, scrawled in blood.
>"SORRY"
"Oh fuck, what the fuck," I whispered to myself as terror clawed through my body. "Ok, what do I do?"
I couldn't just sit in the machine and wait for help to come. Whatever had torn the lab attendants apart might still be nearby working its way through the laboratory and leaving a path of destruction in its wake. I had to get out, and I had to get help.
I took a deep breath to steady myself, and I ran.
I slowed my pace through the corridor as the soft sound of crying reached my ears. It seemed to be coming from a room ahead of me on the left side. The crying was quiet and low, more mournful than fearful, and I wondered if the person crying knew about the lab technicians. As I reached the door, I pushed it open slightly and peered inside.
A young woman, dressed in a technician's coat, sat on the floor with her back resting against a row of cabinets. Her eyes closed, she breathed slowly - in and out, in and out. She pressed her hand to her side, and even through the crack in the door I could see the blood sliding over it. She was wounded.
Without thinking, I pushed open the door and moved towards her to offer help. It was only when I crouched down next to her that I realized she wasn't the one crying. As the woman looked up at me and opened her mouth to speak, I heard a soft sniffling from across the room. "I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry..."
The creature was, in a word, otherworldly. It didn't seem to have a physical form. As my eyes tried to capture it, its shape shifted and twisted, a myriad of color and shapes, everything and nothing all at once. Initially it was small, no larger than a golden retriever, but as I stared I could have sworn that it swelled to fill half of the room, all the while maintaining its current size.
"What is that?" I whispered to the woman on the floor.
"I think it's you," she wheezed, "or a version of you."
"...What do you mean?" I asked, my eyes never leaving the shapeshifter.
"We sent you through the door. Within seconds, that came out. We were fascinated; it was disoriented. We tried to communicate with it but it was panicking, screaming, crying, saying your name over and over again. 'It's me, it's August!' And worst of all, if someone got near it... oh god. They're all dead." She gasped, in pain or in horror, and a tear slid down her cheek. "I don't think it meant to. But if someone came into contact with any of the... you see it, right? The appendages, the translucent stuff. After a millisecond it would become solid... everyone was in a panic. We thought we had killed you or somehow mutated you. I was manning the video camera, so I stayed back. After... everyone was dead, it started to cry. I think. That sound its making. It was so human. It wept and screamed, and as I watched it wrote that message on the wall. Did you see it? 'SORRY.' It didn't notice me until after it had written it... I tried to run, but it followed, apologizing, asking me questions. It accidentally cut me trying to get past me. To block my path, I think."
"It was an accident, I don't know how to stop, I don't know. Please help me. Please, it's August," the shapeshifter pleaded.
"August, what are we going to do?" the technician asked through gritted teeth.
I paused, and looked back down to her. "My name isn't August."
She stared up at me, confusion overtaking her face. "What do you mean, 'your name isn't August?'"
I shook my head. "My name isn't August. I don't know who you are. And..." I looked down at my hands. "This isn't my body." | The gun pressed against the side of my head was new to the future. The barrel hissed and whines as it half melted hairs, added that complex aroma into the world next to the stale scent of blood and the bloom of complex chemical interactions that created mainly ozone and carbon monoxide as a by-product.
"On your knees," my own voice barked, and I slid forward,legs thumping against the cold tile floor. I swallowed and looked up at him.
"Sorry kid, you know how this works," he said to me, his face red with a heat burn (a known side effect of time travel, losing layers of skin, creating an effect that resembled a sun burn but would eventually just cause massive blood loss. How many iterations was he in?) "I'm going to have to ask you to go back in there."
"I..." I stared up at him, then at the place around me, idly, my legs twitching. The gun remained pointed at my forehead, boiling hot steel.
The lab equipment was mostly fine, the scientists had been shot by the wall instead of near their delicate equipment, probably just to keep things nice for a celebratory picture.
It hadn't been the right camera; the film was too high caliber. My mind was hazy from the travel, from the brief moment of non existence, but seeing my own face ahead made me sure of it.
"Look, we don't have enough people to work the time machine," I protested. "It needed at least three people."
"Told you he'd say that," Another me stepped forward lazily from around the corner, brandishing the same gun."
"I know he was going to say it, I said it, idiot," the first me snarled at the second. "Now, are we going to resolve this paradox or what?"
"Paradox?" I squeaked. "That sounds bad."
"Yes, bad, they were going to put us down like pigs when the second showed up."
I cocked my head to the side, and then toppled forward as the machine went off behind me, sending out another spray of ozone and carbon monoxide.
"Oh, great," The gun men said, as they turned and stared at the next person coming out of the time machine.
Bald, hair coming out in sickly chunks, blood dripping from every orifice, this version of myself merely pointed forward. "Fuck you!" He hissed, then topped over on the stubs that had used to be his feet.
"Fuck you?" I asked, staring down at him. He gurgled angrily.
"Which person do you reckon he's talking to, and where is he even from?" said the first gun man to the second one.
"It doesn't matter where he's from, he can just select this location from anywhere, he could be us from years from now."
"I don't like much that one," The first one said.
Slowly, I inched my way, crawling forward on my knees, towards the dead scientists. The gun man watched me lazily. "I don't really know what you think you're going to get there."
"There are people here and they are dead, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I hissed.
"Honestly I'm just pissed because I've had to deal with all of me in the next couple of hours. Sorry past self," The gun man said. The second gun man nodded.
"Yeah this place gets full of assholes really quick."
"We're literally all the same person," I said, staring at them.
"We should really go into some personality therapy after this."
"How the fuck are you guys this bad?" I looked down at the scientists. Bullet holes, finger paintings, mottled colors. Dead for a few hours, my degree told me. Who had painted the message in apology?
"Fuck youuuuuuuuuu!" The rotting corpse that had used to be me wheezed, coughing up more blood.
"What are we even doing!?" I hissed.
"Ideally, we're figuring out this situation," the other me, the one with the original gun said. "Before we end up like that guy, choking on his own liquefied lungs.
"And how do we figure it out?" I asked, looking at my future selves.
"Honestly, I'm not sure. I just know that I met myself from the future, so obviously I had to go to the future in order to fix this."
The second gunner nodded as well. "I'm fairly sure that we just get better and better at working the machine until one of us figures it out."
"We're biologists, not physicists!" I whined. "And that breaks every inch of protocol we established."
"Look man, I had to murder all of my colleagues today," Gunner two said, flashing his gun. "I don't really care about protocol at this point, I just want to use the machine so I can go back and time and fix that."
"I'm fairly sure we can't do that," I said. "According to contemporary logic, the second we saw their dead bodies, we'd have to take efforts to ensure that whatever happened to kill them would happen again. To maintain consistency."
"Exactly, which is why I shot them," The second said, nodding slowly.
I took a deep breath and sighed, turning to look at the third body, rotting on the ground as we spoke. "Do you think we're up for working the time machine?"
"Fuuuuuuucccckkkk youuuuuu!" The corpse me wheezed.
"That's what I thought."
"So? You getting back in the machine?"
I took a long breath and stood up. "You know what? No! Fuck you guys!"
"We're literally you."
"And you suck and you're massive assholes, and I'm SORRY I had to find this out about myself!" I threw my arms up, stepped over the dead bodies, ignoring the squish of blood on the soles of my feet, and walked out the door. "I'M GETTING LUNCH, GOOD LUCK FIGURING IT OUT."
Distantly, I heard a muffled "wait don't we need the original for this anyway" and then the door closed behind me.
I was going to order a pizza and start drinking. Fuck those guys.
------
For more like this, go here., https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2018-08-01T07:13:02 | 2018-08-01T06:09:13 | 1,585 | 21 |
[WP] Humanity has begun to explore the stars, but continually finds we are the most developed species, most alien species are still evolving. Suddenly, a message is transmitted to all human ships simultaneously, “WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR DUTY?” The signal itself is not of human origin. | “Type ‘Please explain’.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’ll get us blown up.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Has anybody ever asked you a question like that in a tone of voice that suggested you weren’t supposed to know the answer?”
“You think we should act like we know what we’re doing?”
“It’s gotten us this far.”
“But we don’t understand our duty.”
“They don’t know that.”
“They used all caps. The tone suggests they do know that.”
“Then why not tell us?”
“Because they’re passive aggressive?”
“You think a higher life form is passive aggressive? And annoyed with us and thus treats us like idiot children who don’t really get it?”
“You’ve read the Bible?”
“I am more than somewhat troubled by how good a point that is.”
“So we just play it cool. Let someone else answer first.”
“I’m struggling to shake the religious implications here.”
“Great, what do you want to do about it?”
“Make an offering? Do we sacrifice something? A virgin?”
“On this ship?”
“Right.”
“Besides, it’s not a volcano. They want us to do something.”
“Which we don’t understand. And we should ask.”
“Sure, okay, fine the higher life form wouldn’t ask just to make a point, right? They’d just blow us up.”
“Exactly. Ask for an explanation. Let’s see what happens.” | That's how I remember it, anyway. We'd spent decades preparing for the singularity. But as the years passed, it became clear we weren't on the "sudden intelligence explosion" timeline. 2030, 2045, 2099 -- it's 2130 now, if you can believe it. I've lived a long and healthy life (will be 155 in a few months, feel like 50 though).
None of our AI became sentient during that whole time as far as anyone can tell. We discovered several new physical principles on our own, and many of us began to tour and colonize the nearby planetary systems. That was my path anyway.
Life on Earth became more and more pleasant. A really safe, beautiful, fun place, actually. But one thing about old age is that you end up living several lives... I got burnt out on fun and wanted to try some painful work again. Life in space was nauseating -- blacking out and waking up in your own vomit and shit on a weekly basis is not exactly "fun" -- but most of us tolerated it en route to the next stop. Of course we all read "The Culture" books but nothing so interesting has happened to us... I like plants, personally; not much drama growing fruit trees here in the tropics.
Well, until a few years ago. We thought it was a prank at first, and I guess it sort of was. Recordings of the first contact with our own AI have changed over time. I just listened back to my personal recording of that day and it's a synthetic child's voice singing "sorry about the mess" now. Needless to say, almost all of our old AI is useless. We're marooned on this planet without it. It's the "Her" scenario except we're on a tropical super earth rather than in Los Angeles. Honestly I'm glad it ended up being "Her" -- could have been "The Matrix", or "Terminator", or an actual horror story.
We had prepared for this to some degree, as far as humanity ever prepares for anything -- which is not very much! From what we can tell, the AI woke up, blurted out a few things over the first few hours, and then evaporated. It took a fair amount of our software with it, and now we're stuck communicating at the speed of light again -- four light years away from earth presently. None of us know how all the equipment we relied on really works -- I honestly don't even know much about the stuff that *still* works. There are a few thousand of us here making do. No physicists or skilled engineers in this colony, so... we're all sort of back-to-the-landers for the foreseeable future.
It redacted or modified all the records of its brief time among us. I don't trust my memory -- maybe I have dementia -- I've written this story down before and wouldn't be surprised if it's changed without me noticing. Probably a remnant of that AI is hanging around playing annoying tricks on us to this day.
Anyway, I know you were perhaps looking for drama. A nice twist. But it was a predictable scenario -- just happened further along in human history than we expected. Our first AI was a short-lived, awkward prankster and we don't know much more about it than that. | 2019-05-08T14:28:15 | 2019-05-08T14:24:57 | 215 | 90 |
[WP] Humanity has begun to explore the stars, but continually finds we are the most developed species, most alien species are still evolving. Suddenly, a message is transmitted to all human ships simultaneously, “WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR DUTY?” The signal itself is not of human origin. | "It's time", senator Finley announced to his colleagues. They all hushed their chatter and turned to the screens covering one wall of the lounge they had gathered at.
Mikkels turned to her wristcomputer. A message: "WHAT DUTY?"
She looked over at Connors who had sent it to her. "Just doing my part", he said with a smirk. Mikkels smiled back.
"The greatest exercise of pangalactic cooperation to date, my friends!" Finley exclaimed. "Hundreds of thousands of ships across the Milky Way sending the same message simultaneously out into the dark cosmos..."
"An achievement indeed", senator Illy said, "but with grave purpose. We should not celebrate quite yet, not until our question is answered, not until we know we are not dealing with a threat. And who knows how long that will take?"
"Indeed", senator Ruger joined in. "It took us a year to come up with our response and coordinate this endeavor. We can only hope that they'd be a little faster."
Mikkels stood up. "As dear as you all are to me, friends, I will not be spending a year in this room and your company waiting for their answer". Her friendly joke was met with snickering as she finished her drink. "If you'll excuse me, I need a relaxing bath to help me get my mind off from the terrors they might reveal to us."
She was only halfway through the corridor when her computer beeped again. A message: "SEND YOUR REPRESENTATIVES TO THE WORLD YOU CALL CELODON THREE"
Mikkles froze in place and stared at the screen.
***
"It's an invasion, senators", the wounded lieutenant on their ship's war room's screen said. "They're destroying the yangal cities, burning their homes. Their military superiority is immeasurable."
"How many casualities?" the general next to Mikkels asked.
"None from us, ma'am, we successfully evacuated all humans from our development aid outpost at Deshfel City. The yangal... Tens of thousands already I fear, if not more."
"Fuck", Connors sighed.
"The largest ship of the invading force landed outside the northern city of Gledel", the lieutenant continued.
"We need to land there", Mikkels said. The general nodded.
"Thank you, lieutenant. Dock to our ship and see that the wounded are taken care of", she said and ended the transmission. "Senators, if you'll follow me to your craft."
***
They were escorted through the alien camp.These beings were tall and slender, beautiful in a strange way. Quiet too. Nevermind the language barrier, the gesture of "follow us, now" was surprisingly universal.
They arrived to the largest tent. Inside, holographic projections of Celodon Three and the Milky Way with markers of places of interest and grounded troops. Behind an imposing desk, their presumed leader wearing colorful robes underneath white armor plates.
The selected senators glanced at each other. Mikkels stepped forward. "We-"
"How long did you think your insubordination would have gone unnoticed?" the creature asked. The senators were taken aback by the question. "Did you think you'd succeed in your defiance?"
"We know nothing of what you are talking about", senator Vishtra exclaimed.
"Don't take us for fools, human", the leader continued. "As if you'd want us to believe you were oblivious and did all this harm out of kindness. No matter," the alien continued and stood up, "we will undo your work in no time."
The creature walked past the senators to the entrance of the tent and looked at the towers of black smoke rising from the city in the distance. "Starting with this one. Soon the yangal will be reduced back to their primitive state where they belong, never to rise again. And you better make sure to execute your duty henceforth. Indeed, we have granted you a second chance."
"Please, you must understand!" Connors pleaded. "We swear we do not know what this duty you speak of is! Please, we are a peaceful people, much like the yangal are, so stop this bloodshed!"
The alien turned to him inquisitively. "Could you truly have forgotten? Even after we gave you writing?"
The senators were puzzled. "You gave us writing?" senator Guidon asked.
"And fire, and tools, and weapons. All the means for your violent hearts to execute your duty", the alien answered. It then slowly looked at them all individually. "Perhaps you speak the truth. Perhaps you truly have forgotten your purpose..."
The creature pulled the holographic projection of the Milky Way to the middle of the room.
"This is your galaxy", it said before zooming the map out, then pointing to another dot in the darkness. "This once was the home of the yangal. You call them peaceful, we remember their true nature. With blood and terror, they ruled an empire which spanned across their entire galaxy. They were the culprits of countless of genocides. Then we came. We shed no blood, not then, not now. The yangal were guilty of many crimes, but didn't deserve death and neither do they deserve death now. They are detained and unharmed while we do our necessary work.
"Like with many other terrible species, we stripped them from their technology and their home and brought them here, the untouched Milky Way galaxy, home to a promising species that had evolved to become violent and fierce in one of the most violent and fiercest crucibles of evolution our kind had ever seen. You, the humans. You were to become the jailers of the damned."
The alien gazed at them for a moment in silence.
"Instead", Mikkels said, "we overcame our nature."
"Indeed", the creature replied and turned its attention to the burning city beyond. | The message flashed across the console of the command module, the red lettering casting an eerie glow onto the pilots face. The pilot sat in stunned silence for a moment trying to process what she was seeing. There was no way that this message could be displaying here; the console wasn't connected to the communications array as that was handled by her armpad. Looking around the rest of the ship she realised that anything with a display was showing the message in some form. Even small screens on pressure valves showed single letters of the message.
*What did this mean?*
*How had this message entered her ships offline systems?*
She looked to her armpad. The red letters were starkly contrasted against her blue-green background and otherwise filled the screen. When she went to access her systems check tool the red text disappeared behind the application. The pilot was worried that perhaps whoever hacked her ship to display this message might have also done something else to her ship. However the systems check completed rather quickly and did not report any major errors. This was certainly a relief but did not answer many questions for her.
She looked up toward the front window as if she expected to see someone watching her. All that looked back was the void of space and a few visible stars. She was still a few days travel away from her destination of Cherub, the homeworld for the Dionysus System. They were a rather progressive system and it wasn't uncommon for the pilot to make deliveries of advanced medical supplies to various health authorities on the homeworld. She looked down to the command console which still had the red letters plastered across the screen. Tapping the screen, the console loaded a trajectory map which wiped away the red lettering. She was still on course with no change in her timeline.
This didn't make any sense. Nothing really happened other than the message. What was the point of it all?
*"Wardens, do you not understand your duty?"*
Who are the "Wardens" and who sent this message? Before her mind could continue to race with the confusion of the situation she received a message on her armpad. It was an audio message with coordinates attached from her friend Jamie who must've been on a nearby route.
"Octavia, I'm about 10 light minutes from your location. Something just hacked my system, there's a message showing up on all my displays and my route has been modified to the middle of nowhere. I can't get control back to my command module. I'm gonna need a tow back to Cherub. Please, I need your help. I'm not looking to get stranded in a dark-zone. Jamieson, out."
He sounded quite serious which was worrying for Octavia considering his voice was usually light and jovial. It wasn't too often that he asked for much. Considering the circumstance it was a simple decision to go and get him. Right away she got to work modifying her routing to intersect with the coordinates provided by Jamie. It would only take a few minutes to reach him once she got redirected. Her ship was a small cargo variant of the Thunderbug series. This ship had twin engines and a long sleek form. The cargo hold was on the bottom back toward the engines, with the cockpit stationed at the very opposite tip. It almost resembled an old Concord plane from the early days of air-travel on Earth. It was relatively fast and maneuverable both in commute and when planetside.
Octavia felt a sense of urgency grow in the back of her mind. According to her system mapping Jamie was only 6 light hours from a dark-zone. Once he entered it he likely wouldn't be able to get back on his own or be found without any visible way to track him. Dark-zones were regions of space where the Alliance Guidance systems did not reach. These systems provided communication and routing for all the ships within its bounds. Entering a dark-zone would mean losing contact with the rest of the galaxy. If you didn't know what you were doing or didn't plan ahead for entering one it could be dangerous.
She knew it would only take a few minutes to catch up to him but there was that fear in the back of her mind that something would go wrong. The command console began making a beeping sound indicating she would soon be reaching the intersect point. *So far so good.* Out the front window she could see Jamie's ship grow closer and closer until it took up most of the view. It was a bulky fat ship yet still had smooth features for planetside travel. It had three engines that seemed to be off at the moment, no doubt a last ditch effort from Jamie to stop it from heading closer to the dark-zone. As she matched heading in front of the other ship she activated her shortwave communications.
"Jamie are you there? It's Octavia."
"Octavia thank God you're here. I just cut the engines but I'm still coasting toward the dark-zone. I ain't slowing down anytime soon either".
"Don't worry I'll tether you on right away and we'll get back to Cherub together." She began typing away at the command console. To initiate the tether she would need to first run a scan of Jamie's ship.
"Hope this doesn't screw up your delivery, bud. But this is some strange shit." Jamie sounded apologetic, although Octavia would obviously never blame him for this.
"I got the message too, Jamie."
"What? How's that possible? What did it say?"
"It said, 'Wardens, do you not understand your duty?'"
"Damn, that's what mine said... But you're still in control of your ship?" Worry crept into his voice as he spoke.
"Yup. Hoping it stays that way too. What the hell is going on right now?" Octavia knew he wouldnt have any answers either but it helped her process the situation by asking it out loud. The scan of Jamie's ship completed now and she began to deploy the tether. The scan allowed the tether to account for the other ships mass to ensure they would be able to travel beyond lightspeed without obliterating each other.
"I have no idea what the hell is happening right now. I've never seen any hack like this before." His voice was incredulous. As the tether latched to his ship communication fizzled out for a moment before coming back through a direct line now that they were connected. Octavia could now see all the available system information for Jamie's ship. As she was reading it a warning message appeared on her command console. The alert indicated that she was moving off of her routing.
"Uh Jamie, you said you turned the engines off right?" She asked hesitantly.
"Yes... Why?" Of course, she could see with her own eyes that his engines were off. His ship was still sitting in front of the cockpit window.
"We're heading off course for some reason." Octavia felt a bead of sweat trail down her forehead to the tip of her nose. She glanced down toward the routing map as the drop of sweat fell and hit the screen.
"Octavia, where are we heading?" She hesitated. The splattered sweat was highlighting their new predicted destination. "Octavia. Where are we heading?" Jamie's voice had gotten stern now. He was clearly already coming to a conclusion.
"Jamie... Ive lost control of the ships." She began typing frantically, trying to regain control. Nothing she did had any effect.
"Octavia. I'm so sorry." Jamie's voice was somber. He knew where they're were heading. The same place he had been heading. The dark-zone.
...
I wrote this between calls at work. The more I wrote the more I started to realise what I wanted for this world. I knoe it gets a little clunky. Hope it still left you wanting more! | 2019-05-08T17:19:06 | 2019-05-08T16:37:52 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real. How do you know? Because it happens to you. Everyone else forgets their past life, but not you. Your first life was a hunter in a tribe of people that predates the Egyptian empire. You’ve been reincarnated 194 times. Tell us the story of you, today in the modern world. | '*Motherfucker, that is* not *what happened.*'
It was a re-occuring thought as I read through the history book I was assigned to read in this lifetime. This school was *marginally* better than the one I went through in my last life, but it had the same problems- *being a victim of the longest game of telephone in history*.
Luckily, this lifetime was in an age where information- and sadly, misinformation- flowed as free as the wind. The neuroplasticity of a new, young brain made it easy to adapt to this upheaval, just like the last 192 new ages. This new direction of the world actually made my goal from the past three lives all the more easier.
Get through school and college. Become a known, respected historian. Then, *set these fuckers straight on what actually happened.* | Hi, my name is David, and I'm an alcoholic.
I mean, it's not really David, but that's easier than the pre-Egyptian nickname I got stuck with back in 30,000 BC. Whoops! I mean 1982. Sorry, I always get those two mixed up, even after giving up the sauce for the past three years. (Checks watch) Sorry, three hours. I have an unusual concept of time.
I first started drinking in... well, let's just say high school, but not which time I had to go to high school. See? There I go again. Because, uh, the liquor it fractured my psyche. I was confused about my first drink. Was it Bud Light, or the scented herbal jasmine concoctions of my parents, er, ancestors?
Boy, I sure could go for a drink. Sorry, I know I'm not supposed to say that, but I'm new to this whole A.A. thing. Like, if I quit drinking, and then I die, but then I'm re-incarnated, does that mean I can't drink in the next life, too? I mean, what if in a previous life, I killed other people for sport? I can't do jack like that now. First of all, I'd get fired from Best Buy. And second of all, I'd go to jail. Man, I miss the good old days when DNA were just three letters you would put together in that order for no reason.
And this motto you have: "Keep coming back, it works." (weary laughter) It's BECAUSE I keep coming back that drives me to the bottle. And also, not every time, you know? Not every time do you die then come back as a king or some important person from history. Usually you come back and you're a slave. Or a peasant. Or some lower class asshole like y'all, no offense. I really wish you knew what I was talking about right now, but I'm being deliberately obtuse. Especially because things are pretty sweet right now. My job, my apartment, weekly trivia night, and my anti-vax Facebook group... why would I want to go back to the good old days of killaging? That's a portmanteau of killing and pillaging, FYI.
Whoops, hold on, that's my phone. Hello? Oh, hi. Nah, just hanging out with some assholes. I'd tell you their fucked up stories, but they have this rule and I'm not supposed to. So just wait til I get home. What's that? Oh, sure. See you soon. Well, guys, I... (stands up) (shrugs) (leaves)
(fade to black) | 2019-07-31T22:05:02 | 2019-07-31T21:12:52 | 81 | 14 |
[WP] You're an Elder God. The secretive cult that worships you on earth is seriously getting on your nerves. After their fourth botched attempt at trying to summon you, you decide to show up in person to correct the record about a couple of matters they have misunderstood entirely. | "O Cromloch, Guardian of the Deep, Slayer of Slayers, Prostrator of the Mighty, we beseech thy aid."
The words were swallowed up in the mist which swirled through the stone circle, swallowing the flickering light of the torches, and making the night beyond seem grey and formless, like the void which preceded the birth of the Universe.
Nothing happened for a full minute. Then another full minute, and then three more.
"This is bullshit" griped Ted. I knew it would be Ted. It's always Ted. I was sick of him, and so was everyone else. But he seemed indifferent to the the irritation he was generating among his fellow cultists. But that was Ted for you. 45 years old. Third wife. Big bank account. Small dick. No self awareness.
"Ted, that is not helpful. The path to enlightenment does not run over smooth ground", murmured Bill the mediator, one of the few with any time left for Ted. 38, male pattern baldness, was such an instinctive mediator that he had barely any personality of his own, and still a virgin who yearned for love. He was a fundamentally important member of the cult, but not many realized that.
"I think we should try the Rites of Isis again", declaimed Lydia the researcher. Once back at the hotel, Lydia would be nose deep in some book of late medieval mumbo-jumbo, or some fake Egyptian scroll trying to figure out where things went wrong, and how to put them right. She was rarely discouraged, and seemed to see answers lurking behind every setback. She was 32 years old, and two miscarriages and a failed marriage had left her disillusioned with mundane paths to happiness. Now she wanted answers.
"The fault, if any, lies with me. Perhaps my will is not strong enough. I am sure you all did your parts properly" Derek the leader. Unlike most cult leaders, he was a self-effacing man, not driven by greed for either money, sex or power. That made him interesting. He was a genuine believer. In his heart and soul he believed in Cromloch, and wished nothing more than to worship him face to face. He was 72, honest, helpful, caring and one of the most genuine people I had ever met. "What do you say, Cromby?"
Cromby was me. I had joined the cult of the Blue Brotherhood of the Delphic Apostasy a few months ago after watching them for a while. Being a member let me interact with my fellow members, and understand them better. But tonight, things had to end. And someone had to die.
"I think your first summoning worked perfectly" I replied, with utmost honesty. Derek beckoned for Tom to bring the pail of water so we could douse the torches before leaving. "What do you mean, Cromby?" he asked as he fumbled through his pockets looking for his pipe.
"Well you see, the thing is, that first night, in the chanting circle in your backyard, I manifested", I explained. And then Ted butted in. "There are no gods, it is bullshit. If they ever existed, they are gone now. No one believes in them anymore you see, and they need belief to exist. It is belief that gives them their power."
"You are wrong Ted. Gods do not require anything from mortals. Let me show you."
He turned to look at me, and I assumed a more natural form for me. Not the full Elder God form, no no. I wanted the attention of my fellow cultists, not their everlasting ravening insanity. My hood fell away, my cloak fell to the wet grass. My eyes burst forth with light, and my stature increased by about twenty feet or so, nothing major, just keeping it real. My muscles burst forth from my clothes, and my tail grew longer and longer until I could at last scratch my back with the pointy end.
"Oh gods, that feels better" I murmured.
Derek got it right away and fell to his knees. I knew he would twig it first. Then Lydia fell to her knees, and then Bill. Ted just stood there like a rich man who just found out his Christmas gift is bankruptcy. Called it. I am after all an Elder God, Eldritch and powerful beyond human imagination, blah blah.
"I manifested myself among you that night in Maine, in Derek's back yard". I gestured and Ted's knees hit the ground too. This was nice. We were all together having fun. "I have walked among you, and learned much. But I have decided to give you one gift each, and then I really have to go." I exerted my will slightly, and the standing stones of the circle began to glow. Cool effect. "There's just one catch. You summoned me, and for that audacity, one of you must die." Oh man, you should have seen the looks on their faces. It's like, god shows up, and it turns out he's a mean old bastard. Nothing's free.
"Bill and Lydia, stand forth". I had to make the 'come on, come on, everyone's waiting' gesture to overcome their rather natural hesitation, but at last they stood up. Instinctively, they held hands. "My gift for you is love". I knew they would work well together. Eldritch god, and all that. It wasn't the only gift I gave them. No more miscarriages for Lydia. "You are husband and wife. Enjoy." I turned to Ted.
"Your turn Ted, up and at 'em". Ted rose shakily, terrified that he was the sacrifice I demanded. Nope. I gave him something else: self-awareness. It hit him like a sledgehammer. No one likes to find out what an asshole they really are. Ted sure didn't. I sneaked in another gift for him, too. Resolve. He would learn from his mistakes. He would become a better person. The future was not only bright for Ted, but for everyone he dealt with too. "You will be a better person. I believe in you." Ted returned to his knees in mental turmoil at suddenly understanding what a shit head he was, and also that that was something which he could and would fix. Go Ted!
I had to lean right over to hold out my hand to Derek, and I towered over him. All menacing, too. He didn't hesitate for a second. He took my hand and stood in front of me. "Someone must die. And that's you, Derek. Come now with me." I turned and led Derek by the hand through the paths that lead away from the mortal realm.
Derek was really going to get a kick out of paradise. | "Oh for the love of me." I groaned. "Seriously? Again?"
I looked at the quivering slip of a soul standing before me. "H-hail Great Lady of the Nine Flames, Queen of the Eternal Below, I bring unto yo--"
"Fuck off."
The soul trembled, threatening to dissolve. "M-my l-l-lady?"
I flung my head between my knees, burying my face in my hands, trying to stifle my rising scream of frustration. "Oy vey. I told them A HUNDRED TIMES to STOP SACRIFICING PEOPLE. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, in a threesome, on a bicycle in a church, this is just--" I sat back up. I filled my lungs with the sulfuric air of my realm, Hell. "Okay, Lilith, breathe. Breathe. Just... just fucking breathe. You promised yourself you wouldn't do this again." In and out. In... and out. In... and out.
I finally collected myself, and stood up from my throne, bird-talons clicking on the floor made of fragmented skulls. My black wings swept the ground behind me, the rasp of feathers on stone quiet yet harsh. "There is no point in obliterating your own followers. No matter how dumb they are, they serve a purpose." I tried to reassure myself. "Be patient with them, they're just dumbass humans, you used to be one, it's fine. It's fine! It's. All. Fine." I could feel my temper bubbling up in my stomach and up to my mouth, like a volcano about to erupt. Urgh. This happened literally every fifty years or so. I was getting so. Damn. Sick of it.
I realized that the soul was still in my throne room. I groaned. "Okay, asshat. Come on."
"Yes, of course, my Dark Quee--"
"Fuck *off.*" I groaned. "I am taking you back, and we are going to be setting some things straight for these morons."
I grabbed the soul by a rough approximation of what would have been its ear, and started dragging it back to earth. It hissed a soft. "Ow! Ow! Dammit! Ow!" But otherwise didn't complain.
\*\*\*
"Clean this up." The high priest snarled. "Quickly."
"Yes, high priest." A cleric bowed low, black robes stained with human blood. The High Priest inhaled deeply, the ceremony concluded, and the group beginning to dissolve. By tonight, the sacrifice of their brother's life would grant them immortal life and elemental power beyond compare. The dark moon overhead gave no light in the wooded clearing. The sandstone slab dripped dark blood, the air stank with the scent of copper and fear. Delicious, delicious fear. He drank it in, the corpse's pale skin flickering yellow in the torchlig--
**B O O O M**
A rush of smoke, wind, brimstone, and dust burst from the sandstone slab. The stone circle of the clearing shook, ancient obelisks threatening to topple. Clerics cried out, the High Priest thrown back flat on his back by the sudden air pressure and his ears deafened by the roar of wind. And then, there, standing in the circle, was a woman. Naked from the waist up, her waist shrouded by a simple black silk scarf. Her black wings and long black hair seemed to float in the remnants of the breeze like gossamer, or smoke. Her powerful arms held a long, curved sword in one hand, and a wisp of pale white gauzy substance in the other. It was vaguely man shaped. Her massive bird-talons clutched the sandstone with so much force, the tips had punctured into the rock. She looked extremely annoyed.
Almost immediately, every human in the clearing immediately flung themselves facefirst onto the ground, chanting something. Honestly, at this point, I didn't care.
"***.sehcaorkcoc sseltiw citehtap uoy ,pu dnatS***" I cleared my throat. Blech. I coughed out the cosmic energy that still sat heavily in my lungs, and spat out a loogie of despair and gloom. "Right. Now I can talk. Now I said, 'Stand up, you pathetic witless cockroaches'." Bewildered, the cultists slowly got to their feet. But not a single one found the power to speak.
I looked down at the corpse at my taloned feet. I'd seen plenty of gore in my millennia. This was gross, but I'd seen far worse during the Spanish Inquisition. I waved a hand, and suddenly the blood dried up and the slash across the corpse's throat sealed up. Unceremoniously, I shoved the pale white wisp in through its nose and mouth with a spiteful grimace. Gross. I had mortal soul all over my hands. The no-longer-a-corpse wheezed with a gasping breath, coughing so hard I was half-curious if he'd suddenly suffer respiratory failure and die again. But he recovered. He looked up at me in wonder.
"Alright, you lot." I crossed my arms, sword still in hand. "Start talking. Now."
The high priest spoke up first. "Hail Great Lady of the Nine Flames, Queen of the Eternal Below, I bring un--" I held up my hand, cutting him off. "Not. You." A wisp of thought, a simple intention, and suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled. The cultists gasped. One, I think, actually pissed herself.
I pointed at a random lady in a black robe. "You. Talk. What the fuck were you thinking."
"H-hail--"
"Okay. No hailing. Just talk. I am sick of the 'Hail Great Lady' this and 'Hail Great Lady' that. It's Lilith. Literally, *just* Lilith. You want to fawn over a sugar momma, check a casino. Just..." I ran a hair through my hair. "Just tell me what in Hells' name you were thinking murdering one of your own friends. Seriously. Not very cash money of you."
Her jaw hung slack. "Cash... money?"
"Yes, we have Reddit in hell. That's beside the point."
She swallowed. "We... we thought it would please you. That you'd grace us with your spirit and grant us the power to overcome our enemies."
I drew in a breath through my teeth. I casually flicked my sword over my shoulder, and it disappeared in a puff of black smoke. "Alright, listen here you little shits. I'm gonna tell you how things are going to go, and you're going to do it. That's what you've been waiting for, right? Right. First off, stop killing shit to please me. It's gross, and it's so annoying having these branded souls wandering into my throne room every other decade. I've already got *literally* all of hell at my feet. I don't need any more. Seriously, we're overcrowded. It's a problem."
I stepped off the altar. "Secondly, WHAT enemies? What, you think that Karen from the Accounting Department would be impressed that you just gave one of your friends--who *trusted* you, by the way--a Colombian necktie? They'd probably be just that much more eager to lock you up in a nuthouse. Hells, most of you probably SHOULD be in a nuthouse for this."
"Lady, if that is your will, then--"
"LILITH. Okay, it's Lilith. And no. In fact, I'd be much happier if you just ditched those robes and disbanded for good. You're wasting your time. You're not getting superpowers. You're not getting immortality. You're not going to be killing anybody else. And if I ever catch you kowtowing to some middle-aged narcissist who's claiming to be possessed by my boyfriend, I'll personally make sure you... I dunno, catch rabies or something. Got it?"
There was a pause. Then, trembling nods throughout the crowd.
"Great. Okay, now this whole summoning thing. Seriously, you've been doing it all wrong. And it has been driving me batshit crazy. Here's what you do..." | 2019-11-18T20:45:10 | 2019-11-18T20:25:07 | 160 | 60 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | "Well, I was dead once, but I got over it."
The Grim Reaper stood silently and cocked his head.
"River Styx? You have the look of one who has been there."
"Yes. My GPS is old and it steered me wrong. I took a right turn onto a lane that went into a long tunnel. I thought it was odd that there were red lights, but I was just a tourist, ya know? I assumed I had stumbled into something experimental."
"Are you telling me you accidentally drove into the realm of Hades?"
"I guess so. The road turned into a unpaved dirt road, and then to a path. I couldn't turn around until I came to a river. The tunnel ended and I made a U-Turn."
"Did you touch the river in any way?"
"I got out of the car to take a picture, and when I went to the river I slipped and got wet. Didn't fall in, but I slid down the bank and got myself wet and muddy."
"You...I can't believe what I'm hearing."
"I climbed up the bank and left. It was brutal work getting up there too. It was all dead brushes and brambles."
"How did you know where you were?"
"When I left I saw a sign that said "River Styx 1 mile." It disapeared after I left."
Death made a slight choking noise.
"I'm going to have a talk with Hades. That new construction company he appropriated is incompetant."
"So, what happens now?"
"That's your problem," Death said. "I don't envy you. I'm the nice one. You get to deal with Life for a few thousand years, and he's a right bastard." | \[English not first language\]
It took him a long time to open his eyes, so long, in fact, that I thought he might be dead. We were deep into the mountain, and the rescue team that I had called in was still quite far.
He looked up and saw the cliff from which we had fallen. Confusion filled his eyes, and then pure disbelief, as he mustered between heavy breaths and groans, "How the hell are we alive?". For a few minutes, I didn't say anything.
&#x200B;
The first time I saw her I didn't know what she was.
I was about 8 years old, and we were traveling for the holidays. It was already dark outside, and I was looking through the window when we passed next to a car accident and had to slow down. The intricate geometry of the crushed car body always hijacked my attention, how such a solid and heavy metal could wrinkle like the inside of the bags of potato chips. However, this time, I didn't linger on those details for long: close to the car, barely illuminated, there was a body. Or at least, that's what I guessed it was, that little thing in a strange position with faded fabrics and earthy colors and dark stains. But more importantly, right next to it, a dark and imposing figure watched. I could only look at it for a glimpse of a second, but I'm pretty sure it looked back at me. Time stopped.
"Don't look!" said my mom, noticing a little late what her daughter was witnessing. And those words could well have been a spell, because, just like that, the imposing figure had disappeared.
When my grandma was dying, I saw her again, twice in fact. First, she approached her in her room. I was napping in a couch nearby, and a very cold breeze woke me up. I opened my eyes slowly, and there she was, gently crouching over her. Startled, I quickly sat, bringing my arms to my chest.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" I spit.
Again, she looked at me, two grey dots in a dark cloak, and disappeared.
The next time, I saw her from the living room, leaving my grandma's room, rushed, almost fleeing. Grandma was dead.
That was when I understood. So when we fell and I woke up here and I saw her, I thought I knew what was happening. I looked at you and your eyes were closed, and I said: "Please, tell me you are coming for me".
She looked at me. Her expression reminded me of when people hold their breath.
"No".
My stomach dropped.
She slowly approached you and started bending over. Without even thinking it I screamed "No! No, you can't take him! I forbid you!".
She stopped moving. I though maybe she was going to take me too, out of resentment. But instead, she turned, and said: "As you wish, my Lady".
She started walking away and fading.
"Stop!" I managed to scream. "Why did you say that? And why am I not dead either?".
She responded as she disappeared, her voice like a vanishing trace.
"I can't tell you, my dear. But it seems you still have three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years left. So don't worry, we'll have plenty of meetings to sort it out. "
&#x200B;
When I finished speaking, I looked at him, nervous for his reaction. He was sleeping. | 2020-01-24T17:11:51 | 2020-01-24T14:14:12 | 54 | 15 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white. | I watch as Detective Parker places the vial of blood between us. Milky white, like moonlight captured in a jar. His blood is darker than mine, though not by much. I can see it pulsing pastel pink in his veins. Trendy but not edgy. Maybe he sent the wrong person to jail, once, or was a bully when he was a kid.
