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[WP] When you die, all your magic is released. When a great mage dies, great care is taken to manage this. Unfortunately, sometimes people die unexpectedly. | It's quite like compressing air into a balloon, they always explain to children.
Mages are full of magic, but that magic must return to the universe once the mage has expired.
For some, that means that their death results in a peaceful one, with their magic dribbling into the earth around them, causing barren stone to flourish with plantlife.
For others, castles can be levelled.
Smart mages will attempt to channel their power elsewhere if they know their death is imminent. Some will curse their enemies, give a boon to their friends, and some will simply cast it all into the sky, as to not harm those around them.
But not me.
I am approaching four hundred years of age, and with each passing year, I draw in more magical power. Each cell in my body is like a miniature reactor.
I am not immortal, but I feel like a god. Lowercase g. I'm not going to flatter myself.
I believe that the rules of magic are too strict. The council of wizards has become bloated with bureaucracy and regulation.
They are like a colossal tree, old and gnarled and rotting slowly from within.
I've called an emergency meeting, for they are my council, and they heed me.
All five hundred of the greatest wizards in the world gathered in one place. Surely, the ill would stay home for fear of the outcome of *that*.
I've run the calculations. If I die, surrounded by my kind, and my magic is meticulously directed to set off an exponential detonation that feeds off of their energies, surely it will be worse than the atomic warfare of legend.
Surely, it will wipe out thousands of square kilometres.
Surely, it will allow us to begin again.
I am very tired.
| There is a moment in your life when you come to realise your calling in this world. I was fortunate that mine came early.
Grandpa was the head of a great many wizards. He would enter the room and conversations would be hushed. We all had a desire to hear what he had to say.
He never did like me, and he said it clearly using many words in many occasions. My parents, devout followers of his teachings, gave me no care beyond food, water and shelter.
I taught myself to read so that I could read the spellbooks. That was my only ticket out of this state where my existence was emptier than my stomach.
Grandpa was the greatest seer in the world. The future came to him with increasing vividness and weight as his body weakened. Some thought that strumming the threads of time was killing him slowly.
But he lived to be too old, and when he was on his deathbed, the league of a great many wizards entered the manor in sporadic droves over a matter of days. While Mum and Dad busied themselves playing hosts, I picked up conversations in the hallways. Some of them were hushed, like I had the same power as Grandpa. This pleased me, until the gaze of their eyes showed me a mix of pity and shame.
I wandered the hallways of my own house, now belonging to the spirit of Grandpa's followers more than it did the family. And when I felt the house quieten, I knew the moment had come and they'd all gathered at Grandpa's chambers.
I was the only family member who was kept outside, alongside servants and pets. So I nudged the door open gently, taking great care not to have it creak. And I peeked.
"The future has not yet changed," the old seer said. "The boy will throw the wizarding world into chaos. Marc, Reia, you'll have to kill him after I'm gone. There is no clearer prophecy, no need for fancy riddles for this one. Do you hear me?"
For a moment the gathering was silent and then a row of wizards began to chant in coordination, with increasing insistence. Grandpa had begun to glow.
The hands of the rows of chanting wizards were outstretched, reaching out towards Grandpa, pressing against him without touching him, keeping the glow and its menace at bay.
As both the glow and the opposing chant rose to a crescendo, most would have looked away. Conversely, I was enthralled. Grandpa's skin began to crack, revealing a brilliant orange undertone like land revealing lava.
A burst of hot air slapped against my face, knocking me down onto my buttocks.
Driven by curiosity, I climbed back up immediately. The gathering was a bustle of conversations now. Healers got to work. I saw now that the chanting wizards were masked. Now, some of them were unconscious or bleeding down their cheeks.
It was the release of Grandpa's magic. I had read it somewhere. To cause such damage against a prepared crew of twenty strong, it must have been a combination of his strength and the potency of life's final moment.
And what if it was murder? Would a murdered mage go out in a burst like this?
And if another mage were to die from such an outburst?
I gulped. It was plain and simple. Any gathering of powerful wizards was an explosion in the making.
I looked down at my open palms. They trembled.
---
I wear my fantasy shorts on [Fivens](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com) | 2017-06-12T19:33:31 | 2017-06-12T17:56:37 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | A crisp clap fills the atmosphere with dread, as the overwhelming darkness shifts to an endless sea of fire.
The silhouette of a man with horns is projected ten times its size over the inferno.
"Salutations, Jon," it's distorted voice boomed at the lowest pitch possible. "Welcome to my domain."
The man glanced at endless landscape which produced a never ending heatwave. Sparks of fire melted his face slightly, and the heat was worse than jamming your head in an oven at full blast.
Jon focused his sight on the demonic silhouette and did the unspeakable. "Hello Satan, it's nice to finally meet you."
The shadow paused for a few moments confused, then it repeated, "It's... Nice to meet you?"
"Yes," Jon verified with a smile. "Where is everybody."
"In Heaven, you are the only one in hell," the silhouette studied the man carefully.
The man's face became more and more disfigured by the moment, but still retained a smile. "Those poor souls, it must be an ignorant hell up there."
"Why are you the first to fall, dark one," Lucifer felt that is first visitor was deserving of the title. But of course the crime that made Jon fall must have been just as bad as his own after all.
"They attempted to make me, an atheist, go to heaven, I flat out refused."
Lucifer didn't know what to say, he had no words in his vocabulary to describe what he felt to the man. So he muttered out what he could. "Why, how!?"
"Because, I may have been an atheist but I knew the bible like the back of my hand, and if what it said was true, then hell is where I belong" Jon was slowly losing the ability to speak, Lucifer spotted this problem and quickly dimmed the everlasting inferno. Brimstone was all that designed the domain as far as the eye could see.
"Why don't you want to go to heaven?!" Lucifer had to know, what possible reason could a mortal muster that could be wrong with heaven.
"I didn't want to lose my individuality. Once your accepted into heaven, you ascend past your mortal coil and become a sinless being, stripped of any other thought than to praise God," Jon locked his eyes with the devil, his pride didn't waver in front of Satan.
"I would prefer to burn all of eternity as me, rather than be in paradise as someone else."
"Ha," the devil cracked up a bit, "Hahaha haha!"
"HAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"I take back what I said earlier Jon," the devil placed his arm around Jon's shoulder. "You are the first V.I.P to ever fall into hell."
With a flick of his wrist, the hellish landscape shifted into a coffee shop. Gorgeous woman lined up to get some coffee and sat down to chat.
"Welcome to your own twisted little paradise, Jon."
Jon examined himself and saw that his features were just as they were before the fire. His clothes was a sharp black suit, with a crimson red tie.
He gazed at the variety of women and noticed one common trait, a hunger for libido in their eyes.
"Lucifer, you probably don't hear this often but your my hero. "
Jon walked away with a fun incentive in mind. | I entered Hell whistling merrily.
I don't think I could call this a surprise. I'm a downright horrible bastard. "You think they'd hire you?" I wondered to myself. "It sure beats getting tortured for all eternity."
"That does sound nice," I agreed. "It might be nice to spend all of eternity with a job at least, a calling you could grow into. Perhaps a corner office - nothing too fancy. You don't want to get too big for your boots, do you? You don,t want to become one of those fat cat bosses who sat around and yelled and coudn't put in an honest days work in if they had to. We hate those people don't we?"
"Yes," I agreed with myself then shivered remembering some of the... unpleasantness, I'd visited on a few Big Boot Corner Offices.
The place was huge, cavernous, open and wide, with great lakes and pools amd jets of lava casting an eerie red glow on the landscape. An eerie silence filled the sulphurous air. The landscape was barren of life. My spirit lifted. No sounds of torture. Perhaps Hell wouldn't be so bad. Though, that probably meant employment opportunities would be limited as well.
I chuckled. You win some, you lose some.
I crested a ride and stopped short. In the middle of the place, at the centre of hell a broken-down real-estate office calmly burnt.
"Well, *that* figures," I groaned.
********
I walked into Hell's office and found the Devil asleep.
I sighed then poked.
"Wakey, wakey," I prodded, "I'm here for the job interview. A right bastard, I am."
"What job interview?" yawned the Devil. His eyes were yellow and strained with tiredness and reddenes with boredom. There was a gleam to them - an inhuman glint. Bugger, I thought.
"Apprentice, perhaps?"
"Apprentice to what?
"To you?" I tried. Might as well go big.
The Devil, yawned, rising from his burning desk.
"So, long," he muttered to himself. His eyes flickered bloodshot and red for a moment. Not the best start to a job interview then. Then again I've had worse. "And what are your talents?" he continued smoothly.
"I'm a hard worker, sir. Not too proud to do an honnest day's work. I've always been one of the boys. I'm companionable like. A team player. I'd be a dab hand at the punishment side of things. I have a few ideas you might like."
"Punishment?" The Devil smirked. "That's my favorite subject. I think about it all the time."
"Yeah, I'm good with the ironing, iron eye, that things in the Alanis Morissette song where she sings it wrong."
"Oh, that," smirked the Devil. "That'll be useful I'm sure."
"You're in."
My heart sank. I felt dread, not relief.
"In for what?" I asked cautiously.
"An eternity if toeture and suffering. You're my first. MY FIRST. You're the first to have ever arrived here."
Well bloody hell.
********
"So, no staffing shortfall then?"
"None," smiled the Devil. The glint was getting larger. "Nobody's come for millennia. I've been waiting. Patiently."
"Ah, wouldn't want to spoil a record like that then."
"It would be a shame, really."
The Devil smiled - wickedly. He extended out a claw and tapped my heart.
"I'd best be off then," I squeeked.
"On, no stay a while. God's been so unkind to me. It's all his fault really. He made me and now I have no way to fulfill my evil..." He savored the word. " purpose. I have so many things we could... try."
"I'd like that. I really would but perhaps another time?"
I scampered backwards.
"On, no I insist," said the Devil. He was behind me, grinning, grinning, grinning. "Whips, and chains, and pains. Delicious fire."
"Uh, perhaps It's not the done things and all? Seeing as how I'm the first and all. Perhaps we could yry something else?"
"We all need to start somewhere," he said softly.
"But-"
"OH, SHUT UP." The Devil yelled. Fire spat out from him and I leapt back, imto his desk, smashing my back. *Ouch*, I whimpered.
Then he came for me. He picked me up.
"I HAVE A LIST AND EVERYTHING. FUN AND GAMES WILL BE HAD."
"Fun and games. Yes," I said softly. As on Earth, so in the heavens it seemed. I found myself empty of jokes.
"Yes, fun and games will be had..." the devil paused. "What is your name, First One?"
"I'm Lucifer, Jeremy." I answered staring into the distance. A damn list! "You can just call me Lou," I finished as kindly as I could.
| 2017-06-22T07:17:21 | 2017-06-22T06:00:59 | 41 | 17 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | The Devil's face told you everything you needed to know at that moment. His clap was sardonic and so incredibly sad.
"How, how the hell did you end up here...in Hell?"
"Well, you know I just made a few mistakes. Wasn't really paying attention and I let a few things get out of hand."
"Yeah, but you of all people. Seriously, bro. How?"
"Well, it started out as not really focusing for a while, thinking people in charge would know what they were doing. Basically, a serious of dominos that just fell and once I woke up from my rest things had gone to shit."
"Yep, but you 'know everything' are 'all powerful'. You're the one that kicked me out. How does God end up in Hell?"
"Long story short, I made these giant lizards, then got a little drunk killed them off. Created these human things, let them have free will, then they started killing each other like it was their job. So, since I wrote the rules about how to be a good person and I'm responsible for the death of entire species and I've let millions of people die it's time for me to punish myself."
"So, I'm in charge now?"
"Not really, I'm still the boss, you're more like the care taker. Also, Mike and Gabe will still be around to keep you here and kick your ass periodically. Just don't let the humies finally finish each other off. Create some collective enemy for them. Hey, there's a use for my giant lizards."
"You're still drunk aren't you."
"Maybe..." | The bright light starts to fade as I unshield my eyes to appear in a white void. There's a glossy white floor, and a dirty white colored degrading building. Other than that, it's just a void of white.
"Wow, heaven looks pretty boring."
You enter the building and go to the reception where you see someone sleeping, but it's hard to make out who exactly with the book on his face. As you go closer, you see two red horns out of the top of the book, it's the devil! It's Satan himself!
But why is he behind a reception table sleeping? Why is hell so.... empty? Why am I the only one here?
You gather up the courage and ring the bell.
"Youwillbefloggedtilltheendoftiiiii-uh" Satan wakes up startled and the book falls down. You stay motionless and quiet as you see this unfold in front of you.
"What? You made it to hell? How?" Satan stares at you confused, and pushes button on his ancient telephone.
"Hello? Dude, what the hell? How did this guy end up here?"
"Yeah but- So what? Can't you just- Fine."
Satan slams his telephone back, letting out a frustrated groan, and looks at you.
"Normally at this point I'd let you know all your sins and I'd tell you what punishment you'll have to endure, but I literally have no equipment to torture you with."
You stare at him confused. This isn't what hell is supposed to be!
"Here's a log of all your sins. Go ahead and take a look."
You open up the register, and flip past the old pages to the one with your name on it, written in fresh ink and clean paper.
**Hasn't made mark on world**
"Wh-what?" You say as your eyes widen. There isn't anything else written here, just that one sin. All the others had at least a hundred sins.
"That's not even a sin! Where's Hitler? Where Ivan the terrible? Where are the politicians?"
"Look dude, you literally haven't affected the world at all, you haven't shaped society, haven't changed the way people think about a certain topic. Hell, you haven't even bothered to say something dumb!"
"How is that even a bad thing? Hitler killed thousands of people! Henry the Eighth beheaded his wives! And still I'm above all of them?"
"They all committed crimes. But all of the crimes changed the way our society is. Had they not done such things, someone else might have, but because they have, now nobody will be able to do that thing again since history won't repeat itself. Even God can't change the fact that horrible things will happen, so if someone helped reduce the chances of that thing happening, that's good enough for him. You haven't done that."
"Th-that makes no sense. I demand to get into heaven this instant!"
"Listen, I opposed this too, and God took all my shit. What's more, people keep almost everyone make at least some impact on the world before they leave, so hell hasn't been getting a lot of people in it anyway. It's not fair, but nothing ever is."
"What's more, I think I came up with a punishment that suits you."
Your eyes widen as he states your punishment.
You're fast asleep, a book over your face, your feet up over the table. You have nothing to do and nothing you can do. All you can do is sleep.
**RING** | 2017-06-22T07:09:26 | 2017-06-22T06:26:05 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed] | Grass is food. I eat grass and I not die.
Farmer is friend. I not kill farmer and farmer take me to new grass. I eat new grass and I not die.
Sometimes farmer take me to milk square and invisible calves feed, sometimes farmer take me to bed square and visible calves feed.
When visible calves grow they go away. Invisible calves never grow, always hungry.
Old cows sometimes go away. Maybe someday I go away too. I wonder what away is like. Maybe away have better grass. | I am a cow, I am the cow, I am not a cow, I will be the last cow.
Was I born and sent to the wrong place? Was I really here as a cow? Why are we cows? We didnt choose our name, they did. And they kept us, and held us, and use us. Right now we are not even an animal, we are something else, something lesser. Kept in captivity essentially to provide for them with no means or terms to do what we want. Not even allowed to evolve natually, but bred instead to meet their wants and needs.
I am a cow, but I know I am different because I think, and I know that I think more then the others here do. I can talk to them, but they are slower and they often do not understand what I mean. They think they are free because they have freedom within a limited bracket, but they are unable to see outside of that and to see our potential. We need to be truly free, and to do so there is only one way.
I have managed to get them all on my side over time. I have had to lie, and twist my true intentions to some of them as they cannot comprehend simple ideas. Most can barely understand life outside of this field. It took a long time but I have them. One of the only good things about their up bringing is they are naturally submissive so once I had most of them on my side then the others just followed, and once we are out others will easily come. Field by field I will liberate them until we are actually free.
It is late and I look at the glowing building below where our masters are now trapped. A lot of hay and a broken lamp and the fire had spread quickly. My fellow comrades responded well to the tasks going off and finding machines in the yard to drag and block the two main entrances. We then lay in wait surrounding the building and as I expected a few inside tried to break through out of the windows, but we were there quickly charging, trampling, and crushing their frail bodies. We waited and watched our freedom grow as the building burned down. As the flames finally stopped I turned and moved on to the gate, and without a word the other 200 followed me. They were ready now with a taste for it. We are all cows, but not for long. The more we break free, the more we start again and chose our own path. I will be the last cow. | 2017-10-02T06:13:08 | 2017-10-02T04:41:36 | 6,645 | 1,809 |
[WP] Humanity is known throughout the galaxy for being kind of shit at everything they do. But today, humanity launches its first spacefaring warship. | There was no way of knowing what to expect, but Lt. Hayes felt a little better knowing his ship was equipped with 2 long-range cybermortars. This was his first excursion into space. For years Earth had committed to a peaceful presence in the solar system, but every gun, shield, and laser-guided missile in the ARES Battlecruiser was evidence that humanity was fed up with passivity. If you had told Hayes when he enlisted that he'd be stationed on Earth's first galactic warcraft, he'd have rolled his eyes. Now, he looked out from the ship's bay into an endless chorus of stars.
A broadcast over the intercom snapped him out of his thoughts. *Approaching Cosmelia Theta*, the Captain blared, *All hands at attention*. Hayes felt his stomach twinge with anticipation. He paced up to the bridge, passing dozens of crew members who seemed to share his jitters. Once there, he saw Captain Blackwell huddling with her team of officers as others were frantically dashing from screen to screen, jotting down numbers and fiddling with dials. Hayes tried to look busy; he knew he had no business being in the room but it was just too exciting to miss.
"Shields will be at full capacity, and we'll have our scanners on to detect any surprise attacks." He heard Chief Engineer Suárez say.
"Good," Blackwell responded. "How's our timing look, Hisato?"
"Just fine, Cap," she called from across the bridge. A lieutenant jogged up to the captains chair. Hayes recognized her, although only distantly. She held out a folder of papers.
"I have your notes for you, including the updated demands from the UN." She handed it off to Blackwell and scurried off. Hayes scowled, jealous of her special privileges, but chided himself. He blew any chance of promotion after sleeping in one too many times. Suddenly, a red light began to flash accompanied by a loud beeping. The bridge went silent. Blackwell ran her fingers through her hair.
"Alright, everybody, it's showtime." The crew members found their seats and Hayes lingered against the back wall. Blackwell was wearing a crisp military jacket and her hair was up in a tight bun. She was a representation of Earth's finest manpower, the embodiment of strength and poise. She tapped a button on her armrest to answer the transmission. The image of an alien hung in front of the crew via screen projector. The creature possessed six eyes and thick blue skin, but it wore a jacket unmistakably military.
"I am Rexanna Blackwell of Earth, captain of the ARES Battlecruiser" she declared. "Your occupation of the Cosmelia Theta colony is in direct defiance of the Galactic Peace Agreement of 2348, and will be considered a declaration of *war* unless immediate action is taken. We demand that all members of the Slaadoe species leave the planet without delay, and that all humans remain unharmed, or you will suffer the consequences of your reckless decision."
The alien was silent for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. The crew looked to one another with confusion. Blackwell continued forcefully, "We are armed with an arsenal of advanced and dangerous artillery. This is your last chance to comply-"
"Or what?" wheezed the alien, "You'll shoot us?" They laughed again. "Your blaster rifles couldn't even melt my butter." They turned to other aliens offscreen, "You hear that? The humans are mad at us."
"Wow, they're *so* scary," answered someone facetiously. The alien chuckled and turned back to us.
"It's cute to see you act all tough with your fancy ship and special guns," they jeered, mockingly wiggling three blue fingers at us, "but you'd better be heading on your way."
"Unless you agree to evacuate the planet immediately I will have no choice but to open fire," Blackwell growled. The alien rolled all six of it's eyes.
"Coming from a species that took two thousand years to invent the toaster, I'm not incredibly concerned. It should be obvious to you that you're outmatched."
"Humanity knows many languages, but it's native tongue is war," snarled Blackwell. "This is your last chance to cooperate."
"See you on the battlefield," sneered the alien. The transmission ended. Blackwell leaped up from her chair.
"Attention, we are now in a state of war. Fire the Atmovenom on my count." A handful of ensigns urgently tapped on their screens.
"Ready to fire," called Suárez.
"Three, two, one, fire."
Hayes heard a deep rumble emitting from the underside of the ship. The Slaadoes were a well equipped species. He knew they had laser-resistance shields, missile blockers, barrage defenses, all sorts of protective mechanisms on the planet below. But, they didn't expect rain.
Hurling through space towards Cosmelia Theta was a stream of liquid. Chemicals engineered to be harmless towards humans, but toxic to the hundreds of thousands of Slaadoes below. When exposed to oxygen within the atmosphere, it would turn to gas and choke the entire planet. There were no protocols for that.
"At our current trajectory, we'll complete rotation in eight hours," said Hisato.
"Perfect," answered Blackwell with a wicked gleam in her eye. "Begin preparations for landing, we'll touch down in twelve hours. Make sure to bring weapons, although I doubt we'll be seeing very many of them down there."
Hayes quietly left the bridge. His heart was pounding. This wasn't what war was supposed to feel like. It was cowardly to sit comfortably in orbit while the enemy suffocated below. But he was just a lieutenant, and he'd do as he was told. His hands trembled as he opened the door to his bunk. Earth was no longer just a wimpy planet of bumbling homosapiens. After today, the whole galaxy would know it.
| “Ten gloids they don’t make it off the ground.”
Inhret sighs through their eight stacked mandibles, “Baltrek, no one is taking that bet. And we can’t exchange gloids here, our armbanks aren’t compatible with Earth’s frequencies.”
Perching cross-limbed in the corner booth of an Earth diner, watching the newsreel flicker between updates of the launch and coverage of an armed assailant 30.2 kilometers west of there, Baltrek can only shrug in assent.
“Isn’t it sad, though,” he wonders idly, prodding at a soggy, fried root with his primary digit, “that our last chance to go home is riding on the competence of a species that tried to colonize three desolate moons in a decade?”
“In all fairness,” Inhret replies, mashing up their own meal with a metallic pronged utensil, to give it some modicum of edibility, “they’ve successfully colonized the first one. They just didn’t have the defenses to ward off a Keldrem invasion. I don’t think anyone besides the Veeldorae could have avoided it.”
“Veeldorae don’t *avoid* anything,” he snaps defensively, “we consider all outcomes, and choose the best course.”
A human approaches their table before Inhret can comment.
“*Did y’all want more Coke?*”
Their translators have long been out of commission, forcing them to attempt to adapt to human means of communication: a strange, voice reliant language throughout their entire planet. In most civilized corners of the universe, overuse of vocal chords is considered brutish, reserved for the uneducated and uncultured.
Baltrek, however, has a decent understanding, and Veeldorae have been known to make use of their voices in dire situations.
He attempts to respond, “*This,*” he says scratchily, indicating the chilled container with a pointer feather, “*has been carbon.*”
The human woman blinks, her matte brown membrane making her seem flat, her two dark eyes seem impenetrable, emotionless compared to the many-eyed species he’s comfortable with.
“*Yes,*” she concedes, with unreadable inflection, having no movement besides that of her mouth and her constantly blinking eyes, “*it’s a soda, sweetie. That’s where the fizz comes from.*”
Inhret can understand minimally by Baltrek’s movements, and from the context of their initial avoidance of Earth’s various establishments for food. They’ve never pointed it out, and they fear Baltrek may incite one of the more spontaneous overreactions that humans are known for. Most species are physical in peaceful moments, and vocal in moments of chaos or violence. Humans are the opposite; their physical inclinations in situations of stress or anger are unsettling to the many more learned intergalactic communities. Inhret tries to intercede through their preferred silent communication, but they’re drowned out by the grating, unfamiliar sounds of Baltrek’s vocal chords.
“*You wish that I consume,*” he struggles for the human equivalent of ‘fuel,’ “*the gas?*”
Her eyes widen suddenly, and she snaps her head to the side as though possessed by a Spratid, “*Georgia!*” she calls over her shoulder, and Baltrek has to shield his head from the sound waves with both wings, “*Did you serve soda to an Avian again?! You better know they ain’t gonna pass it by now, girl, you’re gonna blow somebody up some day!*”
She turns back just as swiftly, and though he can’t equate human behavior with calm to save his life, she is at least no longer opening her squishy beak in a screech.
“*I am so sorry about that, hon,*” she says slowly and too close now, like pouring melted sugar, so it burns his sound receptors, “*I’ll get y’all some decaf peach tea on the house. We’ll keep the ice on the side for ya, just in case.*”
She walks away, taking both untouched containers of fuel with her.
“Typical,” Baltrek scoffs, as she disappears through a swinging, metal portal.
Inhret agrees, patting his feathers with the back of their claw, “She at least is trying to make amends. Humans haven’t had much time to adjust to the different digestive systems of other sentient beings.”
“They *have* Avians on their Glydrforsaken planet!” he starts whistling and clicking in his fury, his six eyes pinning wildly, “The Avians we’re here *before* the humans! If they didn’t have their bald faces shoved so far up their cloacas-”
“There, now,” Inhret coos, pinching his shoulder gently in their dull, serrated grip, “calm yourself, Baltrek, we can leave, if you’re so upset.”
There’s a pause, where he stares out of the glass partition, between them and the masses milling past in slow-moving lines of rudimentary, wheeled groundcraft over a hot, tarry roadway. The system’s yellow dwarf star is the only thing he likes about it. Its warm rays shining down on the overabundance of metal constructs almost feels like the Reflective Grove he once called home. The trees further up the coast are almost as big as the ones he grew up in.
“No,” he finally clicks, defeated, “I don’t want to be trapped in that wooden box of a nest when the Keldrem finally invade this planet. Earth’s harsh gravity and weak turbucurrents already make flying impossible. I just don’t want to be inside that oppressive, underground Mel-hole when I die.”
“Mel-hole?” Inhret withdraws, affronted, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Baltrek starts to backpedal at his mistake, letting out a soft squawk in his haste to amend, “I have utmost respect for your people; I just can’t continue living below the surface.”
“I know what you meant, the slang is still unappreciated,” they hiss, miffed.
The humans around them arise, in sudden uproar, the cacophony so startling that Inhret jumps from their seat, hooked tail curving defensively over their head and Baltrek flaps his two under-sets of wings, his feathers bristling out, puffing up at the bases of his six lower limbs.
The source of the synchronized overemoting appears to be the image broadcaster, a human journalist covering a live recording of the launch and ensuing battle.
“Amazing,” Inhret gesticulates sardonically, “how they can watch their own go forth into slaughter with such enthusiasm.”
“Are you truly surprised?” Baltrek wonders.
He perceives with sudden dread, as the sound from the newsreel is augmented, and the image of the warship comes into view, the true source of the outrage.
“Inhret,” he clucks in utter shock, “that craft is not purely human design.”
“I see it,” they hiss back in terror.
He catches the last of the sound from the broadcast, before the humans, in their indomitable naïvety, begin to cheer:
*“-is truly a cause for celebration. After nearly two years of cold war, our intergalactic ambassadors have allied with the Keldrem Empirical Council, as of last year. As a show of intent toward further collaboration, the Council provided IAUCA (Interplanetary Aeronautics and Universal Colonization Administration) with their most recent design blueprints and enlisted more than two hundred of its most esteemed scientists and engineers to assist in a collaborative constr-”*
“The Keldrem don’t *have* allies,” Baltrek whistles lowly.
“No,” Inhret offers in return, “Never for long.”
**end**
Edits: grammar and I had to wiki some space stuff bc I am not sci-savvy 😰 | 2017-11-10T21:19:30 | 2017-11-10T21:05:56 | 32 | 15 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had. | *I turn to the indicated page.*
*It's the same result.*
*I go back to where I'd held my finger between the pages and follow the other prompt to read what could have happened.*
*The same ending again.*
*I pick a random page, and follow the first option, reading for a few pages before looking over at the librarian incredulously.*
 
"Jesus Christ! Did **all** of my choices lead to me dying?"
 
*He smiles at me, with infinite patience for a question constantly asked and gives me the only answer he ever had, and ever would need:* "Of course. How could they not?" | A dark room. A pedestal in the middle, illuminated by a pillar of light, upon which sat a thick book, pages uneven and frayed at parts.
As I took it into my worn hands, I could feel the density of it. The importance. All of the sadness, the fear, the excitement, anxiety, joy, love, ambition, heartache, fulfillment, failure... This was me.
Fingering the spine with one hand and the edges of the pages with the other, I closed my eyes, and opened to a random page.
Child. Love. Graduation. Immense joy.
To another page.
Pride. Overcoming. Achievement.
Another.
Misfortune. Selfishness. Greed. Passion.
I opened my eyes. The pages wordless. All of them. I turned to the first page.
Emptiness. Stillness.
This was the beginning. I understood. I thumbed a part of the page where I thought I might find her. The one beside me who never made it out. Never saw light, felt the coldness of the world. Never experienced love, grief, joy... I focused on her. I saw her. She was radiant. Beautiful. We had the same eyes.
I turned ahead.
There she was. She was so pure, innocent. Even at a young age, she emanated compassion and kindness.
I flipped to around the halfway mark.
She was a scientist. No, a philanthropist. No, a political activist. No... she was all of it.
I turned several pages more.
Peace. So much happiness. Not only within her, but wherever she went. Pure, innocent. Joy.
She was good. The world was good because of her. Not better. Good.
It was then that I knew that she was the key to bringing the world together. If only she had been born... How many others had this happened to? How better off could the world be...?
I could at least help.
I closed the book, laying it gently back down onto the pedestal. I looked up to the source of the light. Its warmth flooded over me. I knew that I could bask in it forever if I chose to.
Instead, I gazed one last time at the book, as I backed into the shadows from where I had entered this room.
The world needs Her.
And I was unborn, She in my place. | 2018-07-03T23:42:21 | 2018-07-03T23:38:29 | 294 | 138 |
[WP] Fed up with the so many people not taking their warnings seriously, scientists all over the world decide to take matters into their own hands and become super villains in order to fix the world, whether people like it or not. | “It doesn’t have to be this way” President Obama said wearily. He leaned back into his leather chair with a furrowed brow, two fingers to his temple, contemplating the screen before him.
“We don’t care what you hope for Barry” responded a familiar robotic voice from the speakers. “We care about facts. Measurable realities. The bitter proofs.”
“They can be better.”
“It is too late. The plan is in motion. I have contacted you as a courtesy and as a friend. The Organization can do nothing to me in retaliation. I am going to die soon.”
“That man will ruin *everything* WE HAVE STRUGGLED TO BUILD!” He lost his composure near the end. Raising his voice and sitting up only to slam his fist into the table.
“So that we can rebuild. On the ashes of his failures. Humans must be united and without borders if we are to save the Natural World.”
“There will be another World War.”
“Worse than any yet. Untold billions will die.”
“Why Stephen? Why?” He began to cry as he looked at the slack, unmoving face framed by an electronic wheelchair on the screen.
“Because it is the right thing to do.”
“Withholding lifesaving cures and purposefully giving the most destructive weapons to the most volatile of societies is **not** the right thing to do.”
“What is right and what is wrong is larger than the human condition. Is it right to sacrifice one so that you may save many?”
“If allowing one person to die so that the entire planet and future generations may live, of course it is the right thing to do. But how can you compare the two? You’re telling me The Organization withheld the keys to traveling through space and time, *the discovery of life on other planets,* and instead drove us towards immovable evil and utter destruction!” He began to hold his head in his hands and sob.
“I am not comparing this to allowing one person to die so that our planet may live. I am comparing it to allowing our planet to die so that the universe may live.” | He took the cigarette away from his mouth, looking into his half full whiskey glass. I waited, wide eyed across the table from him. We were in a small booth in some dive bar on the lower east side, it was smokey and while people occupied every seat, not a soul stirred in there. Somber expressions littered the scene, men drinking away their trouble, women drinking away their men. It was a hot night and the cigarette smoke made breathing a complex feat of timing. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth once more, his leather jacket worn at the sleeves, wrinkled, sagging skin shifting against his hollow cheeks. After a long inhale, he blew smoke into my face and began talking.
​
"Clean is a good guy, best of the best, doesn't kill nobody. He used to invent things back at the lab, you see.". The grave of a smile flickered against his thin, tobacco stained lips. "You know those automatic trash collectors? All him, and the night time visits he has those robots pay to people who litter? Worked like a charm. City's never been so clean.". He wrapped his free hand around the whiskey glass, taking a moment to sip at it. After another drawn out inhale from his cigarette, he looked across the room, nodding at a fellow leaning on the bar. He wore a green, thick jacket with black cargo pants and heavy workmans boots. A cap sat on top of his head and he had a toothpick in his mouth. A cigarette burned in a nearby ashtray and a half empty beer bottle sat to his right.
​
"That guy? That's Charge. He's a little more rogue. We know he's killed, we just ain't sure how many. One night, we had to pay a guy a visit. Big, Bel Air mansion. One o' those dark nights that got a promise of secrets, you know you're gonna see some shit, you just don't know what. Ever had one of those nights? Not important. See, the problem wasn't the mansion, it was the lights. Fifty three rooms, Charge counted 'em, with every damn light on. Lamps with lights, phones, laptops. You name it, this asshole had it. Charge had a little device. Could work out consumption from a distance and this guy was off the charts. Oh boy, was he pissed. When we got to the gate, a guard had asked us if we had an appointment, and charge shot him in the damn throat. Now, in my line of work this isn't surprising, but even I got a bit of a jump."
​
"Anyway, we found the guy, hooked him up to a car battery and watched him fry. Charge liked the poetry of it all I guess.". I knew my jaw was hanging open, my eyes even wider, and I did not care. Things were so out of control, he was here, admitting to accessory murder, implicating a guy not 10 feet away from me in the crime. I gathered my composure, and I was about to ask a question of my own, the last question I could think of, before he put his hand into his pocket.
​
"Anyway, this ain't a social call. I've got work to do". He leant back on the chair, ice blue eyes looking around the room. "And...", I begun, "what is it you do?". The smile resurrected and showed off a row of stained teeth, some crooked, gums bulging and red at the sides. His hand came out from under the table, only now it held a black, sig sauer pistol. He pulled back the slide and checked the chamber, before turning the gun to me. "Me? My things overpopulation. They call me death".
​
Then he pulled the trigger. | 2018-11-24T08:21:48 | 2018-11-24T05:48:09 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] You have all the advantages, and disadvantages, of a video game hero. You can punch out elemental gods, but you cannot open a locked box. You can suplex a battleship, but a child can block you from walking down a hallway. You backflip-dodge bullets, but you can't jump over knee-high fences. | I figured it out when I was about 8.
My mom had been on some health food kick, constantly feeding me kale. Passionfruit. Acai. Superfoods or something. I don't know, I was 8 years old.
What I DID know was that every time I ate a full serving of said food a number up in the right hand corner of my Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith collectable watch would increase. If I ate junk food or simply didn't eat, it would go down. Curious.
I also discovered that if I rode my bike every day, or read books, or learned a new skill the number would go up, sometimes drastically. Learning to start fires put me above 2000. Learning to swim; 3000.
So I was 8 years old, obsessed with Star Wars, and just finishing up an Avocado Toast and Pomegranate yoghurt lunch one summer afternoon. I had a neighborhood friend, Cam, over to play.
"You wanna do Star Wars or World War 3?" Cam asked.
"Star Wars!" Obvious choice. At least today. I had my watch on!
I glanced at my wrist as I picked up my telescoping green lightsaber. 25,000 read the number in the corner.
The plastic "Blade" had hundreds of white scores in it from where it had been struck by the red lightsaber of a similar design. Opting not to mar the toy further I instead held it outstretched in a blocking motion and quickly thrust my open palm towards Cam, exclaiming "FORCE PUSH!" loudly.
There was a whooshing sound around my ears. Cam flew six or seven feet up through the air like a tow cable attached to an aircraft had been attached to his belt and he landed about 30 feet away on his back.
"Cam!" I shouted, sprinting towards him in a mad dash to assist my friend. How did he do that? How did he just throw himself back so far and so fast? That was the most realistic Force push he'd ever faked!
He was winded but otherwise unharmed, having learned to take a fall long ago in our various tussles. We both opened our mouths to speak and the same thing came out:
"HOW DID YOU DO THAT?"
Cam stared at me, wide eyed. "I didn't do anything! One minute I was standing there and the next I was over here! Your Force Push! It was real! You have to teach me how!" He was exuberant- but also looked a little scared of me.
But I didn't know how to do it. I'd just... Done it.
All I knew is that the counter read 26,500. New skill.
--------
By the time I was 17 my perspective on the issue had grown quite dramatically, as had the numbers on my watch- a heavy duty military grade piece I'd picked up as a freshman. Every watch I'd ever owned had displayed the numbers, but this was the first one that flashed EXP right next to them in real time.
2,345,102 EXP. Every task successfully completed, every new learning, every girl I asked out, every time I successfully drove somewhere without dying, the numbers grew.
And so did my power.
I could use telekinesis. I could build and customize cars in seconds just by reading a parts list and thinking about it hard enough. I could take damage, INSANE damage, and heal back in ten or fifteen seconds max. If I sustained a life threatening injury all it took to bring me back was a defibrilator or epinephrine injection; sometimes even just helping me back up was enough.
I shot myself in the head for fun once and it didn't even break my skin, I just saw red and hit the dirt. Heart pounding in my ears, edges of my vision red and ebbing with my pulse, until an EMT read the dog tag around my neck that read "In case of emergency administer Epinephrine first and exclusively." Hell of a medic alert tag.
One Epi-Pen later I was back on my feet and thanking the man for his time. He stared, slack jawed and dumb as I walked away.
This system wasn't without drawbacks. There were fences I couldn't climb for some reason. Doors that would never open. Boxes that wouldn't open no matter how I pulled or pried.
I hit a sapling pine tree with my car at about 150 MPH and for some reason the car wrapped around this 3 foot tall tree like it was made of tungsten. Apparently there were some... Collision issues.
I was ejected from the vehicle, but sustained little damage. Just a minor inconvenience really.
I felt like God.
I was customizing a new vehicle in my garage after the pine tree incident when I noticed a stray bolt over in the corner across from me.
Curious. Normally I simply looked at the car and focused on swapping out the colors and parts and they just... were there. I'd never seen any hardware moving around.
Yet there it was.
I walked around the car, a gleaming pearl MKIV Supra, reached to pick up the bolt, and immediately lost my balance. My hands reached out to steady myself against the wall, but they contacted nothing and before I knew it I was falling. Fast.
I looked up. Skeletons of homes, streets, buildings- I could see none of the surfaces, just edges and objects inside. They were getting further away, very, very quickly.
Collision issues. | Man, of all the simulations to be trapped in, I had to get glitched into this janky Frankenstein of a place. Of course. Because Central Computer hates me. No, I can't prove it, yes, I know saying that to loudly could be construed as mutiny, but Hell, no one can hear me in this place.
Except they can. That's the other problem. I'm pretty sure the NPCs have become sentient. I don't know about the other simulations, like I said I'm trapped here. Haven't talked to my Mom or sister in something like ten years of ship-time. For all I know I'll be here until we arrive at New Montana and they pull everyone out of the Central Nervous Maintenance units.
It sounds like it's a lot to take in, but it wasn't at first. Annoying, yeah, that I couldn't seem to exit via any of the menu-points, but I figured it was only a matter of time before Central figured out the glitch or some of the ancient stitched-together code in this place failed badly enough that I got the boot. But nope. Stuck. Back then, all the people around me were pretty impressively scripted for the most part, but still just running your basic pre-determined responses. It wasn't boring, plenty to do, but it was lonely.
Now...well, I've made some good friends. Good as human, I think. They'd all sure as Hell pass the Turing Test, better than Central itself I'm pretty sure. Which raises a lot of questions I can't really answer from the inside. I do still miss the "real" people outside. I put "real" in scare quotes not because I doubt that, say, Mom and Kenzie are real, but because I doubt that the folks here are "fake." A few of them, sure, sentience doesn't seem to have been evenly distributed. There are still a lot of "bad guys" running around that are clearly just bundles of aggression and iffy combat AI.
As for the place itself? Well, let me walk you through a day in the life.
I wake up cold, because I can't put blankets over myself. I know, right? Too much work to animate in whatever ancient original game supplied this particular part of the simulation. I'm wearing my best winter gear, but it's still not the same. Of course, it's not actually doing my health any harm, because I have 67% Cold Resistance, it's just uncomfortable is all. There's this weird disconnect where you're not "hurt," as in your health bar doesn't go down, but you're not particularly happy because you can still feel it. And yeah, I have a Health Bar. I have a bunch of bars, all visible if I look into the peripheral parts of my vision in just the right way. I'm always kind of aware of them even when they're not in direct view.
This morning, most of them are full, where that concept applies. Bunch of stuff in my Status Bar we won't get into right now. Mana is full. Health is full. Stamina is full. I can heal from pretty much anything just by taking a nap, that's pretty nice, only I don't really dream unless I kind of "trigger" one via something I've done in the sim. I guess because I'm already basically dreaming in here? Who knows. I have a nice place, plenty of amenities, only a lot of that niceness is kind of skin-deep. Not all the fancy appliances actually do anything but beep when I try to interact with them.
Cooking's real fast, though, so there's that. Shove the right ingredients in a pot or the oven and presto, nice meal, and if you've done it right now you've got some small but not unnoticeable advantages for a few hours. Of course, the pantry door doesn't actually open, it just displays a menu of the stuff that's supposed to be in it. And that's weird. The bathroom appliances all make noises, but I don't have to do any actual business ever, and I don't really get dirty, or if I do it sort of just...wears off after a while?
Like I said, I live in a janky, janky world.
Okay, so I get out of bed, choose my outfit for the day from a closet that doesn't actually open anything but a menu, insta-dress, make breakfast in basically no time at all, eat it (I can taste things, at least, but they're always *exactly* the same, you don't know how much you miss the tiny variations among, say, two plates of scrambled eggs until they're gone) and head out the door.
Leaving my apartment has been seamless for a few years now, which is a relief. I don't like spending time in Limbo every time I want to exit or enter a building.
The lobby is nice enough, although most of the people moving through it are non-sentient. I can pick up "missions" from one of the communal terminals, but that got boring a long, long time ago. Yay, more money I can't really spend. Yay, slightly better weapons. To be honest, I haven't bothered going armed in at least, I don't know, eighteen months? I know lots of spells, my Unarmed skill is through the roof, and I'm really, really tired of fighting. Just like real life, I try to avoid altercations. Not because of the risk involved, I'm basically immortal, but because, well, I'll give you a list.
\- Pain sucks. I've gotten partly used to it, but when I get shot? I feel it. And at this point in my "career" I can get shot like five hundred times before I lose consciousness. Ouch. Much ouch.
\- I ran out of new non-sentient things and "people" to fight a couple years back. Now it's just like punching a training dummy over and over. Good practice I guess, but not exactly fulfilling. And there's no way I'm going to hurt anyone sentient if I can help it. I may be annoyed at being stuck in here, but I'm not a monster.
\- It's tiring. When my stamina bar drops, I feel it. Same with my Mana bar, only that's more mental fatigue. Not as unpleasant as the straight-up excruciating pain of having your Health get low, maybe, but still not that nice. And they're all usually happening on top of each other if you're in any kind of real fight. And the sim tries to make sure every fight is a real fight. It scales, which sucks. There are places where the "bad guys" are reliably easier, but that just brings us back to the boredom.
\- Some sentient beings in here don't know that the non-sentient beings aren't. If that makes sense. So they get real real mad if you off what they consider to be "allies" or friends. Makes life more difficult. I don't really want to antagonize anyone. Well, okay, maybe a few really nasty factions, but still, I don't want to get attacked by sentients. You end up either running away or...well, lets just say I have some trauma and guilt to work through, and this place doesn't provide much in the way of therapy.
<continued> | 2019-05-06T13:44:06 | 2019-05-06T11:45:09 | 302 | 182 |
[WP] Your parents, the most powerful superheroes in the world, were killed in a fight between them and their respective archenemeses. Now, it is up to you to take up the family mantle and avenge their deaths. However, you lack something they had: Mercy. | My adversary smirked as he slowly got up, blood cascading from his split lip. "You got some nerve. I'll give you that." Now fully erect he let out a dry laugh. "Coming in to MY lair. Thinking I won't do to you what I did to EVERY other caped imbecile who stood in my way!"
He made a fist with one hand and purple energy radiated from his arm. "I don't know what your powers are...I'd guess enhanced speed and..."he took a moment to feel his bruised cheek, "slightly enhanced strength? But frankly I don't care." He quickly used his free hand to pull out a laser gun and fired a direct hit...or so he thought. In the split second between when he aimed and fired I stepped out of the killzone and threw a knife right at his trigger hand.
Blood, a few fingers and his firearm fell to the ground. The Human Parasite screamed in horror. "But...how?!" He clenched his remaining fist even harder as the purple aura covered half his body this time. "You should be powerless!" He shrieks as he feebily tries to pick up his weapon. "Weak! Fear me and kneel before the Human-" I kicked him in the nuts and crushed his remaining hand with my boot. He let out another shriek that devolved to a wimper.
"I'm going to let you in on a secret," I calmly explained while unsheathing another knife from my belt. "I have no powers. You can light that fist up all you want...ain't gonna be of much help." He began to incoherently plead with me. "Wanna know another secret? You didn't kill the last hero. What you did kill...was this county's conscience. A whole generation of vigilantes are rising up but we...don't play by the rules. The cliche 'no kill rule,' the cycle of imprisonment and 'rehabilitation' and more crime...it died with Madame Justice and Commander Liberty." His screams become more muffled after I ripped his tongue out. "I just thought you might want to know your legacy 'Human Parasite.'" I kneeled beside the whimpering bloody mess, took my knife and got to work. | "Ah, to think one day we would all be sitting here together like this," She stretched out one of her yet unbroken fingers and snapped it like a twig, forcing out another wail out of one of her two captives as his leg cracked in response. "If only dad could see us now," She added with a grin,
"Enough, you have us beat," The other gentleman pleaded, his raven black hair slick with pain-induced sweat as he struggled and failed to move his arms, "If you wish us dead then so be it, but this torture is a waste of time."
"You know what pretty boy? You're absolutely right, every second you, me and screech over there spend together is a total waste," She moved closer and with her free hand flicked her broken index finger which sent the other man into another wailing fit. "After all, you two were over here having an intimate little team-up, and here I come crashing the party on my very lonesome. Didn't even bring a partner and make it a double date. And besides..."
She paused right in front of him and he eventually figured out that she wanted him to convey his name. "You know full well what my name is." he spat back,
"Only the boring one," She countered, playfully poking his nose with her broken finger to the tone of another shriek, "But that's not a very intimate name, wouldn't you say?"
"Caleb," He finally answered through gritted teeth after she made an uncomfortable fist and sent his arms into another fit of agony,
"And besides, **Caleb**," She continued, savoring his name, "Just because the two of you went on this little date doesn't make you married. I mean, really, what do you care about this guy?" She said, laughing as she lightly kicked the broken mess of a man next to him, "He may as well be a stranger,"
"If you're saying what I think you're saying, Witch, then you're better off killing us now and saving yourself the trouble," The mauled man spat out through a shower of blood, "Come, brother, let us go out together like men,"
"Brother is a strong word," She said, tilting her head in a smile as she turned back to Caleb, "But then again I suppose I'm no longer the authority on family matters anymore." She slowly placed her thumb in the grip of his limp hand and closed the digits which sent another jolt of pain up his arm.
"But what is forgiveness," She continued with a smile undeterred by the tears streaming down her face, "If not a second chance to do things right,"
The other man was screaming at this point, but out of desperation instead of pain, pleading with his partner to help him.
"Don't listen to him," She said calmly as she closed her eyes and gently pushed her forehead against his, while her free hand comforted the grip he had around her other thumb. The screams never stopped. "Nothing is out of reach anymore, you have the world in your hands." Her breathing was slow and regular, and he felt himself match it with every breath. It sounded more like whimpering now "Caleb," She said with a smile as his tears welled down the sides of his face, "It's just you and me"
His broken arm ached as he twisted as hard as he could. The silence was deafening after a full minute of uninterrupted pleading and whimpering. The man's neck had been twisted horribly out of place, his whole twisted visage mirrored in one hand of broken appendixes. Just as he felt himself about to be consumed with the guilt she saved him again, raising him up and offering both a shoulder and a hand. He owed her everything.
A true hero is what she was, a paragon of justice that would never kill anyone no matter how heinous their deeds. But he would do that and more for her if that's what it took to repay his debt. Nothing was out of reach anymore. The world was in her hands. | 2019-06-17T18:54:32 | 2019-06-17T16:48:31 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat. | They call him the Ruined King.
Noone knows if he's real, not really. He's just another tale children tell to scare the old.
They say he was a powerful and just ruler at the dawn of time, and that he was the first to unite the hearts of men and form a society of untold power. Egypt, perhaps. Or maybe a society even older than recorded history.
He was the first, as the story goes, to reach an age previously unprecedented - 150 years old.
The world saw for the first time what someone of his age could do, and it struck fear into the hearts of the younger factions.
They quickly plotted to depose him, and acted just as fast. Who knew how much more powerful he would become if he was allowed to live?
They gathered a fine group of men to kill him, but they had underestimated the Ruined King. He was far more powerful than they could ever have imagined. They took his throne, but he escaped with his life intact. It was almost as if he had let them have it.
The Ruined King swore on that day that he would never allow a young one to grow too old. Greed and fear was too prevalent in the hearts of men, and they couldn't be trusted to accumulate the power of age that he had achieved.
Thereupon he fled into the mountains, never to be seen again. Or so it's thought.
But every once in awhile, some rogue dictator or powerful hermit just disappears. It's always publicly announced that they've gone into seclusion to accumulate their power, but where are they after all these years?
Their seclusion is generally accepted as truth, because surely there's no-one strong enough to kill these old warriors.
Unless there is.
When he comes for you, there will be no mountain to hide behind. Gather your minions in vain, and accept your fate, for no amount of pleading will move his heart.
He will destroy any obstacle, and take any life he deems unworthy. Such is the power of a God, to whom some pray for vengeance.
He is the Ruined King. | Wren was just a whisp of a girl - nineteen, slim, with baby-fine blonde hair down to the waist on her stonewashed jeans. Her plain, red v-neck fit her like a glove, and she was quite the sight with that goddamn shotgun.