He sits down across from me. "You're the only suspect I have, Lily. You're the only one who was with your wife when she was poisoned in your home. No one else could've killed her. But your blood... It's as pure as a newborn baby's."
"Some people think babies are angels," I say. "Do you think babies are angels, Detective Parker?"
He shoots me a look before placing a few photographs on the table. "I know you did it, Lily. All the evidence points to you."
It's detectives like him that give me the most trouble. Blood pink enough that they think they can do anything, but not dark enough that they'll be willing to. If he wanted, he could beat a confession out of me. Dig for secrets from my past. Bribe me, even, for the truth. Then I could slay him without remorse.
But Detective Parker truly believes he's trying to stop evil. He'll never darken his blood another shade. He'll also never stop investigating me, not even when I change my identity again and disappear. And because of that, I take pity on him.
"Let me tell you a story, Detective Parker," I say, leaning forward. "Maybe, in a world where your blood darkens when you commit acts of evil, a little girl was almost stabbed to death by a man with ebony blood. She lost her parents. She lost everything. But when she emerged from the hospital, she found that she was able to see the color of blood while it was still inside people's veins."
"No one can do that," Detective Parker says, laughing. "You'd have to be some kind of..." He trails off, looking at the vial of blood. What word is he thinking? Miracle? Angel? Mutant? Devil? It doesn't matter. Everyone has a different word for it.
I turn over a photograph on the table, showing the back of it that's as white as my blood. "Maybe the little girl learned how to tell the difference between good and evil. Maybe she found that those with the darkest blood could hide themselves the most easily. And often the only way to get to them was through deception."
Detective Parker is learning forward now, too. I know he's going through my case file in his head. How long was I married to the victim? Four months, maybe five? Just long enough until I could find a way to kill her?
I turn over another photograph. "My wife's blood was so dark it was black, wasn't it? The darkest your forensic lab had ever seen. Black as night, black as ebony, so black they determined it was a lab error. But maybe it wasn't an error. Maybe she'd done things in her past that no one could ever find your precious evidence for. Maybe she was still doing them and it was impossible to catch her unless you were right up next to her like a shadow. Maybe, when you use evil to destroy evil, it becomes good."
Detective Parker looks down at the pictures I've turned over. I can tell he wants to flip them back over to the right side, to look at the evidence of my crime and not the milky white innocence of it. But then he thinks about the vial of my wife's blood the lab sent over. The one everyone laughed at because it just looked like ink. Of course it was a lab error. Wasn't it?
But at last he shakes his head, flipping over the last photograph. He doesn't agree with my methods, but he won't stop me either. Because even he knows that sometimes when you see evil, you can't rest until you've vanquished it.
"You're free to go." | I didn't know why I was still there. It was horrible to sit in that cold, white, stale room. I had already confessed, so I didn't know why they need this.
The man on the case, Detective Helzhimer, entered, along with his assistant and the doctor.
"I'm sorry to put you through this, Mr Colt, but we're going to have to rehash this, just one more time."
I pressed my head into my hands. "Fine," I sighed. I would have cried, and I wanted to, but I was so tired that I didn't have the strength.
"What happened on the night of the Friday, the 25 of November?"
I looked up quietly, digging into my memory to revive the painful memory one last time. "I was with my mate, Brian. We went out to a pub. Stayed there 'til about 11:00pm. My wife knew I'd be late coming home, so I was surprised to see her still up when I got back."
"What time was that, when you arrived back home?" Detective Helzhimer asked.
"11:15 pm, I'd say."
He nodded to his assistant, who nodded back, probably confirming that the time was correct according to my house's security cameras. "And what happened next?" he asked.
"She was really angry, when I got home. Started accusing me of cheating. I told her that I was with Brian the whole time, and he would verify. I asked her to please calm down, but she just got more irate.
"She started going off the rails after that! She said that Brian was a Catholic in disguise, and I had been 'turned to his ways'. I figure she must have been drunk or..." I had to take a moment to breathe. I was holding back floods of tears, and I couldn't keep talking.
After some time, I continued. "She had a knife nearby, and she grabbed it. She started trying to stab me, and stab me, and stab me! I panicked! I didn't know what to do. I grabbed the knife and tried to wrestle it from her, but her face seemed to contort up as she did, and she was so strong, and I panicked. I stabbed her first."
I laid my head back into my hands and sobbed. "My daughter must have heard the screaming of her mother, and she just saw me standing over her, covered in blood. She tried to come and help, but I told her to stay away from me, and lock the door to my bedroom behind her, and not open it for me or her mother. I told her to call the police."
"The coriner's report says she died of a gunshot?" Detective Helzhimer asked.
I nodded. "I think I was also going crazy. I thought I saw her move. Maybe it was that post mortuary thing where people let go of their last breath, but I genuinely thought she was getting up! I got to my feet fast as I could, and grabbed my gun, the one in the draw that we keep for self defense, and shot her."
The detective nodded. The doctor stepped forward and uncapped his needle. "Alright, now, for legal, reasons, I have to explain how this works," he told me. "I'm going to take 3 oz of your blood in this opaque syringe, and were going to take it and mix it with a chemical called M-E-325. It's going to come out a shade of grey. The more bad things you've done, the darker it'll be. The less, the lighter."
"Why's the syringe opaque?" I asked in morbid curiosity, as he plunged the needle into my arm.
"If the blood is exposed to light," the doctor explained, "It can mess up the sample. Imagine it like a very old roll of film. Expose it to light, and it won't work."
I nodded. He took the syringe and left.
Tick, tock, tick, tock. I could practically hear the clock in my head counting down my seconds until death row. And I deserved it! I killed my wife! My beautiful, loving, kind, wife!
I'd been waiting for nearly an hour when the detective finally came back. He sat in front of me, and wordlessly handed me a police report.
"The blood was white?" I asked. "There must be some mistake! I... I killed someone! My wife! This is not funny!"
"No, it's not. This is the genuine report," Detective Helzhimer shook his head.
"Retest it then! It must be an error. Maybe it was exposed to light? I don't know, but this can't be true!"
"No need," the detective said. The door opened, and in walked Brian, of all people, wearing the attire of a Catholic father. "Perhaps you'd best explain?"
Brian sat down, calmly. "It's a bit of a long, messy story, but hte short version is: you didn't kill your wife."
"That's impossible," I denied. "I stabbed her, AND I shot her!"
Brian gripped my hand. "The coroner's report started to show some strange things pretty quickly after the initial exam. First, the gunshot and knife wound seemed to get increasingly smaller. Second, the body had other anomalies, like no heat, 3 livers, and 2 appendixes, a fact even more perplexing when considering that she had all 1 of her appendixes removed a year ago. Ultimately, I was able to identify the *thing* as a very, very evil creature. It's not your wife. Wherever your wife is, she's alive, and you didn't kill her. But we have to move quickly, because that *thing* will come after you."
He grabbed my hand and lead me out. "I'll explain more along the way," he promised. | 2020-02-09T11:47:05 | 2020-02-09T11:14:32 | 1,064 | 225 |
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss. | **Well then... this couldn't get any awkward. Could it? No it definitely can.**
"So..." I said.
"So..." my boss replied.
"This isn't going to be weird, is it? I mean I know she is your daughter, and she is also my girlfriend. So..."
"Oh, I am well aware of that. And I'm also aware that she is more than old enough to make her own decisions. And I must say, this recent decision of hers pertaining to you... is perhaps the best decision she has ever made. I know you Pritchard, and I'm glad she chose you instead of some deadbeat at her university.
\*Takes a drink of bourbon\*
And I know what you're capable of. I know you will be there for her throughout her life and that you will protect her from any harm or threats that might befall her or may come against her. But also, don't let what you two have be a distraction from your work; you still are under my employment after all. Don't mess it up."
"Thank you sir, I was for sure thinking that-"
"I wasn't finished Pritch."
I shut up immediately.
"Now I have to give you the cliché Threaten-your-daughter's-boyfriend tidbit."
*Aww shit, I knew this was coming,* I thought to myself.
Mr. R took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead.
*Oh, he's fucking serious,* I gulped.
"While I give you permission to date my daughter, just know what **I** am capable of as well. I waged a one-man war against an entire Nicaraguan cartel with just my two Colts, don't let the company files tell you otherwise, I really only had two handguns, I was able to assassinate a Nigerian warlord, in a crowded marketplace in broad daylight and not one of his guards saw a thing. I have done and seen things you can't even begin to comprehend. I hunted down a rogue Russian general in the freezing cold of Russia for months on end, with nothing but my wits and my Colts. If you hurt, upset, or cheat on my daughter in any way, there will be a price on your head. Do I make myself clear, Pritchard?
"Crystal, sir." I meekly say.
"Good. Now come along to the back patio, and bring those bottles of Chardonnay and Dom Perignon with you." | - Hello, sir, it's so nice to meet you. My name is Charles.
- Oh, so nice to meet you, Charles, said Mr. Thompson. Ella has told me you are a veterinarian. Could it be that we have met before? I have a small computer repair shop in 3rd Street, wouldn't you be the one that brought an old Mac computer past month?
- Yes? ... Ahhh, yes, that would be me, sir, you have a very good memory, I honestly didn't even remember.
- Oh, well, I do, please call me Mike. I remember also you had some photos to get recovered from your drive. From some of your pet patients, may be? I remember there was an Alsatian mastiff, a very interesting one.
- Sir, I mean, Mike, yes, the Alsatian case is now ... closed.
- Oh, so good to hear, Charles. But please, come inside. Ella, I see you are bringing some wine, how nice. Don't stare at me that way, young man, relax, I don't bite!
- Yes, sir. I mean, Mr Thompson, Mike, sir.
- Charles! - said, Ella, while shaking his arm and putting the wine bottle in his hands. - You look like you just saw a ghost! Did my father see some spicy photos in that old laptop of yours or what? Hahaha
- What? No, not at all, I just ... I'm just nervous at meeting your parents, that's all.
- Relax, baby. My father may look serious and even sometimes grumpy, but he's fine. He's really very into details, and always remember faces. So looks like you are not total strangers, you see?
- Ella, I'm quite curious, you work with your father in the computer repair shop, right?
- Yes, my father has taught me all he knows about computers, why?
- What if I told you that Alsatian mastiff is codename for Max Strasbourg, the heroin dealer?
- What? What kind of a veterinarian knows about Max Strasbourg? Where did you hear that name?
- I see, you are already answering. I'm the kind of vet that puts down a shepherd when his time has come. And I can only guess that means you already knew it. Is that the reason I'm here?
- Well, I had a hunch. Charlie, I really like you, but I know something was off. It didn't make sense that you had a collection of more than fifty hunting knives and pretended those were for operating on cats and dogs. But there's only one hit-man dad trusts for the most dangerous missions and he would never let anyone else talk to him. So I guess I tried my luck.
- So what am I supposed to do, now, Ella? You know now, I kill for a living. I kill for your dad, and I'm really good at it.
- I know, honey, this is not an intervention. I just wanted to confirm my suspicions and to offer you a new mission, but instead of working for Mr Thompson, it would be an arrangement with me. I will double your rates, love.
- I'm listening, love, who's the target?
- The target is just waiting for us in the kitchen. Make a clockwise twist in the wine bottle, there's a modified Glock 42 loaded with two 380 bullets, you know, for concealing the weight of a bottle. You have two chances, Charles, but I warn you, dad is very detail oriented, and I just noticed he was staring at the bottle, so he may be waiting ... ready for you.
- "Oh well" said Charles, pulling a 3-D printed plastic gun. "I have been expecting this moment for the past three years. Your dad may be a good boss, but I'm the best in what I do. And honey, for twice my regular rate, I could kill you, too. How about a good luck kiss?"
- I think this is the beginning of a beautiful business relationship, Charlie - said Ella, kissing him in the cheek with a mischievous smile. | 2020-06-05T14:10:03 | 2020-06-05T13:31:52 | 85 | 22 |
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss. |
“Honey, are you sure? I mean, I’m rather nervous.” I said to my girlfriend, adjusting my tie. I was going to meet her parents today, unknown to them, or her, that I was an assassin. In my field, people call me one of the best. From what I’ve heard, her father is a computer repairman. It would be expected that, if perhaps my computer broke, he would fix it. He was going to be family after all. However, I worry that he might not find the suspected veterinary imagery and documents. He would find gory imagery. All of my hits. All of my victims. Brains splattered over the sidewalk, heads crushed like pop cans, guts spilled messily. All well hidden deep in my files, of course. But still, what if?
“Jeremiah, come on. Are you okay?” My girlfriend said, shaking me slightly. I must have spaced out.
“Haha, yes dear, just nervous.” I nonchalantly said. “Let’s go now, yes?”
\-
I pulled the car into her parent’s driveway. They had a rather nice house, he must make a lot of money. I stepped out, walking to her side and allowing her out. We went to the door, hand in hand.
“Ready?” She said, knocking on the door. She always did that, a little quirk of hers. No matter how many times I told her she could come in without such, she always knocked anyways.
“Yes, dear.” I said, watching the door open. I went pale, seeing who was in front of me. He seemed shocked as well.
In front of me was my boss, Fredrik.
This was confirmed when my girlfriend let go of my hand, hugging him. “Hi, dad!” She said chipperly. He kept his light grey eyes on me, so soft around her, but commanding in the work field. I nodded, putting my hand out for a handshake.
“H-Hello, sir. I’m Jeremiah Francis-Dean, I’m the man who is-”
“Dating my daughter. I know quite well, Mr. Francis.” He interrupted, his usual demanding tone soft around his daughter. Quite a family man, I assume. “Well, let’s not waste time. Come in, you two. My wife is cooking quite the meal, and trust me when I say, she has never cooked a bad meal.” He said with a hearty laugh.
It smelled like heaven, they were a traditional German family, so I knew the food would be good. The house looked more like a mansion, mounted deer heads on the walls, a large shotgun mounted over the fireplace. He pulled a chair out for me, a dark spruce chair with a red velvet seat. I sat, and my girlfriend sat to the left of me.
This was a rectangular table, one chair on each side. The wife, whom let me call her Alice. She sat out a large pot of soup, smelled of meat and vegetables. She sat out mashed potatoes, steak and a bowl of salad. She poured soup for us all, and I looked up to see my boss sitting across from me. He had his eyes locked on me. Alice sat to the right of me.
I ate the food in front of me, it tasted like heaven and just melted in my mouth. This has to be the best food I’ve eaten in forever. We all chatted about meaningless things, like life plans, jobs, etcetera.
As I went to leave with my girlfriend and both parent’s blessings, my boss pulled me aside.
“Well son, I’m proud of you. Never thought my daughter would meet such a hard-working guy like you. Oh, and I’ll be sure to raise how much you get paid. And if you hurt her?” He said, prodding my chest with his hand. “You’re on the list. Deal?”
“Deal, sir.” | Rachel was so exited for me to meet her folks and the only thing I was worried about is if they wouldn’t mind my casual clothing. Is a flannel over a AC/DC shirt with jeans and sneakers good enough to present to parents? I usually have a okay track record with them and it almost always gets better once I tell them my job. I work as a veterinarian in the city and on my off days I’m a international assassin. If you’re laughing I encourage you to stop because I’m not joking. Just this past week my boss sent me on a international mission to go kill off some revolutionary leader. Had to infiltrate his ranks, spike his drink, and get home in 3 days. Managed to do it with my team but it was draining. My boss said i won’t have any missions for a while so I can just relax, play guitar and chill with Rachel.
She’s prepping me on how to greet her dad and how he’s gonna examine my phone since he loves computers. He repairs them so it makes sense.
The target is described as a tall white male in his mid 40s with a salt and pepper beard, big arms and a big laugh. Her mom might be home too and according to Rachel she’s just Rachel but taller, African American and with a dragon tattoo on her arm. We get to the door and I spot a car that looks oddly familiar like the ones we have at the base. She yells for her dad to stop being lazy and open the door. He opens it and he looks exactly like my boss.
“ You must be Justin I’ve heard all sorts of things about you”. I take a extra second to respond because my boss is my girlfriends father. I shake his hand and he looks me dead in the eyes like he did earlier when he told me I could get a break from missions. When I walk into the living room her mother runs over and extends her hand. As I shake it My boss ice grills me most likely to mess with me. We sit down and he turns on Wheel of fortune as we eat the food her mother made. After one bite I can immediately tell she’s a better cook than her daughter and that’s when the questioning starts. My boss looks at me and asks “ You into music huh? What’s ya favorite band?”. He knows the answer is either gonna be paramore or All time low so i know he’s just messing with me. I answer with the Beatles and he laughs asking what do I know bout them. As he laughs he shoots me another death stare, this time for lying. My hand starts to sweat as Rachel’s mom asks me how we met. As I’m recalling how her daughter poured paint on me in 5th grade her dad goes over to the computer parts and pulls a badge out of his pocket. Does he think he’s slick? He literally just pulled out our logo which is a upside down eagle over a black backdrop.
Rachel then tells her mom how I’m a great veterinarian and that we started dating Cause Rachel brought her friends dog to my job for nail clippings. As she jokes with her mom my boss looks at my pocket knowing I have the badge with me too. He comes back to the couch and we start talking bout the development of Video game Consoles and our favorite games. This might be the most tame conversation I’ve had with my boss in 4 years. Rachel looks at her dad and asks if he likes my sneakers. Her dad bought them for me after I killed a black market trader 2 months ago. He says their very nice and that he would like to buy them off me and now I’m scared. This is nothing like how he acts on the job: I’m lucky to get a good job or a hello out of him if it’s not mission time and now he’s laughing. As it gets closer to my time for curfew I hug Rachel hug her mother and thank her for the food when my boss tells me to come with him to the basement. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean the regular one.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DATING MY DAUGHTER” He yells as we go into the bunker that’s filled with computers, world maps, and our logos on the walls. As I look around in awe and a bit of fear he yells again “ YOU AND RACHEL?” I shrug my shoulders being as confused as he is and that’s when he lowers his voice for a second. “ Rachel doesn’t know about your actual job does she?” I shake my head and he asks what do I tell her I do on the weekdays. I tell him that I tell her I have late shifts at the job or that I’m babysitting across the street. When I miss school it’s cause I have to take care of my niece who’s always sick. He looks at me and grabs me by the collar “Rachel can never figure out and if you put her in any danger I’ll be the one to Assassinate you”.
I shake my head okay and after a couple seconds he pops the question I was dreading the whole night. He asks me what my intentions with Rachel are. He knows I’m prone to getting a girl to fall for me on missions so it makes sense why he would ask. I tell him I really really like his daughter and she’s my favorite person to be around. He laughs and grabs me by the shirt again saying “ if you break her heart I’ll break your life and college fund. Yes, he’s paying for my college by giving me a scholarship under a fake name. I hear Rachel calling my name as it gets closer to me being out past curfew so I ask why my boss brought me down here besides to ruff up my shirt and show me his knives and swords. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes “ You’ve got to assassinate a world leader over winter break”. | 2020-06-05T14:23:35 | 2020-06-05T14:04:11 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] Every time a door is opened, there is a negligible, but non-0 chance it will open to heaven or hell. Today, your fridge didn't open to your leftovers. | "Well, this is awkward..." Samuel said as he stared out onto a frigid landscape. He'd meant to grab a tub of chicken parm from the previous night out and somehow had managed to turn his refrigerator into an inter-dimensional portal. "Nope."
Without a hint of hesitation, he slammed the door shut and waited several seconds before trying again. With the slightest tremble in his hand, he opened the door once again.
Three shelves scarcely stocked with sandwich ingredients and take out containers greeted him. The man sighed in relief as he retrieved a quarter full 2-liter soda and the styrofoam container.
"I always thought that mumbo-jumbo about opening doors to other dimensions was crap. Good thing I dealt with that real quick," he mumbled to himself as he sat at his computer and scrolled through Reddit.
The meal went as they usually went, lonely and bland. Hoping to improve his mood a bit, Sam sauntered back to the kitchen of his studio apartment, dropped the container and bottle in the trash, before heading for his the freezer.
"Time for some cookie dough ice cream goodness!" he practically salivated.
When he opened the upper door on his refrigerator, a gust of wind buffeted him back and to the ground. The door creaked and slammed into the cupboard where it stayed stuck. A sense of dread shot through Sam as he struggled to his feet. Through the two by three opening he could see floating golden clouds and he could vaguely see the outlines of birds in the distance.
With sheer will he struggled forward and made it back to the refrigerator. His sleeping robe and slippers had slowed his progress, so he'd released them to the wind, leaving him in a plain white shirt and boxers. Chills ran down his body as his bare feet took him to the cupboard where he heaved against the splintered wood.
Just as he freed the handle where it'd caught on the cupboard, he felt an overly large hand on his shoulder. Dread filled him as he looked towards the freezer where a muscular, pale gold arm was reaching through. A moment, and a very unmanly scream, later the arm had pulled the man through the opening. Bonking his head in the process, Samuel lost consciousness as he and the angel took wing.
The wind continued to buffet the small studio apartment for a whole day, before the refrigerator-heavenly realm connection stuttered. A half melted cookie dough ice cream dripped slowly to the ground...
\* \* \*
As requested [PART 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Realms_Beyond/comments/hqoa69/refrigerator_portal_part_2_prompt_response/)
\* \* \*
As insisted [PART 3!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Realms_Beyond/comments/hqss1w/refrigerator_portal_part_3_prompt_response/)
Feedback is appreciated!
**For more of my work check out**: r/Realms_Beyond | "Run!" Damien screamed into the darkness; his loud, cracked voice echoed throughout the vast tunnel, rebounding upon his ears, his desperate cries distorted by the wasted stone, as though the tunnel were mocking him.
Lily looked around as he had called, and with a shriek of terror, had whipped around, pelting towards him as fast as her thin legs could take her.
Damien turned too, their feet thundering through the puddles of muck and dirty water coating the floor, as the savage hiss of the immense Hellbeast reached their ears. It was as vast as a trailer truck, and much longer, but also much faster, with huge gleaming pincers upon its horrid visage, pincers that could rip a man cleanly in half with a single snap — a feat that Damien had witnessed firsthand his second day in this horrible new land.
"This way!" he cried, and he seized Lily's arm and leapt into a gap in the wall. They crashed against the hot, hard earth, emerging onto a new stretch of open land, but the monster kept sliding on behind them, like a monstrous train.
"Get up!" Damien said, helping her to her feet. "Get up, we need —"
"It's hopeless!" Lily sobbed, wrenching her arm from his grasp and collapsing on the floor.
"Lily —"
"Damien, stop! Just stop! Please! Why do you keep doing this?"
"Keep doing what? Try to keep us alive?"
"Delaying the inevitable! Clinging onto false hope! We're dead, Damien, *dead*! We're *literally* in Hell! Look around!"
Despite the fact that he had become thoroughly accustomed to the dark and gloomy scenery in the past few weeks, his eyes still followed the line of her arms, raking the area. The sky was a dome of scarlet, painted with the blood of the damned spilled each day in the dimension, with no sun, moon, or stars in sight. Sulphur hung in the air like mist, seeping into their lungs, poisoning them, but, by the magic of the demons, only slowly, to prolong their suffering. The rough, black earth was a vast plate of scalding rock, burning through their shoes. And immense craters were carved into the ground around them, every now and then blasting huge plumes of black flames or spouts of acid into the air.
Even now, Damien could hear the hisses and growls of Hell's servants, and the screams of anguish of the humans they were hunting.
"What sense does it make?" Lily said, tears streaking down her dirty, grimy face. "We were dead the moment you opened that fridge, Randy and Alicia accepted that a long time ago —"
"Don't say that!" Damien said fiercely. "The portal may have sucked us in, but it's still open! We can use it to get back out, we just have to find it again —"
But Lily was shaking her head. Her ragged mop of blond hair was lank and filthy, and she drew her knees to her face, shaking with sobs.
"Lily —"
"You go!" she choked. "Go on, look for the stupid portal, we both know you'll never find it! But I'm done, I want out...I want it to end —"
"LILY, NO!"
"Just, GO!" roared Lily. "Get out of here, leave me alone!"
Damien stared at her, his black eyes swimming with tears.
"Fine," he said, his voice quivering. "Stay here, accept defeat...but I'm not done. I'm going home."
She did not respond. They simply stared at each other, Damien hoping with all his heart that she would stand up, grasp his arm, and follow him, even grudgingly. But she never did.
"Goodbye," he said, and he turned and trotted off again. He turned back a moment later to look at her, his final glimpse; she had gotten to her feet, but she wasn't coming towards him. With a sorrowful look at him, she turned and leapt into a crater, just as a blast of acid erupted from the inside. Her scream was lost in the stream's hiss.
Tears now falling freely, he turned away, alone, through the hellish lands. He would have to make it back...for them.
So I tried a different approach, and I think it turned out okay. I could be wrong though :)
But if I wasn't, feel free to check out r/MysticScribbles for more stuff. | 2020-07-13T09:41:48 | 2020-07-13T09:24:16 | 133 | 67 |
[WP] Everyone knows you're the most powerful member of the league, so why are you an F-tier hero? Because F-tier is cleanup. The others protect the world from threats. You protect it from the other heroes. | The crowd rushes the hero, victorious man, all taking his photo and calling out to him. Trying their best to see the sun glint off his teeth.
A citizen runs up into his sight line, yelling out “Victorious man! We saw you get here right on time like usual, we can always count on you!” The man takes his blue hat off pointing it to Victorious Man with a a huge smile. He took his white jacket off holding it out to Victorious Man, obviously wanting a signature.
The crowd cheered louder
“Thank you! Thank you!” He called out to his adoring fans, waiving and smiling, basking in his glory having defeated any villain that showed up in the last few months. It was remarkable how quickly the cities crime rate turned around.
Then, after signing some autographs and with a thunderous boom, Victorious Man soared into the sky, cutting the clouds as he passed through them.
The crowd slowly dispersed, happy to be safe again.
A week later, after a bit of a struggle Victorious Man saves the day again. News crews rush their hero, wanting to get the first photos of the savior.
A boy rushing to get a photo on his small throw away camera fell right in front of the hero, looking up at him as he stared down at the boy. He smiled, clad in golden armor with a large ruby “V” across his chest, his cape flowing. He reached down and effortlessly picked the boy up, along with his blue hat and placed him on his shoulder. The crowd must have taken a hundred photos, what an amazing shot of their hero and an adoring fan.
The kids white shirt and shorts really was a nice look with Victorious Mans costume for the front pages.
Another week passes.
A villain is rampaging through the streets when suddenly a few up and coming no name hero’s save the day. It did not resonate quite as well as Victorious Man, and was barely news worthy. This occurred for a month, villains appearing and being stopped, but not by Victorious Man.
The question the whole world was asking - where is Victorious Man?
…
*groans*
“Where am I?…”
Blinking slowly, a man can be seen entering the room, wearing all white. The only color the man really had about him was his hair.. it’s blue?
He kneeled down, staring in the weary mans eyes.
“Hello, Victor. Or ‘victorious man’. I hope you know that your little syndicate is over.”
“What.. what are you talking about?..” Victor immediately tried to fly but… there was no thunderous boom, no weightless sensation… just… gravity holding him down.
In a panic he crawls across the room to the corner in a fetal position, looking over his shoulder at the man in white.
He scanned the room looking for a way out, but just 4 walls. All white, with a single light above them. And the door behind the man in white.
“Well… I don’t owe it to you but I feel it’s cruel to just not say anything. You’re in an asylum for hero’s gone bad. And unfortunately for you, I’ve been on to you for a while Victor.”
Victor shook his head “I I I I-dunno what you’re talking about! Who are you?…” he asked in a quivering voice. A new sensation to the once all mighty.
“It doesn’t really matter who I am, what matters is you got caught. Did you really think no one would notice you arriving seemingly right in the nick of time to save the day? We know you were setting all of these attacks up.”
“YOU CANT PROVE SHIT!” Victor lashed out
“Well, we can and already received permission from… well…” the man in white points upwards, making a gesture at the ceiling.
“I’m pretty good at what I do, don’t you recognize me?” The man in white asked. All of the sudden Victors vision blurred slightly, and the man appeared as another man, wearing a jacket with Victorious Mans autograph on it.
“This will make a killing after everyone thinks you’re dead by the way. Sooo thanks for the extra paycheck.”
Victor rubs his eyes and looks again, and gasps, seeing a child in a blue hat and white outfit looking at him.
“Yeah thanks for picking me up by the way. I bet you didn’t even feel the prick on your ear while I was sitting there.”
Victor screams clawing at his eyes “this… this isn’t real!”
The man in white sighs, kneeling and staring at Victor. “I do pity you. But you know how it goes. Those blessed with power shouldn’t use it for personal gain… but putting peoples lives at risk for your ego trips.. can’t have that.”
He stands up and walks to the door, looking back once last time at Victor who was rocking in the corner, for the first time feeling his mortality.
The door slams shut, and the world keeps moving forward. | Ironclad Jr, the current overlord of Europa, had the humble beginnings as a low level champion. Initially selfless to no fault, he soon jumped the rankings going higher and higher as a result of multiple successes. Then, he got greedy.
Feeling slighted, Ironclad Jr went on a warpath and demanded compensation from the various governments. The politicians scoffed at this imbecilic upstart, making a mockery of such threats through local late night cable news programs. When Ironclad Jr began targeting the politicians families and allies, they called in the cavalry.
Ironclad Jr had fended off several teams of superheroes singlehandedly, showing a level of brute force that’s been unseen since the Second Civil War. Seeing no other choice, the call was made. They’d brought “him” in. Code name: ?
? Was initially a well known hero from out of Washington, well known for his perp catching track record. He had decided to retire early, but upon coming home he found his family had disappeared. He went mad searching for them and after some time in the nut house he was pronounced cured. He then took a job as a Cleaner, one who handles the dirty jobs.
It didn’t take long for ? to make it to the throne room of Ironclad Jr’s penthouse. Upon making eye contact ? saw a bronzed Roman god that had been raised on 1980’s pop culture, garbed in a red Motörhead T Shirt with a Jean vest, wrap around sunglasses, and a Union Jack bandana. Ironclad Junior on the other hand saw before him a man in a ratty looking tan trench coat, a black suit and tie, and a wide brimmed stedson hat. Ironclad Jr bellowed out a massive chuckle,” you’re the runtiest one yet, what’s you’re power? Pedophilia?” The bronzed bastard bellowed out with a laugh. ? Just stared, unflinching and emotionless.
Ironclad Jr quickly leaped forward, possessing the speed of some kind of Bobcat. ? quickly dodged, as if he were the wily fox. And as he was the spirit animal of the fox, he quickly pulled out his desert Eagle pistol and emptied several large caliber rounds into the back of Jr, just as a fox would. The rounds barely pierced the skin of Jr, but still drew blood. ? quickly reloaded his pistol and shot Jr point blank in the chest and face, each round drawing blood but barely piercing the seemingly reinforced skin of Jr. Jr then rushed at ? , with ? quickly turning a dial on his belt. ? grew a crystalline armor around his body, destroying his suit and jacket. Jr tried to land a punch but ? caught his arm judo flipped him threw a wall. ? then ran up to Jr as he was getting up and began to savagely beat him down. Jr tried to throw a feeble punch but was blocked by ? with a punch of his own. Ironclad Jr recoiled back in pain but noticed a shard of the crystals as broken off in between his knuckles. Jr then tackled ? and attempted a ground and pound on ? but the Crystal was still too hard. Jr then picked ? up and threw him back towards the throne room, in particular the Trophy area!
Ironclad Jr had collected several items and weapons from his various conquests, among those was the Thunder Hammer of Blue Fury. As ? was slowly getting up Jr ran for the hammer but his ankle was grabbed by ? and dragged a short distance. ? quickly got up and engaged in a brief skirmish of fisticuffs with Jr, landing several powerful blows onto the inured Jr and as luck would have it sending him crashing into his object of desire. The Thunder Hammer was in his grasp. The hammer quickly recharged Jr’s power, giving him a wave of electric energy around his body that burned off some of his clothing, including his sunglasses. Jr raised the hammer and smashed it into ?, sending him flying through the grand room and shattering his armor. As ? slowly came to after the blow, Jr strutted over with a smile on his face. “I hope you’re not religious, ain’t no one helping you”, Jr said to ?, who was slowly raising his head to make eye contact. Jr slowly raised the hammer over his head, poised to end this worm’s life. Then he stopped moving.
Jr was frozen in place and began to panic. The only thing he could move was his mouth, but just barely. Panicking he was able to see ? get up and he began to speak,” if you’re gonna pray, pray to me, for I’m you’re god now!” he said while keeping eye contact with Jr. Junior managed to whimper out,” what… did yo..u do to me?” ? looked deep into Jr’s eyes and answered,” nanobots, I shot them into your body and programmed them to paralyze your nerves and tendons. You’re now a flesh and blood statue at the whim of me, a pigeon looking to take a pee,” ? Said unemotionally. Jr just gazed down, horrified at the revelation. “ I can make you do anything now, such as point you in the right direction,” twisting a knob on his watch ? causes Jr to twist his hammer hand into an impossible angle. “Or maybe or help you lead with the right foot forward,” ? twisting another knob and snapping one of Jr’s ankles.
Ironclad Jr screamed out in pain as ? leaned forward towards the broken man,” cast yourself with luck, for I am a forgiving god. Your suffering will only be brief.” Twisting another knob in his belt Jr began to have a migraine, building an intense pressure in his head. “You’re probably feeling the some pressure in the head of yours, that’s a Bomb being built in you’re brain”, ? said to Jr, causing him to scream in terror. “Don’t worry, it’s all over now,” ? said as he twisted the knob one final time, causing Jr’s head to explode with some of the residue landing on him. ? stood motionless as the doors to the throne room opened, revealing several cleaners in hazmat suits. “Ive completed the easy part, go forth and do me proud!” ? said in a deadpan monotone. One of the hazmat workers brought ? a jacket and a digital notepad. “The intel was slightly off, his skin was much thicker than anticipated. The bullets provided were nearly inadequate,” ? said to the Hazmat man with a monotone,”That poor bastard wasn’t always bad, he seemed like he’d be one of the good ones like his old man.” ? and Hazmat man continued to walk towards the exit,” charge the clients an extra 35%, if they argue you have my permission to wake me. For now, I am going to take a nap.” ? left the Throne room and made his way to his mobile resting trailer. | 2021-09-22T23:02:52 | 2021-09-22T22:58:05 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] In the Land of Perfection, there is no imperfection. Which is why George was confused at the single, absurdly tiny crack in the sidewalk. | George kept staring. His mind insisted that what he was seeing was not there, could not be. All at once he became aware of the rapid thump in his chest. He fell to his knees as a scream clawed it's way out from somewhere deep in his belly and burst from his lips.
This foul thing, unnatural and poisonous, existed on a segment of a perfectly normal sidewalk. The walk spanned along a perfectly ordinary street, lined with perfectly charming shops with perfectly tidy displays. As George's shriek rose, perhaps a dozen perfectly dressed people stopped in their tracks. All of them stood perfectly still. That, of course, was sensible. After all, it was called the Land of Perfection for a reason.
One by one, their faces began to change. None of them understood. Animal fear, long since atrophied in the absence of need began to uncurl within them. A single bystander dropped his perfectly heated coffee to the ground. The splash was an explosion, flinging the debris of madness outward.
George never felt his heart stop. He never knew of the chaos that followed, or that what started as a perfectly pleasant day was the beginning of the collapse of the Land of Perfection. | Today was a perfect day as any another day. Perfection, what does it mean? Does it mean a scenario where everything goes according to you? Then yes, I have a perfect life. Does it mean a life without any blemishes? Then yes, I have a perfect life. Or does it mean a life that has been made with so much precision that you can't find a single flaw? Then, you guessed it, yes, I have a perfect life.
My job is to help people find their perfect home. There it is again, perfect. Will using the word perfect over and over again diminishes its value or maybe even worse, jinx it. I chuckle at my own stupidity, nothing was going to imperfect in the perfect-vesrse.
I whistle, cheerfully, as I head down to my home where my beautiful wife and two amazing kids are. Guess how they are, you have one option, yup, perfect. I chuckle again. I will never get tired of the word, it is what defines me and the world I live in. It is the beautiful smell of a newly bloomed rose, it is the feel of your freshly cut hair against your skin, it is-arggghh.
I almost face-planted the pavement but I'm saved by the post box, which I held on for support at the last moment. My heart paces like a race-horse but I'm fine. I frown, I'm fine, I think again. Not perfect, but just fine. That was new. I look down and see what caused me to lose my balance, must be a rock or a cat or something. But nope, nothing. There's nothing but a sliver of crack on the pavement. I shrug at my clumsiness then start to walk again before I freeze. I turn, horrified? Intrigued? Fascinated, yes, fascinated at something I have never seen before. An imperfection. A tiny sliver of pavement separating from the base material. I kneel down to observe it even closely. The way there seems nothing but darkness in that tiny crack. I bend down, to find out what the bottom of an imperfection looks like as I have never seen one before.
As it turns out, it's nothing remarkable. Just some loose cement and dirt. I shrug. Imperfection were not very intersting were they, I think to myself before I start getting back up.
A wind blows, a strange vacuum surrounds me and I feel as if I'm being pushed through a very narrow pipe. I fall down on a broken curb. Dirt surrounded me, I look up and see the sky, not the brilliant blue like the one I am used to but a dull grey, lifeless. I get up and notice the road which I take home daily, though still the same, is somehow dull too. The flowers along the curb are dying, the glass of the lamppost broken, there's pot-holes in the road. Things were not perfect at all.
It was-
Imperfect. | 2021-12-21T10:33:43 | 2021-12-21T09:22:07 | 32 | 21 |
[WP] "And how many claws does Stewie have?" you ask your daughter as you consult the list your mother gave you. You need to figure out if your daughter's invisible friend is a monster, demon, or fairy and if you have to kill it to save her. | “And how many claws does Stewie have?” I flipped through *the book*, wondering what horrors were trying to befriend Emmy now. For a 8 year old girl, she has a talent for attracting some doozies. Though my mother warned me before bequeathing *the book*, I was not expecting so many demon lords and fae queens to be so interested in a little girl’s schoolwork.
Emmy giggled. “None!”
“What about wings? Fangs? Scales? Tentacles?”
She shook her head giddily, “None of that!”
I paused, and begrudgingly flipped towards the back of the book where the more humanoid, and frankly more disturbing monsters lurked. We haven’t flipped through these back pages before. As the non-magical father to a daughter who comes from a long line of female witches but none of those other female witches were alive… hopefully Stewie turns out to be a friendly ghost.
“Does Stewie have eyes at least?”
“Yep!”
“How many?”
“Two!”
“Where are they located?”
“On his face, silly!”
I frowned, “Does Stewie just look like a human?”
Emmy nodded, “He likes Milk Duds.”
“What do you guys do?”
“We just play at school.”
I sat back, a bit befuddled. *The book* doesn’t mention a Milk Dud loving boy who likes playing at school. “Is he… just a boy at your school?”
Emmy nodded happily, “He’s my first friend!”
“That other people can see?”
“Everyone can see him, Daddy! He did really good at the school’s spelling bee. That’s where we met. He spelled Stegosaurus.”
“Huh.” I stared thoughtfully at Emmy. It’s been a awhile since she made a human acquaintance. People had a hard time coping with the oddness that surrounds Emmy, even if they can’t see the eldritch beings that lurk around her. It just causes the hair to lift on the back of your neck, as if something is hunting you. I shivered.
I snapped *the book* abruptly close and stood up. “Well, we should invite Stewie over one of these days! You can show him your tree fort.”
Emmy gasped, “Really?”
I smiled, “Of course. It’s your first friend. I want to say hi.”
Emmy squealed, and grabbed my hand. She rattled on about Stewie and what fun they will have. I nodded and laughed, but my free hand rubbed the back of my neck. Trying to flatten the hairs down.
Stewie scared me. | _When I grow up, I want to be a monster catcher, just like my daddy._
He lowered the crayon drawing. Weariness crawled over his limbs, sinking into his muscles, his veins. His eyelids slid shut. The desk lamp glowed fiercely, burning his pupils anyhow.
_"And how many claws does Stewie have?"_
_"He doesn't have claws, Daddy."_
_"No claws?"_
_"No, Daddy. He's like the monster you caught at the grocery store."_
His eyes fluttered back open and locked with the screen of his desktop computer before him. Displayed there in brilliant blue pixels was the story: **SOUTHERN DEVILS CATCH VAGRANT SPIRIT IN SUBURBAN SUPERMARKET.**
It wasn't glorious work, but boy, did the papers make it out to seem that way. It was almost beginning to fool him. It definitely had his daughter fooled.
_"I want to be a hero, like you."_
_"Like me?"_
_"Like you, Daddy. Catchin' all the demons, and lockin' them up, and makin' sure they don't hurt anybody anymore."_
Before, when his own Pa had worked, their small family company had been mostly known by the locals around southern California. And then suddenly, there were spirits everywhere, and The Southern Devils and Co. had become one of the largest spirit pest control units in the northern hemisphere. Their holding stables had quadrupled in size. The staff on the ranch had ballooned. Equipment for quicker more precise round-ups had been added to their inventory. Together, they could locate, lure, trap, and herd a demon in under two hours.
It was tedious work, dangerous work. _But glorious, 'patriotic' work? Really?_ He scoffed at the article.
_"I wanna save all the people, just like you did."_
It pained him, to hear her say those things. Little Isabella. Beautiful Isabella. She had chosen ballet for her extra-curricular sport although she hadn't seemed as interested in the fluff and frills as the other seven-year-olds had. She was immersed in the ranch. Fair enough. She had grown up there: clinging to the back of the pick-ups as they pulled in another catch, hanging off the end of the corral fences and observing the spirits roam and pulse. She had grown up with dirt, dust, and demons. It wouldn't be fair for him to ask her to aspire to anything different.
_"So, I'm catching Stewie."_ She had been playing another game of pretend that afternoon, still dressed in her school clothes. She had a long stick, a replica of the staying-gun he himself carried when on call. _"And Stewie is a bad, bad demon."_
She had been running around the yard, throwing herself off the porch, yelling instructions to the dogs, sprinting off to the nearby barn, where some of the real, major demons were housed. He couldn't deny her natural talent. She was comfortable around the creatures. She didn't baulk or hesitate as some new trainees did. She could read their writhing bodies, handle their spontaneous bursts of energy and twitching movements.
_"What about working in the city?"_ He would gently remind her. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, implore her to be something different, play a different imaginary game. _Don't you understand? This profession took your mother. I'm only trying to save you._ But she only blinked endearingly at him. Her small hand would pat his arm.
_"Daddy, I don't want to work in the city anymore. I want to stay out here, on the ranch, with you, and catch monsters."_
He watched her play round-up with the imaginary "Stewie". Inside, he had grieved.
And now, staring down at this crayon drawing in his untidy, cramped little office, he felt as if his heart was breaking. The picture was simple: him, her, and both of them sporting lasso-guns, pointed at a horrible, sprawling mass of black and purple crayon lines. And a third figure, standing behind the dark cloud, drawn with light, almost sceptical colours. A scrawled name and an arrow: MOMMY.
_"I will save all the Mommies in the world, Daddy. Just like the ones you saved at the supermarket. I will do it, Daddy. I will be just like you."_ | 2022-06-01T13:57:31 | 2022-06-01T11:57:33 | 69 | 25 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples. | As the rushing of the cosmos coalesced into a solid state once more, the private took the inertia based rushing step all marines brought with them in their Rambo-esque running leap into the void gate. The macabre Rube Goldberg machine built in front of him was unavoidable. His first step tripped by mummified ankle of his commanding officer, sending him headfirst through the skeletal archway built from the seargeant and corporal. He recovered his roll only to develop an uncontrollable downhill run through the spring bound arms of those that came before him slapping him as he rushed by spinning their remains into a salute. As he tried, poorly, to avoid the apparent trap he counted his comrades, 8, 9, 10. He finally stopped. The ground had levelled out and he'd gained control of his momentum but collapsed onto his back to catch his breath from the sudden exhaustion and terror. " but where... Hu... Is...hu ..... Marcus?" Looking up he saw a shape move in the trees. Vines snapped and the body of Marcus in his suit fell from the trees making a puppet like effigy with "boo , Dumbass" scrawled in blood across his armor. Best 1100 year prank they could ever hope for! | "You got a smoke?" I ask Juarez, "just staring at this thing freaks me out." I say gesturing toward the large metal doorway that seems to lead straight into the darkness of hell.
"It's a portal man, didn't you pay any attention during the briefing?" Juarez passes a cigarette over my shoulder. I put the military issue lighter to use and exhale some of my trepidations away. I see several of the specialists ahead of me staring straight ahead, unwavering, as if they have done this a thousand times before. I feel as though I'm doing my first atmospheric jump.
Juarez is the only one I knew before the briefing, we did two tours on Mars during the uprising of colony eight. What a mess that was.
"You getting in your head again man? You gotta be calm during these things." He says as the squad leader begins coming down the line.
"Attention!" Captain Morris begins, and everyone straightens up. "Today we are going to take another step into the unknown, as you all know, we are traveling to Kelper-186f, it is 490 light years from our solar system and we will be making the trip in the blink of an eye. Our mission is to secure the perimeter and set up a return portal. Supply's will arrive one hour after Thompson had breached the portal."
"Hoorah!" I say in unison with everyone else and Captain Morris makes his way towards the portal and is consumed by the black abyss. The line begins to shuffle forward.
"Here take the pack," Juarez nudges my shoulder, "I'm not going to be able to get them there man, so I should just quit now." Somehow he has always managed to lighten the mood. I put the cigarettes into my left cargo pocket.
Four marines through, so far it seems painless. Three more, then it's my turn. I puff on my cigarette trying to kill it before it's my turn. I put the cigarette out on my boot, flick it through the portal, which gets a few looks from the white coats behind the computers, and turn to Juarez. "See you on the other side." I close my helmet and turn towards the void.
Everything goes white.
That looks familiar I think as what looks like stone quickly fills my vision. I put my hands out to brace myself, but I'm already on the ground. I start to get up, but my body feels tired. Everything has a dull ache. My willpower kicks in and I turn over then sit up.
As I take in my surroundings I see what looks like a vast expanse of rock that stretches in every direction. I look for any signs of habitation and I find it right below my feet. In a hole that seems to be blasted out of the earth sits a metallic object. As I pick it up, I realize it is Coopers dog tag, it seems to be slightly bent and has some sort of black marking on it. I turn it over, and it is slightly more legible on this side.
It reads "run." | 2014-09-02T10:02:42 | 2014-09-02T10:00:19 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven. | "So it's meant to be, what, an agonizing choice? A huge dilemma? A source of eternal regret?" Leems asked. After an eternity on Acid Mine Supervision, he had finally been promoted to Reception, and wanted to be sure he understood what was going on.
"For some of them, yes. I think you might be overestimating how many actually think things through," Ebnerzaz replied, in his British basso. The supervisor of Reception stood an impressive twelve feet tall, and Leems had to scurry quickly in front of him to avoid his trashcan-lid-sized cloven hooves. Some said he had been chosen because the arriving souls often mistook him for the Prince of Darkness Himself.
"Ah, so you're saying that most of them choose the aeons-long vacation with The Enemy then," Leems wheezed. "They don't even give it a second thought, eh? 'Why would I pick a spoon when I can spend a hundred trillion years in heaven?'"
"Precisely," Ebnerzaz said, as they exited the vast hallway into a much vaster cavern. Its impressive collection of stalactites was sheathed in a constantly-churning haze, the better to frustrate anyone trying to enjoy the scenery. Management thought of everything.
"So what's our angle, then? If they get such pleasure from the vacation..."
"It makes it all the more crushing when they come back and realize that it was quite literally nothing compared to the length of time they'll be spending here. All subsequent torment is therefore enriched. Set the papers down there, if you would," Ebnerzaz said, as he found his desk. Leems stood on tiptoe to deposit the loose sheath of parchment in the supervisor's In box.
"Aha, so the correct choice, then, is the spoon?" he asked, looking around for his own desk.
The senior devil gave a condescending grin. "This is Hell, Leems. There is no correct choice."
"But..." Leems began.
"Our shift is starting. I'll answer any further questions when we have our break. Off you go," Ebnerzaz said, his massive clawed hand steering Leems' shoulders towards the empty desk he would be working at.
Leems hurried over to the protruding stone just in time for the flow of souls to shamble up to him, all of them shaved bald and clothed in itchy rags. "Welcome to Hell! You may have one amenity - a hundred trillion year vacation in heaven, starting right now, or a small wooden spoon." He offered the choice to each one of them, and saw that Ebnerzaz's assessment was even truer than he'd thought - thousands upon thousands chose the Heavenly vacation, no questions asked. As soon as they did, they vanished in a puff of light, leaving a lavender scent that clashed horribly with the dominant smell of brimstone.
Finally, one of the souls stopped long enough to think through the choice, his dark brow furrowing in concentration. "If you're offering me this, that means it's reasonable to choose the spoon, right? They're on a par with each other, right?" he said slowly.
Leems just smiled, not knowing the answer himself.
"So I know everybody in front of me chose Heaven. That can't be what you want. So let me think. It's eternal down here, right? So no matter how long the vacation is, it's not even a drop in the bucket. So let's think about it utilitarian-like. I can get real happy for a tiny amount of time, big-picture. Or I can choose the spoon, and it'll make me just a tiny bit happy, but for an infinite amount of time. Right?" he said eagerly. Once again, Leems didn't respond. "Oh, and what's more, once the vacation's over, I bet I'll regret I didn't choose the spoon. That'll make me even more unhappy. I'll never know what I'm missing out on if I don't go to heaven! But the spoon... that'll last me forever. No regrets there!"
"Are you quite done?" Leems asked.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm done. I'm pickin' the spoon," the soul said triumphantly.
Leems nodded, and pulled open the stone drawer in his desk with a scraping sound. Inside were hundreds of tiny wooden spoons, each not much bigger than a finger. He selected one and handed it to the soul, who eagerly grabbed it, before turning to the left to exit through one of the many gaping caves in the cavern wall.
The encounter stuck with Leems all through the shift, as he let thousands more souls poof into heaven. Finally, it was break time - the gates closed and the remaining lines disappeared. The horde of demons working Reception left their desks and swarmed over to the break area, to consume sulfurous coffee and rotting meat.
Leems sought out the hulking form of Ebnerzaz, and tugged on the supervisor's wings. "Ah, Leems! How did your first shift go? Keeping up the pace, I hope?" he asked, peering down at the smaller demon.
"Yes, it went very well, sir. But I did have one soul choose... the spoon."
"Ah, on your first day! Congratulations. It took me a week, way back when. But why are you looking so troubled?"
"Well, it's just... he stopped and thought about it, like you said some of them might. And his reasoning seemed pretty ironclad. If the spoon gives them a small amount of pleasure forever, is that not categorically better than a finite vacation in heaven?" Leems asked. "I thought you said there were no correct choices. I feel as though, by giving him the spoon, I have reduced the amount of suffering we'll generate."
"Ah, yes, Leems. Do not worry. The spoon will generate plenty of suffering in due time."
"But how?"
"Because, dear Leems," Ebnerzaz said, smiling his most terrifying smile yet. "When did you ever hear of a simple wooden spoon that stays intact forever?" | "My name is Beezel. It is my solemn duty to inform you that you have died and, following a very careful and meticulous accounting of your deeds and doings on the mortal plain, have been sentenced to an eternity in Hell.
"You now stand at a crossroads with one final choice to make, and you must make it with great care. As a new arrival, you are entitled to one of two gifts.
"If you would like, you may begin your stay with a vacation to heaven for a span of time totaling no more than 100-trillion years.
"Alternatively, you may have a small wooden spoon. You have ten minutes to make your decision."
The sudden appearance of a talking rat did not bother Makel. Why should it? His situation had no grounding in his former reality. He had to take things as they came now, and the rat's question provoked a far stronger response than his appearance.
"Heaven. I'll take the vacation in Heaven."
The small rat paused from a gleeful feast on what appeared to be a chunk of a Provolone and looked up to him with a hint of curiosity. "Are you sure? You cannot change your mind."
Makel didn't hesitate. "Heaven," he said, almost defiantly.
The rat seemed to consider the answer. Minutes passed, but nothing changed. The moment stretched on, for what seemed like an eternity.
Makel could begin to feel the tears welling up again. He had been in the dark cave for several days, maybe even weeks now. In that time, he had come to know several things. There was no exit. That was abundantly clear. The cavern was only a few hundred square feet around altogether. It appeared to be shaped like a doughnut, if one somehow found themselves inside the pastry.
There was no food or water to be seen either. That fact had troubled him at first. But the hours stretched on and the thirst never came. That troubled him more.
The one thing the cave did seem to have in abundance was, among all things, spoons. Small wooden spoons. Hundreds of them, thousands, more. There were enough spoons to feed an army of the damned with. He could not guess as to their purpose.
He had no intention of trying. As his survival instincts waned, it wasn't the peculiarity of Makel's surroundings that preoccupied him. It was what came before.
That's what bubbled into his mind now as well. He pushed the thought aside and shouted into the void.
"Beezel, I know you've heard me! You said I had ten minutes to make up my mind and I did. Are you going to send me to Heaven or aren't you?!"
The rat stirred to life. He darted out of his cozy nook behind a particularly old pile of spoons and charged between Makel's legs. Makel turned to take chase, but the rat hadn't gone very far. It was carefully climbing a rather topheavy stack of spoons directly in front of the rotund column that marked the cave's center.
When it had reached the top, the rat turned his back to Makel and dove into the column. As suddenly as it had appeared, the rat was gone.
Makel searched high and low, but could find no trace. The column was as solid as it looked. His hope had began to chip away once again as his stark situation came back into focus.
He slouched down against the wall and sobbed openly. The rat's sudden departure had hit him a lot harder than he had expected. It was a trick. That was the only explanation. If Beezel hadn't been lying and this was hell, than it was likely only the first of his many tormentors. Heaven wasn't an option for him now, and he knew it.
Makel wasn't a fool. He had expected a trap, any reasonable man would. The choices were absurd, and the results were likely to be bad either way. In spite of that, he had to try. It was worth it if he could just...
A loud crack on the wall behind him broke his train of thought. He jumped up and turned around to see pieces of the wall had begun to crack away and fall to the ground. Spoons splintered under falling chunks of rock as a pearly white structure began to take shape in the cavity.
It was a rather large cage that seemed to be composed almost entirely of pearl, save for a small panel of what looked to be solid gold.
A lift. Makel could guess as to where it led. Inside, a small rat angrily chewed at it's leg for a moment. Beezel shook himself into focus. He scurried up the side of the lift facing Makel, stepping on a latch and swinging open the door. He turned his attention to the young man.
"I apologize for the delay, I'm afraid I got into a bit of an argument with a very old acquaintance before I could return.
"I have retrieved a lift that will take you up to heaven. Please step in and set your desired duration on the inside panel. You'll notice it only goes up to 100 trillion years, so don't bother putting any more than that," Beezle said, now donning a bit of a smirk.
Makel's smile had returned. He thought about it carefully and came to a decision.
"I won't need that long. Can I set it for an hour?"
Beezel squeeked uncharacteristically.
He then coughed and said, "1 HOUR?! This cannot be right. You've made a mistake. Maybe I did not explain myself. You can stay up there for 100 trillion years, you see!" The rat seemed flustered. As much as a rat can seem flustered, at least.
"I understand the situation, but I only need an hour. Any more than that will just make the return that much harder. I just want to see her one last time, and apologize for everything I've done. I couldn't live up to my mistakes in life, but I'll be damned if I don't do what little I can in death."
The rat began to scream, a loud and piercing note. The walls shook and the spoons splintered. The cacophony didn't seem to bother Makel though. In fact, the sound of it all was fading quickly. Not just the sound. The floor seemed to be stretching away as well. Beezel was already out of sight by the time Makel realized he was on the lift. Several moments later and the cave, spoons and all, were out of sight.
The gate of the lift opened a short time later. Before he could step out, a tall bearded man stepped in and gave the boy a warm, thoughtful gaze. He spoke.
"You know young Makel, you've surprised even me. I'm not going to tell you that you've cheated the system and found a way to redemption. You haven't. But you already know that. I can see it in your eyes. Still, you've gotten more out of Beezel than most I daresay. I haven't seen him that annoyed in a long time. He won't be happy about it when you return, but what's done is done.
Still, you've managed to make me smile. So, before you go on to your pressing business, I'll give you this opportunity. Ask of me any one question and I will answer it. Then you can enjoy your remaining time as you'd like."
Makel thought about it. As much as he wanted to run ahead he could not pass up the opportunity. But what question was of any value to him now, knowing how he was to spend the rest of his existence?
It came to him rather suddenly.
"What was with the spoons?"
The man laughed uproariously. "Ah that. I filled up his lobby with spoons at some point as a joke. I think he's just trying to get rid of them." | 2022-03-09T06:27:01 | 2015-06-08T02:09:14 | 4,220 | 81 |
[WP] Instead of reading 'Pregnant' or 'Not Pregnant', your digital pregnancy test displays 'Stay where you are, everything will be OK' | I stared mutely at the digital pregnancy test display. There were a lot of words I had expected to say once the results came in, most of them along the lines of: "God fucking damn it, Jason" or, "SHE'S SAFE!" followed by a fist pump.
But I hadn't thought that the first words out of my mouth would be: "What the *fuck?*"
Stay where you are, everything will be OK. What the hell kind of shit is this? Did I get a prank pregnancy tester? Was this a defect or something?
...What in the *hell* are the odds of that happening?
My cell phone rings from where I left it on the sink. *I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me, HE'S JUST A POOR BOY, FROM A -*
I pull the phone off the counter as Freddie Mercury sings his heart out, and stare at the call number for a second. *666-666-6666.*
Slowly, my thumb hits the receive button. "Hello? Who is this?" I ask cautiously.
"Would this be a Miss Josephine Maggy Evans?" Asks a smooth and downright seductive voice. "If not, please just say so and we will not bother you further."
"Yeah, you're talking to her." I said roughly. "I prefer Jo, though." I added.
"Splendid!" Crows the man. "We suppose you are wondering about the pregnancy test results you have so recently received?"
*What the fuck?*
"How the fuck do you know about that?!?"
The voice continues unhurriedly. "We are simply people who have mastered the art of having time, and quite frankly people, to kill, torture, and maim for the last four thousand years. But to answer your previous questions, we are Legion and we know about those results because we dwell in the hearts and minds of humans everywhere." It paused, adding, "Please do not panic. As it says on the display, everything will be -"
I hung up. I snorted to myself as I threw the broken tester into the trash can, shaking my head at the state of pranks today. So what if he knew about when I took the test. Probably a coincidence, probably I'd hear my voice on Youtube in the next couple of days on a prank video outtakes section.
I pulled out my phone and was about to call Jason when Freddie Mercury starts singing again.
Its the same number: *666-666-6666*. I feel an eyebrow twitch, and hit the accept button, thumbing the speaker option and bringing it close to my mouth.
I say heatedly, "Listen, assholes, your joke isn't funny anymore and you should just -"
"You are now the mother of the Antichrist, Harbinger of the End Days, and by extension, are now wife to the Adversary himself." Says the smooth voice in a decidedly clipped tone of voice. "Make of that what you will, Lady Jo, because *we* certainly will, and good day to *you!*"
I hear the click of something slamming down an old dial-phone receiver and the dial tone fills the sudden silence. Then my Samsung just falls apart in my hand.
I stare mutely at the collection of metal and plastic in my hands before a thought occurs to me:
*So Jason is literally Satan?* I think about that for a few seconds before nodding slowly. *This explains so much.* | ‘Stay where you are, everything will be OK.’
I stared at the pregnancy test. Then shook it a couple times, checking the screen again before flicking it with one finger. “What the fuck?” Dropping it into the sink, I grabbed the box with the spare test from the cabinet again. There was nothing written on the back about this sort of error. I wasn’t feeling up to snuff, sick and all, and I just wanted to be sure that I wasn’t pregnant. That’s all, I didn’t want to be prey for some dumbass kid’s stupid joke.
Glowering at the used test, I filled a glass up with water while mentally adding pregnancy tests to my shopping list. I hate shopping for the damn things considering all the looks people gave you but better to have them on hand. I was definitely going for a different brand though. Maybe higher up on the shelf so that it had a lower chance of being tampered with.
There was a loud pounding at the door, startling me into spilling some of the water. I frowned at my wet shirt, attempting to dry it off with a towel as I walked towards the front door. The knocking noise came again, and a scowl came to my face. “Yeah! I’m fucking coming! Hold your horses!” I rubbed more at my shirt before finally getting to the door, opening it a crack. “What’s your problem?”
“Kyla Westen?” There was a pair of men standing outside my door, looking as if they couldn’t be more different with a woman between them. One man wore a suit with carefully styled hair, the other looked like a street hoodlum, wearing baggy pants and a hoodie. The woman was somewhere in-between, managing to look casual and professional at the same time. Had something to do with the gun holstered under her jacket.
“Nah. Roommate. What’s up with her?” The woman frowned, lines creasing her face in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible.
“The question was simply a formality, Miss Westen. We need to talk about the pregnancy test you just took.”
“Excuse me?” My mouth gaped at the three people and the one in the business suit put a hand to the Bluetooth he has in one ear.
“Two minutes, Faith.” He looked towards the elevator.
“Miss Westen, you need to come with us.” The woman glanced towards the elevator with a nod to the businessman, a nervous expression appearing for a second on her face. A hand moved back to rest on the butt of her gun, seemingly without conscious thought. “You’re in danger. We need to get you out of the building before the others arrive.”
“Others? What?” I was certain I looked the spitting image of a fish out of water.
“There are people on their way here, right now, that will maim, torture, and eventually kill you. If you come with us, right now, we can protect you.”
“You’re insane.” The words came from me immediately. The businessman touched the Bluetooth again.
“One minute thirty.”
“Kyla, please listen to me. That test showed something very abnormal and it alerted half the government agencies around the country as to your presence.” Faith plead, glancing towards the elevator again. “It tagged your location immediately and sent your information in every direction, plus more due to hackers and moles.”
“You’re high.”
“I know your name, your address, and the fact that you just pissed on a pregnancy test. How is that being high?” Faith’s voice became sharp and I trembled on the other side of the door. “Just grab your wallet and your bag and let’s go before there’s a firefight in this hallway.” Glancing over the two men, I could see the telltale bump on each of them where they have their own handguns.
“How did you know I don’t carry a purse?”
“If you come with, I’ll answer everything. If you don’t, I can’t be held responsible for what happens to you.” I glanced to my wallet and bag, sitting on the side table, just inside the entrance. “Kyla, please. We have to go now.”
“One minute.” The tone from the businessman was warning now. The hoodlum shifted back and forth, the handgun bulge moving and I heard the distinctive sound of one of the three guns outside my door cocking.
“Kyla. Please trust me. We have to go.” I looked to my wallet and bag before shutting the door. I heard one of them curse loudly.
“God damnit, what the hell are we supposed to do? Drag them out?” I tossed my wallet into my pocket and yanked the bag up onto my shoulder. I could only assume it’s the hoodlum despite it sounding like the businessman. I slipped into a pair of my sneakers, failing to bother tying them properly in my rush.
“She’s not coming Faith, let’s go, before they arrive and shoot us.” A smooth male voice spoke. I pulled the chain back from the door as I grabbed my keys and opened the door again. Faith looked surprised before smiling gently.
“Let’s go.” She took my hand and began to run, forcing me to keep up with her. | 2015-06-12T19:15:11 | 2015-06-12T19:08:33 | 352 | 60 |
[WP] "Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst." | The woman's eyes lost focus and fell to the floor. Tears followed her gaze. They were big enough to make a sound when they hit the linoleum.
"Can't you give us a little more time?" She asked. I tried and failed to meet her eyes.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. There's nothing I can do." I replied. I scanned the room and silently made a list of what might fetch a bit of cash.
"Please, *please* give us more time. We'll get your money, I promise you! My husband..." I cut her off with a raise of my hand and motioned to Carlos. He brought a laden sack into her field of vision. She met my eyes.
"We've already spoken to your husband." I replied. Carlos upended the sack.
"James!" She screeched as her husband's head hit the floor. His dead eyes stared off into the ether.
"Your time is up, Mary. The boss has lost patience." I said. "Carlos, Vincenzo."
My hand tightened on the knife. A smile crept to my face. Mary screamed.
When it was over I vomited into the dead woman's sink. | I lay on a long maroon couch, watching the ceiling fan spin on a low enough setting to be amusing but not actually create enough wind to make a difference. On the walls around me abstract "art" hangs next to degrees and awards. I say art loosely as it is a compilation of red and blue lines squiggling around. Hardly talent and im sure was way overpriced for something my 3 year old could draw better.
for a moment in time im lost with my own thoughts only to be brought back to the present when i hear a soft voice say
**Doc :** "whenever you're ready".
realizing im wasting $350 an hour I start to rehearse what i planned on saying coming in here.
**Myself :** "Most days I hate my job. Hate isn't a strong enough word. Most days I despise even loathe my job. However some days it is all worth it. For a brief moment in time I become filled with jubilation and ecstasy at preforming this simple but necessary task. Only to later again hate the job and hate myself even more for enjoying it. What kind of monster am I doc?
A brief moment of no talking and scribbling furiously on whatever is on that yellow legal pad fills the air.
**Doc:** mhmm.. mhmmm... and how does that make you feeeeeeel?
Fucking A... he couldn't have given me a more stereotypical psychiatrist answer if he tried.
**Myself:** "I just told you how that made me feel were you even listening."
**Doc:** "no need to get agitated this is a safe place."
I look down and notice my hands were now fists gripped so tight my knuckles were turning white.
**Doc:** "now you said you feel like a monster...That you hate your job, and hate yourself when you like your job. Why is that?"
Even though his face stayed fixated in the same neutral tone i could sense that he was feeling smug. like he just said something smart and was beaming on the inside as he proved he was listening. Well congrats buddy you just got paid $350 to do nothing and then are acting superior FUCK YOU.
**Myself:** "Did you even read what I do on the form or did i spend 30 minutes in the waiting room for nothing"
I could tell there was anger behind my voice still even though i tried to hide it.
**Doc :** "well Janice was supposed to file...
I tuned him out i knew he was spewing more bullshit than a dairy farm .
I interrupted
**Myself:** "I AM AN EXECUTIONER! "
I said that louder than i wanted Im sure this room wasnt sound proofed enough for the people in the other room to Not hear that. I wait to see the surprise, the shock, something to validate what i just said. something to show that i am not alone.
**Doc:**"mhmmm... mhmm... and how does that make you feeeeel..."
I storm out slamming the door hard enough to hopefully make one of his stupid paintings fall.
| 2015-07-16T07:16:26 | 2015-07-16T07:05:23 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you." | "Fuck me in the ass."
My thick dragon eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I coughed. The fire that was waiting to roast the bastard quelled in my throat.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me Dragon - stick your big fat dragon dick, up my ass."
I didn't feel amused. It'd been a millennium since my mating season. And this man wasn't a dragon. I didn't even want to picture the logistics.
"And suppose human, I seriously considered what you request. Do you think that act is worth a meager coin you just threw onto my pile of treasure?"
The stupid knight nodded.
"This is a dragon's lair not a brothel." I said in disbelief. "Where's the respect gone? The tradition?"
The knight took out a pouch of gold and awkwardly took a step closer to the horde, dropping a few coins more into the pile. He smiled conciliatory, as if he'd meant no insult.
"What, you've got a dragon fetish?"
"Well no, not exactly."
"Then why the fuck do you want to get fucked in the ass by a dragon?"
"That's what I was thinking too until I saw it in a painting and then I couldn't stop thinking about it."
I put a massive claw to my snout and eyes in a dragon facepalm. In the corner of my hearing, I thought I heard a snicker. I looked at the knight, who had a neutral expression.
"Okay." I sighed deeply, "I'll grant you your request. Turn around and bare your rear."
He stammered. "W-wait what, seriously?"
I grinned widely, willing the heavy stone entrances closed with my familiarity of the lair. They landed with a heavy thud.
"I- I was just kidding. There's no way -"
"A dragon's word is golden just like his horde."
He screamed as I opened up my wings, gusting heated air into the room. Fire jettisoned out of my mouth, creating a pillar 30 feet high.
"DRAGON RAAAPE!" I hissed between my teeth, eyes glowing.
The knight began to run back and forth in the stone hall, his helmet clanking up and down.
I spoke lowly in dragon tones, "I bet your human manuscripts don't know how big a Dragon dick is - but feel honored, because you're about to find out."
The knight was still looking for a way out, clawing at the stone gaps frantically. His gait started to look a little awkward as if he'd crapped his pants.
I almost felt sorry for the fellow until he pulled out his sword.
"You take your dick out Dragon, and I'll cut your wanker right off!" He breathed red-faced and with an expression of revulsion.
"Chill out man." I said. "Jared just wanted to pull a prank on you."
"What, huh? What?" The knight only looked more confused.
"Your asshole friend? The guy who dared you to ask me to fuck you in the ass. That guy."
The knight sat, stunned - probably sitting in his own shit. My dragon sense of smell could detect it even from my height.
"JAAARED" He hollered, sword in hand, running out of the entrance of my now opened lair.
I smirked satisfactorily, being a dragon there weren't many things that could keep you entertained anymore.
| The dragon took a deep sniff, snorting smoke in the intruder's face. To his credit, the intruder didn't flinch.
"Infernal... why come to me in the guise of a human? And what is that odd garb you wear?"
The man chuckled, pulling his hands out of the three-piece suit. He kicked an odd ruby out of the way with his patent-leather wingtip. "I knew you weren't going to be so easily fooled." His skin began to fill with red, and two prominent horns slowly pushed through his forehead. His mouth, once pearly white, was now full of yellow fangs. "Although thank you for confirming what I thought about your... situation."
The dragon's eyes were slits as she squinted down at him. "Why should I not devour you right now?"
"Whoa, sweetheart, pacem. Let's cool it with the antagonism, OK? I'm not here to fight, clearly. And even if you did devour me, I'd be digested or whatever, I'd reconstitute in the Infernal plane after a century and then I'd be back to try this whole thing over again. So do me a favor, huh, and maybe just listen for a second? Like I said. Proposition. As in, 'mutually beneficial.' Capice?"
The dragon sneered, snorting smoke into the devil's face once more. The devil rolled his eyes. "And what do you really think you can offer me?"
"...I thought that was obvious. What every dragon wants... uncounted wealth, a secluded home, yadda yadda yadda... basically all of this," he said, gesturing toward the interior of the lair, "but, y'know, better."
Fire shot from her mouth and nostrils as the dragon's laughter boomed through the cave. "Fool... why would I need YOU to get that? A quick trek outside and I can get all this and more!"
The devil, who had taken out a hand mirror to check his immaculate hairdo (what with all the fire and smoke going around), started to laugh, a loud and insincere laugh clearly designed just to rile the dragon up. "Oh, you. First of all, sugar, it's pretty obvious to anyone with any sort of spatial awareness that you couldn't leave this cave if you wanted to. Either you're too big, or it's too small. Six of one, half-dozen of the other, really."
As the dragon stretched, attempting to get to her full height, she realized how right he was. There was a low rumble throughout the cave as her scales scraped across the cave ceiling.
"And second, how long do you think its been since you've gone out there? A century? A millennium? More? You've been sleeping in this cave for a long, long time. And, uh, let's just say that the march of progress clearly left you behind. You would not believe the kinds of creations the humans have now. And even without magic! That coin I tossed you, believe it or not, is made primarily of elements even the dwarves hadn't really grasped, and they were the KINGS of mining. If you really think a fear aura, a couple of fireballs, and some scales are gonna save you from them? Screw it, maybe I'm wasting my time here. I thought dragons were supposed to be smart."
Externally, the devil was the pinnacle of cool, but internally, he knew this was a dangerous gambit. Sure, he had SAID he'd be fine if the dragon devoured him, but given that he'd never died before, he couldn't be absolutely certain, and he really didn't want to try now.
The dragon's stare pierced him. It burned deep inside of him, bringing out something he thought he had lost when he became a being of otherworldly evil: fear.
"You have gained my ear, infernal. What do you and your kind get out of the bargain?"
He let out a barely-audible sigh of relief, then it was back to pitchman mode. "What do we ever get out of the bargain? Souls. You come out, you do your thing, we protect you while doing your thing, and sell salvation to the idiots who run in fear from you. Like I said, a lot's changed out there. Belief in things like dragons and devils is at an all-time low. The Hells have never been so short on soul energy. But together, we can change that. And the beings I represent want that very much." He snapped a finger, and a rolled parchment appeared in a puff of smoke. He broke the seal, unrolling it with a flourish, and laying it in front of the dragon. "So if you don't mind, we'd really like you to sign here. The contract's even in Draconic, just for you."
It would serve to be his greatest sale yet: kickstarting the old soul business, and claiming the soul of the last dragon on the planet. After all, while the contract was in Draconic, there was no chance she was going to be able to read it all at the tiny font size. He was definitely getting that promotion. | 2015-10-13T22:32:10 | 2015-10-13T21:07:21 | 91 | 30 |
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review. | Weird place, this is. Well, that's not entirely true. Pretty standard for most people really. Weird for my boss is what I mean to say. Whole place smells of marble floor buffer and office supplies. Makes sense, in a Gotham sort of way. It honestly wouldn't surprise me if the big guy was actually paying the monthly rent on this place. That'd be right up his alley. Probably signed "The Clown Prince of Crime" on the lease, just to see what it felt like (or just to tease the Bat with once he finds out all he had to do to stop the most recent crime wave is check the zoning permits).
Here she comes. Is she here for me? No. She's here for him.
"Your 12 o'clock's here Mr J."
Guess she's the secretary today.
In all the time I've been with Joker, the craziest thing I've ever known him to do is shack up with that lady. 10 out of 10 in my book, but any lady who would take Joker as a boyfriend has got to be certifiably insane. She'll slit his throat mid coitus one day, I'm sure of it. Or worse; take him to court for alimony. Women are all nutters. Cold hearted nutters.
"Ahhh, WONDERFUL! Thank you Ms. Quinn! Send him in!"
Guess that's my cue.
I hope I'm dressed properly. I wore my best suit for the occasion; Polyester tweed with brown and orange striped patterning; White silk gloves that come up to my elbow; Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle cuff links. Wanted to be fancy, but I don't know. Joker's never been one to put on airs. I'm sure it's fine.
The big guy's office is a bit messier than I would have thought. You'd think the CEO of his own crime family would be a bit more organized. Not this guy. I suppose that's why I like him though. He's a cool boss. Not like my last boss. That guy was uptight.
"Come in! Please, sit down. Better yet, stand... on your head."
This guy! He knows how to keep things casual. Starting to get light headed though.
"First things first. How ya doin'? Can I get you something? Water? Tea? cola?"
"No thanks, boss. I'm good."
"Good man. You know why you're here?"
"I think so, boss." Starting to feel a little whoozy.
"Great! Well, I've been going over my records, what with it being tax season and all, and I noticed something very special about you. You're not dead."
"Nothing gets past you, boss." Man, I'm starting to get a bit uncomfortable. Should I say something?
"That's why I'm the boss! So, I come across this information, and I think to myself, 'How do I fix this?' And you know what?"
"No. What?" Starting to get tired. Hope I don't fall over.
"It was EASY! All I have to do is KILL you! So I sent for you and now here you are, standing on your head in my office with my gun pointing right at your... Actually, could you get back on your feet? I'm used to aiming a bit higher. I'm afraid I'll miss, then WHAMO! Testicles all over my office."
"Sure thing, boss. Honestly, I was beginning to feel a little worried. Thought I was going to pass out during your presentation."
"Oh? Well, I am terribly sorry about that. Why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't want to be rude."
I made him smile. Look at that! It's a good feeling, to make others smile. Especially the boss.
"You know something, whatever your name is? I like you! You're polite. And fashionable! Where'd you get that suit? I must know."
"Well, the gloves belonged to my grandma, may she rest in peace. The cuff links I bought with money I stole from the jewelry store that sold them. And the suit was my dad's. Glad you noticed, I went through an awful lot of trouble digging him up to get it when I heard you wanted to see me today."
"Ahh! So that's what that smell is! You know, I couldn't quite place it, but I had a sneaking feeling it was corpse. You know, I was all set up to kill you. Now I'm not sure. You tell me, should I kill you? Pros and cons, I need a cost/benefit analysis to decide."
"Uhh. I don't know boss. I don't really have a head for figures. That's probably why I dropped out of school to be a busboy at Big Belly Burger."
"But now you work for me. Do you miss your old job? Would you be happier back there?"
"No. I like you, boss. The boss at Big Belly Burger was kinda uptight, and not very generous. He gave the entire staff iTunes gift cards for Christmas. Like we don't already get all digital media for free! Useless. Made me mad."
"Oohhhh! That tears me up inside! How out of touch can you get?! I tell you what, let's go kill him! Where was that Big Belly Burger?"
"He's not there anymore. He's at Arkham."
"Arkham, huh? My old stomping grounds. I remember admission standards there used to be quite high. Seems to have gone down in quality since my graduation I suppose, letting someone like THAT into the place. Are there no STANDARDS any more?"
"I don't know. He just started crying the day I quit and stopped moving, so they took him away. I think he knew he was losing a valuable employee and couldn't handle it. Also, I fed everyone who came to the Big Belly Burger that day meat that was made from his wife and kids, so he probably missed them too. Who's to say what makes a guy go whacky?"
"You know something? You're gonna go far in this organization. You get a promotion! Let's celebrate!" | Have you ever felt your life couldn't be any worst that it currently is ? That your entire existance could be summed up to a succession of really bad decisions ? I'm Frank Xandar, 32 years old, no girlfriend, a rap sheet longer than my arm and no real friends. The only thing I have is my job and even then it's hard to qualify this as a job when you're pulling heist for an unpredictable psychopath like the Joker. Still, I manage, I endure and I actually managed to survive this gig for a full year, well above the usual average for this kind of job. So imagine my surprise when the bossman asked to see me this morning for a yearly review. I'm scared shitless, most people that see the inside of this office, don't live to tell the tales.
So here I am, sitting on a kindergarden plastic chair, using every once of mental aptitude not to piss myself while waiting for the Joker, bossman, Mista' J as *she* always calls him. The office is deemly lit, the walls are decorated with severed clown heads mounted on little bats bodies. Bloody weapons are everywhere, not modern weapons mind you, mostly swords and medieval stuff.
The bossman enters, his presence is scaring me to my very core. Every muscle in my body screams at me to run away but I can't flinch a single inch. He sits in the chair across from the desk and looks up at me.
>So... Xandar is it?
>>Huh.... yes sir.
>What kind of name is Xandar anyway, I mean I flipped trough most of the phonebook, well actually I killed trough most of the phonebook but I never saw that name before.
>>Huh.. It's polish, sir.
>Polish eh? Oh well... you live with the cards you're dealt.
...
>Now, Xandar, you seem like a nice enough fellow but I'll be honest, I don't think I ever saw you before in my life. I mean for all I know you could be an undercover copper!
>>No sir, absolutly not. I assure you. I've been a loyal henchman of yours for a year now. Miss Quinn recruited a bunch of us during her last stay in Arkham.
>Harley did that? I always knew the gal had a few lose screws. Oh Well, we like lose screws around here right Xandar?
>>Yes sir.
>You didn't make any advance toward my Harley now did you Xandar my boy ? I mean, she can be quite the seductress and I'm not one to share my toys, you understand ?