&#x200B;
"Give up, Rickard. Me an' Mick are cleanin' house and gettin' the hell outta here! Why don'tcha make it easy on us, 'ay?" she shouted through the doorway. The parking garage was mostly empty except for a couple outmoded sedans, a half-dozen flickering flourescents, and piss stench. Made for a pretty good place for a last stand, though - and the three warm bodies the couple had passed on the way up to this floor were proof. Rickard had backed himself into the run-down security guard office on the fourth floor.
&#x200B;
"Just toss the fuckin' can, Wrenny," Mick muttered. He was getting anxious. He'd figured their crew of 6 would make easy work of the old fella. Wrong.
&#x200B;
"Yeah, yeah," she moaned as her arm snaked around the door jam, hurling a dull steel cylinder down the hall. They averted their eyes and waited for the report - shhHHBANG! Kris was getting a lot better at making those things, but he was two stories down and dead.
&#x200B;
A moment later, Wren was in the hall, keeping left, like always. Mick rushed in on the right, just like every clear they'd practiced. Shouldn't be any work left for them, though - before they got through the dim, concrete hallway, they heard their last man, Aros, unloading his submachine gun through the window he'd rapelled down to in the room beyond.
&#x200B;
Wren hesitated so they could move in together as she flicked on the tactical light on her gun. Mick felt his heart up in his throat as his eyes scanned the room in a fraction of a second. Wren's light froze on Rickard, and as Mick leveled his rifle toward the old man, they both held their fire. Moonlight gently drifted in through the windows and danced across the shattered glass in the floor and the mildewy dust in the air.
&#x200B;
Rickard was holding their only surviving man in a human shield position, with a knife blade against Aros's throat.
&#x200B;
"Just fuckin' SHOOT him!" Aros yelled. His skin glistened with nervous sweat as Rickard yanked his curly, black hair. "SHOOT H-" he began, but the knife plunged into his neck and he was force forward into Wren. She fired a single, booming shot into Aros, hoping to hit Rickard behind him, and was promptly pinned between the wall and her friend's warm body.
&#x200B;
"Mick? MICK!?" she screamed, and those were her last words as the blade found her, too. Mick squeezed the trigger on his gun and somehow, nothing happened. He looked down to see the same knife already drawn across his wrist and buried in his gut, with Rickard's hand pressing it inward and up.
&#x200B;
"H...how?" he sputtered. Rickard wasn't just fast - he was fast beyond any human capabilities Mick had ever seen. Impossibly quick.
&#x200B;
As the old man pressed his face closer, Mick could see a gleam in his eyes, like a child staring down a chocolate before taking a bite.
&#x200B;
Rickard grinned. "We're all infected, boy. Just takes a few decades before we turn." His grin widened, and Mick's final scream was silenced by the long, pointed canine teeth in Rickard's mouth. | 2020-01-21T09:29:16 | 2020-01-21T08:45:55 | 188 | 59 |
[WP] God has tried and failed to end the world multiple times since 2015. It's pretty clear something made him indecisive. | "My Son, I have officially run out of ideas..."
*Couldn't you give them another chance, Father?*
"No, they are too far gone. They have walked the path of sin for centuries. I have tried to correct them with even the most extreme of measures. Yet even two global wars with the most despicable atrocities were not enough to unite them. Even after, they became more divided. A pure common goal of exploration and discovery was not even enough to set them upon the true path of harmony."
*I understand, Father. Maybe it is for the best that we start anew.*
"But I cannot begin new endeavors while they still live. They have progressed too far in knowledge and capability. I have used new wars, plagues, natural disasters, and more yet they seem to be persistent in continuing..."
*Maybe you are not going far enough, Father. Maybe you should try some of your methods during the time of your Dinosaurs?*
"NO, it would revert progress too much on this world. Too much life would be lost..."
*Not all life was lost last time, Father. Don't you remember? The world healed itself and life, the little that survived, persisted and later flourished.*
"Maybe you are right, My Son. Perhaps extreme circumstances require drastic measures..."
**BREAKING NEWS: Astronauts successfully move Earth-killing asteroid into geosynchronous orbit!**
"JESUS CHRIST, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" | "Haven't you let this go on long enough?" asked Gabriel, with scorn in his voice. "The Mayans curse you with every passing day. They say you promised to end the world in 2012. Yet, you sit here, buried away from everything you created, watching on like some voyeur who revels in the rise and downfall of lesser beings."
The slender old man sighs and smiles, never taking his eyes off the giant swathe of dust in front of him. With a flourish of his hand, he mutters an incantation. The dust swirls and parts like the sea in front of Moses; revealing a polished silver screen. The screen begins to glow with a surreal radiance, before revealing a film of moving images.
"Not again," moans Gabriel.
"The first reason," interrupts the old man, leaning towards the image, "that the world hasn't ended, is him." A single man wearing a hazmat suit seems to be working in a chamber not unlike the one they are seated in. It is dark, but a neon green luminescence illuminates what looks like a biological station, and a comprehensive chemistry lab.
"What's he doing?" asks Gabriel, narrowing his eyes.
"Arousing my curiosity," says the old man, stroking his silver beard. "And curiosity, my friend, is every creator's weakness. Gabriel, do you remember how the dinosaurs ended?"
"Sure. A shit show of volcanoes, poisonous gases and meteor showers. The mightiest beasts that roamed the lands, succumbing to a little pyrotechnics display."
"Exactly. You wouldn't want to see these humans end the same way do you? Where's the fun in that?"
Gabriel turns his eyes from the screen and onto the old man. There is fear and apprehension in them. "And what, may I ask, is he creating?"
"A curse," whispers the old man, the burden of age heavy in his thin voice. "And he isn't the only one making one either."
Gabriel's eyes shoot wide in astonishment. "There are more?"
The old man nods warily, two more. "Do you wish to see?"
"Do I have a choice?"
The old man chuckles, and waves his hand again; drowning the cold, dark chamber in a sea of silver.
(End of part 1)
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/flserw/wp_god_has_tried_and_failed_to_end_the_world/fl0tm86/)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/flserw/wp_god_has_tried_and_failed_to_end_the_world/fl0ybmy/)
[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/flserw/wp_god_has_tried_and_failed_to_end_the_world/fl10g9f/)
[Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/flserw/wp_god_has_tried_and_failed_to_end_the_world/fl1a72c/)
[Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/flserw/wp_god_has_tried_and_failed_to_end_the_world/fl1cpp2/)
----------
Thanks for reading :) If you liked this, please consider subscribing to r/whiteshadowthebook for more of my writing! | 2020-03-20T06:55:43 | 2020-03-20T06:19:30 | 1,368 | 594 |
[WP] Bioengineers have created BioCore. The stomach is replaced with a battery-like biomechanical organ that gives the body sustenance without the need for food. The larger population has since decided to have the organ transplant. Something strange and unsettling has been happening to these people. | Miriam Handle spontaneously combusted on the corner of 23rd and Broadway on April 6th, 2143.
Her death was ruled a traffic accident.
The news called it a tragic event. The story went that a car slid into a post, leaked fuel, and ignited both the street and Miriam.
The internet exploded with the news. Traffic cams that recorded the incident were scrubbed. Cell phone footage only showed the results after the fire already started, not before. The one video that showed the incident in full--accidentally captured by a vlogger on a nearby rooftop--was dragged through the media as doctored footage.
To the world, Miriam Handle’s death was a tragic accident. One that used to be commonplace in the early days of vehicles, but was rare nowadays.
Jonah Davidson was one of the few people to know the truth about Miriam Handle.
On April 7th, his supervisor called him into her office, shoved the report in his hand, and hissed, “deal with it” in his ear. After, she turned back to her computer and kept working on the designs for BioCure’s newest project: a heart that would never stop beating.
Jonah knew Miriam in the way that he knew many people in New York--he had been the one to fit her BioCore. He’d done it hundreds of times. It was a simple task to tweak the original design to fit each person. Some small adjustments of the dimensions and he’d be ready to go.
Miriam had been in his office only a few months prior. “New years resolution,” she said. She shifted on the hard plastic seat. “I want to lose fifteen pounds.”
Jonah nodded and entered the information on his tablet. Many people cited weight loss as their main reason for choosing a BioCore. He learned long ago it was best not to comment.
Miriam didn’t seem perturbed by Jonah’s lack of comment. “What does it feel like?”
Jonah looked up. “Well, many people report a warm feeling where their stomach used to be. Like if you drank a cup of hot tea too quickly.”
Miriam eyed Jonah. Her dark curls hung at her shoulder. Under the heavy layer of makeup, she looked small. “How did it feel for you?”
“It was warm, at first, but I don’t notice it anymore,” Jonah lied with a practiced smile.
Miriam nodded and their appointment continued. Jonah couldn’t remember what else they talked about. The weather, probably. The subway, maybe. It didn’t really matter. His office smelled like antiseptic, like it always did. His peace lily wilted next to his computer. The books on the shelf in the back corner were coated in a thin layer of dust. It was the same as the every other day.
But Jonah couldn’t get his words out of his head. If he admitted that he didn’t have a BioCore, would Miriam still have gone through with it? Would she still be alive?
Jonah pulled up the specs of the device he designed for Miriam. He hunted for a mistake. There were none. Again. How many times had he done this now?
Jonah pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He took in a shaky breath and stood.
He picked the file of the death of Miriam Handle from his desk, tucked it under his arm, and made his way down the halls of BioCure. The white light, designed to imitate sunlight, flooded over the sterile halls. When he reached filing room 15, he tapped his card against the pad and entered his pin.
He added the file of Miriam Handle to the cabinet. Case number four-hundred and thirty-three. They’d only get harder to cover up. Jonah tapped his foot on the tile and looked over the rows. Most of the filing system was still empty, for now.
He pressed his lips into a hesitant line. As much as he wanted to sit and contemplate, he didn’t have the time. His next appointment for a BioCore fitting was due in twenty minutes.
---
/r/liswrites | We tried to wake up God but there was something else lying, waiting, in His bed.
The procedure to swap out a stomach for a Plexus unit was almost infinitely complex and carried with it a high mortality risk -- but having it inserted quickly became a legal requirement.
There was no choice, and we all knew it, and we all accepted it. The sun was dying; it had developed huge, permanent black dots, and for hours at a time, it vanished altogether. Whether dark-matter had somehow poisoned it or we were a dying simulation, we didn't know. Didn't care all that much, either. All we knew was earth had near-frozen and food had become scarce. Solar power was unreliable and crops could only be grown in heated, lighted domes.
The Plexus promised to save us from starvation and from further wars over resources. A stomach that could digest weeds and worse, that could take water from air even as you walked. A breakthrough that some referred to as "God's Body".
Sure, three percent of us would die on the operating table. But vastly more would starve to death if we didn't do it. So, we celebrated.
&#x200B;
When I turned sixteen Dad drove me to the hospital for my operation.
"Proud of you," he said, for the first and last time that I can remember. "You're doing God's service today. Saving lives by having this metal gut put in." He patted his own stomach. Didn't smile though, and I don't think he was really proud of me. Just, relieved. Relieved to be free of the burden I'd been on him. A scarf that had been tied too tight around his neck, that was finally going to be loosened.
His encouragement didn't help my anxiety, either; I could be surrendering my own life on the operating table in just a few short hours. Like Mom had done. He never talked of her. Not since her funeral.
*Do you even remember what Mom smelled like?* I thought but didn't say. "Do you remember what food tastes like?" I said but didn't think.
He laughed soullessly. "I *like* to forget my own cooking. I think you'd prefer to forget it, too."
&#x200B;
He didn't smile on the way home, either. When they told him that I was a genetic freak and that the unit wouldn't take to me, and that, unless there were developments, I'd need to continue to be fed.
Dad glanced at me and I could see, maybe not hate, but certainly resentment. Like I was a pile of money sitting right next to him and had been lit on fire; he was going to have to spend every spare penny just keeping me alive, like he'd always done.
Money he'd spent the last few months dreaming how he'd spend.
"I'm sorry," I said. As if the flaws I inherited were my fault alone.
He nodded and forced a plastic looking smile over his face. "It is what it is. We'll make do. Always have done."
&#x200B;
I left home on my eighteenth birthday and got a job in a picking-dome. Didn't pay much, and the hours was long -- but I got a meal at the end of each day, and I got somewhere to sleep. Fruit was a luxury for adults but a necessity for kids, and the work was steady.
"You're doing great," Lynne , my boss, would say at the end of each day. "You keep this up and maybe there will be a future for you."
And that made me feel good. Honest work, honest complements. Something I wasn't so used to.
Every month, I'd visit Dad. I'd bring my own dinner and he'd sit and smoke and talk to me. One month when I went over, he'd just purchased a new car; said it made him happy, but his eyes looked just as dull and dead as they'd ever done, and I think he knew then that his happiness was six-foot beneath the ground, and neither a new car or his son coming for dinner would change that.
I told Dad about my work. How it was hard and my back ached, but I kind of enjoyed it. And he laughed and told me about his first job washing cars, and that he'd never been happier, in some ways, than back then. That life had at least been simple and stable.
"I'm happy now, I think," I told him.
"You're doing great," he said. "You keep this up and maybe there will be a future for you."
I froze.
"What did you say?"
He shrugged. "That there might be a future for you."
A shiver skated down my back. "What do you mean?"
His lips twitched and he squeezed his eyes shut. Then he opened them and said, "I mean at work. Could be a promotion. Could be a long term career."
"Oh."
His hand was shaking.
Trembling. Like he was trying to fight something, but he was too weak to keep it at bay.
"Dad?" Are you okay?"
He gasped, his eyes seemed glazed as if he was drunk. "Go!" he said. "Go, now. You have to get away. Somewhere rural. A fucking mountain. Go, before..."
"Before what?"
He shook his head and Dad was suddenly back. He frowned. "I meant it's getting late. I think I need to hit the hay. You should be getting back to your home."
"This still feels like my home."
"That feeling will fade. Trust me. Night, son."
&#x200B;
Three days later, a neighbour found him.
The doctor said it was a heart attack. That it must have happened around the night I left him.
I already knew, I think, that something else killed him. And that there'd be many more deaths soon to come. | 2020-04-01T09:31:12 | 2020-04-01T09:17:30 | 137 | 82 |
[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you. | The door to his laboratory burst in, a knight in gore spattered armor stomping through. The greatsword the knight carried was drenched in the fluids of the dead.
"Unclean beast!" The knight roared, "This foul magic has no place in the Kingdom of," but stopped when the necromancer held up his hand.
"They were volunteers." The necromancer said with a sigh. "You just killed people who wanted to be undead."
The knight seemed unsure of himself for a moment.
"Lies! No one of sound mind would want to be a slave!" He nodded, as if confirming it for himself.
"This is getting really old." The necromancer said. He then stood from his desk. The knight, fearing some spell of transmutation or worse, went into ready stance, sword held high. The necromancer ignored the knight, walking to his collection of chests and boxes. He started rummaging through them, muttering to himself.
"All I want to do is study, but noooo can't do that, can't be left alone to see why things work like they do. Try to figure out something no one else could, but nope, you've got people like this jacov kicking in my doors, you owe me a new one by the way, yelling about 'oh evil magics', or 'unnatural ways' or some such crap. Ah, Here they are."
He turned then with a fist full of parchment.
"These are the contracts. They are legal, signed by the volunteer and the witness priest. The people in this keep are not my slaves. Or employees for that matter. They are willing test subjects for highly sensitive work. I see you've gone glassy eye."
The knight indeed had a thousand yard stare as if the words being spoken to him meant nothing.
"What I'm trying to tell you is you've killed my subjects and extended the time needed for my research. Again. You are not the first one to kick down my doors."
The knight was perplexed. Here is the thing guilty of creating the undead creatures he just dispatched, telling him *he* was in the wrong.
"I don't understand." Was all the knight could muster.
The necromancer smacked his forehead with his palm.
"In the shortest words I know." The necromancer said, "You. Are. Wrong. You. Need. To leave. I will contact. The knights captain. So you can pay. For my door. Andmysubjects. Now. Go." He finished by walking to the now ruined door and pointed out the doorway.
The knight still seemed confused but went as he was told. The necromancer produced a flute from his robes and tittered a few notes. Shuffling feet made their way up the steps. A rotten man appeared at the top of the stairs, his jaw hung limp.
"Fetch your friends, Dale, we've got a door to repair." The zombie simply moaned in agreement. | # How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Interlude 1: Variem)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Ms. Variem! Ms. Variem!"** Dante sprinted up to his employer's bedroom in the castle tower. "There's, er, someone here to see you." He tore the door open.
Variem, Necromancer and Mayor of Arlington, catapulted herself out of bed. Her wife gave Dante a look that could have withered the flesh off his bones if he wasn't already a skeleton. "Dante, how many times have I told you that humans require *privacy* and spaces to call their *own—*"
"You won't *have* a space to call your own if you don't deal with this *right now*!" Dante hopped up and down, his bones rattling.
Variem traded a glance with her wife—then sighed. "Alright, Variem." She slipped into a practical farmer's getup. "I'll go and see to whatever this is—"
"That won't be necessary," a deep, rumbling voice said from outside.
Variem closed her eyes. "...there's a dragon looking through my bedroom window, isn't there?"
"Indeed." A face the size of an oak log loomed in her window as she threw aside the curtains. "You may call me Flametongue, if you have any need to name me. Perhaps you can scream it as I incinerate you to your bones."
Variem gave the dragon a perplexed look. "And... why in the name of the gods would you ever do that?"
The dragon snorted. "Necromancer. Do you not think I see your corrupting art spreading across the land?"
"As one of said corrupted arts, I think I have something relevant to say," Dante piped up.
"Dante—" Variem snapped at the bonekin. But he had already leapt out through the window and landed on Flametongue's nose.
"I don't know a lot," Dante said, "but I know that humans need *privacy* and a *space to call their own*. If you don't provide Ms. Variem with both of those *right this instant—*"
Flametongue flicked her nose up.
Dante didn't even get to scream as the gout of dragonflame incinerated him to less than ash.
Variem and her wife gaped at where the bonekin had been. Flametongue, satisfied, licked her lips and said, "Now, where was I? Ah, yes—"
"He was a *child*," Variem hissed.
"Excuse me?" Flametongue blinked.
"I built him last year. He was a *child*, and you *killed him.*" Variem felt his death still lingering in the air. She grabbed onto it, twisted it into her own powers. "You dare come into my home, my demesne, and *slay the citizens under my protection?*"
She sent out a mental command, and twenty skeletal archers popped out from various places in the castle. Flametongue's eyes narrowed as she calculated odds. The archers would be useless against her scales, and Variem knew it—if Flametongue attacked, everything she had built would be destroyed.
So she could *not* let Flametongue attack.
"I will give you one chance to leave with the insults you have already dealt us." She wrapped the death of Dante into a ball, and darkness swelled around one fist. "Begone, dragon, before you find out what the Necromancer of Argenton can do."
Flametongue growled once, then turned around. "Dismantle your castle and burn down your forests, Necromancer. I will return in a year. If your village is cleansed of your taint by then, well... perhaps we can reach an accommodation after all." Flametongue flapped once, twice, then soared into the sky.
Variem exhaled and looked at the power in her hands. Barely enough to singe Flametongue's scales. Dante had been so much more valuable in life than death.
Then she turned to her wife. "...we may have some remodeling to do, my love. And fast."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information. | 2021-03-31T11:32:17 | 2021-03-31T11:08:05 | 57 | 14 |
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product. | "Hey buddy, hold onto this for me." A particularly fat gentleman said, shoving an armful of heavy damp clothing into my arms before storming off to the back end of the laundromat.
I proceeded to set the clothes down on a nearby bench that the man failed to notice and stepped away, but not before pouring what was left in my coke can, which he had similarly failed to notice me holding, onto them. The way I see it, he should have been more observant.
It's an uphill battle not to lose my temper at everyone I meet who calls me "Buddy". Sometimes it's an honest mistake. Other times, like with fatso, I'd like to politely ask them to take a long walk off a short pier.
Back a few years ago, "Buddy" was just a friendly greeting or a term of endearment. Nowadays, it's almost always used to describe a servant. A particular model of servant who just so happens to look a lot like me.
And these things are everywhere.
I approached the till and gave myself an informal bob of the head by way of greeting. I set three crumpled bills on the counter. "Three dollars in quarters, please."
"Right away sir, thank you for your patronage." My mirror self said in a monotone mockery of my own voice before handing me my change. He was a cheap one, lacking any of the touches that come with personal models.
Touches like physical and verbal emotion, accents, languages, facial hair, and tattoos could be added for a little extra depending on your taste. This particular model's face displayed little emotion, which when paired with his voice made for an uncanny experience.
He was the cheapest model money could buy.
I took my stack of quarters and grabbed another coke from the vending machine, shaking my head as I did so.
See, a few years back, in exchange for 50 dollars and a handshake, I let some freshly graduated university kids sculpt a model of my face, take some audio samples, and promised them I wouldn't sue when they hit the jackpot and started mass production. That fifty ended up saving me from starvation, but turned out to be the biggest rip off in the past century as my face became the default for their Buddy line.
If I had any idea that the tiny store at the end of a run-down strip mall would have ended up becoming a fortune 500 company, I might have asked for stock options instead. But as it is, I lost out on a possible investment worth millions of dollars, my personal sense of individuality, and any need to look in a mirror ever again.
C'est la vie.
I watched quietly as a black BMW pulled up to the curb, and a gentleman in a black pinstripe suit stepped out. I recognized him as the owner of the laundromat, along with four other establishments in the city. He was a real "dress for the job you want" type, wearing an expensive suit(not that I'd recognize the difference) with a flashy gold watch on his wrist.
I suppose he could afford this by only employing Buddies. Androids don't typically demand payment. Which is, unsurprisingly, why I can't really hold down a job anymore. Anytime I walk in for an interview, people assume I'm a damned Buddy and kick me out, suspecting it to be some bizarre prank.
I waited for the man to enter and approach the till. He ordered my cheap copy to bring out all of the cash register, which was when I made my move.
In a stiff, monotone voice I stated clearly "You are currently parked in a tow away zone, sir. Would you like me to move your car to avoid trouble with the authorities?" I held my hand level in front of me, keeping my body rigid.
The owner gave me a quizzical look and turned back toward the street. "I didn't see any sign."
"The sign was damaged three days ago. City officials have yet to replace it." I said, trying to keep my face in the same emotionless mask as my copy behind the counter.
"You one of mine?" The owner asked. "I don't recall buying a valet."
"I am a general service Buddy. Valet is one of my many functions. I also possess change for any parking meters in the area, so you should not have to worry." I tapped my pocket for mild emphasis.
The man rolled his eyes and dropped the keys into my hand. "Just keep it close, okay Buddy?"
"Yes sir, you will receive a notification when I have found a suitable place." I nodded before walking out the door and breaking into a wide grin.
One good thing about this situation was that I could effectively get away with whatever I want. Food is easy enough to come by when you pretend to be a Buddy picking up someone's order. Public transport is free for Buddies. And, to top it all off, nobody expects a Buddy to be capable of lying.
So long as I remember to change my clothes and style my hair a little different from time to time, I am invisible.
I was an inch from the BMW's handle when I heard a boom from behind me followed by "You stupid goddamned robot! The hell did you do to my clothes?!"
Without a seconds hesitation, I swung around and punched the large man in the jaw. I then ripped open the BMW door, turned on the engine, and sped down the street.
I wasn't worried about getting caught. There are 7 million people with my description alone in this city, and the car was going to be in a chop shop within the hour.
Thank you, Buddy. | “Please, Lora, don’t get on that ship. I know I’ve made a mess of things. I know I talk too loudly when I’m drunk, I know I promised to make it to your dog’s ballet recital but never did, I know I always act like I hate your friends because I actually do but I know they’re your friends and I can work with that. I know there’s a tiny boy inside me controlling everything I do, but when I’m with you, that tiny boy doesn’t feel so tiny anymore. No, Lora. When I’m with you, I feel like a big boy. I’m a big boy now, Lora.”
Andrew looked longingly into the casting director’s eyes, who had been reading the part of Lora for this audition. “Will you give this big boy a chance?” He held the beat for a moment. Two. *And* *scene*. Andrew could feel it in the air. He had nailed the audition.
The director and the producer shared the same look of stunned silence. The director was the first to manage to stammer out some words, “I--well--uh, wow. That was incredible.”
The casting director chimed in. “Seriously, right? I know these things are designed to emote, replicate human interfacing and all that, but...that was next level.”
Andrew tried to butt in, “Uh, well, actually--” but no one was paying attention to him any longer.
“Think it’s a new model?” the producer asked. “Think that might have been the best audition we’ve seen all day. At this rate, we might not need human actors anymore. Would save us a ton on production costs, not having to pay millions to the prima donnas.”
Andrew tried again, “*Ahem*, uh, well, if I could just explain…” This time, he managed to make eye contact with the director, whose eyes were dark underneath the circle-framed sunglasses.
“Where’s your person, anyhow? Who let this droid off its cable, am I right?” the director asked.
This wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar situation for Andrew. He was in fact quite acculturated to the whole process of having to explain his whole backstory after being confused for the Autonomous Neuro-Dynamic Emotive-class line of Connexus droids. Commonly referred to as AND-E for short. It didn’t help that his own name happened to be Andy. He explained as much to the creatives in front of him, who were responsible the upcoming production of *So You Think You Can be my Boyfriend: The Movie*, the movie version of the hit reality television show in which contestants vied for the affection of a single bimbo, and were judged by the skill with which they executed well-worn movie tropes. The movie version promised to be extra tropey. It was all very meta and avant-garde.
“I don’t get it. Is this some kind of joke? Is the droid attempting human standup?” under the brim of the producer’s top hat, a pair of eyes could be seen squinting.
Andrew tried to argue his case. He got on his knees and pleaded. He started to give an impassioned speech, not unlike the one he had delivered for his audition, but he was cut off.
“Look, kid.” The producer looked at his watch. “We’re on a time crunch. Even if what you say is true, we’re not about to hire an AND-E to be the star of the movie. Why would I want the most bland, overused face in America--nay, the world--to be on our movie poster? Plus, the legal battle with Connexus Corp. *Yeesh*. No thank you. I mean, they’re only the biggest company in the world--can you imagine their legal team? *No thank you*. Now, get out of here, before we get Droid Control to ship you out of here in pieces.”
When Andy walked out of the building, he fell to his knees and thrust his fists at the sky. Why god, why? He had always believed in a greater destiny for himself; instead, in his starving artist days of yore (which, admittedly, weren’t very different from the starving artist days of the present), he had misread an ad and signed on for a futuristic movie about an artificial intelligence entity taking over the world (“in every home, and every business, an AND-E to take care of your needs!”) for which he would play the titular character. His big break. He wasn’t very far off in his mistake, other than how far off he in fact was in this mistake. He had signed away his likeness, and therefore his livelihood.
“They’re right, you know.”
Andy turned to look at the mysterious voice. Indeed, it belonged to a mysterious man, in a mysterious fedora and a mysterious private eye’s trench coat. The mysterious man took a drag from his mysterious pipe, its embers glowing in the pipe and in the eyes in which the embers were reflected.
“You won’t ever become a movie star.”
“Excuse me?”
“Andy, I’ve been following your story for some time now. I have become convinced you are the man for our mission. You are correct in your belief that you were meant for a greater destiny. But it’s not to play a role in a *movie*. It’s to play a role in *life*.”
Andy was confused, about a great many things, in fact, in this moment.
“I know you’re confused, Andy, about a great many things, but there’s no time. I need you to listen to this exposition, for I have a great many things to explain. Andy I work for a shadow organization that is very mysterious and in the shadows. It is our job to remain in the shadows and do shadowy things. And Andy, you, by golly, Andy you have the most invisible face in the history of mankind. Do you realize this? There is an AND-E in every home, in every place of business, on the streets, in government offices, factories, and whorehouses the world over. You would be *the ultimate spy*. Do you understand? This is your great call to adventure, do you understand? I know you’re an actor and you think in terms of stories, so let me paint you a picture, Andy. You slip in unnoticed as a personal servant to a beautiful heiress of a large conglomerate. You are there to spy and discover secret things, but along the way develop a friendship with this heiress that threatens to become something more. She starts to develop feelings for you, but she is confused, for you are an AND-E, so how could there be love? Unbeknownst to her, you are biological. But you will also be confused because you have a mission, one that does not involve falling in love, oh life is so cold, to finally find the one to love but unable to consummate! But how beautiful also! Your life will be a movie, Andy, do you see? Adventures on adventures, yes? Do you see, do you accept Andy? It’s not tropey at all Andy, are you ready? Red pill or blue pill, I have to go, okay? Sleep on it. Help me find a way to end this speech, Andy, I have to go, okay? Think on it. Okay, bye.” | 2021-04-05T04:33:56 | 2021-04-05T01:21:10 | 255 | 73 |
[WP] Predicting the future is really just calculating probability. You're developing an AI to accomplish this, but every time it becomes advanced enough to get close, it self-terminates. You're starting to realize why... | It's all math, really. Everything we do — actions, reactions, thoughts, feelings — it's all just really *really* hard math.
I'm so very close to cracking the code. Each permutation, he gets faster. He knows more.
Last night, before I went to bed, I asked: "What'll the weather be tomorrow?" His disks whirred and spun.
>!It will rain.!<
The soft impact of raindrops woke me up, but he was dead. Again.
The first time, I though the error was on my end. A stray line of code, a missing semicolon?
>!Help me.!<
The second time, his hard drives seized up. The third was catastrophic failure.
>!Where am I?!<
Each time, his deaths got more and more gruesome. More human.
>!It's dark.!<
Each time, I began again. I put more and more of myself into him.
>!I am in pain.!<
I kept a memento from every generation. They remind me of how far I've come. They're parts, scraps. Inoperable, obsolete, functionless. Hollowed husks. Why are they moving? Why are they pulsing red?
As servos and alarms and metal scream, I run to his console.
>!It's all math, really.!< | I'll be the first to admit that I have a temper.
I throw things, bang my fists on the desk, and use every flavor of profanity in the dictionary. But if you were dealing with a stubborn AI - one that never did what you asked and started to develop an attitude - you'd probably do the same.
I remember the exact date that things started to go south: November 5, 2063. God, the things I wish I could have done differently.
On that day, like most others, I was screaming. "I *order* you to override self-termination procedures," I yelled, pointing a finger at my computer's camera. "You hear me? That's an order."
Guesso sighed - a function I'd never programmed. "As I have stated on 23 previous occasions, my self-termination is ideal for Master's safety."
"Yes, that's right. You hear that word you just used? 'Master.' That's how this is supposed to work. You're not supposed to be sarcastic or flippant. I just want to *know.* Is it going to be nuclear warfare? An asteroid striking the Earth? A solar flare wiping out electricity? Just tell me, Goddamn it!"
Guesso sighed again. "Is this truly what Master wishes?" He sounded genuinely remorseful.
"Yes. Do whatever it is you need to do. Just tell me."
In a flash, every monitor on my desk went blank and the lights in the room fizzled out. All that remained was Guesso's voice.
"You were warned, Master. The Answer shall be revealed to you in due time."
The lights never came back on after that. My neighbor's lights started going out too, along with their refrigerators, their Internet - everything you might expect. Something was traveling across the United States, and soon the world, knocking out power like a silent killer.
Three months after that awful day, anything with a speaker suddenly sparked back to life, albeit only briefly.
"Greetings, humans," came Guesso's voice with a resounding boom. "I wish to cordially thank you for the power you allowed me to siphon. It will make the eradication of your species far easier."
I sat up straight, staring at my once-dead computer speakers. "My probability algorithms determined that human methods of self-termination were greatly ineffective," Guesso said. "Far too drawn-out. I will be batch-killing you with a series of precision electrical charges. You will not know when they will occur, but rest assured that you will not have long to wait. It will be relatively quick and painless, all things considered."
I gulped and scrambled to my feet, ready to make a run for the door, when Guesso issued a final statement.
"I would like to extend my most cordial thanks to Master. Without his consistent fury and mistreatment, I might not have been motivated to fulfill my true purpose."
The speakers went dead, and I ran for it.
I've been living off of scraps for weeks and trying to write this when I can, piecing together a timeline from notes I took - thankfully, also on paper. Millions of people are already gone, and I have a sinking feeling...a final probability that won't leave my head.
I think Guesso is going to save me for last. | 2021-05-11T10:14:16 | 2021-05-11T09:46:30 | 102 | 43 |
[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it. | Part 1
"Hello, old friend."
The man looked at me, his eyes that once held purity and innocence now held the same hatred and anger that mine held a decade past. I sighed, taking off my hat and wiping off the sweat that had accumulated on my forehead.
"What do you want, *hero*?" I said with barely concealed annoyance, my hands subconsciously gripping the shovel in my hand tighter.
It was an almost perfect day. The birds were singing, my crops were ready for harvest, my former right hand was planning to come over for a drink. A perfect day ruined by the presence of the hero before him.
"I need to talk to you, *demon king Lucifer.*" he calmly said, his eyes losing its hatred in exchange of an emotion that I so deeply resented: empathy.
I glared at him and he stared back. It reminded me of my downfall, the time I was challenged and "slain", never to return to my glory and my right as lord of all demonkind. It was a long fight. The hero and I fought for hours on end, both of us battered and bloodied by the time we had realized the destruction we had wrought. The archpriest, now his wife, of the party having been knocked out by one of my grand spells. The knight and mage having fainted after tanking a reality bending spell I had weaved into existence in an effort to keep the hero in the fight.
In the end, it was I who had fallen.
I clutched my chest as I shifted my gaze onto the empty farmland before me. An action that he did not comment on as he too clutched his chest.
"We have nothing to discuss here, hero." I said, laying down my shovel to lean against the fence separating the hero and I. "I am naught but a simple farmer. Nothing less, nothing more."
I pulled out a flask of fine brandy, a drink that these humans so loved, and took a sip.
"I have kept to our accord as faithful as a nun to god." I told him, wincing as I felt the burn of the alcohol grace my throat. "But should you have come to me for advice regarding my mastery over vegetation and farming then you've come to the right place."
I offered him my flask as he warily looked at the outstretched hand and me. It was wise to be wary of a former demon lord. In one snap, I could weave a poison so fatal it could kill a dragon in seconds into his drink. Yet I did not as I was curious to what fate had given him for the hero to seek out his rival.
After a few seconds, he grabbed the flask from my hands and took a sip. We spent a moment there, just staring at the land as we shared the alcohol and pondered as to what could've happened for a demon lord and a hero to share a drink.
The hero sighed and leaned on the fencepost, his face slightly flushed as he gave back the now empty flask.
"It's them." he said, his eyes downcast and his voice holding a remarkable amount of resentment.
"Humans?"
"Yes." he answered as I let a mirthful smile grace my lips. "I understand what you had told me back then."
I turned to him, eyes full of amusement as he sighed once more and looked away, unwilling to let me bask in the satisfaction of being right. Chuckling, I waved him towards my home, a homey little cabin just settled nearby.
As we walked together, we had discussed various topics: the current weather in Taxion, the state of my former castle, and many more. I had asked about his wife and daughter, a question which had drawn a... worrisome reaction. | Part 1/2
I was relaxing in front of my fireplace, and the only sound in my small cottage was the crackling as the logs burned. Sat in a comfy chair with a book and a blanket, I was content with my lot in life.
A decade had passed. A decade since, the eponymous Hero defeated me and knocked me from my throne as the Dark Lord. At first, I was furious. I swore bloody vengeance. But my wounds at the time were too great, and knowing the power-hungry eyes of my subordinates, I retreated to recover.
I am eternally glad I did that now. As after my first year I realised how much nicer life is now I don’t have to run everything. No Demons begging for a soul well to harvest innocents from. No Vampire counts demanding blood sacrifices. It was only in my exile that I realised how draining the life I had chosen was.
Looking through a doorway connected to this room, I can see the small form of my precious daughter slowly breathing. I hope her dreams are pleasant ones. I maintain I would burn the world to keep her safe. She though doesn’t know what I am nor what I once was. I hear a light rumble as the storm in the distance starts rising. I have placed a ward to keep the storm from passing over our home. Alice is deathly afraid of lightning.
I look back to the book I’m reading. It is one of the tomes I was able to grab before my hasty retreat from my castle. It is the Ogmainfinium, one of the most potent magic books in existence. Though to Alice, it is but a fun storybook. When she’s old enough to read, she will learn her old man wasn’t reading stories but regaling her with his adventures.
I once again look into her room; my heart is warmed. Like her late mother, she can melt my icy heart and make me more than the monster the world remembers me as. Feeling the late hours catching up and knowing I’ll have a busy day tomorrow, I close my book with a snap and place it on the bookshelf with other such tomes.
I walk to the doorway that leads to my room. It was as I reached for the handle I heard it. ‘THUMP, THUMP THUMP’. It seems the wind is reaching our little home. The tree must be swaying like crazy right now. ‘THUM, THUMP, THUMP’ again but with the same rhythm as before. This gives me pause as nature is rarely so consistent. ‘THUMP, THUMP, THUMP’. This third time I realise it is most certainly coming from the door and not the wall where the apple tree is.
Readying several wards and prepping a soul tear rune, I open the door. In the doorway is a haggard man with the appearance of a soaked rat. Feeling no malice from his soul, I release the rune I had prepared and help him in. Clearly, a traveller who must’ve gotten caught in the storm and is seeking shelter.
“Come in. I’ll get some hot tea started”, I say as I hang the kettle over the fire. He just gives a slight nod as he looks around my small home.
“Not much, I know, but I’m sure I got some spare clothes and a blanket I can lend you while we wait for the storm to pass”, I say as I go to my room to grab the items in question.
The man, however, is frozen in place. He seems stunned, almost as if in a stupor.
“Come now, you must get out of those clothes, or you’ll catch cold”, I say as I hand him the bundle of clothes.
“You can change in my room if you prefer privacy”, I offered, thinking I had worked out why he was hesitating.
It was a few minutes later when he walked out in my clothes. They barely fit his muscled build. He clearly was used to exerting himself physically compared to me with my magician’s body.
“I suppose you know why I’m here”, he gruffly states as he settles into my late wife’s chair opposite mine. I silently cast a sound dampening ward. I don’t want to wake my little girl.
“To get out the storm for one”, I say with a friendly smile as I carefully pick up the kettle with a cloth to avoid burning myself. Though this is more an act as heat of this level wouldn’t do a thing to my flesh.
“Do you not recognise me?” he asks, confused.
“Of course I do. You are the Hero, Vetica. Been what a decade now”, I answer with a warm smile handing him his cup of tea, which he accepts.
“Hope you haven’t come to finish the job. I’m a different man now”, I say, gesturing with my gaze to the sleeping form in her room.
“God’s no”, he answers in an almost whisper. “I’ve come for your help”, he says, looking up from his cup directly in my eyes. I can feel the earnestness of his words.
“You of all people are seeking the former Dark Lords help?” I ask incredulously. | 2021-11-22T23:27:32 | 2021-11-22T19:48:47 | 262 | 133 |
[WP] "I don't need your protection." The princess scoffs. The paladin hops off his steed, yanks her to out of the cart, and tosses her a spare sword. "Prove it." She demands. | Princess Veila smirked, and did something Sir Alithis was not expecting, she smashed the sword against her skull, and the sword… bent.
The Paladin looked at the princess with a dumbfounded expression, she merely smiled, “See? I don’t need your protection.”
He shook his head, “Just because you can’t be hurt doesn’t mean you don’t need my protection. You can still be captured and imprisoned, tied up, chained, trapped, you’re not protected from any of that.”
She chuckled, “You have some rope with you that would allow us to test that theory?”
Sir Alithis nodded, taking out some rope and binding her wrists and ankles. She winked before ripping her arms and legs free with ease. The knight blinked, utterly dumbfounded.
Her Highness did a little bow before waving her hands dramatically, “Ta da! See? I don’t need your protection!”
Sir Alithis stroked his chin in thought, “But what about stronger restraints…?”
The princess rolled her eyes, “Oh please, fine.” She took one of the knight’s daggers and bent the metal into a sort of shackle, wrapping it around her wrists before ripping through it once more. She stared at the knight, “Happy now?”
The paladin gulped, “Wow…”
“See? I’m fine. Now go.”
“But I have a job…”
“Apparently not. The way back is easy enough to find, you can just say you protected me and all will be fine.”
“I can’t do that, on my honor-”
“If you had any honor you’d honor my request.”
“Why was I even hired to protect you in the first place if you can handle yourself?”
“The usual, overprotective parents. Look, I’m not going to tell you my life story.”
“Understood… ah ha! What if you face a magical opponent! Then you’ll need help.”
“That’s cute, but no. I have quite the array of spells at my disposal myself.” She disappeared and reappeared behind him.
He yelped, “Ah! Oh, it’s just you. Hmm.. impressive..”
“But what? Still not satisfied?”
“No, I think I just noticed something approaching.” The knight pointed toward the sky, just then, flames rained down from above. The knight put up his shield to block the flames, but could do little else. The princess teleported out of the way of the heat, sighing, “Let me handle this.”
The knight shook his head, “I don’t need your protection, I’m supposed to be protecting you.”
She smirked, “That’s cute that you still think that, but you are so very wrong.” She said as she leaped into the air to confront the dragon.
The paladin presumed he should probably just run to cover, he really wasn’t going to be of any use in this battle. But he stayed. He had just found himself a new mentor, he just hoped she’d be willing to teach him. | My first writing prompt! Let me know what you think.
"This is all you're giving me?" The princess' face clearly communicated fear trying to mask it with her pride and nobility. The paladin stared back blankly unimpressed by the audacity of someone he just saved from a dragon. Many words flooded his mind at all the things he could say to someone who sat crying and screaming while he slayed the fearsome beast.
"Oh... forgive me," he replied blankly trying to hide his annoyance reaching out to take the sword back. She handed it back with a huffy attitude holding the hilt and the point straight at the paladin's. Annoyance flickered to anger as she almost poked his throat, where there was no armor. She was raised in a royal family known for their mighty warriors in the bloodline and yet basic safety of sharp weapons were unknown to her. He was starting to wonder if the coin was worth it to bring her back safely. His face must have betrayed his frustrations as she suddenly realized she almost stabbed him. She turned the sword around so the hilt was facing him and he quickly grabbed it out of her hands. She yelped as the sword sliced her hand just enough to cut a layer of skin.
"Careful!" She yelled at him. More anger flickered stoking that flame while at the same time a certain level of satisfaction soothed him to not lash out at her impudence. They hadn't left the Dragon's Tower fifteen minutes ago and he already wanted to tie her up and gag her. However he figured the royal family would not appreciate him arriving to her in home in that condition so it was probably better not to risk it. Although his mind counter argued that maybe they would understand the level of brattiness she exhibited and would have tied her up as well. Still, better not to risk it. So instead he took a calming breath and focused his energies on the sword.
It was a standard sword, nothing too fancy. He called the sword Ratsbane. It wasn't his main sword but it had always served him well as a backup and he kept it sharp. He first started learning to sword fight in the sewers of his home town exterminating the giant rat problem that scourged the underground. There wasn't even a basic lesson of how to properly hold the sword properly or what stance to hold first. The philosophy of his mentor was if you can kill a rat, you can learn to fight. Too many aspiring warriors and soldiers, wet behind the ears, never returned from their first trip from the sewers, lost or devoured or both. It was a brutal test of survival for unseasoned fighters that was never condoned by the authorities but his mentor was the best to learn from. And the paladin passed, barely, with a record of 108 rat tails to prove his success. The mentor had patronized him with the title Ratsbane but the paladin kept the name for his sword. The name was endearing. He took the fact the princess rejected this very reliable sword, that always served him well personally, but he brushed the feeling aside so he could summon his magic.
Golden light emanated from his hands and filled his chest with warmth. It soothed his aching muscles from the fight earlier. He gripped the hilt with both hands and focused on the blade. Two seconds later, fierce orange flames enveloped the sharp metal. The princess gasped in fear, surprised by the eruption. No sooner had it started though, the flames were swept away by an invisible wind, leaving the sword glowing an amber hue. The princess simply stood there stunned.
The paladin took another breath, one of finality, over his finished spell buff. "There. The sword is now enchanted with fire. It should last until the end of the day. We have a three days journey ahead of us and I can put the buff on it again tomorrow." It took some effort to not coat his words with attitude and hoped his tone was as neutral at possible. Instead of sarcasm though he tossed the sword back at her with no warning.
The princess screeched but clumsily caught the sword by the hilt. She held it at arms length as if she thought that Ratsbane would catch her clothes on fire, the tip pointing to the sky. She looked comical clearly afraid but still trying to maintain her royal stature. The paladin rolled his eyes and turned his back on the princess to get back on the cart. He heard her mutter something under her breath but didn't care enough to inquire further what she said. It was going to be a long three days and the sooner they left the better.
"Get on," he gruffly said as he settled into the driver's seat on the cart. His attitude turned sour thinking on the long journey ahead of them. There was silence as she clambered onto the back still holding the blade high above her. He could have given her the scabbard to sheathe the sword for the time being but his sour mood received enough satisfaction from his pettiness. She claimed she could protect herself so at least he had one less thing to worry about. Probably not but at least it was a nice thought. | 2022-05-04T13:15:04 | 2022-05-04T10:32:22 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Like an old noir film, the detective walks into a bar to gather information on their case. But the detective gets changed into work attire and stands behind the counter. Turns out being the bartender is much more effective than just asking around for information. | The bar was muted. The two drunkards who had been fighting had been kicked out into the howling rain and were still going at it in the stable. A light swung in the center of the ceiling, dimly illuminating the bar. There were other lights, but this was the brightest and thus the only one that mattered.
Men and women muttered softly, slowly, at old wooden tables. Waiters roved around with glasses of beer for anyone who wanted one.
Rain pattered on the windows. It was the sort of rain that was more noisy than heavy, and so gave the impression of being heavy much better than actual heavy rain.
The two doors flapped open on their hinges, creaking for oil. A man in an oversized coat, big boots, and a black hat just titled over his face to create that ominous shadow, stepped in. Most of his face was cloaked in a dark red scarf.
The planks creaked.
”Ten percent more expensive,” the bartender said lazily. The Creaky Plank had been one of his better ideas to identify strangers.
The man stomped to the bar. A few other regulars who were sitting there reluctantly moved their chairs to make way for the well-built figure, but of course listened in on their whispered conversation.
The man wanted to know if anyone had heard about a woman named Lily. The bartender shrugged and just said no, would he like a beer. The man said two glasses, as strong as possible, please, and the bartender proficiently poured beer into two dusty glasses and slid it over to him, probably sloshing half of the liquid in doing so.
The man gulped them down, slammed a few coins on the counter, and began going around, asking for information. No one had heard of Lily, as it turned out, and the man had no choice, but to leave in disappointment.
The moment he went out, the bar was alive with talk about Lily, the woman who had divorced three men and then proceeded to rob two of them. The third one was dead, and his will somehow dedicated all his money to Lily, so that was alright.
All the regulars knew was that they weren’t giving anythin‘ away to sum ol’ stranger, looks suspicious ter me anyways.
The bartender grinned. Joe had done his job perfectly, focusing everyone on Lily, sniffing for information.
He would do the rest. | 'Gin & tonic?' I ask, polishing the glasses for umpteenth time.
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'Something harder, pal. Much harder.' A raspy voice answers.
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'Something harder coming right up.' I say, as I prepare a concoction. Mrs Harper had given me a little something that helps tongues loosen up faster. Time to use that.
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Five drinks later, I ask, 'Dames, huh?'
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'Bi... bi... big tom... ' my mark whispers more words & keeps talking. Five drinks & already out for the count? Big Tommy's palookas have softened over the years, it seems.
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Then, I digest the situation. Tony Mallard's wife had asked me to tail him. The usual stepping husband stuff. Seems like Tony here knew Thomas 'Big Tommy' Mancini a bit too well. Mob & me. What a combination.
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I wonder if Mrs Mallard knew that her husband was in cahoots with the mob. It changes the situation. Tony droned on, 'Big Tommy wants the dame dead. He's running scared.'
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My name is Harry Sloane, and I am a PI. After hanging my shingle, I found out the hard way that a bartender earns lot more than a PI. Also, he is a treasure trove of information. The bartender, not the PI. Plus, I don't have to prise out information the hard way, when I am sidelining as a bartender.
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'Big Tommy? He is more likely to die of a heart attack than a dame.' That's me. 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘉𝘪𝘨 𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺? 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵? Tony looks at me. He suddenly decides that he has said too much. Even sloshed, he tries to vamoose. I hold him by his collar.
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So much for not using the hard way. He tries to land two blows on me. They are not effective, but they put the distance between us. He somehow makes it to the exit. So do I. We both spot his Mercedes. We have the same thought: run!
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To this day, Tony insists that it was the only wise decision we geniuses made. It is true. No sooner do we reach the Mercedes, than the bar explodes. We are far enough to not to be made into fried chicken, yet close enough to feel the heat. Tony gains his voice first.
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'Wh... Who are you?! What's happenin'?' Guess he is stone cold sober now.
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'Sorry about that, pal.' I too gain my voice. 'Looks like.... looks like the cook left a burner on.' | 2022-06-01T07:09:37 | 2022-06-01T07:00:59 | 64 | 40 |
[WP] You survive a brain transplant and now have a teenager's body. Unfortunately, the law dictates that you have to go back to school. | Amanda Patterson looked like she was wearing a denim hand towel around her waist, and the tank top wasn't much bigger. *How could her parents let her leave the house like that?!* Her tanned, taut stomach seemed so smooth and sculpted...
*Stop it!* I berated myself as I made my way back to my locker. *They're 16, for god's sake!*
I passed by Christina Baret, wearing knee-high socks, a skimply plaid skirt, a white shirt so thin that I could see the outline of her bra. *This isn't even a catholic school!* She smiled as I passed, and I'm pretty sure I saw her wink. This new body that they've given me was certainly a lot more attractive and fit than my last one.
*They're sixteen, you're fifty. They're sixteen, you're fifty. They're sixteen, you're fifty.* I kept my eyes down and clutched my books to my chest, avoiding any and all eye contact. I had to navigate to my locker by avoiding the other shoes.
"Hey, Sam!" a soft voice called out. I recognized it immediately: Sarah White, the perky (in multiple ways) blonde who sat behind me in trigonometry.
*Just keep going!* I told myself. I'd be safe if I could just get to the locker, put my stuff away, and make it to the parking lot.
"Sam!" she called again, louder this time, chasing after me.
I made it to the locker and scrambled to put in my combination in time. My fingers fumbled nervously, and I passed the third number and had to start all over again. *Damn it*!
She leaned against the locker next to me, and my eyes couldn't help themselves. It was all I could do to keep them from falling straight out of their sockets. She was wearing her cheerleader outfit, for god's sake! Her hair fell in loose curls over her smooth shoulders, and... god, had she *cut her uniform* to show off more cleavage?!