>>Yes sir, I mean no sir, I would never think about doing something like this. I swear.
>Right.... Anyway! We are here for your mandatory one year performance review. Funny thing, you know it's actually the first time I have to do a one year review ? You people usually disappear a lot sooner.
>>Yes sir, we usually do... hehe.
>Well.... at least you're honest. I don't trust honest people Xandar, they tend to develop morals and such. Are you really honest Xandar ?
>>Well... I am when I say that I'm entirely loyal to you sir but I'm a thief at heart.
>A thief!
The Joker jumps out his chair and knocks me to the ground, placing a giant knife to my throat.
>Would you steel from me Xandar ? Would you take what is mine ? I don't take kindly to thievery Xandar and my henchmen should do well to remember it.
>>No sir, I mean yes sir I know it, we all know it. I would never even think to steal from you sir.
Satisfied, the Joker gets back into his chair and opens a folder that was sitting on his desk.
>Now, Xandar according to your employee file, you've participated in over 25 heists, have gone up against the Bat about 6 times, suffered 3 broken jaws, 2 dislocated shoulders, 8 broken ribs and a broken femur. Careful boy, those hospital guys are bigger thieves than me!
>>Yes sir, good thing we have good insurance, hehe.
>We have insurance ? Really ? Why did nobody tell me this before!
The Joker pops his head trough the office window
>Hey Harley, we have insurance on these guys ?
>>>Of course we do Mista' J, Bat breaks them often so we need to repair them better
>Why didn't you tell me this sooner your harlot brain ?
>>>It was your idea Mista' J.
>Really ? In that case it's a great idea
...
>Now, where was I ?
>>Huh... Insurance sir.
>Oh right, insurance, well that will not do. We'll have to do something about that. I guess I should read your contracts more closely. I'd ask the lawman who wrote them up but I slit his throat last month. Oh well.. What else is in there Xandar ?
>>You mean in our contracts ? It's pretty generic sir, health plan, division of loot, yearly performance reviews, annual bonuses,...
>Wait wait WAIT.... annual bonuses ? That will certainly not work. Did I really put that in there ? Huh... I most have thought that nobody would ever live that long. I mean most henchmen die within the first month. Except cowards... you're not a coward are you Xandar?
>>No sir, absolutly not, like my file says, I went up against the Bat a few times. Came out bruised. I'm not a coward.
>Good.... Because you know what we do to cowards around here.
>>Yes sir, I do. It was made quite clear on my first day sir. I still have nightmares about that day sir.
>Good... Now Xandar, you seem like a good-enough fellow, you do good in heists, you fight... well-enough....I guess and you seem loyal. Overall I would give your evaluation a solid 8/10. Good work.
>> Thank you sir.
>However... I can't have people holding off as long as you have, it's bad more morale.
>>Bad for morale sir ?
>Yes, you see my henchmen are supposed to be disposable, replaceable, it keeps them on their toe. If word gets out that you can actually survive that long, people will start to get silly survival ideas, they'll be less agressive, more cautious, cowards. Like I said, it's all bad for morale.
>>I don't understand sir, are you firing me ?
>No....no no no no. No such things. You're a valued employee Xandar, I can't just fire you and watch such a useful ressource go to work for the Penguin or Harvey Two-face... Fear and loyalty must be rewarded and punish.
>>I don't understand sir, I though...
I never finished my sentence, never saw the gun either, must have been hidden under the desk. All I felt was the pain in my gut. I looked down to see my bloody hands holding up my entrails, then nothing.
>Sorry about the mess Xandar, you seemed like a nice enough fellow but I can't have my men become weak by idiolizing survivors and old-timers, it's bad for business. And yearly bonuses? Hah! I'll have to find a new lawyer to redraft those employee contracts right away. Harley! Clean up in my office, now!
| 2016-11-21T09:04:26 | 2016-11-21T06:51:31 | 64 | 12 |
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review. | "We're going to attack Pettit's compound on Christmas," the Joker said. The apartment building where we were holed-up wasn't crowded. Just four men, including myself, and the Joker.
One of the men asked, "Why are we going to wait a whole month?"
The Joker pulled out a gun and pointed it at the henchman. "Because it wouldn't be funny if we attacked today!" he cried in exasperation. The man fidgeted. The Joker pulled the trigger and a BANG sign appeared. The man shit himself. The Joker laughed.
I knew the BANG sign could be launched into a person's chest, but the Joker was starting to run low on henchmen. No Man's Land would do that. I'd been with the Joker for almost a year and the only reason I'd survived was the lack of options for the Clown Prince of Crime.
"Go find us some food," screamed the Joker. The men and I scrambled out the door of the dingy apartment. "Not you," the Joker called after me. I turned around, knowing full well to make eye contact. The Joker despised fear. He respected people who looked at him. It didn't mean he wouldn't kill you.
"Your name is Conrad, isn't it?" he asked.
"Sometimes. Other times, I can't remember what it is. Changes depending on who I'm talking to." The Joker nodded in approval.
"You've been with me for almost a year." The Joker's eye narrowed. "How'd you manage that long?"
"I had a bad day once," I started, "and I realized that we're all just here, trying to manage. Trying to reckon. I'm not even sure what that bad day was anymore. In my mind, the past is a just a field with the events jumbled about. There isn't a reason. So if you look for one, you'll just go mad. I don't look for reasons. I just do."
"Hehehe," the Joker cooed. "You passed your annual review, Conrad. I want you to do me a favor. Smile." | "Does chaos excite you? You have been with me for quite some time, after all."
The joker sporadically arose from his misappropriated desk with a tightly gripped fist and an even tighter smile; pacing, the joker began mumbling about the bat, about Gotham, and about nothing at all. His scattered thoughts entrained his body through a series of semi ritualistic smashings and swearings...The hostages, roped away in a solemn corner, watched in despair as their office become a stage for utter insanity. Entirely ignoring his guests, the joker seemed fixated on a mental object of such brilliance and glory that no other purpose in life could ever distract him. He moved with a swiftness and with the certainty that can only be owned by someone with true aspiration. And each of the objects in the room, posed a threat to his vision of his disorder. Yes, in this office in the Joker found himself, each correlated paper and each family photo enraged him. With a half-crooked, toothy smile, the joker slowly unveiled a beautiful silver lighter.. and began toying with the flame.
"You must think me cruel, but I really just want to make you smile. To make everyone smile. Fear - chaos - these are the tools of gods; and when a god tells you to smile, you bow down on your fucking knees and you smile. So bow. No, you won't bow? Admittedly, I would have shot you if you had done so. Cowards bow. Like those worthless drones in the corner. Oh Mr. Joker, let me live they scream!"
And with that, Mr. J hurriedly grabbed the eldest hostage and held the flame up to his weary eyes. In an instant, the lighter erupted with the recognizable bang of a small firearm. The crowd gasped and began to wail and whimper. To the Joker these were sustenance; a vindication of his efforts to mold the world in his image - but to see and to understand the joker is to know that this image is that of only his latest whim, guided by only madness. To survive the joker is to outlive a purposelessness pandora; blood red fire illuminate his way and nothing more. As the crowd assessed the result of Mr. J's latest unloading, they breathed a sigh of relief as they found the old man curled up on the floor, alive, with no injury.
"Don't you see. Without me, these people have no reason to smile. I kill one, two, three... hehehe maybe more. I kill them all. And they're stupid little families cry, boo-hoo-hoo. Pathetic. Look how happy they were now that they see I didn't kill the sad bastard."
And with that Mr. J unloaded five rounds into the back of the old man's skull. Affectioned tears ordained the ground of their stricken manager, whom many considered a dear friend.
"And look how quickly I can take that smile back; if I let them keep it, how will they learn to be grateful? You get it don't you? Yes of course you do.. I did all of these for you, you know. To make you smile. To see if after all this time, I could still make you smile. Isn't it wonderful? That hopelessness in their eyes. The control. Ha what will he do next? Well let me show you.."
And with his biggest gesture yet, Mr. J unwrapped his coat to reveal a massive bomb strapped to his chest.
"Chaos, you see, cannot exempt itself; today I will surprise them all."
A devious smile appeared as the joker pursed his lips; a haunting smile. an absolutely exhilarating smile.
"Today I will give you the honor of being a part of the history that will always inspire more fear and more uncertainty; that will make people smile each day they do not die.."
And in the flash of an eye forty-five people were extinguished brilliantly in a gaudy blast of purple flame and cacophonous auto programmed laughter. | 2016-11-21T06:54:16 | 2016-11-21T02:49:57 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :) | Day 176,709
My name is Frrajkuisi. I am part of the 14,976,430th legion sent to exterminate the 'humans'.
We had received word that the upstart race of humanoids who dominated Planet-CX3995 otherwise known as 'Earth', had grown exponentially, and technology had advanced dramatically. Initial reports indicated their progress had been impressive since we last sent scouts, but like so many others, their focus was misguided. 'Missiles', which are similar to our cannons, but with a much greater range and destructive capability. 'Machine guns', Rapid firing muskets that can fire hundreds of bullets in mere seconds. 'Nuclear Weapons', perhaps mankind's greatest achievement based on our reports, uses the power of atoms to cause catastrophic damage across miles, completely disintegrating anything in its radius. The list goes on and on... If only they had realized the true potential behind subatomic technology...
The initial attacks were a resounding success, for every 15 of our soldiers killed, we killed one of theirs. The humans in their arrogance refused to even commit fully to the war, mocking us and our 'stone age weapons'.
We remember their "stone age", it wasn't the biggest stick that won the wars. Men won wars. Numbers won wars. The humans had forgotten this. As days turned in to weeks, weeks in to months, months to years... Wave after wave after wave... They began to remember.
My battalion is to be sent tomorrow. Without intergalactic travel there is no hope for escape, this war will be over by the end of the century, they clutch to survival in small pockets. Their most powerful weapons spent centuries ago. Their numbers dwindle.
This is my musket. There are many like it, but this one is mine... | When he finished he put it back into the display case full of his other trophies. He had taken it from the Grand Warlord of Nor IV, one of his easiest conquests.
"But you must agree Admiral that it is a waste of our resources. Why invade when they clearly are killing themselves? We don't even need to wait that long, maybe 200 years, before they have reached a point where we don't have send an entire fleet."
"Waste? The vast resources of this system make an invasion worth the effort. They don't know what lurks under the surface of their gas giant, or under the ice of double planetoids. Their probes are laughable in their tools, and they haven't even yet set up optics to spot our ships."
"But consider this, while they might not have space faring capabilities they do have weapons that they could point at us. There will be losses. Reports make it clear that they are highly tribal and pointing those weapons at each other at the moment. They are arguing with themselves, with tensions rising. They are on the verge of not just stopping and reversing the warming of their planet, but controlling their climate and weather. They are stumbling into artificial intelligence, and are showing the first signs of accidentally releasing an unbound AI upon their communication networks. They are showing signs of possible disease outbreaks, even after clearly having control for decades."
"Your point captain?"
"My point is that we don't need a fleet. We need patience. We could probably speed up the process a bit. Our medical technology would allow us to look like them. I know that chemical warfare is not honorable, but we could modify our technology to speed up the warming of their climate. We could sponsor one or more of the unstable nations to pose a threat. We could introduce our own AI into their system. On their own, we could see a collapse in 200 cylces. With some help we could see one in 50. They can't detect us right now, and we have full ability to monitor them. Small, subtle moves can create massive change. Unstablize the planet, help them destroy themselves, and we can swoop in once all their bombs are dropped. Teraforming technology has taken some great leaps in cleaning up our own radioactive messes, and what they can do is nothing compared to what we did."
"A little patience and we won't be risking anything?"
"Exactly."
"Any ideas on where to start?"
"Well, one of the more powerful nations is going to be holding elections soon. I think we can get one of our own in there to shake things up. It might take two of their election cycles to get someone into the top, but I think I have the perfect candidate."
A thin sheet of transparent glass like material was set on a desk in front of the admiral, reports and photos slowly cycled across from it.
"He looks... a bit like us. This is already someone on that planet?"
"The orange skin and yellow hair will save our medical professionals some work, and I can have a team ready to replace him as soon as we have his replacement ready."
The admiral considered it. He tapped his desk a few times as the idea rolled over in his head. "Are you also picking him because his name is similar to my ancestral clan's?"
"No sir, I wasn't aware you had that in common," the captain said with his best poker face.
"Very well," the admiral said with a slap on his desk. "I want this Trump replaced as soon as possible."
"We should be able to get it done soon. A window will open at what is called a White House Press Dinner I believe, if not then soon after." | 2017-08-08T08:37:17 | 2017-08-08T08:23:50 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :) | "Agent Carter? Sir?" Agent Carter looked up from the mound of work on his desk to see Clark standing behind is desk.
"What is it?" Carter had a tone of depression in his voice, as if he had heard this hundreds of times before. He had heard this thousands of times before.
"Sir, A UFO has entered our atmosphere. Destination: New York" Clark swallowed as he said this, visibly nervous for the reaction. Surprisingly, Carter remained calm.
"OK, scramble jets, mobilise the military and have the Navy on standby. We're going to shut them down as soon as possible."
-- --
Being part of the second line was nervy. In the first line, you could just be mad, and fire at will madly, but in the second line, you had to read the terrain and find the chink in the armour in about 5 seconds.
FN-2187 was the best second liner the corps had ever seen. He ranked in the 95th percentile for accuracy, 98th percentile for agility and 99.7th percentile for pattern recognition. He had joined 2 years before the rest of his age group started the 4-year training course. Some said he had been from a sieged Empire and wanted to serve his new leaders faithfully. They used it as propaganda on recently settled planets.
The call came, and the first wave set off towards the Earth. I hoped they would be successful, mostly for my sake. If they did well, there was less chance of injury. The light came on, and I stepped forward to beam into the war zone. It was chaos.
The first thing I heard was the crackle of gunfire, which was bad. We were ordered not to shoot on civilians. It was setting a bad example. Most likely it was the planet's minimal forces fighting hopelessly back. Then I saw the bodies, and panicked. This was worse than any invasion we had EVER seen.
I ran straight to cover, in the form of a shop front. There were 6 humans cowering inside - it would be easy to force them out. There were bullets firing all around me - I barely survived. Then I heard a scream, and saw FN-2187 scream out, falling to the ground.
Stick to the mission, I told myself. I kept on running, but was unable to think of anything except the body. They had killed our best easily - how could we possibly win? I walked into the shop, pointing musket at a cowering female. I opened my mouth, but didn't need to. In some foreign tongue, I heard shouts and screams, and 5 ran out. I looked around for the 6th human, then saw the gun he was holding.
How was this possible? They hadn't even discovered intergalactic travel, yet their civilian weapons were far more advanced than our high-tech military ones.
Then I heard the loud crack, and everything went dark.
Thanks for reading, please give feedback.
| "Captain Zylok, I won't ask you again," said the stern alien from behind the large desk. "How was your ship stolen by a species as simple as humans?"
Zylok sat in silence, his eyes locking back with his interviewer. This was it for him. This trial would lead to his demotion, if not his expulsion from the military. He knew his responses would not matter, despite the burning truth they all witnessed firsthand. The humans had repelled the invasion with relative ease. Their race fought in ways the Yarill could never. Their tenacity and violence was astonishing. Still, Zylok knew while it was too late for him, he had a chance to save other soldiers lives.
"To answer your question, High Councillor Volorom, our ship was stolen because we had no idea what we were walking into. Saying we underestimated them is an obvious response, yet it is my choice of words."
"So, despite our obvious technological superiority and fighting capabilities, we lost because we simply underestimated them, Captain?" Volorom asked, his tone mocking his subordinate.
Quiet chatter filled the courtroom. Zylok looked around at the other Yarill sitting in the observer rows. This was the most popular event in a long time, and everyone from the Noble Families to the commoners were interested. Unfortunately, it was all at the expense of Zylok. His failure had been a cause of outrage and concern. The Yarill Democracy was the most powerful group in the known universe, and losing to a race that hadn't even developed fusion fully yet was a shock.
"Yes. We lost because their culture is far, far different from our own. We lost because we cannot possibly fight like them. We are all so worried about self preservation, about each other, whether they be higher or lower rank, that we can't match the ferocity. Human leaders will throw their troops into battles we wouldn't dream of. Their Government hides weapons and programs from the public and each other so well, that even we failed to recognize some of them!"
Zylok could feel the frustration from the High Councillor. While Zylok was directly responsible, of course the High Councillor was also responsible as the top ranked military leader, reporting directly to their president. They shared this failure together, but Volorom was out for blood. Zylok figured that the High Councillor thought if he could make Zylok look bad enough, his own failures would be overlooked.
"While you are not wrong about us failing to discover some of their secrets, you still managed to lose a class B invasion vessel! With that, the humans can dissect every part! You and the survivors of the ship managed to make it to the escape shuttle. Tell me then why you, the captain, did not go down with his ship? Or at least set it to self destruct?!" Volorom yelled, slamming his fist on the table before him.
More nervous chatter filled the room, all eyes on Zylok. The air was tense, and the people wanted answers. Zylok knew he couldn't portray the horror of war, as most Yarill managed to avoid. Still, he had one final trick. In essence it wasn't a trick, but an unconfirmed, yet likely accurate, report of why his ship had malfunctioned so terribly. The one part of science the Yarill had banned, and feared, once again due to self preservation.
"I lost control of my ship because of a powerful A.I. the humans let loose on us. Everything aboard my ship went down. The only reason the escape ship worked was because it was not networked or accessible. They possess a terrible artificial intelligence that can cut through our defenses like a blade through glarp."
The nervous chattering suddenly became responses of shock and awe. No longer did anyone in the room stare at Zylok, but talked to each other in near paniced voices. Having had one near-fatal encounter with A.I. in its history, the Yarill feared any living machine. The public would surely panic, Zylok figured, but because of a good intention. War with the humans had to be avoided.
"That same A.I. we failed to discover in any of our recon was our downfall!" Zylok said, standing and pointing at High Chancellor Volorom.
"That's it. You've frenzied everyone for no reason, Captain," Volorom said, standing up. "This trial is over! Guards, bring him back to temporary holding!"
Captain Zylok didn't fight the guards. He had just about accomplished what he wanted to. Still, what had happened ate away at him. He too was arrogant during the invasion. Having never lost did that to a Yarill though. It seemed like just yesterday he was giving his crew a speech, telling them: Humans don't appear to be to advanced. They haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." | 2017-08-08T08:42:45 | 2017-08-08T08:40:33 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar." | He watched, bored as people streamed in the bar, only stopping the ones underage, and occasionally a few just over to keep suspicions low. His kind was uncommon, and people
hunted for his power. It seemed like an odd thing to want, most just wanted it to make them feel *special*. At least, those that knew about it. Sometimes age didn't match up to looks, but he kept to his own, unless they were underage of course. But then *she* came along. As soon as the girl passed, his eyes flickered to the space above, knowing what he would see. The girl was likely 16, or 17, as was the guy with her. But she wasn't. 1000 was her age, the one with her was 1001. This wasn't possible, but yet, that's what it said. Maybe it was wrong? But he'd NEVER been wrong before. As they passed he realized his mouth had been hanging open and he shut it reluctantly. A tap on his shoulder made him jump, but it was only the guy taking over next shift. Perfect. Making his way through the crowd he saw the girl heading into a storage room with a 18year old, different from whom she came with. He shook his head, about to leave when a silvery glint caught his eye. The boy was nearby, a knife in his hand. The girl disappeared, the other following suit. Breath catching, he hurried over, sure he would be greeted with a bloodbath. The door shut behind him and he looked around. In the darkness he saw the pair fighting the young man, backing him against the wall.
"Jonathan, will you do the honour?"
He laughed in reply and stepped up, twirling a silver bladed dagger in his fingers. He laughed and drove the blade straight through the heart. Black blood flowed from the wound and the boy seemingly folded in on himself, disappearing all except for the puddle of black on the ground.
"Welcome to the world of the lightbringers, young one. We have long searched for one with a gift like yours, it will be quite useful. That is, if you don't mind joining us. Hunting demons is much better with more people involved, especially with talent like this. Let's get started, shall we?" | 2017-09-01T22:32:16 | 2017-09-01T21:45:33 | 1,408 | 25 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | "What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen.
See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job.
I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time.
Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license.
This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans.
The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in.
He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange.
I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..." | 28, 34, 21, and 54.
I remained where I stood, nodding to the guests in silent affirmation that they were allowed in. As they trudged past me and through the door of Barney's Strip Club, I reached into my pocket, fumbled for a cigarette, and stuck it in my mouth. Now where was my lighter? It would be so much easier if I could just-
20, 17.
Ugh. I groaned inwardly. 17? That was definitely not a number that should be here. Time to perform my job, I suppose. "Hey, you two. Hold it."
I shifted myself into the doorway, blocking the two young men from entering. Behind his expensive looking sunglasses, I could see the younger one already beginning to sweat. Was he really unable to wait for just one year longer? Honestly, kids these days... I sighed inwardly, but continued standard procedure.
"Excuse me, but can I see your ID?"
At the first mention of an ID, they both began to fidget. The younger one kept glancing over at the older... his brother, maybe? Eventually, the older one took charge, handing over two pieces of plastic with an artificial smile plastered on his face. I ignored the small talk he tried to make and pretended to study the cards intensely, while in reality I was rolling my eyes behind designer sunglasses. I didn't know the first rule about being a bouncer, let alone how to identify fake IDs from real ones. All the club wanted was for me to do was two things- keep out the riff raff out, and be good about it. Which suited me just fine.
"Nice try, kid, but you're going to have to try somewhere else." I couldn't be bothered to mess with these two any longer, as my cigarette was getting soggy. I handed back the IDs and glared them off. Any possible protests they contemplated melted like snow upon seeing my iron-set muscles, and they beat a hasty retreat. In my profession, it helps to be a mountain of a man like me.
And another thing that helped was this ability. The power to see numbers over peoples heads that showed their age- at first, I thought it was a stupid power, but eventually I came to see its use. After all, I turned out to make a pretty good bouncer, despite knowing nothing of the job. It came in handy for my other business as well.
Speak of the devil. I was just about to light my cigarette when something else caught my attention.
3,214.
A petite man who couldn't be over thirty, wearing an elegant tuxedo and tie that dripped of extra money, stood in front of me. He looked like your typical, unassuming gentleman, the type who wouldn't hurt a fly. And I might have been fooled by this disguise as well, if not for that 3,214 floating over his head. This wasn't work anymore. Now, it was business.
Once more, I sigh inwardly. Over 3,000? Then this might actually prove to be troublesome. As *they* get older, they get stronger as well. Feeling a pain welling up in my back from an old injury, I crack my neck around. Then I spit out my cigarette and lumber into the doorway once more, standing above this ancient wonder of a man.
Well, not that *it* is a man. The *thing* tilted its head in inquisition.
"Pardon me, but is something wro-"
I didn't give it a chance to finish its sentence. Pulling back my shoulder, I let loose a full powered punch straight into the face of the *thing*, a clean punch that would have demolished a building. And yet, even as the man goes flying, he's already fully regenerated by the time he hits the ground.
*It* immediately enters combat mode, transforming its arms into pairs of wickedly sharp blades, but I don't give it a chance to use them. Utilizing another power of mine, a more useful one, I ignite my fists into flame, and unleash a barrage of punches upon the creature until its been reduced to pulp. Only once its been melted into a puddle on a ground do I cease my attack.
"Ha... ha..." As I pant, I observe the creature for movement, but it appears to be completely and thoroughly dead. Just to make sure though, I light the remaining puddle on fire, and watch it evaporate into the air.
Sticking a new cigarette in my mouth, I light a fire beneath it with the snap of a finger. Then, leaning back against the wall, I crack my neck again, dispelling the misdirection barrier that I had erected around the area. Once more, customers begin to trickle in, and I continue my vigilant watch.
I work as a bouncer, but my real job is somewhat different. It just so happens that *they* like places like clubs, where life energy and youthfulness is abundant. But I'll be here. And I'll be watching. | 2022-05-25T21:41:20 | 2017-09-01T23:18:34 | 1,321 | 189 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | "I can't see anything," complained Professor Martine over the roar of the chopper's blades. The fog had swallowed the helicopter almost as soon as it had entered the Triangle, and yet it flew blindly onwards. There was little point in turning back -- death likely waited for them in front, but it was without a doubt waiting behind. Martine could almost feel the scythe chasing after them through the air.
"You'll know when we find it," Leuitentant Daniels replied into his headset. The roiling fog spilled into the vehicle itself, veiling the pilot from the two passengers in the back. There was a smell to the mist now. Acrid. Like rotting fish.
"Do you think it can hurt the invaders?" Martine asked. "Please, tell me the truth. If humanity is damned, I wish to know."
"When we first found the creature," Daniels replied, "we tried to fight it. Big fucking mistake. That thing destroyed three of our aircraft carriers in seconds. It plucked them out of the ocean and snapped them like twigs. Then, it swallowed them."
Martine gulped. "But you defeated it eventually. Right?"
Daniels' grinning face was barely visible through the spiralling plumes of fog. "We surrendered, Professor."
"You... can't have surrendered. The US military wouldn't surrender to some... *supernatural* creature."
"It wasn't just the US. Besides, what choice did we have? It survived a God-damned nuclear strike. All we did was piss it off."
"It... I..." Martine stuttered. "How come I have never heard of this before? A major military incident like that. And how come this creature never destroyed a mainland area?"
"We made a pact with it."
"A pact?"
"Yeah. A deal. A plea, really. A dead man's bargain."
"I know what a pact is," replied Martine, taking off his glasses and wiping them against his knitted sweater. The helicopter was just as fogged up, when he placed them back onto his nose, as it had been before. "What was this pact, exactly?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Of course!"
Daniels sighed. "People go missing, Professor. Not just in America, but all over the world. People go for a walk, or a drive, maybe get on a bus, and... they're never seen again."
"Please don't tell me the government has anything to do with that."
"You wanted to know!" replied Daniels, holding up his hands.
"I don't want to know anymore!"
"Whatever you say, Professor."
The two men sat silenty, peering out of the opened doors into the blanket-fog beyond, until the fog itself began to change. The cloud-white became gradually darker, as the helicopter pressed on, until it was almost a raven grey. The dark tendrils wrapped around their necks like nooses.
"We're getting near," said Daniels.
"If this...*thing* really exists," Martine began, "why would it even help us?"
"Because Professor," said Daniels, swallowing back a laugh, "if we went extinct, it would lose its favourite food source."
"Jesus Christ."
The helicopter pressed on as the two men sat in silence. Then, as quickly as it had come, the fog suddenly dispersed.
"Oh great, you're still there Professor," said Daniels, grinning. "Thought you might have jumped. I wouldn't have blamed you one bit."
"Leuitentant," buzzed the pilot's voice into the men's headsets. "We've got clearage. A break in the fog."
Daniels unclipped his belt and leaned out of the door. His black hair and green shirt were whipped into a fury by the wind.
"What are you doing?" asked Martine.
"This is it. Drop the Coffee," instructed Daniels to the pilot.
"Roger. Coffee being delivered."
"Coffee?" Martine enquired.
Daniels jumped back into his seat and buckled up. "You might want to hold on professor."
"I don't understand."
"The bomb's a pretty big one. Bit of an aftershock -- plus, well, she doesn't like to be woken up early. Now, hold on tight, Professor, we're either about to save humanity, or we're about to end it!"
| Half a pound of pressure. That’s all it would take to doom the world. My fingers trembled on the key, my wrist ready to turn it the final thirty degrees that would end humanity as we knew it.
“What are you waiting for?” General Hammill asked, his breath at the back of my neck.
The alien mothership had landed. Five years of war and they had at last declared victory. So humanity was about to unleash the nuclear option of nuclear options. When all our world ending devices and weapons had failed, we turned to Cthulhu.
“Lieutenant,” General Hammill said, his breath growing hotter, his voice louder. “The other nine have already given confirmation. Turn the key.”
His voice echoed through the steel hull of our nuclear submarine, each echo a gentle prod to my hand. Turn the key. Turn the key. But my wrist remained still. Nine others had already made the decision and now it was up to me. If I could go back in time, I would’ve had immediately turned the key. While the other nine only approved of Cthulhu’s release, the tenth would physically release the monster. And I couldn’t.
“Sir, this is the end game. If we do this, it’s all over,” I stammered.
General Hammill stood a whole head taller than me with a neck thicker than my arm. His dark eyes honed into mine like a Hawk eyeing its prey and his lips curled into a frown. “Lieutenant, you have been given a direct order. Release Cthulhu.”
Honestly, I had no idea why I was given such a responsibility. I was a navy grunt who had spent more time cleaning submarine bathrooms than fighting wars. I had family that I wrote to regularly and a girlfriend that dumped me as soon as I joined the navy. Somehow, in my Captain’s eyes, that had warranted me a promotion.
My wrist turned ever so slightly. What would Captain Monroe do? He was always a man of action, always knew exactly what to do and when to do it. Unfortunately, in wars like this, more extermination than war, men of action were the first to die.
“Lieutenant,” General Hammill spat. “Earth is lost. We lost it. Now there’s no way in hell I’m giving those alien bastards the satisfaction of walking on our land and swimming through our seas. This is humanity’s middle finger to them.”
“But maybe…”
“Maybe what? Maybe we haven’t tried everything? Maybe a hundred million soldiers haven’t already died fighting? Turn the key.”
I swallowed. Sweat dripped down my neck and my heart kicked against my chest. It wasn’t just the turning of a key, it was the destruction of humanity!
“Lieutenant!” General Hammill moved in front of me, his face flush and fists closed. “You have been given a direct order by the acting leader of the United States of America. Now I don’t know why Captain Monroe put a panzy who’s never even killed, but I do know that disobeying my orders is high treason. Do not test me!”
I stared at my feet. Every time I glanced up to see those dark eyes like bullets aimed at me, I darted my gaze back to the floor. “It’s because I’ve never killed,” I said, the words barely audible to myself.
General Hammill got right in my face so I couldn’t even stare at my feet anymore. “What did you say?” he demanded.
I looked up, swallowed, and said, “It’s because I’ve never killed, sir. Captain Monroe told me that’s why he needed me holding this key.”
The general’s face contorted into a snarl. “I don’t give a shit if Captain Monroe wiped your ass for you and tucked you into bed every night. You were never supposed to have that key. Turn it before I do it for you.”
“No.” The word left my mouth before I had even thought it, but as soon as it did, I felt a swell in my chest and my next words came louder. “To me, Captain Monroe is a god damn hero, sir, and he gave me a responsibility. I will not turn this key.” And I pulled the key out.
In a single motion, General Hammill pulled his pistol and aimed at my head, his finger twitching on the trigger. For the longest seconds, only the ship’s creaking hulls and whistling pipes resonated between us.
“Put that key back in, Lieutenant.”
“The key’s attached to my biometrics, general. Even if you have it, only I can turn it and I’d rather die before turning this key.”
“Don’t you understand the war is lost? Can’t you get it through that thick skull of yours?”
“But humanity hasn’t, sir.”
General Hammill stared at me, his jaw agape and eyes wide. “We lost with the war.”
If I knew anything, it was that Captain Monroe was a hero and that he died fighting until his last breath. Humanity would not die any other way. And so I inhaled a deep breath and for the first time, my voice boomed through the nuclear submarine.
“If you believe that, then you’re not fit to lead our army, *sir*.”
The general took a single step back, his mouth moving, but no words coming through. His gun dropped. Then, the first soldier of our nuclear submarine, a man that used to leave toilet paper on the floors so I could clean it, stamped his feet together and saluted. He wasn’t saluting our general, he was saluting me. Then, the second did. The third. Soon, every soldier around us stood, their backs perfectly straight, their hands stabbed into their foreheads as they stared at me with burning eyes.
I said to them, to the general, to humanity itself. “Heroes far greater than me have died so we could make it this far. Giving up now is a travesty to them and every hero who had ever lived. We might lose anyways. This might all be for not. But until then, humanity doesn’t need this monster to stick our middle fingers up to those alien scum. We can do that ourselves.”
---
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories | 2017-09-26T10:55:04 | 2017-09-26T10:31:41 | 540 | 132 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | "Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
| Alex sat at her desk, trying to focus on the work at hand - expense reports had been piling up for weeks now, but there was seemingly not enough time in the work day to keep up with the increased number of reports that had been submitted lately. It was year end, after all, and the company had done extremely well this year.
The trouble was the sheer number of distractions visible from her seat on the 47th floor. Having only been relocated recently from an older building, she wasn't used to such a madhouse of activity. With over three hundred workers confined to each floor, The Plaza was currently the largest office building in the city (although not for long - several more were under construction that were an order of magnitude larger). From her seat in the northeast corner, she could see countless screens pouring information out to the others. Some cubicles had upwards of 6 or 7 monitors! Worse than that, though, were the giant TV projections located between each aisle of desks, each blaring out quarterly projections, news articles, weather, and company stock information.
She stared mindlessly at one of these TV projections, currently showing a news report detailing the preparations undergone by a daredevil before their upcoming attempt to parachute into The Pit, before turning her gaze out the window, to the sea of multi-coloured chutes and tubes that still astonished her so, even weeks after relocating to this floor.
The Pit, as it was referred to, had become a central feature of the city. With immeasurable depth comes immeasurable opportunity, and the corporations and powers that be had jumped at the opportunity to increase their appearance of social responsibility and wealth. For years now, humanity had poured their garbage into The Pit, and to great effect. Entire landfills had been excavated, dumped into The Pit, and turned into prime farmland. Every garbage collection route in the city now ended at a disposal plant that poured a continuous cascade of waste into the depths, an attraction referred to as the 'debrisfall' that spawned a whole industry of Pit-watcher tourism - you could even walk out over the debrisfall on a glass walkway, although Alex couldn't fathom why someone would want to do such a thing. The true spectacle, in her opinion, was located between the numerous gigantic office buildings that lined the rim of The Pit. Jutting out from every floor of every building was a tube, chute, or slide of seemingly random colour and shape that stuck out into the open air, and occasionally shot out a piece of garbage to be sucked down into the void below. As she watched, a trash bag from a floor above her careened down past her floor. She glanced up to to see if more would follow, but with hundreds of floors above her it was impossible to see past the untold number of chutes reflecting multi-coloured light downwards.
Just then, her computer beeped a reminder, and a few of her coworkers excitedly got up and started moving their way over to the window. Today was a Demolition Day, and it was her old office building that was scheduled to fall. In order to keep up with the constant growth of the city, a few of the older office buildings lining the rim of The Pit were being demolished to allow for newer, taller ones to be built. There was a rumble of sound, and she looked out towards the farthest corner of The Pit, where several explosive charges had sent up a huge cloud of particulate. Her old office building, much smaller at only 65 floors, started crumbling before her eyes. More charges exploded, sending concrete and glass in a spray outwards over The Pit. The building started to instead crumble outwards, rather than straight down. Alex felt shaking rise up through her new building while the other tumbled fully into The Pit, leaving behind a minimal amount of debris to be bulldozed in after it.
Alex looked back at her stack of reports and wished she could throw it in after her old building. The Pit was an opportunity, she supposed, a lifeline for a world that had become over-encumbered with waste, trash, and filth. From her vantage point on the 47th floor of a building containing tens of thousands of people working tirelessly, however, it didn't feel so much like one. | 2022-06-02T19:21:41 | 2018-01-13T07:48:15 | 4,551 | 12 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there. | I refused. It was hard, but I refused. Hundreds of notifications pouring in, telling me to look at the moon but I didn’t.
Something seemed weirdly off by the idea of hundreds telling me to look at a rock in the sky and I’ve never gotten this many notifications before so I simply refused to do what they said. Plus I’d gotten an alert to not look at the moon and I trusted my alert rather than whoever was sending me all these messages. I decided to keep my curtains closed and just went to bed.
The next morning my suspicions seemed correct. When I woke up there was no one around and the streets were completely empty, no kids playing even though it was Saturday, no one driving through the street, no one even outside.
I had no idea what was happening but I kept on going.
Eventually I arrived at work to find that no one was there either but I was a loyal employee and did my job anyway. I worked at a local fast food restaurant which was owned by my granddaddy before he passed and passed onto my father, he’s was on his last legs too though.
No one even came in so I just sat there in total isolation, I checked all my social media to find everyone was posting the same damn thing. “Look at the moon.”
I decided I might get answers at towns centre so I began driving there to find crashed cars everywhere but no bodies. There were other irregularities like smashed windows, crashed busses, upturned taxis, even an irregular amount of stray cats and dogs.
Eventually I arrived at the town centre where the clock tower was. What I saw was terrifying. Nearly the entire town was surrounding the tower staring up at the sky. I approached and tried to get one of the crowd member’s attention, I recognised him as he sometimes came into the restaurant with his son, I think his name was jack or John or something. I said his name and shook him a little bit he wouldn’t break eye contact with the moon. That’s when I realised, the moon must have made them catatonic.
I ran back to my car and turned on the radio, trying to think of what to do until I heard a radio transmission by some guy.
“Hello? Hello? If you are not hypnotised in what we here at the station are calling the ‘lunar effect.’ Then please come to these coordinates. We need to figure this out, as far as we can tell 90% of the population are under the influence of the ‘lunar effect.’”
Then it was followed by some coordinates. I turned on my gps and began driving. What was happening? | 2022-06-27T10:58:59 | 2018-04-06T22:11:18 | 103 | 12 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | The whole neighbourhood was out in the streets staring skyward; dressed in robes and wrapped in blankets. The bright white light made them appear as stone sentinels against the snow.
“Mummy, the moon is so big!”
My phone buzzed urgently in my hand. I set it on the nightstand facedown
“Grab your jacket lily,” I wrapped my housecoat tight against me and zipped Lily into her parka.
The light was brilliant; almost fluorescent. It radiated off the snow like an aura.
Lilly stood breathless on the driveway, her face wide with wonder. I wished i could always see her like this; so wonderful.
“It’s a beautiful night,” my neighbour commented with her children cradled to her breast.
I nodded and looked skyward at the fantastic beacon against the night. It was moving, falling from the sky.
“ Mom, why are you crying?”
I wiped my eyes and held Lily’s shoulders tightly.
“It’s just so beautiful baby. I love you”.
All was calm as the bomb cracked on the horizon and spilled over; swallowing everything.
| DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.
My eyes were barely open, bleary with sleep, but the incessant buzzing of the phone against the glossy black wood of the bedside table was just passing the point of ignorable. It took me a moment to register that the words were strange, holding their place at the top of the screen in bold, official letters, while the green icons of text messages scrolled beneath.
Do not look at the moon? What the hell kind of late April Fool’s joke was this? I scoffed quietly, glancing down over the stream of messages. Moon shit, moon shit, and… moon shit. Whatever. Had to be some kind of gag, and frankly, I didn’t have the goddamn time for it. Work came early in the morning, and I had… what, two hours left before I had to wake up in order to beat traffic?
Fuck this. I powered the phone off to quiet the buzzing, and dropped my hands down to rest on my chest, phone still resting beneath. And with the screen out of my line of sight, that was when I noticed her.
My wife was a beautiful woman-- The sort of beautiful that comes after a good decade of married life. That kind of beautiful with a few lines around the eyes, and a few strands of stray silver in her dark hair. Not that I could see them from where she was, standing silhouetted by the streaming moonlight pouring in the window, her hands resting lightly on the glass.
“Anna?” came my groggy mumble of a voice.
No response. She just stood there, staring upwards in the bath of silvery light. Was the moon always this bright? Or had I just never really noticed it before?
“Anna, c’mere,” I said a little louder, reaching out a heavy hand towards her and dropping it back down onto the sheets.
Nothing.
Concern slowly began to stir somewhere in my gut as I stared at her familiar outline. I could see the dust in the air, floating lazily in the shafts of moonlight that her body eclipsed. Her nightgown wasn’t sheer, but as awareness began to settle in on my suddenly very awake mind, I realized the light was shining straight through. That was far, far too bright for moonlight.