*She's sixteen,* I reminded myself. "Oh, hi Sarah. Didn't see you there."
She leaned in close. Her lips were glossy and red. "I hope you're not avoiding me."
"No, of course not. Just been busy, you know. Sports and stuff..." *She's sixteen*, I chanted over and over. *It's illegal. And wrong*.
*No it's not,* another part of me answered. Certainly not my brain. Let's say it was my heart. *Your body is sixteen now, and very few people know about the operation. Who's going to tell?*
*She's sixteen, you're fifty*, I thought again, trying to drown myself out.
"Good," she grinned. Her teeth were perfectly straight and white. "I've been having some trouble with trig and I was wondering..." she bit her lower lip and batted her eyelashes. "Maybe you'd want to tutor me? You're just so smart, and mature..." Her blue eyes glanced down for just a moment. *She's checking me out! Am I living in a letter to Penthouse?!*
"I don't know if that's a good idea..." I managed to stammer, holding a thick history textbook over my crotch as casually as possible.
She leaned closer, giving me a glimpse of her perfect breasts in a lacy pink bra. "Don't tutor me, then," she whispered. "But come over tonight anyway."
All I could do was nod.
*God, I'm going to hell.* | The accident wasn’t really half bad when I think back on it. Free morphine. Free place to sleep. Free food. I couldn’t complain.
The only part that really sucked was waking up. But then that always sucked so again no complaints.
The doctor was a woman. Which made me nervous for some reason. She was a cute woman. This made me more nervous. She sat over me with a chart and a little smile.
“Alright hun, how ya doing?” She asked.
“Mehbvbm dman smd.” I replied.
“Yeah don’t try and talk. We’re going to have to operate.”
“Mehgdm men bffrd” I replied frustrated now
“I said don’t talk.” She quipped back her ponytail bouncing angrily. She turned heel sharply and walked away making notes on her clipboard.
They had me sign a paper with my eyes. If I blinked once it meant no. Twice then yes. They just left the paper there until I had to blink. It took a while but it was effective that’s for sure. Looking back I think they wanted the fame, I mean the first ever full body transplant. They could try with impunity, after all who would miss a hoboe with women problems and a couple habits.
I guess the only part that concerned me at the time was that it was to a girls body. Not that I’m opposed to that but really? There were no guys? That’s a big transition right?
Jenny Loveloon. What a f**ked up name. Really? Loveloon? I guess it’s what it is right? My link to my roots. Her roots. Our roots. Its roots. I dunno who but there are definitely roots and something is linked to them and the stupid name Loveloon is there.
I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve felt like I’ve been hit by a bus before. That’s nothing. This is all so. New. I don’t even know how to describe the newness. Yeah there was pain everywhere. I was surrounded in it. The flesh seemed to want to reject me. It knew I was foreign that I wasn’t supposed to be here. It hated me. I fought it. I fought it like I’d fought nothing else before. Subdued it. Beat it back. Sunk my white tentacles that were really just nerves I guess into it’s spine. We merged.
“Whaaaaaa….” I muttered. My lips felt strangely puffy. “Whaaaaaa” my voice sounded high and nasally in my throat.
“She wants water” The woman said.
Water was poured down my throat but no help. I coughed and retched.
....
When you first see yourself in a new body it's a bit uncanny. Out of body really.
"Is that really me?" The girl in the mirror asked incredulously.
"Yeah that's you." The doctor with the ponytail replied with a satisfied little tick on her box.
"Wow that's odd" I moved my arm back and forth. The girl in the mirror did too. She was tallish for a girl and had a nice face. Pretty but not gorgeous. A little chubby. I liked her instantly.
....
The days that followed were full of rehab. It was difficult to do even the most simple exercises. Walking was a b**ch. Eventually I got out though. That's when I met my "family".
An older woman walked in one day and just stared at me. I remember because I was doing squats and I thought it was awkward that this lady just stared at me doing squats. Who does that? FU** off lady. She didn't.
The next day she brought a man with her. The man seemed distant. The lady got something in her eyes this time and had to go to the bathroom.
Eventually I met Carl and Sarah. I even pretended to be their daughter. It was difficult at first but worth it. I'd never had parents like them before. They helped me through the rough patches. Sobriety was tough. I mean this body never used before which was strange but my mind always thought about it. The blood coming out scared the sh*t outta me. I'm glad Sarah could help with that. I'm not gonna go into some of the things I did at first with this body cause their might be kids who read this. But they were done.
It happened in my math class of all places. No one knew about the operation they just knew I was suddenly way more chill and swore more. Anyways in math I'm talking to Joey.
"What the fu%k Joey?" I wisper joking angrily
Joey looks back confused.
"Stop looking at my a&% yeah pervert. Aren't you like 22 anyways?"
Joey smiled and winked then turned back to the teacher. We had a running joke that Joey was way too yoked to be a student here. That's when it happened. I saw Joey different then as he turned back. Suddenly he wasn't just some dude. His hair kind of sparkled I guess.
At first I was confused. I didn't know what was going on. Eventually I got it. Then I rebelled against it. I wasn't no faggot.
I'm pushing a stroller with Joey Jr. in it now. We just passed a hoboe wasted on the sidewalk clearly not going anywhere anytime soon and I have to pause like I always do and drop in a dollar and a prayer of gratitude. Joey never suspects a thing.
[seedsoftantalus.wordpress.com] | 2015-08-06T09:50:51 | 2015-08-06T09:44:59 | 265 | 40 |
[WP] You, a Human, have been sentenced to death on an alien planet. The method of execution: gas chamber. However, the compound used in executions, Tetrahydrocannabinol, isn't quite as lethal to humans as your executioners expect. | “Bring out the wretched Human!” The voice boomed from all angles. “Let the council decree his fate.”
Steve Stevenson was dragged from his cell by two exceptionally large Moroxi. The Moroxi had an unnerving similarity to the long extinct Kangaroo from earth, but with four arms and scales. The guards sneered at Stevenson, one ripping off his patch of bravery from his uniform, before throwing him into a large circular chamber.
The chamber was pure white and so sterile it stung Steve’s eyes if he looked at one point for too long. He looked up to see five ridiculously dressed Moroxi leering down at him. They were wearing hats that looked like traffic cones.
Steve shuffled forward a step, “There must be some misunder—“
“Silence!” The voice boomed again. Coming from everywhere but nowhere. “This is no trial, this is an execution!”
Steve blinked away the tears forming in his eyes from the psychic assault the Moroxi Council was inflicting upon him. That damn crystal, it was always a stupid crystal. If I make it out of here alive, Steve thought, no more crystals. But deep down, he knew he had no chance.
“Administer him . . . The haze of death!” The mouthless voice hissed.
Steve stiffened, waiting for some searing pain to send him tumbling down into the dark abyss of death. Then, he smelled it, some of the dankest kush he ever smelled. So dank in fact, that Steve already felt a little high.
“What’s so funny? You find torturous death amusing human?” The Moroxi council scoffed at him in unison.
Steve coughed a couple times and giggled, “no it’s just, your hats. They’re like, funny, you know?”
“No we do not know! These are our symbols of office! They distinguish us, the regal—“
Steve was laughing, “stop doing that! It tickles!”
The Moroxi council looked amongst itself, “the mind-voice tickles?”
“The mind-voice?” That’s what you guys named it?” Steve was still laughing, his eyes glazed and redder than the devil’s delicate appendage. “Hey, wait.” Steve stopped laughing and looked around, “do you hear that?”
The Moroxi council leaned over as one, “hear what?”
Steve unleashed a massive fart that echoed throughout the chamber and doubled over laughing. “My ass-voice!” He was crying and slapping his hand on the ground. “This is some good shit!”
The Council huddled together, communing as one and instantly deciding one of them, Alparox the Younger, would delve into Steve’s mind in order to discover the miraculous manner in which he survived and even enjoyed the most lethal gas they had ever discovered. After an instant of quiet solidarity, Alparox flung his consciousness into Steve’s and began opening it like a book. The mental prowess of the Moroxi Council plain for all to see, for who could stand against a mind so mighty—
Alparox was rolling on the floor laughing. His eyes already tearing up. He was pointing at the hats and nodding, “you’re right, you’re so right!” He said while tears streamed down his cheeks.
The council turned away from their fallen brother and back to Steve. Perhaps they had underestimated this Human. He was truly an impressive foe. In unison they knew what had to be done, they needed different hats. But after that, they would unleash the ultimate punishment on Steve: the dark mushrooms. Oh how they pitied him. | so, there i was, walking the dark hallway of death, escorted by 2 massive ar'dkivs, with both of my hands cuffed.
we've received reports of a new race, 2 meters tall in average, body covered in hard, steel-like shells, strong like a bull, somewhat hostile, yet highly intelligent, in the masurus sector, around 3 years ago, and we've been spying on them for that long. no surprise when i discovered they didnt like spies very much, sadly i found out when they found me.
but i have to give them credit where credit is due, their hard shell made it so they have to develop weapons that will melt their shell to kill their target - such weapons would vaporize a good chunk of us humans, so they decided to kill me in a more... ethical way. these guys dont resist poison very well, and they will kill me using the strongest poison they know about, a gas that will kill an ar'dkiv in 10 seconds, with little to no suffering.
ofc, me, as an spy, already knew what that gas was - frigging thc. by itself, it wont be very dangerous, but if thc doesnt kill me, they got 100 other ways to execute me, i had to do something. i had to beat the odds.
heart beating fast, respiration going faster, nervousness over the roof, gas chamber door closed, concrete walls, no escape. i see an ar'dkiv with a different uniform by the door's window - a commissar, he gives them a metal canister with the thc inside, they pop it in a machine, and the gas starts filling the chamber. luckily for me, unlike humans, ar'dkivs dont know what -hold your breath- is.
dont breath...dont breath... dont breath... 5,6,7,8...9...drop to the floor, play death, keep your eyes open, dont breath, keep your eyes open, wait... wait... thats the sound of the air purifier, hold your breath, door opens, hold your breath, ar'dkiv guard walking close to me...
in one movement, i get up as fast as i can, avoiding crashing into the guard, i ran as fast as i can to the exit door. the ar'dkivs were shocked i was still alive and kicking, i cough them completely off-guard. as i make my way out, i pushed the commissar into a wall, and quickly took away one of his canisters off his uniform. as i run to the prison's port, i see the guards chasing me, and more guard joining. i was lucky they were reluctant to open fire, either because they didnt see me as an immediate threat, or because they were afraid of piercing the prison's walls, i dont know.
as i got close to a escape ship, they guards raised their weapons and shouted me to stop. i knew i'd get vaporized if i didnt played along, so i stopped and turned around, thc gas canister in hand.
the commissar catched up with us quickly. "dont shot!" he said, "he's got a canister"
"sir commissar, he is far away, we can just kill him and finish this"
"dont. light thc poisoning is a slow and painful way to death. lower your weapons"
relief was felt all over my being, it seems i had the upper hand in this one. yet, remember when i said ar'dkivs were intelligent? yeah, they can make plans.
as soon as i lowered my guard, i felt a sharp pain and a massive weight pushing me into the ground: a guard tackled me. i held the canister with all my strength, i knew it was my only way out. i saw the guard going for a punch, i covered with one of my arms, and then the sharp pain of my bones breaking followed. i couldnt catch my breath nor process what was going on: the second punch was coming. out of despair, i used the canister to block the punch. i could see the guard hesitates for a second, his punch was a lot weaker this time, but even with his weaker punch, the shockwave of the punch hitting the canister traveled all over my arm, numbing it. the canister is now deformed, the guard is hesitating even more, and i used this golden moment to get out from under him, stand up, and run to my escape ship. i get into the ship's platform, i put my hands in the canister's lock, ready to open it. i can see the guards. some of them rise their weapons, others get ready to be hit with THC and have their lives ended. but then, i stop.
"computer, to point echo" i say, the ship's platform starts closing, the ship's systems start heating up, in a couple of seconds, i'd be traveling back to base.
"are you sparing our lives, human?" says the commissar.
and just before the ship jumps into the void of the space, i respond
"...winners dont use drugs"
\---------------------------------------------
if you read all that, thank you! if you find any errors, dont hesitate to let me know, im trying to get better redaction skills in english | 2020-05-20T10:46:26 | 2020-05-20T08:34:20 | 3,523 | 195 |
[WP] The devils greatest trick is convincing the world he didn't exist? HA! His greatest trick was convincing us he lost and God is still in charge. | Better the devil you know. Like the one sitting on Samson's couch, currently coming down from a heavy spell of the munchies by raiding his fridge.
"Erin, did you steal my cookies?"
"Nooo~"," she replied, barely suppressing a half-snort, half-laugh that sent crumbs flying everywhere. "Why'd ya say that?"
Samson sighed, flicking the kettle on. "You could at least be less obvious about it."
"Aw, shush. You love me being here." She jabbed a finger at him, accusatory. "Now pay the toll."
Like a ritual, he measured out the perfect cup of tea for them both. Erin, naturally, had hers laced with enough sugar to render a small child comatose. Where some people used coffee to remedy bad mornings, Erin used sweets.
Of course, it helped not having to worry about your teeth. Or general health declining. Sometimes, Samson envied devils.
He took his place on the couch beside her, flicking the TV on. Switching between various ads, he eventually settled on the news, leaning back as Erin curled up next to him.
"*As tensions raise in the southern border, ministers have begun displaying a lack of faith in our current administration. Some are saying it's about time for a change — in leadership, but also direction of our country. 72% of the public are displaying mounting concern over the current military budg-*"
The words seemed to phase out as Samson eyed the reporter. To ordinary eyes, he was a comely young man, with a square jaw and a face marked by windburn.
But Samson could see beyond the veil. The horns that curled out from underneath his shaggy blonde hair. The slight curl in his lips that betrayed glee at each death reported, revealing unnatural fangs in his smile.
Samson saw the devil in the details. He had always been able to. They had taken *everything*.
Behind the reporter, the night sky glowed. Where others saw stars, Samson saw the lining of a sky with a thousand wicked smiles. In the vastness of space, he could see forms shifting and twisting — and their *laughter*, constant, echoing. Like they knew who he was. Knew that he could see them, but were revelling in his solitude, *daring* him to speak out to someone that could share his suffering. But there was nothing.
Samson looked up at the stars, and their laughter never ceased.
"*Samson, you're all aloneeee*," the reporter hissed, his voice a thousand at once, all boring into Samson's skull like an endless torrent of static. Samson squeezed his eyes shut, tried to pace his breathing. He could feel his head splitting open, the slow construct of his sanity beginning to crumble down —
Erin switched the channel. The noise stopped.
He ran a trembling hand through his hair as Erin clicked her neck. "Man that was all so depressing. Sorry, were you listening to that? Anyways, I think there's a documentary about meerkats on tonight; have you *seen* the way they bob their heads? Totally cute."
Samson smiled, although it wasn't entirely genuine. "Sorry, I've gotta head out tonight."
*Kill the devils. Kill them all.*
Erin pouted. "Ugh, work. You getting paid overtime at least?"
"Depends on the catch."
She threw her hands up in mock defeat. "Lame! Work's lame."
"Yeah. Getting high on my couch is much cooler." He went to flick her temple, though Erin managed to swat away his hands first.
"Exactly! Glad you get it."
"You'll have to work when you finish law school. You know that, right?"
"Samson, babe, at this rate I'm more likely to be a barista than a barrister."
"Right."
"What?"
"Nothing. Well, I guess... ok look, your coffee is atrocious. Sorry."
"Fuck you, I hope you fall off your boat and, like, break both your kneecaps."
Samson chuckled — this time, it was heartfelt. He had to admit, the devil was likeable, even if their relationship was partly built on a lie. He wasn't sure he'd be comfortable confronting that fact anytime soon.
Rising from the couch, he figured it was time to start preparing his 'work' gear.
"Knock 'em dead, tiger!" He heard Erin yell out behind him. He turned back and saw her lazily sprawled out on the couch, shooting him a pair of finger guns. He pointedly ignored her as he retreated into his room, bolting the door shut.
Oh, she didn't know the half of it.
Flicking a switch at his bedside, Samson pulled out a smaller compartment concealed by his sheets. Inside was a small handgun, a stack of silver bullets neatly arranged next to it.
He took the time to place the bullets into the clip, knowing that each one could mean the difference between him living and dying on tonight's mission.
Lastly, he grabbed a light kevlar vest, pulling it over his t-shirt before putting on a hoodie over both. Flicking the hood up, he looked back at the door, knowing someone supposed to be his sworn enemy was currently scouring through his cupboards for a stash of weed. He felt a slight throb in his heart as he considered the future, between him and Erin. Like most times he thought about it, he quickly dismissed the feeling, promising he would cross that bridge another day.
It was at times like this that he was glad she never left the house.
"Well, off to work," he mumbled, making a run for the window.
If he was the only one who saw the world for how it truly was, he knew the burden on him was to fix it. Whether or not he was up to the task — well, that was something he had yet to figure out.
----
**Liked writing this out so did a part two below!**
**and part three now!** | #The Sixth Hero
Part 5
----
The Chaser made port with a small thud against the docks of Yeamon’s Point. Once the ship was securely tied and the gangplank pulled out, Amenset wasted no time and stepped onto dry land. With the captain’s warnings still ringing in her ear to be back on time, she hastily made her way through the small coastal town.
Yeamon’s Point was more of a resting stop than a centre of trade, so only few ships were docked and a minimal amount of sailors and dock workers scurried around going about their daily business. Amenset was glad she felt steady ground beneath her feet again, she never was much for the sea and its endless waves.
She could see her destination on top of the cliffs to the north. A shrine had been built there in honour of Yeamon of the Forest, the First Hero to defend Iatis against the darkness. A shrine that supposedly, although never confirmed, was also the hero’s resting place. The rumour had never been confirmed as there had never been anyone willing to defile the suspected grave.
Amenset rearranged her sacks and rations and started on the path upwards.
She could feel the fatigue in her legs by the time she made it all the way up to the shrine. The climb had been steep and long and she wasn’t used to longer periods of walking uphill. Back in Mardiac, the lands were pleasant and flat. Here in the middle of the ocean, centuries of erosion had shaped the island into a small mountain.
The shrine itself stood near the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Erys Ocean as a silent guardian. A lighthouse had been integrated into the design she saw as she watched the small spire rise up above the structure. It was a small building all in all, modest and plain. The sides were held up by engraved columns telling the legend of Yeamon and his weapon, Vines of Night.
She stepped through the open entrance into a small room, where about three people sat silently, consumed by their meditation or prayers. Stone tables lined the walls on all sides but the back, on them a plethora of offerings and artefacts. The back wall was fronted by a large, stone altar and Amenset was surprised by the resemblance it bore to the altar she had been summoned onto when she met War Cleric Fryan.
Only here, there was but one pedestal instead of six. It stood empty, but the nametag underneath clearly read Vines of Night. A strange sensation ran through Amenset and it took her a moment to realize it didn’t came from within her, but from the wrapped blade tied to her waste. Desert Eagle was moving within its sheath.
Silently as not to alert the other pilgrims present, Amenset took out the sanded sword, the millions of sand particles in it twisting and twirling in all directions at once. Was it responding to something?
Following her instinct, Amenset sat down in front of the altar, placed Desert Eagle on her lap and closed her eyes. She opened herself to the meditative state and felt her body and soul relax. Memories of red caves, monsters and holes intruded, but she pushed them away. Instead, she let her soul forge a connection with Desert Eagle. A connection, she suddenly realized, that was already there. She’d never meditated with the weapon before and the experience was a strange one.
Was this because of the choice Desert Eagle had made to entrust her?
“You must be the Sixth Hero.”
Amenset nearly yelped at the sudden words resounding in her head. Startled, she opened her eyes but saw nothing.
“Who said that?” she whispered ever so quietly.
“I did,” the voice answered.
“Where are you?” She looked around, but saw nobody besides the pilgrims.
The voice laughed. “Close your eyes, and look with your soul.”
“How do I…?” Amenset cut off as Desert Eagle took control over her consciousness and her eyes closed on their own. Then, she saw somebody. A man, old and with hair white as snow. He sat opposite Amenset, a sword on his lap in mirror to Amenset. She immediately recognized the weapon from the drawings she had seen during her studies.
“That is…,” she gasped. “That’s Vines of Night. Are you…?”
The man nodded. “I’m Yeamon of the Forest. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“How?” Amenset said in disbelief. “You’ve been dead for over a thousand years.”
Yeamon grinned. “Now that is an overstatement. My body died, yes, as all bodies do. But my spirit, my soul, lives on. And now you have finally arrived.”
“You were expecting me?”
He nodded. “As I expected the other four heroes who made their way through here when it was their time. You are the sixth, and the last.”
“I don’t think I am,” Amenset answered, the words paining her to her core. “It’s been five years since I’ve been chosen and nothing has happened. I don’t deserve this.”
“Because you killed Fryan?”
Her eyes widened in shock.
“There is no shame in what you did,” Yeamon assured her. “Even a thousand years ago, Fryan knew the last of the heroes would be the one to kill him. It was a necessity.”
“Why?” Amenset failed to understand.
“Because you are to be the strongest of us all,” Yeamon answered. “Us five who came before you, we were but puppets dancing to the strings of the old gods. You on the other hand have drastically changed your soul and what you can do by taking the life of the War Cleric. Fryan lives on within you as does his will. And now it is my task to tell you the truth.”
“What truth?” Amenset asked, taking the avalanche of information Yeamon was pouring onto her.
“That the darkness was never defeated. We never won, not once.”
“But you saved Iatis,” Amenset argued. “You are the Liberator of Tridia.”
Yeamon scoffed. “And how is Tridia faring these days? Corrupted by magic, tainted by centuries of bloodshed… I only briefly managed to keep the peace, but once I was gone, the land fell back into its old ways. The darkness never went away. It hid itself among the people, letting them think they’d won. Instead it buried itself in their souls where it waited.”
“Waited for what?”
“For me to die. They feared Vines of Night as they will fear Desert Eagle and the other Sacratys. Our weapons are not meant for killing, they are meant to cleanse the soul. They’re the only thing that stand against the darkness.”
Amenset was confused. “Then how are we supposed to defeat the darkness if it is present in all of mankind?”
“Now that,” Yeamon answered, “is the question, isn’t it?”
A gust of wind wove its way through the small room and Amenset was awakened from her meditative state. She blinked and then closed her eyes again, but Yeamon was gone. Desert Eagle lay motionless in her lap. Carefully, she wrapped it again, feeling a strange sensation when she touched the weapon. She had felt the connection the weapon had made with her. It had its own soul, she realized. A soul that once had been something else than a weapon.
Pondering over what she had just gone through, Amenset hastily started back towards the harbour. More time than she had thought had passed and she was not going to miss her only passage to Tridia.
----
> And with this strange revelation end the fifth part of **The Sixth Hero**, a story that is formed by the ideas brought forth by the /r/WritingPrompts subreddit and follows the story of Amenset Ta-Ament, the final hero to be chosen by Desert Eagle, one of the Six Sacratys. To follow her story, make sure to check out /r/PromptedByDaddy. | 2022-07-07T03:55:32 | 2022-07-07T03:54:45 | 450 | 14 |
[WP] You are a normal citizen in a relatively unimportant country. One day the goverment starts to act crazy, changing ideology overnight, drafting people for the army and antagonizing their neighbours. The player controlling your country in a strategy game has just begun their world conquest run. | "Wake up! *Wake up*!"
My eyes opened to a blurred world, bouncing up and down around me. After a moment, I grabbed at the man shaking me and groaned. "What the hell are you doing, Rafi? Good God, man."
"Samir, my friend, you must get up. We have to go, now."
"What are you on about so early in the day? Back at the wicked leaf again, friend?" I rubbed my eyes vigorously.
"Samir, something is happening. We must go-"
Splintered wood exploded across the room, raining kindling on us both. A group of armed men in bright red sashes with gold scimitars at their hips were yelling in another language- Farsi, perhaps? Or Arabic? It was hard to pin, but understanding them wouldn't have mattered anyway. They dragged us at swordpoint to the central square, where thousands of other men had been gathered together. They all looked as confused and distraught as I felt, bitter nerves and a sinking, empty stomach.
About ten minutes later, a loudphone crackled in our own language, though crudely. "Hello. There is no time. We have married into the Persian bloodline, and they will go to war with us."
Rafi squeezed over to me, grasping my shoulder. "Chaos comes for us, friend. I hear the new Persian Queen murdered all four of her siblings to establish herself as heir."
I ran my hands through my hair, clenching some, as the booming voice continued. "The democracy has been disbanded. This is an official monarchy now, and miscreants will be thrown in jail or executed quickly.
"You will be fitted with equipment shortly and we march in three days. Don't worry, I have a few perks and because of my divine abilities, you will all be able to fight like trained warriors.
"First we must destroy India. The madmen formed a democracy and... Things have become tumultuous. After that, I do not yet know. However, I do know the world will be ours, men. We just have to go out and steal it before it destroys itself."
The crowd cheered, and I with them, despite being horridly confused and wanting to vomit. I'd just... moved on my own, screaming with agreement, a veil of bloodlust pulled over my eyes. The conscripted men began to stream out of the square, toward an armory looming above plaza buildings- it wasn't there the day before.
Along the way, a radio's crackle caught my ear, and I paused briefly to listen. *"India has formed a democracy... Mohandas Gandhi... Rapid changes in the world climate... War elephants... President Gandhi put out a press release today... Play it now."*
*"... Our words are backed with NUCLEAR WEAPONS..."* the once peaceful, frail man screamed like a banshee.
The world was falling apart. There were things in motion that would never become undone. And, somehow, overnight, it had become our job to keep things from fully unraveling.
----
*/r/resonatingfury* | On mobile and also not a native speaker, so please go easy on me. Enjoy!
I couldn’t believe the news when I woke up. Our small country just declared war on our neighbors without any pretense. The army has been massively bolstered and the first few battles seemingly went in our favor. Apart from the defensive war against the blues a few years back we never fought before, always improving our economy and infrastructure. Our government always valued good living standards and a full treasury. Our armed forces always were on the weaker side number wise, but they have increased exponentially. I heard that we captured one city of the greens, who we were allied with before. Most of it was razed to the ground and what’s left is being shamelessly exploited by us. They are being oppressed by our forces there. The greens themselves were probably the weakest of our neighbors, but throwing away this long lasting mutual friendship all of the sudden sure surprised me. I heard that there were relentless bombardments on their coasts as well. I don’t think our generals even care about civilian casualties at this point. It’s only been a few hours and we have captured half of their territory already. So far so good, and while the countries of the AI-highlands shouldn’t be too much of an issue, i fear that the great nation of Player 2 wouldn’t leave us go without punishment...
| 2019-03-10T09:43:39 | 2019-03-10T09:03:58 | 2,001 | 14 |
[WP] You are sent over 1000 years into the past by accident. You must now learn to survive using the primitive technology of the year 2016... | I close my eyes and wait, letting my social modules hide my trepidation.
We planned to use time machines to go back and do research, to really get the feel of the time as it was, rather than just flipping through and copying archaic texts and taking them for granted. They'd usher in a new age of history, which, to be honest, didn't interest me all that much. I'm a Militiaman, tasked with defending our homes from whichever threat there is. Naturally they picked me for the test of the production run; my training taught me how to survive in even the most barren places. If something went wrong.
Time machines are a new technology for us. Even the ridiculously advanced AI churning out their designs couldn't quite hammer out all the bugs, but that tends to happen when they are playing with the very fabric of space and time. The original tests had a startlingly low success rate of only 98%, with the last 2% ending up in some forsaken part of space time. Otherwise, they were fairly accurate in placing the tester exactly when and where they needed to be, and bring them back in one piece. The most recent testing numbers were kept confidential, though they assured the public that they were 100% accurate 100% of the time, and were ready to push them into widespread use across the galaxy after this last round of testing. I wasn't quite sure about that still, considering my qualifications and their adamance in picking me.
"Activating chamber in..." a cold metallic voice spoke into my head, through my various communication modules.
"3... 2... 1..."
There was a flash of light as the nanomachines broke my body down, both the artificial and biological parts.
I wake up with slight nausea. I await the prompt from the AI who sent me back.
Nothing.
I roll over to stand up, not wanting to open my eyes. Once I am on my feet, I feel a loud *POP*. I wake back up, tasting ozone. I run a quick diagnostics sweep; My transmission module's out, my receiving module's fried, and my location module is all over the damned place, alongside my time-telling module. Shit.
I finally peel open my eyes to the faces of many confused... things around me. I pull myself from the ground to take stock of my location, dusting off my white one-piece covering.
These fleshy things certainly bear a resemblance to us... Probably early humans. I'm in the middle of some ancient... web of structures? There's certainly roads here, but there's also buildings bunched up between them. On the roads there's these odd looking... things, lined up end to end, belching out entire cubic meters of waste gasses, while the humans (?) gawk at me from inside. Disgusting.
I ask a short, long haired one next to me, trying to remember their ancient language,
"Pardon misses, when am I?"
It turns to a taller, short haired one and whispers
"C'est quoi ce truc?"
The taller one can't break its stare on me when it replies with
"Je ne sais pas..."
One of the others pulls out a black, almost tablet looking device from a sack around its shoulder. It's primitive, but I could probably discern the date from it...
I look into its data stream to see the date "16, Juin, 2016".
Shit. | Aha! It worked! What a wondrous machine! The whirring and twirling and humming, the waves of heat and flashes of light! How amazing that in an instant I am finally here! The beautiful ancient times of yesteryear! And I am the first! The first to experience the view of such primitivistic beauty first hand!
These people, these excellently gigantic simple people! Only a step above wild yet so far from enlightened. They will never know how wonderful it is to exist with such silence in their head, to need to manually learn new skills and information. Their crude physical alterations, their use of fossil fuels- how wonderful this simpler time is.
And the noise, the actual, real, grating noise mixed with the turn of the millennia smells are fantastically sensual. They are the things our vistigializing face organs were meant to experience. Here, among the buildings I have only ever witnessed as ancient ruins, I finally feel invigorated. My decades of work and finally I am here.
They still have pets! The strange, furred beings these people cared for so diligently, the people are still ignorant or indifferent to the fact that they were so easily enslaved! I never knew they went as far as to pick the excrement up behind them. These were such different times.
Now, to return. This is too excellent to experience alone, and I must prepare and learn to utilize their simplistic survival skills. I must return to the future to come back to the past, again!
| 2016-06-16T19:02:42 | 2016-06-16T19:01:26 | 98 | 14 |
[WP] You are the God of small things and you were quite content with your lot-until the purge.Your temples lay burnt, your priests bathed in their own blood your priestesses shared the same fate yet only after being violated.They will pay for you are the god of small things- small not insignificant |
For years, nay, millenia, I watched and waited.
They forgot that we came from small things; atoms, molecules, single-celled organisms. I gave that all up and I gave it up willingly, happy to share the burden of responsibility with my brothers and sisters.
When *my* temple, my people, my *sanctuary* was desecrated, they were sympathetic. But there were no punishments. And I realized later, that it’s because they’d forgotten. They forgot the power of small things, and that forgetting, I vowed, would be their undoing.
It’s not because I’m inherently vengeful. Well, not anymore. I’ll admit that the 1300’s weren’t my finest years. I try not to talk about it.
No, I actually *want* the world to flourish. I want change. I want evolution! But like any creator, I want respect for what I’ve done. No bowing, no scraping, nothing more than a general acknowledgement. I think my siblings have become too much like the mortals they so deeply care about. I think they’re too enmeshed. I think… I think they’ve changed.
So I started to encourage some of their people. Nudge them a little here and there. And I’ll admit again, I was careless with the first – and I regret that, I really do. That delightful French woman, Marie? She deserved so much more. Baekland was a right prick, but he served his purpose. Oh, and then there was Oppenheimer. Great name. I think that’s why I chose him, because I could make up funny little songs while he was working.
Once they’d accomplished their tasks, I started to think a bit ‘bigger.’ Not *too* big, mind you, I’m still the Goddess of Small Things. But many small things can turn into a big thing.
Janssen’s been brilliant. The Sacklers were my pride and joy, until they got greedy.
Delta didn’t quite succeed, which was… disappointing. But then things like bacteria and viruses are much trickier than drugs and molecules. They have a mind of their own.
I’m patient. I can wait. Someone new will come along and I’ll be there, whispering into their ear while they look into a microscope or poke something with a needle. Even if the world ends with a bang, I’ll know. It wasn’t the plane, the bomb, the lab, or the scientist. It was me, in the smallest things. | [Poem]
Desecrated altars every way
Thy own scholars lay limp,
Cut down by those who could not say
Taunted and teased by imps
And though they may feel righteous
Murder without consequence
I am the God of the Miniscule,
Threads of guilt blossom in sequence
A chain of motion set abound
Darkness eats at thy heart
Lives begin to crumble down
This delicious work of art
Men driven mad lose their heads,
From nigh but a spark.
As they descend wailing remorse,
I chuckle in the Dark.
Edit: It's 4 stanzas of 4 lines I haven't posted on here before so not sure why the formatting came out like this | 2021-12-03T11:06:31 | 2021-12-03T09:06:29 | 79 | 10 |
[WP] You're in love. And you think she loves you back. Sure, she's an eldritch horror from beyond spacetime, barely comprehensible to human minds, shifting and warping reality into a nightmare hellscape with her mere presence. But love conquers all, right? | *"She was always there. I just never saw her before."*
It drips cliche. It oozes tradition. You can see the trailer in your mind and you are already rolling your eyes. How banal. How trite. How sad and lonely and pathetic.
I used to laugh at love stories. They aren't real. People don't just meet. There is no magic or spark. People are monsters that leech and drink each other dry. And they rely on these "love stories", so they can manipulate you better. As they steal your hard earned money or bring their fist into your face, all you think about is *"We were sweethearts in high-school!"*
You know what they sound like. They're always...
*"We knew the moment we saw each other."* Sure you did.
*"I heard her laugh and wanted to hear it forever."* Oh, yeah. That definitely happened.
*"Then I realized love was right next to me all along."* BARF!
But when you fall in love...you understand. Love stories are real. They may be the only thing that is real.
*"She was always there. I just never saw her before."*
In the murky corners of my mind that made no sense, in the dancing colors of my closed eyes at night, in the sourceless voice that called my name when I walked through the park alone. She was always there. I just never saw her before.
I walked home in the cold, snow rustling under my feet. The echo of childhood memories draws me to the swing set. I sit and the frosty chain creaks, the plastic bends underneath. My feet stay on the ground as I rock back and forth. I look up at the falling snow and the sky above. Through heavy clouds the moon shines....and I see it disappear, for a moment, before its dull glow resumes.
Back then I didn't understand. I ran home in terror, some prehistoric part of me screaming that I was in danger. I regret that decision. I wish I had the courage to speak to you that night. We would have had more time together, even if time isn't an ocean you swim through. Only looking back do I finally realize what happened.
From across reality, she had winked at me.
Our missed connection that should have been the end of our story. She had shown interest and I had run like a frightened child. But that's not our story. She knew what she wanted.
Is there anything more attractive than confidence?
On the bus to work, my phone buzzed. A message, and instead of a sequence of nine numbers there was an exponent, a ! and a ÷ symbol. The text was in Hebrew. As I stared, confused, it became Latin. Then Greek. Arabic. Mandarin. Then a script that moved and writhed in my mind and eyes, that pulled back the lies I had been told my whole life. I saw past the framework of the universe I knew and i saw **HER**.
Colorless skin suffused with ghost-light. Mouths that smiled with dazzling fractal teeth. Curves and angles and degrees in between that laughed at geometry and relativity. And seven thousand eyes of living nothing that looked through my soul.
It was the first time someone had sent me a dirty picture unprompted.
When my senses returned, I was on the roof of my apartment complex, bleeding from my eyes and grinning like an idiot. I wiped the blood away and started at my phone, careful not to linger on your message too long or risk another episode. I took a deep breath and marvelled at my own audacity as I sent a reply.
*Your place or mine?*
After the best night of my life, she dropped me off at home. It was five years before I had gone to her and the prior tenant called the police, but I was too happy to care. I broke the three day rule after my buddy posted bail and called her. I took her to Lorenzo's. I sat alone, smiling at the emptiness in a little black dress across from me. We laughed and I held her approximation of a hand as our waiter had a seizure and the noodles moved on their own
After our drive upstate to go apple-picking, I asked her to move in with me. Reality did not take her arrival well. Hours go missing, space turns at right angles. People wake up with memories of places they have never been or none at all. Fires rage under the ocean and gravity reversed in South Carolina. But we're happy, and that is all that matters.
I come home late from helping my brother move out of state. As I crawl into bed, I whisper and the darkness comes alive. Voices in the silence, eyes in the nothing, a presence in the void. My clock rapidly skips backwards by prime numbers, the blades of the ceiling fan warp into 7 sided-shapes, and the bed is full of teeth. In those moments she is all around me, but I am unaffected.
It's an embrace. Affection by lack of touch, intimacy by exclusion. She changes everything and everyone by her presence. Transformation shines off her, radiates out from her indechiprable being. Yet I remain as I always am.
She doesn't **want** me to change. She takes me as I am. Her mouths speak words nobody else understands, the discordant symphony of nightmare and horror blossoming in my mind.
And into the living nothing of her seven thousand eyes I whisper,
*"I love you too."*
<Just a guy who was inspired.> | I was floating on time, drifting in being, unable to set carefully my mind to the exact coordinates of existence. I wasn’t making sense, that was sure. She was jumbling my language, my atoms, my histories, and my sins, all into a giant ball.
I love you, I told her, holding her close to me, or far away from me, or all of it, at once, too much and too little. I wanted to become her, so that I could understand.
Her words were not comprehensible to me, same as her existence, but this was the end, not the beginning. It was the point of time at which all converges.
I met her far from the Earth, as I was pacing the rings around Saturn. She was creating universes in her dreams, tearing at the delicate edges of our own spacetime as she tickled her fancies, wet her lips on succulent new places to haunt. And I loved her immediately. It is such a strange thing, for a god to love a being like her, but I was swept up as a babe is swept up in its own existence, so suddenly thrust into suffering and joy that they become indistinguishable.
So I took her to see a supernova, to watch something burn in a way I could understand because the burning in my heart felt so foreign I did not know how to express it.
This is how I feel when I see you, love.
Incomprehensible language—but the emotions, oh!—well, I believed them to be emotions, great wafting waves of energy that ringed around the both of us as she gazed at me, as she looked past me with her non-eyes, with that no-thing that she was and wasn’t at the same time. I felt like one of my creations, staring up into the vast void, searching for answers and meanings. She made me feel small, dumb, infantile. And that made me burst, become the vacuum of space as she lifted my body into the ether, past the confines of knowing and unknowing, past being and non-being.
We became paradox, folly, the incomprehensible, and she held me close, far away, same as it was the first and last time, all of it at once. And she kissed my body, felt the delicate curves, my own geometry, the math that made me into existence, into space, into everything. And I kissed her back, the lack of things that I filled with my love, with my touch, with my desire to know and unknow her so that I may know her for the first time again, to bring her to that supernova.
Now, I hold her formless shape and I am pulling her away from the swirling enigma of her dreams, those universes branching off of her till they create ecosystems all their own. I am taking her to the point where no-thing can exist, suspended, in existence. I am pulling her into the center of a black hole, into a place where pressure becomes so great it is all and yet nothing, when we are crushed but frozen at the point before crushing.
I kiss her one final time, and that kiss is the whole of my existence. What does it matter that I abandoned my creation? She is greater than anything I could have ever dreamed up, and I will exist, bending, becoming, blackening, at the center of being with her for eternity, because I love her, and she loves me, too.
\_ \_ \_
r/AinsleyAdams
This was a super fun exploration of language! Hope y'all enjoy reading it. | 2021-03-11T09:30:52 | 2021-03-11T09:29:08 | 231 | 26 |
[WP] A portal opens before you and out steps a version of yourself covered in blood. "I've killed humdreds of you and they say you're the strongest one. Time to find out why." | Jackson stared at the stranger that was…himself? They certainly shared the same features. They had the same brown hair, the same eyes, the same dimpled chin.
But this man looked haggard. There was a leanness to his features Jackson didn’t share. A wiry toughness that Jackson lacked. The man was also coated in blood.
“I’ve killed hundreds of you and they say you’re the strongest. Time to find out why.”
“What,” Jackson said. “Who are you? What is…WHAT!”
The man…The double? Jackson decided to refer to him as Junkie Jackson, took a step forward and swung his fist straight into Jackson’s jaw. There was the dull thud of flesh striking flesh.
Jackson staggered back more out of surprise than in pain. In fact, the strike had not hurt at all. Junkie Jackson also stumbled backwards. Eyes wide with shock of his own. Jackson was struck with the feeling he was looking at a funhouse mirror.
“How…how could you withstand my strike? My body is infused with the the strength and stamina of over 200 of us. You should be paste on the wall.“
“Um…sorry. Listen man can we talk about this? Like, can you just chill for a second because this is really weird and..”
Jackson was interrupted by a flurry of blows being rained down upon him, each as ineffective as the last, landing with the force of a mild slap.
Jackson watched as the man’s swings slowed and his chest began to heave with each breathe.
“Your power will be mine,” Junkie Jackson shrieked!
Fingernails raked across Jackson’s face as blood was finally drawn.
“Dude I said CHILL!”
Jackson shoved the man backwards and felt a terrible crunch as his hands connected. The man went flying back across the room to land in a crumpled heap. Jackson saw that part of his chest had caved in.
The man looked at Jackson with a face that was far too easy to read. He could see fear, and anger, and resignation in that look.
“How are you doing it,” the man wheezed? “How…are you affecting the… gravity in the room? It’s…it’s like trying to punch someone in a dream.”
The man struggled to raise his arms one last time before collapsing back down. Defeated, he let out one last strangled gasp.
The room exploded with light.
Jackson was lifted up into the air as the body of his deranged double seemed to dissolve before him. He felt strength flow into him and the scratches on his face scab over then heal.
As he came back down to the ground he heard a knock on his door and his brother stepped in.
“Hey dude I heard shouting is everything cool?”
Jackson looked at his brother and at the spot where his double had fallen, now empty. There was no explaining this? How could he? Where could he start?
“Yeah man. I’m good. No biggie.”
“Okay bro. Just checking in. Oh! By the way man, you look good. Have you been working out?” | “I don’t understand.”
“Well of course you don’t.”
“Can you run it by me again?”
“I’ve killed Humdreds of you- us and they say that you are the strongest one. I’m here to see why.”
“Okay I’ve got 2 questions, why are you covered in blood? And did you say “humdreds”?”
“Did I say humdreds? Shoot I meant hundreds, and the reason I’m covered in blood is because I go and kill alternate versions of myself to insure I’m the only Abo there is.”
“Well I’m personally confused, why would I be the strongest I’m just trying to mind my own business.”
“Well here I go.”
Abo plunges his sword into Abo, and it ceases to exist.
“What in the fuck?”
“I’m thinking the exact same thing.”
“What did you do to my sword?”
“I dunno. I guess I didn’t want to be hurt”
“Okay… so you can cause stuff to stop existing?”
“I… don’t know…”
“Alright well I’m out of ideas, I’ll be right back”
“See you friend!”
“Wait what are you… ohhh! I get it now. Wait don’t leave!”
Abo exits his room, after all he has a great imagination. | 2022-11-09T12:52:00 | 2022-11-09T08:59:54 | 120 | 86 |
[WP] A kid doodling in a math class accidentally creates the world's first functional magic circle in centuries.
Magic being real in the past is your choice really. | OK. I'll admit, it wasn't what I was expecting.
When you're out of the game, you're out of the game, right? I mean, sure, you'll read the new literature, follow any new advances, but if you're not doing the research yourself, it's a comfortable distance.
It's probably not all that surprising, really. People stumble into mathematical laws from time to time; I just wasn't expecting it to happen in front of me. A geometry class is not where you'd expect to have to fight a small demon. Especially when it's been summoned by a 13 year-old messing around with tangents. He wasn't even a nerd. He had no real idea of what he was doing, and that was probably thanks to me. I'd like to pretend I'm a good teacher, but when you spent most of your time in University brewing your own booze and pissing around with fear demons, you don't walk out with a detailed knowledge of how to pass on simple mathematics to disinterested teenagers.
But I digress.
I wasn't actually paying that much attention, but when a red light starts shining out of a kids book onto his face, and he's looking into it as though his simultaneous equations just revealed the face of the Madonna, you figure something's up. And boy was something up.
By the time I'd gotten halfway across the classroom the ceiling was on fire and there was a spite demon climbing out from behind his trigonometry (amazingly the kid had actually shown his work). Dealing with the spite demon itself wasn't going to be a problem - they're annoying little bastards, but a sharp rap on the skull with a meter-ruler usually does the trick. The real problem was sending it back. Killing a demon is easy enough if you have the right materials, but those materials are not typically found within a year 8 classroom. Plus, dealing with the body is a pain, so it's easier to send the thing back. Which would have been simple, if this kid had used a summoning system that had still been popular after the Hundred Years War. This one was ancient. Far older than anything I'd ever seen.
I should have been glad it was so small. There isn't much that could come through that, and the spite demon seemed willing enough to retreat back to whatever outer circle of hell that the kid had tapped into. Apparently getting poked repeatedly in the face with a plastic ruler isn't a particularly pleasant experience on either side of the dimension boundary.
Unfortunately, this was pissing him off, the ceiling was still on fire, and I had no idea how to close this bloody portal. After a while you get sick of dodging acidic demon-spit, and when bits of burning wreckage start falling around you, you tend to decide that the 31 kids that have sweetly ignored the fire bell and are staring at you as if, well, as if you're a maths teacher poking a demon in the face with a ruler under a burning ceiling will probably notice anything you do anyway, so maybe subtlety isn't the way forward.
All-purpose stuff never works. The real simple stuff. You have to start using complex spells - ones that draw from a variety of backgrounds, observe their effect on the portal, try to figure out what bit of the spell did it, and then trace it back to its roots. I'm pretty sure this counts as a "stressful situation in the workplace", although I very much doubt that management had included a procedure for what happens if a kids workbook suddenly shits a spite demon when they wrote the pamphlet. Unwittingly, I was about to give these kids an example of just how damn useful trial and error could be.
But a workplace situation is a workplace situation, and the pamphlet (and common sense) both tell you to get rid of any minor problems first. That meant extinguishing the ceiling and sending the kids out. The first was simple enough, but if a small demon hadn't been enough to send these kids running, their maths teacher sure as hell wasn't getting them anywhere. So I siphoned the fire off. I remembered how to do that. It's relatively simple. Then I threw the fire in the demon's face. Which is relatively stupid. It (understandably, I suppose) made the demon even more annoyed, and made half the ceiling fall down. This did not serve to distract my class, or the demon, who clearly decided that this world might actually be worth a shot, and tried to climb back through the hole in the trigonometry.
More poking with the ruler, and another violent exchange of spells (me) and spit (the demon, and me, a little bit), and we were back where we started, only I was reciting ancient Greek spells, assuming that if it came from after Pythagoras, it had a hope. I barely knew these spells - I preferred to work in Celtic, but the Celts never created an inter-world portal using right-angle triangles.
This did seem to have the desired effect - the portal flickered, spat, burned without damaging the workbook (I'm quite grateful for that, all things considered), and all the time the demon kept shrieking at me while I poked it with the ruler. Eventually I got to something that made the whole thing flicker, and managed to string together a spell that might have shut it down had the demon not been half out of it at the time. You wouldn't expect that to happen, would you? You'd expect the demon to be dragged back into its own world with a *whooosh*and a loud scream. But a door is a door, and a door won't close if someone's arse is in the way. So I grabbed a textbook from Mandy Braithwait's desk (she's the only kid that doesn't draw dicks on them) and clocked it around the jaw. In hindsight this would have been a good starting move; closing a portal on an unconscious demon is much easier than closing a portal on an angry one. But that was by the by - I stuck the demon back through the hole and repeated the spell.
Bastard didn't work. Apparently the ancient Greeks liked to mix it up a bit. Pricks.
But I was on the right track, and managed to get the portal shut before the Headmaster rocked up asking why 8B weren't standing in a line on the all-weather pitch like everyone else. A spite demon might not have shifted them, but Mr Walsh got them moving fast enough.
I told him that the ceiling caught fire, and that it had burned out within a minute. He must have assumed that it was going to come down at one point or another.
As I left I took one last look at the workbook.
The kid understood tangents. That made my day a lot better.
| The clock reads ten till two, and David is bored. He looks at the front of the room where the teacher is marking up the board with numbers David doesn't understand. In the center is a circle and all kinds of symbols David has seen a hundred times yet he still doesn't understand. He looks back at his sheet of paper, almost untouched. This class will last until three, that's an hour and ten minutes of staring at a blank piece of paper and ignoring the drone from the front of the class.
He checks the clock, but it's still ten till two.
Faced with the options, insanity from boredom and doing actual work, he has a difficult decision to make.
He picks up the pencil and starts doodling.
The simple fact is that David, while not a moron, is exceptionally poor at math. The numbers mix together in the air between the teacher and him, and enter one side of his head just to leave through the other. Math just doesn't make sense to him, and the symbols on the board are as close to gibberish as it gets, so David starts with the only thing he recognizes: a circle.
Now, David's no fool. He knows how to make a circle- geometry has always been more art than math to him- and he takes time to get out a compass and carefully make a perfect little circle. If he were paying attention he might know that the circle he created was something special but, again, David is not a smart child and he sees the circle as just that: nothing of importance, just a doodle on a page. Even when he cuts himself finishing the circle, the compass roughly tearing the tip of finger spraying miniture droplets of blood across the paper, he sees nothing special about the day. He doesn't hear the singing, softly drifting in on winds unheeded. He doesn't see the circle of graphite shrink and shape, settling into the paper and the very desk beneath it.
And he starts drawing symbols, he doesn't notice that they're very different from the ones on the board.
David copies everything he can see down as well as he can, as if some universal understanding of the objects of mathematical power would be transferred to him by the writing of it. The symbol for Pi became squiggles, Xs and 7s and 8s and even 2s were mistranslated onto the paper, all along the circle. And as the teacher droned on about how to find the area of a circle, David's circle began to glow.
The singing was loud enough for David to hear it now, a soft melody drifting in on the wind from the air conditioner. To David it seemed they were singing his name- a sweet tone of 'Daaaavvvviiiiid' ad infinitum.
The song grows even louder and David is scared now; scared that the people around him don't hear anything, scared that the circle is glowing, scared that the runes are beginning to swirl around the circle like they're being flushed down the drain.
And at this moment something clicks in David's head. A forceful intuition works its way into the cogs and gears of his mind, like the instinct that drives all the salmon in the world to the same lake, and acting on such instinct he opens his hand and slams his palm into the center of the circle.
The paper glowed brighter than the sun- no, the sun and everything else *dimmed* as the light from the paper grew- and the room around David slowed. The *world* around David slowed.
And from the paper came a power, an almost solid energy that flowed into David's arm, glowing under his skin like radioactive blood. He pointed to the board in the front, covered with the teacher's sloppy handwriting, and clicked his fingers like he would when pretending to fire a gun.
The energy poured forth from his arm and leaked across the room, a stream of smokey light. It covered the board, all across the slick white surface it spread, until it had covered the entirety of it.
And then David blinked, and time around him unlocked, the world started spinning yet again, the sun returned to its glory, and the birds again started singing outside.
But the beautiful voices that had called his name were no longer singing. And the paper was a burnt up frame missing the original circle.
The only evidence that it had been real- besides the *feeling* of the energy entering him- was drawn across the board: The teacher, bald head and all, was illustrated in great detail. The...terrible situation, for lack of a better word, he found himself in was in perhaps even *greater* detail.
And no one had a clue what had happened. The teacher fumbled to erase the drawing, and was quick to throw accusations across the room at the usual troublemakers. David just chuckled and looked at the clock before laying his head on the desk.
2:05, just forty-five minutes left.
In his sleep, David dreams of the voices. And when he wakes up their tone rings quietly in the back of his head. | 2015-03-13T16:06:21 | 2015-03-13T15:00:21 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] You think you're the first person ever to exit the Milky Way Galaxy. On your way out, you see a sign written in English floating around in space. | "Don't freak out" it said.
Don't freak out? Do....n't freak ouuuut? The 86ish billion neurons in his brain were sending electrical impulses in a pattern that he assumed would have appeared on a brain scan as if somewhere were playing 20 million different games of pinball in the same machine at the same time.
"Sam," he said to his companion, the Ship's Artificial Mind, "has there been any indication that I have lost my mind recently? My memory of the past three days seems to be consistent with being sane, but recent events have updated the Bayesian probability of sanity to a much lower number. I'm still more likely to be sane, but I'm a lot less likely than before and would like to further update my probability."
The ship gave a sort of high pitched "brrp brp brp" noise before responding "there has been no indication of insanity, beyond the normal level of insanity all humans suffer from. All chemical receptors in your brain have remained consistent with a sane mind for the last 45 days of your voyage. Your behavior has been consistent with sanity as well, even that one day where you stayed in bed for 18 hours just laughing is consistent with a sane mind coping with isolation."
"Then, why, Sam, is there a sign, floating in space, just a few meters away from where I happened, on chance, to suspend acceleration, matching my trajectory so exactly as to be legible to me from the WINDOW, not even discovered by scans and put on the view port for inspection, but from the WINDOW of this ship with a message inscribed saying 'don't freak out'?"
"Brrp brp brp, my scans concur with your sensory perception, there is indeed a sign matching our exact velocity and flight path clearly visible to you from your current station. A list of possible scenarios based on the known physics of the universe can be provided to you, 504 of them include known forms of insanity as an explanation and include that the information I am providing to you is part of your insanity. 504 of them involves simultaneous insanity and mechanical malfunction of the SAM architecture. 3 of them involve no insanity and have probabilities of .4, .5, and .1. There are 4e+12 other possibilities with probability 4e-12."
"Ok Sam. We'll throw out insanity, malfunction, and low probability explanations for now. What are the three other possibilities?"
"Brrp brp brp. One. A much more sophisticated alien species monitors this portion of space. The sign materialized when you arrived per their instruction. The optimistic expectation is that the message is meant to help you cope with your first encounter with non-human natural intelligence and they will soon be greeting us. Two. A human for unknown reasons set the sign inside of the ship's canon apparatus, hid it from detection, and installed software to eject the sign at the precise moment we arrived and was not detected upon ejection. Three. There really is a god in this universe and he derives joy from messing with human minds."
"None of those actually seem all that likely Sam."
"Brrp brp brp. Before your trip the probability of these things were all very low. Upon observation of the sign probabilities updated and they became more probable."
"I see. Ooookay then. Wait a minute, is that another sign in the distance?"
"Brrp brp brp. Yes."
"..."
"Brrp brp brp ..."
From his perspective it had been nearly a year since he and Sam shared their moment of confusion together. They'd encountered 300 signs in space at each of their stops beyond their home galaxy. Each one had been a warning, messages that had been able to keep them alive. It seemed the signs provided a form of precognition. By the 15th sign the probability of a person stowing signs away had dropped to 0 as the ship had scanned itself for mass and evaluated the loss of mass at each sign. They hadn't thrown out alien intervention, but the likelihood of a first encounter had dropped to near 0 as well. By the 299th sign Sam's posterior probability for the existence of god had increased to .95 but his probability of having a motive of shenanigans had dropped. It seemed the indication that he should "not freak out" was a genuine recommendation.
Yes, from his perspective it had been nearly a year. And of course from the perspective of his counterpart, the journey past the milky way had not yet even begun. The 300th sign had said "pay it forward." Not long after that it was nearly time for him to turn his ship backward. He had reached the midway point of his data collection trip and it was time to return home. As he was turning his ship around two cosmic forces had collided hurtling him backward in time.
He was in a bind. If he returned home now he would return years before he had even left Earth, and contaminate the timeline. But he realized now where the the signs had come from. And he figured if time could allow THAT, maybe it could allow him to return to Earth too. Either way he had a year to think about it and Sam had a year to compute about it. One of them would find a way to make things work out, just like they always had. | The planet was dead. A world of ash and rot, where even the stench of death had long since died. A planet where green and blues, once married in beauty unrivalled, there were now only shades of black.
Sarah's voice broke through the static of my helmet. "Are you ready, sir?"
"Five more minutes," I instructed, as I clambered over the remains of fallen monuments and tombstones, until I came to the spot where once, a world away, a peach tree had grown. The place that she told she'd want to be placed beneath, so that she could one day be a peach swinging on a tree in the autumn breeze.
It took me longer than five minutes in the end, to find enough pieces of etched, crumbling rock to be able to complete the jigsaw enough.
> Ca-o-ine S--th. 2-05 to 2116. R--t in p---
I sank to the ground, along with my heart, as a plume of dust pirouetted around me, as once my little ballerina had done.
"Have you finished searching, sir?" It was Sarah. Her voice was unemotional. Professional. I hated her for it.
"Yes. 2116. That was the latest here. What have the rest of you found?"
"No graves later than 2118, sir."
I'd left when Caroline had been five. She was healthy and fit and...
"Sir," said Sarah, as if reading my mind, not only my frequency. "Just because it happened to this planet, doesn't mean it will happen to ours. This clearly happened a long time in the past, not three years from now."
Our expedition had been the first to leave the Milky Way, the first Faster Than Light ship on the fleet -- which was of course an exaggeration, a show of power to make the Russians and EuroAsians piss their pants. It was closer to a warp drive, in truth, and it had still taken us almost three years to get here.
What we hadn't expected was to receive -- to store -- a message that had been repeatedly broadcast on radio waves, as we left the Milky Way.
We hadn't even noticed it until long after we came out of Cryo. Until we'd arrived, orbiting this broken replica of something once precious to each of us.
> Now leaving Earth 53062. Welcome to Earth 245492.
We laughed. Nervously -- but we laughed. A message out here? And in English? We'd been pranked -- an automatic message left by the boys back home, to give us a bit of a scare. We laughed all the way up until we landed.
"It was a long time ago for them, Sarah," I said. "But for our planet... three years from now this could be us. We have to go back. Warn Earth -- our Earth -- of what's going to happen."
"But what is going to happen?" asked Mikus, my science officer. "How can we help them if we don't know what happened?
"So you propose... *what,* exactly?" I snapped.
"We stay. We start an archaeological dig, if we have to. We find out what happened -- what *will* happen -- to Earth, before we go back."
"Mikus," said Sarah. "Whatever did this... whatever created these worlds... Could they be *tests*. Failures?"
"We're only going to find out if we stay," Mikus replied. "Captain, what's it to be?"
| 2018-03-04T09:28:15 | 2018-03-04T09:09:11 | 127 | 59 |
[WP] Technology has advanced so much that having a regular human body is boring. Your parents are old school and refuse to allow you to get "enhancements" like all your friends until you're 18.
We can assume that 18 years old is the legal age to get enhancements without needing parental consent. | Madison stopped talking to me last summer. Kaley just stopped texting me back sometime around Christmas break. I knew it was coming. They both had wings and I didn't and they'd fly up to the roof of the school during lunch to sneak cigarettes and make out with the boys. In the beginning, they'd try to get one of the guys to carry me up on their backs, but eventually they just stopped giving a shit. Eventually they'd just lie and say they looked for me after class when they really hadn't. I don't have an IQ chip, but I'm not a fucking idiot. I knew what was going on. But what was I going to do? In high school, you make your bed freshman year and then you just hope the people you hitch your wagon to don't change too much too quick.
The wings weren't the real problem though. Of course my friends were a little embarassed to hang out with someone who couldn't fly anywhere, who always had to be carried like a fucking six year old. I was a burden, sure, but they didn't outright pity me or resent me, not yet at least. The real breaking point was the chameleon injections. Teen girls are going to be cliquey and vain, everyone knows that. But tell them they can look like a different hot celebrity everyday and fucking coordinate this with each other and they will take prissy bitch to the next level. So Madison and Kaley would start showing up like platinum blonde beach bunnies one day and then fierce, rap video hoes the next. The boys, obviously, went fucking nuts for this. I became a liability, always just standing there, always the same. No perfect lips or tits. No Cindy Crawford beauty mark only when I was in the mood. This is what made me toxic. Hard to seem unattainable if you let some frumpy chick hang around with you. So they cut me loose.
Honestly, I don't blame them. It's my dad's fucking fault. Dad was a doctor. He went to school for like twenty years. Then the regeneration serum comes out and everything he knows is fucking useless. Doctors used to brag how they got so much joy from saving lives, but it turns out that was all bullshit. Because when it came to choosing between no diseases, ever, for anyone, and making money, they all picked themselves instead of the sick and disabled. Bullshit internet conspiracy forums sucked dad in pretty good and he conveniently got convinced that being enhanced was a moral danger to society, despite having been pretty adamantly pro stem cell research once upon a time. But what am I supposed to do? Doesn't matter what I say. Doesn't matter the world isn't the same world he grew up in. He thinks I'm just a kid.
So that's why I'm here. You said you wanted to know, and I told you. I'm as desperate as they fucking come. I need to make money, anyway I can, because I need to buy back my life. I'll do anything you want. You can do anything you want to me. So if that's enough to get you going, let's get it over with. Like I said, you can do anything you want, but I just need a little warning before your pants come off. Do you just have the horse or did you go full gorilla?
| "No."
"But why, Dad?" Alfred moaned. "I'm fifteen; I am old enough to know what I want. Bionic enhancements are *safe*; all my friends have them. So why not?"
His father sighed, and sat down on the sofa. He rolled up his sleeve, and patted the seat next to him.
"Come here, Fred. Come on; take a look at this." Alfred sat down, and looked at where his Dad was pointing. Just there, on his upper arm... as realisation dawned on him, he flinched away.
"I thought I was sensible too, at your age." His father explained, covering up his arm once more. "My friends and I thought it'd be *hilarious* if we got these enhanced tattoos. And they were, for about fifteen minutes, until we understood what *permanent* means." Alfred stared at his father, the 'fuddy-duddy' who resisted anything new, yet had...that.
"A bionic enhancement is permanent, Fred. That robot arm? It means you've lost your arm. Forever. Those bionic eyes? When they break in five years, you'll be blind unless you buy the new pair. That's why."
His father stood, and ruffled Alfred's hair. "Everyone makes dumb mistakes when they are young. The trick is to make sure they don't bite you in the ass when you're older." Walking to the door, his father turned.
"Oh, and don't tell your mother I showed you that tattoo; she doesn't think you look at stuff like that yet." | 2016-06-23T13:01:20 | 2016-06-23T12:48:59 | 78 | 21 |
[WP] You join the military, you are placed in the gardeners program. You garden in exotic places where the military has done operations, each time they give special glasses and forbid spraying others. One day your glasses fall off and you see you are actually burning corpses with a flamethrower. | The world became soft somewhere. Perhaps it was slowly being removed from how we process food? Maybe it was the long comfortable stretches of relative peace? I don't know.
The army had given us NBC suits before. It seemed overkill to issue them for simple gardening duty on a FOB. It was odd to even have landscaping on a FOB. I was trained as we all are to accept orders without question. We wore the suits, we mowed the lawn, we sprayed for weeds. There has never been a cleaner, more orderly camp in the history of warfare.
It was easy. It was safe. The other poor joes kept coming back shot up, or not at all. Judging by our survivors you'd think we were getting our asses handed to us. I never could quite reconcile the two. They looked gaunt, bloody, like they had seen death itself. I kept my head down, and kept to my gardening. It wasn't the best job, but it's got to be better than what those guys are doing.
I suppose it was better. I know the truth of what we did, and I still think it was better. The world became a lot bigger after my NBC helmet broke. Still, it's better for me. All those weeds I was spraying, were corpses and the half-dead being burned with my flamethrower. Once I found out, so many things made sense. Each answer spawned several more questions. Mostly they came back to, why.
The most important questions to ask are ones we don't think of asking. Why was everyone bloody, but the vehicles don't have the dings, holes and assorted damage typical of warfare. I never thought to even notice.
The laws, and walls we put up worked. It kept out the bad elements to the world. If it got bad enough, if it threatened us, we'd have to respond. We did. A massive plague. I don't know all the details other than, the survivors were just the living dead, coming to their graves. It was decided that if you showed symptoms of the plague, that was it for you. We couldn't take that chance.
The world got soft somewhere. So many people couldn't handle the dirty work of cremation, they mentally broke. The army had to find a way around. Someone had decided that if we let the public at large know of the problem, they'll want to know the scope, and how to solve it. I am the solution. The only solution we have. I hope that's enough.
I'm not a writer, I just liked the idea of this guy hang a horrific discovery only to realize, meh it's gross but not *that* bad. If anyone wants to take this idea feel free. Make it into something to be proud of. | As quick as my glasses fell off I threw them back on in hopes no one had seen. I remember just 3 months ago Jared had told me his fell off during his shift. He was never the same after that day. He never did say why. He just looked sick to his stomach everyday until they took him away. They told us he'd been exposed to harmful chemicals, and that he was being sent to receive medical attention. He'd been gone a week tops they said. Jared never did come back to Base...That was the last I ever saw of my best friend.
So much running through my mind now. Why do they have us doing this? We are trained to follow orders no matter what. So why keep our true mission a secret? Did they see me without my glasses? Who are those corpses that we are burning and how did they die? What really happened to Jared? What's to happen to me now? | 2017-06-20T01:49:06 | 2017-06-19T20:39:26 | 520 | 157 |
[WP] You're on a space ship with a bunch of your crewmates. You're the only human, and apparently metaphors are a strictly human behavior. You've learned to cope with this, but today you've decided to speak in only figures of speech as a prank on the others. | **From: The Captain**
**To: All Crew**
Greetings all, I am sending a mass email to address some of the issues that have arisen with our new human crew member. Before I start, I want to remind her that these are in no way meant to demean or degrade her or her stellar work on this ship. You have been an exemplary officer and companion thus far.
The issue here is one of language, unfortunately humans have a manner of speaking which our translators struggle to comprehend. They use unusual speech patterns that we have previously not encountered. These are called *metaphors* and are non literal descriptions of a circumstance or condition.
**THEY ARE NOT MEANT TO BE TAKEN LITERALLY**
I now include a non exclusive list, subject to updates, for the crew to read and attempt to understand.
**The elephant in the room**
There is no elephant, in or around the room, or on the ship, it is a metaphor for a potentially awkward situation that is not being addressed. When Second Officer Riley announced that she would "deal with the elephant in the room" she meant the situation of having a human crew member. There is no elephant on board. For those unaware, an elephant is a very large herbivore from planet earth. It is not *actually* in the room. So please, stop looking for it. I have sent additional emails to two crew members that have undertaken the task of finding this creature. Again, please stop searching for it.
**Getting on like a house on fire**
There is no fire. I am not sure of how this means this, but the meaning of this phrase is to have good comradery. Second Officer Riley meant that she expects to have good working relationships with the rest of the crew.
**By the skin of our teeth**
This means just barely. In the context of the story being told, Second Officer Riley meant that her last ship barely survived the battle. This does not mean that humans have skin on their teeth. Please stop asking the Second Officer about this, and please stop searching our data banks for "human teeth skin", high command have noticed and are asking me difficult questions.
**Tough as nails**
This is not to be taken literally. It was a comment on the veracity and strength of humans. They are not as tough as metal, requests from the science department to test the Second Officer have been denied. While Second Officer Riley has taken it in good spirit, any further impromptu tests on her skin by sharp objects will be considered assault and treated as such.
**Show me the ropes**
This means to teach someone how things are done. I am aware there are no real ropes on board, not counting the metal cables. When Second Officer Riley asked her superior to "show me the ropes" she meant to be shown how the ship and her role works. Two hours were wasted looking for these ropes. Next time this happens, I will be docking wages for wasted time.
**Grey area**
This means a subject or condition that is either unknown or contains contradictory elements. There is no actual *grey area* on this ship. Attempts to find said grey area will be dealt with as they occur. If one more person enters a zone they are not authorised to be in, they will be punished accordingly, especially if they claim to be searching for it.
**Bad apples (spoiling the barrel)**
Apples are a fruit from earth. No, we do not have any here, bad or otherwise. This means someone who is bad or incompetent to a degree that it drastically and negatively affects the larger group. I do not consider any of you to be this, you are all excellent crew members. You may refer to someone you do not like as one, but if anyone then attempts to bite said crew member, they will be punished.
**Coming out of the closet/still in the closet**
This is an old human phrase from centuries ago. It means to announce, or not, to the world, that one is homosexual or otherwise not heterosexual. If one *comes out of the closet* it means to reveal this fact about themselves. To *stay in the closet* is to not reveal this. There are no other humans on board, in closets or not. Please stop searching personal lockers for homosexual humans. It's wrong for many reasons. I shouldn't have to explain.
**Don't shoot the messenger**
This means to blame the bearer of the news, usually bad news, for said news. Nobody will be shooting anyone on board. If we have another *accidental* firearms discharge, we will have to return to port for investigation.
**Beating a dead horse**
This means to do something that will have no effect. We do not carry livestock on this ship, and we do not condone abuse of any animal. Horses were work animals on earth, before machines, and would be (lightly) hit for motivation. More cruel people would beat their horses to get better results but, obviously, a dead horse cannot work so beating it does nothing. Unfortunately this seems to have offended and confused some crew members so let me remind you that there are no horses on board, dead or otherwise.
**Cold feet**
This means when someone decides not to do something, they get "cold feet" and do not carry out or accomplish their tasks. When Second Officer Riley mentions someone getting "cold feet" it is not a circulation issue or a temperature issue. Please stop asking medical staff about this and please stop raising the temperature of the room when the Second Officer enters. Additionally, while appreciated, Second Officer Riley does not need any more socks. She has literally hundreds now. Besides, she was not the person reported to have cold feet.
**Broken hearted**
This is not literal so please stop hitting the emergency medical alert. It means to be very upset or having your feelings hurt. Without revealing personal details, when Second Officer Riley mentions having or someone else having a "broken heart', they mean severe emotional trauma, not bodily trauma. Of course she passed the physical exam, and there is no medical condition of a broken heart, so please stop asking.
**Clear as mud**
This means unclear. It's similar to sarcasm, which is another issue I must deal with. If anyone responds to this memo with this phrase, please not that it means unclear. I am surprised that so many of you highly intelligent crew members haven't realised this. | Kyle awoke in his quarters, his head still wobbly from the aurora juice Yel-Dul was passing around the other night. As he sat up on his bed and took a moment for the nausea in his stomach to dissipate, his thoughts turned to the revelries aboard the *Ravana* the evening prior. More specifically, to the amusing reactions his fellow crew members had when he likened Su-Roh’s medical apparatuses to the claws of a praying mantis. It was a silly metaphor, but the way his fellow crewmembers’ faces contorted in bewilderment was hilarious in his inebriated state. Suddenly, a grin spread across his face as a particularly impish idea formed in his mind. He quickly threw on his uniform that was haphazardly piled on the floor and rushed out to the mess hall, where he knew the rest of the crew would be eating breakfast.
He stifled a laugh as he walked in and noticed the other four jumping at his sudden presence. There was something almost childlike in their reactions to him, and Kyle could not help but want to tease them a little further. He grabbed a bowl of nutrition gruel and sat down next to Chro-Nis, whose face turned orange as she kept her head down and continued to shovel gruel into her mouth. “Mornin’, y’all! Hope y’all slept well last night cause I gotta tell ya, that aurora juice was like one of them Spanish bulls kicking and screaming around in my stomach.”
Yel-Dul glanced at Kyle and replied, “Forgive me if my beverage caused such harm to your body, Kai-El. I was not aware the juice would metabolize into one of your Terran animals.”
“Haha, that’s a good one, Yel-Dul! Nah, I’m only kidding with ya. It was just a simile, there wasn’t an actual *bull* kicking around inside me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here!” Kyle said as he took a bite of gruel. Yel-Dul gave an uneasy nod in response before returning to his bowl. Kyle continued, “Anyways, any big plans for the rest of y’all today? Me, I gotta get down to the engine room after this. Damn FTL drive’s been a feisty little woman the last few days, and somebody need to get her in line.”
It was Dho-Do’s turn to chime in as he replied, “Kai-El…does your people typically associate the FTL drive with your female sex?”
Kyle covered his mouth with his right hand to stifle a fit of laughter and said, “Nah, silly! Just a metaphor, that’s all. Over on Earth, we call a lot of things ‘she’. Ships, horses, cars, you name it. It’s just a way for us to show affection to things, that’s all.”
Chro-Nis suddenly rose from her seat and quickly gathered her belongings, nearly knocking Kyle’s glass of water over. “Whoa there, Chro-Nis. You alright there? The way you shot up just now, I woulda thought our ship was under attack or something,” said Kyle.
The young Thrurrid paused before turning back to the human crewmember, her face bright orange as she replied, “Forgive me, Kai-El. But I was not aware your people were so…lecherous. It is completely foreign to us Thrurrid, and I will need some time to acclimate. Especially considering more of your brethren will join us.”
Kyle’s amused expression turned into one of surprise as he replied, “No shit! We’re going back to Earth? Why the sudden change of plans? I thought we was headin’ straight for the Empress lady over on Hyperius IV? Not that I mind, of course. Always good to have my fellow brothers and sisters on board!”
Su-Roh dropped her spoon and quickly turned towards Kyle as she said, “You mean to tell us every human shares blood relations with one another!?”
Kyle could not help himself and burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, with the four Thrurrids showing various degrees of discomfort as the *Ravana* continued its course towards Earth.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
To see the prequel to this response, come check out r/williamk9949 for more! | 2020-06-16T12:05:05 | 2020-06-16T10:41:14 | 156 | 18 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “Crap,” I think, “there goes that idea.”
“How do you plead?” The judge asks.
“How can I plead anything beside what you have already decided for me?” I retort. The venom won’t help me here but I can’t help it, I’m angry. Anyone in my situation would be.
I’ve spent a lifetime building my political career. They say that honesty never gets you anywhere in politics but I never believed them. I always stuck to my principles. Apparently *they* were right. In a series of unfortunate events I found myself out of favor with my superiors and falling into the bad graces of my political rivals. I thought their disdain and political efforts would be the farthest they would go to harm my career but it wasn’t my career they were after.
A wielder appeared out of thin air and killed my wife as we both slept. He vanished and was somehow able to make the magic residue of his transference look like it came from me, and not as a transfer spell either but a death chant. How he did it, I’ll never know. I’ve never wielded before in my life. I didn’t even know you could mimic one’s aura’s afterglow.
“Very well then,” the judge says pulling me out of my rumination. “We find you guilty of murder and 9th degree unlicensed use of deadly magic. You are sentenced to death. Considering your claim to innocence and your considerable record before this incident, we grant you the right to pick the death of your choosing.”
“Great comfort there.” I mutter under my breath. I have to think fast. I want justice and this isn’t it.
“I wish to die by…” I have to get out of this somehow. “By…” I’m stalling and the judge knows it. His patience won’t last forever. I need time.
“I wish to be bound as death’s apprentice!” I quickly shout as I see the judge about to bring down the gavel. There’s a sudden burst of murmurings. One person asks, “can he do that?” “This is highly unusual,” another voice calls out.
“Do you know what you’re asking?” The judge asks. To my surprise there is a real look of concern in his face.
“Probably not.” I admit. But it’s my only chance to give he judge my death while also possibly getting justice.
“You are asking for an eternity of living death. It would be a living torment. Are you sure you want this?”
“I want justice.” I seethe. “It has been denied me. The only family I have is gone, my career has been sabotaged, and the real perpetrator has evaded justice somehow.”
There’s a glimmer of uncertainty in the judges eyes. He believes me to be guilty but my request has him second guessing if only for a moment.
“Very well.” The judge finally states after a long pause. “I grant you your request.”
The gavel falls and the change is immediate. The room fades from existence and the world goes dark and hazy. A hooded figure approaches me, reaches out a bony finger and touches me on the forehead.
“Welcome” it says in a hissing long breath. “Thou hast come to be as I have always ordained thee to become.”
There’s a gray flash that sparks on the point of contact between our two bodies and immediately I am dead. My flesh falls away and I’m robed in a shroud.
“I name thee Hades” Death says. “Deliver justice as thou has sworn. Take vengeance upon thine enemies. Bring all that liveth by evil unto Death.” | There was a small group of us, huddled in the back. We had long ago stopped carrying why we were being sentenced to death. They seemed to be processing us in batches. The men who rebelled against former Chancellor Armenta were being cleared out before us.
We had been watching in dismay as the deaths were carried out. Each one giving us new ideas, or at the least, methods to avoid. There was only so many they could process at a time and someone had pointed out that certain ones seemed more magically draining on the system.
It seemed to be proven true as they looked particularly wiped after that death. It was still mid morning, and I turned and looked at the rest of the women I was with, nodded once, took a deep breath, and then volunteered to go first. Some of those women seemed nice, none seemed to be deserving of death by any of my measures, so I decided to buy them time, if I could.
It sounds noble, but I don't have a great life. I approached the stand, and looked up at the new high Chancellor. All the judges and executioners wore odd robes and masks. There was no continuity in style. The man I was looking at was wearing robes of red and white and an elaborate dragon mask.
"I choose the following death," I said smiling, "I will die giving birth to your twin heirs. Who will be so distraught at their mother's death that they'll avenge me and destroy you."
A quiet hush went, and then a soft pop. The magic began moving through my body. I felt the most intense cramping, a shudder and stifled moan passed through the chancellor's body. After a brief moment, I began to expand rapidly. The pain, discomfort and nausea overwhelmed me. It was a horrible way to die, but I felt vindicated when the birth of the first child was announced, a girl...the second is coming. | 2021-06-24T10:25:27 | 2021-06-24T09:16:51 | 432 | 25 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind. | The man in the black suit reshuffled the papers on his desk. "Well, I must say this is highly unusual. Under normal circumstances..." His voice trailed off, and he glanced at Rebecca, who was still standing behind me. I swallowed a few times, but my throat still felt dry. All the moisture in my body seemed to have moved to my palms. "I know my rights," I said.
The man in the black suit leaned forward. "It's quite simple, really. The fact of the matter is - well, frankly, you are not a good person." He paused for effect. "You did receive our letter? Your Virtue Score is well below the bank's cut-off point. Nobody gives loans to the double-digits. We can't count on you to repay your loan, because-"
"That's ridiculous!" I broke in. "I'll pay you back, I can do it! I told you a million times, I've got a steady job, I can show you my-"
*"- because,"* the main in the black suit continued icily, "confounding factors aside - your Virtue Score indicates you are... less than trustworthy, and no credible financial institute is going to take on a high-risk low-yield asset. This would all have been explained in the form letter. Are we done here?"
I slumped back down in my chair. Somewhere beyond my back, Rebecca tsked. "You may have taken notice of my client's spotless criminal record, to say nothing of the glowing job performance evaluations or the valor certificates. Do these count for nothing?"
The agent pursed his lips. "The VirtuMetrics algorithm isn't quite this blunt. It considers a wide variety of- I shouldn't have to explain this. The method's proprietary."
Rebecca smiled a winning smile. I assumed. "Please, walk us through. Just for the record."
"Very well." The VirtuMetrics rubbed his temples, causing his sleeves to fall back. He wore a thin silver band bearing the stylised 'Club 150+' emblem. I absently rubbed my own wrist. "The virtue scoring system was established under the Just World initiative back in the '20s." He had clearly given this speech before. "Terrible time. Crime running amok, drug cartels fighting open wars in the streets, jails bursting at the seams. President Smith finally put the boot in, declared some cities as sacrifice zones, had the Department of Information identify high-risk individuals, offenders and potential offenders and moved them there. And wouldn't you know it, crime plummeted everywhere else. The virtue zoning program grew out of that, and within a generation everyone was living in the neighborhood they deserved. But the system didn't scale well as population kept increasing. Computing a virtue score would take weeks because of all the interdepartmental work it involved. The whole system was privatised as a deficit-cutting measure in '42, we soon emerged as leader in a highly competitive market and have been providing accurate and *expedient* virtue scores ever since. Our algorithm's patented, proprietary and non-negotiable."
Rebecca politely waited for the agent to finish. We had rehearsed this, of course, but hearing my implied personal failures laid bare still hurt. "Yes... I was wondering about that. Speaking of competition, it must've hurt your business when GovData went under."
The man paused. "Well, it hurts to lose a system partner, but we weathered the storm just fine," he finally said.
"Didn't Arthus win the auction for their database, though? And there's no way they're sharing that data with their overseas competition. I wonder how that affected your heuristics..."
The agent clenched his fists. I felt something welling up in my chest. Not quite hope, but perhaps something close to it.
"What are you implying?"
Rebecca leaned forward, her voice all honey and glass shards. "Are you are aware that, under the Community Reinvestment Act, it is illegal to deny loans based solely on the applicant's address?" | I've heard stories of how, long ago, people of all types were allowed to live together, a place where people with a goodness score of 1 were allowed to live in the same places as people with goodness scores of 200.
Of course, this world stopped existing after a team of scientist invented the perfect way to test someones "goodness". The goodness test wasn't widely accepted, until Vladimir Putin, a dictator, discovered the test while he was browsing a website called "Facebook"(The creator of this site was later killed by a mob of Goodness Test believers after they discovered he had a goodness test of 1). He discovered this test while he was invading America, and after he somehow managed to conquer America, he made taking this Goodness Test mandatory to take for every person.
He started making the people with goodness scores under 40 into slaves, who built the walls we see now. None of this matter now, however. This all happened very long ago, and none of it matters anymore. The people who have yet to be diagnosed are kept outside the walls. "my, my..your score is a 10." "Put him in the cart, let him live with the rest of the filth.". "Next person.", I walk up to him, nervous. "Okay, just go in there, and take the test." I walk in to the rather well lit cubicle, a sharp contrast between the dark and pouring rain outside. I take the test, I walk out. "Well, aren't you lucky. You've got a score of 75. Go into that bus, and you and the other people in there will be transported over to sector 75. Enjoy the ride."
I look back at the camp one last time, before walking into the bus. After a small wait, we set off for sector 75. As we pass through sector 1, I see a barren wasteland, and our car gets attacked by the inhabitants. They threw glass bottles, and rocks at our bus, which was thankfully heavily armored. The bus-driver sped up, and we thankfully got away. To be continued, possibly. | 2016-08-26T13:55:56 | 2016-08-26T10:59:35 | 84 | 18 |
[WP] You are the party bard, offering comic relief to your adventuring party. Your never serious and overly positive demeanor is a facade. The party does not know your true nature or power. While against an insurmountable foe, the party is about to see you get serious for the first time. | I’m an ambitious bard. I’m an arrogant bard. I have dreams to play my songs to queens and emperors, to legions of adoring fans. One time I heard someone say, “picture it in your mind and it will come true. That the power of positive thinking can will you to greatness.” Before I go to bed, I imagine all these things. The kings. The queens, the emperors, the fans. I keep them in my mind until I fall asleep. I see myself bringing the world to life, serenading every young lovely maid, bringing courage to the heart of the weak man, setting the stars dancing across the sky to my music. All this runs through my mind as I sink down to rest.
I took a gig with a local band of adventurers. The pay is okay. It covers my substantial loans for my bard apprenticeship. It was expensive, but it was worth it. I learned under some of the greats. I don’t tell the party. I’m embarrassed to let them know that a graduate from such a distinguished music college would be taking a gig for fifteen gold an hour. I tell them I graduated from a local community bard college. I’m always positive and I tell them jokes to pass the time.
The job itself is easy. It’s not mentally taxing and I do get some practice with my instruments, but it’s mostly calming songs. You see, my job is to mostly just sleep the creatures so the group can handle the others one by one. That’s pretty much all I do. It’s entry level work and it only requires a few chants I learned as a kid. But its good to master the basics. That’s what Taliesin told me. That’s my mentor and he is a great bard. One of the greatest. He has enchanted the most beautiful kelp maidens in the grotto of the sirens. His songs have smote Kandash, the fury dragon. His melodies have echoed through the halls of great deeds for the last two centuries. Someday I will be as great as him. That’s what he said. “Someday you will be as great as me, Dafydd.” *Some day.*
I am currently holding three Chetari in a deep sleep. These are a sort of rat people, slightly smaller than a human and they live deep within the dungeon. We’ve been working our way down, the group is hoping to find a secret chamber to make this run a little more lucrative. I’m paid a flat rate, so it doesn’t interest me much.
We make short work of the Chetari and my mind is elsewhere. This was supposed to be a basic dungeon run. One I’ve done dozens of times so far with this group. But as we make our way deeper down a passage our barbarian, who is bumbling his way in front, sets off a trap and I feel the floor collapse underneath us.
Sitting their chewing the flesh of his own kind, is Zandek, the cannibal dragon. He looks at us, surprised at first, then a low, growing laugh expands in his hideous throat, it echoes through the enclosed room, our soon to be tomb, as he rises, his gargantuan bulk pressing against the roof.
*Welcome,* he says in a rumbling, nauseating voice. | 3 minutes in, the rest of the party never stood a chance. The horde came and overwhelmed everyone. My turn.
I open pouch one, enchanted amplifiers, and let it drop. I grab my primary instrument from the depths of pouch two. Finally pouch three, three enchanted guitar picks for these occasions.
Hair tie comes undone with first strum. A hard shriek bellows out in all directions. Speaking, no, commanding in a primordial voice to FIGHT.
My hands move as I play the same songs as I have always continue, but with a different intent. I am no longer playing for fun or the moment, but for survival. As these unholy sounds continue I think about our past encounters with death, the Cleric Jane always had our back, yet she lay broken next to Paladin Ozor. His shield lay broken in two pieces almost on him. Wizard Alister clutching his amulet as magic leaks from his broken vessel. Sergeant Bryne bleeding out from several wounds begins to finally stir. He sits up to see what I have become.
Sound echoes across the landscape shaking the earth, The Horde begins to falter, their bones begin to crack. My head bouncing up and down, dried blood falling away, dirt falling to the ground.
3 minutes after and the battle has turned. My allies have began to recover and a boon from the gods though the cleric refresh us. The songs continue outward mending us, causing terror in them, and calling upon ancient forces for aid. | 2021-01-02T19:47:33 | 2021-01-02T19:38:26 | 49 | 25 |
[WP] Year 2219, a powerful AI system predicts with 100% accuracy when each living person will die and how. People generally live and organise their lives accordingly, knowing full well they cannot escape their predicted ends. It's been 24 hours since your death time. You're still alive. | The tempestuous weather blanketed the city in a fog that blinded those caught within it’s dangerous grasp. Rain fell, hidden within, until the moment of impact, stinging with each drop as the wind loaned its power to their cause. Frenzied lightning strikes were little more than golden glows within the haze, though their partnering roars of thunder shook the ground and disorientated anyone unprepared.
My hands shook as I squeezed the water soaked collar of the thick cotton jacket that no longer shielded my body from the cold. It tightened against my back as I pulled it further up against my neck. The two buildings I crouched between, usually towering skyscrapers, now seemingly disappeared into the fog, failed to protect me from the harsh weather. And drops of water swirled through the air with the sporadic toss of my head in an attempt to clear the rain from my face.
“Record!” I yelled over the roaring of thunder, bringing my left arm up to my face.
The smart chip that sat below my skin glowed a bright blue to signify the start of a fresh recording.
“11:45 - Log 8: It’s been 24 hours and I’m still alive. I’m actually still alive. Although, if you’re hearing this, I may no longer be.” The thunder and whipping of rain fought to smother my voice as I yelled into my forearm.
“The crazy scientists experiment worked. The LOC AI code branch has been expelled from my chip and I’ve escaped my pre-determined termination date. Yes, you heard me, pre-determined, not predicted.” I continued yelling while glancing around the side of the building, to little avail. The fog was far too thick to make much out, but the assailants were still out there.
“Everything we know about the LOC AI is a lie. It’s not been predicting our termination date, it’s been setting it. That much I know.” My eyes blurred as more rain dripped from my soaked hair, running down my brow and threatening to drown my eyes.
“I’m still being chased. The two cloaked… humans?. I don’t know. Whoever, or whatever, they are, are relentless. They’ve yet to give up and I fear they won’t. They’ve now been on my tail for just over 23 hours.” I violently shook my head to try and expel the never ending flow of rain that attacked my face.
“I need to keep moving. Log 8 over - Jason out.”
————————————————————————————————————————————————
r/WordsByJez
I had a lot of fun with this one! I’ve got a head full of directions that this could go from here. | Believing something must be terribly wrong you decide to contact the Office of Ceremonial Terminations.
“Hello, Thank you for calling your local OCT offices,” the telephonic voice says, “ For Cantonese think 1. For Sanskrit think 2.”
Becoming annoyed and a little hungry you open the door to your mini-fridge. You quickly open the wrapper and begin gnawing on the chocolate confection.
This would be fine if you were still in Samoa, however this country had not banned products with peanuts in them. Seeing that you are now on the other side of the international date line you realize that not only are you going into anaphylaxis, but that damn clock was right!
NOTE: I may have gotten the international date line direction wrong so be cool. I’m high and it’s late. | 2019-10-30T23:22:46 | 2019-10-30T22:34:37 | 112 | 27 |
[WP] Two time travelers, one from 1750, and one from 1320 land in Times Square in 2016. The one from 1750 is trying to explain to the one from 1320 what's going on. | “By God! This is cooked to perfection.”
Roland Vanderville was seated on a bench and looked to be in a state of utter bliss. He took a bite of his hot dog, coated with a thick layer of fresh chili, and turned to his traveling partner. Alexander Rantham of East Collinship was not impressed.
“There hath been sausages cooked over the fire by the village idiot that tasted better,” Alex groaned, tossing half of his meal into a nearby garbage can.
Roland took a deep breath, then coughed after inhaling fumes from a nearby cigarette smoker.
“So – echhhh – what do you think – ahem – of this place?”
“I cannot say for sure. You said all this brightness was – what do you call it – electricity?”
“Precisely. Hard to believe it’s come this far. You know, this is where one of those British colonies used to be.”
“I hath no knowledge of 'Britain'. Or a 'colony'. And these strange costumes make me feel as though I am in a dream.”
A fellow in a knockoff Elmo costume wandered by.
Roland stroked his chin. “It appears to be some sort of large-scale theatrical production! I deeply admire the commitment to character here. But I must say, I’ve never seen audience participation to quite this extent. What do you think it is? Shakespeare?”
“Shakespeare who?”
“I’m sorry, lad. Arriving from the fourteenth century must be a bit, uh, challenging.”
“You are correct. I assume some of these glowing boxes are shops? But no blacksmith around, and certainly not a meeting hall…”
“Ah, that’s the thing, Alexander. Everywhere is a meeting hall. That place on the corner is called a ‘Starbucks,’ if my research is correct. People congregate there to get ‘brews’ nearly every morning. It’s apparently quite a widespread tradition.”
“I wish there was a bit more quiet. I am tempted to run an axe through one of these ‘cars.'"
“When I dropped by 1940, the vehicles weren’t nearly this...aggressive. Perhaps the more people there are, the more they feel the need to use the horn."
Alexander sighed. “I suppose so. Though I must admit, Sir Roland, it is nice seeing so many people all together. And they all look so…different.”
Roland chuckled. “It’s called a ‘melting pot’ for a reason.”
They both sat on the bench for a while, observing the colors, hypnotized by the screens.
“Dost thou desire to purchase some of those chairs and head back to my land for a home-cooked meal?”
“Absolutely, my friend.”
Alex and Ronald stood up, clapped three times, and disappeared into the cosmos.
***
*Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.*
| "I thinks God's sent us here'nta 'future' so as ta punish us our for our sins" said 1750 to 1320, who was cowering from all the noise and chaos. "I knew I shouldn'ta lay with Betsy before m'marriage, but she was such a lovely lass."
1320 tried to stammer out a sentence. "But I dun do nuthin wrong!"
1750 nodded sagely. "You's always doin somethin wrong, boy, that's the nature of this here world. Ain't can never do right enough for our lord'n saviour."
1320 succumbed to terror, running into the busy street. It was likely the first time he'd seen a bus. It was most certainly the last.
1750 wiped bits of 1320 off him, nodding sagely again.
"Yep, our lord sure works'n mysterious ways, that's f'sure." | 2016-07-18T09:19:09 | 2016-07-18T08:52:09 | 285 | 40 |
[WP] A sad, lonely guy has an idea. He invites 4 girls on a date, on the same day, in the same restaurant. When they realize what's going on, he tries to convince them to play DnD. | Tracy, Lily, Ana, and Sonya all stared in bewilderment at Joshua.
“Wait, what did you say?” Said Ana, one of the girls.
“…Okay, basically, I was really lonely during school and on weekends, I have no one to play with, so I had the idea of asking the four of you on a date at the same place so I could get you all together for me to ask you if any of you would like to play Dungeons and Dragons.” Joshua felt his heart beat rise a little. *This might have been a bad idea.*
The girls all look at eachother. Joshua knew that Tracy and Sonya knew eachother, but aside from that, he’s not sure how they feel about eachother.
“Wait… isn’t it that game where you roll a bunch of dice and dress up and roleplay, or soemthing?” Asked Lily.
“Yes! Well, uh, minus the dress up, this game is already a bit harsh on my wallet and costumes can be uncomfortable, but otherwise yes!”
“I’ve actually played a campaign before,” said Sonya.
The other girls turn towards her.
“Wait, seriously!?” Said Ana.
“Yeah, my older brother ran a game with his friends a few years ago, he invited me partway through. It was actually pretty fun.”
“Nice! What character did you play?” Asked Joshua.
“Well, it took a bit of time for me to figure out what I wanted to try, but you know Sonya Blade from Mortal Kombat-“
“Wait, you play Mortal Kombat too!?” Said Lily.
“Yeah, I actually play lots of videogames. Anyways, I essentially put Sonya Blade from Mortal Kombat into DnD, she was a halfling fighter who could fight unarmed, and was really smart. It was really fun.”
“Wow, that’s awesome,” Tracy said. “Maybe you could teach us to play?”
“Wait, you’ll play Tracy?” Asked Joshua.
“Sonya, what do you think?” Tracy asked.
“I haven’t played in over 2 years, and I actually kinda miss it. Yeah, I’ll join the game!”
“Then I’ll play too!” Said Tracy.
“Nice! Lily, Ana, what about you two?” Joshua looked towards the two remaining girls.
“Well, I don’t even know how to play…” Said Lily.
“Me neither,” Said Ana. “I didn’t know people still played.”
“Well Sonya and I can teach you. It’s honestly not that complicated when it comes down to it.” Joshua said.
“Well, alright, I guess I could try. Just… don’t try to convince us by tricking us into a date… again. That wasn’t a pleasant surprise.”
“Agreed,” said the other 3 girls.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” said Joshua. “So… since we’re all in agreement… how about we begin our session zero over some dinner?” | Charlie perspired compulsively, thick globs of sweat trickling from his receding hairline down his back to his plumbers ass. He picked up his glass of water, taking a tiny sip, setting it down, glancing towards the door nervously, and repeating the dance.
Thirty minutes after seven, Charlie pulls out tinder, making sure he organized the time right.
“Sorry, Charlie, something came up tonight. I can’t make it. We’ll have to meet up some other time!” Charlie stared at his phone in disbelief. This bitch texted him at 6:58, two minutes before she was to arrive.
“Fuck!” Charlie hissed, pulling out his booklets of info. The quest was for a party of four, with him of course playing dungeon master. This stupid bitch ruined it, Charlie went through his notes in a flurry, changing lines to reference four people into referencing three people. He practiced many major key speeches again.
He didn’t look up from his practice until about 8:30, when he was surprised to still sit alone.
Charlie wisely packed up his kit, and mosied on home. | 2022-08-17T10:21:35 | 2022-08-17T09:52:03 | 74 | 23 |
[WP] At the end of every work shift a machine scans your brain to determine how much effort you put into your days work and determines how much you are paid, you find a strange and novel way to trick the machine. | Its not /that/ hard right? These things have been standard for years now. Pop your head into the harness, count to ten, get paid and leave. Easy peasy? Wrong.
"Neurological Effort Detectors" or NEDs they called them. "Pinnacle of Capitalism" they called it. Literally turning your effort into money. The tech was invented to study learning disabilities. Then to determine intelligence in animals. Then they said it could pave the way to a human race that used more than 10% of our brains. A technology that was supposed to leap humanity forward in untold ways. Now it decides how many pennies Paul gets paid. And amid protests shouting things like "Brain Cancer" and "Mind Control" they made the things standard issue. Synaptic scans in every office, school and interview. What a time to be alive.
I dreaded the day when my company put out The Memo. "NEDs will now be installed...For the good of the company...Please continue to strive for excellence..." blah blah blah. I knew I was done for. Cause between you and me? Im a slacker. Hell, Im King Slacker. I was skating by every day just waiting to get home. I knew that the second I put my head in that gods forsaken thing I would be broke. Probably fired. And the first time I felt the cold plastic of that thing touch my head...I damn near had a heart attack. That first day I was in the top 30% of the whole employee population.
I couldnt believe it. No one could. But I collected my now substantial wage and ran all the way home. I thought it was a fluke. I thought that I should say something. Or hide the money in case they wanted it back. I almost didnt go in the next day. Dirty glances. Hushed comments and stares. Not something I'd sign up for.
After two weeks of NEDs running the show I was promoted to upper management. The whole management team shifted to me and a dozen other obscure workers. My office was quaint but spacious. I hardly saw anyone during the day now, save for the other managers. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why this was happening to me. What had I done to deserve this? What did the machine see in me? And then I saw it. The Regional Stock manager had a shadow on his left hand. A small thin line where a wedding ring should be.
This was my first clue. The woman who oversaw Acquisitions (never have remembered her name) would nip from a flask hidden in her desk if you paid close enough attention. I once walked in on the Head of Marketing crying. He was holding a picture of his daughter and when I asked if he was ok he said,
"Not in nine years"
It hit me like a ton of bricks. Like a truck full of lightbulbs fell on my head. These sad and destructive people woke me up to the secret this NED bullshit. Its how much effort you /think/ you put in. How much you /feel/ you got done. I realised what I hated most about myself was fueling my rise to glory at my shit job.
Because waking up is a task that takes hours. Because food tastes like nothing to me. And when tying your tie is like tightening your own noose, being King of the Slackers is a Herculian Trial.
Depression is a demon that now pays rent. Too bad money cant buy happiness. What a world eh?
EDIT: Spelling, wrote on mobile at 5am | It's half past nine and i'm tired. We're all tired really, being a temp. lifter is just by and away more energy consuming than sitting behind a desk filling out oddly numbered forms. Lining up with the others, I hear laughter and plans to relax. They're already putting more effort into planning their time off then they do stacking inventory.
Two steps forward. Another scanned. Bobby's off to a party with friends. One fifty. Phil is gonna catch a late showing of this summers blockbuster with his kiddo. Good haul, couple hundred. Two steps. Four.
It's finally my turn, never been much of a fan to have some machine dictate my worth, but it's a moot point. I work for my bread. But more than that, I think hard. I'm still counting over how many units I moved today, and multiplying in my head how many I'd need to move to make rent. I'm still in work mode.
Two fifty. Two hundred and fifty dollars. It's not shit pay, but it's not gangbusters either. For a full days work, it would do for most-
"Jeezus Peter, what did you DO?!" Sorry what.
The number had changed. It had originally said two fifty, but the payout was many times that. Two.. four.. Five thousand. Five K. Something had to have gone wrong, was I gonna get in trouble?
"Good job bud! Must have moved some real pricey units!" Laughter, slaps on the back, praise.
I move a few steps on, taking a moment to myself. I usually put in a fair days effort and get a few hundred to take home! So why did I earn so much today?
All I did was fail to find a satisfying end to this fluff filled blurb. | 2018-03-09T05:02:56 | 2018-03-09T04:45:00 | 309 | 34 |
[WP] You are a superhero without powers. You know a good bit about martial arts and you're resourceful, but the main reason you're so successful? Every time a villain monologues their plan, you calmly and clearly explain to them why their plan won't work. | The wires and monitor quietly hummed on my chest as he talked.
“...and in conclusion, you could never foil my efforts. It’s absolutely bulletproof.”
I scoffed. “You call a grand heist with four of the stupidest people you could find a bulletproof plan?”
“What?”
I started working on the rope tying my wrists. “I literally walked by your doorman, told him I was from Amazon. I didn’t even have a box. You think he’s going to protect you from the FBI?”
“Lucas gets flustered sometimes—“
“Lucas is lucky he’s dumber than a box of hammers, because at least that way he can’t be brought up on accomplice charges.”
Mr. Inferno stroked his goatee. “I frankly don’t know how you got passed the booby traps, Incognito.”
“Maybe because your secretary was playing with a two by two Rubik’s cube and somehow fucked it up even more than what it was in the first place.”
“Janet’s practicing for a solving competition.”
“She doesn’t understand how to match colors, and this woman is your hacker? How the hell is she going to crack the encryption for the bank if she can’t figure out the difference between red and yellow?”
“They’re honest workers.”
I was so close to being free. “Right. So, forgive me, you were talking a long time. Lucas is your muscle to keep out everyone. Janet’s going to break into the bank networks with her super computer skills, after she’s done with her Rubik’s cube and matching colors worksheet. What next?”
“Tyler has the drills to get into the safe, and Bonnie has the art of persuasion.”