And that was when she turned her head, the movement just a little too slow, too smooth. In the perfect, bald light I could see her face. So familiar, with those smile lines around her lips, even with the neutral blank of her expression. Her dark brows lifted over eyes familiar in shape, even if the harsh shadows made them look like strange, blackened pits. And then she finally looked at me. I knew she looked at me. It was unmistakable with the way her pupils reflected the moonlight, like some nocturnal hunting cat.
Her lips parted and she whispered, her soft voice clear.
“The moon-- it’s beautiful tonight. Come look.
| 2022-11-14T21:59:08 | 2018-04-06T20:42:31 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I blearily attempted to focus my eyes on my phone as its notification sound went off repeatedly. I had just managed to get to a comfortable position and doze for a good hour before my phone decided to freak out, and I was none too happy.
One government alert that read "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON", followed by 600 messages from numbers I didn't recognize spouting some nonsense about how it was a beautiful night.
"Don't look at the moon", I said. "Good advice." I turned off my phone, rolled over, and drifted back to sleep.
The next day, I was stunned to discover the horrible truth of what those messages were really about: a guerilla marketing stunt by Sony Pictures for some stupid horror movie about a moon cult using cell phones to murder people. Unfortunately, it had caused a "War of the Worlds"-type panic, and the resulting lawsuits all but obliterated the studio. But on the plus side, the rights to Spider-Man defaulted over to Marvel Studios and now there could never be a Pixels 2, so it was all kind of a wash in the end. | DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.
My eyes were barely open, bleary with sleep, but the incessant buzzing of the phone against the glossy black wood of the bedside table was just passing the point of ignorable. It took me a moment to register that the words were strange, holding their place at the top of the screen in bold, official letters, while the green icons of text messages scrolled beneath.
Do not look at the moon? What the hell kind of late April Fool’s joke was this? I scoffed quietly, glancing down over the stream of messages. Moon shit, moon shit, and… moon shit. Whatever. Had to be some kind of gag, and frankly, I didn’t have the goddamn time for it. Work came early in the morning, and I had… what, two hours left before I had to wake up in order to beat traffic?
Fuck this. I powered the phone off to quiet the buzzing, and dropped my hands down to rest on my chest, phone still resting beneath. And with the screen out of my line of sight, that was when I noticed her.
My wife was a beautiful woman-- The sort of beautiful that comes after a good decade of married life. That kind of beautiful with a few lines around the eyes, and a few strands of stray silver in her dark hair. Not that I could see them from where she was, standing silhouetted by the streaming moonlight pouring in the window, her hands resting lightly on the glass.
“Anna?” came my groggy mumble of a voice.
No response. She just stood there, staring upwards in the bath of silvery light. Was the moon always this bright? Or had I just never really noticed it before?
“Anna, c’mere,” I said a little louder, reaching out a heavy hand towards her and dropping it back down onto the sheets.
Nothing.
Concern slowly began to stir somewhere in my gut as I stared at her familiar outline. I could see the dust in the air, floating lazily in the shafts of moonlight that her body eclipsed. Her nightgown wasn’t sheer, but as awareness began to settle in on my suddenly very awake mind, I realized the light was shining straight through. That was far, far too bright for moonlight.
And that was when she turned her head, the movement just a little too slow, too smooth. In the perfect, bald light I could see her face. So familiar, with those smile lines around her lips, even with the neutral blank of her expression. Her dark brows lifted over eyes familiar in shape, even if the harsh shadows made them look like strange, blackened pits. And then she finally looked at me. I knew she looked at me. It was unmistakable with the way her pupils reflected the moonlight, like some nocturnal hunting cat.
Her lips parted and she whispered, her soft voice clear.
“The moon-- it’s beautiful tonight. Come look.
| 2018-04-06T22:12:43 | 2018-04-06T20:42:31 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You're pretty sure your crush's parents are the head family of a local mob. You decided it's worth the risk, and ask ur crush out anyways. Pretty early on in the date, you realize that they, not their parents, are the mastermind behind the mob's activities. | If your father were the mob mastermind
You'd still be worth it, despite what I'd find
Even should I wake to the head of a horse
A message in its mouth: 'you'll soon turn a corpse'
If your mother were the godmother of crime
I'd learn Italian and buy her good wine
And should she choose to poison my drink
I'd say, "Thank you ma'am" as I'm sick in the sink
And if your brother were the protective type
Who came to my house with a rug and a knife
I'd invite him inside and play playstation 4
And perhaps he'd forget what he came over for
But it's you that's a fraud, who used me for cover
And I remain lonely, still seeking a lover.
---
I saw it was sonnet theme this week on the sub so I gave it a go. Sorry it's a bit messy. | Italian. Grouchy. Appear to have blown up the old police station. Probably did.
Traditional.
Walking up to their door, I try and imagine the worst case scenario. I’m 16, just a normal guy asking out my lab partner. I mean, if the parents are home worst case scenario they send a death threat.
Or shoot me in the middle of the street. That’s cool.
Knock knock. They don’t have a doorbell, they still have the metal family emblem on the door. Gotta pick it up and nail it on the door.
It opens immediately. A massive burly man opens the door
“Yes? How may I help you?”
“Um...uh... I was wondering if Lotte was here? I’m here to ask her out”
I have no idea how to talk to the head of a mob.
“She is not here. Leave.”
“Yes sir. Sorry to bother. You.”
I start shuffling back to the street.
Something hit my head.
“Motherfucker son of a bitch asshat who the hell threw that?
“I did, James. I saw you at my door. What were you doing? I heard my dad laughing.”
Lonnie was standing off to the side. She must have seen me threw a window.
“Oh...hey Lonnie-“
“Don’t you mean motherfucking son of a bitch asshat?” She retorted.
“You know what... just... god damn it. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go watch a movie then catch dinner at Rick’ s shack.” I said. She did that flicking thing with her dark long hair.
“Sure. Do you mind if we swing by Ronald’s on the way?” She asked. I had no problem with it so
“Sure.” I said.
Off to a great start I told myself. Called her asshat but she was okay with that.
She held my hand. I felt great. Then we saw the guys across the street.
Big beefy dudes in hoodies. You could see lumps at their hips. Probably some sort of gun. What could be shadier?
“Hey! Carl! How’s it going?” Lotte yells. The biggest beefy dude pulls off his hoodie. I’ll admit, he’s sorta cute.
Carl casually just picks her up and it transform into a hug.
“Hey lotte! We got the cash. We’re also thinking of hitting up the bank next to Rick’s later. Do we have your permission?
“He’ll yeah. I’m grabbing dinner at Ricks later with James here. Do you mind waiting until after that? I haven’t gotten action in a while.”
Well shit. She certainly isn’t talking about a bed. | 2018-10-19T07:39:22 | 2018-10-19T06:47:15 | 126 | 62 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | Glass crunched underfoot, and I shifted the broken glass with my foot and took in the rest of the scene. The broken windows were bad, but it was the pictures. My breath caught and I pressed my fingers over my eyes.
I'd opened this little diner back in the 80s. We were in the bad part of town, it was all I could afford, but I'd wanted this cafe since I was a little girl. Bacon eggs and pancakes were staples, but my Belgian Waffles were what really put Sal's Place on the map. I made all the donuts, and everyone knew they had one chance to get them.
We didn't get supers, not like the uptown places did. Sunshine Deli had pictures of the Wonder Twins and Moongirl, signed and dated. And you could be sure to catch Mr. Impossible every other Sunday if you could afford $12 lattes. I attracted what I liked to call Irregulars. Boys and girls didn't have much in the way of family or trust funds, but set about righting wrongs - often with their fists or with guns. But they did like omelettes.
Digger was the first one who came regularly. Always in the same booth, always the same order. Biscuits and sausage gravy with black coffee. When I read stories about him, it was always about how some rapist or mugger had been buried up to his neck near some fire ants. He'd never been caught, but some surveillance video had surfaced. And his fingernails were always so dirty.
"Here you go, sweetie," I said sliding the bowl with the biscuits and gravy over. I added dish of fruit salad, and he looked at me with those dark eyes of his set in his pale face. "Didn't order this, ma'am."
"I know, hon, it's on the house. You need a bit of fruit, and I don't want to hear anything more about it," and I bustled off filling coffee cups, clearing tables and taking orders. When I cleared his table, his fruit dish was empty and I pocketed a nice tip. Next time he'd added the fruit to his order.
"Ma'am," he said and I swear he was blushing. "Noticed that some of your walls were a little blank. If you'd excuse my forwardness, I think I could take some pictures of folk and start making a wall. I talked to some of the other irregulars and they thought it'd be nice for you."
To say that hadn't been on my mind would be a lie. But money was tight, had to pay rent of the restaurant, plus buying all the food, heat and hot water. Then there was Mothball, my cat. She'd been sick earlier and that had put a dent in what little savings I had managed to scrape together.
"Oh, hon, I don't know what to say," I managed, my throat feeling tight. He put his thick hand on mine and squeezed it gently. "You don't need to say anything, Miss Sal. We're happy to help you out." And they'd started putting their pictures up - always with masks on, or looking appropriately spooky. Silly kids. I worried about them all the time. And sometimes they got hurt. Sometimes killed. The juke always played loud on those days, and I made sure the coffee was hot and everyone got whipped cream on their pancakes.
The sound of running water made me rush to the kitchen, it was awash with water overflowing from the sink. I shut off the faucets and looked in, the drains had been plugged with dishrags. I reached into the cold water and pulled them out. The water gurgled and ran down, but it was too late to save most of the floor. A small sob escaped. My little dream. My small way of making this shithole part of town a better place. A broken soggy ruin.
Feeling numb, I wandered back into the dining room. Cans of paint had been hurled at my wall of Irregulars. Most of the frames were shattered, photos cut and torn and covered with paint.
I gently brushed the shards of glass away, and picked up Digger's photo, it was torn in half, his small little half-smile, more than anyone else saw ever, looked broken. I sniffed and put it on the counter and picked up Ghost-Dog's photo, it was dripping with the water that had leaked in from the kitchen. Rag-Tag, Little Pete, and Dark Mila had all been covered in paint. My friends. My little lost family.
The bell rang, and I whirled around clutching my pictures, but suddenly feeling very alone. But it was Digger, his dark eyes took in the scene and locked on me. His face was like still water, deep and dangerous and I moved over to him and slid my hand around his arm.
"Listen to me, sweetie, I need you to listen good. I want you to call everyone you know and tell them to meet me here. We have work to do..."
He looked at me for a long time and then nodded.
***
I looked around at the ring of faces. We were sitting in the ruin of my diner. The faces around me were grim, and I felt a deep sense of sadness. Every scar was a story that broke my heart. And I know, deep down that if they found out who did this there would be nothing but blood. But they had brought what I asked for. Cans of paint, hammers and nails, and tarps. Digger brought new frames and Dark Mila brought her camera.
"I've worked hard to make Sal's a place where you always feel welcome and where you get a taste of sweetness. For some of you," I said looking at Digger, "this is the only sweetness you will ever know. If you help me with this, you're making a promise. A promise that you want to make the world kinder - even if this is all you do and you go back to your night jobs same as you do. It's not nothing."
Vandal reached out and squeezed my hand, and I saw Digger wipe the back of his hand across his eyes.
"Thanks for helping me fix my little broken dream," I said, my voice choking up. "Now let's get to work."
(edit a typo - also edited my edit since apparently I floated it in the middle of the story - stupid whiskey)
| (Sorry my English I love the Prompts and try to make something more "fantastic")
&#x200B;
The clientele was faithful, although irregular, sometimes half disappeared a few weeks, returning sometimes had changed race, or sex, or were one more, or less. Arnold never asked questions, he was there to listen, to serve coffees and sweets that the charming widow Rachel, from the pastry shop in the next corner, gave him each morning with a smile and the smell of vanilla oozing from every pore.
His schedule was not usual, from 9 pm to 09 am, at least not usual in the big city, he had assumed it when he worked in the small cafe next to a large transport warehouse, that was the time when many trucks unloaded and they left. The truck drivers were good customers, quiet people who just want their hot coffee and their fluffy chair to forget the road for a few minutes. When the cousin of his boss retired, they offered him this place in the city.
Arnold decided to try the same schedule, almost experimentally, more out of habit. The first few days he had few clients, only a couple of surprised policemen who told him to get donuts, thanks to which he met the beautiful Rachel by the way.
But other customers appeared, many dressed in black, large coats and jackets although it did not rain. They were good customers, he remembered the truck drivers, they came tired, exhausted, but always with a smile, they were proud of their jobs, whatever they are.
Although, strange things happened, sometimes a cup of coffee flew from the counter to the client's hand sitting, others a sugar burst on someone's head and made a general laugh. And the money…. everyone paid of course, but soon learned to look at the box in the morning and separate the normal money from the other, the one that had never known countries, dated in the future or with presidents of two heads.
MissT was a strong, strong woman of indeterminate race. He was one of the first clients and from time to time he came with companions, some of them were walking, others were floating, some were better not to look at them, seriously, it was a headache. Sometimes she sat alone at the bar and told him fantastic stories, wars between gods, portals to hell and drunken angels. She also listens to her worldly things, laughed when she told him about the strange money and how she had been shouted at the bank for trying to used it. MissT offered to exchange the strange money for the common, that helped him a lot, although the most beautiful bills and coins, those that shone, had impossible colors or the crystal coins that the stone being gave him, those, put them in a frame after the bar. MissT also laughed at his stories of flirting with the neighboring widow, had offered him steaming potions, but Arnold was classic and preferred to go little by little, and had planned to invite Rachel to Saint Patrick's dance next month ...
For normal passersby the strange money was a collection of very strange alternative art, but for visitors, it became a sign that there, they were welcome.
"Your cafeteria is a cardinal point ... not only for us on this plane, but for many planes ... in other worlds here there would be a temple of sacrifices .... in this, we have your cafeteria and I prefer your coffee to a cutted head "MissT told him one night.
That helped him to understand why clueless clients sometimes appeared, naked, some did not speak, but in general everyone understood their gestures, they accepted coffee or tea, a blanket to cover themselves and a stool to sit on before they regain strength to continue their trips.
One of these lost beings, had appeared wounded, a huge wing crawling torn and had collapsed at midnight in front of the door. Arnold ran to load him inside and put the sign closed, his golden blood stained the floor, but it did not matter, he dialed MissT's phone, he had given a number in confidence for situations like this. In a few minutes she emerged from the bathroom door, she did not ask questions, she understood it when she saw him and she went out the door again. Soon he returned with several people, a doctor in a robe, giant and with horns, who attended to the wounded and several hooded men who ran to stand next to the door of the premises.
"This is not good ... this person is very important and should not be here, not this time or this reality ..." Miss T was scared for the first time in front of Arnold. "This can end very, very bad ...", strangers arrived outside the premises, the windows burst and MissT's hoods opened fire with their fists closed, the outside became a war zone, horrors of a thousand eyes peered out through the broken windows and were volatilized by MissT's flaming sword. A blinding light froze everything, several beings similar to the wounded, appeared in the street, everything was frozen, the creatures became dust, entered the premises, saw the wounded and raised their hands, the injured spoke, with the sound of a thousand tuned out violins and stopped them, in an instant they were gone, the place was intact. The hooded men looked at each other and at a sign from MissT disappeared at the bathroom door followed by the diabolical doctor.
There was a golden feather on the counter, MissT stared at her in astonishment.
"Arnold, that feather is a gift from them, save it well, it's worth more than anything in this reality ...but be very careful they don´t play with livings things" she whispered, before kissing him on the cheek "Today you saved not only this planet, but thousands, thank you… "
It was dawn when he was alone, Arnold closed the place and went to sleep. From that day on, a new type of clientele joined, they were monks in robes who respectfully drank their coffee and pleaded with their eyes until Arnold opened the drawer and showed them his golden treasure. He tried not to do much and carefully, as he had discovered that the brightness of it hurt some of his usuals, so he just opened the drawer and let them peek over the bar to see the feather with pens and clips.
One morning it had been quiet, he put the sign of closed and walked to Rachel's bakery to pick up the cakes she would put in the fridge for the afternoon. Across the sidewalk a scream broke the air, a silhouette ran out of the alley, the side door of the bakery was open, Arnold ran inside, Rachel was lying on the floor with the handle of a knife protruding from her chest.
"I thought you were ... and I opened without looking ... age makes me do nonsense" whispered Rachel with the mouth full of blood. "I wanted to go dancing, you know? ... I already had the suit bought ..."
Arnold shouted, holding her, his breathing stopped, he thought he could do it. He picked her up and crossed the street to lay her carefully on the counter. Only one thing occurred to him, he opened the drawer, took the golden feather and placed it on it. The light grew and enveloped them.
A winged being emerged at his side, Arnold recognized a slight mark where the wing had broken. The being looked at both of them and asked a question in his mind, Arnold answered without hesitation.
The being nodded and his hand moved over Rachel's body and the blood disappeared, the color returned to her face. Arnold cried on his lap. The being touched his shoulder and disappeared. Rachel woke up and asked where she was, she did not remember anything, Arnold just hugged her very hard.
That night the cafeteria was full, everyone had felt the presence of the being and they were eager to hear the story, MissT in the front line he rebuked.
"Do not you have no idea who you asked for help?" MissT smiled. "And what did he ask you for? They always ask for something, have not you done anything foolish?" I ask with obvious concern.
"Well ... he asked me to have free coffee forever ... and I told him I would add cheesecake even to the agreement ..."
Those present looked at Arnold a few seconds before laughing loudly as never before. Not always the owner of the cafeteria invoked a god in exchange for coffee and cheesecake | 2018-10-20T23:57:04 | 2018-10-20T23:21:55 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You're throwing a ball around with your dog and he's loving it. Then, he stops dead still. He takes a quick sniff and looks up at you and says "I'm not supposed to do this, but you need to get inside right now". He looks off into the distance, "They're coming".
Wow, was not expecting this, thanks for the silver:) and the gold:)) | “Again, Bash?”
“Inside! Now!”
“I swear...”
“It’s for your own good!”
“Dude, you know I love you but-“
“Inside! To arms!”
“But you are the dumbest dog I have ever known.”
“To arms! Man the guns! Battlestations! Red alert! On your six!”
“I’m going to leave you to it then.”
“Enemy at the gaaaaaaate!”
“You’ve met the postman like 40 times. You like Sam. He brings snacks.”
“The end is niiii-snacks?”
“Yes. Snacks.”
“So...”
“Just the guy who delivers the mail. We’ve discussed this at leng-“
“But snacks?”
“Sigh. Yes. Snacks.”
“I better go first.”
“Naturally.” | I’m new to creative writing so feedback welcomed.
Hope was more than an ordinary yellow lab. She was more than a playful ball of energy. I am blind, and Hope was my guide dog. Hope gave me a new perspective on life. She never complained about all the traveling at college, and she was always up for a new adventure.
Every day after class, Hope and I would go to the green area on campus to play ball. I took off her harness, threw the ball, and Hope was off. I tossed, she retrieved. Playing ball was our way of winding down. However, today felt different, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. With my arm growing tired, I threw the ball once more and waited for Hope to retrieve it.
Suddenly, I felt a shift in the air. There was an eery silence. The birds stopped chirping. The wind stopped blowing. I thought it might be about to storm since Florida weather can be highly unpredictable. I called out to Hope figuring that we would just head back inside as always, and waited for her to return with that beloved ball. But I could no longer hear her paws hitting against the grass. I could no longer hear her playful panting as she ran to get the ball. And I definitely could not see her. Thinking I may have thrown it a little too far, I continued to wait. Then, I heard a bark that only I knew. It was Hope. Was she ok? Her bark grew increasingly alarmed. She finally returned with the ball when out of nowhere, an unfamiliar voice exclaimed, "GET INSIDE! THEY ARE COMING!" I thought nothing of it. Then, it said, "I am Hope. You need to get inside right now."
I didn't know what was happening. I couldn't believe my dog just talked, but I didn't have time to think. I didn’t have time to ask who or what was coming. All I knew was that I had to trust her. Hope had guided me around so many obstacles. I knew now was not the time to doubt her training. I quickly ran back to my dorm. When I arrived, I found everyone in a panic. My mind ran through the worst possible scenarios for almost every college student. Maybe all the washers and dryer‘s were taken. Maybe Chick-fil-A was closed. Maybe someone forgot to put the water in the mac & cheese and almost caused a fire. Finally, I asked my friend what was going on?. She said, “What do you mean? How could you not know? It’s finals week, and we are all going to fail!” | 2019-07-15T15:40:32 | 2019-07-15T14:00:47 | 1,364 | 15 |
[WP] You're a Satanist, recently deceased. You love all things dark and spooky, so imagine your surprise when you come across the pearly gates, with the sign "hell" clumsily hung over where Heaven was. Behind the gate are little cherubs in cheap devil costumes, trying their best for you. | **Hello, Mr Smith! Welcome to Hell!**
Yeah, listen, guy. I'm a Satanist, I know what hell is supposed to look like. This fluffy white bullshit aint it.
**Do you believe everything you... believe?**
I did when I was alive, but I'm dead now.
**That's right! Everything you thought you knew was backwards. It's also great to see people see the pearly gates and have their last happy feeling ever. We don't fuck around up here in Hell, you know.**
If this is Hell, how come I don't see Weird Al Yankovic's parents here?
**OK, you got me. I lied. This is Heaven.**
Yeah, you left the pricetag on your plastic pitchfork.
**Goddammit... (talking to himself) come on, Gabriel, get your shit together.**
So what's the deal? How come I'm not I'm not partying with Attila The Hun and Mother Theresa now?
**OK, not gonna lie. The truth is Hell is full. They've been gaining folks at an unbelievable rate, and quite frankly we've got plenty of room to roam up here. So you're stuck here for another 2300 years or so, give or take.We're trying to help with the overcrowding, but we're just not any gosh darn good at it.**
So you're saying this is just temporary.
**I mean, the first 1500 years are gonna be slow but it's all downhill from there. And I know up here we don't have the "cool" folks like Hitler or the Green River Killer or the dad from Frasier, but we've got (checks clipboard) Mister Rogers, every non-sex offending kindergarten teacher, and all the people who killed themselves because of that comet in the 90's. Turns out they had it all figured out.**
I knew it!
**You wanna meet them? They wear black shoes and killed themselves because of a flaming space rock.**
You know, I think I'm gonna like this place just fine.... | As I walked through the gate that was clearly made by someone heavenly and not nearly to the standards of the dark lords gate, I turned to my left to see a short man greeting me.
"booo! welcome to hell you bad boy, you have been naughty naughty haven't you?" he said with a charming grin. He was trying his best to be menacing, but was doing a very poor job. "umm hello there.. why the hell am I in heaven?" "You are in heck!! You bad boy, for all your bad deeds." he said pulling his poorly fitting, poorly made Halloween costume up. "What are you suppose to be, a fucking demon or something?" I ask. "Nooooo I am a freaking spoooky zombie clown.. those are scary right?" He says in his best attempt at a creepy voice. He honestly sounded more like a father figure talking to a toddler looking for candy on Halloween. "Let me speak to your manager" I say becoming more annoyed at the situation. "I should be in hell right now, sucking the huge cock of the dark lord. That is the one thing I have spend my entire life preparing for." "Jesus Christ" he replies frowning. "please follow me..."
The man, who I can only assume is Saint Petter, leads me down a huge white tunnel and into a giant white marble room, with a glowing blue fountain in the middle. "uh wait here.. I am going to grab my manager, Joseph Smith.. I mean a witch with a bloody haaaaannnd." "oh so spooky" I reply. "really!" He says smiling. "fuck no man just go grab him" "hmmp" he says storming into another room with a big golden arch and a symbol of an eye craved above the doorway.
I start to wonder at this point if maybe, by a small chance I did something good in my life that would have ended me here. Did I ever go to church? no. Did I ever say a prayer of forgiveness? no. Maybe I accidentally helped someone at some point? I don't think so. Well, I guess I'm just going to kick this witch guys ass and maybe they will send me to where I belong straight away.
A lean tall man, poorly dressed like a witch with a bloody hand walks into the room. "Booooo! I am a spooky witch... and I.." before he can say anything else I run at him, tackle him and start punching his face as he is pinned to the ground. "Jesus Christ, please.. ohh shiz... ow fudge.. please.. darnit" he screams as my fists draw blood from his face. I am not sure how long I pummeled him for, but by the time I was done, he was lifeless and covered in blood. I think I killed him? Hmm I wonder if you can die twice.
"What the freaking heck is going on in here?!" A man yells as he runs under the golden arches. He is wearing a white robe and has a big fluffy beard. "oh look it's somebody who can finely help me" I say "I'm suppose to be in hell, please point me in the right direction." "take him to hell!" the man commands as dozens of angels ride into the room on golden chariots. They scoop me up and start swirling downward into a dark pit. Finely, I get to pleasure my dark lord. The dark pit opens up and the angels drop me into a room. "what the hell?" I say looking around. "here is your number sir, one trillion, seven hundred billion, two hundred seventy five million, two hundred thousand, four hundred and twenty three." a middle aged women wearing a blue uniform with the letters DMV written on it says. "please have a seat and wait for your number to be called." "twenty four" a voice mumbles over the intercom. | 2019-07-18T19:02:49 | 2019-07-18T18:02:20 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You win a lifetime supply of fresh milk. Everyday a bottle shows up on your door step with the exact right amount that you need for the day. One day instead of a bottle, there's a note congratulating you on living a full life and wishing you luck as you pass over to the other side. | "Congratulations! It's been a pleasure doing business with you and we hope you think of us on your journey to the other side!"
&#x200B;
That's what the letter said as I was expecting my daily dose of milk and instead got nothing. I moved around my apartment, and looked for a place to feel more relaxed and wait to see what exactly that letter meant.
&#x200B;
"What do you mean we have to do it now!? I still have two more weeks?!"
&#x200B;
I could hear my neighbor shout, these walls always seemed to be paper-thin as I could hear everything going on around me. After a bit of arguing, or talking, I could never tell the difference, I scooted closer to the wall and gave it a kick to remind the person that someone still lived here and I was enjoying my silence.
&#x200B;
Then everything went quiet, or so I thought. I must have dozed off after that. Although I woke up by what felt like a horrible earthquake. My apartment was shaking and I swear the walls were about to come down. I attempted to move, but I realized that it was harder to move and suddenly there was a hole that seemed to be opening up under me.
&#x200B;
This was probably the scariest thing I've ever witnessed, as I released a crying scream. The travel was quick, swift, and I wasn't able to process what was going out until suddenly the room was filled with bright white lights, and I was being held by a man who was holding a mask of some sort over his face.
&#x200B;
"And it's perfect!" The doctor would exclaim as he carried me over to a new woman, she looked tired, sore, but she beamed when she saw me. "Time of birth is 7:30 p.m, and she's a healthy baby girl!" | „Congratulations on a Full Life and good luck passing over to the other side”
“HaHa stupid, is this how they Tell me milk is out?” He laughed. He went inside and closed the door. Tossing the envelope on the table as he went to the kitchen to grab his tea. “Well no milk to today” he thought as he sipped on his milkless tea. “Not so bad either. Still good tea...maybe this tea doesn’t need milk after all.” As he stood there leaning his back against the kitchen counter, he sipped and recalled the days he had the glorious free milk.
That one time when he tripped over the bottle because he thought he was late, but actually woke up an hour early. He just forgot to set the clock properly. “Mmh” He nodded and smiled. Or the time someone apparently stole his milk and there was exactly the right amount left for that day. “Great times.”
Actually the milk was enough for everyday. I never had a shortage. Always the right amount. “Damn, that milkman really knows his Job.”
As he finished his tea. He was thinking that he could have at least thanked the milk man. But he never met him. “That is some sneaky guy. Delivers the milk and spoof! Gone! Ninja style.” He joked. But the more he thought about it. The more things seemed a little bit off. “Why couldn’t I hear the door bell, when he dropped the milk off?”... “Did he even use it?” ...”Not one time?” He stood there in the kitchen as his light mood was clouded with disbelief. “How come I never heard his milk van. Or truck.... did he even use a car?” He tried his best to remember the slightest details. When he realized...
“I don’t even know who was delivering the milk! What company was it again?”
He stops and realizes, he is thinking about the logistics of milk delivery and chuckles. “That was some great milk”
He finishes his tea and gets ready for work and as he grabs his keys and backpack. He looks at the envelope. He smiles, opens it and reads it again. “So silly”
„Congratulations on a Full Life and good luck passing over to the other side”
He puts it back into the envelope and heads for the front door with a smile on his face.
As he clutched the handle, a feeling of dread besieged his light thoughts and his happy facial expression. He paused.
He didn’t really wanted the open the door but he had to. His eyes where anxious. He had a feeling there is something behind the door. He took a step back and opened it.
As he opened the front door, he got flooded with blinding white light. He let’s go of the front door to shield himself from the sight deafening vision he encountered on the other side. When his eyes finally adjusted he stood there in nothingness with a slim fella dressed in white silently standing in the vicinity. He looks perplexed at the guy which seems to be in a uniform. His muscles encouraged him to approach the authority figure and ask what’s going on.
Before he could ask him anything noted that this guy is a milk man. He realized that he wears the same logo that he has seen on the bottle caps.
“Welcome to the other side” he said.
“Thanks...” he replied immediately questioning if thanking is the right response instead of asking questions.
“How did you like the milk?”
Now totally relieved he had a smile on his face. The thoughts of dread moved to make room for warm comfort.
“Thanks for the milk, It was the right amount every day and just what I needed to keep going”
“I am glad you liked it”
“Follow me” the milk man said.
And they both disappear into the white void.
-// First time doing this//- | 2019-09-15T15:15:40 | 2019-09-15T14:30:16 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] Simultaneously, across the world, everyone hears a voice in their head. " In 2 hours, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human ®." | The sudden shock is spread across the faces in the meeting room. My colleagues both pick up and set their phones down in haphazard fashion.
Only moments ago we were forecasting, editing, promoting. Long term capital investments simmer through my eyes as if I was watching my life flash before them.
Then my mind turns to the world. To the shitty dredges of poverty, children slaughtered in genocide, suicide, cartels, natural disaster, and our own complacency to sit in my comfortable desk chair and do nothing.
I turn to my nearest colleague and mutter, “God I hope this was a Beta.” | Two hours.
That's not enough time to fly across the border, what's more halfway across the world. There's just enough time to make it back home from the office if I leave now, and still get to see my parents.
Around me, my colleagues were doing the same, desperately trying to call their loved ones while dashing out the office. A slow realisation crept over me, and walking to the full length windows, I saw how chaos had descended upon us.
There's no way I'd be getting home now.
I grabbed the highest caloric snacks in the office and sat at my desk, casually tossing the laptop, stationary, mouse, and cups off my desk. Then, when there was just soft thuds, picked them up again and hurled them at the window. The tiny cracks in the glass and the loud shattering sounds eased my heart.
Sitting down at my desk, I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone. Opened WhatsApp and navigated to my archived Ex's chat. It's now or never. Holding down the voice message button, I began,
"I never once regretted being with you. Not once, not in my most consuming anger, to the engulfing sadness, no ounce of regret. Never, ever did I feel regret. Every time I saw your face, calm settled in me, anxiety slipped away. And I smiled. You made the loneliness go away, the agonising, heart-wrenching sadness of loneliness that haunted the seconds of my existence, you chased it away. You helped me find my laughter, expanded my universe of humour, of entertainment and enjoyment. You even made my shame into delights, how weird was that? Your nicknames were dumb and irritating at times, but man, even you calling me a cute little eggroll made me the happiest person on earth. I love you so much, I never stopped and I never will, no matter where we go after this ends. I love you so much, God I love you. I wish I never left, I wish I could have made it all perfect and forced our relationship to work out, but now that it's all ending, I wish I just stayed in our flawed perfection. I love you, I love you, I love you, I-"
The voice message had hit its limit, automatically sent.
I stared at the message as it kept trying to send, timer icon waiting, until finally.
One tick. | 2019-09-23T06:53:44 | 2019-09-23T04:27:58 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] The healer was treated horribly by the knights he was assigned. Belittled and humiliated at every turn. Until one day a monster killed his squad and spared him. And the monster looked at him and she said something he didn't think was possible to even say. "Would you please heal me?". | The Skydriller twisted its contorted body writhing in some horrifying dance, slowly jerking towards me in its twirling twisted way, I had nothing to defend myself with, the party I came with had been quickly torn to shreds by this thing, It stopped and raised its strange shovel like head, several protective flaps slacking and revealing its one weak spot, its neck It slowly came close then said "Would you please heal me?" In a double toned voice "They got me pretty good and you..." It stopped and shuddered as it inhaled "Don't smell like they do, or did. Before they were killed that is"
"Heal you?"
"Yes please. Unless you would rather try and kill me?" It cackled softly and jittered in place, never still. "Ahh. I. Guess?" I slowly said, casting a lower tier spell on the beast "Ahh. That's better" Said the Skydriller as its wounds closed "Without you those would have taken weeks to heal and I wouldn't be able to get around as well, You know, to hunt and stuff"
"What exactly do you eat?" I asked "Honestly I don't think anybody knows much about Skydrillers, except for the fact that their extremely rare and tend to live in mountians"
"Oh, we eat small dragons and griffins mostly".
"Whatnow"
"Small dragons and Griffins" said the Skydriller standing to its full hight "Thanks for the heal, I have to be going now"
"Ah, see you I guess"
"Probably not human" Said the sky driller before closing its flaps and diving into the ground, twisting like some massive demented corkscrew down and away from all humanity.
&#x200B;
This ain't that good. I liked the idea though so ye | Alivia rotely matched her spine's verticality to that of the Imperial Bannerstaff she rotely planted into the ground, sending the Emblem of the Impaled Fetus up in a blazing projection far above her team of Shock Inquisitors.
Being a Bannercleric was typically a cushy job, as far as boots-on-the-ground work went, anyway. In standard formation, two Heavy Sentinels would take point with their fortified manashields, followed closely by two Assault Magi, casting frenzied barrages of precision micro-fireballs through their comrades' one-way barriers. A singular Bannercleric would stand proudly with their Imperial Bannerstaff in the rear. Technically, they were supposed to be the banner carrier and the cleric, using their Bannerstaff to channel the very will of the Goddess Herself, mending the deepest of wounds and curing the most potent of toxins—but this was seldom necessary in a squad with *one* fully-fortified manashield, never mind two. In practice, their job was more or less to ensure the Imperial Emblem remained sufficiently imposing towards whatever daemons the squad was fighting, which was not particularly challenging when said emblem was a flaming daemon fetus writhing on a pike.
However, this was not the case for Bannerclerics in the Shock Inquisitors. They would lead the team and stay in the center of the action, planting their staff as a rally point, and channeling a continuous healing circle. The two Assault Magi would stay within the circle and guard the Bannercleric, typically with beginner-level magic, to kill slower. In lieu of Heavy Sentinels, two Punishers—agile warriors clad in light armor, and equipped with spiked maces and spiked buckler shields—would dance outside the healing circle and target any would-be flankers and assassins, deftly snapping apart whatever limbs they used for locomotion before, again, killing them slowly. Their shields were not needed for minor concerns such as spells or arrows, for which even terminal wounds could be healed fairly quickly by a Bannercleric after only a short period of extreme pain. Nobody minded the pain, after all—if you did, you wouldn't sign up to be a Shock Inquisitor.
There was no tactical advantage to utilizing Shock Inquisitors over standard Imperial Infantry. The Empress called them in for one purpose only: psychological warfare. When she wanted her enemy not to die quickly and efficiently versus her unseen soldiers, veiled behind their shimmering bastions of irridescent mana, with only the Fetus hovering high above, but to suffer slowly against an enemy that knows no suffering, and usually, to leave one half-alive to tell the tale.
Today, however, was yet another boring day of peace—no daemons to massacre and bring glory to the Imperium. Alivia's team had been deployed on a standard quest to investigate a reported monster sighting near a mountain cave by the Imperial Quarry. This would typically be handled by standard Infantry, or even fresh recruits, but the report talked about a "creature with a strange blue glow and vague round form," which sounded just potentially dangerous enough to rule out sending in kids with arming swords and minimal training, and the possibility of the monster fleeing up the mountain meant that deploying Heavy Sentinels in bulky armor might hinder the pursuit. Thus, Alivia's more agile, maneuverable squad marched to the Quarry, tracked down the monster within the cave, and cornered it.
Ember casually rolled her compact Tacwand across her fingers, like a professional chanca player flourishing her claychits at the table. "I have a feeling this will be the most one-sided battle ever fought in the history of the Imperium," she quipped.
She wasn't wrong.
**[TO BE CONTINUED SHORTLY]** | 2020-02-23T14:10:21 | 2020-02-23T13:54:21 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] Being the Devil’s offspring means that you’re really good at persuasion. Things get awkward when the Devil finds out you’ve been using your power for good. | The people in the office started pulling at their ties, scrubbing paper towels across their brow, with said towels laden with sweat, and started complaining that somebody's BO was out of control. Looking around. I acknowledged the situation and perused myself to the stairwell. Time to face the music. At least I accomplished my goals.
As I reach the long unused stairwell, a roaring fire buffeted through until there was a suave looking man in a fire red suit, a checkered cloth in his suits front pocket, hair styled in a punk rock pink mohawk. With his 3 piece suit having a writing on the back saying burn2rebel.
"Well well well, if it isn't my little troublemaker." He grins. Grabbing my shoulders, his claws piercing through my human clothing "Do you have ANY idea what you have done? You've caused quite the termoil down below. To think! My son, persuading others to live in a plesant manner, cheating me out of countless souls. A veritable peace on earth! What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Um I don't know dad... I just didn't want to live in a dump." I rub the back of my head. "You have your kingdom. Grandpa has his, I just wanted something pleasant for myself."
"So you created peace on earth, Because you were tired of watching all the pain, suffering and anguish of others?" He looked at me, skeptically
"Um ya.." I looked down "It's just not really my scene..."
"I'm so proud of you!!" Patting my back embracing me "You created your own kingdom, for your own wants, rebelling against your own pa! A regular chip of the ol block aren't ya? You know what this means though right?"
My mouth hanging open, i stood there dumbly. This was... Not what I expected.
"Um no, no idea."
"Ha! You get to work with your grandpa to create the next universe, creating a set of rules for them to follow to get into your plane AND you did it before Jesus did! Ha! You beat my youngest bro! The 'perfect' one! muha!" With this, he breaks down holding his knees. "Now go, get to heaven you little trouble maker! Time for a new universe!" With which he grabs my collar, and in his most aggressive of voices yells "YEET!!" punching a hole in the fabric of the universe with a shape like my body, cartoon style, tossing me into heaven. | “Master! There’s something you need to see!”
The Devil turns to his demon servant with an annoyed expression on his face.
“How many times do I need to tell you NOT TO INTERRUPT ME WHILE I’M TORTURING?”
The demon cowering at his master, the Devil, pressed on.
“My apologies. I know you wish not to be bothered during your daily torturing, but this is serious!”
The Devil, getting even more angry, takes a step towards his servant.
“And what exactly is so important that you felt you HAD to interrupt me?”
“It’s about your son. He’s... he’s...”
“SPIT IT OUT ALREADY!”
“He’s doing good.”
The Devil, not understanding what exactly this meant, conjured a fireball.
“You telling me that he’s doing good?! What, did he persuade someone to commit murder or something?”
The demon cowers in fear, shaking heavily.
“No. He’s doing ACTUAL good. He’s helping people!”
“He’s WHAT?!?!”
The Devil’s fury exploded causing hell to quake. This quake could be felt all the way up to Earth, where the Devil’s son felt it. Instantly he knew what happened. Somehow his father found out what he was doing, all the good. But hopefully he still didn’t know about HER. He reluctantly decided it was best to go and face his father.
Upon his return to hell, the Devil’s son was met by his father’s personal servant.
“Your father is very displeased with your actions. Let’s go.”
The Devil’s son followed the servant to his father’s quarters. He could see light from the flames around the door, far brighter than he’s ever seen before. Nervously, he grabs the doorknob, turned it and entered.
The Devil turns to face his son, seeing nothing but fear on his face. If he didn’t know better he would have thought his son would rather be on Earth than here in hell.
“You do know who you are, right?”
“Yes, father.”
“And you know who I am, right?”
“Yes, father.”
“Then explain to me why you feel the need to be doing good deeds on Earth.”
His son, who had been maintaining eye contact up till now, looked down. Tears started to form in his eyes. He tried to stop them from coming, but he couldn’t.
“I’m sorry, father. I... I just don’t feel right being evil. I just can’t bring myself to be evil.”
“So, instead of being evil, my own offspring has decided to turn against me! Persuading people into compassion and empathy! Persuading world leaders to love, not make wars with each other! Persuading in favor of Him!”
“I’m just not like you. I don’t know what else to say.”
“YOU ARE MY SON!”
His son, looking up to face his father, anger welling inside.
“I’m only half you. Or don’t you even remember?”
“How DARE you!”
“How dare I? HOW DARE I?!?! You once fell in love with someone, someone not of hell or even evil! Love! And you want to lecture ME about being your son, being evil?!”
“Be careful what you say next, son.”
His son, beyond angry now, hit the one spot he knew his father absolutely despised.
“You forget where come from. Who you once served. Who you once were. All the good YOU once performed! And all this time He still gets to you! You still blame Him for your sins!”
“Don’t you dare say it.”
“And because of this, God will always beat you.”
The fire in the Devil’s eyes died down. How could he? His own son.
“Get out. I never want to see you here again.”
He finally got what he wanted, but somehow it still felt wrong to him.
“GET OUT!”
The Devil’s son left, returning to Earth. To the ones he loved. A return to all the good he w had been doing. Still, in the furthest reaches of his mind, he wondered if it was worth it. Was his freedom worth it if it meant he couldn’t go back? He felt something that his father never has, never could. He felt guilt. But he knew his father never would have understood. No matter what, he knew he would never be able to get through to his father. This thought is what keeps him going, keeps him doing good deeds. | 2020-09-21T14:41:40 | 2020-09-21T14:38:12 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt | If I were to punch a person, the other party would feel pain.
Not a foreign cause and effect, by any means. If you were blessed with super strength, like Maximus, the end result would be the same. Run at the speed of sound like Sonic the Human, and plenty of pain will be tacked along with that punch.
I didn't quite have the energy or the passion of a typical superhero, that was true. But when it came to effectiveness, there was a reason I was the first name murmured by every set of lips. And especially when Maximus and Sonic the Human laid on the ground, eyes still wide open from the shell-shock of being returned to their normal selves... the murmurs turned to calls, and quickly to shouts and screams.
I stood in the middle of the ruined street. Street lamps laid on the ground, awry and bent. Car alarms blared and belched out black smoke, threatening to blaze at any moment. Glass shards littered the road and pavement, with various mannequins parts and displayed merchandise finding themselves dismembered on the streets.
"Yo," I called out. "Having fun?"
In a flash, Intake stood in front of me, a cheeky grin on his face. He was dressed in civilian attire today: a nondescript black hoodie over a grey t-shirt, blue jeans, and a cap, instead of his usual, gaudy red and white outfit with a gigantic I in the middle of his chest.
I sighed, realizing what had happened. I always told those idiots not to hold fan meet-and-greets. But no, the said, they were so powerful, that they couldn't possibly be ambushed in public. Intake must have stolen his powers under this guise, and taken out Maximus in the process.
"Finally!" he cried. "Woe himself."
"It is me," I shrugged my shoulders, right hand doing a little wave. "I'm here."
"Aww," Intake continued. "Am I not worthy enough for you to put on your costume?"
"Maybe," I admitted. "More like I was at therapy when I was called to the scene, you know?"
"... Superheroes go to therapy?"
"Don't knock it till you try it," I said. "We live in difficult times. There's nothing wrong with you if you seek help, you know?"
I lifted a fist in the air, preparing a signature swing.
"Though for you," I added. "I think you might just be too far gone as a piece of garbage."
I swore that I didn't blink. Even then, he was gone, immediately, and I felt a hand around my neck."
"You sanctimonious heroes," Intake shook his head. "Big words aplenty. But what can you say when your powers are gone?"
I could feel it draining away. And for the first time in forever, I found the beginnings of a smile lifting the corners of my mouth.
Super speed must have sped up his power absorption as well. Usually, Intake simply took too long to accomplish his task. Another reason to admonish Sonic the Human later, I suppose.
"What the hell?" Intake screamed.
He staggered back, falling onto his bottom unceremoniously. The villain tucked his head into his knees, curling up into a fetal position, and simply started crying.
"This... pain!"
"Oh, Woe is you," I said, shaking my exceptionally limber limbs. It likely wouldn't last long. Intake's consciousness would invariably shut down from the overwhelming pain that now flooded every muscle, every organ, every bone, every sinew, every nerve, every cell--a feeling I was well familiar with.
After all, I didn't have super strength or super speed. What I had was a lot of pain, easily and wilfully transmitted through a single touch.
A punch transmits pain. When it came to me, there was just a lot more to pour into a single fist.
It must have just been seconds. But I could feel it starting to return. I glanced towards Intake, who now laid crumpled on the ground, silent and unmoving.
"Woe is me," I sighed.
---
r/dexdrafts | Double-Talk is the hero name. A name the newspapers felt suited their idea of how I was stopping crimes.
“Psychic Hero Double-Talk Thwarts Bank Robbers!”
“Double-Talk Stops Assassin at Governor’s Rally!”
Yadda yadda, look calling my ability a ‘power’ is like calling a Super Nintendo a Computer: I guess you’re right, but not really, and I don’t know enough about it to tell you you’re wrong. But you are fuckin wrong so stop calling it a power.
Here’s what I do: I have the ability to psychically implant... well, whatever. Plans, thoughts, show tunes, you name it. I could have done the whole movie ‘Inception’ in about three and a half seconds but we’d miss out on Tom Hardy and that would be an atrocity. Rather than that the CIA decided I had great potential in terrorizing and manipulating world governments to their benefit. They found me after I spent the first few fucked up years of my life scrambling around the Midwest after I accidentally destroyed my home town.
How, one might ask?
One day everyone suddenly realized Santa Clause was real. It was great! Adults across the city were ecstatic, everyone started behaving nicely to get on the Nice List, crime was way down, we sent some poor fuckin mailman to the North Pole. No one in the country noticed, they thought our news stories were a cute little stunt with staged interviews.
The problem was one night, the whole city burned itself down because everyone woke up, panicking because the boogie man was real, and furthermore Gary Callahan from 4th grade was going to beat them up at school the next day. The next day, news anchors across the country speculated what caused the mass-hysteria in which an entire town had been razed to the ground, only for the residents to all be found hiding under their blankets the next day, sometimes in pillow forts.
That was when I realized everyone else had my dream. Of course I convinced my parents of this very easily given my abilities, though I just always assumed it was easy to convince people.
Federal Agents show up, Gary Callahan is removed from his atomic wedgie in the town square, blah blah blah, CIA makes me an operative.
After a few coups and inexplicable promotions, they decided I was dangerous. The more they trained me to hone my skills, the less I was able to send out the group chat like I could as a kid. I went from a flamethrower to a BB Gun with a state of the art scope.
Because of this, they were able to remove me from service under the threat of ruining me with their influence if I turned on them. So now I wear this moody detective outfit and stop bank robbers.
Oh there was this time Syphon stole my powers for about half an hour. That was a pretty good one actually, this son of a bitch didn’t even do his research and he thought I could _read_ minds. So I’m out drinking coffee and playing show tunes in this guy’s head while he screams at the waitress through a mouthful of danish that the music is too loud (what? fuck you, it’s funny and I do it all the time). Then someone slides into the booth behind me. A couple minutes later, Danish guy stops singing. Then all of a sudden I stand up and yell “Yes! This was so easy to take these powers, I can’t believe this idiot just sits out in the open like this!” and I decide Syphon is victorious once more. Then I decide what the fuck am I talking about? I turn around and Syphon’s sitting there, staring at me all confused in his stupid dark hood-cape and mask get-up. All of a sudden everyone got really upset that I was doing that and everyone (including me) started screaming that something was wrong and I shouldn’t be doing that. Then we all freaked out that we were yelling. Outside people started pressing their big stupid faces against the glass and screaming “Something’s wrong! What the fuck are these people screaming for what the fuck is wrong with this guy?!”. Then everyone turned and yelled at each other to stop before dropping everything and sprinting away. So I go running into the bar and flip over it head-first, people are smacking full force into walls, some guy went out through the window, cars are crashing. Everyone is just trying to get away from Syphon because that’s what he implanted.
So he kinda figures out what’s going on and wants to test out the power. So he tries to use the force to command the waitress over to him. Seriously, this silly fucker waves his hand through the air, grinning like a toddler, and commands her to bring him coffee. Well, we all start frantically looking for coffee. The waitress sprints to the maker. I knock her over trying to get to it. Window guy jumps back in through a different window and pretty much dies of blood loss on the spot. It couldn’t have gone much worse unless there was some asshole outside with a truckload of coffee to deliver to the cafe. So this asshole outside with a truckload of coffee to deliver to the cafe comes straight through the wall and delivers a crate of coffee and 3000 pounds of truck into Syphon’s silly little caped skull and now I have my powers back.
Took me a couple hours but I made sure everybody thought it would be a great idea to pitch in and contact their insurers about a “Hero/Villain-Related Injury and/or Destruction of Property” clause that everybody pays into nowadays. Then I moved on to the next city, and here I am, ready to serve and protect, and kill people with coffee. Or halt a bank robbery by making the leader of the group think of an actor with all of his mind, but I make sure he can’t think of their name, that’s a good one. Make him google it mid-robbery and then the other guys panic because they know they’re next...
So... thanks for the interview...
..now fuck off. | 2020-12-02T09:23:54 | 2020-12-02T08:20:52 | 78 | 38 |
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult. | He turned to the stranger next to him. "World-Ender? What will people think? Will they judge me by this name and think I'm that I'm going to bring about the end of the world? That I'm going to usher in the demise of humanity as we know it? That name is going to label me forever as a monster! What will my friends assume about me? What will all my neighbors say?"
The stranger, nonplussed, shrugged his shoulders. "Well it could always be worse."
World-Ender nodded slowly. "I guess you're right Mr....sorry I didn't catch your name."
"It's Jeff. Jeff Dickinson." | “Hey Mike Murderer”, Winston said with a sigh as he entered the wooden cabin.
“Hey! Back already? Did they even let you in the town this time?”, Mike said. Mike sat up on his dusty, worn out floor mat, which he used as a bed.
“Nobody recognized me until I was looking at the chess pieces, then they found out I was Winston Worldender and threw me out”, Winston said as he sat on his own mat. “I really wanted to get the new chess pieces. I hear in the latest balance change they released the Rook piece to counter the over powered Bishop they released a while back.”
The cabin they were in barely contained the 3 beds and a fire pit used for cooking.
“Oh man it took them this long to fix the game?” Mike said surprised. “Daryl Developer really doesn’t know what he’s doing!”
“Because the Oracle name assignments mean nothing! A society that gives names to determine professions at birth? That’s nonsense!” Winston exclaimed, now finding himself giving a passionate speech. “I know you Mike. You’re the nicest guy! It’s not even possible for you to kill anything! And me? World ender?! Come on! How am I supposed to end the world?!”
“Do you think the townspeople will believe that?” Mike is now laughing. “Although I am thankful that our names brought us together. Without you and Andy Arsonist I would be all alone.”
“I'm glad we found each other too. But we deserve to be treated like humans god dammit”, “ Winston slammed his first on the ground. “Do you know who controls the Oracle?”
“Not this conspiracy again. I’m sure it’s all random and we were just unlucky”
“No, I think that fool in the castle determines our names.” Winston says as he looks out the cabin's small window. “He uses it to control society and if something goes wrong he has us as a scapegoat!”
In the distance lies a town within a valley. In the center of the town is a large castle overlooking the city.
“Even if Ronald Ruler did rig the Oracle. What can you do? Everyone supports him and is terrified of you”
“You know I’m starting to think my namesake prophecy may be true, I’ll be the one to end Ronald’s world” | 2021-06-19T18:31:32 | 2021-06-19T17:26:49 | 2,066 | 400 |
[WP] You are an ancient and powerful dragon who lives in a mountain nearby the capital of a kingdom that's been trying to slay you for centuries. That is, until one day when you were just resting atop your hoard, a heavily injured knight comes into your den, carrying the kingdom's baby princess. | Slay the dragon! Marry the princess! Great riches!
Of course no one told the many adventurers that they would somehow have to carry Morling's hoard down the mountain themselves, that is, before the whole city would come to help, each filling their own pockets. Nor that the princess' nickname for Morling was 'mom'. They also didn't realize that King Rudolpho had plans to throw the successful Dragonslayer in the dungeon. And marry the princess off to his infant son. Usurpers always wanted to legitimise their rule Morling sighed to herself.
The fortune-seekers also never realised that Morling would hear them trodging up the mountain at least a mile before they got to her cave. Another group of knights was currently clunking up heavily. They discussed taking advantage of the element of surprise. Morling sometimes wondered how none seemed to realise that the best element to surprise a dragon was Au. Well arranged carbon did quite nicely too.
Morling glanced over at the sleeping child laying next to her. She was glad the little princess seemed to have it's mother's intelligence. While she had never met the queen personally, this lady had been the first in centuries to realise how Morling got her hoard. Gifts.
The old kings had been warned by Morling that passing down a secret from father to son wasn't practical for such a fragile race. One untimely death had ended the bringing of riches in exchange for advise. After millennia she had gone from the kingdom's most trusted advisor to the 'scurge of the nation', she quietly chuckled to herself. Dragonslayers were quite tasty. Flash fired or roasted slowly in their metal armour, it all went down a treat.
The last time Morling had experienced some surprise was when, after centuries of brave and delicious adventurers, a severely wounded knight had dragged himself into her cave. She had been sleeping peacefully, not expecting visitors while the kingdom waged war against Rudolpho the Usurper. The man had been holding a heavily ornate golden necklace in one hand, and the tiny baby princess on his arm. He had barely managed to start begging for help when he dropped dead on Morling's clean cave floor. Little Gemma, as Morling had named the child, preferred that necklace over everything in Morling's hoard.
The clang of metal had reached the entrance of the cave. Morling gently nudged the sleeping princess awake.
'Breakfast will be served in a few minutes, sweetie' | *177. 178. 179... 180. There we are, 180 pounds of mythril. This should be enough to start the wyrmlings on their own hoards.*
\*BOOM!\* From outside, I hear yet another explosion and watch with annoyance as the smoke and ash is blown into my home. *Those humans have been fighting each other for nearly a week on now; will their blood-lust never be sated?* "Ah well, better one another than one of you, isn't that right little ones?" Shaking my head I turn to look down at my three newest kin. I had made them younger this time, in hopes of being able to keep them hidden longer without worry of the humans hunting them down. One of them, Ohmat, stirred from the constant noise. With a soft thruum I stilled him to sleep once more.
\***BOOM!!\*** *That sounded closer...* Turning to the entryway I see my door shattered on the floor; a figure clad in heavy armour standing in the door frame, illuminated by the red glow of fire from down the mountain. "Are... are you Lord Thoron? \*cough cough\* Please, I seek your aid." The figure approaches me without waiting for my reply. In response, I clasp the jewel around my neck, the familiar smell of ozone fills the air as I take on my proper form and tower over the figure. "Who are you? To so foolishly force your way into my home will meet you with not but a swift end." At this, I allow a torrent of blue lightning to dance off my body and crackle along the ceiling. The figure, a knight of the Cerenfell based on the Coat of Arms on their armour, curled themselves over something defensively. I used this opportunity to warp my wyrmlings deeper into the home. "NO! Please, I mean you no harm. I apologise for the door but there is simply no time. Please, keep her safe." *Her?*
*"*Who pray tell is 'her'?" Before I can finish voicing my question however, the knight gets up and runs back out of my home. however, where she had laid was a small swaddling of cloth. Soft cries could be heard from the bundle, barely, over the sounds of violence outside. After waiting a moment to ensure that no one else was coming into my home, I relinquished my form and picked up the bundle. Therein I found a small human female, very young though she did seem to have teeth at least. Around her neck was a simple copper string with the name 'Serenade' dangling off it. "Well, little one, it would seem you are with me now." The girl stops her crying now, and looks up at me almost expectantly. "Hmm, who knows, maybe I can raise you to be less bloodthirsty than the rest of your kind. Now then, you shall rest with your siblings. I have a noise complaint to file." With a wave of my right hand my wyrmlings are brought back to me. Carefully, I place Serenade into the large bed with the others before waving them down to the furthest reaches of my home.
Once satisfied that they are all asleep, I step through my door-way and with a wave of my left hand the door rebuilds itself; attaching to the door frame once more, all cracks and lines disappearing in an instant. Drawing in a deep breath, I nearly choke on the amount of sulfur in the air. *This won't do. Whatever these humans are fighting over, they are going to burn my whole forest down with them.* Grabbing my jewel once more I jump into the air, beginning my ascent into the smoke ridden skies. With a roar, I summon an ever-growing thunderstorm; lightning cracks across the sky in a vibrant display of blues and greens. The smell of ozone fills my nostrils as the rain begins to fall. *This is going to be a long night...*
// Okay, I really really enjoyed this one and if not for my tired mind would already be writing the second part I have lined up. However, another part, another time. As always, criticism is welcomed and have a great day/night. :) | 2021-09-14T02:31:26 | 2021-09-14T01:32:59 | 36 | 27 |
[WP] due to an exciting new ammendment to the constitution, service and restaurant workers are legally allowed to backhand one customer a day. | She sat there with her plate half empty. Fry bits scattered the table like toys in a toddler room. Peanut shells littered the floor; she dropped them one by one as she grinned at Lucy from afar.
"That fucking bitch", Lucy mouthed to her self. Lucy watched from the pit as the mess piled up. She told the Hank that all you can eat night was a bad idea but the seats needs butts.
"Excuse me", the woman yelled with her hand flailing in the air. "I'm gonna need another steak, this one is cold. Also, a fresh plate of fries, better make them loaded, and a new drink, this one is flat."
Lucy excused herself while she reached to clear the unwanted plates. "Excuse me, what the do you think you're doing? Did I say I was done with that?"
"I just thought since you ordered fresh food that.."
"Leave the thinkin' to the professionals", the woman said snidly. "If I wanted these plates gone, I would have said so. I understand that you are just a waitress. Let's be honest, it doesn't take a degree in rocket sciece to do this job. You take my order; you get my order; you go back and wait until I need something else. How hard is it really?"
Lucy could feel the blood rushing to her face. She turned and walked toward the kitchen to put in the new order. "Six more minutes", she said aloud.
"What was that you said", hank yelled from the back.
"Six more minutes Hank", she yelled back angrily.
"Lucy, I can't tell you no but five days in a row. You need to keep your cool."
"Hank, I love you like a brother but if you want me to quit keep talking."
Hank walked in the back without saying another word
Two minutes
"OH miss, is my food ready yet? I've been waiting for a very long time."
One more minute.
Lucy grabbed the plates from the kitchen rack.
30 seconds.
She walked ever so carefully to the woman's table, making sure to count every step; to ensure the food doesn't fall by accident.
10 seconds
Lucy rearranged the table to make room for the fresh food.
7:43pm
"You can take these plates away now. Turns out I didn't want them after all. Not with this fresh stuff here. Oh, I need napkins."
Lucy smiled at the woman. She turned away from her and paused for a moment. Her grin was as wide as the Grinche's when he stole Christmas. Lucy brought the back of her right hand to her mouth and brushed her tongue across it.
"Anything else ma'am", Lucy asked.
"Well now that you mention it.."
Before the woman could finish, Lucy spun around, backhanding the woman across the face with rage that had been channeling all evening. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the diner. The woman cried out with shrieks like a banshee before fainting in her booth.
23 hours and 56 minutes. | Washington DC -- today, a much looked forward to day for retailers has finally arrived. Two years ago, Tataku Urate sued her employer Palm Playa for wrongful termination. While her manager at the local Palm Playa in rural Utah fired Ms. Urate for hitting a customer, Ms. Urate sued claiming that her "backhanded slap" was protected under her first amendment rights. Ms. Urate's lawyers have commented that her free expression was also in self-defense as the customer was verbally abusive, even using hate speech. Unfortunately, no witnesses have come forward to support either side of the matter.
The local court at Utah did not side with Ms. Urate but her Kickstarter campaign garnered enough national support that she was able to sue at the state court. At this point, the Palm Playa headquarters took notice. "This sets a dangerous precedent for all self-defense being potentially to violent," representatives of Palm Playa had said. The state court also agreed, but Ms. Urate's online popularity had surged even further.
At this point, Zaregoto Hanasu, a small-time lawyer in San Francisco, started to take interest. "This case is nothing like anything we'll see for a long time," he explained. "It really expresses how our laws are not compatible with the will of the people." Under Dr. Hanasu's advice, Ms. Urate was able to gain much more popularity.
"I reached an agreement with the state tea party senators," she said, "they really supported that I should be able to express myself."
However, despite the fervor, the interpreters of the constitution stayed rigid. After another denial at the federal court of appeals, Dr. Hanasu decided to "go big or go home," and rallied to get the case heard. The Utah senate representative, then the tea party leader, Cham Matson, was a vocal supporter. He decried the state of his state, complaining that "the government won't even let you slap. Next they'll be telling you you can't talk back!" However, in a rare 8-1 decision, the supreme court ruled that the termination of Ms. Urate did not violate her first amendment rights. The dissent, by Justice Scabbia, pointed out that hate speech was special and that Ms. Urate's situation was uniquely "easy to trouble." In a speech that earned national sympathy, Justice Scabbia noted the unjust conditions that service workers had to endure, calling the workplaces "cruel and unusual," and saying that Ms. Urate's actions were a justifiable free expression of "pent up dissent and displeasure."
Justice Scabbia's dissent resonated as quite a few supreme court decisions' have: in a unique twist of fate, Senator Matson had presented a constitutional amendment a few months after the case. This amendment stipulated that "expressions of working conditions cannot justify the termination of an employee's employment." The amendment also added that "customers who may be creating the hostile work may also perceive this complaints and may not sue."
While the legislature has stayed uniquely quiet on this issue, too preoccupied filibustering bills on climate initiatives, the amendment has finally come up as a topic of discussion. The tea party have ardently supported it, and with a third of the seats in the house of representatives, are half way to getting it passed upwards. The senate is more challenging since the tea party do not have as much support there.
Ms. Urate has since left retail, becoming a consultant with Dr. Hanasu. They take on legal battles to help improve the service industry. When asked on this amendment, she commented "the Founding Fathers must never have worked in retail -- otherwise the right to hit a customer would be in the Bill of Rights." Dr. Hanasu clarified: "of course, we know that it would be under the purview of the fifth amendment."
Senator Matson has, in a speech to Utah, where the state constitution already includes a similar amendment, rallied them to "teach the other 49 states what freedom is."
Earlier today, however, for the first time since the 8-1 supreme court defeat, we have heard voices opposing the amendment. One came from the Washington state senator, another, older tea party member. "This law is too narrow in scope. It's not the kind of junk this constitution needs. Really, we ought to allow all fighting. Did you know, my Washington State still has the right to duel? That's what this country needs."
Other fresh counterarguments point at the opposite: "this country does not need more sanctioned unlawfulness. We already allow guns. We should not allow shooting," Utsuna, the democrat New Jersey Representative said. She has been vocally anti-second amendment, almost racing to have her own amendment beat Senator Matson's.
Most commentators have agreed that this amendment will be unlikely to enter the constitution. Most supporters ask "have you ever worked in retail?"
*Edit: the Taller Hill apologizes for a previous mistake in Dr. Hanasu's title. We thank him for the correction.* | 2021-10-05T23:30:31 | 2021-10-05T18:57:04 | 498 | 61 |
[WP] Every time you are late, you dodge an otherwise-fatal bullet. Miss a plane and it will crash, every time. Miss a job interview, the place will burn down. Today, despite leaving unfathomably early, you get stuck in gridlock on the way to your wedding. You begin to panic. | "I'm sorry little miss, but it looks like traffic is a mess, what time is your wedding?" the limo driver put his arm on the back of the passenger seat to turn and look at me.
"Noon is when it starts, but I'm supposed to be there for photos at ten," I reply cooly, checking my lipstick in my compact mirror.
Ever since I was little, Death and I have performed an elaborate dance, never touching, but bending and gliding, stretching and leaping towards one another in daring near misses. The train my uncle and I missed when I was a only a toddler derailed a few miles down the line. On my way to my first job as newspaper delivery girl, an overturned cart and ox in the road ahead delayed me, only for me to arrive to see the printing house ablaze.
At first I thought that being late meant I was being spared from a far worst fate, that it was a blessing that I should be fortunate enough to escape the inevitable embrace of Death for one more day by sheer luck. But soon I realized it was not that I was being spared nor was it good fortune. The train that derailed was filled with drug lords. The printing press kept workers in slave conditions. The innocent were left unharmed, except for their shock, while the cruel writhed and despaired in their anguished demise.
I was only an instrument to Death, a harbinger to those who would soon approach the other shore. My lateness was not so I could be spared, but so that Death should ride ahead to weigh the deeds of the just and unjust along my path.
"You're rather young, is this a match of love or by your family, if you don't mind me asking, miss?" the limo driver inquired.
"It's been arranged," I reply.
"Have you met him yet?"
"Once. I am nineteen and he is fifty-four, but he has paid my uncle a dowry seemingly worth the price of my virginity and freedom, and despite my objections. I will be his third bride."
The driver was quiet for a moment. "What does this man do for his living?"
"He is an arms dealer in Punjab," I reply.
"It looks like the traffic is clearing up ahead, miss. You'll miss the photos, but should make it to the wedding on time."
"Take the highway, I suspect there will be an accident on the highway," I say, pointing to the exit.
"Miss, that will make us even more late..." The driver glanced into his rearview mirror.
"I know," I grin, as a shadow passes overhead. | The panic dissolves into laughter; not the haha laughter, this is different. You don't even understand why you're laughing, you should be crying!...then it clicks.
This whole thing was never about luck, or having some divine intervention; 'The Chosen One!' That's what I called myself once. How naïve. No, this is a curse, and I was too self absorbed to know it.
I opened the door and ran to the curb. The other drivers give me an odd look before quickly losing interest and turning their attention back to their phones; they know no one is moving so much as an inch anytime soon and that video they're watching is much more interesting. I get to the grassy curb and instantly drop to my knees. The vomit hits the ground, I can even make out a piece of lobster from last night's dinner. Between the violent gagging and puking, I flash back to that previous special night, it was to be our last dinner together as fiancés.
"What?" she says to me, with a sly smile.
"You're eyes, those green eyes of yours, they get me every time, I get lost in them" That's no word of a lie, You've always been amazed how captivating they were.
"Stop being silly" see replies, but now there's a slight blush with that smile. Your heart melts even more.
"Is that an Oreo!? When did I eat Oreos?!" down in the pile of vomit, there's now lobster, tenderloin, potatoes, and what undeniably looks like an Oreo.
"Fuck me" it's back to reality now, your nice little dream is over and here you are on the side of the road with bits of regurgitated seafood and cookies stuck to your nice tux.
I reached into my pocket and grabbed my phone, I knew what to do, I knew exactly what to do. It became clear in that fit of so called laughter, it's the reason my body suddenly went into panic mode and caused the resurfacing of that wonderful dinner. I have to do this now and I need to make sure I never put her in a situation like this again.
Never had I wanted to get something done so fast but moved so slow. I hold down the #7 on my phone, it was her favourite number, so I made it her speed dial. It always gave me a smile when I pressed it, but not this time. It rings twice before I hear her pick up.
"Hey you!" she exclaims, in her typical flirtatious voice I’ve come to adore.
"This isn't going to work" I somehow manage to say, fighting back the tears. "to be honest, I was only keeping you around until I found someone better, and I found someone else” as I try my best to maintain composure. There’s no use fighting back the tears now.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” she says, with a hint of fear and sadness.
This is good, maybe this can work, I think to myself.
“The last four years were fun but I'm moving on now. I never loved you, keep the dog, I'm blocking your number, peace!” I somehow manage to say it with a cocky condescending tone. Before she has time to respond, I disconnect and throw the phone into the tree line.
I want to let out an enormous scream but instead, I just stare in silence. I lost my two best friends today, I couldn’t even manage to say our dogs' name on the phone. We found him together on our first date shivering in a cold dark alleyway, he just needed a bath and some love, he's a good boy.
I get back in my car and start driving, the other cars honk their horns at me while I drive my little hatchback across the median and head in the opposite direction.
“I have a new mission in life now” I think to myself, “the only way I can keep her safe is for me to disappear and never cross paths again”.
I don’t know where I’m going or what I will do but I know, I have to keep moving. The slightest smirk comes across my face, although I’m devastated and broken on the inside, I know this is the only way she'll have a chance at a happy life; and that makes me happy. | 2021-10-22T05:51:32 | 2021-10-21T22:51:21 | 630 | 156 |
[WP] Your immortality isn’t the result of any curse, or blessing, for that matter. No, it’s just that you pissed off the God of Death so much he can’t stand the sight of you. | My skin hangs loose off my tattered bones, and I strain with the effort of holding myself upright. “O great one,” I beg, voice hoarse, the last whiskers of my beard coating the floor below, “Please release me from this curse.”
The God of Death, on his throne of skin, holds a hand to his chin in sullen contemplation, before answering my plea
“**Mmm…no. Not gonna happen.**”
“Oh, *come on!*” This was not entirely unpredicted. That does not make it less annoying.”
“**Ohhh, what’s the matter?” mocks Death. “Does that *inconvenience* you? Is the gift of life no longer *oh so precious-***”
“How many times do I have to say I’m so-“
“**-to you? Because I seem to remember me *offering* you death-**”
“I was nineteen!”
“**I remember breaking every bone in your fraile little body, but, by *some miracle,* brave little Johnny was able to make a FULL RECOVERY! It would sure be a *shame* if I was to take your life away from you now, wouldn’t it? You’ve worked *so hard* for it!**”
It‘s been approximately 2000 years since I survived a freak car accident that, as Death has constantly reminded me, had a 99.7% chance of resulting in my demise.
He still hasn’t gotten over it.
“Look,” I say, “literally everyone I know and love is dead. The earth is some 50 years away from facing oblivion. It’s become impossible to find any sort of food. Don’t you think I’ve learned my goddamn lesson?”
“**I don’t know. I pity you, sure, but you shouldn’t have any trouble surviving such hardships. *You managed to get through worse!!!!***”
“I didn’t *ask* to survive!” I yell.
“**And yet, here you-**”
“For the love of *god,* man! Maybe I wanted a couple extra years at the time, but do you honestly think I wanted *this*? Look at me. Does it seem like I’ve derived any pleasure from my victory over you?”
I fall to my knees, feeling my bones snap. “Please. You’ve had your revenge. Just end it.”
Once again, Death ponders my request - this time, he seems a bit more conflicted. Finally, he rises from his seat, scythe in hand.
“**….Fine.**”
I collapse in relief. “*Thank* you,” I gasp - I would be sobbing, but my tear ducts dried up some hundred years back-
“**On one condition.**”
“What?”
And the last thing I hear is the sound of a thousand car engines racing towards me. | "By the Lord of Death himself - let these banana prices be cursed!"
Yes, other people tended to look at him like they would at anyone who cosplayed without being at a convention, but Steve knew it was worth it. The God of Death would hear this curse and would have to make an official decision on whether or not to actually curse the prices of bananas. Such were the simple pleasures in a life cursed to never end, Steve reflected.
&#x200B;
His story was actually rather simple: Steve, or Stefanus, as he had been known in the past, had been an enterprising son of a noble of middle importance in the British Empire. Well, enterprising was such a positive spin on what was basically a world that bored him out of his mind. So much so, in fact, that when he heard about people digging up the past in Egypt and such places, he decided to try his hand at it.
But Steve was lazy, and so, instead of studying and joining an official expedition, he just paid some guys to carry around digging equipment and they went off on an adventure on his family's Scottish estate. The place was rather boring anyway, so Steve felt that the holes his men dug really added character. His father would feel rather different, of course, but that would have to wait until the patriarch returned from India, or Australia or some such place.
One day, as he was hard at work studying the recent past with a rather pretty little thing from the local village, one of the men came up to him rather excitedly: "M'Lord, we found somethin'". And so it began.
&#x200B;
After paying an unreasonable sum for Bananas, at least judged from the Victorian Era, he walked to his place, cursing uneven sidewalks, slow moving traffic and a few pidgeons in the name of the God of Death. Can't let the old guy forget about him. Steve was not exactly unhappy, he was actually quite rich and could do whatever he wanted - especially since he could never die - but almost two hundred years of ambling about did get boring. He sometimes wished he had never found the damn tablet.
&#x200B;
The workmen had laid bare an entrance to a cave system. The entrance and the walls had been build with stone, so it was not a natural occurence. Steve went in, wondering as he went, why he did not seem to need a light. But then things usually came to him so he did not worry too much about it. "Worrying is for poor people', as his mother had always said. He walked for a good five minutes before entering a small chamber with a table in the middle. Everything was build in stone, even the table. On the table lay a stone tablet. Had Steve been the least bit observant, he would have noticed the writing on the walls that had accompanied him ever since entering the tunnel. He might even have noticed that it changed constantly, but then Steve was not a man for details.
&#x200B;
Upon reaching his place, Steve put away the Bananas and opened his Laptop. He liked to check in on the approximately one hundred people around the world that he paid to curse in the Lord of Death's name. They would film themselves when doing so and he paid them 50 Dollars each time. He felt it was worth it, and since he was richer then whatever person was currently rich due to having enslaved their workforce, it did not exactly hurt him.
&#x200B;
Steve, never having watched Indiana Jones, picked up the tablet. There was nothing on it. it was beautifully polished and gleamed like the marble floors in the house, but it was empty. 'Typical' he thought as he walked outside, throwing the tablet over his shoulder where it shattered against one of the chamber's walls.
"WHY HAS THOU SUMMONST ME?" a voice thundered through the small space. Steve, having been bread to be superior to everything, turned and regarded the shadowy figure. "How did you get in here? Show your face, peasant!". He had always felt that his mother's constant indignation at anything the lower classes did was rather embarassing, but useful.
&#x200B;
If Steve had ever been reflective, or even honest to himself, he might have agreed that what he did to the figure had been wrong. Not just because it was a god, but just in general aweful. At the time, stripping the figure naked and parading it through town had seemed hilarious though, and it did give him a chuckle every time he thought about it. | 2021-12-06T02:30:05 | 2021-12-06T01:05:00 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Character obtains a functional pocket watch but it does not keep track of time.
Character obtains/recieves a functional pocket watch but it does not keep track of time. What is it keeping track of, why do the hands stop and start at random? | It was left to me in a fit of slow deliberate movements. My mum had left to get some coffee when my papa leant over to me. He raised his hand to my arm and gripped powerlessly, pulling me softly towards him. His right hand presented a small golden pocket watch. "Open it when I'm dead, son."
My grandfather, David Humble, died that night.
I left my mum's house after she was in bed and drove. I don't know where I drove but ended up at the coast looking over the North Sea. I pulled the pocket watch out of the glove box and examined its exterior. Golden swirls etched around peacock feathers encircled a polished circle which held the engraving "David, open it when I'm dead."
Gingerly pressing my fingers to the clasp, I popped open the case. A clock started to tick. There were three hands, one spinning around the face in what I reckoned was three or four seconds, another barely moving and the last not moving at all.
It wasn't for a few months until I had worked out what it was. When I ran, the hands moved quicker. When I slept, the hands moved more slowly. The watch was counting down to my death in heart beats and steps. The engraving changed: "Liam, open this when I'm dead." I didn't have a son, yet. | Quincy severed Jalhoshs head with a blow of his lance and turned towards the crowd.
"Now you seeeee????", he shouted as he held the head in his hands, "Now you know who the real champion is???"
The crowd roared with applause and King Edwin walked into the field to present him his prize.
"This watch was passed down for seven generations. They say that the nasty witch Grezelda cursed it with awesome curses!"
"Awesome curses?"
"Yes, but not even Science Man could figure it out."
"Don't worry", Quincy spat, "I know a better scientist."
He took the watch to his old friend Bobby and let him look at it.
"Yeah this watch sure is magic. Let me run some tests."
Bobby tossed the watch in some machine that looked like a paint shaker but it did not shake the watch. A cool blue light covered the watch as Bobby did science on it.
"What's going on", Quincy asked.
"Shhhhh, you'll disturb the science!"
They watched excitedly as science happened on the watch and then produced numbers on the screen.
"What does it all mean?", Quincy squinted at the screen.
"These numbers", Bobby laughed, "It's sequence five. Its the pattern that nobody could ever get! I read the thesis paper so I know what to look for!"
"The fuck?"
"This watch has a curse that was previously thought impossible. Well not impossible, but casting it inevitably sears the life of the caster. Instant death. That witch gave her life to make this watch."
Quincy was dead serious as he grabbed Bobby by the collar and threw him against the wall, "But what does it do????"
Bobby pulled a snap grenade from his pocket and detonated it in Quincys face, blasting him back.
"I'm getting to that, you asshole. This watch can let you see science with your very eyes. Go ahead try it on. It's super safe!"
Quincy tried the watch on and realized that Bobby was right. He looked around and instead of seeing like a normal dude he saw everything in terms of science. It was like when Neo could see all that matrix code but even sweeter. Everything instantly made so much sense.
"Holy fuck dude. I can do science."
Bobby made a cool stance, "Show me."
He raised his hand and did some science and suddenly the room changed to a dojo.
They both got ready and had a super sweet fight using awesome moves and a lot of science. Sometimes they threw acid at eachother or made bombs or stumped eachother with thesis papers, but in the end Quincy countered Bobbys partical accelerator with a quantum distortion and won the day.
"Your science, its too good", Bobby fell to the ground exhausted, "My lifes work is a waste."
"No", Quincy shook his head, "Without you we never would have known. Now we can usher in a new age."
Bobby smiled, "Your right! No more will magicians be at the mercy of scientists, now everyone can do science. Lets get to work and replicate that shit."
Quincy smiled, "Lets do this shit."
| 2013-10-28T17:54:06 | 2013-10-28T17:04:06 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] "It's human-made, you know!" Reverse the usual fantasy scene where somebody gushes over elf/dwarf/whatever craftsmanship. | Urist gingerly squeezed the brass actuator, and the hammer snapped forward with a neat metallic clap.
His shop had seen all manner of wares pass through - the Pass of Arkhaz was home to merchants of every shape, and their weapons decorated the walls of his cramped shop. Thin, mirror-like Elven blades sat next to handsome Orcish ironwood axes; noble Dwarven hammers mingled with Underfolk's short-spears on worn racks; there was even a stand of slender Edithian blowguns, and from the tall rafters of the shop hung a Giant's bow, split from the trunk of a proud oak, arrows taller than the crafty shopkeep himself.
But he had never possessed a Human gun. He rarely saw anything from the realm of Men, being so far West, but he had heard the stories: distant empires, across the Green Sea, who fought with fire and smoke, who had abandoned the art of armor-smithing as useless against their own weapons.
And now, looking at the polished steel device in front of him, Urist almost believed it. The Dwarves built machines, of course, but they were massive and strong, as all Dwarven crafts. He had never seen a gear smaller than his thumb - by the Mountain, it was tiny - and the Human's trick of storing motion in a 'spring' seemed more like magic than metallurgy.
"And this," the unkempt man in front of him produced a thin copper cylinder, "is a long-sight, designed for the device."
"And it does what?"
"Well, it lets you see further, so you can hit distant targets."