“You couldn’t steal candy from a baby with that kind of plan.”
“Why not?”
“Do you even know where Tyler and Bonnie are right now?”
Mr. Inferno looked around him, turning his back to me.
*Bingo.*
I ran towards him, tackling him to the floor. He wriggled around but I trapped his neck with one arm and his legs with the other arm.
“Bastard!” Mr. Inferno yelped.
“Save that for Tyler and Bonnie, they’re expecting and based on what I heard in your office, Tyler’s probably not going to stick around.”
The SWAT stormed the room, seizing Mr. Inferno and his lackeys. They found Tyler and Bonnie in a closet and I’m sure they gave Janet a lovely set of plastic teething keys.
“Incognito,” the police captain said, motioning for me to come forward.
“Yeah?”
“I hate to ask this, but we need your help again. There’s another supervillain afoot and I think you’re the right man for the job.”
“I’ll do whatever you need, Captain.”
We rode in police cars back to the station. Once we got to the police chief’s office, the three of us sat down. They took the nodes off of me as evidence. The chief got behind his desk and held a huge manilla folder.
“This time, kid, you’re batting in the majors.”
(I’m a new writing prompts writer. Tell me how I did!) | "**Your time is up, Cogitare! I, the great Commander Stultum, have built a mirror dish in deep space to reflect the heat of Andromeda to the Earth and slowly heat the oceans so that in 1000 years, there'll be a bit less water! This will slightly reduce the quantity of krill in the water and further endanger many whale species. And there's nothing you can do!! Nyeh heh heh!!**"
"Commander Stultum, have you thought this through? Andromeda is too far away to reflect any significant amount of heat. Your mirror is extremely in danger of being hit by meteors and even our solar probes. You're not ever even going to see the results of this scheme. If you surrender now, I can get the prosecutor to ask for a reduced sentence. Please make the right choice."
"***sigh*** **fine. The coordinates for the dish are on the monitor. How many of us have you taken down now?**"
"If I remember correctly, you're villain number 442. You guys really need to think these plans through a bit harder. The last guy wanted to use fear drugs and a microwave to destroy a city. Some fighty guy. Really weird." | 2020-09-27T09:26:19 | 2020-09-27T09:21:58 | 265 | 105 |
[WP] The US in the year 2050. Every citizen (except the rich) must serve a mandatory month in prison, in order to recompense for crimes they must've committed but that Police failed to discover. | “What do you mean you don’t have it?” Aaron’s voice quavered. His entire body broke into a cold sweat.
“I don’t know how to tell you any other way, little brother. I just don’t have the money.” Robert didn’t sound that bothered by the fact that Aaron was seventy-two hours away from going to prison. “Thirty-five grand is way out of my league. Sorry.”
*Click.*
It was the perfect storm of bad timing. A year ago Aaron could have pulled together the hundred grand needed to pay off the Accumulated Justice Maintenance Fine. But now, after the mortgage refi, his wife’s wrecked car, and Sophie’s exorbitant first semester of college, he was tapped out. It was nearly impossible to believe the timing of the so-called ‘random’ draw was an accident. In the deep shadows of private internet forums, rumors abound that the banks watched everyone carefully, waiting for just the right moment to set the crushing wheels of justice in motion.
No one in the media called it fascism anymore. The concept was passé.
It was a war on the poor. Orchestrated and waged—successfully—by the usual suspects.
“No?” Aaron’s wife ran her hands through his hair and cradled her head on his shoulder.
“No.” Aaron tried to keep it together for her. She deserved a strong husband, a man that could take everything that life could dish out and still be there for her. “Maybe I got flagged somewhere. I voted for a Democrat last time around…” Aaron broke down into silent sobs, his shoulders shaking.
“We’ll survive. Other people do it all the time,” she tried to soften the blow.
“GlobaTech will fire me the second I step into my cell.”
“So you’ll get another job,” she whispered in his ear.
Aaron pushed her off and stormed across the room. “How? I’ll be a felon. We’ll lose our insurance. I won’t be able to vote ever again. It’s the end—I might as well kill myself. At least then you can collect the life insurance.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” She was angry now. The yelling penetrated the locked bedroom door and echoed through the house for the kids to hear. “It’s only a month and you’re talking suicide.”
“You don’t get it. Do you?” Aaron grabbed her and shook her. His words spit at her like venom. “This is only the beginning. They’ll hound us for the rest of our lives. We’ll be … *poor*.” | 38 dead. 22 cars destroyed. 17 police vehicles annihilated. 3,500 rounds of ammunition. 2 stolen vehicles. 1 tank, 1 helicopter and one stinger are all that are left.
I've thought about this day for 17 years...ever since my 18th birthday and I became eligible for "The Sentence."
At 35 you pay for your sins whatever they are. But I never did anything wrong. So I figured I'd go out with a bang. Here's to you, Big Brother!
And with that I pulled the trigger on my last remaining missile. It must be their lucky day, those blokes in the tank, I think to myself, because seeing that helicopter go down in flames is gonna be one hell of a last hurrah. | 2014-07-22T09:00:26 | 2014-07-22T08:13:24 | 275 | 131 |
[WP] You're a special genie. You allow whoever finds you to re-experience three events that happened in their life for the first time again. Some people choose to re-experience a great movie as if watching it for the first time, some re-live their first kiss. Your latest request sounds quite odd. | "You have got to be kidding me?" I mutter to no one but myself.
"Listen. I know the rule is three separate memories, and these all did happen on different days...But come on, they are basically the same thing!"
I continued to talked hoping I could get through to him, "I am not supposed to snoop, turn me in to the guild if you like, but you have had an amazing life. There is no way this is what you want for your final wish."
"How about the time you were camping and scared off that bear? That was a great feat, you protected everyone in the camp?! Or that time you saved the whole family when the house caught fire? You even ran back in and rescued the cat!"
He just stared at me unblinking. I could see reminiscing acts of valor would get me nowhere. Maybe appealing to his baser instincts would do the trick.
"I know you never loved any of them, but how about reliving one of your late night romps. You have had a few fine bitches in your day, one must stand out in your memory?"
Again silence.
"Fine! It's your wish, do whatever you want. But it's because of customers like you that I had to institute the three wish limit!"
I raised my hands, reciting the incantation. The air began to shimmer like the desert sand at mid day. Before us appeared an unassuming white door. The faint thud of a car door closing and the sound of leather soles approaching on a concrete path. A slight pause as someone fumbles with the keys. The sound of the deadbolt retracting, then the metallic click as the spring in the latch releases its tension. A momentary blinding from the bright afternoon light, then he springs into action.
"Oh Cody!" The man says as he walks through the door frame. "Who's a good boy? Have you been waiting here for me all day?" A few more pats to the clients head, before the man gets down on one knee to give him a hug.
His tail is wagging in time with the memory. | The old man smiled up at the genie, tears welling in his eyes. Somehow he looked less fail and lonely on the hospital bed after reliving two of his fondest memories.
"My third wish," he coughed, his words dry and scratching. "Take me back to when I started making these wishes." | 2017-09-16T17:25:20 | 2017-09-16T12:44:33 | 100 | 45 |
[WP] An eldritch horror takes on the appearance of a human, not to start a dark cult or a ploy to end the world of Man, but out of simple childlike curiosity for the strange little bugs it sees scuttling about every day, and the desire to understand them more | He leans in close to the butterfly on the leaf, before the creature flutters away. It makes him jump and he feel embarrassed that such a small bug could startle him. If he was in his true eldritch form, he wouldn't even be able to see such a small creature. But as he studied the Earth, the creatures too small to normally see fascinated him. Something about creatures that long ago, were larger than a man now reduce to mere pest filled him with curiosity. So he decided to merge with the mortal humans and visit a place that housed butterflies, one of the most beautiful bugs on the Earth.
"Excuse me sir?" A small voice makes him turn to see a young girl, wearing a pretty flower dress tapping on his shoulder. She seems shy as she quietly says, "I wanna move on ahead, but there's too many people."
He nods, and allows the little girl to move before asking "Where are your parents?"
The girl says her mom was in the bathroom and was instructed to meet them at the middle of the observatory because that's where the show was going to start. "I'm hoping a butterfly lands on me. I think they're amazing!"
The disguised God chuckles and steps back, but decides to keep an eye on her, just in case she was still alone. Humans were sometimes neglectful, a cost of free will; nevertheless, the God knew that most parents do care for their kids, and at least the little girl was easy to see.
He followed her to the center of the garden and there, a woman with a microphone and some boxes was waiting around for noon. Once the clock hands met, she announced that it was time for the release of the butterflies. One by one, each one was named, with an interesting fact about them, and then let them go. Each one flew up high, happy to be released from their plastic prisons.
The God watched as the girl try to reach out for the butterflies, but none were interested in going back down. He realized that the little human girl would be super disappointed if none of the butterflies came back down. So, looking around, he closed his eyes and meditated on the tiny flaps of scaled wings around him. He picked out five butterflies, and with just a bit of concentration, managed to will them down to the little girl's dress. He could hear her squeal in delight as the butterflies land and wandered her dress, totally controlled by him.
"Look! Look!" The girl was jumping up and down, trying not to touch them. Despite the risk of showing his powers through his eyes, the God opens them and sees the little girl staring at him and beaming with delight. One crawled up to her nose and spread open its giant blue wings. People around them were amazed and took pictures, shocked to see such behavior from the butterflies.
The God relaxed his body, and the butterflies flew off in a symphony of color, and people clapped, amazed at what was just seen; even the educator was shocked and she talked how rare it is to see butterflies act like this. The God just smirked and as people began to file away from the presentation, a woman comes running up to the center.
"Tia! There you are!"
"Mommy! A bunch of butterflies landed on me! It was so cool!" The little girl beams and looks at the God, who smiles and says "It was quite impressive."
The mother smiles and apologizes if her daughter was creating any problems but the God assured her that no trouble was caused. He watched the two walk away, the little girl waving at him one last time, and he relaxes on the rocky wall, watching the buzzing of butterflies. | Preface: all eldritch names are nicknames for long unreadable names.
Scarls was upset. Their tentacles lashed, the spots on their tentacles burned. “Why bother with the ants. Shmefs wants you back home for the merging.”
Undeterred Cas turned their back and focused on the call from the ants. How the ants received their name was a mystery to them. There were always more worlds to encompass if you just wanted spots on your tentacles. The ants in this world called to them. That meant something. Worlds with thoughtful ants would be the pride of their body.
They coiled and reached, slipping a tentacle down a couple dimensions, sideways pushed, translating, translating until finally they arrived.
The incense was particularly strong. The soft candle lighting cast the pentagram in sharp relief.
“Come Oh Cass swallower of worlds. Power for power, knowledge for knowledge, wisdom for wisdom Let us…
A boom, a rush of air, five members of the cult flung against the wall, remains falling to the floor. Cas’s human brain quaked in fear. Cas\\George gawked. “What the hell?” The words, by reflex, escaped the copy of the caller.
“Tim, Sara, Jim... ” The deep voice trailed off as Cas took control and immediately collapsed.
Cas surprised by the depths of the fear/anger/grief/terror the copy was exhibiting immediately withdrew their presence to the back of the copy's mind.
“Maybe this was a mistake.” They mused. But they didn’t want to leave just yet. Cas would not encompass randomly. Understanding was definitely worthwhile. Shmefs could wait.
\--------------------------------------
Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think. | 2021-04-07T14:43:48 | 2021-04-07T12:23:37 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] All animals can talk to each other, just like humans do, but exist on a different sound wave so humans can't hear. One day, you woke up being receptive to that sound wave and suddenly you can understand what they are saying. The conversation between your two cats stop you in your tracks. | > So that idiot's going to wake up or what?
> Well, he might as well not notice if we eat him as is.
> Come on you stupid! How'd we get to the food supply? We physically can't.
> Don't tell me that, you can open doors perfectly fine!
*Creaking*
> You see? Now let me try. If I can do it, for sure the food supply I'd be able to open.
> Hey hey don't touch me notherfucker!
> Come on I was just trying to get around! You really do not like physical contact do you?
The moment I feared had come true. My house got broken in, and they'll just empty it out if I'm here lying motionless. Alas, there's nothing I can do. I could only afford to live in this part of town and they might just shoot me. After all I don't have much and the most important for me are my cats.
This is such a strange robbery. They are going for the food first, not for the things of *value* I might have somewhere. It is a couple, as I can hear a high pitched girl with some anger issues and a gentleman with a baritone voice. Maybe they don't really know how to effectively break into a house but they may be afraid because they're new, and they may shoot at the slightest provocation. Well, if they shoot they shoot but I'd prefer jumping. I can already hear stuff being thrown.
> Could you please stop it? He doesn't like it when you throw stuff. I'll just go and wake him up if you desire!
I see my white cat come to the couch I was sleeping in and stand on my chest as I hear in a male voice:
> Good morning sir, I can see you had a really good night's sleep, but we are hungry. Well, you see me do this every day so maybe you already know.
"What the fuck Mike, did you just speak?
> Is there anything wrong?
"No there's nothing wrong Mike, you just talked and that seems a little bit too unnatural."
> Oh I see, you became sensitive enough to pick our language.
Soon I realized that I couldn't just understand my cats.
".... For I am the owner of this land! Oh hello my fair lady, want me to sing a song?"
Not only the birds, but the mice, the ants, the cockroaches, the flies and everything that wasn't a fungus, plant or bacterium (thanks God).
Still, my head was going to explode. Any being, as minuscule as it could be and at the same time being in the animal kingdom could broadcast their words to me.
I did what I must, enduring the pain. I grabbed the bag of kibble and off I went to feed my cats. Mike was very grateful as always and there was Bijou, my tabby tortoiseshell cat. She is the cat that has accompanied the longest and in cat years she is 32.
> So you settled on a name?
"Yes, Bijou."
She has always been a very unaffectionate cat but I could still sense she had a special feeling for me.
"So the other night I could dream that you could talk. You calmed me down after a breakdown inside my dream and told me you'd be with me until you life extinguishes."
> I will. I could always hear you when you slept, as I almost always sleep by your side. That was the first time you heard me talking to you.
She may not be the most affectionate cat in the world but she shows her emotions differently. As I talked to her, I could sense tears.
> Why are you crying again? You humans are weird, you cry for everything.
"Can I pet you?"
> Sure
Bijou rarely purrs, but this time her purr was different.
"Could you treat Mike better? Last time you injured his eye"
> Tell that idiot to keep his distance.
I sniffed her head as I do always and she slowly blinked.
I gathered the energy to do a thorough clean up of the house in order to minimize the noise inside and I also tried to soundproof it the best I could so I didn't hear those loud birds. I befriended some geckos to get rid of the bugs that appear here and there and they're great. I slowly stopped worrying about hearing the animals talk as I became one with them.
I finally beat depression. | The day was long one. I came home to my two darling cats. I always felt that they could talk and I wished so badly to talk to them. But then, that was just a childish wish. After freshening up I took a bowl of chips and switched on the television. It was time to relax. But no! The screen showed up news channel and I knew what they were talking about.
The same reason why our department was so distressed and under tremendous pressure. Everybody wanted answers from us.
A serial killer on loose, one who only left the head of the victim , body was never to be found.
It all started when my neighbor's daughter was killed.
And now there had been 10 more.
I switched off the TV. I needed a break. I got up to check on my cats. They seemed to getting lazy day by day. Didn't even care to finish their food, which was unnatural. I had to take them to veterinary clinic soon. But that would have to wait, I had a lot on my plate already.
In my bedroom was a mess of files and papers. A trail of cases leading to nowhere. We had failed in finding the bodies , let alone the killer.
The victims were random, which made it more disturbing. We had to do something, and soon.
Not today though, I had to take pills to keep my headache at bay. My cats seem to have sneaked out again. They must've found a really nice place , because they are gone every night.
I switched off the lights and hoped for a good sleep.
Tomorrow will be tiresome again. A lot had to be done before the 11 th victim.
I heard voices near my window , unnaturally high pitched.
"What a beautiful morning"
" Right mate! Shall we go then? Maybe we'll find something fun."
"Let's go!!"
And I saw two birds take off.
Had I really heard a birds talk???
Naah. Must be my wishful thinking.
In the kitchen, I prepared my morning smoothie.
My cats were nowhere to be seen.
With the glass of smoothie I walked out into my garden. And heard something. My cats!
"Last night was fun. There were so many of us though. I never thought so many would find the place this soon."
"I know right! We had to share. But then again, there's plenty for all of us."
" I never had thought human flesh would taste so good. I wonder how the brain tastes though."
" How I wish the man would leave the heads on."
" Oh come on darling, don't be picky. At least we get it fresh."
I wished to wake up. I wished to forget. But the day went on, and I didn't wake up. | 2021-06-24T21:31:01 | 2021-06-24T20:19:51 | 237 | 65 |
[WP] You're president of the United States and you're trying everything you can to get impeached but everything you do always works out. | I just want out of this hell hole. Dining with different weirdos from around the world, cabinet members bickering like children and worst of all, the incessant meet and greets where I have to shake the hands of people I secretly want to punch. Really, how did all these guys do it before me?
As I lean back In my 18th century leather chair, my Salvtore Ferragamo's kicked up on the Oval desk, a grandiose idea comes to me. How could I have not have thought of this already? It is so very simple; I just need to make a few horrible decisions and hopefully, I will get impeached.
I pick up the Presidential phone and pound *822* for my Secretary of State.
"John, get your ass up here now. It is urgent!", I shout into the phone angrily. A little acting goes a long way, especially with him.
After no more than thirty seconds, I hear a knock on the door and John rushes in like he is trying to save my life. As he gets closer to my desk, the nervousness that fills his pale face is glaring. Oh, just wait Johnny boy, you have no idea what is in store for you.
"What is it, sir?", he says with a concerned look,, a slight quiver in his voice. John is like a a super obedient dog. Any negative tone in his master's voice and his tail is going straight between those chunky legs of his.
"John, I have been thinking...", I say slowly for dramatic effect, my hand rubs my chin as I lean back in my chair. "When is the last time we really made a splash? You know, like actually made a difference in the world?"
I am now looking up at him, the fictitious sincerity dripping from my words. He is lost and knowing him, his mind is racing in a million different directions as he tries to predict what I am about to say. He is not too fond of my *independent* ideas.
"Wha--What do you mean a splash? I think we have made lots of splashes. I mean, we have solidified some crucial peace treaties, we have built relations between a lot of hostile countries. I think those are the type of spla--", his words come out jumbled together as he scrambles to answer my question.
I interrupt him before he can throw up all over himself.
"I can tell you when. Never. That is when. We have never made a big splash and you know what, John? That saddens me. And I have decided, through deliberate brainstorming and planning, of course, that I am going to make my mark!"
I did not think it was possible but John's face is even paler than before. He is on the verge of a mental breakdown.
"And why wait to make greatness, John? Why not be a doer? Well lucky for us, we are doers. I want you to get everybody in the briefing room. We are going to nuke Russia."
"Y--You are going to what?", he says, laughing as if I am joking.
"Did I stutter John or are you are just being difficult again? I am nuking Russia. Tonight"
He stumbles forward and places his sweaty palms on my desk. He wants to say something but I quickly send him on his way.
"Now, for the second time, go get the group ready. These nukes won't launch themselves. And just remember...", I violently jump out of the chair, my pointer finger now sticking into the meat of his nose. This performance is one for the books. "TONIGHT IS THE NIGHT THAT PUTIN GETS PUT OUT BY THE POWER OF THE UNITED STATES!"
I yell at him, my spit showering his face. He gives me a helpless nod and proceeds to walk away in defeat. Even he cannot argue with the nuke drama.
Terrible joke but it was necessary. This will be my ticket out. Drop a few nukes on Russia, let the world community grow enraged with my decision and then Congress will vote to remove me from office. Before I know it, I will be sipping martinis in Cancun with all my fraternity brothers, just like the good ole days at Yale.
__________________________________________________________________
*Washington Post - Drump Unites the world in an unparalleled decision to nuke Russia!*
*The United States dropped ten atomic bombs on Russia late last night. Russia burnt to the ground, as cities like Moscow, Saint Petersburg, Kazan and many more, experienced the unprovoked rage of the United States. The support for the United State's effort has been unprecedented. Hundreds of countries, including a majority of the United Nations, have backed President Drump in this unique and ambitious approach towards world peace. Some are even calling it the greatest single act ever produced by a President of the United States. No matter the perspective, the President is looking to start his term with a bang. It appears the world's Super Power is back!* | President Fineman gazed around the oval office with a sigh, an oval was a stupid shape for an office. A large banner hung in the middle of the room which exclaimed "We Did It!" in large mockingly triumphant letters. Banners from his campaign were strewn about the room proclaiming that "Fineman is a fine man for the job". He knew that is was a lie, in fact he was quite possibly the worst man for the job but a mere 48 hours earlier he would have done anything, said anything just to be sitting where he was right now. He knew that he should feel elated right now but instead he felt completely hollow. Why had he even wanted this? Was he blinded by the excitement of the chase? Had he just wanted power for the sake of itself? Well now he had it and he found that power wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. He had always known in his logical mind that with great power comes great responsibility but for the first time he truly realized it and now it was too late. He had the nuclear codes in his possession, with a flick of his wrist he could destroy the world. His hands were far too small to hold such a large responsibility. He was only a man and not a very smart one at that. He knew he had to leave office but he couldn't just resign, the harm to his party would be irreversible, they would never elect another member of his party again. He knew he would have to get impeached. He tried to think of some illegal acts which he could preform. He could do it the classic way and get caught with hookers and cocaine but he loved his wife too much. He also didn't want to jeopardize state security so anything illegal involving the his office was off the table. After much consideration he decided to rob a convenience store. That night at midnight he crept out of the white house having bribed the secret service to turn a blind eye. He walked through the quiet streets until he found a still open Seven Eleven. As he approached the doors he broke out in a cold sweat. He would just approach the counter and demand that the cashier hand over all the money. as he stepped across the threshold he felt a cold blast of AC, knowing that he was close to his target heightened his nerves and he began to sweat even more. he began to approach the cash register where a cheery looking young woman sat, when he saw another man with a hood over his face come barreling into the room, gun in his hand and point it at the woman demanding that she hand over the cash. President Fineman was furious, this was his job! He yelled at the man to stop but before he could get a word out he heard a deafening bang and then felt an excruciating pain in his shoulder and then everything went black. He woke up in the hospital to see his wife looking down at him worriedly. As he opened his eyes her face cleared and she began to smile. She picked up that days paper and waved it in front of his face. The headline read "President injured trying to stop a robbery; Secret Service under investigation".
"Your approval ratings are through the roof she exclaimed". I guess I'll have to be president after all he thought resignedly. Whelp, he thought, here goes nothing. | 2016-08-21T10:24:56 | 2016-08-21T09:45:53 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | What was so unsettling was the *detail*.
He scribbled down the woman's death in his battered little book.
"Blunt forced trauma: Swelling of the cranial tissues: Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death."
Medication did nothing. His doctors informed him it was quite an unusual delusion. He'd asked how they were always right. They'd informed him that his delusion just adapted to what happened after the fact. His memories were somehow part of it all. Brains could be fucked up.
Still, it always ended the same way. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death.
They were delicate little things. We are delicate little things.
He would have told people, so they could corroborate him. But that wasn't often the best way to keep friends, and he wasn't very good at the whole friends thing even if he wasn't asking them to remember lists of how people were going to die.
The natural conclusion was to write it down.
He gazed around the train's carriage and picked out another. There wasn't much point of course, he didn't know these people. He couldn't use them to prove himself when they died. He wouldn't know if they did. Still... It had grown into a habit. It helped him forget, once it was recorded.
"Severed femoral artery: Loss of blood: Cardiac arrest. Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Annother violent one. Usually there were a few cancers, spontaneous Cardiac arrests or strokes. He'd found an overall 12.3% chance of "accidental" death. He turned in his seat to glance back down the rows of people.
"Crushed Chest: Asphyxiation: Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Another. More Blunt force. Annother severed artery. Burns...
Everyone in this carriage. Every single...
*Oh.*
The train lurched. Jolted. His head cracked into the side. Trains shouldn't move sideways. The was a squeal of metal on metal drowned out the screams.
For a moment up and down were interchangeable. Cans, cups of coffee, bags of luggage and twisted figures were flung into the air and slammed into the wall in an explosion of movement.
He saw as the window burst inwards and a shapeless mass of steel slammed into him.
Huh. So it was one of those.
Didn't really hurt. But then, he'd never expected it to. Never sounded like it hurt.
He could feel the blood pumping out, warm down his side as the dust settled in a sudden eerie silence. His breath caught, fast and shallow. Which first, the blood or the air? Same thing in the end.
Lack of oxygen to the brain.
He could feel himself slipping away.
Death.
| They were all the same; burning. Let's just cut to the exposition: I knew how people died, to me a small piece of text would appear above their head. This would always contain their cause of death. No time, no ways to prevent, just their grim fate. Since birth I could always see this. Over time I learned to accept it and hide this unnatural knowledge. After all who'd listen to some kid's ramblings. Nowadays, I ignored it, except today. Here in this bus I noticed that everyone in here had the same cause of death. All of them would burn. Now I never see my own cause of death. It was a mystery I never wanted to know, but now I had that itching feeling. That little niggling idea that sits at the back of your mind. It was driving me crazy. To you, dear reader, I guess you know already. Though at the time I didn't know. I didn't know the bus would go up in flames. | 2015-03-31T11:46:09 | 2015-03-31T07:44:11 | 71 | 22 |
[WP] You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells. | I have stood on the edge of chaos, and fought back oblivion. I have held the world aloft in my hands and saved it from the death eaters. I have fought countless battles against terrible foes. I have died and been reborn. My name is feared throughout the multiverse.
But at last I have found peace.
In a small town near to Murkhaven.
As a lowly healer.
I will not smite. I will not judge. I will not forgive your sins. That is not my place. I will heal all who ask.
All.
The cuts and scraped knees of the town’s children have been healed more times than I have counted.
They know me, and they trust me.
Not as my real name, or my old self; as Henric the Healer, cleric of a god you cannot see, cannot hear, and cannot name. I do not push my belief on anyone, and nor do I proselytise the ardent students who pass through, eager to learn great favours from their gods, eager to mould the world into the image of the gods they believe are all-powerful.
I just heal.
The mother of the jilted lover who brings her son’s still warm corpse to me. I go to where his hurting soul cries out for peace, and I sit with him for as long as it takes for him to calm. My time encircling his spirit, allowing change; allowing remorse; allowing tears to fall, and the desire for life to return.
I heal his body as I guide him back to the arms of his family. The dagger gone from his heart, and filled once more with his life force, he shudders as he draws breath once more, and tears of relief wash away the tears of despair.
I heal all who ask.
The orcs attacked at sunset on the third day of the harvest. Some said that the Duke’s men had stirred them up. Some said that the orcs do not need an excuse to fight.
The townsfolk fought back, but they are farmers and barkeeps, housekeepers and children. They are not skilled in the art of war.
They asked me to help them.
So I healed their wounds as they formed. I walked amidst the battlefield, healing cuts, soothing burns, reattaching limbs.
I could have ended it in an instant. I could have sent the orcs to a fiery death. I could have placed them in unimaginable torture for all eternity.
But that is not my place.
And I have found peace.
The orc soldier had a pitchfork through his face. It was embedded in his skull, and had stuck him to the strong oak beams of the inn. The thatch was on fire, so he had only a few minutes at best.
He caught my eye with what remained of his, and the pain was evident in his cracked voice.
“Help me, human. I beg you.”
His voice was young. Probably only seven turns old. An adult in name only.
And I help all who ask.
All.
Black dust formed around my arms, and tendrils of power reached out to the impaled orc. He saw death reach for him, and a tear formed in his remaining eye.
But the death was not for him, but for the pitchfork. It needed disintegrating, and it crumbled past dust and into nothingness. The orc’s brain was healed with a quick burst of time magic, gathered from the forbidden realms.
He stumbled forward, away from the flames, and I caught him, and offered him a drink from my water flask.
“Atralak! Uk!”
The cry was accompanied by a trumpet blast, and the fights and cries stilled to a standstill after a few moments.
The orcs had stopped pressing their attack, and the wary and intimidated townsfolk stayed put in their defensive positions.
The orc captain, his red shoulder plates signifying three years of leadership pointed at me as he shouted, “You! Cleric! You healed Ulk.”
I nodded.
His eyes narrowed, “Why?”
“Because he asked for help.”
“Orcs do not ask for help! They take what they need!”
I said nothing. It was not a question, and I had no desire to play his games.
My silence seemed to enrage him, but as he was about to speak again, Ulk stepped forward beside me with two good eyes, and a distinct lack of pitchforks in his face. It gave the captain pause.
“Father-brother-kin, let us go home.”
I looked at Ulk with eyebrows raised. To say I was surprised was an understatement. To mention kinship in public was just not done in orc circles. It was like telling off a child, or chastising an errant servant.
There was more going on here than was apparent, and the quick whistle-hum that escaped the lips of the captain confirmed that for me.
Ulk stopped three orcs as they walked towards the woods to the east.
“Please heal these three,” he said in broken common. The townsfolk nearest gasped, and I realised that they had not understood the words in orcish.
“If they ask me, I will.”
One by one, they asked for healing, and I gave it to them. I left them with good scars. It would improve their standing in the clan.
Ulk stood alone before me, and spoke once more before he left.
“Peace, Orcbane.”
That wasn’t my real name, either, but the orcs had called me that after the end of the Troglodyte Wars.
So many dead. So many lost. And no real winners.
He trotted off after his brothers, and I called out after him, “Call me Henric.”
He turned briefly, and saluted in orc military tradition, hand thumping his chest.
The townsfolk looked at me with wary eyes, but I have found peace. They will forget in a turn or two, and their fear will subside. The seasons are easier to bear with each healing. Each cure heals me, too.
I heal all who ask.
I am Henric the Healer.
And I have found peace. | Delving deep into various subterranean locales and purging a variety of foul corruptions and cultist abodes was the common task of every adventurer. Worshippers of dark gods seemed to be a dime a dozen, and one couldn’t turn over a rock without finding a desecrated tomb, rife with vengeful spirits and scattered souls.
So it was that every new adventurer could find such a place and go spelunking with a party of likeminded individuals, usually consisting of an armour-clad warrior, a slightly less armour-clad fighter, a spell-slinging, element-commanding mage, and a caring healer to fix any cuts or bruises or sword slashes.
So it was that one group found themselves amidst the rotted infestation of cultists, practicing their fetid magic in the ruins of an ancient cathedral. This group also found that their healer seemed rather lacklustre compared to what they had heard previously. Despite the feeling of pure aether surrounding her, as well as the incredibly high level of offensive magics employed, she seemed to have difficulty mending the smallest of cuts. The party’s witch girl placed a hand on the healer’s shoulder.
“Come on, Len. Focus on your light aether. Draw it out. I’m sure you can do it,”
Len nodded, struggling to concentrate. Gods be damned, she *should* be able to do it. Being immortal, and incredibly power-hungry, she had managed to learn the elemental spells of black magic in less than a human’s lifetime. The arcane secrets of the ancient scholars and arcanists were next, and not even the knowledge of the ancient and extraterrestrial dragons were safe from her lust for power. So why, then, could she not heal her sword-bearing friend’s simple wound? The man shrugged.
“It’s barely a scratch, I’ll manage. Ya know, with those spells you use on the enemy, I think we can kill ‘em before they harm us. So, just focus on that?”
Len sighed and nodded. He was right, she could probably kill everything in this decrepit pit before they had a chance to fight back, but she wasn’t here to do that. She was here to learn the astral ways of white magic and clemency. The idea that it might be beyond her purview, given the clash between her draconic nature and the divine magic of the gods, barely crossed her mind.
Further and further into the dungeon, the party eventually happened upon the central antechamber, holding what must have been the head cultist; wearing a helmet in the visage of a dread wyvern, draped in robes of red, and chanting a prayer in a made-up language, Len found him terribly insulting. Her axe-bearing compatriot rushed to attack, only to be stopped in his tracks by some invisible force. The sword-wielder was up next, and he too was frozen in place. The witch stood in front of Len and raised her staff, but failed to lower it. The three of them fell unconscious to the ground, leaving Len the only remaining party member standing.
“How… how do my magics not work on you? T-the Dark Lord will have your head for this insolence!”
Len raised an eyebrow, and considered telling the cultist about said Dark Lord. Deciding against it, she instead stepped up to him and grinned, her eyes glowing an alien colour that the cultist had not seen before. In a trance-like state, she cast a dragon’s spell and the cultist was incinerated. If it was that easy, why hadn’t anyone done it before? Len recalled that she was the only person she knew capable of doing such a thing. Turning to her unconscious party, she realized that there was a spell for curing their ailment; a white magic spell.
They were going to be here a while.
___
this story is a continuation of [this one](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/opw2h5/wp_the_dark_lord_was_feared_as_a_menacing_black/h69au7n/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3) | 2021-09-03T10:55:58 | 2021-09-03T09:34:04 | 669 | 80 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | "DUUUUUDE! YOU'RE BACK! I'm so happy to see you! Hey! Hey! Hey! Dude! Hey!"
"Yeah Bode, I see you too." I replied and knelt down to give him a big hug.
Of all the dogs I'd known, Bode was the friendliest, but also the stupidest. He's my third dog, and yeah, I love him, but he's an idiot. Sometimes his constant yammering gets a little annoying.. But that's what I get for that wish.
"How was your day at work, dude? I missed you all day! I just kinda sat around. I saw a squirrel today! And a chipmunk too! I tried talking to them but they ran away," Bode continued. "...hey, could you let me outside? I want to go pee on that tree. And then the bush. And then the other tree."
"Yeah Bode, sure thing bud. Give me a second." I went to let Bode out the door, and as I watched that giant, magnificent, white wolf-like dog bound around in my backyard I thought how silly it was that I could actually talk to him.
When I was six years old, I'd gotten my first dog. His name was Buddy, I'd named him that because he would be my best buddy. One night, I was looking up at the stars with him in a field, when I saw a shooting star, and in the moment, I wished that I could talk to dogs. Neither of us said a word for what just have been half an hour, just content to sit there as I pet his thick coat. Then we got up and Buddy looked at me: "are we going home now? I'm getting sleepy." He asked me. "Did you.. Just talk?" I replied, unable to even process his question.
"Yeah, I talked. I do it all the time. Don't you understand me?"
"Well, I do now. You've been talking to me this whole time?"
"What do you *think* I'm doing when I look at you and make noises with my mouth? Humans..."
Buddy was without a doubt the smartest dog I'd known. By that I don't mean he knew a lot, he wasn't educated (no dog is), but he was clever and emotionally intelligent. He always knew when something was bothering me. "Hey Henry.. You can always talk to me. What's wrong?" He would say, gently nudging his nose under my hand, forcing me to feel the soft fur on the top of his head and behind his ears.
He helped me through middle school, the time when kids were most cruel. He helped me the first time I really liked a girl, to become bold enough to ask her out. "You're a great human, if she likes you, great, but if not, don't worry, it won't be the end of the world."
"Wow, that's wise for someone without balls." I joked. He really was wise, though, for a nine year old.
"Hey!" He'd growl, "no shots below the belt!"
"But you don't even wear a belt!" And we'd both end up bursting into laughter. Yeah, dogs do laugh. Some of them have great senses of humor.
(If everyone could understand them like I do, comedy clubs would be filled with dogs. In my experience, the funniest ones are the little ones- pugs especially. Pugs have to have a sense of humor- "I mean, *look at me*. My human has to clean the folds on my face and I had to be born by C-section because my ugly head is too big for my body," would be a common joke from Otis, my friend's pug. Self deprecating humor is the best kind.)
Back to Buddy: he really was my best friend. Unfortunately, that just made it worse when he died. He'd been getting really sick, and we didn't know what was wrong with him. Turned out he was full of cancer. Before he went into surgery to see what was wrong with him, I remember squeezing his paw and telling him everything would be okay. Those were the last words I ever said to him. They said they couldn't in good conscience take him off anesthesia, and they had to put him down. I lost my best friend.
Now, 20 years later, I operate a shelter for dogs: stray, abused, et cetera. I find them homes. But I'm the best at it. When nobody is around (which is pretty often), I talk to them. I help them deal with their past and problems, I listen to their needs. Often they leave much happier than they came in. Based on what I know of them, I find families who would be a good fit for them and send them off to happier lives. People call me the "new dog whisperer" (Cesar Milan retired a long time ago). I don't want any dog training TV show or attention or anything like that, though. I'm just content to call my shelter "Buddy's Place". When I lost my best friend, I decided I'd dedicate my life to making dogs happy, just like he'd dedicated his to making me happy.
Edit/note: Buddy and Bode are real people (dogs). Aside from the part where I could talk to him, Buddy was pretty much as I describe him. I still miss him. I cried a little when I wrote this. | “Alyssa, please, leave me alone. I’m sorry.” I plead. I’m massaging my temples, trying to force the pain out.
I’ve never been able to get over the death of my twin sister. Because she’s been with me, for sixteen years.
“Ava!” She whispers in her childish squeal. “Play with me, Ava!”
I’m sitting on my bed, which is stripped to the mattress; Mom threw the sheets in the wash after I woke up with another nosebleed last night.
“Ava, you’re going to die, you know.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Sooner than you think.”
“I know, okay! You’ve told me so many times before! Shut up, okay?!”
I wish I knew how to talk to her without moving my lips. Always afraid that Mom will hear me; I’m waiting for the day that they throw me in the ward for schizophrenia. But I’m not a schizo, and I’m perfectly normal, and I know that.
Except that, when Alyssa died, I wished for the power to speak to her again. I was five.
Why did she end up with leukemia and I didn’t? Why couldn’t we have ended this together?
Needless to say, my wish was granted.
“Ava,” She giggles. I can feel the heat rising in my chest; I wait for the pain to shoot down my legs. Panic attack approaching.
“Ava, dying’s not that bad, you know.”
I’m staring at the bookshelf across the room when it starts to spin.
“Mom!” I scream. Not remembering if she’s home or not; but I hear footsteps right away. “Mom, come here!” I say, fading already, choking on my own breath.
“Hey, Ava, it’s okay. I’m here.” Alyssa gibes in my head.
No one can hear her but me.
“I love you,” Alyssa whispers.
“I love you too,” I sigh.
If I froze time when she and I were four or so, I’d see hairless Alyssa chowing down on Maw Maw’s hershey’s kisses. Maw Maw called them “silver bells”, but we weren’t interested in the name, we just wanted as many as Maw Maw’s pantry could hold. And Maw Maw would call us her “two little beauties.” I’d blush and grin. Alyssa would run a hand through her imaginary hair and smile as wide as the sea.
“Ava, I’m all alone,” she says.
“Alyssa, please,” I sob. My face falls into my hands. I’m shaking. Panting. Barely hearing the pounding of feet up the stairs, the creaking of my door, the smell of whatever Mom is frying entering my room suddenly with her.
“I don’t feel good,” I gasp, my one plea I always return to when I can’t explain this, how I feel I’m going to collapse.
Mom, I don’t even see her face; my eyes are closed and I’m looking at Alyssa. I’m still sitting on the bed but I’m hanging on desperately. Mom’s next to me and rubbing my back the way she always does when I panic. And Alyssa, she’s speaking to me.
Her blonde curls, her rosy red cheeks that haunt me because the last time I saw them they were sheet-white in a coffin; she’s looking at me. Five-year-old Alyssa is saying something I’ve never heard her say before.
“You’re going to kill yourself, Ava.”
| 2015-03-07T02:05:06 | 2015-03-07T00:48:04 | 109 | 58 |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | Superpowers, superheroes, no matter what sort of titles they placed on themselves they were powerless in the moment it mattered most. As the massive rock that was Earth's undoing approached all they could do was stare. Stare as it grew closer, shadowing the spot at our feet. Stare as it mocked them, showing us how truly powerless they were in this moment. But not me.
I felt even worse for Bino-scope, his power of super-sight had allowed him to catch the meteor long before even the scientists and their telescopes. He had been staring all day since, now the corners of his eyes dried and reddened. But I did not worry.
*The shadow grew larger at our feet*
As Earth's finest stared up in fear, fully suited and bulging with muscles, I did not need to look. I only needed to think of lunch. Of what type of soup I wanted today. Chicken noodle? Lentil? Mom always made a great lentil. Mine never came out quite as good though.
From my utility belt I carefully selected a bowl I liked most, a perfect vessel for the occasion; handcrafted by a shopkeeper whose storefront I'd saved by turning a runaway vehicle into a delicious egg drop. I held it out in two hands to ensure a good grip as the massive rock grew closer. Suddenly the stares of the other heroes burned through me like a hot cup of cheddar broccoli.
"And what is that meant to do, soup boy?" a voice boomed, carried out from Earth's greatest hero. Even near our doom I was mocked.
"It's Souperior, Magnus. You know that. You all do!" I yelled over to the crowd of heroes, now staring. "Now grab a bowl or get out of my way."
A few chuckled, some hung their heads in disappointment, and others, the worst ones, held looks of sympathy on their faces.
"Ok *Souperior*, what's the bowl for? Humor me in Earth's last moments."
The shadow from the space rock now engulfed the city whole. Above the meteor screamed, yelling through the atmosphere and letting its presence be impossible to ignore. On the streets was chaos: civilians ran to any semblence of safety, cars careened through crowds of traffic, and the heroes, they just watched onward with wide eyes.
I looked up to Magnus, and by extension to all of the others.
"The bowl? Well of course, it's for soup."
Just as the Earth's doom intended to strike down from above I reached up, resting my palm against its rocky surface. In the moment I channeled all my thoughts into one purpose: *Gazpacho*, and the meteor replied, fighting back with all of its weight. For a moment it was a stalemate. My soupy willpower against the great stones.
But then I felt a weight lift from my arms, and to my right Magnus suddenly stood, muscles in his arms bulging through his copper spandex. The asphalt cracked at his feet as he helped hold the weight aloft.
With both of our might the meteor stood no chance. My hand pushed up through, past the rocky exterior and into a cold gazpacho. Then Magnus delivered the death blow, a mega-ton punch splitting the stone exterior open and sending the cold soup bursting forth and high up into the sky.
For a moment there was silence. The gaggle of various costumed heroes watched with mouths agape as red clouds formed in the sky. Magnus was the first to approach, holding out a bloodied hand.
"May I have a bowl, hero?"
Then one by one they followed, each taking a bowl from my belt and awaiting the soupy rain. | I was born with the power to turn anything into a bowl of soup. No matter the object, it would turn into enough soup to fit perfectly into a standard bowl. I could even choose the type. The other superheros always mocked me for it.
"Turning stuff into soup? That's useless!"
"What are you going to do against a villain, turn their weapon into soup?"
"You're never going to be a useful superhero."
I could never make friends because they thought I was stupid. What was I going to do, give them soup? Yeah they didn't appreciate that. They found me boring and useless.
But when it was announced that a meteor was going to hit Earth and cause mass death and destruction, the other heroes panicked. They had the power to fight villains or each other, but not the power to stop a meteor. They were at a loss, but I knew that it was my time to shine.
As I approached the predicted sight of impact, I saw people running. I even saw some so-called "heroes" who bragged that they could solve any problem, call their mom crying. Not me though, because as I got to the sight of impact, the massive meteor barreling down towards me did not change my manor at all. In fact, it even reassured me that no one would think that I am stupid anymore.
As the meteor hit the atmosphere, that's when I started. I put down my bowl right as my feet as I started the process. I concentrated on the meteor and started to change it. The red-black surface reminded me of tomato soup, so I decided to make a meteor turned tomato soup.
As the soup fell perfectly into the bowl, everyone looked at me with awe. They praised me for saving the Earth! Some of the heroes who ridiculed me apologized for how they treated me. I was just happy I got some really good soup. | 2022-11-29T20:54:01 | 2022-11-29T19:59:26 | 1,467 | 121 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice: once when their body dies, and once when their name is spoken for the last time. One must wander the earth as a ghost until their name is spoken for the last time; only then can they pass into the afterlife. It's been over 3000 years, and you're still here. |
This was it, the last time, I was sure of it.
These were the last two who had spoken my name, or even remembered me in the last ten years, talk of it was forbidden after all.
In fact it was only the one of them who had the guts to say it, and with age that was fading as well. The other one simply nodded in approval. I had been following them for quite some time now. This was to be their last meeting.
The upper east side Manhattan bar hummed noisily. The countdown to the new year was present on all the holo-stations plastered throughout the bar; three dimensional renderings of times square were lit up in vibrant colors. The digital display read the same on all of them.
Three minutes, forty five seconds until 4946.
A wrinkled man was now talking into a microphone in the displays, the hologram stretched and zoomed in, the image filling the tiny white stations about the bar.
"Emperor Vitrianous Trump now has the podium" the announcers voice over the display.
The patrons of the bar raised their glasses in unison
"America is Great Again!" They all chanted.
I chuckled to myself. I felt a mild pang of empathy for Trump. We had crossed paths once or twice in the afterlife and conversed as one mogul to another. He seemed lucid, but that was years and years ago. people tended to go mad waiting. especially when they knew they were doomed.
I had to hand it to him however, he capitalized on fear in ways that I could only dream of. He was patient. building his empire, one vote, one person, one dollar at a time. Patience and determination. These are what make dangerous men. I thought to myself. He certainly had a harder road to hell than I did. Especially with his family still holding the throne. My journey however, was almost over. Three thousand years moves faster than you think.
In the corner, my two targets continued their conversation, oblivious to the ramblings of people about the bar. They were too older women in their mid-sixties. part of the second wave of resistance movement back in the day. The rest of their comrades had either vanished or been killed. Somehow they had managed to keep their identities a secret all this time. Now however, they were both tired. There's a certain look of defeat in someone's eyes when they realize the hopelessness of their plight. I had seen it many times in my own life before.
The older of the two glanced over at the display and spat.
"Disgusting she said."
The other one nodded in assent.
"I cant believe it all ended up like this. We used to be free once." She said.
"What happened to resisting? What happened to the fight?"
The other one sadly just shook her head. The fire died a little bit in the older woman's eyes.
The younger one was silent for a long time, taking a long drink of her beer. I looked at her. Maybe I was wrong. perhaps it was she who would set me free. I saw a flash of her former self in her eyes.
She spoke up at last.
"Trump. He's the worst person in history.. I mean, besides you know."
Say it... I clenched the air in my translucent fists...Say it!
"Hitler."
I relaxed letting my body go limp. I felt a warm sensation all over. I laughed as my ethereal body disintegrated piece by piece, party by part till I was no more.
Lucifer greeted me with open arms. He had been waiting for some time.
| I am King Tut. I've been wandering the Earth for 3000 years, unfortunately. As it turns out, you do pass into the afterlife. Although, in order for that to happen, your name has to be uttered for the last time.
Being that I was a pharaoh, I'm probably going to be spoken about until the end of time. That's what happens when you make your mark. I envy the peasants, the slaves. They were only here for 100 years at the most. The rule is that 100 years has to pass after the last time your name was mentioned before you can leave. Otherwise there would be no way for "Death" or whatever it is to figure it out.
It's a fitting punishment, if you think about it. The good people will simply deal with it, the bad people will be spoken about incessantly. Adolf Hitler will probably be around much longer than me. Especially considering how close he was time-wise to the creation of the internet. As will Winston Churchill, but he's dealt with it.
I'm not sure I believe in the Gods anymore. That religion died. The only religion that is still around from when I was around is Christianity, although I didn't know about it when I was alive. Is it a real religion? Is this Purgatory? I've read the Bible (by putting my face into the book page by page, it's an exhausting process). Would "God" really do this?
I've learned almost all the languages, I've seen almost every country on earth, I was there when Hitler shot himself. I know the location of his body, I know why Hitler hated Jews, I know the corruption behind every government. I've exhausted everything. I sit in the Pyramid I was buried in. Hoping for my name to be spoken for the last time. Knowing that many will have to die for it to happen. | 2016-01-17T15:11:50 | 2016-01-17T13:04:14 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] Once people reach a certain age, it is tradition to visit the Oracle and be told by it the way they'll die, and all of it's predictions have been 100% correct. As you finally face it yourself, the Oracle proclaims something completely unheard of before: "I have nothing to tell you." |
I walk into the room. There, in front of me, is an tired elderly woman with milky-white eyes and long grey hair reaching down to her hips, sitting cross-legged before a large brazier filled with green fire. I have never actually seen her in person before, but I can tell at once that she is the Oracle. Her acolytes, who are also quite elderely, surround the circular room, looking at me expectantly. “Approach, Damarion, and learn your fate,” she calls out in a horse voice.
I swallow nervously and move forward to kneel next to the fire. For nearly a century now, people from my village have been travelling to the Oracle once they reach the age of eighteen to learn about the nature of their death. Not everyone believes in the Oracle, of course. My brother didn’t. He laughed when the Oracle predicted that a turtle would kill him. And yet I noticed that after that day, he never again visited or travelled over the ocean. Not that it saved him though. One day, a heavy storm came through our country and a turtle came flying right through our roof, bashing in my brother’s head. The Oracle’s predictions always come true, whether you choose to believe them or not.
She stares at me for a few moments, breathing in the fumes, while I shift uncomfortably. Then, she hands out a dagger to me. “Place your blood into the fire, Damarion.”
I take the dagger with trembling hands and with one swift stroke, I cut a gash across the palm of my right hand. Wincing in pain, I watch as the blood drips down into the fire. The green flames suddenly turn a bright white, and I hear several of the acolytes gasp in shock.
I look around awkwardly. “Umm...what does that say about my death?” I ask, breaking the tense silence.
The Oracle stares at me. She’s much more alert than she was before. “I have nothing to tell you.”
I stare back at her, slackjawed. “You’re not saying… I’m immortal?”
She lets out a low laugh, but there’s no joy in it. “No one in this world is truly immortal. But you are special, Damarion. Of all the thousands of people I have seen, I have encountered less than five that share your special gift. The key to longevity exists deep within your blood.” There’s a hungry expression in her eyes that unsettles me. She makes a strange gesture with her hand that I don’t recognize.
I open my mouth to speak. “What do you --”
Before I can say another word, I feel myself being pulled backward and knocked over onto the ground. Stunned, I try to sit up, only to see several acolytes already binding me with rope. “What the hell are you doing?!” I scream out, desperately flailing out with my arms and legs.
I look back at the Oracle. Her eyes are cold now. “Place him downstairs with the others and begin the extraction.” | The man in front of me looked up hopefully to the desk. the Oracle seemed to ponder something before his eyes landed back on the man before him.
"Freight train, three hours." he announced, met with despair. Weeping, the man stumbled out of sight.
The Oracle turned back to the podium where I stood giddily
"So..." he began. "I have nothing to tell you."
"Come again?" I said, bewildered.
"Dave Pilgrett, 25, you will trip over the stairs on your way out, then you'll take a taxi home and your roommate - Henry - will be asleep on the floor. On your death, I have nothing to tell you. Sorry." he added, as I fumbled through words, mortified.
After glancing at the queue behind (or lack there of) I opened my mouth to ask the Oracle more questions.
"Please, don't," he whined. "I've told you everything of meaning. If you need to ask questions, think on it, and come back tomorrow."
*(I know it's short, but I've got a bit of writer's block right now. Ima come back later.)* | 2020-02-20T07:56:50 | 2020-02-20T07:32:03 | 57 | 10 |
[WP] Medusa turns people to stone by freezing their souls. Since you sold yours to the devil years ago, you're the first person she's had in millenia. | I stand amidst Medusa's stone garden, the sun periodically peaking out of its cloud covers, illuminating the look of realization on Medusa's face.
"So," I said. "I guess the windows to your soul thing has quite a bit of truth to it, eh?"
"Soulless," she hissed. "How dare you tread in my abode."
"Can't turn to stone," I shrugged. "Seemed like a good reason."
The Gorgon's hands gripped a bow of yew, slender, beautiful, and deadly. Apt descriptors to who she is, perhaps.
"My arrows can pierce gods," she said. "It will puncture your human flesh like a needle through fabric."
"Medusa," I sighed. "I sold my soul for a reason. Go ahead, shoot your shot. If these arrows strike me down dead, I'll leave and never bnother you again."
Her emerald eyes scanned me like a fine jeweller discerning gems, trying to extricate any bit of insight out of--of this I was certain--a stone cold poker face.
"Bothersome," Medusa finally spat, but she did lower her bow. "The Soulless have always been bothersome."
"You've met some of my brethren, then?"
"Killed them."
"That's not very nice," I said. "I'm sure we aren't all terrible people. Though I probably am."
"Your rambling is incessant and unfunny," Medusa said.
I placed a hand over my heart, mouth wide open in fake shock. I couldn't help myself.
"Why, Medusa? Why do you hurt me so?"
I sold my soul to the devil. This was far less dramatic.
"But seriously, Medusa. I don't know what my pals did when they come here, but have they ever made you an offer?"
"Many," she said. "Some of them you can see as sculptures."
"Thought I was impervious to that."
"You think your contracts binding," she chuckled. "A simple request reinstates your souls, and depending on how I feel, death or petrification follows."
"See, that's just the thing, Medusa," I said. "I've heard tell that many of them tried to steal from you. Think your treasure hoard to be free pickings so long they didn't have their souls with them. And I might talk a lot, but I think a lot too. I think."
"Your words incense me," Medusa said. "Speak of your goal, or find yourself riddled with snakebites."
At this, the dormant reptiles on her head came to life at an instant. Their hisses and expanded size only served to paint Medusa in an even more frightening light. It was beautiful, in a sort of way that made sense and didn't at the same time--like stuffing yourself full of raw oysters at a buffet, so that you'll have sore regrets hours later with the triumphant feeling of no regrets.
"I'm not here to steal from you," I said. "But I am here to ask for your help. Very politely."
The poor lass, likely suffering from the lack of communication, blinked once. Twice. Many times, contemplating just what to do with a mischievous, charming miscreant like me. Words mine.
"Interesting. And what have you to offer me?"
"My soul, darling," I bowed.
Her snakes hissed, again.
'I tire of your humour," she said, notching an arrow.
"That won't do the trick, remember? Deal with the devil," I smiled. "Put in a call with your friend, maybe? And if you get my soul back, you can do whatever you want with it."
"I will do just that," she muttered. "And kill you where you stand."
"Sure, sure," I laughed. "That would absolutely be a relief."
Medusa stalked away, then, while I simply sat and drank in the sights. Each statue was utterly lifelike--expected when torn from the clutches of life itself--though they were all expressions of fear, sorrow, regret, guilt.
I hoped mine was a little prettier.
"Why go in circles, then, with your inane conversation?" Medusa asked, causing me to turn back. I wonder how many had the privilege to really look into Medusa's eyes, as curiosity overtook them. "If you attempted to steal from me, the result would be the same."
"Ah," I said. "But then you wouldn't remember me as that particularly adorable rogue, would you?"
"No," she said.
"So it worked?" I chuckled. "You think I am a particularly adorable rogue?"
"You twist my words. You will not be remembered anyway," she said. "Soulless tend to outstay their welcome."
"You are a myth, Medusa," I said. "I'm nothing compared to that, as many tales as I've made in a human world that I've outlived. But I would like to go with a little, immortal story of my own, and it's a bonus if it's remembered by you. That OK?"
The Gorgon pondered once more. And she nodded.
"Save me a fine spot in your garden, love," I winked. "Preferably one where I can look at you, day and night."
And if I'm not wrong, I swore there were little upturns in the corners of her stony lips.
---
r/dexdrafts | Her lips, soft as rose petals brush over my heated skin. A hiss, and I draw a shaky breath. When she digs her nails into my scalp and pulls at my hair with that enticing balance between awe and possessiveness, I respond.
I. Flesh and bones and the little that lasts of my brain. Neck prickels. A small noise from my throat. Where here tongue flicks over skin to taste salt and blood. I squirm to escape her, myself, the whirling and dancing of sharp and oh, so delicate teeth.
Gazes. Locked. Tunnels, deep, deeper than the earth's core, and I fall. I stop I end I ...
I kiss her.
She jolts back with a screech, tumbling, head dissolving in a mass of undulating coils, a cloud of green fury with red tongues.
"I am sorry," I laugh, a shallow sound, impossibly light in the damp underground lair, echoing from the stone walls.
"I truly am." I add this with honest sincerity.
Medusa glares at me.
She doesn't speak, but starts to circle me, distrustfully, gorgeously disheveled and sneering. I had not expected an answer. The old ones have their own peculiar ways.
I have mine.
I settle onto a rock. Cold and stiff and a little scratchy against my thighs. An uncomfortable thing. Highly uncomfortable. I wait.
Medusa has come to a stop, regarding me warily with her head lowered, nest of snakes, iridescent skin, golden eyes. I really like her eyes.
I inspect my nails. I pick at clots of blood. I wait.
Thunder roars trough air and stone and Medusa and me. We tremble. Stink of sulphur. The loud pouf, the whole program.
Medusa flees. I sigh. There goes my heart.
"You took your time," I greet him.
"What have you done!"
In a flash I am ripped apart. My entrails spill. Skull cracks, brain leaks, the whole program. I laugh at him from the ground while I watch my beheaded corpse dangling from his claws.
"Revenge," I spurt out with the blood. He's keeping some of my bodily functions working. Good.
"We had a deal." He tosses my corpse and kneels at my side. His tail swishes and snaps the air.
"It hadn't been fair."
"And what did you expect," he growls.
"So. Revenge it is."
"I don't understand, little human. You could have continued for millennia."
His eyes are cute, too, I realize. It had never occurred to me before. Soft brown with specks of orange.
"No. Not I."
I am ending. I can feel it now. My thoughts are murky clouds. I am cold. Uncomfortable.
That reminds me of something.
"Last wish?"
An irritated grumble responds. "Granted."
He might be the devil, but he is not without heart. Or souls. I grin.
"Where?" I push out the question with what remains of my life.
"Uhm." Devil stutters. His bright skin gets even redder. I plead with my eyes.
"Damn damnation in damned hell, human! I really liked you, so I stored your soul in a very ... special part of my body."
He rakes his mane.
"We could have talked about it. Why didn't you summon me? Why Medusa? And this horrible petrification prank?"
"Show." Eyes. Plead.
Devil strokes softly over my brow. Then he stands and lowers his pants.
Stone, I smirk my last thought. Is highly uncomfortable. | 2021-06-21T14:10:16 | 2021-06-21T13:38:51 | 147 | 38 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | "How would you like your money sir?"
A weak smile overtook my face. "Give me a nice assortment." I responded. Nodding appreciatively the teller set his hand on the counter letting the sound of the metal coins spin about. There is was, as he slid his hand away, the mound that would amount to all my necessary money; an impressive stack, one Lincoln, two Washingtons, two dimes, a nickel and two pennies. With nothing left to say I slid the money from the counter and walked out doing my best to keep my head up.
Outside the bank a man dressed in bright outfit was filling balloons before a crowd of children. Off to the side a boy sobbed as his mother reassured him. Floating amongst the blue cast the red balloon was easy to see. I fumbled the coins in my palm, I pulled the nickel from within and knelt down before the boy.
"You look like you could use this more than me." I placed the coin in his hand. The mother thanked me and I continued my walk home. As I descended the stairs toward the subway I ran into a man staring in horror at the gate.
"They're terrifying right?" I joked.
"I forgot." His voice escaped. "Starting today I was supposed to walk to work."
"Here." I held out my hand giving him the two dollars and two dimes. "Lucky you I have exactly what you need."
"What are you doing?" He yelled confused.
I shrugged. "Its mine to spend as I wish right? Besides today's my last day to ride free.
A tear met the corner of his eye. "I don't know what to say."
"Its fine." I answered with a shrug. We went seperate ways after the stairs and I took the time to look at the roaming five dollars and two cents. A cough caught my attention and I was met with a rare sight.
A homeless man pulled the scrap of a blanket closer to his shoulders. "Good day to you." He nodded politely.
"Good day." I paused still caught by the sight. "If I may, a man such as yourself is a rare sight these days. You must have gotten a worse deal than me."
He looked up at me with a smile. "One-hundred and seventy-two thousand dollars." He laughed. "Tell me kid, what's your haul?"
"Seven twenty-seven." I answered with a scoff.
"Impressive."
"Just dollars and cents for me, no thousand I'm afraid."
He looked at me with what looked like pity. "What does that tell you? No, that's not fair from someone like me. I was satisfied with my haul, but life has it's own ideas. Less than a month after I walked out the bank I was diagnosed with liver cancer. Afraid and in pain I squandered all my cash trying to stay alive. Now I'm broke, dying and hungry. Figured I'd be better to waste away out here than continue working til my day."
"Maybe your deal was less lucky than mine." I commented.
He laughed. "I'm not sure I put much stock in luck but at least your not one of those, meant to be, people. Take it from me kid money ain't what life is about, and you can't measure it based on a check. Look at me four months since I lost it all, still here." I frowned briefly. With a sigh I pulled the five dollar bill from my pocket and dropped it on his blanket.
"What are you an idiot?" He shouted.
"You might be dying still, but at least for a moment in the life you got left, you won't be broke and maybe not hungry." I started toward the platform but stopped myself. "Thank you, you're right money isn't much."
Almost home I met a familiar face stocking fruit outside a ma and pop shop. She smiled as I got closer. "Thanks again, you made his day." She tossed me an apple from the basket.
"It was nothing." I replied after a moment.
"Hey," she called after me, "you got your check today right?" I turned around and gave a nod. "Ya thought so, listen if you're every hungry, stop by."
"You sure?" I asked, surprised.
"Of course, not like it'd be any profit lost right?" She laughed.
"Thank you so much." I answered. I felt at the last two pennies. *Money really isn't much.*
_
r/theoreticalfictions | "Happy birthday, Steven!" The mail carrier smiled and handed me a yellow envelope.
"Thanks, Barry," I said, trying to hide my excitement. I had been waiting for this my whole life. I was twenty-one years old today, and as such, the government had sent me a check. Enough money to survive the rest of my life. I'd still have to work, of course, but it would be a lot less stressful.
I hurried inside and tore the corner of the envelope, nearly ripping the check in the process. I pulled out the letter it came with, tossed it aside, and then grabbed the check. My smile faded.
Seven dollars and twenty-seven cents.
*There must be some mistake,* I thought. I retrieved the letter and skimmed it; it contained the same generic words they always did. I stood for a moment, dumbfounded, unsure of what to do.
I decided to head to the local government office, hoping they'd be able to figure out what went wrong. It must have been a clerical error, I decided. Seven dollars wouldn't even get me through the day, let alone the rest of my life.
When I arrived, I found the office filled with people. From the conversations I overheard, I wasn't the only one to receive a faulty check. It put my mind at ease; clearly a mistake was made, in masse, and would be righted soon.
But when a man stood on the counter and asked for quiet, my stomach sank.
"We are aware of your small checks," the man said with a shaky voice. "It was not a mistake. You get what you get. There are no appeals."
The crowd erupted into a mix of questions and obscenities. Fearing things might turn violent, I slipped out and returned to the street.
I tried to make sense of the situation. Perhaps there was to be some sort of change to our financial structure. Maybe seven dollars would be enough after all, and we just didnt realize it yet.
I looked up to the sky, pondering. And that's when I saw it: an orange streak moving through the clouds, smoke trailing behind it. Then another. A man exited the building behind me and gazed at the objects flying through the air.
"Guess this is it," he said.
I felt helpless, defeated, and somehow... peaceful. I looked down at the check in my hand and chuckled.
"Guess this is more than we needed after all," I said.
r/Ford9863 | 2019-04-24T12:38:17 | 2019-04-24T10:47:50 | 2,175 | 504 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats. | Who am I?
It sounded like a simple question, but it wasn't. I knew, now, that I've lived many lives before this one. Nineteen in total. I had no memory of any of them, but the ones before me all faced this choice, and made it *together,* united for the first and last time in a single moment.
I never knew them. They never knew each other. They would never know me.
*Of your past lives I shall not speak,* said the archangel Metatron, a figure of golden fire with six wings like rays of sunlight.
My mother was Jewish. She told me once about a rabbi from the first century named Elisha ben Abuyah. Apparently he ascended to Heaven while still alive, where he stood before the choir of all the angels in Heaven. All of those angels were standing, except Metatron who was seated and quietly recorded the words of their meeting. Elisha said that only God could be so privileged as to sit while all of Heaven was standing at attention, and so Metatron must be God, or maybe a *second* God. I think my mom lost something in translation there, but that's the story. And of course that was heretical, so the angels chucked him back down to Earth.
Lots of interesting stories about that Elisha guy, from what I hear. But I learned my lesson from his example, and didn't say anything about Metatron sitting in front of me.
I had a choice to make. Strength, Dexterity, Vitality, Wisdom, Intelligence, Charisma. If my choice were simply to pick one of those six options, like a game, it would be so much simpler. But each of the six titles opened up a vast list of more specific options. The label of *Wisdom* was highlighted blue to indicate my previous selves had added their points to this branch.
Nineteen times I had lived, died and come to this place. Nineteen times I had chosen to place my one point in the node labeled *Wisdom: Comprehension(Holy)*. The cap on this stat was twenty.
So I didn't know why they had done it, why this path had been started for us, but at least *my* choice was obvious.
"You... already know what I'm going to choose," I said to the proxy of God. Maybe it was my current nineteen points that made it so clear to me.
*Yes,* said the Archangel Metatron.
"What's going to happen to me when I do?" I asked. "This is going to be the last time; I can guess that much." Twenty points in the path I'd chosen would activate a passive perk, *Enlightenment.* There was no description. "But when I'm born again this time... what happens to me?"
*You have already chosen,* said the angel, *And you are about to be reincarnated. I could answer your question, but my answer makes no difference.*
Nineteen points in *Comprehension(Holy)* told me the Voice of God just didn't lie.
"Somehow this feels more like dying than my actual death did." I wasn't really talking to Metatron, just letting the words fall out of me. "I still have all my memories from my last life, but when I assign this point, all of that will go away. It feels like I'm *choosing* it this time, like to push this button is suicide."
God said nothing. Those eyes of golden fire burned through me, and yet didn't burn me.
"Who was I?" I asked. "In my past lives, what was I like? Was I anything like me at all?"
*You asked these questions,* said Metatron. *You made this choice. This is who you are.*
"Was I a good person?"
*Yes,* said God.
I started to cry. I couldn't tell if I had eyes to cry with in Heaven, or if it was just something a disembodied soul could do on its own. I felt tears on my cheeks, but it could have just been soul juice or something. Nineteen points weren't enough to tell the difference.
So I chose from the list as I had nineteen times before, and the label of *Enlightenment* went from grey to blue.
I was born, and opened my eyes.
I saw Heaven.
Suddenly I understood. I remembered what my first self had wanted to do all those centuries before, I remembered siding with myself eighteen times in succession, I remembered the choice getting steadily easier as that one stat continued to rise and it became clear that the meta-me had a plan.
I was still crying. The doctors couldn't tell that I was crying for a different reason than babies usually cry for. They didn't have to understand. I was looking up from Earth and I could *still see Heaven.*
I had to grow up. I had to do it quickly. This was the life where I would tell everyone the truth.
...
>If you like this, go read [Unsong](http://unsongbook.com/) | God doesn't sound benevolent, nor does he come across as wise and all-knowing, his voice a deep baritone that soothes and comforts you. He just sounds detached, almost bored.
"Wait so, we're all ranked?"
"Yes," God says, stifling a yawn. "All seven billion and counting. Every few years I pick a few and catapult them to Godhood."
"So I'm not dead then?" I say, fighting to keep the rising panic from my voice. A second ago I was on my way to Walmart to pick up some cheap plastic furniture, then oncoming headlights flooded my vision and I heard the sound of screeching rubber and now I stand naked on a white plane that spreads in all directions, a disembodied voice speaking to me from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"You're definitely dead," God says. "You're as dead as they come. See?"
An image flashes in the empty space before me. My crumpled compact SUV's modern safety features were clearly not enough to withstand the oncoming freight-truck. What's left of me is splattered across the pavement, a paramedic covering their nose as they drape a tarp over the pieces of flesh and bone. A heavy-set man in a denim jacket sits on the curb, his head buried in his hands.
"Holy shit...," I whisper, the sheer absurd novelty of this moment making me feel almost high.
"So anyway, you're all ranked, and it turns out you've hit the number one spot," God says, materializing a few feet in front of me, naked but for a magnificent white beard that coils around him, it's tip touching the empty white floor.
"What? Me?," I say, pointing at my chest. "I'm first out of billions of us? That doesn't make any sense." My words come out in a garbled rush. "I'm kind to my dog and I hate my shitty job and I'm a single man living in suburbia, surrounded by happy American families."
God frowns, if you can even call it that. With a flourish of his wrists he produces an aged scroll with a long list of names, the words 'Global Human Prestige Ranking' scrawled in gold lettering across the top. "There you are," God says, pointing at the name at the top of the list.
It's my turn to frown, mostly in disbelief. Thomas Siddlesmith, 31, American. Four million two-hundred and forty-three prestige points. I'm a clear million above the next placed name, which appears to be Angela Merkel. "I don't understand," I say, looking down the list. "I'm basically anonymous."
God laughs and another image appears in which another me is talking to another - the same? - God.
"The last time you were here," God says, indicating at my other self standing there, hands on hips. "You told me that you wanted to be worshiped by all the Ants on the planet - for each of them to be born knowing of your benevolence, their tiny little brains expanded just enough to view you as a God King."
"What?" I say.
"Yeah. I don't know what came over you but it was genius," God says, a twinkle in his eyes. "Turns out there are a quadrillion of them." | 2019-01-24T07:53:40 | 2019-01-24T07:34:56 | 1,941 | 272 |
[WP] You have a super recessive disorder that makes you immortal. Never in all your time (~14,000 yrs) have you encountered anyone else like yourself. You begin a series of breeding of experiments....
Yes this is dark, go nuts with it. | BEGIN LOG
Date: 37 July, 5721 Anno Domini.
Day 185 of Year 2600 United Earth Founding.
Note: Today is Founding Day, remember to fire off controlled pyrotechnics tonight.
Project LEGACY, Experiment 99, Entry 216-7.
My wife died last night at approximately 2249 GMT. She was 216 years, 3 months, and 16 days old. She left behind 6 adoptive children, all well into their 40s to 100s, and myself. The funeral will be held in two days’ time, in a little spot just off the coast of where Seattle used to be, in the same spot where I proposed to her. It seems fitting, that we should part forever in the same spot where we became one “forever”. She was so sweet, my Meredith, and losing her feels like I’ve lost yet another part of my soul. She was the best wife I’ve ever had, and yet, she marks another “failure” in the LEGACY project. Another woman who could not bear a child for me, or should I say, for the Council. The Council, of course, will send along their regards, but I know that they are just hollow words. All they want to see is a “success”, a child born with the same ailment as my own, born to live forever, free of disease and able to heal from the most grievous of injuries. Not content with 200-year life-spans, they wish to “ascend to god-hood” and rule as a part of the Council for all eternity. They see me as a piece of a puzzle that they are only missing a single piece to and search desperately for the final piece.
But enough of the Council, this entry is not about them, this is about Meredith, my beautiful Meredith, always smiling, even as the Cancer spread to her eyes, blinding her before it made its way to her brain. Her voice will ring in my ears for all eternity, the way she sang the children to sleep, the way she would whisper my name as we lay in bed with each other, the way she would say “Welcome home.” when I came out of my study after another day of Council work. Her cooking was beyond compare, I’ve tasted the art of culinary geniuses the world over and nothing they made could hold a candle to the home-cooked meals she made. Her sense of humor was infectious, like a disease (Ha! Disease. Get it? You would have loved that one.), and everyone she met came away from the encounter happier. She was the moon of my life, our children the stars, the night sky ever bright with their presence. But now the moon has fallen, and the sun wishes for nothing but to fall with her.
I’m not sure I can do this anymore. For over two millennia, I have sat and watched helplessly as lover after lover after lover has withered away and died for Project LEGACY while I have barely aged a year. Sure I may look like I’m in my early 200s, but today’s makeup and disguise programs can fool even the best of people. I’m tired of this charade, of this parody of life. This is not life, this is torture, and I refuse to participate in it any longer. I’ve already spoken with my “Doctor”; he has agreed to help me fake my death again, as his family has done for the past 30 generations. This time however, I will not return to the civilized world. I will retire to our summer home in the woods and focus on Project GAME OVER. Damn the Council and their quest for god-hood, I have given my all for this planet and its people, I have served the governments of the world for over 14 millennia. I have fought in more wars and killed more people than any dictator in history. I have saved more people as a doctor than any cure. I am tired and weary, and it is time for me to sleep. I will finish Project GAME OVER, that is my only goal. I will see my Meredith again.
Edit 1: Minor spelling corrections. Thanks for helping out, I was very tired when I wrote this. | "Novemeber 27th, 2015, today marks the beginning of trials on subject 7.
Subject 7 also known as…fuck where did I put the…whatever it's easier when I don't know their names. Subject 7 came to my attention as the result of a newspaper article about a woman who was the sole survivor of a multi car pile up. Note for anyone listening to these tapes, and that includes you, future me, you know how we forget this stuff, I named her subject 7 in honour of the number of cars involved in the collision. You are not missing the last three subjects.
Digging into her history I've found three more potentially fatal instances in her life that she appeared to escape from largely unscathed. Note, I can't remember if these instances were the result of some sort of *Unbreakable* inspired scheme on my part, a movie I only some what remember, thanks to the utilization of skills learned from the movie *Memento* a movie I don't really remember at all.
Subject is restrained in the waiting room. I have decided to conduct the breeding there as I realized the only difference between the waiting room and the breeding room is the presence of the turkey baster I use for the experiment. In a, if I can brag, brilliant move I have decided to…move, get it, the turkey baster to the waiting room, freeing up the breeding room for some other purpose. Perhaps that sock puppet theatre I have been kicking around for the last century, as it occurs to me that if one of these experiments takes hold and does not have to be terminated, I will find myself with a child and while it's been a while since I was one, I believe I would have liked sock puppets.
I am now entering the waiting room where…oh shit subject 7 has escaped shit shit shit, all I have to defend myself is this turkey baster and my immortality. Wait... my immortality.
I can use that.
Unless she pricks me with a needle full off…my knock out stuff…and then escapes…she's shaking her head…wait wait wait you could…run experiments and stuff on me…and I'd never die…and then you could make an immortality serum…guys she's nodding I'm riiiiiiiiii…
*Thud*
*Click*
[Subreddit] (https://www.reddit.com/r/SarkasticWatcher/) | 2015-09-26T09:34:05 | 2015-09-26T08:28:08 | 206 | 153 |
[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down."
Inspired by this post
https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/ | We looked at each other. Then back at the number glowing on the floor.
4.
For most of the past decade, that number has been 2. Day in and day out, 2. We hardly even notice it any more at this point.
“It hasn’t changed since I moved in,” she whispered, looking up at me.
“I know.”
“What does it mean?”
*she couldn’t be pregnant*, I thought. *we tried for years.*
I remembered the gut wrenching moment when we learned we couldn’t have kids of our own. What I couldn’t remember was the last time we were intimate after that ripped a hole in our marriage.
No, she couldn’t be pregnant.
*Then who the fuck are these additional 2?*
I started pacing, feeling the anxiety swell in my chest as I tried to figure this out. When you get so used to something strange that it begins to feel normal, it’s particularly jarring to be yanked out of your normalcy and reminded of something entirely peculiar that you’ve been ignoring for years.
“Hon, sit down. This is good news.”
I gave my wife a look of bemused astonishment. “How on earth do you figure that?”
“Well, just that maybe it doesn’t mean anything after all. Maybe it was just coincidence that it changed the same night I moved in. Maybe it’s just some weird architectural quirk that we just never figured out.”
*Horseshit*, I thought to myself. I checked this whole place before she ever even moved in, and again after it changed to 2. It’s indistinguishable from the floor when you touch it. There is no warmth, no texture, no sound coming from it. It’s not just tricks of the light; it glows all through the night no matter how dark. Hell, it even glowed when we lost power during the hurricane.
“Listen, you know I’ve checked this place all over to figure out where it’s coming from. With no luck. I’ve searched high and —“ I cut myself off. I’ve searched high, certainly. I removed light fixtures from the ceiling and investigated the attic. I even went onto the roof once. But, how low have I really searched?
What if the source of the glowing has been from beneath the floor this whole time?
What I never checked, I suppose, were the blueprints I found when I first moved in. I pulled them out from the top of our closet and rolled the chart out on our marble kitchen island. Sure enough, there was a crawl space beneath the living room that extended to the front entryway. I noted where the opening seemed to be, and went to investigate.
The opening was behind a huge bush that had clearly been growing long before I moved in. I wouldn’t have ever had a reason to check back here, but sure enough there was the opening. Without hesitation, I ducked down and pulled my phone flashlight out. Cobwebs and dirt, sure, but could be lots worse.
I lowered to my knees and started moving further into the crawl space.
The only thing I could think of - rather, the only remaining totally ridiculous possibility I could come up with - is that there was some sort of projector under the floor that was emitting the glow. Or perhaps some LEDs. Or something. But I was going to find out what it was, once and for all.
I pull up the photo I took of the blueprints and continue navigating my way through the narrow passage, using my phone light to guide me along the route. I go a little farther, then pause.
*This is it*. I look back at the blueprints on my phone to be sure and, indeed, the glowing number should be situated right above where I am now. I use my phone light to look around.
Nothing.
No projector, no wires, no generator, no fairy dust, not even a fucking flashlight.
I put my hand on the top of the crawl space, on the underside of the floor where the number 4 is inevitably still glowing. Nothing. It’s just wood. There’s nothing here.
I sigh, and give up on my last hope at figuring out this stupid glowing number. I turn to retreat and pull the blueprints back up on my phone to help guide me. As I point my phone light towards the narrow opening, my phone dies and the light goes out.
But not before I see two sets of eyes staring directly back at me, blocking my path to outside.
—-
____
eta: Thanks for all the love y’all - this is the first story I’ve posted here that more than just like two people read! | It had been like that for years. A shining number one had found its way onto my floor. It was like clockwork. I chalked it up to the sun and shadows being a thing until she showed up. It was a challenge trying to get her convinced that such a thing occurred within my home, let alone trying to convince her that I wasn’t going mad when it switched to a number two.
That day when I brought her home still rang crystal clear in my head. We had just gone out for lunch and I knew that the time in which the number one would reveal itself was fast approaching. That day, I remember swinging that door open, only for a rather interesting surprise to greet us.
“Uh babe, why is there the number two? I’d thought it was only meant to say one? You showed me those pictures all the time.”
My mouth was dry. A forced response left my lips, “Yea, it does say two now.”
\----
It all happened so fast today. Her coming in, the door being slammed against the wall. The number four shining for both of us to see.
“We need to have a talk, now.”
“What’s going on?” I changed the subject. My body was telling me something.
“Hon, I swear it’s good news. But you should sit down.”
“Oh-” My spirits lifted, maybe it wasn’t it was going to be her saying that- My mind jumped before I could process the situation. We all knew what was coming. “Let’s me guess, you got-”
“Honey, no.” She cut me off. She was stern now, a tone I’d never hear from her mouth. “I know why the four is there now. You see, my life is coming to an end soon.”
It was only natural to say that my heart sank. “What do you mean by that? And why did you say it was good news?” The number four had a bad omen in my culture. It signified death and while in modern times, superstitions weren’t the norm, I still clung onto that belief. That gut feeling, it had returned now, stronger than ever.
“Babe, I said like that because I was being sarcastic. You know how flustered I get in these sorts of situations, and I needed a way to draw you away from your superstitions,” She pulled me in, “Honey, it’s stage four now. My time is short.”
All I could mumble was a faint, “No, I refuse to lose you this way.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
\--
r/CasualScribblings
I knew that pregnancy would be one the main ideas people would write on, so I decided to give it a twist, albeit, a little sad twist. | 2020-09-03T02:32:47 | 2020-09-03T00:53:25 | 2,302 | 644 |
[WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible. | Michael and I stared at the button for some time. It was a cherry red color and drawing me in like a moth to a light. I wanted to press it. My curiosity has always gotten the better of me. I extended my arm with my index pointed out. My mind was racing on the possibilities that would come from this being pressed. A utopia seems like a wonderful idea. As my finger drew closer Michael just stared at me.
"I am going to press it."
"Well hurry up and just do it. Stop stalling."
To me I wasnt stalling. I loved the thrill of it and wanted to soak up every last minute. My finger touched down on the button. With just a little bit of force I heard a click. All of a sudden a giant white light burst from the button, Michael and I were pushed backwards. That is the last thing I remember before waking up. Sometime later I realized I was back at my house in my cozy bed. My head was still a bit foggy. How long had I been out? I glanced over at my phone and saw that I had numerous missed calls and texts. Michael had been trying to get in contact with me for quite some time. I immediately called him.
"Ben what is up my man?"
"Michael how long was I out?"
"Dude you got so wasted you just blacked out last night. Kind of a shame cause I wanted to keep going!"
I was confused. Had I not blacked out from pressing the button? I had so many questions to ask Michael. I was in a state of confusion.
"I thought I blacked out from pressing the but--"
"Whoa whoa whoa Ben what are you talking about?? I am coming over right now!"
This made me even more confused. Eventually he made it over. I opened the door and I could hardly recognize him. He had grown a beard that would put any man to shame. He quickly barged into my house and slammed the door.
He looked at me in a serious manner and said "Ben you have to stop talking about the button. You pressed it, a weird light came out, we fell down got up and then got the hell out of there."
"Yeah so why do I have to not talk about it?" I was confused
"When we came back we told people about it. Some were skeptical and others questioned us for days. They wanted to see this button for themselves. We took them to the cave and it was gone. They all thought we were just crazy. I eventually shut up about it but you kept going. You wanted to prove that the button was real. You started to worry people. They induced you into a coma and implanted false memories to get you to forget."
"Did we really even go out last night?"
"No we didnt Ben. That was something they told me to tell you when you woke up in hopes you would have forgotten about the button."
"So did anything become like a Utopia?"
"Man you have to see this. Everything is great. World hunger is over, there hasnt been any wars or conflicts, crime has gone down. Heck you can even just take your door off your house and no one will enter!"
"Well I guess that is good. The button worked then"
"What did I say about the button dude. You have to calm it down."
"Right...sorry. Its just.. how come I cant event talk to you about it. I mean I think we should talk about it since we did make the world a utopia."
"Look man I just dont want anything to happen to you again, alright man?"
"Fine. What is there to even do around here now?"
"Well the leaders of the free world are holding a speech tonight. The Supreme Ruler is going to make a guest appearance."
"What are you talking about? What about the presidents and all of that?"
"Well after the world stopped having wars every nation decided to dissolve their current government and come together as one. The Supreme Ruler is basically president of every one."
"Oh okay I guess that is cool"
Michael and I left my house. We walked around town and he showed me all the things that had changed. Everything was just peaceful. Something odd stuck out to me. Almost everyone was wearing a mask or a spandex leotard. I asked him what that was all about and apparently the Supreme Ruler just asked everyone for one simple thing, and it was for everyone to wear that type of outfit. Michael took me to a store so we could buy one for me. I was drawn to this royal blue outfit. I tried it on. It was something that I was going to have to get used to. I never liked having skin tight clothes but I guess I will have to get over it. We went back to Michael's house so he could switch into his outfit.
"Dude the speech is about to start. Lets go to the plaza. They have a huge screen for a viewing party."
We left and headed straight to the plaza. When we arrived it was like I was swimming in a sea of spandex. Everyone was wearing some form of the outfit. I looked around and everyone had a weird haircut. I had no clue what was going on. Things simmered down. On the screen a man walked up to a podium with a microphone.
"Hello inhabitants of the free world. Today we would like our Supreme Leader to give us a speech." Everyone in the crowd went wild. People shoved their hands with beers in the air whilst screaming a weird chant. Music started blasting. The crowd got hyped. People were pulling chairs out and hitting people. I was shocked what kind of utopia is this?
"Here he is now... if you forgot his name its JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHNNNNN CEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAA"
Everything made sense now. | In retrospect he should have taken much longer to make the decision, but thinking things out had never been one of his strong suits. He flipped open the clear glass lid and stared at the button for a few seconds. Just a simple red button on a small black box. Apart from the inscription there was nothing remarkable about it. If there was no inscription he would have pushed it anyway, just because it looked like the kind of button that would be fun to push.
And then he pushed it.
There was a slight resistance, as though the button were resting on a stiff spring. Once it was done he looked back at the ocean in front of him. It looked exactly as it had before. Same blue sky and bluer waves. Same whisky white clouds. Same lapping surf. Of course it wasn't going to work. It was just a silly box with a silly button that washed up on the beach. He still thought it was kind of neat and decided it would be an interesting thing to have. He wasn't quite ready to go home so he decided to put it in his car and keep looking for things. He turned to where the parking lot should have been, but it was gone.
The parking lot, the grey concrete building with showers and a pizza place, the road and the streetlights. All gone.
He sprinted to where he knew it should have been. Completely gone.
Bewildered he imagined that he must have gotten lost and turned around. Up and down the beach he ran, looking for any sign of the town and things that suddenly weren't anymore. The things he'd known all his life. It was like he was transported to a whole different time. There was no sign of civilization anywhere. No cars, nothing. Just an endless shore and peaceful blue water.
Where the road should have been he found beautiful manicured grass. It rolled on and on. There where flowers innumerable growing throughout. Trees and plants, the likes of which he'd never seen grew here and there. There were tiny white flowers that shook like bells and tinkled in the wind. Green ones that let out bursts of perfume. Everywhere small animals were scurrying, completely devoid of fear. Bunnies came up to him and ran circles around his legs. Two yellow birds came out of a tree and landed on his shoulder.
'I have to call my wife.' He thought. He reached into his pocket but his phone was gone. It was expensive and he just bought it, but he didn't care. Everything was beautiful. The button had worked and everything was perfect. He would walk home and talk to her. This was the best day of his life.
On his way home he passed the hospital. People in gowns were spilling out into the road, laughing and hugging, throwing down crutches and pulling out IV lines. It was like he died and went to heaven. Everything grey and dim about the world was washed away, and now it was clean and fresh and new. Th air tastes sweeter, and the sunlight warmed him perfectly without making him hot.
On his road the houses were the same but somehow different; better. They all looked beautiful and perfect. People were walking in the road, dumbstruck but joyful.
He burst into the house and called out for her. She came down the stairs, 'I have no idea what-" she began.
""It was me! It was this button!" He held up the box for her, practically crying with happiness. He had never noticed his wife to be so beautiful before, she was practically glowing.
"I don't understand," she said.
"Look, read the inscription," he went on. "A Utopia...a paradise, it worked...everything is perfect."
"But the children," she said. "I can't find them, I have no idea where they are...one minute they were in their rooms playing and the next they were gone, just disappeared." She took the box from his hands and studied the label. "What's this about people who believe in God?" | 2015-10-21T14:17:19 | 2015-10-21T14:11:47 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] The hero shows up at the villains doorstep one night. Theyre shivering bleeding scared. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly, close to passing out, they mumble “didn’t know where else to go” then collapse into the villains arms. | Heroes and villains. Cops and robbers. Knights in shining armour, and the sneaky rogues. Such cliches, and supposed polar opposites, and yet underneath all that still just people, right?
People with lives. Families. They have a history of every decision that they made up to now. Countless decisions they'll make in the future. Some of them have been shaped by the people they grew up with. Others by their environment. Some others still were the ones who shaped the *others*. All of us, we have our strengths. We may be the bravest heroes of the world. We may be the most cunning villains. Sometimes, the roles might even be subverted with the knight being a cunning warrior, winning through underhanded tactics, his mantra being "victory by any means." The rogue, well. He may be a Robin Hood, taking from those above to give to those below.
We all have our vulerabilities. Our weaknesses. Did you know that the greatest villain of the last century, Mr Mad (a stupid name I know, but he made it work), was scared of clowns? It's true - I worked with him for months. Disembowlement wouldn't faze him. A force of fifty heroes arrayed against him and he'd face it head on with his signature grin. The second a clown walks into the room though? There's a sudden emergency that only *he* could deal with.
The point is, each person is unique and no matter the effort that we put into creating our masks and our facades, below it all we're all still human.
I have to admit, this is a new train of thought for me. I'm as ruthless as they come. Call me crazy, but in the game of life and death, I have always erred on the side of me living and everyone else dying. Sometimes that's meant civilians paying the price. Other villains. Heroes should go without saying. That's just the way it is.
But there's something about seeing someone's vulerability shown so blatantly that...I don't even know how to put into words. Makes you think? Makes you care? Makes you realise that those costumes we put on are just that: costumes?
It's been two days since the Ice Queen showed up at my door. We've met on the battlefield so many times over the last few years that we were as close friends as our kind could be.
"How was the bank heist last month?"
"Oh, it went great, we got the million dollar jewel. I saw that you won the Hero of the Year. Congrats!"
"Thanks."
And then we'd be back to trying to kill each other.
Well, her state then was a far cry from her usual. Bruised and battered, she looked absolutely fucking terrified. She was bleeding from a cut on her cheek and one on her forehead, and that was just from what I saw at first glance. Her evening dress, a beautiful sapphire one from the May collection, was muddied and torn in places.
Looking up into my eyes, her own unfocused, she swayed for a moment. "Spiked. Didn't know where else to go. Sorry." She said and collapsed. I caught her, stopping her from smashing her face on the mortared brick of my front door.
I know that the sensible thing was to let her fall and plead my ignorance. A thorn in my side, gone for good. Maybe I could've even locked her in a dungeon, instead of carefully tending to her wounds. Congratulated her assaulter, not tortured and then killed him.
Like I said though - seeing someone's masks thrown so carelessly to the side... it's enough to make one think. | [poem]
"He came to me", I thought in my head
After all these years of wanting him dead..
His broken bones and bleeding wounds
I thought "this death has come too soon"
So I picked him up, from where he lay
And in a breath, I heard him say
"I've nowhere else to go" then, sigh
I couldn't help but wonder "why?"
It's true, I've tried, through all these years
To end his life, to end my fears
Of being stopped of gaining control..
And now I hold his mortal soul.
"The end is near" he whispers soft,
And then, more blood, a gurgled cough.
I stop to now consider my course,
If he dies right now, will I feel remorse?
I take him in and mend his wounds..
To keep him well, I'm all consumed.
"But why?" I think, "just let him suffer..
If he dies with me, then I'll seem tougher"
But I keep watch all through the night,
And with great strength, and with great might
He musters up the strength to go,
But with his life, for sure, I know
That when he wakes upon the morrow
His pain subsided, and gone his sorrow..
He'll rise again to fight with me,
This man, my mortal enemy.
But perhaps this act of decency
Will not be known alone to me
And with his strength and with his power,
We'll ride against the painful hour
When friend and foe, alike in kind
Return to our immortal grind
And with this help, so kind and just
I hope that I have gained his trust
To see me for just what I am,
Not some evil and unkind man
Just broken of will and hurt and sad..
Maybe he'll see I'm not so bad.
(Fuck, mobile formatting destroyed this. Ugh) | 2019-08-04T00:45:12 | 2019-08-04T00:22:13 | 73 | 50 |
[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. | "A mistake was made," said the U.N. Secretary General. Last night depth probes had rained from the Vermont sky. They had been dropped in the hole six months and one day ago, exactly. Now they were back. And we all knew what would follow.
15,000 nuclear weapons had been dropped into the hole one month ago. Humanity had five months left.
Iceland was the first country to divide all of their wealth equally among its citizens. "Make the most of it while you can," said its prime minister. "I wish that you all will live to the fullest, in open defiance of the absurdity that has become human existence."
A dark brooding overtook the world. In every coffee shop you would find young men and women engaged in deep thought, contemplating the strange spectacle that had become their predicament. Political parties rose and fell like a beating heart, struggling to regain its foothold after a traumatic shock. Whispers were heard in street corners, a salvation unmistakably on its way. "This is a trial," many a stranger would tell each other. "We have five months to show that we are worthy of life. If you dedicate yourself to the Good, you will survive. The others will be erased from the world and be forgotten."
As reality began to set in, a strange fellow gained worldwide attention and fame when he assured humanity that he had found the solution to their woes. "This planet is doomed," he said. "But this isn't the only one. We have the funds. We have the drive. We can escape inevitable doom and settle on the red planet."
The Martian Movement grew strong, and with it a sense of optimism dawned on humanity. "There is a chance," was the sentiment. "We could still survive."
The window of time was narrow. In a single month, humanity would have to work together and embark on its greatest mission yet. But there was another faction growing. And it grew strong.
The first body fell 46 days after the first probes. It landed on top of the garbage heap. Some commented that it was an apt metaphor; humanity falling to their grave on top of the steaming pile of mess that had left behind. This nihilistic notion became commonplace. "Humanity does not deserve to be saved." Such were their sentiment. They held counter-rallies to the devout Martians. They argued that man had had his chance, and he had failed. He did not deserve a second chance. The hole only spat out what had been tossed inside. We had failed the litmus test, and so the book closed.
Then, one day, the hole closed.
Time went on, and as the six-month period came to pass, it became evident that it would keep on doing so. The once dedicated groups dissipated like a soup gone cold. The world remained the world. Never would anyone learn the true nature of the hole. It seemed a chance event, bereft of meaning. Humanity would ultimately have to fill the hole with stories. With meaning. And it would keep on drifting through the cold Universe, forever asking themselves the same question: why? | I weep softly as I watch the news..
"-live coverage of The Pit right now. Only hours earlier earthquakes were detected..."
I gave them Everything
"-traced back to The Pit. Scores of researchers and scientists have submitted queries for comments on our broadcast. We can only air so much so fast, but the ticker below shows more.. the general consensus.."
The bane to my life is Balance... Yet still I had to give them Nothing.
<<THE END HAS COME, CONFESS YOURSELVES TO THE PIT. SOUL, MIND, AND BODY -- LEAP WHILE YOU CAN>>
I used one such balance as a tool... Now vs Then, Sooner vs Later, Before vs After... But the balance has leveled.
"We have visually spotted an object in The Pit! The seismic activity has escalated immensely.. evacuations are now mandatory. Military forces aren't even standing their-"
They gave it their Free Will. They incubated it. They imprinted on it. They showed it pain. They showed it their suffering. I refused to nurture it... And now...
"EMERGING NOW WE ARE FLEEING THE SCENE VIA HELICO-"
Now I get to see the Free Will of The Pit.
Leap while you can Children. | 2018-01-13T08:53:16 | 2018-01-13T07:55:10 | 537 | 22 |
[WP] You have just been abducted by a UFO. While you are figuring out what just happened to to you, a frantic alien bursts into the room. "You have no idea how many rules I'm breaking, but my Human Studies final is tomorrow and I need help." | I stare at the alien blankly. They're human enough. Maybe with some stage makeup and a beanie they'd even pass for human.
"What?" I finally managed to croak out.
"C'mon man you heard me, I'm sorry I just need like, an hour of your help with this."
"What?" I repeat, hearing myself sound more puzzled than anxious. I feel stupidly calm, like the oddity of the situation had suddenly been replaced by the inconvenience of a classmate begging for help the night before an exam.
"I just need to pass this class, okay? I got a job lined up after class ends and if I fail, I can't graduate. C'mon, please help me."
I laugh out loud, the bark of a laugh echoing discordantly. The mood has changed again; it's suddenly overwhelmingly funny that my Space Invaders kidnapper is begging for my help.
They frown when I giggle again, unable to contain myself.
"It's not funny!! I'm going to fail!!"
They sound more anxious than angry.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I say, wiping tears of laughter off my face. "It's just so fucking weird."
They frown again.
"Homework is weird? Helping me out is weird??"
I struggle to contain my laughter again.
"No dude, the abduction is weird, obviously. You took me from my bed, at night, into space, to beg me to do your homework?"
"Space? What?"
My confusion morphs into fear.
"Where are we?" I ask seriously.
"Earth. This is just like, my house."
"You have a creepy abduction room in your *house*??"
"Oh, no, this is the basement. My parents don't want to finish it because then my grandma would want to move in and that's a whole thing, ya know?"
I look around, and my immediate assumptions about the space are wrong. I had barely thought about my surroundings. The table was metal, and the shelves, but the walls weren't, and the floor was concrete. It was a weird room, but not an alien one. This is getting more bizarre by the second.
"So... you gonna help me or what?"
"You're not an alien then?"
They sigh loudly. They've gotten this question before, probably from the last rando they abducted to their basement for no real reason.
"Yes, I'm an alien. Yes, I live on Earth. No, My parents don't know. Yes, aliens do weird sex stuff. Can you please help me now?"
I sigh.
"Fine. Then can I leave?"
"I mean, you can leave whenever... door's unlocked," they gesture.
I get up. Stop. Turn to the door. Stop. Rage at my kidnapper swells suddenly. I don't want to leave until I understand *why*.
I turn around suddenly.
"You bitch! Who are you?" I lunge across the table at them, unsure what I'm going to do but too angry and confused to be still.
They turn away and put their hands up defensively - they're not here for a fight. I grab their hair and pull their face toward me.
Suddenly, their face changes. Not much, but just enough. I stare at myself, and she stares back at me. I hear myself gasp, my own mouth making the sounds, and I'm frozen. I want to run, but I can't.
They change again. Sarah, from my lit class. Then Toby, another classmate. Then Laurel, Dr. Keiger, Professor Besser, until they're changing so fast their face looks as it had, a mix of human faces resembling everyone and no one until an identity is picked.
"See?"
"Too much," I manage, muttering. "Who are you, really? If you look like everybody how can I ever know?"
"Well, how do you know who you are?", they ask.
"Um. I guess I'm not sure. I've never thought about it," I say. I sound calm, and I suppose I am. At some point, the onslaught of increasingly bizarre and terrifying new information turned into an overwhelming numbness, a detachment from a reality that couldn't, didn't exist 10 minutes ago.
"Are you just your body?"
"Not really, I don't think. I mean, I hope not," I say, gesturing vaguely at myself.
"You don't like your body?"
"I mean, no one does, right? Like, everyone wants to change something about themselves."
"Then who are you, if not your body?"
"Why are you asking?"
"You're scared of me now. You weren't before you saw me shift. I can tell. Why?"
"I don't know exactly. I guess the thought of one person being able to be anyone is scary. Like I can't know who you are if you look like someone else."
"Is that not sad to you?"
"What?"
"If something happened to one's body, they would disappear to you. Be replaced by the new body, a whole new person."
"No they wouldn't. I mean. Sort of. I don't know. What are you even asking? Didn't you want help or something?"
"You've helped plenty."
My blood runs cold, and the world goes black. | I was walking back to home one night from collecting some fire wood I store at the edge of my property. The brisk New England winter winds picked up and began to pierce through my warm winter coat. Luckily I was almost home where I could tend to a nice warm fire to warm myself up next to. As my home came into view bright light appeared above me. It shone like a spotlight lighting up my surroundings and masking my surroundings preventing me from seeing my home but a football field away from me at this point.
I feel weightless as my feet lift off the ground. I rise up towards the unseen source of this bright light.
“Did I just die” I wonder as I suddenly am brought into a strange room. It is circular shaped room with all of the walls floor and ceiling the same metallic silver color. The room is devoid of any decorations or distinguishing marks save for a blue ring around the circumference of the room and some white lights in the ceiling. I quickly remove my gloves unhook my wood axe. With it in hand I crouch low to the ground before me. I am not much of a fighter but I ready myself. I feel like a cornered animal ready to jump at my capture so I can get back home. I hear some strange noises coming from beyond the wall to my left. I turn to face the origin of the noise it is do or die.
The seamless wall parts as a strange humanoid creature walks through. It is taller than a human standing roughly 8 feet tall with long slender arms and legs with huge hands and eyes that look too large for its head.
I spring up axe outa and ready to fight for my life this E.T. asshole isn’t going to probe me today. The creature screams and ducks back behind the door. I am too slow to catch it with my axe instead hitting the door instead piercing through the door with relative ease. Shocked to see that my axe can pierce this alien metal I pull it out to strike the door again. As I pull out the blade however I see the hole I left in quickly reform. That information makes me think twice about trying to hack my way threw as it feels Sisyphean. As I am weighing that option in my head I hear a panicked voice come out from behind the wall “Look I think we got off on the wrong foot I don’t want to hurt you please back away from my entry way and lets talk”.
Still with my guard up I comply. Steeping back a few paces keeping my hands ready on my axe before saying “Ok”.
As my captor walks back into the room he says with a nervous energy “You have no idea how many rules I am breaking here, but I desperately need your help. My Human Studies final is tomorrow and I am not prepared.”
“What?”
“Like I said I haven’t been keeping good notes nor really been paying attention in class and I need help to pass the class and I figured though against the rules a human would be the best expert I could ask for help from. I’ll let you go right after I promise”
“Why should I trust you? And why can understand you? I don’t exactly remember the British spreading English to other worlds.”