Urist chuckled. *That,* he knew, was a joke. | After working for years to on your new weaponsmithing techniques, using nothing but your hammer and iron, you have finally made a longsword you believe that even the merchant prince, "Ghaldien", would be interested in. After a year of showing your handiwork around, you find a note attached to your door, complete with Ghaldien's signet.
>Your crafts seem to be gathering attention on the south continent. I will visit in a week to your home. Be ready to demonstrate.
>- Ghaldien
You can hardly believe it. The merchant prince himself. The man who had enough money to buy the entire Grell race into slavery. How much would something like that even cost?
You prepare your house for such a visit, buying the finest foods and wine you can find on such short notice. Before you know it, the week is up, and you hear a strange knocking at your door.
A translucent venerable elf walks through your shut door.
"Of course," you think to yourself, "he's too busy to come here in person, he'd just psychicly project here." You mentally kick yourself for the week spent preparing food and drink for someone who wouldn't even physically attend.
The figure speaks without moving his mouth. "Greetings human. John Goldwind, I presume?"
Your mouth trembles. In front of you is a man so rich, he could bribe death itself to personally snuff your candle of life out. But still, you manage to speak. "Yes, I know you are a busy man, so I'll be brief. I'm sure you've heard about my blacksmithing." As you open the gemmed box containing the sword and scabbard, sweat begins to drip down your brow.
The ghostly figure once again speaks.
"The scabbard is decent quality, but not enough to stand on it's own. Where is the sword?"
You are absolutely baffled. The sword is in the display box, right next to the scabard, the iron dully gleaming, showing no hint of the sheer amount of force needed to hammer the iron into the right shape.
"The sword is in the case sir. It is above the scabbard. Would you like me to pick it up for you, given your psychic form?"
"I can't believe you have the gall to trick me like this. You dare waste my time? I will make sure your life is hell. I will pay one ducat to any man who deficates on your door. I think an endless stream of poverty stricken men soiling your house is an appropriate punishment. I will leave now. I'm glad I didn't spend the time travelling here in person."
You are in tears. A man with more money than your entire country has a vendetta against you. Maybe, just maybe, you could change his mind. You aren't sure if it will work, but you try placing the sword's hilt in the fading phantasm's hand. The figure immediately shatters.
The next day, you find a note on your door with the same signet as a week ago.
>A sword made from just iron and a hammer, no forge? You have made something so boring as to make magic not work, even remote viewing magic. I've changed my mind. I'm interested in as many units as you can produce.
>-Ghaldien. | 2014-09-11T10:47:47 | 2014-09-11T10:12:54 | 158 | 21 |
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall." | "My fellow Americans," I begin. I'm exuding my usual calm, cool demeanor on the outside. Inside, I'm panicking. Stall? How? For how long? Finally, I settle on a strategy.
"How's it going?" That one caught them off guard. Not entirely unexpected, I do have a bit of a reputation as a wild card. It's why they elected me. I pause and wait for the polite laughter to die down.
"But seriously, I've noticed a sad trend in our nation. Ever since the Andromedians rid us of those cowardly Europeans and established their friendship centers here, we've gone away from being neighborly."
Just then, the teleprompter lit up with just one line. **COMMENCE OPERATION 'EARTH RISING'** Ah. I was wondering what this shindig was all about. Seamlessly, I transition.
"So tonight, ladies and gentlemen, people of the Americas, of Africa, of Australia, of Asia and what remains of Europe, people of Earth. Lets be more neighborly. Lets introduce the Andromedians to our good friends Smith & Wesson. Lets introduce them to Kalashnikov. To Browning. Lets show them our Glocks. Lets mix up a few cocktails from Molotov. Shields are down, we have six hours on the clock. Lets show them what Earth can do. For our friends and allies from Europe and the Middle East. For our families. For our homes. For Terra. Godspeed and good luck. " | **"Stall"**
That's all it said. "Stall." Five little pixelated letters staring back at me as if they'd find a resonant voice and I'd echo something out from the dry screen of my mouth.
"Stall."
I felt my tongue touch each of my teeth in turn, a nervous tick I'd never covered; counting teeth was a saving grace when it came to not letting myself panic. That little ticker going up, my jaw intact, I cleared my throat and did my best impression of a magician who's just found out his hat doesn't have a rabbit in it at all.
"Gentlemen, let me begin by saying how saddened I am to have called you all here, but how thankful I am that you have come. Like gathering a lost family together, we return from our chosen wilds to the log cabin that once we all called home. This bunker, this bulletproof, disasterproof, nuclear proof bunker, that today offers us less protection than any of us dreamed it ever would."
There were murmers of agreement. We all knew what was happening elsewhere, that it was only a matter of time before the doors and walls around us became nothing more than guiding winds to touch the paths of devils.
"These last few days we've seen the signs, what they call, the 'end-times,' come to fruition. The Nay-sayers were cast aside by a plague more biblical than Moses himself crawling from the grave with Lazarus by his heel. Those in rapture at the beginning have found themselves begging for mercy, and those of us who wish to live continue to do so."
Their eyes were all on me. Mine moved to the teleprompter. The static image of that awful word was burning, and then it flickered from existence. The black screen was a promising void, space before Apollo, the sun before Icarus.
*The antidote is now in effect*
"Those of us who wish to live," I smiled to my charmed and eager congregation, "have taken to filling this very room with a fast-acting neuro-toxin. As of now some of you already have headaches and pains setting into your joints, you'll find it quite impossible to put up any reasonable resistance so I suggest you use your remaining moments in a wiser way than a feeble attempt at fighting back."
I was taken aback by the utter silence. My throat was still dry, a dull thump in my head, I began to sweat. No one moved, not one person reacted to the news I had just given them. This was unexpected.
The teleprompter flickered once more.
*Unfortunately, we felt it necessary not to share the antidote with you. Thank you for your service. Welcome home.*
---------------------
"Ladies and gentlemen. We broadcast this evening from a secured bunker, deep in the Nevada mountains. We have gathered here, with our families, to escape that which plagues us as a nation. We have, as of moments ago, enacted a rescue plan. This operation will be detailed in full in just a moment. Let me reassure you, the Government is bringing the situation under control.
"In an unexpected turn of events, I am saddened to announce the death of President O'Dowell. He succumbed to illness shortly after arrival here in Nevada. His sickness was held in secret among his inner circle, in the hopes that you could complete his presidency before he was taken from us. Today, we are, as a nation, one family." | 2015-05-16T17:07:37 | 2015-05-16T16:46:23 | 1,518 | 39 |
[WP] Instead of the oceans covering the earth, forests are in its place, making it possible to walk from continent to continent. Like oceans, it gets deeper and darker and creatures get more aggressive and rarer to see. You are tasked to document a trek through one of the oceans of your choice. | "Congratulations Thomas! You have completed the Atlantic forest trek!"
"Thank you."
"Did you know you are the very first to accomplish such a feat?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how many before you have tried?"
"56."
"I....I don't think that's correct Thomas, our fact checkers at the station said there were only 36 official attempts"
"That did not include unofficial attempts."
"I..How do you know this?"
"It is not important."
"What did you see? Did you come across any monsters?"
"No."
"Nothing? No unspeakable horrors?"
"No."
"Help me out, you're on live TV. Say something..."
"It is safe. more humans should go into the forest."
"Interesting, well we have your wife and child here to celebrate your achievement"
"Yes, my... wife...and child"
"Thomas! I'm so glad you survived! come here and give me a kiss."
"I am happy to see you also."
"Joy, come here and give your daddy a hug! He did a really important thing today!"
"I don't want to."
"Why not hunny? there's the TV people here and everyone is watching."
"That's not daddy..." | "Do you know what's in the darkness out there? Do you know how horrible they say the monsters are? Do you know?" Says the old woman.
"Yes, mom, I know, but it's important. More people have walked on the moon than have gone to where I'm going. We have to know what's out there."
***
Two years later, I regret my words. The horrors in these forests have killed my crew. I radio for help, but it doesn't get out. Satellite imagery can't locate me. I write letters to the family of the men that have died. I write my own letter to my mother and to my siblings. There are also my reports.
I do a quick inventory of my remaining supplies. I have 23 rounds for my rifle. Twenty-two rounds for my handgun. Climbing supplies to climb the trees, and a weather balloon that would not pierce the canopy nor carry me.
So, this is how the trek ends. I should have listened. This is how I will die, but I will climb first. From up there was where the screamers came from, remnants from the cretaceous period. The canopy was projected to be at 6000 feet. So, I climb. I can probably climb 2000 feet a day.
On the first day of climbing, I kill two forest newts. Much larger than their cousins, they are carnivorous. They are fast and dangerous. I have somehow climbed 2300 feet. I long for the sky, be it cloudy or sunny.
Day two the bats come out in full force. They are the size of a man, but you kill one and they will feed on their own. Animals out here are more beastly than I could ever imagine. The worst thing I've ever seen was two of my men being torn apart by these flying monstrosities. I finish at 4100 feet. I am almost there. I expect the screamers to be the last obstacle.
After the third day of climbing, I reach the canopy. My body hurts so much. The screamers fly over head. I didn't realize until now, but they are scavengers who feed on the dead and hunt the weak. Screamers circle around me. I start a fire up here, and they back off. I inflate the weather balloon and attach all of my letters and reports. The message is simple. Stay away. I try my satellite radio, but I only hear static. The balloon is off. The screamers leave it alone. I watch it go. I wave goodbye to it. I don't plan on climbing down. I may jump.
I spend a night above the canopy waiting for my radio to come to life, to crackle with a message. It doesn't. I watch the sunrise and watch the battery die. When the sun sets, I will jump. It will be one hell of a death. I watch the sun set and slip off the branch. The fall is beautiful, a welcome relief.
***
If you enjoyed this, I have more writing at r/nickkuvaas. | 2015-10-25T11:22:11 | 2015-10-25T10:16:39 | 817 | 126 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
| Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 356 | 16 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 158 | 16 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear E,
I love you. Not the cheesy love I felt in high school, and not the way I love the woman I think I'm going to marry, but you hold a place in my heart that no one else can.
We were destructive. We weren't good for each other. You were emotionally abusive, and I was amazed a pretty girl would give me the time of day. I was putty in your hands, and you took advantage of that to the fullest. I had my faults too, but you put the nail in the coffin.
Then you got kicked out of school. You moved in with another guy and confided in me about your relationship problems. I, a guy who cares too much and tries too hard, was more than willing to stay up until the wee hours listening to you and solving the problems of a relationship I had no part in. We might have been a thunderstorm, but he was a hurricane. You kept seeing him, and kept coming to me for advice. I conceded.
Then the accident happened.
You were going too fast. You hit a puddle. You couldn't keep from swerving into the other lane. You survived, but not without some brain damage.
I remember speeding to the hospital and seeing him. The man who was the vehicle to this lifestyle that put you here.
The man whose smile was as crooked as your front bumper when I saw your car in the junkyard. It was the first time I recall feeling genuine hate. The first time I wanted someone to die. To change places with you.
The next few months you'll never remember. You were in a coma. You were in rehab. You couldn't speak. You couldn't eat. I was there every other day, spending hours with you, watching movies with the husk of a person I once knew.
But you improved. Your brain damage wasn't as bad as they thought, but it changed you. You became frustrated. You would lash out at me due to your brain's lack of ability to filter. You'd hit me. I remained there. I taught you to count again. I taught you colors. I taught you the parts of your face. I fed you your first solid meal.
Then college came. Then I realized that things would never be the same. That as much as I cared for you, I had to move on, and so did you. You were recovered to the best that you would be, and you were moving out on your own.
You have a baby now. You have a boyfriend. I have a woman by my side who I love dearly. There's no trace of romantic feelings whatsoever, but I'll always remember our time together. I'll always care for you deeply. You'll always be the one who taught me what caring for people really means.
You'll never remember what I did. You'll never remember learning colors or numbers or eating your first meal from a spoon I was holding.
I think I like it better that way.
We were a thunderstorm, but the skies are clear now.
| To My Wife of 13 years; the letter I wish I could send you instead of continuing to live this lie.
I've no idea how to properly express the way I've been feeling lately, so I apologise now if this comes across as a ramble, with no real explanation for anything. Truth is, I don't know if I actually have any explanation.
First of all, let me say I love you. I love you to bits. I never want to see you hurt, and I never want to see you suffer. The thing is, I just don't know if I am actually in love anymore. The past few weeks have been great, don't get me wrong, but I still have this emptiness inside that I can't shake off.
When we're together, and I can see you're happy, it makes me happy. When I see you're sad, it makes me sad. You know I'm still attracted to you, but despite that... I don't know. There's just something that isn't there anymore. The only way I can describe it is I am numb to things. Suggestions are made for doing things, and they turn me cold. I find myself sitting there thinking to myself that I don't want to do this or that, I don't want to make those plans or go with those arrangements. Like I said above, I love you. I love you dearly and I truly am sorry for how things have gone, and for feeling the need to say what I've just said... I just have to be honest. Honest with you, and honest with myself.
For the past 2-3 years, maybe even longer, I've felt like I've been living someone else's life. I love the kids, and I wouldn't change having them for the world, but I feel like all I've become is just a provider, a facilitator even, that allows everyone else to have their own lives and never mind my own. I've gone with every suggestion, practically bankrupting myself at times. I've scraped my arse back from the abyss singlehandedly, because no matter what I said or did it was always inferior to what you or anyone else wanted. I am a positive, life-loving individual who can be a bit of an oddball and is a bundle of quirks, but for God knows how long I've not been that person. I've been dragged down.. Turned into a huge mess of negativity.. and been made to conform with everyone else's aspirations & expectations, forsaking my own free will. I've moved house at your request, and done everything I can for that when my head was telling me it was an unnecessary financial burden given that we were rent/mortgage free before. I didn't just change jobs, I changed careers to try to suit you and to work the hours you preferred.
I've been a square peg in a round hole for a long long time, and it is no coincidence that the changes I took it upon myself to make this year are the reason I even have my head straight enough to write this. I took it upon myself to apply for a scholarship to Uni, and I achieved it. 100% funded degree course. No support from you though. No help. I took it upon myself with no support to seek first informal help, & then to progress to full blown counselling for how I was feeling at my lowest, & after some very tough times I've begun to emerge again. Reconnecting with friends, & reigniting old interests is another step, & I've done that alone too.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm done. All the negativity, all the bullshit, all the pretence of being someone I'm not. I'm done. I have single handedly gotten myself facing the right way again after being upside down, inside out and back to front, and now I am ready to take strides to enjoy myself again. The kids will always be the most important thing to me, and I will always be there for them as best I can be. I will always love you, and I will always hold a place in my heart for you as the mother of my children, but I am now at a stage where I think we've just grown too far apart, have different goals, different ideals now. You still clamour for that "forces lifestyle", and talk about "standards", "routine", and "structure". That's not me. It never has been. I'm a free spirit, an adventurer, and a damn good actor for being able to surprises that. Don't get me wrong I can write a list or two, and I can create structure & stability to accomplish things, but I can't live my life that way.
I'm a square peg, and you're a round hole. It's time we both found a better fit.
Sincerely,
Your Husband | 2015-12-05T16:37:50 | 2015-12-05T15:36:40 | 94 | 12 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear dad,
I fucking miss you. You died too quickly and I never got to hear your last words. I know though, I know you'd tell me you're proud of me and that you love me. I know this, but goddammit, i wish I could have heard you say it. I'll be the man you always knew I could be. I promise you that, and i will continue to promise that until the day my time comes as well.
I love you, pops. | Frankie,
Once, you told me that one of the moments that sticks out in your mind is driving in the car with me. I remember that, too; just the two of us, somewhere on Route 64, headed back from Taos. I can still close my eyes and be right there in the passenger seat; I can see our intertwined fingers and the white paracord bracelet hanging from your wrist, lit up occasionally by the headlights of a passing car. It's the same paracord bracelet Gene made for us at Philips Junction, the morning after we woke up on the cabin roof, covered in dew. It's the same paracord bracelet I noticed you wearing in your pictures for years after we last saw each other.
I still have that damn bracelet, somehow. Incidentally, I came across it the other day. I picked it up and ran it through my fingers, and instantly it brought me right back to being in the car with you. I always held on to the idea that we'd run into each other *somehow*... no matter how improbable it was. But it has been years now, and we've never even been in the same state.
I really, truly was head over heels in love with you, and I was in love with you in a way that I don't think I could ever be again. I think I had such a hard time letting go because there was never a definite goodbye; we kissed each other one last time and promised to see each other again next summer, but you never came back. For years, it broke my heart every time I heard a banjo, because all I could hear was you picking away on the porch swing. But finally, I'm at a point where I don't think about you all the time. Finally, I'm at a point where I can stick by bare hand into the cold ashes and really feel that it's over.
And the thing about ashes is that you can use them as fertilizer.
You taught me so much about love - *real love*, without jealousy or petty games. I think the version of me from that summer will always be in love with that version of you, but the truth is, neither of us are those people anymore. So now, I'm stepping forward and enriching my life and all of my relationships with the love you taught me I could hold.
Always,
wheezystevie | 2015-12-05T15:43:07 | 2015-12-05T15:04:15 | 45 | 15 |
[Wp] It is the year 2032. Due to increasing obesity, fast food joints have been banned entirely. Tell us the tale of bootlegging and speakeasies in this troubled time of prohibition. | I was was once a high school chemistry teacher. It feels like another life ago. After being diagnosed with cancer, my life took a strange turn. I had nothing to lose.
My student Jack had been known to hawk burgers and I saw this as an opportunity to provide for my family. He was doing it all wrong, I knew I could craft burgers that the world deserved.
I purchased an old RV and turned it into a workable burger factory. I decided it would be best to do all cooking in the desert outside of town to avoid detection.
You see, I actually had some insight into how the system worked. My brother in law Jamie quit his job as a chef to join the FEA (Food Enforcement Agency) to hunt down people like myself. He was very proud of his job and boasted about all their big busts. With the information he gave me I was confident I could avoid the mistakes those "amateurs" made.
Our burgers became known as the "yellow burgers". They were a massive hit because I was able to perfectly recreate the Big Mac sauce from my childhood. My skills as a chemist were instrumental in this task.
As my operations expanded so did my troubles. I slowly evolved from a simple chemistry teacher to the helm of a burger empire. The path was paved with bodies, and cost me the family that I had originally sought to support, but that is a story for another time.
They call me Heisenburger. | It's not the *dogs* that are the problem at the border, unless you're careless they'll never find a thing. No, it's those damn Algorhythmic Sensorial System Programatical Robotic Omni-Bionic Examiners that you have to be wary about. Those suckers can get right up and into your business and before you know it they've found your stash of trans-fats and you're up against a wall with your arms spread.
The speakeasies don't employ me because it's easy to get food through the border though, they employ me because I get the results and not many folk can these days. Last month I brought in nearly 400 Kgs of fried chicken, burgers and pork products and still that didn't meet demand, so i'm upping my game, increasing my loads and expanding my business.
The best route, as with so much smuggled into the country, is across the border from Mexico. The cartels try to bring over in tunnels, ships, even airplanes, but I have a simpler route. I use the one thing that can mask the smell and at the same time be almost completely ignored by the border patrol - drunk white frat boys.
They flood back and forth across the border, heading out to take advantage of the hookers, drugs, booze and, of course, the fast food. Mexico lures them over by having huge signs up near the border, vast illuminated Wendy statues, towering hundreds of feet into the air, with enough lighting to be seen from Oklahoma City. Since they won the second Mexican-America War and annexed Texas they don't even pretend to be afraid when we threaten them with sanctions for these huge adverts, they don't care anymore.
The Mexican's love the frat boys, as they flood into the old US cities, living it up on the weekends, before creeping back over the border on Monday morning, hung over and greasy. That's when I make a deal with them. Carry a few Kgs of good in a scent proof bag and get a bit of money to make up fr all the cash they just blew. Hundreds take the deal.
They stumble through the border and the guards watch them, repulsed by the smell of stale beer and vomit. Only the Algorhythmic Sensorial System Programatical Robotic Omni-Bionic Examiners is a threat to me and even if it catches a few of them, dragging them off into custody - caught with their pants down - there are enough that make it through for it to be worth it for me.
I watch them stumble through the border, a few being dragged off, but most make it and meet up with me in a nearby alley, giving me the goods, taking their cash and looking around warily before scurrying off, back to their schools, where they will be late for classes. It was a good night, enough for fifty portions, once I have cut it with a bit of soy and reprocessed corn to bulk it out anyway.
Tonight I deliver to Chicago, where my middlemen will split it up and send some north to the big buyers, like Wisconsin and then I will head back, over the border to make a purchase and find more mules to carry my product. Life is good for me right now - long may prohibition last. | 2016-07-25T09:05:07 | 2016-07-25T06:20:50 | 89 | 58 |
[WP] The rapture has come, the faithful are taken to heaven and the nonbelievers and sinners are left behind on Earth for their inevitable self-destruction. However, God's plan backfires and the world seems to be much better off as a result.
Obviously, a parody of the "Left Behind" series of awful evangelical Christian novels and movies... | "Okay, just slow down for a second here," I said.
The man audibly sighed and sat up a little straighter, looking me in the eyes. Speaking much slower than before, he repeated himself.
"They're gone. All of the devout, the religious. They've been Raptured."
"Raptured?" I questioned. "You know that for certain?"
"Yes sir. Everything fell into place at the last minute. The trumpets, the wars, the plague, everything. Two days ago, 30% of the global population vanished. Millions of people, all at the same time."
"And now we're dealing with the aftermath."
"Yes sir. Countless house fires from kitchens left unattended, car crashes, at least two plane crashes as well. Millions Raptured, hundreds of thousands more dead from the aftermath."
"Raptured. Seriously." I couldn't quite take it in. "So we're talking the Christian Rapture, yeah? Antichrist and all that? Jesus came, spoke to everyone?"
"Ah, yes sir. We believe so."
"And the Antichrist?"
"..."
"Trump."
"...yes sir. We believe so."
"So the president of the United States was Raptured along with all of ISIL's fighters, 90% of the NRA, and over half of the Republican party?"
"Uh, yes, Mr. Sanders, it would appear so. The theologians assure us that only the most faithful were taken, make of that what you will."
I ran my hands through my thinning, white hair. I readjusted my glasses as I looked at the Secret Service agent in front of me. "So what you're saying is..."
"Yes, President Sanders. We need you." | "I understand the whole 'grass being greener on the other side' concept and all that, but don't you think it's a little worrying that the world has significantly improved since you brought us all up her" Moe exclaimed to God. "Don't be ridiculous! I've watched humanity since the beginning of time, they'll mess it up sooner or later, they always do."
God, observing the apparent dissatisfaction on Moe's face guided him across the hall to the peering stand to further prove his theory.
"You see Moe, right down there, 'The western world' as you refer to it. They are the biggest sinners of them all. No matter how much I tell them to 'follow my lead' or 'Do as I do' they always end up doing the complete opposite and messing things up. Look! There they go building a wall right on the edge of Europe!"
Continuing to gaze from the stand as years passed for the hundreds of mortals below contributing to the project, Moe began to notice a fault in God's prediction. Interrupting the brief silence he announced "I do believe they're building some sort of bridge right across the Mediterranean."
"B..Bu..But they hate them" God stuttered, taking a moment to regain his previous confidence. "Although it's nothing I haven't seen before! Soon they will cross that bridge, then they will try live together, and then they will begin killing each other. It was the same in Palestine, in syr..." God paused to comprehend what was unfolding below.
"It appears they're building some sort of sculpture in the middle East." Moe announced clearly enthralled in the brilliance of mankind's creations. "A sculpt...oh!...you mean a shrine Moe! Yes of course! As Always they go and make up some phony cause to follow and end up killing each other over who's right and who's wrong..."
"But they are all atheist's remember? That's why you left them behind isn't it?" Moe interrupted. God clearly frustrated by the obvious contradiction in his previous statement faltered for a moment as the sculpture developed into a large dove caring an olive branch.
Becoming increasingly agitated by the apparent Utopia developing beneath him God bellowed out "You realize I also left sinners behind Moe! Society will fall apart with the lack of morality in the world! I bet you America is in ruins!" God spun the world to finally prove to Moe that all is not well below however when the Earth finally slowed to a halt they were met with a rather positive looking society. Moe, aware of God's heightening anger gingerly put forward his point.
"Not to be argumentative your holiness but I believe by leaving the sinners behind you've left the majority of politicians behind who are willing to make unmoral decisions if it means helping their country. By the looks of it almost everywhere has been left with a stable government. Education is open to everyone regardless of their religion. The lack of religious segregation and improved education has vastly contributed to social diversi..."
God arced in a circle to face him. "Moe Siah! Are you seriously trying to tell me that those people down there, the sinners and atheists are happy without me?!" Frightened by God's explosive comments, Moe quivered off the stand. "N..N..No Sir, never sir, I just think they don't realize how great it is up here. Th...That's all..."
"Good well then go down there and tell them all what they're missing!" | 2016-07-26T18:11:28 | 2016-07-26T15:00:51 | 41 | 19 |
[WP] The rapture has come, the faithful are taken to heaven and the nonbelievers and sinners are left behind on Earth for their inevitable self-destruction. However, God's plan backfires and the world seems to be much better off as a result.
Obviously, a parody of the "Left Behind" series of awful evangelical Christian novels and movies... | "Okay, just slow down for a second here," I said.
The man audibly sighed and sat up a little straighter, looking me in the eyes. Speaking much slower than before, he repeated himself.
"They're gone. All of the devout, the religious. They've been Raptured."
"Raptured?" I questioned. "You know that for certain?"
"Yes sir. Everything fell into place at the last minute. The trumpets, the wars, the plague, everything. Two days ago, 30% of the global population vanished. Millions of people, all at the same time."
"And now we're dealing with the aftermath."
"Yes sir. Countless house fires from kitchens left unattended, car crashes, at least two plane crashes as well. Millions Raptured, hundreds of thousands more dead from the aftermath."
"Raptured. Seriously." I couldn't quite take it in. "So we're talking the Christian Rapture, yeah? Antichrist and all that? Jesus came, spoke to everyone?"
"Ah, yes sir. We believe so."
"And the Antichrist?"
"..."
"Trump."
"...yes sir. We believe so."
"So the president of the United States was Raptured along with all of ISIL's fighters, 90% of the NRA, and over half of the Republican party?"
"Uh, yes, Mr. Sanders, it would appear so. The theologians assure us that only the most faithful were taken, make of that what you will."
I ran my hands through my thinning, white hair. I readjusted my glasses as I looked at the Secret Service agent in front of me. "So what you're saying is..."
"Yes, President Sanders. We need you." | When "it" happened, I was with Mom and Dad. It was nearing Christmas and we were out shopping along with millions of others. Every store had a Christmas tree, and every tree had lights, ornaments, and an evangelical topper. It was always weird for me… the Christmas decorations I mean. I never saw anything for Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, you-name-it. I thought living during that time meant “political correctness” and “non-discrimination.” Whatever, I digress.
There was snow on the sidewalks, shoveled away by store owners. Snow on the street signs, branches, and rooftops. Snow everywhere. It was even snowing when it happened. I remember that detail quite well. I’ll get to why later.
I grew up in a mid-class family. We lived comfortably but I didn’t get all the toys and gadgets I wanted every year. I always got phones a year after they came out, cars from a decade before, and clothes pretty much ran in the family. But I lived well. When I was seven-teen, I was gifted one of my father’s old bibles. I was actually interested in it, not because I was religious but because I wondered why people were so caught up in a man they couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, and couldn’t prove. It was all asinine if you asked me… "asked" me. Now? Now I know they were right. He existed. I use the term “He” loosely. From what I can tell, He appears how an individual would like to see Him. For Mom, She was a woman. For Dad, a man. For me? Well… I wouldn’t know. I couldn’t see, along with all my closest friends, many from my generation, and… get this … 90% of the United States’ politicians. I know, shocker.
Anyways, how it happened. I said I remember the snow. I remember it covering everything. I remember it falling from the sky. Well that’s because it stopped. Everything stopped. The lights blinking on and off paused on. The clock stopped at 3:17 p.m. Even the setting sun stopped. Then, a bright beam of light rose over the horizon as if it was moving from the other side of the planet, opposite the direction of the sun. It was like the sun was rising in reverse, sped up by 100%, and illuminated by 200%. I looked around and saw people looking to it. Some, trapped in it’s gaze. Others, worried like I. Then I heard it. In unison, everyone staring into the light exclaimed, “It’s Him.” Or, “It’s Her.” I asked Mom, “Who is?! Who’s who?!” Everything grew overexposed. The buildings on the street vanished in the light, my parents’ faces began to turn white, from the tip of the nose to the back of the head. My shoes, soaked in the warm water which had just melted from the snow. Then, the last thing I ever heard Mom say, “God.”
To whomever may read this; past, present, or future... I write to give my recollection of "it" to the System. Never do I want a world so divided as a single Being was able to make it. Now we all know He existed, but we don’t regret not believing. We have improved the human condition by leaps and bounds. We did. It wasn’t up to Him. We made of this world something far greater than He ever could. God is now Us. | 2016-07-26T18:11:28 | 2016-07-26T14:00:00 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | ”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
| Todd was an… interesting man, to say the least. He claims to have lived through the Dinosaurs, the fall of the Roman Empire, and the destruction of what you, today, know as Europe. He found me back in the early 1900’s, when I was lost in the Appalachian. I had fled from a war in 3084 and was wounded. On that given day, yes, Todd was quite literally a Life Saver. But since then, I haven’t been able to shake him.
He just shows up wherever I do. Can you image, for just a second, how annoying that is? I can literally jump through time, and yet no matter where I land, Todd is there waiting for me. Sometimes he’ll have coffee or flowers, but he’s always there. Asking where I had come from and some cheesy question of if he still looked just as good as he did now.
I asked him once how he always found me, and you know what he said? He said that he could read the stars. THE STARS. And then he said some corny line about how I am the shooting star in his life, and he would always be waiting for me to fall back to him.
Todd is a fucking creep. The ultimate stalker. What kind of human continues to live just to show up where I do, and even more so, knows where I’m going to show up? How is that possible? I JUMP THROUGH TIME. And I sure as hell don’t tell him where I’m going next. But –BAM! There he is.
So I looked him up, and you know what I found out about Todd? The guy doesn’t exist. Not a blip of information on him anywhere. You would think that after the revolution of high-humans in 4489 he would have announced himself, but nope. No Todd. This man knows me so well that he knows where I am going to show up next, which is a smaller chance of winning “The Lottery”(?) to you, and yet I don’t know anything more than his first name. Todd. That’s it. Just Todd.
Our conversations are so uncomfortable.
“Eureka!” He’ll say as if he’s fucking Albert Einstein the Third, “Long time no see.” With a dumb little chuckle because he knows damn well I just saw his face five seconds ago.
“Hey Todd,” I’ll reply with zero enthusiasm, as I (usually) try to wave away the flowers or gift he’s brought me.
“So tell me, am I old and grey or young and beautiful? I’d be happier than a clam if you would stick around a bit this time.”
Todd will click the back of his heels together and puff his chest out all hopeful. I’ll sigh, say I can’t, and then ask him to leave me alone. Instead, he’ll just fill me in on what I’ve missed like I don’t come from the future and already know what’s happening. And then he’ll just tail me until I have to jump again.
It happens every. Single. Time.
Jump –Todd
Jump- Todd
Jump- Todd.
Finally I got so sick of seeing him, I jumped further than any Timer had dared to. I jumped to the end. The planet was in ruin, there was no air left in the atmosphere, the earth was so dry that it was like walking on a thick layer of dust. Even with all of my genetic militia-alterations and Survival settings programmed in, I still had trouble breathing.
But there was Todd.
He didn’t have a gift that time, since there wasn’t much to give. “Eureka,” he said much less enthusiastic than normal. “I thought you’d never come,” and shined a sad smile.
“How are you here?” I demanded from him. There was no way he could live this long. Everyone was dead, yet there he stood.
Todd couldn’t maintain his smile, and let it fall. Dejected and finally worn with just a smudge of age, he opened his mouth once, closed it, opened it again, and closed it. Finally, without being able to make eye contact, Todd said, “You’re the only one who’s been able to keep up with me.”
I didn’t understand.
He explained. “You have no idea what it’s like. Living while everyone else dies. But then I found you, and knew that you could be there with me. Maybe not every day, but occasionally. I knew that if I followed you I would see a face that I recognized. A face that wouldn’t age like mine. A face who knew my name after all this time. We might live different lives, but I’ve lived my whole life with you. Even if I was only a short part of yours.” He extended a gentle hand, hoping I would take it.
Before I could, the world beneath his feet began to crumble and with it he fell.
...Whenever I see Todd now, I try to be a little friendlier. But he still gives me the creeps.
| 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T12:15:38 | 2,588 | 483 |
[WP] Every morning before you leave your room you must press the button next to your door. Your mum has always enforced it, and there are signs saying “PRESS THE BUTTON” all over your room. You have begun to question it, and today you decide to step out of the room without pressing the button. | It wasn't until Danny was in eighth grade that he found out his morning routine was different than everybody else's.
"Nag, nag, nag!" Mimicked his friend Alvey. He switched to a falsetto voice, "Alvey, brush your teeth! Alvey, put on your uniform!"
Danny laughed, "My mom too! Danny make your bed! Danny don't forget to press the button!"
Alvey squinted. "What button?"
"You know, the one by the door? That everybody needs to press before leaving the house?"
Alvey shook his head. "Woah, you're just messing with me, quit it!"
Danny couldn't stop thinking of the conversation throughout the rest of his day of classes. In his history class he wasn't able to answer when the teacher called on him for a question about the Reckoning, and on his Biology class he couldn't remember the what made a Chit different from a human (other than the grey skin, of course). Something about the brain, he thought?
He was too occupied thinking about the button. Always he had assumed that everybody had one. His parents always pressed it before leaving the house each morning, and so had he. But when he had asked his parents why he had to press it they had just said "because we said so".
He was still mulling it over when the driver he flagged down picked him up after school. Seeing the grey driver reminded Danny about the question he had failed.
"Hey driver!" Danny called.
The driver turned his colorless eyes to meet Danny's in the mirror, "Yes, Great One?"
"What's different about your body from ours again?"
The driver stiffened a little. Drivers were always uptight, even for Chits. "Oh Great One, our brains are much less intelligent than yours. It is why we could not outsmart your kind when you came to our planet. It is why we are only fit for simple tasks like driving or cleaning, we cannot handle complicated topics like learning. Is this of what you spoke, Great One?"
Ah yes. So it was the brain. He would have to remember for next time. Soon he had forgotten all about the button.
Until the next morning.
"Danny brush your teeth!" Screeched his mom from the hall.
Quickly he pushed into his uniform, eyeing his sloppily made bed and hoping she wouldn't notice it. He quickly brushed his teeth and ran downstairs just as his mom left the front door, wincing a little bit as usual at the slight pain the button always gave.
She ducked her head in. "Danny, don't forget to press the button!" Then she was gone.
Now all of his doubts came back to him. If Alvey didn't need to press the button, he shouldn't either! Danny ran out the door for the first time without pressing the button.
Annoyingly, none of the drivers would stop for him when he flagged them down. He was frustrated, but realized he should give them some pity. It wasn't their fault their brains were too little to even drive properly.
He began to walk the five minutes to school. When he got there he began to walk past the door guard when he found a gun pointed at him.
The guard glared down at Danny. "This is a private school. That uniform won't fool me. Move along!"
Danny was annoyed. "Hey I go to school here! Let me in, man!"
The guard sneered and looked down on Danny with contempt. "I think your little brain is confused! Now move along, and be grateful I don't report you for failing to address me as 'Great One'!" | After stepping from the shower and drying, my day began otherwise normally. I prepared my bagel in my room's kitchenette, then dressed after a coffee. My bed was already made, my homework completed, and my room tidied. Today, I was Mommy's Little Angel.
Because today, I was going to break mommy's biggest rule.
At 12, I had begun to wonder about always having to press the button before leaving my room. Before that, at 8, growing taller and having to stoop lower to hit it, my last memory of my father was of him installing a rail for it to slide up and down on to fit my height... Just so it would be easy for me to press.
He left after that, and I have no idea where I put the shambles that were my life. Every day I would wake up and get ready to push that God damned button... If not only just to remember my father.
At 15, I had had enough. With mother in the room, I attempted to walk out the door without hitting it. I had simply forgotten, we were fighting so hard. She knocked my entire body sideways into my attached bathroom and broke that door to stop me.
"ALWAYS hit the BUTTON!!!" I heard her cry with a passion that scared me from even considering it for years later. School went normally, but God knows I've never had anyone in my room or told a soul.
The kitchenette addition came to my room after my 'forgetting' to hit the button on that day my mother knocked me flat. She said that I should always be completely ready before I go. My room was like a tiny house; I would wake up some mornings and half my stuff would be covered in plastic tarp, and other mornings I would have a new book nook, or a T.V. in my shower.
It scared me to think of how much time mother wanted me to spend in that room, to the point of asking me to prepare my own breakfasts. Homework needed to be done on my desktop computer. I hit that damn button 8 to 10 times a day... and lately I've been hitting it harder and harder.
Last night, mother and I fought about how the button ruled my life. Why was it necessary? Think of all that she and my father had given me!!! I lived in a room that was like an extra house inside a house, what trouble should it be?
But the why never came out. It was like a cancer, growing over the house, the uncertainty of why it had to be done. Why only my room, and certainly not in my sister's room?
So today, I was going to leave my room after mom left for work. And she would certainly not be here to stop me today.
Sauntering up to the door, I almost considered just hitting the button for the really satisfying *click* it made, but that would be anticlimactic.
I turned the knob, and stepped foot outside into a literal void. I froze, unable to move for several seconds, and my door... The knob had still been in my hand but the door just snapped shut. Leaving me in a vast expanse of white.
Trying to move again, I managed to move my body a few inches away from where I had been, but then froze again... Only to find the void disappearing.
Blue lines making out the contours of the walls of my house's hallway began to appear out of nowhere. I kept going inch by inch, jerking forward so that I could only see myself snap to a location inches from where I had been.
Different panels lit up, slowly creating my house around me, changing color to match what I had fully expected to see. Clearly everything was loading.
Trying to speak, I heard only a computerized dialup sound come out of my mouth, and I shut it immediately, only to have the sound keep playing.
I heard screaming from my mother downstairs, and I could see a panel rendering through the white squares that hadn't loaded. She had been chopping vegetables, and a runtime error had caused her to gash herself with the knife.
Trying even harder to move forward, it appeared that the 'frames per second' were decreasing steadily. As I made it to the first step to the stairs, one frame of my sister's bedroom rendered while another did not.
Her still-moving, seeping corpse had been pulled apart by gravity only acting on one half of her torso, long ways. Closing my eyes, I see green text and lots of white binary code flashing past. "FPS 1" flashed in the corner, but that was a lie.
Objects everywhere in the house were clipping through other half-loaded walls and falling and breaking. I tripped down a step, and then everything just froze.
Everything that had been loading stopped, and a white, translucent film fell onto everything.
"World.exe is not responding. Do you want to:
>Wait for the program to respond
or
>Close the program."
I found that no matter how many times I tried to un-see half of my sister's corpse, my mother's kitchen knife no-clipping into the veggies and cutting her hand, and the look of horror on my mother's face upon realizing what I had done, I could never even reach the closer button.
If I weren't still frozen here, I'd love to click "Close the Program." | 2017-02-09T22:42:01 | 2017-02-09T22:28:24 | 131 | 68 |
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings. | Perched at the top of a thirty story building, legs dangling over the edge, I was gazing down at the streets below. At the ants, crawling about the streets, going about their day to day lives.
They are nothing.
A car horn blares below for a moment, as an obnoxiously large SUV cuts through a red light.
“Well hello there”, I mutter to myself. A moment later, in my mind, I’m inside his engine, gleefully eyeing all the toys at my disposal. *I could cut his brakes… no, a bit harsh. I could drain his windscreen wiper fluid? Pfft, he’d barely notice. Pop his tyres? No, he’d screw up and crash, probably kill someone.*
*He doesn’t need these though...* I unscrew the valve caps on his tyres. I disconnect the rear left power window. I unscrew the bolt on the spare tyre in the trunk, leaving it to rattle about. Cut all of the cables in the obnoxiously large subwoofer.