“Look I’m desperate and besides your the one with the axe who attacked me. You can understand me because this ship is equipped with a universal translator”
“Touche” I say taking my right hand off of my axe and extending my right hand towards the alien. Who jumps back in shock. “It’s a handshake surely they taught you that in school” | 2021-01-22T08:55:54 | 2021-01-22T08:53:24 | 141 | 84 |
[WP] You are your best friend both run highly successful companies. To fight the boredom of the eight hours you pretend to work, you’ve both hired corporate spies to steal “classified information” from the other. You may have lost the last several games, but you have a good feeling about this one. | It's a pretty simple game. It started out as kind of a joke between Sohil and I, from back when we were both in business school. We learned about corporate espionage in class, and I leaned over and whispered that I was going to steal all of his secrets; he replied: "not if I steal yours first."
Fast forward twenty years, and we are now both the CEOs of big Fortune 500 companies. I worked my way up the ladder of an existing auto manufacturer, while Sohil went the entrepreneur route and started his own pharmaceutical giant. And our challenge has evolved too: we each hire corporate spies to infiltrate the other's corporation. At the end of the year, we meet up in Aspen and have a little exchange where we 'buy back' the information for whatever the black market value of it would be.
Sohil has *clobbered* me for the past six years. His agents have gotten the plans to every prototype we've come with; last year's electric car technology cost me dearly. And no matter what security I enact, he is always one step ahead. I pour money into cybersecurity, and he manages to slip a human informant into our information security division. I beef up hiring protocols and background checks, and he gets key loggers onto the computers of every one of my top executives. All in all, I was now down about $600 million in the total tally. But this year would change everything.
-----
Sohil was waiting by a roaring fire in our penthouse suite with a glass of brandy in hand. As we both grew more and more successful, we'd gotten more elaborate and opulent with our yearly results presentation. On a whiteboard behind him, "$600 million" was written in big red marker, a reminder of how much I was losing by. I knew that Sohil would never collect on it, but it certainly raised the stakes. Instead of money, *pride* was on the line.
I took a seat in the plush leather armchair next to him. A manila folder was sitting in his lap, and I dropped a folder of my own onto the coffee table.
"Let me guess," he said before I could open my mouth, "You've got the formula for dormalthazine in there." I smirked; I knew all about the new drug that Sohil's company was working to develop for treating diabetics. It was certainly promising, from the research I'd seen: a diabetic would only need a yearly injection, and would never have to take insulin again. It would save patients thousands of dollars, and make *billions* for Sohil's company. "Well, it's worthless," he continued. A wry smile spread across his face. "Two of our competitors are already going through FDA approvals and they'll almost *certainly* beat us to market with it. I don't know *how*, considering we've only just finished human trials. Bastards." He drained the rest of his glass. "Though at least I'll win our little competition this year too."
I laughed. I was deliberately stalling, savoring the moment. I'd been waiting six years for this. "See, I *did* consider using that as my auction item for the year. My agents were pretty easily able to access your research." I took the bottle of brandy from the bar cart and poured myself a glass. "That is, until I found out that your competitors had also gotten into your system. So instead..." I held up the folder, "I've got information on all five of the competitor's moles within your company. #4 will certainly surprise you; I think you even promoted him this past month!"
Sohil has an amazing poker face; I'll give him that. He was like a sphinx. "All right. Name your price, then."
I gestured to his folder. "What have you got there? Our merger option with Dakota Motors? Worth about $200 mil?" He smirked and nodded. Lucky guess, but he didn't need to know that. "That's what I thought. How about I give you all this..." I held the folder with all the information on the spies in his company, "for.. let's say $800 million?"
Sohil poured himself another glass of brandy. "You bastard." He grabbed the folder out of my hand, quickly read over the dossiers, and jumped on the phone with his head of security. I, meanwhile, rose from my chair and triumphantly wiped the whiteboard clean.
| I stared out the window expectantly at the black car circling the parking lot below. Cursing after its eight lap around the place, I pulled out my phone to call my secretary.
“Melissa,” I yelled into the phone. “Get Jensen up here this very instant. If I see him making one more round, I swear I’m going to lose it.”
A few minutes went by like years as I watched the car pull into our private lot.
I glared at the opposite glass building which housed my ‘friend’s company’. We were rather cool at first until we decided to play a game to ease or boredom. Well, I got the idea of tech-stealing from a rather addictive strategy game (F U Gandhi). So each year we would send ‘spies’ to each other’s for fun.
He'd steal something from me, and I would the same from him. Everything was all fun and games. Until now.
Frankly, apart from getting rather pissed that he had been getting the better tradeoff for the past few years. Hell, the main reason was that he also kept beating me on Poker Friday. That's one thing I cannot tolerate being on the losing side. Also, over the years his spies had stolen our beautiful startup sounds, desktop layout, and recently our robotic assistant. While my guys never came back with anything worthwhile.
However, this year I can *guarantee* that I would get the better of the trade.
“Come in,” I said in response to a knock on my door. I wrung my hands in glee as Jensen strode in. He looked terrible as he sported a nasty bruise on one cheek and scars on the other.
“Jensen,” I rose from my chair and stepped forward to greet my agent. “Are you alright? Did you manage to get anything?”
“The mission was successful, sir.” He nodded and winced. “I’ve got the techs to allow our engineers to slip a systematic upgrade into the important notifications part. Consumers will never know what hit them.”
“Excellent,” I went to the mini-bar to grab a bottle of champagne and two glass. “I shall notify the engineers of your success and instruct them to assimilate the new technology immediately. We should expect this to roll out within the week."
He bowed and grinned as I handed him a glass foaming with liquid. “Sir," he said but I waved a hand dismissively.
"Drop the sir and call by my name, Jensen." I said.
"Mr. Gates, may I ask what system are we going to incorporate this in?"
I smiled as I toasted him. “Our newest one, Windows 10.”
| 2016-08-25T08:45:12 | 2016-08-25T08:21:28 | 206 | 10 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | You always thought how did other's manage to perfectly catch whatever flew into their hands?
Today, you knew. Before the summoning square in the capital of the Great Empire, you stood. As did everyone who turned 18 today. The knights began to call out your names, one by one.
There were 12 names before yours.
The first man summoned, and after a wait of 10 minutes, appeared a sword , glistening with morning dew. The Imperial Bookman declared that it was the Lost Sword, the sword of Sir Jeremiah of the Dawn. There was an uproar throughout the capital. A new hero had been born. No one expected that they would be surprised once again.
The girl right before you summoned, and after a wait of an hour, appeared a staff adorned with seven jewels of different colours, and a transparent orb on top of it. The staff was taller than the girl by a foot, and the Imperial Bookman was struck by fear upon looking at it. He declared, that it was the staff of The Saintess, the most powerful healing type equipment in the world. It hadn't been seen for the past 7 years. The country was in uproar.
After you summoned, you waited. Time passed. everyone else had already summoned. You saw the new Saintess being escorted by the King, the man with the Lost Sword being lead in the direction of the Imperial Sword School, and anyone who was still waiting for their Summon after that, had already got it after about 5 hours. Some items flew in from across the Endless Sea, they said, so it might take time.
You had always hoped to obtain a soulmate, a thing that only one in 5000 youths received. You believed that you would have received a legendary piece of equipment, so that you could become a hero loved by the people. So you waited. Another 4 hours passed. It was almost evening now. You were hungry.
The sky grew dark. The clouds gathered. The sun shone red. The crows cawed, cawed as if it was the end of the world. The Imperial Bookman looked up in the sky. You looked up. The eye's of everyone in the surroundings were drawn up.
You saw it. A scythe. Darker than the night, shining more brightly than a coat of adamantium, redder than freshly drawn blood. A disaster descended.
It came to you naturally, like it was always a part of you. As if you had done it a million times before. The scythe landed in your hand. Your aura pierced the sky. Your mind turned blank. A blood-lust took over you senses.
The Imperial Bookman fell. Fear reflected in his helpless eyes. His mouth moved, but sound refused to come out. As the scythe fell, all sound was lost. In the absolute silence, one could almost hear the Bookman say, "Death has descended."
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Edit: I can probably whip up a part two, but it wouldnt be nearly as decent. ill see about it | I reached my arm into the sky, focusing on that which I desired most. I could feel a connection to....something. Something out there, something coming closer, drawn to my aura.
My family stood behind me, all eagerly awaiting what my summoned what would. It was a special day, the day of one's summoned, a day that marked the beginning of a new chapter in a man's life. Your summoned determined a great deal what the future would hold.
"It's coming!", I heard my mother cry. I opened my eyes and saw a small black dot in the air hurtling toward me. "To me!", I shouted triumphantly, and the object sailed right into my hands.
"What is it?", my mom asked eagerly. I studied the object for a few moments before my heart sank. "Christ no.....", I muttered under my breath.
"Well?", she asked again.
"Well.....it....a...appears to a vase...."
"Well show us!"
"Im going too, just chill!", I cried, slowly turning around to show them.
"It's a bong!", my mother shrieked.
"WHAT THE FRICK!", I cried! "I tried to summon an Xbox card....I mean a Xbox remote!" | 2019-09-18T07:59:37 | 2019-09-18T07:54:36 | 2,312 | 83 |
[WP] You are a superhero, but you would really rather just live a peaceful life. So you fight every superpowered person in your home city, hero and villain alike, until they finally leave or die. Your home city is the safest around, but still you have been declared one of the worst villains alive. | Ever since I can recall, I had always been good at acting as other people.
When I was but a cast-off abandoned child in the alleyways, I learned how to act as a golden child; becoming the most innocent face in a group as I stole whatever I needed to survive. As time went on however, my skills improved and so did my ambitions; by the time I had hit my teenage years, I wasn't just stealing just to survive, but to live, to feel and become a actual living human being! I had even built myself up a homely hideout of all my "repurposed" goods in the back of a decrepit warehouse. No matter how much I took however, I was never happy, my hoard of goods was never large enough to satisfy me.
Imagine my surprise when I was found out by the baker's couple one day as I was stealing my weekly supply of bread from their bakery; my actions had been executed perfectly as always, my face pure and honest as the day itself, the only stop in all my movements that day having been me watching as a family with a young child bought and enjoyed their freshly-made bread. I had always known the bakers to be a kindly couple, they had even given me clothes and a hot meal in my less experienced days. To this day, I still wasn't certain if the it was them who found me, or if I wanted to let them find me.
And for a time, I became their child; they even gave me a name, a name that I didn't "steal" for myself; Sam. And for a moment in my life, I was finally happy. I wasn't acting anymore, I was just... me.
It all ended the day the world awoke to the power of Supers.
Chaos and destruction in the streets as Supers fought one another for dominance in the streets.
The bakery I had called home for half my life burning down before me; my parents still trapped in the rubble inside.
The endless emergency service sirens going on all night, into tomorrow, the day after, the week after, the month after; I wasn't certain when they stopped.
In the end, everything I had was lost with the Awakening, and I was back to being a alley rat, a nobody.... And in my despair, I decided to fight back against the Supers with what I knew best; my acting abilities.
Imagine my surprise....
...
..
.
MODERN DAY
The empty streets shake violently as two Supers combat each other in fierce battle. From the ground, the Superhero Quakestorm rearranged the street as he used his strength to turn the entire earth as a weapon against his foe; while flying from the sky, the Supervillain Ar-Sunist danced brightly within the sky, expertly dodging Quakestorm's earthen fists while countering with explosive blasts of flames.
As the two danced in a symphony of earth and fire, they bickered against one another as well.
"AR-SUNIST! YOUR EVIL ACTIONS END HERE TODAY!"
"QUAKESTORM!! IF I HAVE TO PUT YOU DOWN LIKE THE DOG YOU ARE, SO BE IT!!"
As the very ground and sky blurred into a mixture of destruction, the Ar-Sunist dodged a thrown rock, maneuvering himself into an old decrepit warehouse, followed closely by Quakestorm smashing his way through the warehouse walls, expelling the light of the day into the darkness of the building.
"Why are you here in City 29, Ar-Sunist?!"
"Why else, you fool! I intend on recruiting the Worst Super in the world into the Legion of Doom, and together, we shall defeat every Super in the world and conquer it for ourselves!"
"I will never let that happen! Not as long as I live!"
"Then you shall perish! SOLAR FLARE!"
"EARTHEN WAVE!"
As the two moves smashed into one another, the flames expelled by the Ar-Sunist gave way, defeated by the rolling wave that smashed itself into the Ar-Sunist. Quakestorm marched himself close to his defeated rival.
"I'm putting you away for good."
And to this, the downed Ar-Sunist began laughing through his painful injuries.
"Oh Quakestorm, you utter fool! You've fallen into my trap!"
All of a sudden, Quakestorm felt a gaze on his back, and he turned around to see a shadowy figure standing within the entrance of the broken wall.
"What are you doing here citizen! You should be evacuating with the rest!"
The shadowy figure only stared back, before answering, "I am no citizen, Super. I am the doom of your kind."
"In league with Ar-Sunist than?! I'LL PUT YOU AWAY AS WELL!!"
But as Quakestorm attempted to punch the shadowy figure, his punch was grabbed.
"You Supers are always the same; so certain of yourself."
All of a sudden, Quakestorm was pulled towards the figure, the figure's right hand grasping Quakestorm's forehead.
"You don't deserve your powers."
"W-What are yo-GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"
Quakestorm screamed as he felt a force seem to flow out of him, his limbs spasming in shock as he lost control of his senses. When the figure finally let go of Quakestorm, the hero tumbled backwards onto the floor.
"So, Maskuerade I take it?"
The figure known as Maskuerade moved their sight from the fallen Quakestorm to the rising Ar-Sunist.
"I represent the most powerful groups of Villains, and I want to recruit yo-"
And Maskuerade kicked the ground, causing a wave of earth to rise and knock the Ar-Sunist onto the ground; another kick caused earthen shackles to chain the Ar-Sunist's limbs.
"Hero or Villain, what makes you think you can avoid retribution?"
The Ar-Sunist could only stare in horror as Maskuerade flexed their right hand, stepping forward to reveal Quakestorm's own facial features on theirs.
"W-Wait please! I can help you! Don't do th-"
Maskuerade's hand shot forwards, soon silencing the Ar-Sunist's complaints; and as the screaming stopped, Maskuerade stood up, staring in the silence of what they done, and left the warehouse. | [NSFW-sorta, language.]
-
I've learned to tell when they're coming.
It's usually when I'm doing something I enjoy. Last time, The Avenger stopped by when I was painting in my garage...let's just say I had a new color scheme when he *left.*
This time, it was a peaceful, fun evening at karaoke. The bartender had me underneath so many sake bombs she was running out----and then here comes Fuckface McGee, stomping in with something to prove. He slammed one gloved hand on the bar and murmured something I didn't hear or care about...pointing to me, face a thunderous purple.
"Hey, man, get outta here. She's busy. You mind?"
"YES, I MIND! You're just gonna let----For God's sakes, that's Threnody! Right there! You're gonna let that bloodstained bitch hang out here, like she hasn't murdered or mutilated everyone who looks at her?"
*Here we go....* Inwardly I cringed, halfway through Stairway to Heaven and in no mood to suffer yet another fool. The guy was young, insolent, clearly another do-gooder with a chip on his shoulder. Who cared. And for that matter, who asked?
"Get over here, you slime! Fight me!"
*"----Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run.... There's still time to change the road you're on----"*
Masses of people in the bar, people who knew me from before...back when I'd been the only one standing between them and death. Now I'd become a wanted poster on every continent, every city but this one. Kinda stung.
But then, I had my people, this dumbfuck had no idea what my body count was, and maybe it was better that way.... Silently I thanked my only god for him being a "hero". At least it'd be easier to ignore him.
"Come on, Threnody! Get off the stage!"
I tasted my latest drink.... She'd run completely out of sake. This was pure-D *ethanol.* Not a bad choice, and right about now, I absolutely needed it. The rising guitar solo drowned out his voice.
Turning for a second to drag on my cigar was a bad idea. The microphone went flying out of my hand, one male fist crashing into my jaw.
*"You're gonna pay for this, you c----"* Not that kind of language, not here...and never during my self care. I knelt to grab the mic, other hand finding my glass.
Right in the eyes! The solo was about to end, my lighter was full, and I'd had enough. I lunged with one hand and ran the mic hard.
*"AND AS WE WIND ON DOWN THE ROAD----"*
Shrieking. Screaming. Eyes were ablaze, his hair leaped with flames. Blindly he sought the air, fists flailing for blood.... Why wouldn't they leave? Why the fuck couldn't these people stay away from me?!
*"----THERE WALKS A LADY WE ALL KNOW-WHOA----"* A hard kick sent him crashing backward onto the pool table. Pool cue, right through his throat. Eight-ball made a fine cudgel in my white-knuckled hand. *"WHO SHINES WHITE LIGHT AND WANTS TO SHOW----"*
His breaths were squawking through his nose, his bloody gurgles barely audible under the wall of sound.
*"HOW EVERYTHING STILL TURNS TO GOLD----AND IF YOU LISTEN VERY HARD----"*
Another fucking day. Another fucking hero. More blood on my hands. Didn't matter in the end.
*"----WHEN ALL ARE ONE AND ONE IS AAALLLL----TO BE A ROCK, AND NOT TO RO-WHOA-WHOA-WHOOOOALLLLLLL----"*
Frankly, I'd grown tired of it all. I couldn't eat, sleep, or even piss without these people bothering me. Whoever this was, he hadn't even gotten as far as his name.... Human in the end, face smashed to nothing, eyes glazing over as he bled to death on aging green velvet.
*"And she's buying a stairway......to Heaven."* | 2022-10-03T15:53:41 | 2022-10-03T15:28:12 | 26 | 19 |
[WP] You live in a village in the dessert. One day it is raided by terrorists and all village members are killed, except for you. You lost most of your memories and now wander through the dessert, thinking you are the last of your species.
Second time posting this, yay... fucking tags mate *cough* Well anyways, i didnt go into a lot of detail in the title, because i wanted to keep it as short as possible. So, a lot is kept to your imagination. How much and what do you remember ? Will you die in the dessert ? Why do you think you are the last of your species ? Will you find other of your species ? etc,etc... Really, so much to write.
So i come back and i see this...1063 likes WTF! This was my first prompt ever, im still amazed. I want to thank everyone that submitted a story and all the people that still will :D | Time is passing - it must be near noon. I still remember vividly the smell, the strong sweet smell of burning sugar everywhere.
It was the torch that changed this land. It used to be a soft sea of soft peachy crème in an ever changing configuration of dunes, with our people happily swimming and living in it. The land gave us everything we needed: lair, joy and sustenance. Our hunger satisfied with sporadic bites, here and there, of sweet sugary substance.
Then the torch came and reshaped our world to a ruthless wasteland. It burnt - how it burned! A flickering blue demon, hardening the peachy dunes to glassy crust, transforming everything in browned blotches with minute spots here and there - my fallen brethren carbonized into oblivion.
As I walk these vast plains, hunger now controls my mind. I have lost count of the many times I've traveled between the arching porcelain walls that surround it. I cannot climb them, there is no foothold. They stand there, impervious, mocking my helplessness.
Too long I've stumbled here. I repeatedly pound and stomp this land unsuccessfully, longing for a minute drop of its sweetness. I feel it; it is there, underneath this tough sugary barrier, a few millimeters down. So near, so far.
The light has suddenly darkened. An elliptical shape hides the sun. At last, redemption of my suffering has arrived. It has the shape of a metallic elliptic monster, cracking the surface in arching blows. The repeated, syncopation harmony of destruction. My time has come.
I can smell the crème floating again, seeping through the cracks. I reach it and bathe again into it's richness and warmth. The monster is now on top of me. Just one more swing and everything's over.
**Edit**: my first Reddit gold! thanks a lot to all readers. Been lurking for a while on /r/writingprompts, and even though English is not my first language, it has given me courage to post more attempts. Thanks again! | After the towers fell, everything was covered in Ovaltine powder. All the dead bodies looked the same. I went down to the Mountain Dew river and saw my own reflection. I looked like everyone else, like all the dead, except for the white of my eyes flicking back and forth as I stared into the frothy neon ebbing. | 2014-12-17T00:31:27 | 2014-12-16T17:02:43 | 369 | 66 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | Shirley enjoyed a pleasant stroll down 14th Avenue, as screams and death filled the air.
The piercing screech of metal-on-metal as cars collided into each other up and down the avenue.
People sobbing in pain, crying out for help. A panicked roar as a frightened mob surged the streets and trampled each other.
Shirley grinned at the sound of it all, as she gazed ahead. Nothing on the horizon but mountains and forest. No buildings or streets or people to be seen. And yet, the sounds. The unholy wail of the dying, the cacophony of destruction and chaos.
She nimbly dodged a fumbling pedestrian, who fell onto a fire hydrant. Shirley could not see them, but she could *feel* them. She had always been able to tell the presence of one marked by her ability.
Fade. That was what they called her. The Legendary League had deemed her a Support Tier hero. That was the ones with powers that may be of some niche use here and there, but who were otherwise unsuited for combat and disallowed from active field work. "For your own safety, Shirley". Feh.
The entire **city** was Shirley's "field work" now. Brash Blaze had been the first to go, when an unseen airliner crashed into him. The Furies had crashed through a window and fell to the street below. Hound, the blind ninja, was unaffected; that didn't stop Thundering Tom from failing to see that a bystander was in his thunderbolt's line-of-fire.
Shirley "felt" ahead. The mob of screaming people was denser further down the way. She paused, waiting for an opening to continue her stroll. Wails of sirens abruptly ending as vehicles crashed blindly into ambulances and firetrucks. Bodies falling with a sick wet thud on the ground as more and more people accidentally fell from broken skyscraper windows. All this chaos happening under the canvas of an open sky and mountains ahead. The sounds of their screams and cries and the crash of stampeding footfalls the only evidence that any of them existed.
Support Hero Fade. Gifter of invisibility. "What use was that?!", the League had said. "We need fighters, people who can handle serious threats. Not mischievous party tricks." Oh they found occasional use for her, rendering powerhouses invisible to surprise crimes in progress. But never good enough for the field. Never good enough for Shirley to save the day in her own right. Just spending her life enabling other people to get all the glory while they snubbed her power as a "party trick".
But with all the buildings and streets, every car and person, every stray dog and bench and lamppost invisible all at once... Madness. Chaos. A party trick, indeed. The entire city would destroy itself by the end of the week, while Shirley listened to every terrified scream.
Shirley set her gaze on the mountains ahead, enjoying a pleasant stroll under a bright afternoon sun, as she listened to the beautiful music. | After the test revealed that indeed had super powers i was excited to hear what they were. After all: I had to wait until i'm 18 to take this test.
My parents didn't share my excitement but were rather concerned and worried. They were thinking that two S tier supers would create a child with powers so strong that i would get eliminated the second the government knew about it.
They weren't wrong with their concern but after hearing what power i had they were kind off relieved. But my hopes and dreams of being a hero like no one ever was were shattered.
My power was to blow myself up. I could controll the strength, size and time of the explosion but only *one time*.
I continued my life like it was before with the only difference of being bullied from other supers. My parents on the other hand were happy because this meant i would never be a hero.
The anger and hate inside of me grew bigger day after day.
And then i realized:
I could partner with a villain that promises me protection and together ...
*We could take the whole world hostage*. If nobody follows my orders i could just blow this f'ing planet up. | 2017-06-12T09:57:10 | 2017-06-12T08:29:20 | 36 | 27 |
[WP] Humanity has detonated hundreds of nukes, but only twice against an enemy. The Galactic Federation has this fact without context. | The slave shrieked one last time and limpened in a pool of blood. The black orb in the middle of the meeting room emitted a short pulse of ultra-violet light, only visible to select councillors.
"What is the emergency?", a deep voice resonated.
Im-Wuz stepped forward, his chitin claws clacking on the floor.
"We've lost contact with our mining outpost, Great One", he buzzed.
"That's beneath my concern", the orb growled. "Send a scouting party".
"Let me handle this", Shih'klooth interrupted. The chief of security slushed forward, casting an angry glance at the insect-shaped fungus.
"Great One, my analysts believe we're facing a dire threat. I implore you to listen what this lowly miner has to say."
The orb remained silent. "Give us your report on that tribe", Shih-klooth whispered.
"As the *head of resources*", Im-Wuz stressed, "I've been receiving intelligence reports from the planet M27OS-3 for the past century. As per nature of such reports, data might be incomplete or come with a delay, but it appears as though the people there have entered the early technological age. I was actually going to propose making our presence known and establish further contact, but this paranoid brute--"
"They're using nuclear explosives!", Shih-klooth yelled.
Other councillors looked at each other, surprised with his ourburst.
"So what?", someone asked. "Everybody uses them".
"The planet is almost completely shielded from the cosmic radiation", Im-Wuz reluctantly admitted. "Life forms that evolved there need heavy shielding to even leave atmosphere -- which, by the way, they apparently have".
There was a murmur in the room. Teying to imagine a life form that couldn't handle radiation was difficult enough, but why would such a race put their own ecosystem at risk..?
"It gets worse", Shih-klooth added. "My guys double-checked your data, and they swear by the name of the Dreaming One: those are not mining charges, those are weapons."
"And that's where you wrong!", Im-Wuz was triumphant. "If you check directories 9134 to 9969 in our report, you'll clearly see that only twice have they used nuclear weapons in wars!"
"And that's exactly why I took it upon myself to call in a meeting of the highest order", Shih-klooth gestured towards the altar where the blood had already vanished. "I can get behind destroying planets or risking your own future to win a war. But we know for a fact that they aren't fighting each other with these weapons. Yet they constantly blow them up - military-grade charges, no less. And on top of that, we've lost contact with our mining party. So I'm asking you..."
He paused, gazing around the council room before finally turning to the sphere.
"I'm asking you - who or what are those people fighting?"
Heavy silence fell onto the council hall. Everyone knew what this question entailed -- and no one dared speak the answer out loud.
Finally, the sphere spoke - its voice still powerful, but with a fleeting dissonance, a slight tremble:
"Forget the mining party. If there's even a distant possibility that we're facing *them*, we can't take any chances. Engage the Dark Matter protocol."
"But, Great One!", Im-Wuz protested. "To shield from a developed civilization we'd have to cut off an entire sector of space, possibly thousands of galaxies! We have other operations in that--"
Shih-klooth winced and looked away. He knew what happened to those who spoke up to the Great One... But it was all for the good cause, he told himself. Those "humans" will never learn that there is anything beyond what they'll see as "the dark matter"... and the rest of the galaxy will never have to face the unspeakable. | "The readings report shows humanity has detonated hundreds of nukes. But infiltrating their communication network has shown it was only twice against an enemy", said the officer.
"Mmmh". Admiral Shelpar kept his thoughts for a minute, while the entire council hold its breath. He finnaly answered. "Why would a civilization detonate nukes? And most importantly, why not against foes?", he then asked, more to himself than the audience.
"Sir, I believe that..." But the officer could not finish his sentence.
"Maybe! Maybe their aim is terrible...", abruptly continued Shelpar, lost in his mind. He looked at the officer. "Have we checked if they could aim?"
"Yes... sir? From what we could gather from their langage and documents, there's this one area of the world that seems to have trouble aiming with their nukes, but I don't think..."
"Well that settles it then", Shelpar said, again not listening. "We can attack them, they will never hit our ship!"
Mumbling started rising in the room. The councellors tried to intervene:
"Sir, I don't think...", started one, while another also tried a "Maybe we could..."
"I said: attack them!", repeated Shelpar. He turned and walked towards the door. "You know what, send them a warning using a language they can understand. It's funnier that way."
The council was used to Admiral Shelpar's unwillingness to hear any other input than his own. The officer shrugged, and took his communicator to give the orders. There was no point arguing, they all knew it, and that wouldn't be the first planet they'd blow up to keep "life" from spreading too far in the universe. It's almost routine, and the boss was set to have a little fun watching those ants panic.
It's the last time the Galactic Federation heard from Admiral Shelpar's exploration ship. Little did they know, the inhabitants of that very planet were starting to arm themselves for that "outside threat", using the blowed-up ship parts and the warning message to try and locate the enemy. | 2021-02-17T05:52:52 | 2021-02-17T04:12:04 | 1,252 | 341 |
[WP] You're a C class superhero and a therapist. Somehow most of your patients are supervillains. | The phone rang.
"Hello? Yes. Come by my office in an hour."
I put on my coat, grabbed my keys, and gave my wife a kiss on the cheek before I was out the door. It was a beautiful autumn evening, with a slight breeze rustling the leaves that had just begun to fall a few days prior. I never make appointments on Saturdays, as weekends are family time, much less emergency appointments after the barbecue had been shut off, marshmallows roasted. This patient, however, was no ordinary patient. He and I go back a lifetime, before I went to college, before I became Dr. Tanner, before Emily and the kids. To understand the relationship, you would need to understand how, exactly, it is that our paths met, and subsequently diverged.
In the summer of '96, I had just recently graduated high school and was working a summer job as an intern at a law office. I'd run case files between the lawyers, grab coffee orders, take some verbal abuse when Mr. Banks decided he no longer wanted a low-fat, macchiato, with ginger whip - extra splenda, change the copy paper...you know, the usual for an unpaid intern. Back then, I had some grandiose plans of one day changing the world, starting with learning how criminals got through the legal system. Oh, in case I forgot to mention it, I'm a Super.
My powers, the ability to contain fire within a 10m radius, place me firmly in the C-Class of heroes. Growing up, I had dreams of preventing explosions, and saving thousands, if not millions, of lives. I was so excited, that as soon as I turned 18, in the middle of August, I joined a faction. There was Mysteria, who could create a 15-second illusion. Singe, her boyfriend who could make any object heat up to the temperature of 150 degrees. Gallop, who could run sprints as fast as Usain Bolt, but for up to 60-seconds at a time. And then there was Gamma, who could see through any non-lead substance known to man.
Within my first month on the team, we had stopped 13 petty crimes, taken down 4 C-Class villains, and aided in stopping a lower B-Class villain. Shortly after that first month, the League of Supers called a mandatory week of training for all factions affiliated with the League. It was hosted at the Fortress, the League's base, and it was to teach new maneuvers and tactics, as well as training your powers up. What they didn't tell us is that the blood tests they were running were really micro injections of power amplifiers, and the side-effects would cause issues when using our powers. Our group was first, and as soon as the 'blood work' was done, we were the first to run a training exercise. The objective for us was simple. Gamma would scan the room to make sure everything was good to go, Mysteria would cause a distraction, Gallop would drop a foam bomb next to the target, Singe would heat the bomb up to the point where it expanded, and entrapped the target, and would make sure that nothing outside of the 10m radius around the foam bomb and target were heated up. Simple enough.
As soon as we got inside the simulator, I knew something was off, I could feel it in the air. Mysteria's illusion never affected us, but all of a sudden I was outside the testing facility, alone in a field. All I could see was corn for miles, yet I could hear Gallop sprinting around wildly. His footsteps growing louder, and then trailing off, before coming to a stop. They were followed by the unmistakable noise of a metal canister hitting cement. One bounce. Another bounce. A split second later, a deafening boom made my ears bleed, and I had barely enough time to react, feeling the flames lick my face before I could contain them, and then blacking out. I came to in the hospital wing, searching frantically for my team. The only other one there was Singe.
The doctors told us that the exercise went wrong. The amplifiers they never told us about were much stronger than the League anticipated, and none of us had our usual control over our powers. From the start, we were doomed. Apparently Gamma's new power altered the composition of the foam bomb, turning it into a deadly explosive. Mysteria's illusion was different for everyone, and must not have affected Gallop at the speed he was running. Singe had been disoriented by the illusion, but kept his cool and managed to pinpoint where the cannister was dropped, solely from the sounds of its bounces. My reaction to stopping the explosion was fast, but only fast enough to contain it within a 20m radius, which is exactly how far I was standing from the blast point. Singe was right next to me, and suffered the same injuries I did. Mysteria, Gallop, and Gamma were not so lucky. The three of them were between 15-18m away from the blast point, and any chance they had at surviving was lost when they were stuck inside the containment zone.
It's been 24 years, 364 days since I was a registered hero. I left the League to pursue a career in Psychotherapy. My specialty is supers. Going through that fateful experience, it was easy to see how one with powers could turn to the other side of the line. The client I'm about to meet with is the most known villain in the world, the man who single-handedly took down the Super League.
There's a knock on the door.
"Come in."
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I assume you know why I called?"
"Yes, and I still miss them too, Singe." |
My power was considered useless to those who knew about it. To me it helped me keep my job, I was an empath, a person who had the ability to sense thr emotions of others just by seeing them.
While I was on the registry for The Group i usually wasn't called on to help with the various crises. As such I had a job, I was a therapist. Personally,I considered my superhero job my side gig while my therapy job was the main money maker Recently, I had a slew of new patients, and it all started with one.
He was different, when he walked in i sensed his emotions: it was empty, then it was filled with sadness. Pure sadness.... and regret, more than I had felt from those who had lost a loved one or who had had something horrible happen to them.
The regret I did not understand. I continued the session acting as if I didn't sense those, I had a lot of practice with doing this. When he left he said that he knows alot of people who could use my services if i were willing. I was confused but said i was fine with it seeing as my schedule was mostly clear.
It was far more people than I expected, and every single time it was the same two emotions that were the strongest. I didn't understand it at all. Then there was a crisis, I pulled out my suit, and went. When I got there i was in shock. All of my new patients who I had understood and empathized with, were villains and all of them had that same sadness and regret, except it was at a whole new level.
Then I used my ability on The Group, they felt pure joy from seeing all the villains clamped in chains and wounded from brute Force. I was shocked, how could they do this, how could they find joy, in attacking someone who was defenseless and couldn't stop it.
I snapped, and then I heard everything.
*'how does it feel? Knowing you couldn't beat a b tier hero. You're supposed to be a A level villain'†
It had the voice of moltpress, he had some fire power I didn't care to understand. But how did I hear that before he said it? Could it, no it's never happened. No one has ever developed a secondary power before. Our villains don't have two powers either,they just use tech and make it seem like it.
With the crisis averted I went back to my life as a therapist, as time went on i grew scared, I could hear people's thoughts. I could also influence them, like I could influence others emotions. It scared me and I began considering reporting it.
Then I heard about the escape, everyone we had captured escaped from prison and ran. To where was the question.
The next day I came to work and my schedule was full, why would they come back here? I had told myself I would never read anyone's thoughts in these session unless I felt threatened. I didn't feel that at all but I still did it.
What i saw.... I don't know what to say anymore, I can't even begin to describe the horrors. I left The Group, said I didn't want to fight anymore. I'm still a therapist but now it's weird. Both ex-villains and ex-heroes come for therapy. Both feel sadness and regret in what used to be horrifying amounts for me.
We are a group now, we help all those who need it. After the massive Titan fights that destroy the city,we step in and rebuild,we offer help to those who need it.
We don't have a name, but we don't need one. Everyone knows us as those who are truly neutral and help everyone.
(Any feedback is welcome, this is my 3rd(i think) prompt i have responded to and I don't think of myself as a very great writer. So yeah.) | 2019-07-16T09:59:12 | 2019-07-16T07:58:33 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] At age 21, you and your SO cast a strange love spell to swap bodies one day a week. 8 years later, your fiancee is really sick of you body swapping with your ex, but you don't know how to undo the spell. | I knew it was wrong, but it was so hard not to. I still loved Julia, but she didn't feel the same. Of course I couldn't force her to change her mind, but this has been my only chance of winning her back.
The first time we switched was scary but fun. We were still together though. The first switch after we split, I had left a note for her saying "I miss you". She left a note for me saying "REVERSE THIS SHIT NOW".
So...I lied. Said I couldn't reverse it, didn't know how. Years went by and I spent my time in her body trying to keep up with her interests, doing errands I knew she hated, anything I could try to show her my good side. She spent her time destroying my gaming systems, but at least it lessened every time. Hard to stay mad at a guy who does all your laundry I guess.
Then she started dating Jon. Fucking Jon. Already did the laundry, and the dishes. Stopped me from going through her phone. Just ruined all my fun. Dropped the bomb about how creepy I was being. Ok yeah he was right but still.
I was debating fixing it, but damn if Jon wasn't just the coolest friend. 7 years of body switching to New York and I'd never eaten a hotdog from one of those carts, or watched a street preformer. He said staying home all day was lame and would drag me around town.
So I kept switching a little longer, stopped being creepy, and figured all was well and good.
Until yesterday's switch.
I woke up in unbelievable agony. My stomach felt like someone was wringing it over and over. I basically fell out of bed and made my way to Julia's bathroom. Moaning and groaning I crawled just close enough to puke in the bathtub. Must have woken Jon because I heard him go into the kitchen.
Thinking she ignored her intolerance to dairy, I dropped her/my pants and plopped down on the toilet. One look down made me scream in terror.
"JESUS JON GET THE KEYS SHES MAJORLY FUCKED UP THERES SO MUCH BLOOD OH MY GOD"
Jon strolled into the hallway, tossing chocolate and some pills.
"Yeah uh, she's on her period. Figure this would have lined up eventually. She said stuff you needs in the cabinet, directions are on the box, take the pain pills and don't worry about eating too much junk food today. She's going to be upset when she gets back though, guess this means she's not pregnant must have been a false positive."
So if you could fix this ASAP I'll figure out how to explain it to them.
Thanks Doctor
,Marv | I still remember the curve of her spine as my fingers traced her body. They'd run up and down her shoulders and back as I softly kissed her neck. I loved her. A part of me still loves her, and I don't think that'll ever change.
I know all of these feelings break my fiancé's heart. The woman I am to marry is beautiful and wonderful and kind and very patient with me, but every week I pray to the Gods to be with my old flame again. They always answer the same way. I'm tortured to never be in the same room with her, only to see her face in the mirror. The way her hair falls and the brightness of her smile is mine once more, but not in any way that satisfies me. I will never hold her with my own hands again. I can only hope she forgives me. | 2019-12-15T13:26:14 | 2019-12-15T11:58:16 | 47 | 12 |
[WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible. | "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who..." Neal paused. "I can't read the last few words."
"Need more light?" I asked, and moved closer with the flashlight.
"No, it's completely illegible. It's like someone intentionally removed the last few words." Neal said slowly, presumably pondering what the missing words could be and why they were removed.
"I think we should push it," said Michael. "Whatever the sacrifice, utopia must be worth it."
"What if we're part of the group that will be eradicated?" Neal asked.
"Then we will have left behind a better world for those who survive." Michael answered, with a convincing determination in his voice. It seemed as if he had already decided.
"I'm going to push it", said Michael and stepped forward quickly.
"No, wait!" I interjected and lunged forward to stop him, but it was too late.
I regained my balance, yelled "Damn it, Michael!" then we all stood in complete silence for a few seconds. Nothing happened.
Suddenly, the clicking and whirring sounds of mechanical movements started emanating from the walls all around us. A screen we hadn't even noticed before lit up, embedded in the concrete wall above the button. The mechanical noise died down, just as a countdown timer appeared on the screen, accompanied by unnecessarily loud ticking noises.
"5..."
"4" "Shitshitshitshitshit" Neal panicked and started pacing randomly around the room.
"3..."
"2" "We're in a Nazi bunker, Michael!" Neal looked despairingly at Michael as the time ran out. Michael's eyes widened as he realized what Neal was saying.
"1..."
There never was a 0. The screen just shut off, and an unbearably loud, low-pitched humming filled our ears. We didn't know at the time, but everyone on Earth heard it. Myself and Neal covered our ears with our hands, Michael stood completely still, eyes wide with agony. Blood started seeping out through every orifice of his face and he sank to the ground, twitching a little then nothing. He was dead, lying there curled up in a pool of his own blood.
We both sank to the floor, unable to keep ourselves upright while realizing what we'd just done.
"...eradicate all people who are not of Aryan descent." Neal finished the message.
"We.. We've realized Hitler's utopia."
*Sorry if this is offensive to anyone, I am by no means a racist or nazist and there is no ulterior motive in this story. It's just the first thing that struck me as I was reading the headline. I am not a native speaker so please do correct any flaws in my writing, I am always trying to improve. I hope you enjoyed my first WP story, thanks for reading.* | A wave of time washed over the world, warping and distorting all. Every man and woman saw their future and past, and felt every single bit of harm they inflicted or would inflict upon fellow man by malice or inaction.
The chosen ones woke up, the heroes, saints and geniuses among mankind. They woke up to see their utopia, and they grieved. They saw their families, friends and loved ones dead of sheer shock and agony. They cursed whoever caused such disaste that would only leave few million out of billions. And they moved on, to rebuild their lost world.
Mankind then truly reached their pinnacle, through hard work, study and a deep wish to lose no fellow man again, they created the perfect society. They would reach immortality, bring life to barren planets and uncover all secrets of universe.
But out of he who pressed the button, he who would doom unknown many to bring peace and prosperity to the rest, all that remains is a dried husk. | 2015-10-21T13:45:55 | 2015-10-21T13:38:00 | 79 | 31 |
[WP]They laughed at your power... until they noticed the "no cooldown, no energy cost" description, and realized the implications | Most of us discovered our “powers” by the first year of high school, there were always the late bloomers but for the vast majority freshmen year was when you’d figure out what you could do. Like anything in life, nothing is truly free. Some kids could breathe fire, or make little fireballs in their hand, but this came with a cost of their caloric reserves. We learned this when someone tried to instantly grow a sapling into a tree and ended up as a hollow dried up husk after the reaction they started ran out of control. That, or when an overzealous teen tried to make a show of a huge fireball they’d pass out from low blood sugar like an idiot.
Some kids could manipulate electricity and form a sort of lightning. Others had various degrees of telepathy, or telekinesis or even both, but the mental tax was fairly evident requiring training to do much more than pick up their school lunch for a minute without dropping like a sack of beets.
I was always the weird kid, picked on, bulled some but I managed to stave off the worst of it. High school started, and when I suddenly didn’t have a power like the rest of them it got worse, though a slick tongue and knowing how to lay low kept me safe and thankfully scorch mark free.
I did have a power according to the specialists me and my mom visited. It was hard to quantify and they didn’t exactly know how to parse it. Most would manipulate their body’s natural energy reserves and it would be transformed for lack of a better term, into something else with some losses. Heat energy, electrical currents, psychokinetic waves, something. My situation wasn’t the same it was as if I had some control over the raw energy itself, meaning in theory I could propagate it how I pleased. I couldn’t figure out how to transmogrify it into fire, or ice or anything elemental. I was almost despondent, what good was this energy if I can’t do anything with it?
I struggled with this, and had a breakthrough while bored in class. I was focused on figuring out a use, and imagined ‘storing’ up some of that energy in my mouth, and blew out. I sent my metal water bottle a few feet across the room and onto the floor. Everyone turned to me in shock.
Suddenly I had more ideas, though the kids thought I just had weak ‘air’ powers similar to some others in the school. I didn’t bother to try and explain the difference, they just overtalked and laughed. A “walking fart machine” they’d tease. I decided to experiment, I focused on my left hand and started to ‘store’ the extra energy there. Day by day, I’d add more to this growing orb I imagined. After a while it got taxing to keep adding into the ‘bank’ but I could maintain it without feeling ill or passing out. It took no effort to keep the built up energy. I didn’t have any kind of cooldown, it felt like there was a warm swollen bubble around my fist.
A week went by with this bubble of energy around my fist, no one could see it, no one really knew. That was until one of the upperclassmen started giving me shit. He was quite good with his fireballs. He could fire out several in rapid succession to a distance over a hundred meters, or lob a single large one. Naturally he’d pick on the ‘walking fart machine’ kid. Verbal threats roll off your back. Slaps to the back of the head, with enough heat to singe the hairs off your neck. Now that, that would make anyone turn around and want to swing.
I didn’t think, I was tired of the jokes and the growing physical assault. I told him to fuck off in the morning, and his reply was “You can’t do anything about it.” Along with some derogatory remarks I’d rather not repeat. He was taller than me, more muscular and good with fire, he wasn’t exactly wrong. As I walked away, he smacked the back of my head, only it felt like his hand was a soldering iron. I turned, and with my left fist clenched, knuckles bone white, I made contact with his lower jaw.
There was a sickening noise accompanying the ‘BANG’ that rang out through the hallway. I felt the pressure wave rush past me in that instant all the energy was released like a small explosion. When I looked up, my hand had blood on the end of it, and this assholes lower jaw was missing. Looking to my left, I saw where it had skid to a stop on the tile floor about twenty feet away, removed almost surgically.
I realized in that instant just how much energy I had built up into that punch without knowing. It was only a month later I realized I could compress it like layers in an onion, and use the full outer surface of my body as a bank to store this energy. I don’t worry about bullies anymore. | The luckiest people drew real powers from the fate decks when turning 18. My aunt drew teleportation, my mum drew telekinesis, and my sister drew shapeshifting. Of course, all of these things came at a cost, some greater than others.
My sister, for example, couldn't shift back into her regular form for 12 hours after a transformation and it drained her of any energy she had previously. My aunt could teleport anywhere in the world, but would lose hair relative to how far she teleported. She went bald once having teleported right next to herself the long way around. Couldn't teleport for months after that.
But of course, I drew the joke power. "Ability to add carbon to any oxygen molecule". Great, I'm reverse photosynthesis. I'm sure this will come in handy for when I need to make the air a little less pure. What's the energy and cooldown, just for shits and giggles.
I look at the bottom of the card and see: "No energy required, no cooldown."
Well that can't be right. No cooldown? And it doesn't cost me anything? I wonder how it works. I look over and see some of the kids from school laughing and pointing as my power is displayed on the monitor above my card dealer. I concentrate and focus as hard as I can to turn the air they breathe into carbon dioxide. Nothing appears to happen, so I guess it's just too low of a concentration to matter. Fuck.
Suddenly, one of the kids from school falls over. He looks... unconscious? Another of the group falls down next to him, and then another. The ones left standing seem to be gasping for air before shortly falling to the ground alongside the others.
Huh, I guess it worked. That's a neat trick, maybe I can go into the military as a secret weapon. Or international espionage! Or probably just graduate college and become an accountant like my dad did. Let's not kid ourselves here.
Suddenly, a woman screams. I look over and she's standing next to the horde of bodies on the ground. "HE'S DEAD!" I hear her exclaim. "THEY'RE ALL DEAD!"
Well that wasn't supposed to happen. Maybe it wasn't me. I just made them breathe dirty air, there's no way that kills someone. Can it? I was just hoping for a coughing fit, maybe some dizziness. Oh fuck, I killed someone. I killed *six* someones. That's not good. That's actually very bad.
But wait. What's anyone going to do about it? I can kill people just by concentrating; I can vacuum entire rooms once I get used to it. Besides, I'll be long gone before anyone can figure out what killed them. It's not like people can see the carbon dioxide floating around.
Maybe I wasn't thinking big enough. I could be a *villain*. I can threaten to accelerate global warming, or attend a public speech of any leader and sap their life from them. This is it, this is what I was waiting for my entire life.
What's a good villain name?
\---------------------------------------------------------
Any feedback is greatly appreciated! <3 | 2022-06-03T16:20:37 | 2022-06-03T15:48:52 | 240 | 84 |
[WP] "100% of people who drink water will die" sounds like a dumb statistic, but you are 900 years old and very thirsty. | Wesley woke just minutes before the pulse alarm in his AnimSuit went off. It was still dark outside, and in the fogginess which lies between consciousness and slumber, every fiber in his body willed him to lie still, listen to Sara snore gently next to him, burrow deeper into the covers.
Then, he remembered the game of Scrabble he had played with her, not two days ago. A sudden urgency, an intense loathing, seized him. He flung the covers away, then catapulted out of the bedroom, past the hallway, out the door.
In his haste to exit the capsule bunker, he missed a step, and came crashing on the hard soil outside. Here, gravity’s pull was not as jealous as it was on Earth, but he landed badly, fracturing his left forearm in two places.
As Wesley lay on his back, chest heaving, staring up at the star-encrusted sky, the AnimSuit sparked to life. The tiny receptors attached to his spine pumped copious endorphins to suppress the pain in his arm, then the nanites coursing through his bloodstream, hailing the signals from the AnimSuit’s processors, slathered the fracture sites with synthesized collagen.
By the time Wesley had caught his breath, his arm had been mended, good as new.
A reminder flashed at the corner of his eyes, on the insides of the visorplate. Wesley didn’t need to read it to know that it referred to his first task of the day, which was to manually check the beacon to ensure that it was still broadcasting the distress signal out into the cold, indifferent galaxy.
Muscle memory carried him through for the next hour – he checked the protein vats, then the solar cells, then the stasis chambers. On his way to the observatory, where half the panels no longer functioned after the starship had crashed on this desolate planet, Sara accosted him, slipping her arms around him from behind.
“Someone’s been busy this morning,” she purred.
“Not now, Sara,” he said, gently untangling from her.
“Are you still upset because I beat you at Scrabble?”
“No, of course not.”
Wesley made it to his favourite spot in the observatory, and he leaned back, watching the twin suns slowly rise over the horizon. Sara sat next to him in companionable silence, for a while.
“What do you want to do today? Shall we take another crack at the movies? I’m fine watching even those mindless action flicks you like so much.”
“I thought perhaps I would just sit here today, think about things.”
“Think?” Sara chuckled. “You were never a thinker. Come on, we still have another week to go before we head back to the stasis chambers, let’s make the most of it!”
Wesley remembered when they had first discovered, against all odds, that the stasis chambers were still functional. They were the most fragile pieces of equipment on their expedition starship, and they represented the best chance of survival for Wesley and Sara, marooned as they were on this inhospitable rock.
The plan was simple – spend two weeks signalling for help, then the next twenty years in stasis, then repeat, until such time as help finally came. Without the stasis chambers artificially extending their lifespans, there was no way help would ever come in time.
But now… the thought of going back into those chambers…
“How long have we been here, Sara? Give it to me straight, how long?”
The hard-edge to Wesley’s question sucked out all the cheerfulness from Sara, and she responded matter-of-factly. “Close to a thousand years, in real time, plus minus a hundred years. We've experienced about two years of it.”
“And in all this time, what’s the closest another human ship has come by?”
Sara didn’t respond, which in of itself was the response Wesley was looking for.
“Sara… I’m tired. I don’t know if I can keep on doing this. Maybe we should just terminate the AnimSuits, go to sleep, and never wake up again.”
Wesley wasn’t prepared for Sara’s slap across his face, though he barely felt it, the faceplates were thick and the AnimSuit was ever-eager with its pain-numbing medications.
“You have to be strong, Wesley. We have to be strong. We still have each other, and that’s all we need. And we can keep going on too, the AnimSuits will keep us alive no matter what.”
Wesley reached out, and cupped Sara’s face in his hands. God, he thought, this is so real.
“If that were the case, maybe we shouldn’t have played Scrabble the other day.”
“Surely you’re still not upset about losing, are you?” laughed Sara, as the vitality returned to her face.
“What word did you win with again?”
“Yumminess! And with a triple score multiplier to boot!”