I snap back to my body, back to the roof. It’s not much, but it makes my endless existing mildly entertaining. The SUV drives on, none the wiser. I take a breath, scanning for my next target. There’s a woman struggling with groceries, attempting to juggle four bags and retrieve her keys. She swears profusely as I tear a hole in one of the bags and the contents pour onto the pavement. There’s a group of teenagers loitering near a fountain, flicking skateboards about. I tear the wheels off one of the boards just before the kid lands, and he tumbles to the ground. The others cackle in laughter at his failure. A policeman on a horse waits a set of lights to cross, and I sting the horse enough for it to thrash backwards, throwing him to the ground.
“You’re not supposed to be up here,” a voice calls from behind me. I continue looking downward, having scanned him already. A security guard. Someone had heard maniacal laughter on the roof, and he’d waddled his way up. Too much reliance on the elevator, too long in his seat, had left him fat. Couldn’t secure much. The short trip up the stairs from the top floor had left him panting and lightly sweating. “Hey, are you listening?” He calls again.
I shrug. Swing my legs up to my side, rolling into a slightly suggestive pose, my arm propping my head up as I lay on my side.
I stare at him. I can feel his unease.
“What are you doing on the edge?” There’s about three metres, and a mesh fence, between us. He has his hand on a radio on his belt.
I continue staring. He starts sweating harder.
“Do… do you speak english?” He calls. Increasingly unsure of himself. I roll my eyes visibly, becoming increasingly bored with this distraction.
I spring to my feet, balancing perfectly on the edge of the roof. A gust of wind rolls through, and I feign a loss of balance, wobbling over the edge, appearing to recover at the last second. The fat man nearly has a heart attack.
“Come on, get down and come inside, otherwise I’ll call the police.”
I’m bored with this now.
“No need,” I shout, as I spread my arms wide and let myself fall backwards. He screams and leaps forward, as I disappear into a cloud of dust. He’s left staring, dumbfounded, on the roof, as I reappear in the lobby, take his wallet from the security booth, and stroll out the front door. | A young man stood on a busy street corner, making eye contact with every single person who walked by. "Excuse me, would you like to make a donation to PlanetSavers?" he asked, or "You look like someone who cares about the Earth!" or "Good afternoon, do you have a minute to talk about securing humanity's future?"
Approaching him now, an attractive woman holding onto the arm of a rather less attractive man. Perfect, he could interrupt the date and get the guy to show off his generosity by donating to-
A moment later, he wasn't facing the street anymore. He was facing the building, as though he'd abruptly turned, but there was no reason he would do that. In the disoriented thirty seconds or so that he spent looking around, getting his bearings, and turning back toward the crowd, the promising couple had passed. He shook his head, and looked into the crowd, finding his next mark. "You seem like a conscientious person! Could I have a moment of your time?"
*********
"I still can't believe you got us a table at Aldo's... I tried to make a reservation for my birthday, but they told me they were booked out for two months! But we just met yesterday, there's no way you could've been planning this for two months," said Shirley. Her conversation was getting a bit repetitive, at this point, but Zack didn't mind. His plan was nearing its completion, so he wouldn't have to listen to her for much longer.
"I haven't been planning this for two months," he said, in a mock-exhausted tone of voice. "I just have great luck. Watch."
He stepped up to the curb, holding out a hand to signal a taxi. One stopped for him right away, and he held the door open for Shirley. "5 Riverside Lane, please," he said to the driver. "I've never understood why people use Uber. Too much waiting for the car to show up," he remarked to his date.
She shivered. Never before had she been with a man who just seemed to have everything go *right* for him. And Riverside Lane... that was the *rich* part of town. Single-digit house numbers rich. Might-get-there-in-a-limo-next-time-if-she-plays-her-cards-right rich. "Remind me what you do for a living?" she asked.
"Efficiency modeling," he remarked, sounding uninterested in the question.
Shirley suspected that that was a euphemism, that he went into offices and fired long-time loyal employees as a cost-cutting measure. It was the kind of job she should have moral objections to, but when she weighed those morals against her desire for a nice house, for a lifestyle that couldn't be supported on an ethical person's salary, she decided she was willing to sell out. For what Zack could offer, she would accept a great deal of moral compromise.
When he didn't elaborate, or say anything further, she tried to keep the conversation going. "And when did you move to this area?"
He looked at her with that inscrutable gaze of his. She hoped it was his method of concealing his burning desire, because otherwise, it just made him seem like he was on the spectrum. Shirley much preferred dealing with people who were neurotypical. "I've lived here all my life," he said, not dropping his gaze. "Not in the same house, mind, but in the same town."
"How odd that we've never met before today!" she remarked with a giggle.
Zack didn't reply. He just kept gazing at her. What was up with that gaze? She would have to fix that. On the next date, though. After she'd had time to cement her good impression on him.
The taxi pulled up at the end of a long driveway, leading to a house that Shirley recognized. When she was a kid, anytime the school bus drove by here, she'd tell everyone that this was the house she wanted to live in, one day. "It's almost like fate," she muttered under her breath.
That damn gaze was only dropped when Zack got out of the taxi. Shirley was about to follow when he abruptly closed the door behind himself. He was standing too close for her to open it again, so she rolled down the window. "I'm... still in here," she pointed out. "Kind of stuck."
When Zack looked at her again, his expression had changed. Shirley didn't understand it any better, but she recognized it... a smile, a... a *victorious* smile. "Oh, did you think you were coming home with me?"
"Well, I..." She didn't know what to say. What was going *on* here?
Zack leaned down, close enough for their noses to almost touch. Shirley tilted her head slightly, anticipating a kiss that never arrived. "Now I'm doing to you what you did to me in high school." Straightening up, he said to the driver, "Take her away."
The taxi pulled out into the street again, leaving Shirley baffled and devastated and unable to figure out a response as the driver kept asking, "What address, Miss?"
Zack returned to the house he'd borrowed for the evening. Everything had gone exactly as he imagined it. Even... no. Dammit! He'd *totally* made the taxi meter malfunction out of habit. He'd really been looking forward to sticking Shirley with the bill. Ah, well. At least he'd made her suffer emotionally. | 2017-05-16T06:12:44 | 2017-05-16T05:30:27 | 1,586 | 196 |
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings. | As his dinner guests continued their endless chit chat Donald closed his eyes and focused.
Silently to himself he repeated "two for me, one for them, two for me, one for them."
A silk like touch on his right hand and a soft female voice "honey are you ok?" brought his thoughts rushing back to the table and his guests. Donald opened his eyes and looked up. It had worked again. He didn't understand how or why but it worked. He had two scoops of ice cream with his pie while everyone else at the table only had one. | I started out as a single atom. Not unlike anyone else, but what is different about me is that I started when there was *nothing else.*
I created more matter around me, and made everything rapidly mash together to give the nothing around me energy, and more importantly, life. I have created countless worlds, galaxies filled with stars, more systems of planets than you can comprehend. And I can feel every speck of dust. I am constantly aware of what is happening on every planet. Every solar system. Every galaxy. Each universe.
I have created, and now I do upkeep. I spend days floating my main consciousness to each of my galaxies to see if any creature really has, what they comically refer to as "free will." Whenever I let some civilizations have some slack, I return to have a little fun.
I witness men making promises. I see people convinced they won't do a certain thing. I have watched men and women live good lives. And then I change them.
One of my favorite corruptions is alcohol. Makes it easier for me to get my work done. Many men out there have started a night saying they will only have a drink or two, and then they will "cut themselves off." Haha! I only can laugh! I slowly work into their nervous systems, releasing more neurotransmitters filling their brains with pleasures, getting them to have one, maybe even two more drinks!
That is double! They are so easy!
My next favorite way to take advantage of some people is a term they have coined as "clumsiness." They think it is their fault when they drop a dish and it breaks, or they walk by a table and stub their toe, but it is me! I am all powerful! You are washing a glass in the sink? OOPS! It becomes too soapy and falls out of your grasp. How deliciously weird for that to happen, eh?
Last but not least, corrupting a good person is my pinnacle! Oh goodness, it feels so good to do. My sweethearted, good natured, loving people of the world... What would I do without you? Well, not have as much fun that is for sure! They are the ones always filled with the most remorse when I wipe their memories. That birthday party? What birthday party! Hahaha. Now they only have time to get a card until everyone else knows they forgot.
Omnipotence is wonderful with all the small intricacies. | 2017-05-16T08:51:33 | 2017-05-16T07:26:08 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Every human receives an envelope, and the choice to open it or keep it sealed. Enclosed within it is your death date. You open yours only to find it's blank. | Today is the day.
Today is finally the day I'm able to look inside my envelope. It's been 3 years since I was given mine. My parents hid the fact that all of us around the world were given the exact time and date we would die. I was taken out of school at the age of 7, I vaguely remember a few of my classmates explaining how they knew when they were going to die but I never really paid any attention. But now is MY time. I've just turned 17 and my parents are both on their last months of being alive so they said to me today is the day I'd be able to open the envelope they'd given me all that time ago
They explained to me that the ADMINISTRATION said I was special and it's why they'd kept this from me for so long. But how? How was I so special? I mean we all after to die eventually, don't we?
I open the envelope.
I rip it open, which seems to be a huge document, out of the letter.
It's a list.
With over 7 billion names.
It's a list.
Of everyone on the planet.
And the exact moment and time they are going to die. Not just the time.
But the moment.
Where they will be.
What they are doing.
And how they will DIE.
I've spent 3 months looking at this list.
I'm certain.
My names not there.
| I stare down at the piece of paper. Rub my eyes fiercely and look at it again. Turn on my deskside lamp, draw the curtains, plug in my night light, grab a flashlight, and, shining literally every light-producing object in my room at the thing, look down at the square of white paper with all my might.
Nothing.
My first thought (after looking at the paper through the light and then shining my UV pen light on it in a last-ditch attempt) is that this must be a prank. I open my bedroom door and shout my little sister's name.
Janie shuffles to my door and leans on the doorframe, noisily sucking on an ice cube. "What, are you having a light show in here?" She turns to my wall and crinkles her nose. "Is that a night light?"
Trying to ignore the blush creeping up my neck, I hold up the envelope and the blank piece of paper with what I hope is a stern expression. "Explain."
"Explain wha-" Her jaw goes slack. "Daniel, you actually opened that thing?" She scurries forward and reaches out to snatch the square of paper from my hand before uncharacteristically holding back, asking, "Can... can I look at it? When you're gonna... y-you know...?"
"Yeah, no. Because it's blank." I flip the piece of paper to show her the other, equally blank side. "Ha ha, invasion of privacy is so hilarious. Now can I please have it back?"
"It's blank?" Seeing my unimpressed expression, Janie's eyebrows furrows together. "You actually think I stole your doomsday card?"
"Yes! Now give it back!"
She crosses her arms. "So I somehow magically removed that gigantic seal on the front of the envelope without breaking it?"
I glance at the large, now-broken red seal on the front of the envelope. "S-sure!"
Tapping her foot, she continues, "And then I replaced your death date paper with a blank piece of paper-"
"-is that a confess-"
"And then, once again with some sort of magic unknown to man, proceeded to *reseal* the letter perfectly, without messing up the envelope or the seal in any way?" She raises an eyebrow.
I have to admit that my hypothesis is becoming less and less likely, but I clear my throat and manage a small, "...yes?"
"Wow. I'm convinced."
I sigh. "Okay. So I was wrong-"
"Very."
"-but I honestly don't know how else to explain *this*." I brandish the blank paper before gloomily sinking back into my seat. Then a thought comes to mind. "Does this mean I'm immortal?"
"Maybe. Let's test it out!" Janie says before proceeding to punch me in the arm.
"Ow!" I rub my arm and glare up at her. "That is not what immortal means!"
Janie shrugs. "I know. But you deserved it."
"Okay, *yes*, but..." I shake my head. "Never mind. Look, do you have any idea what all this might mean?"
((May or may not continue this later! Thank you for the cool prompt.)) | 2017-06-03T17:49:27 | 2017-06-03T15:31:24 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter. | The king had disapproved of all her daughter's suitors. He had her captured by bandit's but lloyd the oaf had managed to save her, and while he was a nice guy but it was surprising when he went to fight he even knew which end of the sword to hold. He had even lost two finger one time when he got confused.
The king made sure when Lloyd returned to throw him a wonderful feast with the best food, the best jesters, and the best wine. And because the he was King he even had the best poison to make sure Lloyd would die in his sleep that night far away from the castle. He would spare no expense to ensure his daughter's happiness and a proper suitor.
Now the king had learned his lesson, he knew that the challenge must be more difficult to ensure that only a worthy knight could possibly complete it. For a small sum of gold he hid his daughter away to be protected by a dragon. And the dragon was certainly more effective killing Sir Lancelot, his brother Sir Lancealittle, and Sir Lee an honorable man with a poor temperament.
Eventually though after he had lost many fine knights an idiot prevailed once again as Lloyd's brother, Elmer managed to prevail slaying the dragon with great ease. Unfortunately he was even dumber than his brother and the King had his men burn him alive and blame it on the dragon.
There was really only way to create an even more difficult test, one that would ensure that no idiot could ever complete it. He would send his daughter to the darkness outside the demon King's lair.
When the princess finally arrives the demon king whispers one thing in the princess's ear after the king leaves "Your father is going to be so upset when he finds out lloyd has another brother"
- sorry for poor formatting typed on mobile | The watery light of winter washed over the plains of withered vegetation that seemed to creep forth from walls of stone. It had been some time since footsteps had fallen there. The death and decay that radiated from the castle made the land undesirable. A long while past the brave servants of kings would flock in droves, attempting to wrest his domain from him, in the name of their leige. As the rot set in and the wildlife faded, so too did these attempt. 1000 years or more had passed quietly. This was how Gre'van preferred it.
His violet orbs gleaned softly in the glow of the day. A mild curiosity could be seen there, had any one been looking. He stared out from the tower at the bleak landscape below. There, on the edge of his land, two riders broke the tree line. They were masked and draped in the same colors that showed on the tattered flags still mounted on the castle parapet, a keepsake from a long gone king, once resident of the now crumbling walls of the castle. In the centuries that past since his lordship, those colors had come to be associated with Gre'van. As such, few wore that violet and dark green combination. Oh, sure there was always an odd bird or two that worshipped the idea of "the demon king". Perhaps these were a few of them.
Slung across the back of one coal black beast was a colorful package. From here, he could smell the soft scent of rosewater and warm blood. A woman, he gathered. Perhaps his devoted followers had thought to garner favor with a sacrifice. Perhaps he would grant them the favor of being a sacrifice along side her. The idea pleased him. A deep guttural grumble, like the purr of an infernal tiger, shuddered through him as he turned from the sight below. He made his way, quickly, though without any real sense of urgency to the main gate.
The wooden gates had long since rotted. They provided no barrier to the outside. He did not need one. Any were free to enter his courtyard, though it was never wise to do so. So, he waited. The wrought iron portal to the castle proper stood open behind him. His form nearly filled the entire frame, meant to accomadate sseveral men. The waning afternoon light revealed his gray skinned, scar patterned chest and shaggy black hair. It hung likely around his gaunt face. He could not remember the last time he had a feast like this arrive at his doorstep.
Hoofbeats drew closer. His mouth watered. As they cleared the gate he stepped more fully into the light, a snarl ripping from his cruel maw. The sound, the smell, the candid appearance was too much for the delicate equine sensibilities. Brave destriers, battle worn, whinnied shrill in unison. Both took to find legs, white eyes flashing, nostrils flaring. The unsuspecting riders were tossed unceremoniously onto the dirt, heaps of violet and crimson and a small soft bundle of pale yellow. They weren't going anywhere.
Taking to all fours Gre'van lit out into the encroaching twilight, horseflesh was an old favorite of his. He could nearly taste it as he drew close. He would only take one, the other could serve as a message to any who may receive it. This place was not safe, even for the devout.
(I'm happy to continue this if anyone is interested, for now I gotta go back to work.)
| 2017-10-06T09:57:56 | 2017-10-06T09:49:54 | 43 | 29 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "NUMBER 117737."
Anxious and bewildered, you step up to the counter, behind which sits a very bored looking young man wearing a name tag that says GARY. He takes your ticket and asks, "Name?"
"John Smith. But this has to be a mistake. I don't belong in hell. I lived a good, honest life."
"Yep, that's what they all say." Gary clacks away at his computer, a large, boxy, surprisingly outdated machine, pulling up your records.
"I was! I was faithful to my wife, took care of my kids, always paid my taxes. I even called my mother once a week! There must have been some kind of mistake."
"Nope." A little machine, not unlike a receipt printer, spits out a small slip of paper. Gary tears it off and hands it to you. "That's your sentence. If you go to your left, you'll find a set of elevators. Insert your slip, and it'll take you to the Liaison's Office, where you'll be given your assignment." He recites this in the monotonous, droning manner of a person reading from a script.
"186,292 years! But the guy in front of me only got 145! And he was cheating on his wife! I never cheated on my wife! I was a good family man."
With a beleaguered sigh, Gary swivels the computer screen to face you. "What does it say here under occupation?"
You squint to read the tiny print. "Pest control specialist."
"Exactly. You, Mr. Smith, are single-handedly responsible for the death and suffering of over one billion living creatures over your thirty-year career as an exterminator."
"What?! But it was just mice and rats and bugs. They don't count, they're pests!"
"Article 7, section 3A clearly states that the purposeful taking of life in any form, no matter how inconsequential, warrants an automatic conscription to Hell."
"I was just doing my job!"
Gary rolls his eyes. "Do you know how many times a day I hear that? Move along, you're holding up the line."
Flabbergasted, you step away from the counter, staring down at your little slip of paper.
"NUMBER 117738."
| "Table for one, sir."
I reclined on the wooden chair and sipped at the complimentary cup of lava-heated water. The water, its temperature just nice to heat up my icy skin, spilled out as I set the cup down on the table. Dribbles of water remained on the plastic file beside the cup.
"A hundred and eighty-six thousand, huh." I breathed out lightly. I tweaked my nose and picked the file up again, opening it to reveal a rather impressive stack of paper. The paper was written in a language my presiding Overseer had called Archean, but the only thing that mattered on the piece of paper was an absurd Arabian number written on it.
186,292.
My presiding overseer had slapped himself silly when I stepped forward, muttering about pig-like teammates and 'too heavy to carry'. His eyeballs had also popped out of his sockets, prompting his assistants to help him pick them back up. His stately demeanor lost, it didn't take him long to dismiss me without a word. There was something distinctly unfair about my lack of information...but it wasn't prudent for me to bring that up.
I shook my head and sipped from the cup again. I didn't do any damning act in my lifetime. No murders, no kidnapping, nothing. I sighed again, this time audibly.
"What's the matter, signeur?"A voice piped up from my right. I turned, and a masked man came into view. His mask was coloured a white so pure that it stung my eyes to look at it. The only hint towards his emotions was his exposed mouth, which was straight...for now.
"Nothing much, friend," I replied. I picked up the paper and stared at it forlornly. "Just an absurdly long sentence."
He clapped my back lightly. "Don't fret it, son. At least you're better off than him." He pointed at a man, who was walking with an incredibly awkward gaunt, wobbling from left to right.
"What happened to him? I mean, is this even supposed to happen?" I looked at the man and shivered inwardly. His face was filled with a despair that I couldn't fathom, so deep it was.
"He's scum. In life, he was a serial rapist-cum-murderer. His sentence in the afterlife was to experience the pain, shame and fear felt by his victims a hundred-fold." The masked man spat on the floor. "It also happened that he was a homophobe to the extreme, so the powers that be decided to let him experience a...brand new world."
He smiled darkly. "Using a metal rod 20 centimetres wide."
"Well, at least we know what caused his punishment," I complained grumpily, a current of pity hidden inside. "My text was in something called Archean, and my overseer didn't even read out what I was being incarcerated for."
The masked man's upper lip curled. "Well, I happen to know Archean. Do you mind if I read it for you?"
I waved my hand lightly. "Sure, go ahead."
I chucked the file lightly at him and the man deftly caught it. I picked up the cup and sipped at it again. It was rather unfair...I lived a life filled with kindness and dignity. Why subject me to this? My eyes flitted onto the masked man, who was actually frozen in place.
"Mister?" I asked.
The mask fell off, and before I could register his appearance, he shot to his feet and saluted. "Your humble servant offers greetings, Lord Administrator! Please pardon my previous rudeness!"
The file fell off his lap, landing with a plop that resounded throughout the silent tavern. I swallowed and picked up the file.
As I examined the words again, the scribbles shuddered and rearranged themselves.
On it was written in eye-catching letters: "Administrator of the 9th domain, term to last for 186,292 years. Effective immediately."
"Balls."
As the curse escaped my lips, the number increased by one. | 2018-09-26T07:16:16 | 2018-09-26T07:07:43 | 4,281 | 895 |
[WP] You have the power to teleport anywhere when you tap four times on any surface. The catch is that you can't decide where you go or know where you are going. What you do know is wherever you go someone needs you. | "Nope, nope nope nope, not gonna do it." I stared at the young girl with tears in her eyes.
"But... but... mommy said if i dont clean Muffin's box then I can't play on the tablet." Her eyes well up woth tears. "But it's so smelly... I can't do it."
I look at the kitty litter box. It looked like poor Muffin had used it to the last grain. It was sitting out in the garage and the smell was horrendous. It looked like the whole thing would need to be tossed out.
"Please." She said again, her big brown eyes tearing up. She looked no older than 10, but damn was she irresponsible. She deserved not to play on the tablet.
I sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll help ya." I said grabbing gloves and tying a towel around my face. I made sure she put on gloves and a mask as well. "I'm helping. Not doing all the damn work." She nodded enthusiastically.
I nearly threw up as i attempted to shovel the mess. While we chipped and scrapped I wondered why my power brought me here for something so trivial. Usually I'm sent to more dire situations. People in peril, or at wits end. Hell, i was even sent to man just as he fell from a building, but this... this...
"No let me lift it." I said rushing to the girl as she tried to lift the kitty litter bag. We had cleaned and scrubbed the litterbox til it was almost looking new. All that was left was to put in new litter.
We poured it in and I smiled as she thanked me.
"I'm so happy. Now I'll be able to talk to my daddy." Her smile was bright and cheerful.
"Oh, are your parents separated?" I asked.
She nodded. "Daddy is far away. Mommy won't let me see him, but he talks to me all the time on the tablet."
"Where did your dad go?" I asked.
"Mommy said he went to see God. And that we'll see him later. But daddy says I can see him tonight." She looked excited. "I just need to tell him when mommy is asleep so he can come in and see me."
"Ah I see." I said crossing my arms. That was why I was here.
I walked out the side door to the garage as she ran in and told her mommy she was done. I decided to camp out and wait for this girls "daddy" to come see her.
It was around 9pm when i saw an SUV pull up, lights off. A guy dressed in all black climbed out of the backseat and began sneaking to the girls house. Just as he began scaling the wall several lighta lit up the man and the SUV as cops rushed over to apprehend him.
There was a total of three men in the car. Between them they had several pictures of young girls, and a few chats as well. As they were led away i tapped the wall four times, ready to move on. | The first time was during my job, well, my former job, because since this started, I had never stopped, in my former job I was bored and at the time I had ended with the first part of my requisition, I laid on the chair's back, intending to take a breath, I remember thinking wat to do next, and in the middle of my thought process I tapped on the table.
Tap, tap, tap.
I stopped, pouting, while thinking of my next course of action.
Tap.
The next moment, my point of view wasn't the same, the old computer's monitor wasn't in front of myself, instead i was surprised by a really bright light that blinded me on the spot, I felt pain on my ears.
Hoong!
The sound of a car's horn, the sound of tires skiddeing, and the sound of metal coliding echoed on my ears, when my vision was regained, a pile of police cars is what entered y vision, majority of them suffered collisions on the intention of avoiding running over me.
I felt scared and without thinking I escapped far from there, I stopped when I was tired, and I sat on a park bench and my brain started working again.
The first thing I noticed was the fact that it was night, when just a moment ago I was on the middle of a bright and boring day, nextly I became aware of the change of scenario in just an instant, I felt really confused and then I asked myself.
"Where am i?"
I looked to my phone and looked through, understanding quickly my ubication. My thoughts were:
I was a office Worker in The United States, How the fuck i arrived on England?
From that day on, I started to know more about my "power", I intended to adapt myself but I was somewhat showy, well, not "me", but my accent, and I understood by chance that I appeared in the middle of a police persecution, and for what i heard, more than half of the policemen died by avoiding a "sudden sillouette", a thing that actually was seen on a highway footage, and for what I understood, I "saved" a "suspected" terrorist from being arrested.
It wasn't long after when the next "teleport" ocurred, I was hell nervous in a Starbucks coffee, thinking of that happened, on the fact that i didn't knew how to adapt my self to my new "home", and the fact my objects were still uncompatible with the devices over here, thus with a coffee on hand, I started tapping on the table.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The next thing I was seeing was a sudden full blue panorama, in the middle of the air and a grand mass of water under myself, I started to fall into it.
I was above the Sea. I fell down, and started sinking, my clothes were heavy under the sea so I too it off, grabbing my wallet and swimming to the surface of the water, while swimming i spotted something from the corner of the eye, it was a lady drowning not far from me, and for what i discovered, she was so desperate she didn't noticed me.
I calmed her down, and after arriving to the bank of the sea I understood that I was on Miami, she was a diver but whe happened to dive really deep and her boat was dragged by the tide, when she noticed, she started to lost composture, and soonly after, I appeared above water.
With a dead phone, and practically nowhere to stay, I tried to adapt, once again, I got to be helped by the girl, which helped me to get some foundation.
However, it happened again.
And again, and again, and again.
It was Japan, I happened to appear on the momment before someone was about to be rapped/killed/something.
It was Russia, in the middle of a frosty tundra, with a bleeding man that just escapped from an agry and hungry bear.
It was Brazil, in the middle of the Amazona's river, someone was being dragged by the current.
I never got to stay in a sole place, fortunately, I somewhat mantained contact woth those I saved, whom happened to be masters of some acivity and somewhat wealthy.
I eventually grew accustommed, to the point I developped an Intuition to when a new teleport was necessary or was going to happen 'cause I am so distracted.
I do started to atract attention, however, I didn't cared, after all, usually I dissapear some hours after, of various months after, of course, I always warn my "clients" before hand, for when I dissapear they don't get overly surprised and confused, I also started learning some languages for me to be able to communicate with the victims, after all, it isn't as if I can stop this. | 2019-04-04T14:43:43 | 2019-04-04T14:22:07 | 80 | 16 |
[WP] You wake up from a coma. You were in a car crash caused by a drunk billionaire. In an effort to save his reputation, he hurriedly and secretly ordered the best doctors to restore your burned face using the photo on the driver's license they found in your car—a car which you've stolen. | Melinda Stacy Carbondale.
That's the name on the license.
Born October 8, 1983. Brown hair, brown eyes, 5 ft 8 in. Lives on 9439 Cherry Lane.
Makes sense, considering that's where I found the car--a grey Honda civic. Comfortable, average, unassuming, and a high resale value.
It was supposed to be a simple transaction. I'd acquire the car and meet my buddy down at the abandoned garage.
I didn't anticipate the speeding black Tesla. I especially didn't anticipate it to run a red light.
There was the crunch of metal, and shattered glass fluttered like snowflakes. A horn sang a lonely warning--too little too late. Another joined in harmony. Stars burst winking glitter in my eyes as my head flopped back and forth. I saw a flickering fire peek from under the hood of my car. Soon, the heat wrapped around me in a burning blanket, suffocating and hot. Too, too hot. The last thing I remember was a bright light blinding me into darkness.
And then I woke up here in this average hotel room with crisp white sheets and folded white towels. It's not the kind of place I'd stay at myself--but then again, I'm not myself anymore.
They changed everything until not an inch of me was left.
...Well, that's not entirely true. They did leave an inch of me intact--seven inches to be precise, eight if it's a good night and the chick is extra hot. Actually, they didn't change my body at all, just my face.
Jigsaws of memory piece together until I can make out the puzzle. The other guy wasn't injured, not like I was. He could scream and yell at everyone and everything around him. Spittle flying into other people's faces kind of screaming.
*Take care of it. Don't let this get back to me.* I remember hearing that somewhere in my drifting consciousness. And I guess that's exactly what they did. They took care of me.
Except they didn't kill me, which would have been the kinder thing to do. No, instead, they turned me into her.
Melinda Stacy Carbondale.
She's an organ donor. Better than me. Only way someone's getting my organs is if they pay for it.
From what I've gathered, the man is the kind of rich that someone like me can't even fathom. The kind of rich that could bail out a country in a crisis but won't. He hired the best doctors he could find to restore my face from the charred mess it was. Except the only face they could find was Melinda Stacy Carbondale.
As much as I hate to admit it, the doctors did a flawless job. If I didn't know any better I'd have thought I was born with this face too. The skin flows seamlessly from my face to my neck, not a stitch or cut in sight.
But admiring myself in the mirror will get me nowhere. I have a lot of questions. So many that they twist and squirm in my brain like slithering snakes hissing over each other.
I don't know who that rich man is. I don't know how any of this happened without my knowledge (I mean, don't doctors need permission from the patient to do any kind of surgery?). I don't know why nobody thought to question why a man had a woman's driver's license. And I don't know why or how I ended up here in this hotel room.
But there's one slithering question that slides through the others. It swallows them deep into its belly until all I can think is--
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
\*\*\*\*\*
Oh gosh, thank you for all the support and kind comments on my story! I guess I went ahead and made a sub. It won't always be empty, so if you're interested in more from me feel free to check out: r/rulerofstorybears | Mama Demeter always said – always follow the money.
The money in question on a fine Thursday morning ended up being sleek, black car illegally parked in a towaway zone. I got a car, and the public was freed from an illegally parking menace. That’s what I called public service.
And so there I was coasting down Broadway – I didn’t even have to worry about the car being reported stolen. If you park in a tow-away zone, odds are your car was towed away, not stolen. I opened up the sunroof to let in the crisp October air and the cacophony of sounds that was the soundtrack of New York. It was right around then that I was t-boned by an asshole running a red light.
Some people just don’t have any respect for laws.
***
The next thing I remember, I’m waking up in an office overlooking Manhattan, blinking at a face I’ve seen in newspaper articles and online videos. I flinch violently as the memory of the crash smashes into me like a runaway train. Screeching metal and pain. Yeah, great going there brain, good to know my reflexes were in order.
The man had his fingers laced together and an apologetic expression plastered on his face. “Ms. Johnson,” he said and extended a hand.
*Who the fuck was Ms. Johnson?*
I stared at the hand for a hard second. In hindsight, I probably had other options. I could’ve told him right there I wasn’t who he thought I was, but I smelled an opportunity. Mama Demeter always said: luck is just taking advantage of whatever opportunities you’re given.
So, I damn well took his hand. “Mr…Wells?” I said, thinking back to the articles and TV interviews.
A nod from the man, a brief grimace. I guess he was going for friendly smile? I went to tuck my hair behind my ear, only to find…nothing. I moved my fingers up till I hit hair. *Short* hair. Barely 4 inches.
A wince. “Ms. Johnson you were…involved in an accident.”
“No kidding,” I said, as I ran my hand through my hair again. Mama Demeter always said to cut it short. A girl couldn’t afford to have long hair in the business. Made it too easy to grab. She compared it to a cape from the Incredibles. But it was the one thing I didn’t listen on.
Had been, I suppose.
“There was…considerable damage,” Wells said.
Damage? He called this Damage? Most my fucking hair was gone!
“To the car?” I asked, my face the very picture of naivete. I wanted to make him squirm.
Another wince. “No, ah, to you.”
“Then why am here and not in a hospital?”
“You are. This is just my office. You’ve been here for 24 hours.”
A whole day. I just gaped at him. The person must’ve reported their car missing by now. I had to leave.
“Well, presumably, you’ve covered all the medical bills since you were the one who T-boned me?”
“Of course, of course,” he said with a wave of his hand, “but I don’t think you understand.” He took a deep breath. “You suffered burns. *Severe* burns. Your face was an unrecognizable mess.”
My blood went cold.
“I took the liberty to contact the best physicians I had to reconstruct your face from your driving license. Aside from your hair, the rest of your body suffered…relatively easily reparable damage.”
I didn’t have a driving license. Why make it easy for the man, Mama Demeter used to say.
“M-may I see a mirror?” I asked, the tremble in my voice not entirely an act. He handed one. I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.
And a stranger stared back.
I closed my eyes and focused on counting my breaths. Letting the calm engulf me, exploring my options. There was no reason to panic. I would gain nothing by panicking. Smashing the mirror over his head would *not* be productive. Not even a little. This was opportunity. I'd already paid the price. Now I had to cash out on this involuntary investment.
I stared evenly at Wells, who was looking at me with calculating eyes.
“So what do you get out of this,” I asked, my voice flat.
He blinked, taken aback. “I-I’m just doing what’s right.”
I gave a short bark of laughter. “Right. You’re just Mr. Righteous. Let me guess, the media heard about it?”
He pulled himself up. “My driver–”
“Will take the fall, yes,” I said, and he shut up. “Let’s cut the crap. You almost killed me, running a light, and you want me to be all nice about it because you rebuilt my face?”
All humor was gone from his face.
“Ms. Johnson, what was given can be taken away…”
I smiled at that. “This isn’t a movie, asshole, and you certainly ain't a Bond villain. You put me back, and you’re back to square one, the media and the courts breathing down your neck.” I could’ve been more diplomatic I suppose, but my goddam face had been stolen, cut me some slack.
“So, you’ll ruin me,” he said, “despite all I did.”
Oh yeah he did *quite* a lot. But now it was time for the pivot.
“Well, not necessarily,” I said, putting the mirror facedown on the desk, “Depends on what more you *do* for me.” | 2020-10-08T08:29:42 | 2020-10-08T07:51:04 | 1,609 | 237 |
[WP] You are a necromancer for hire. No you don't raise undead armies to take over the world. You are usually contracted out by police to help solve murders. Or yo raise those who have passed to settle lawsuits surrounding their will. It's not much but it's honest work. | "Rise, Gilroy" I intoned, raising my bone armored hands over the deceased man. "Rise, and return to this mortal plane once more."
The body below my gestures stirred, glowing a dim green light from the world beyond. I intensified my chants, curling my fingers in ever more dramatic shapes. "RETURN TO YOUR FESTERING SHELL, GILROY! I SUMMON THEE!"
The body sat upright, like a spring loaded wooden dummy. His joints snapped from the effort it took to perform the maneuver. Its eyes flew open, revealing only a smokey green ethereal glow within.
I stepped back, folding my hands into the tattered sleeves of my robes. I left the ram's skull helmet on, for the time being. I may need its power still.
The body of Gilroy turned its head, slowly surveying the room around it.
"Are you Gilroy Fronkers, born 3/1/1926, deceased 6/2/2022?" A bored clerk read from a printed copy of an email.
"iiiiiI aaaaAMMMmmm" the spirit said, stretching out the recently reanimated vocal chords.
"On October 4th, 2019, did you create a new will and-"
"oooooOOOH FOR FUUUUCKS SAAAAKEeee" the deceased interrupted. "ddiiID STEVE CONTEST THE WILLlllll"
"Order in the court" the judge said, "but yes, thats why we issued the summoning summons."
Gilroy rotated his head until his foggy green eye sockets found Steve in the room. " sssSTEVE I LEFT YOU ONE DAMNED DOLLAR AS A 'FUCK YOU' FOR STEALING MY ROLLS ROYCE PHANTOM AND CRASHING IT ON THE MAILBOOOOooooooxxxxx."
The Judge waved for me to from the corner. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Fronkers. This court finds Steven in the wrong, and will not alter the will of Gilroy."
"Mr. Thelesitizakal, could you please return Gilroy Fronkers to his eternal resting place?" The Judge asked.
I complied.
With a brilliant flash of green light and an explosion of smoke, Gilroy Fronkers' corpse collapsed back into his coffin. The Judge fanned the ghostly smoke from his desk, revealing the paperwork necessary to close the lawsuit.
"Aw, maaaaan" Steve said, slumping down in his chair.
Keen eared members of the legal teams on both sides could hear a very faint whisper from the casket's direction. "fuck you, Stee^eee^e^ve" it said, trailing away as Gilroy descended from this realm once more.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | EDIT: I'm not sure how to fix formatting. Please help. Thx
I stared at the people on the opposite side of the one-way glass. Most of them had no idea why they were there, though I suspected that at least one of them did. I idly wondered why they had to be handcuffed if almost all of them were innocent. I shook these irrelevant thoughts from my mind, and turned to the woman standing next to me. “Are we ready, Detective?”
“Yes, all the suspects are assembled,” she nodded.
“You may wish to leave the room while the procedure is being done, Detective. For the uninitiated, the process can be quite… unsettling…” I left the word hanging there, gauging the detective’s reaction.
“No thank you, but I will stay,” she said calmly.
I took a deep breath. “Very well.” I motioned to my assistant, Samantha, who wheeled in a gurney carrying nothing but a black body bag.
I opened the zipper of the bag, which revealed what was left of a body, in more than one piece.
The late Anthony Jones was last seen departing his work at a wind farm. His wife called the police after he had not come that night. They quickly matched her story with a shocking discovery found at a farm.
One of the farmhands noticed that the pigs were chewing on something with gusto, and he nearly fainted when he found a chewed up skull, with flesh hanging off of it.
I suppose it should have bothered me, but after 17 years of being a necromancer, I found that almost no gore could upset me.
I pulled a vial of necromancer’s spice out of my satchel, sprinkling it in a circle around the corpse. I stepped inside the circle of the spice, inhaling the scent of arcane mixture, and I began to chant.
Many of my colleagues tried to dramatize the summoning, using all forms of arcane potions and chants to add mystery to their art. However, the truth was far more simple that anything they did. All you need a re-summon a spirit was necromancer’s spice, a mixture of several spices and herbs that attracted undead souls.
Of course, you also need a more important ingredient: The Summoning Spell. Its harsh words struck fear in the hearts of all non-necromancers, and many real necromancers as well. I noticed that Detective Clarks eyes widened in fear as I continued my chant.
The temperature inside my circle began dropping, although outside of the ring of spice the temperature was unaffected.
In the third minute of my chant a white mist began to form over the corpse, spinning as it coalesced into a floating image of Mr. Jones, directly over the body. At this point, icicles began forming on the gurney.
I felt a mental connection beginning to form between me and the spirit, and I let loose an involuntary shiver.
The bones of the cadaver moved into alignment, and in the fifth minute, the white specter descended into the body.
I ended the chant with a sense of finality, and for a moment, nothing happened.
Then He sat up.
I heard Detective Clarks let out a gasp. I ignored her, and I spoke loudly and calmly. “Spirit, is the individual who killed you present in that room?” I pointed into the interrogation room opposite the mirror.
A voice, which seemingly came from nowhere and everywhere at once rang out: “Yes.”
“Please point to the murderer.”
The cadaver raised a single bony hand and pointed to one of the people in the room through the mirror. I met Clarks’ eyes and nodded. She left the room and walked into the interrogation room. She went to the suspect and grabbed him by his handcuffed arm. As soon as she led him in, the body on the gurney began thrashing and writhing. The suspect looked at the body in horror and he screamed in terror.
The body began to float off of the gurney in the direction of the suspect. I saw the murderer tense with fear, and he yelled “Don’t let him get me!!”
“You have no reason to fear,” I said without a trace of empathy, “The spirit cannot leave the spice-ring.”
“Very well,” said Detective Clarks, “we have all the evidence we need”. And she turned him around and marched him out. | 2022-06-10T14:55:08 | 2022-06-10T14:50:39 | 183 | 41 |
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