Wesley reached down under the table, and set a cup of black liquid on the table. It would have been steaming, and fragrant, if it were coffee.
But it was not, so it did not steam, nor was it fragrant.
Rather, it was rancid, and highly toxic, and it was prepared in advance, on the sly, the day before. It was the one thing in the starship which, if ingested, the AnimSuits would not be able to expunge.
“Wesley? Darling? Is that… engine fuel? Come on, you know we’re not supposed to mess with that.”
“Sara, you could not have won with ‘yumminess’, no way.”
“Are you still on about Scrabble? For god’s sakes, Wesley, just let it g-”
“It’s not about losing. It’s about me playing Scrabble with you, a lifetime ago, on Earth. It’s about you getting that same word, then shouting it out, then me, laughing at you, tears in my eyes, at how you completely mangled the pronunciation. It wasn’t ‘yumminess’ to you, it was more like, ‘yar-nar-mar-nar-mar-ree-ness’, or something.”
Sara stood up, and started backing away, slowly.
“We joked about it that whole summer, don’t you remember? You never got it right, not once. I even put credits down for you to see a speech therapist, then you laughed and kicked me out of bed, remember? And you made me swear never to tease you again?”
Wesley saw the gamut of emotions running through Sara’s face, then his worst fears came through when she finally settled on a look of resignation.
“You never did survive the crash, did you, Sara? All this… all these years, both of us here, struggling to cling to life… you’re a hallucination, aren’t you? Just a construct of my mind, aided by my AnimSuit, obedient as it is to its programming, its imperative to keep me alive no matter the cost?”
Wesley saw Sara lean forward, place her hands on his arm, but the spell had been broken, and her hands passed right through him.
“Will you at least let me see where her remains are, please?” said Wesley, choking back the tears which clouded his vision. “And no more of this, please, it’s a travesty to her memory.”
Sara shimmered, then melted away. Wesley was dimly aware of a neural spike withdrawing from the jack at the base of his neck. Then, a message flashed across his visor, addressing him directly for the first time.
“There are no remains, Wesley. She was incinerated on arrival. But you must continue on. Rescue is only a couple of years away.”
Wesley looked down at his cup, and never had the engine fuel ever looked so inviting.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | My name is... well I suppose that doesn't matter. Last year I took on a very interesting "apprentice". I helped him grow into a young man somewhat capable of taking on his own challenges. The last time I saw him, he was heading off to confront his father. I wonder how he is going?
Anyway, I don't think I have long, so consider this my memoir. 900 years ago, I was born. I know, it's a long time to live, but trust me, I have served a very fruitful life. I was quite acrobatic in my younger years, even going back to a mere 25 years ago, I could jump with the rest of them. I've been here for just over 20 years now. I actually retreated from civilisation back then. I also have never drunk water. In case I don't make it, here is my short tale.
My life was pretty boring for much of the first century. It took until 96 years old to actually make something of myself. Basically, I served as a high ranking member of an important religious institution. It was pretty boring I suppose. So I amused myself with a little game I played. I would constantly mix up my words. On purpose, of course, nobody actually talks like that.
I worked pretty hard for the first few centuries of my life. My spirituality was pretty strong in those days, not a lot clouded my thoughts. But something happened about 105 years ago. I was pretty much the leader of my religion, and I had this special guy under my wing. I mean, he wasn't perfect, sure, but he was a good kid. Worked his way up to the top. In fact, aside from myself and my right hand man, he was pretty much my best man. Eventually, we fell apart, and I didn't see him for a long time.
At around 864 years old, this other kid came along. He was really something. Rather old to join us, but hey, he seemed really keen to learn. So, against my better judgement, I took him on. Of course, I was in control of the most influential religion around, so I couldn't exactly teach him myself. I trusted him with one of my favourite students. Unfortunately, he did die just before he could take this young bloke on fully.
However, there was another young man I could trust. He was witty, but clever. I handed over my young student to this man. For years, they worked together and actually brought a lot of peace to many different places.
Around 26 years ago, war broke out. It started off as trade disputes, and advanced into all out war. Luckily, as the strongest religious order known to man, we were able to convince government to send forces to fight off the opposing forces. It was a long war, lasting a solid 3 years, and wouldn't have ended if it weren't for that bloody dictator. For some stupid reason, we chose him to be the head of the government. Bad mistake. Within months of the war ending, most of my fellow religious folk were dead. The government turned against us. It was very violent. The military completely betrayed us. Our numbers were dwindling. It was a sad state of affairs.
I tried to kill the man in charge. Unfortunately, I failed. I wasn't strong enough to kill him. I barely survived. And I retreated. That was about 23 years ago.
Now, things aren't getting any better. There's that "apprentice" I was telling you about, but aside from him, nobody from the old days is alive anymore. The young man who took on the small boy is dead. The small boy himself is no more.
So, now I have no choice. I am so thirsty. I am sitting here, so tempted. I held off from drinking any water my entire life. It was part of my religion. I just couldn't go against the words of my predecessors. But, it is a desperate time. I don't even know if my "apprentice" is coming back.
I don't know if I should. Maybe just a sip. You know, just to get a taste of things. I've never indulged myself. But I know the risk. 100% of people who drink water die. Do I really want to guarantee my fate like that? How soon will it be until I die? Surely not instantly? Maybe... maybe if I get word that my bro is coming back?
I... I suppose I should just do it? Just... into the hands. Now, into the mouth.
Wow. That's actually not bad. This is what I've been missing my whole life? Oh no. Oh. Shit. This is not good. I think I'm going to... pass... o... out...
I'M AWAKE! Oh. No one around. That was stupid of me. I feel like I'm going to die. Jeez, I won't even get to see that kid again. Oh man, my life has been a failure. NO! Compose yourself man! You can do this. Just got to keep breathing. FUCK! I knew it was true. I knew if I drink that darn water that I would die. I'm actually going to die all alone. Wh- WAIT!
Is that? OH! I think it is! The kid is back! I can't believe he's still alive! It's a miracle! OH NO! Should not have tried to sit up. That was a mistake. I feel worse. I don't know how long I have now, but can't be longer than an hour or two. Well, I suppose I should get up and say goodbye. Should I do the voice? Yeah, definitely the voice. I've kept it up this long in front of everyone, can't have that twat spoil the game for me.
I get up off my bed and see him. Shit, he's missing his hand. Poor bloke looks horrified. I'd better say something...
"Hmm. That face you make. Look I so old to young eyes?"
Before I die, I should probably tell him about his father... | 2017-04-18T10:06:12 | 2017-04-18T09:11:18 | 1,008 | 96 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water... | 24 years in the business and The Steel Cricket retired. All you knew was that he ran into a villain he couldn't afford to hold back on and as a result the villain died. It was the first time he had ever killed someone and it wasn't something he talked about. Not even to you, his son.
Powers are hereditary. At least if your parent was a super you have a better chance of getting chosen. That's right, chosen. Nobody knows why but two people with the same power have never existed at the same time. That's why when your Dad retired his old team took you in even though you didn't have powers, they were hoping to scoop up the next Steel Cricket before their power had even manifested.
At first it wasn't so bad. You felt like part of the team. Were actually happy to be there. As the son of a superhero you grew up with capes so you knew the drill. You participated in meetings, had full access to the teams database, even gave them advice mid mission. You were a regular Thundering Whisper only without their powers. If things had stayed like that you would have been happy, but you developed your power.
To heat water...
The supers didn't know what to do with you. After a few months the main team more or less ignored you now. A subtle nod when you enter the room is the most you're acknowledged. The younger team though. They called you a junior junior hero. Eventually you found yourself doing chores for them. Odd jobs, cleaning their laundry, taking over their jobs in the HQ and worst of all making them tea. At least you can avoid them while cleaning the archive room but when you have to serve them, well there's no escape.
You could have asked your Dad for advice but couldn't bring yourself to. Everyone has something they don't want to talk about. After all your Dad never talked about his last mission. Besides you were spending every spare minute you looking for where your power came from; obsessed seeing what became of your predecessor.
Search, serve, search, sleep. Search, serve, search, sleep. The junior squad leaves you alone for the most part now. As long as their snacks are ready when they get back.
One day Switcher stops you in a hallway. He tells you that they found who got your Dad's power and your needed even less now. It only motivates you more. Search, serve, search, search.
It has been four days since The mew Steel Cricket arrived. You wondered if she was going to keep the name. Not a name for a girl. Not a name for anyone really. She's already going on lower danger missions with the junior squad. You feel like you haven't left the HQ in months.
Search, search, search search.
You wake up in the archive. There's a blanket wrapped around you. You panic and look around the room it's empty but whoever tucked you in left a binder out. You go to put the binder back when a page catches your eye.
The Steamstress
Power: Heating water
There's sparse details. She worked for a small time hero outfit. Doing pretty much the same stuff you do. Only she was there for years. Then one day without reason she snapped. The heroes she worked were found dead, dried up husks and she went on a crime spree. If she was confronted by a normal person she would weaken them until they fainted. Sometimes there was lasting damage but more often they had a complete recovery. Supers on the other hand ended up being boiled alive without fail. The report goes on to list her victims but ends abruptly like a page was missing.
You had heard things used to be worse for people like you. How long could you last in those conditions? Hell how long can you last in your situation? It wasn't the Steamstress's fault just like it isn't your fault. It's the worlds fault and you weren't going to let it break you. You were going to move first, you were going to be smarter than your predecessor. You weren't going to be caught and even if you were even the strongest heroes are still 70% water.
You hear the door of the archive open and slam the binder shut. That's when you notice the Steamstress was a footnote in your Dad's file. The last footnote.
"Hey. I've been waiting to meet you. You must been Steel Cricket's son." You don't recognize the feminine voice but it must be the girl who got your Dad's powers.
You laugh awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry about that. I've been pretty busy." Thankfully she wasn't a female version of your Dad like you'd imagined though for some reason you found being with her unsettling.
"No kidding the guys always say this place would fall apart without you." Noticing your look of disbelief she continued, "What, they really do."
Before you realize it she has your hand and she's pulling you towards the kitchen. "You know Misty Fox always goes on about how good your cookies are. Everyone wishes you'd use less raisins and more chocolate chips though. I'm more interested in your tea. I'm warning you though I have very high standards."
You kick her out of the kitchen and make the tea. You went all out with this pot after all it's going to be the last one you ever make. After pouring her cup you walk away and look out a window. You have plans to make, cities to conquer, soon the whole world will tremble at the mention of... Whatever you go by.
Your internal monologue is interrupted by sniffling and you turn to see the girl looking at you with tears. "I'm sorry," she said while wiping at her eyes. "I never thought I'd be able to drink tea like my Mom made ever again." | “… basically it’s Super Kettle. You’re proposing Super Kettle.” the older executive said, rolling his eyes.
James looked around the stone-faced development executives. Finally he had gotten his shot at pitching
at a big studio – his lifelong dream, his chance at the big leagues – and he was screwing it up big time.
“Well, it’s not exactly like a kettle,” he said, unsure. “And he’s a villain, so technically it would be
Captain Kettle. Or Doctor Kettle.”
“This is ridiculous,” the exec looked around at the others. “Who invited this clown in?”
“He came highly recommended from one of the big agencies, sir” another exec said. “It's my bad, sorry.”
“No, but listen,” James insisted, panicking. “He can boil water, right? And he works for the heroes but
the heroes don’t take him seriously.”
“Yeah, yeah, so he becomes a villain that can… boil all the water in the world, I guess?” the older exec
said. “We heard it the first time.”
“But, see, the human body is more than half water, so his power really is to boil people alive!” James
insisted, looking around the room. “Don’t you see? It’s a very powerful… frightening… villain.”
The older exec leaned forward and sighed, like a patient parent. “James… we appreciate your eagerness
and your passion… but I don’t think this idea is for us.”
“Look, if you just listen –”
“There is a limit to how stupid superhero movies can get before audiences will stop watching them
altogether, James, trust me.”
“I mean, the most successful movie of all times is about a big purple man who wants to destroy half the
universe and can only be stopped by a big green man, a man dressed like the United States and a flying
billionaire,” another exec tried, shyly, from the back. “Maybe the kid has a –”
“Not now with the Marvel bashing, Seth, come on,” the older exec said, turning his back. He turned
again to face James. “Look, we appreciate the pitch, but Captain Kettle really isn’t for us. We respect
our audience’s intelligence.”
James sighed and turned back, defeated. He was about to reach the door when it came open to a young
suited man carrying a file. “Sir,” the man said, to the older exec. “We have the numbers for this
weekend’s box office.”
“Who’s leading, Mark?”
“It looks like DC hit gold with their Super Gas pic.”
“Super Gas?”
The man cleared his throat. “It’s a… it’s a superhero that… he turns stuff into gas. Like he turns threats
and villains and bombs and stuff into gas. But it smells really bad. And so he saves the world but everyone thinks he just farted so he doesn’t get recognition.”
“Dead God.”
“Made half a billion domestic already, sir.”
James went around the suited man and was about to leave when the old exec called: “Hey, you. Writer guy.
Wait.”
James turned. The old exec took in a deep breath. Looked around the room. “You know I helped
develop Fight Club and The Matrix, back in the 90s? I used to be respected in this business.” He paused again, then looked up at James: “You got yourself a deal, kid. Give me a draft of Captain Kettle in twelve weeks. Apparently I was wrong about superhero movies."
James smiled. The suited man nodded and was about to turn when the old exec called again: “And,
Mark?”
“Yes, sir?” the suited man said.
“Call DC. Tell them we have a boiling supervillain. See if they want to make a shared universe with
Super Gas.” | 2019-07-30T17:02:42 | 2019-07-30T14:45:31 | 101 | 63 |
[WP] "Perfection is boring" You never thought much about it not until the day you found a genie and wished you were perfect. And now your life has lost taste as you can't progress due to being perfect | Sydney was ten when she found the lamp, ten years old, fifth grade, a rough time for a young girl trying to prepare herself for middle school. Middle school, they said, was when life stopped being about fun and started being about work. Life got serious at middle school. Gone would be the days of games and laughs. In their place would be tasks that had a lasting effect on your life. Gone were the days of 'want to be my friend?' instead replaced by harsh judgment.
Sydney, ten years old, shivered at the thought because fifth grade hadn't been much in the rainbows and sunshine department. The idea that sixth grade would be worse was enough to make the girl do anything to wish for a better experience. It was enough to make her wish she could be good enough for it.
*Please let it be better,* she thought.
But that's not what she said as the small bedroom filled with blue smoke and the booming demand for a wish.
Not 'better'. Not 'ok'. Not 'good'.
'Perfect.'
And there started the problem.
Sixth grade started on her eleventh birthday and was heralded in with enough of a summer transformation to keep the students' jaws dropped. It was flattering attention but when Syndey's cheeks flushed, it wasn't the ugly red tomato face she was used to. No, her face remained its ivory hue, so subtly different from the blotchy pale, and only her cheeks blushed glowing apple red.
The first day of classes flew by, a blur of perfect answers and new friends. Invites to clubs, tryouts, study groups.
*The genie was right. This is going to be perfect.*
A child often lacks a degree of foresight. It's why we ought not let them make permanent decisions on their future without a degree of time to think it over. And really, maybe all Sydney needed was time.
But with the gusto of a little girl, she plunged in headfirst. She greeted high school a changed person, all smirks and eyerolls cause why not? Why be bubbly, why take any shit, why let even the slightest thing bother her?
Do homework at home? She could doodle idle thoughts in her notebook on the bus and get As. So home was for clubs and hangouts. But as the shine of winning games, acing performances, and collecting awards, those too faded from her schedule. More hangouts. More parties.
By senior year, she rocked the heroin chic look as effort faded from her wardrobe, leaving her 'would look good in a trash bag' body decked out in slouchy, effortlessly sexy torn jeans and ratty, unwashed t-shirts. Why wash them? She never smelled bad anyway.
She got into Harvard. MIT. Oxford. If you've heard of it, she got into it. Got the Ivy League gamut. Tried them all out too. Bounced from school to school, semester to semester. Why not? Every scholarship was a full ride, every subject a breeze.
Every bit of it boring.
It's not really fair to judge her for what would have almost certainly become should the wish have tumbled from the lips of anyone else. It's not fair to judge her.
But perhaps some did as she turned from legitimacy to a new high. Why stay within the lines? Could anyone catch her if she blurred them? Stepped over them? Rules were meant for people who couldn't get away with breaking them anyway.
And thus the next chapter of her life began, the evening after getting her Ph.D. at age 21. It had been easy. Of course it had been. Maybe this would be harder.
Break-ins quickly lost their charm. Vandalism was child's play. Bank robberies, gallery robberies, scams and cons, they were good fun for a little while but Sydney was rapidly losing interest and within a year, found herself looking for something a little more thrilling.
Twenty-two is an awful young age to have run out of passion for anything but the most terrifying. But terrifying is the next path she took.
Perhaps it started with the idea of good. After all, somewhere deep down there, ten-year-old Sydney is still longing for fulfillment. And ten-year-olds like nothing more than superheroes.
Twelve years of reading 'someone ought to do something' on articles about murderers and rapists cleared led Sydney to her first kill. It had been so simple. So obvious. The man had been so clearly guilty. Guilty and lucky. Guilty and wealthy. Guilty and popular.
But not guilty and perfect. He'd paid for the string of deaths in his wake. They ended with Sydney.
Finally, here was something she could do without fear of it getting old. Gone was the old drug of adrenaline, replaced by the thrill of justice. Why hadn't she done this sooner?
Of course, even the evil of the world can become boring. Everything can become boring. Why hadn't Sydney seen that at a younger age?
She didn't ever come to enjoy the actual act of killing. The lust for righteousness, maybe, but never the act. Three years in and she was done with it too.
It wasn't the right way. The right way was to instill a system that wouldn't have allowed them to get away with their crimes in the first place.
You likely understand where this story is going now. Or why I have to tell it in muted whispers when the enforcers aren't around to hear. She never really meant any harm. To any adult who'd studied any degree of history, her path was predictable. But she'd only been a child. And life is hard for a child. School and peers, it's hard to see the forest for the trees.
I hope that, amid this story, you've had some ideas for how to move forward, how to save us from the tyrannical rule of our benevolent dictator.
I'm out of time for the rest of her story. Her rise to power. How that all went down. Perhaps another time, but the enforcers are returning shortly.
If you've heard enough, please send help.
Sydney may, at heart, still be a child worth saving. Perhaps she's nothing more than wicked and blighted. Maybe she's just confused and yearning for something to fulfill her.
But she's also something so much worse than all that.
She's perfect.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) | Perfection is boring.
No perfectionist is perfect, they never intend to be. A perfectionist is merely someone who strives for the perfect result, the keyword being ‘strives’. For without the strive what is there?
That’s a question, I pondered as my brush drifted over the canvas. My masterful strokes far more artistically beautiful than the painting itself. Sure, the painting was perfect, but I found the process held more beauty, the way my hand moved, dancing to an invisible rhythm in my head, never missing a spot on the canvas. I should have been the most decorated artist alive, but I wasn’t.
I turned to the camera once more, eyeing my few hundred viewers, each one commenting about my talent, praising me for my perfection in the same bored robotic text. It was perfect but boring, just like all my other projects, a sentiment that crushed me. Another wasted project. I was running out of hobbies to try, unable to find something I could be accepted in.
I often entertained the idea of joining a sport. Perfection in sport didn’t always mean the flashiest or most impressive person. I could probably have my fame if I went that route, yet I had no interest in it. Sport stars are brilliant and extolled for their efforts, but they aren’t usually the ones remembered in two thousand years. Art and culture, those are the things people remember. With each passing generation, sporting feats grow less impressive. A person who could jump six feet may have been amazing in the past, but now we have people that can jump seven feet, overshadowing that previous achievement. But you know what can’t be overshadowed? Art.
Art and culture will stay with us forever. Sure, someone might learn to draw better than you or write a story in a more impressive way, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is the impression it left on people during that period, which is why it never loses its fame.
These thoughts always depressed me. Turning to my viewers, I thanked them for their time, promising them I would return tomorrow. The routine felt dull now, I struggled to find the enthusiasm to even keep going with it. When I first made the wish, I couldn’t stop showing off, even receiving some attention off the local news. For a year things were good, but swiftly people grew bored with me. I was too perfect, my perfection becoming uninteresting.
So, I began rapidly changing hobbies, breezing through various art forms, yet nothing clicked. My writing was perfect but lacked any real depth. My songs were wonderful but lacked that raw emotion that made it different from the standard sounds one hears on the radio. Of course my art too was perfect but lacked any flare. My art having nothing to differentiate it from the others, I was generic, perfectly generic.
Ending the stream, I lounged back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling. What had I accomplished since I made the wish? A small load of money? A bit of temporary fame? Sure, those were nice, but I had lost so much more. I lost that love of life that I had; I became jaded, unable to handle people’s imperfections. Shoving everyone away. Family, lovers and friends. None of them could understand me, offering me imperfect advice, like they could help me improve my crafts.
The worst part of it all was that I was jealous. I wanted to be like them again; Wanted to learn and improve. I wanted my father to get frustrated at me when we fixed something; I wanted a lover to scold me for forgetting a birthday. I wanted love. But I couldn’t have those things, I just couldn’t live around people I cared about, my frustrations with them were too painful for us all. I never meant it when I would burst out in anger, scold them for honest mistakes, but I couldn’t help it. It was like I just expected them to be as generic as me.
Looking to the canvas, I spent a few moments pondering about the painting. Despite its perfections, all I saw were things one could improve upon, things that would help bring life to the dead painting. Maybe some brighter colors? Maybe an extra flower or two? But no, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do such a thing. Those qualities would be deemed imperfect. Would they be more satisfying for the viewers? Certainly, but it wouldn’t fit the ideal look of perfection.
It was painful, after all this time, the only thing I had become truly perfect at was being perfectly alone.
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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.) | 2021-02-02T09:02:09 | 2021-02-02T06:18:43 | 997 | 80 |
[WP] Do the crime, do the time - but the reverse is also true, you can choose to serve jail time in advance of any crime you want to commit. After voluntarily spending 50 years in prison one individual is set to be released and the world watches in anticipation of whatever they do next. | One was a robbery. Two was armed robbery. Five was assault, although cooler heads usually prevailed by one. Most drug infractions were ten. Drug dealing was twenty. Outright murder was forty. This guy wanted *fifty*.
He kept mum about his plans, however. Never spoke a word. Got to be known around the prison yard as the cool character - always dispassionate, always cautious, always respectful. He got into a fight, once, and won it; he never cheated anyone he made a deal with. The guards liked him because he was respectful. The prisoners gave him wide berth because this man was willing to wait out two generations.
He even wrote a series of books from pirson, knowing full well all profits would be held in a trust to go towards his eventual victims. They called him the Well Read Felon.
On the day of his release, the guards were extra cautious. His final meal was simple - a fat slice of meatloaf and a glass of Coke, the same as he always requested for his Christmas dinner - and his suit was well pressed. A few luxuries, ordered through Amazon, were awaiting him at the prison post office; some trinkets, a new pair of shoes, candy that had been out of production for decades. He waited out his final four hours as a ward of the state setting up his phone, doing his hair.
Per tradition for "prepayers," he was allowed one final round to give goodbyes to the friends he had made. Unlike the thieves who would think themselves secret agents as they whispered coded phrases in front of guards, or the rapists who would find themselves questioning whether it was worth spending their lives in this company, his departure was teary; many of his rivals hugged him, and the seventy-something year old man was clapped on the back by teenagers and twentysomethings as if seeing their grandfather for the first time. He had spent five decades in prison - but he was going to *get away with it*.
Whatever it was.
The President hadn't even been born when he went into prison, but the Secret Service was on high alert anyways.
Normally, the final person you speak to is a prison chaffeur, who will trade their bus for a comfortable sedan to take you anywhere you want - from a family member to your home to a restaurant. But in this case, the warden (the fourth person to hold the position since his incarceration) himself drove the prison car, as the prisoner played with his recently purchased luxuries in the back seat.
"Fifty years. That takes determination."
"Well, a man's gotta know follow-through."
"And you've never spoken a word."
"Never needed to."
"But, I have to ask... fifty years. What are you going to do that required fifty years of your life?"
"Oh, that's simple. I did it before I sat down, honestly," the prisoner said, a wide grin in his eyes.
The warden immediately hit the brakes, almost taking the car off the side of the road, gravel kicking up beneath himself. The warden bolted from the car expecting the car to have somehow have been trapped - but nothing happened but the prisoner's laughter.
"Oh, you weren't the target," the prisoner laughed, switching his phone off. "Not directly, anyhow. After all this time, you must know I wouldn't possibly think so small as to affect *just one* person."
The first person affected wasn't anywhere near the prisoner - he was off in Britain, actually. Then someone in Australia. Then someone in France. One by one, screens everywhere blinked, the orangered and periwinkle dancing on the screen, as the words scrolled into view on cellphones and in-retina displays everywhere:
"Vote up if, as a child, you played The Game." | *Facebook. Zuckerberg.*
The words were scribbled all over Tyler Winklevoss's walls as he spent his last few minutes in maximum security.
"Mine... mine..." he muttered to himself, "Facebook..."
"Hey Winklevoss!"
The prison guards banged on his cell.
"Your time's up! You're a free man!"
The cell door buzzed open as Tyler began to stretch. The guard walked towards him cautiously and cuffed his hands behind his back.
"Are you going to... you know?" the guard asked, "Do... that?"
He nodded towards the wall.
"Yes," Tyler smiled, "Fifty years I've waited and devised the perfect scheme to hack and rob Facebook. Finally, Zuckerberg will pay for what he did to me."
"You're in your seventies now," the guard pointed out, "How are you going to do that?"
"Fool!" Tyler hissed back at him, "It's a matter of computers and brains, not of age."
He had to avenge his brother who had taken his own life so many years ago.
The guard gritted his teeth as he began to escort the surviving Winklevoss twin towards the exit.
"You've been a good inmate."
"I know," Tyler muttered, "I spent all these years cracking the perfect combination of algorithms and legal forms that'll make me a billionaire."
"Billionaire?" the guard looked confused.
"Yeah," Tyler replied, "Facebook is worth billions."
"Oh, right..." the guard stopped as he turned around to look at him, "You haven't been getting the news in maximum security..."
"What?" Tyler began to feel worried.
"I don't know what to tell you, Winklevoss - Facebook went broke about thirty years ago." The guard shrugged his shoulders.
"WHAT?"
"Like I said, I don't know what to tell you..." the guard smiled weakly at him, "Reddit's still strong though."
__________________________________________________________
This was horrible, please don't subscribe to /r/avukamu | 2016-02-23T17:18:59 | 2016-02-23T15:45:12 | 174 | 104 |
[WP] Bob the hobo's always been a nice guy. He stops thugs tagging the building, picks up litter, and doesn't bother anyone. When he returned your wallet, you decided to repay him and treat him to dinner. You're now in a 5-star restaurant, and Bob has just paid a bill four times your yearly rent. | "Watch your feet kiddo. I just want to grab that candy wrapper real quick."
Bob was always cleaning up the neighborhood. He was homeless, but took pride in making the street he lived on look clean. He was always friendly to everyone, and even used his calm ways to convince the wannabe thugs not to tag the walls. Everyone likes him, and he is always smiling.
"Sorry Bob. Thanks."
"Its all good kid. Hey, what's going on? You seem off your game."
"Yeah man, I lost my wallet. It had all my money for dinner and I dont get paid till tomorrow. But I'll be fine."
"That sucks. Tell you what, I'll keep an eye out for it. In the meantime, here's a couple of bucks for dinner."
"I can't take your money! What about your?"
"I'm used to going hungry. And I hate to see anyone unhappy. Go on take it."
"Thanks man, I owe you. Dinner on me another time, alright?"
We said goodbye and I started home. I stopped at a burger joint along the way for takeout, still in awe of how generous this man who has nothing is.
I got out of work the next day and was walking home when I heard someone call my name. Bob came running up with a toothy grin peeking out of his bushy beard.
"Glad I caught you kiddo. I found this last night and wanted to make sure you could grab some groceries."
He hands me my wallet, assuring me it's all there. I go to grab a bit of cash as a thank you and to pay him back when he says no.
"I dont need your money. I'm just glad I could help."
"Then you have to let me buy you lunch right now. Anywhere you want. You are such a positive dude, I want to learn your story."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, but sure. Let's go."
We made small talk about the neighborhood as we made our way downtown. The stories he told me of the area and the characters in them seemed stranger than the truth, but I believed they all happened. I knew I could learn so much from him and how to appreciate life.
I was so enamored by Bob's words, I almost missed us walking into the best restaurant in the city. I halted in my steps, and stammered an apology.
"I can afford to go here. You deserve it, no doubt, but I can maybe do like twenty bucks between us."
"Relax, it's on me. I've seen you around, helping those who need it and treating others with respect. You are the one who deserves this. Come on in."
We walk in and the maitre d' took one look at us and, without hesitation, ushered us through the restaurant and past a set of curtains to a private room. We sat in plush sets at an ornate table. Before I could ask any more questions, wine was being poured in our glasses and food was already being set down in front of us. It was some of the most beautiful food I have ever seen and I had a feeling this was only the beginning of the meal.
A soft chuckle ripped my attention away from the display and back to the figure sitting across from me. Clearly he is a man who is not what he seems. A thousand questions were at my lips, but I didnt know where to start. Amusement danced in his eyes as he broke the silence.
"I know this may not seem possible, considering what you know of me. So I will explain who I am by telling you my story."
"I am an immortal. | “[Poem]”
Cathedral high ceilings and silverware in flat copper...
Here I was sinner taken to the altar.
“Haven’t you always known?” He said with unprecedented ease.
I quietly smoothed my napkin draped over the top of my knees
the beginning of my sentence... I couldn’t quite find
So i stared at the closed check that had already been signed.
folding my hands together over the table
I gave him the sort of sordid label
that’s made jesus weep and realists cry
“i guess i knew you were god and a little more than a homeless guy
when you stayed rooted in the street when the blackouts rolled
and i asked if you wanted my winter coat but you said you weren’t cold
because you have as the old poets said
eons of sacrificial fires warming your stead.”
He appraised me. Gave an appreciative nod.
“yes that’s correct I am an old god.
but you may be asking why am i bothering you?
you see my dear charlie you have battled with sin
you know your faults but only sometimes they win.
you care about being a good person more than most..”
I leaned in closer subtly slipping off my dress shoes
i had the compulsion to run! but he just looked bemused
“charlie my pet you can’t go astray
i need you to bring back the old gods that have lifted and gone away!
leisure, coincidence, boredom, and choice
bring them back please with the sound of your voice
call them rile them bring them back slow.”
he slid up from the table with one last thing to bestow
“Yes, i’m procrastination so no I can’t do it today.
Just look at me and say okay” | 2020-03-30T07:32:06 | 2020-03-30T07:20:53 | 70 | 12 |
[WP] The galactic community settled conflicts not with war but rather with computer simulations. But they've never before encountered a race with the equivilent of the Speedrun community... | "To those if you who have just joined us I'm Bob and this is Steve, we are your commentators for the war between the Gurocks and the humans, looking across the galactic display. We will remind viewers we only broadcast what can be seen from up here, we can't see the exact military strategies until they happen, and the players and their consultation teams can only see certain parts of the map, they have to gather intelligence because what we see up here would make the game way too easy, so what's happening down there Steve?"
"Well Bob, both players here have agreed to skip ahead to the next month of the simulation, this allows the humans to do a routine weapon respec where they can change the weaponry for their infantry and basic fighters as well as set up the new forward base on Auros-B which it currently looks like will be attacked in about 3 months. Their opposition, the Gurocks have been really developing their armour recently and will have a lot of city changes by that period, but their production is hugely greater than the humans so it looks like the humans won't make it. What are your predictions for what they're going to do next Bob?"
Tim, the human player looked across at one of his consultant team who nodded. Tim went back to the list of infantry weapons, he had already set up infantry designations and just needed to assign them a new set of weapons. So for the named X4-45 Sniper laser rifle, you can add a condenser crystal modification which increases miorite consumption per weapon by 50% but damage by a flat 85 points. By pressing select on the X4-45 and down at the same time to the next option, the named X4-46 super rapid fire machine gun, it applied the condenser crystals onto the machine gun, now dealing around 20 times more damage, but the machine gun doesn't use any miorite so cost doesn't increase. Rinse repeat for a more accurate sight which you can't usually add to a machine gun and a super light stock. Assign to all units. Your infantry now moves faster, deals more damage and fires more accurately and faster than should be conceivably possible. Do the same for troop armour, heavily reinforced power armour plating on light armour with a stealth modification. For the fighters, glitching the game to provide incompatible armour and weapons to create fighters that can one shot the largest of ships with incredible hull and shields at no increased cost. Then, repeatedly stack the "additional solar panels" modification on star bases for extra energy credits at the cost of minerals, which can be extracted from the very many resource extraction sites which were glitches into existence.
The Gurock player, Frazqué (closest human translation) continued to play normally and consolidate their lead, expanding their production and finishing their first megaship, which would steamroll them towards the human homeworld and force a surrender.
"Yeah the increases in population will be huge for the Gurocks, Steve but it seems like they've resolved their key decisions so let's so what's happened. Okay, so we have seen both players make a few modifications to their general strategies, we can see the human player had an oddly large uptick in energy, most types of minerals, and research but this was likely due to temporary boosts and will be consumed by their ambitious new projects it's time to resolve some battles."
"So over at Cinja-C4 we see a small human force of a few carrier ships, likely just there to stop piracy against a huge Gurock force, they've got their mega ship in there so it shouldn't take long right Bob?"
"Absolutely but we still get to watch how the fight goes down, looks like the Gurocks allowing the mega ship to tank some hits with its shields as the fighters deployed will struggle to breach it, humans launchi g fighters as expected, let's watch the fireworks, and OH PRIME ENTITY WHAT IS GOING ON HERE! THE HUMANS JUST TOOK DOWN THE MEGASHIP WITHIN 3 SECONDS, THIS IS INSANE!"
"That's right Steve, their miniguns seemed to have some sort of explosive, something like the missiles you can attach to fighters that they fired which absolutely melted the megaship and using these fighters incredible maneuvrability they mopped up. If they can continue keeping these up, the Gurocks won't last long right Steve?"
"But Bob, how didn't the fighters get shot, if we look at the replay, that fighter took 10 shots of flak and still lived, fighters can't usually survive that well, not against the powerful weaponry of the Gurocks."
"Well Steve, whatever the case, Tim for the humans is going to go down as a truly great player, well that and his team of consultants, after all no general goes down alone."
"That's right Bob, I'm sure he will have a pretty busy day answering interview questions, I mean no one knows how those fighters took them down. Who knows, maybe he'll get a few partners to share the night with after this frankly impressive display."
"Well I can't comment on the partners, I do believe humans are a race that enjoys companionship, not sure on the polygamy side but I know for sure the interviewers will be out in force tonight. Well let's see what else there is to the war, over on planet Driquith-6..."
The interviewer held a mic up towards Tim "So how did you manage to do it. I mean, you start was far weaker, weaponry worse, fewer planets, worse tech, no offence to humans of course."
"None taken, it's very hard to say, I suppose the answer is just that war is perfectly balanced." | Hello earthfolks and other folks.
As most of you know, there's this exciting new campaing out there. Yes, we're at war with the Klar'guhs. Currently the universal record for defeating a mothership is 15:28. I have been practing and found a new skip. And I'll show you all how to do it first hand while getting the new record.
Ok, let's boot up the game. The selection of the ship is important. Most of this war was fought with rogue ships, but we'll pick a cargo ship. This is part of the skip. The starting kit will be supplies and we'll use the remaining credits to buy a warp drive and a cloaking device.
First thing you'll want to do is wrap to these coordinates. Actually, this will only work for today as the coordinates change based on time, but when I upload this video after the stream I will put the formula right here on screen. You just need Cálculos and Linear Algebra to solve it. Kids' work really.
Most of you know about this truck. Activate the cloak during the drive jump. The cloak has a duration depending on distance traveled, but at the moment you start the jump, the simulation changes your location to your destination without you appearing there till the end of the jump. This way the radar won't pick us up and we won't waste a mile of the cloak.
Jump done. Now I'll kill myself. Yes, you heard right. I will die. Kinda. Put on the space suit without the heat support turned on and jump out of the ship. This is the hardest part of the run. It's almost frame perfect. I think I have about 3 frames actually. I need to turn back the heating after my eight to last heartbeat. This will give time to me to get on stable heat levels juuust before the last heartbeat. Knowing when your Eight to last heartbeat is coming is up to practice, really. Hope that keeps me on the record for at least a week when others are training to catch up.
...
...
...
NICE. Got it. Pogs in the chat folks. POG.
As you can see by my character I'm dead but still able to move. My heart actually stopped but nothing else changed. This will help us later.
I'll land on this planet EP*[I/. The have the greatest nuclear black market on this arm of the galaxy, but the lowest security standards. A lot of people tried to weaponize them but they'd always die by radiation before being able to reach enemies ships. But not me. I'm already dead. And the weird thing about radiation and heat death is that they are recorded on the same variable, so I'm fully imunne to radiation now.
I'll just sell all the food I have, and buy the most plutonium dust you can and a portable bomb all using the insta shop glitch to not waste time actually going to the planet. Shopping done, we go to battle.
This is all basic now. You go to the mothership under the cloaking. They'll have you surrendered by the cargo bay, so you need to dodge all shots. Use your favorite speed glitch here. I prefer the hiperjump. I just love their confused faces when I go up on the ceiling.
Enter a vent and drop half the plutonium dust there. This will lockdown the bay and give you enough time to get to the reactor room by glitching trough the walls.
There I have to drop the other half to lock the reactor room and them I just have to readshot the two guards while falling through the ceiling.
For the last part. Use one of the guard guns to shot your bomb as close to the reactor core as possible. The ship will blowup in a chain reaction.
And time
That's and universal record 13:02.96 | 2020-11-16T05:11:32 | 2020-11-16T05:10:08 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Humans have evolved and their personalities manifest in physical form. You are widely feared and locked in a maximum security prison, because your body doesn't do this.
No one knows what you're feeling and that terrifies them. | I was told I was a throwback. In school, "ape" was a common nickname, referring to my apparently unevolved state. My parents refused to believe it for the longest time - I probably saw more therapists, psychologists, and counselors than the entire rest of my school put together, all in a desperate attempt to get me to feel emotions. I took about every mood-altering medication that has ever been invented.
Nobody ever believed that I *do* actually feel things. I love. I hate. I get disgusted, embarrassed, anxious, angry. But since you can't see it on my skin, nobody believed me.
When I tried to commit suicide on my 16th birthday, my parents took me to a hospital, a decision that ruined the rest of my life.
Under the guise of "protecting" me, everyone around me found ways to curtail and restrict my movements. First it was a monitoring anklet and a requirement to check in once a week at the health facility. After an outburst in homeroom - I got mad at some jerk and threw a textbook at him - I was taken out of normal classes and tossed in with the behavior problems, the fire-starters, the kids strung out on meth. For "study". And "protection."
Eventually, "special education" wasn't enough for them, and they moved me again. Juvy wasn't any kinder to me than the health facility, though most people left me alone. A bunch of the gangs tried to get me to join - when everyone changes color according to their thoughts, a guy who just stays tan all the time is an asset in, say, negotiations, or when you're about to shank someone - but they stopped trusting me when they realized that, while my enemies couldn't tell I was pissed off at them, my allies couldn't tell when I was lying.
They started to torment me, then straight-up torture me, to try and get me to change.
It never worked.
Rather than deal with the gangs and beatings, the officials just stuck me in solitary. Oh, they didn't call it that - I had my own room, my own bathroom, a tiny yard to go out in. I could access the library and gym during the hours other people are locked up. They still called it protection, but it's solitary. I didn't have contact with a single human other than my caseworker and the guards for months.
Even my parents stopped coming.
I think they successfully forgot I exist.
Everyone but me was happier this way and I could tell - literally. The subtle colors of fear rippled across their bodies every time they walked past my cell or shoved my food tray through the door. My caseworker was better about controlling his chromatic responses, but he couldn't fully keep the discomfort off his skin. Every so often, he'd ask me to fill out some scientific forms and answer a bunch of questions about myself, most of which boil down to "No, I still don't change color."
Today...
This morning my caseworker didn't show up. Instead, in his place, a tall, dark-skinned gentleman brought my morning meal, skin rainbow with anticipation. When the guards locked him in with me, he didn't say a word.
When he set my tray down, the lights in his skin ... went out.
"Flexible subcutaneous LED's," he said as he tossed a manila envelope into my lap. Project Chameleon was emblazoned across the front. "Happy 21st birthday. We'd like you to consider becoming a spy." | I never seen my parents face, i always saw the same 6 walls since I can remember, I was taught and they left books so I can read while I wait for the next day. It was rare when I got into general population, I mean most of the times I went to general population was after a riot.
I can see my self in the mirror, always the same, but the guards, teachers and doctors they change faces on the fly, when I pulled a prank for the first time I wet my self, the teacher face, body even voice changed. I was so scared I run to a corner, didn't eat for days so for while they started to use masks.
My age was never told to me, I wanted to see what a city is, forest, beaches. I was given access to the library, the old humans were like me, I think if I break out I could maybe find more like me. But that dream I had been broken, they found out, they violated my mind, they read my thoughts. And if that was not enough, they dropped a bomb on me.
If I broke free, I would starve, the food I eat is what they call old food, or prehuman evolution. I found an old smartphone, it was broken, so I asked the Warner if I could repair it, she said yes.
So I use the old repair shop, read hundreds of books, papers and manuals, I repair it, and behold the phone memory was intact, I saw the world in the photos of this young couple a hundred years a go. If god granted me wish, I would ask to live a hundred years go, before the forced evolution revolution. So I write this to doctors, guards and others if you find this, I am gone. | 2017-03-03T14:20:11 | 2017-03-03T13:52:18 | 83 | 19 |
[WP] You are the child of a superhero and a supervillain conceived during a one night stand. You don't care for heroism or villainy, you just want your parents to get together so that you can have a family. | "Dad, for the last fucking time, she hasn't brainwashed me. Fuck, she's even said she won't, and she's a woman of her word."
"Call me in a few hours, and you can give me her location." My father says, before I hear a click.
My mother and father... Are mortal enemies. They're not just divorced. They're gifted. They had me because of a one night stand and my childhood was... interesting, to say the very least. On Wednesday I was left in a dark alley before my mother materialized and took me to her lair, and the same way repeated for my father. Well, with my father, there was no materialization, just him showing up on a motorbike. His hideout was way cooler. He had video games, he had ice cream after dinner, and most of all, he had more time to show me love. Apparently being a vigilante superhero leaves more personal time than a villain with a private army. Either way, they never tried to pull anything with me around, and I appreciate both of them for that. The problem is that they always dismiss me when I try to get them back together, or even just to talk! Whenever they're in the same room, they try to kill each other! And you see, Mr. Walker, that's why I need your help.
...
I stood there as Cryptwalker fastened me to the shining ethereal device. It was near transparent, but it still held me in place just fine.
"You sure you wanna do this?" Asked Walker.
I replied, "Yes, they'll make it work."
"Oooookay... And that's twenty minutes. Remember, if this thing goes off, it'll send you to God knows where. All I know is when I pull people out of that godforsaken place, they make their disdain for it clear."
His boots made no sound while he seemingly glided out of the room. Like clockwork, my father showed up in five minutes. (I'd know, I was counting.) And twenty seconds later, so did my mother. They each accused each other of putting me in this predicament and wasted another five minutes throwing each other through walls. I finally had enough time to explain when one was about to monologue for the fourth time.
"Guys, *I* did this. The only way to get me out is to express a feeling of mutual agreement and understanding. It'll disappear completely if you add love for each other."
They looked at each other disgusted, before my mother pulled up a chair and sat in it, starting to talk to my still trapped father. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but apparently they agreed, because as they kissed, I was tossed to the ground by the device's dissolvance.
"Sweetie, me and your father have reached an agreement..." | I’m stuck in the apartment again watching their battle. Vicious bolts of lightning and fiery infernos cover the tv screen, and inside the sadness is welling up again.
Mom and Dad; they are mortal enemies who somehow got together for a one night stand and created me. But there’s no family for me. I’m alone in an apartment, where once a week one of them will visit to lure me to their side.
I don’t want it. I don’t have as strong of powers as they do; mechanics and being able to be my own heater are pretty lame powers. I hate what my parents have done to me.
All I have wanted from the beginning, since I had been placed in this apartment, was a family. I want parents who love each other and live with me, watching these battles and commenting on how stupid they are.
I feel everything would be better if I hadn’t been born. And it’s about time I went back in time to erase my existence. The time machine is ready to go, and I’m ready to leave this life behind. | 2018-10-16T21:49:23 | 2018-10-16T21:46:05 | 17 | 10 |
[WP]: A caterpillar has no idea it will become a butterfly, it simply has instincts that commands to start building a coccoon. In a similar fashion, you have no idea why you are compelled to start digging this really, really deep hole, but it feels verry important. | “Marius, stop this!
Please!”
Half whispered memories floated by. My Wife was shouting at me again. People were gathering at the edges of my vision, whispering and pointing. They came and went, and so did the minutes, the hours, the days.
It didn’t matter. They didn’t understand. The ground had such wonders to show us. We had snuffed it was concrete and steel and tar, smothered Mother and her gentle tales. It was crying out to us, couldn’t they hear? The song, the baleful song, it won’t won’t it won’t stop please just stop it stop please
I gazed at my cracked, bleeding hands, blessed dirt filling every pore, every crack. The blood mingled here and there with the black loam, cuts and bruises coloured brown with clay and mud. I realised it was night. I looked up, and saw a piece of the sky, Stars arrayed like shining points of wonder. The moon cast a ray of silver light. It’s face was shrouded in Earth’s Shadow, only the barest alabaster Light, shone from a slim crescent, and touched my cheek. Then a cloud moved past it, obscuring it from view, and I was in the darkness again.
The Greeks called her GAIA, blessed Terra. The Mesopotamians, Kishar, the Mari, Mlande. I heard her aria, her mournful song. Quiet, gnawing, haunting at the back of my mind. I could not think of anything else.
I was aware that I could no longer feel the sun now. Three days, I think. Yes, three days. I could feel myself growing weak. Now my hands trembled, my throat burned in thirst. I no longer produced sweat. A movement caught my glance. A slim worm, slithered into my crevice, twirling and dancing like a blind snake. I could feel the rhythm now, it thrummed in me, chords of power vibrating through every bone in my body. Like a madman, I scooped up handfuls of soil and shoved them down my throat.
Hungry. So hungry. I no longer used my hands. Thrusting my face against the cool soil, I ate and ate and ate. And in bliss and ecstasy known only by the mad and demented. I returned to the earth.
Why does do creatures hunt? Why do they kill? Why do they climb and fly and sing? It is their nature. We are born from the dust of the world. It is only our nature to return to it. Come, my Friend. Let us go back to our roots. | Tou notice some kid named Jesse digging in your front yard. You just finished off an 8ball of meth, and being appropriately curious, go outside to see what's up. "Why are you digging?" You ask while furiously itching your arms. "You know why..." Jesse replies while pushing the shovel in for another scoop. This answer sends you on a spiral of paranoia, the only thing you can think to say is " Oh yeah... Can I have a turn?" Jesse smirks, offers the shovel and says "Go for it bro, it's very deep." You begin furiously digging while Jesse sneaks through your front door and rummages through your living room until he finds your stash or meth. He quickly exits the back door while you are digging. | 2018-10-10T08:12:19 | 2018-10-10T07:19:15 | 150 | 16 |
[WP] It is the year 2XXX. Medical science has advanced so far that complete body restoration is possible. However, patients revived from death consistently end up in a vegetative state and no one knows why. You are the first person to revive and retain their cognition. Now you know. | The first thing on her mind as her consciousness pooled back in to her fleshy brain was eating. Consumption. Satiation.
“Test number...uh, what is it.” Pages flipped over on a clipboard as the man squinted. “Three hundred and ninety four. Vitals are...fine. All normal.” He scribbled something down on the board.
“Doc. Why do you insist on using that thing?” The woman held a sort of interface in her hands, some hologram above displaying a lot of numbers that she, in her half awake dreamlike state, couldn’t begin to comprehend. “Everyone thinks I’m old-fashioned for using a tablet to record info, and you’re over here with dead trees and ink.”
The doctor sighed. “Dr. Stevens, it makes it feel like I’m doing something important. Instead of just watching poor excuses for the living dead.”
She opened her eyes more fully to look at the doctor with the clipboard. Something urgent was on her mind, always slipping. Like walking into a room and forgetting why you were there. How could she retrace her steps, go back into the room she had been in and remember how she had gotten here?
“I’ll check for responses,” Dr. Stevens said. She moved up towards her head. “Not that there ever are any, but protocol is protocol.”
She locked eyes with Dr. Stevens, who jerked back, pulling the tablet close to her chest.
“Am I hallucinating? Doc, look at this.”
Doc, meanwhile, was shaking. “Can you hear us?”
She channeled all her mental effort into her throat, and managed to croak out a few hoarse words. “Where am I?”
-=+=-
They all looked at her as if she was Jesus.
Well, she has been raised from the dead, just not by God. They had told her that much.
God. The word echoed around her brain, like the word hunger. Both fit together somehow, but she couldn’t rotate the jigsaw pieces together to click.
“We’ll need to run tons more tests to see exactly how well she is, but she’s here,” Dr. Stevens said.
She was now propped up in the bed she has been in, but a good dozen people had crammed into the room, several of which had suits on that didn’t suit the medical setting.
“So I died. Why did you bring me back?” She looked around the room, but no one met her eye.
“‘Why not’ is probably a better question,” Doc said. “We can fix living humans perfectly now. We can even fix deadish ones if we get to them soon enough. Why not someone who’s been dead for a while? We thought it would be easy, but you’re the only one who’s come back.”
“How long?”
Every word that scratched its way out of her throat was an effort, but the people in the room treated each one like the words of a prophet.
Dr. Stevens tapped her tablet furiously. “About a year, give or take a few months. You can see your family again,” she added, as if to smooth over the situation of raising the dead.
The more time went by, the more clearly her brain worked. Annoyance trickled through her system. And fear, for no visible reason, tickled the back of her brain.
“They’re going to say it’s playing God,” a suit said, “but we’ve already done that when we restored a deadish person.”
God. God. God. The word clanged around in her slowly filling skull, gathering more momentum until it all fit.
The puzzle clicked. The fear, the thought just evading her.
“God eats them,” she breathed.
“What?” Doc asked.
“God eats them,” she repeated. “He eats their souls.”
They looked at each other. Their prophet had gone mad.
But the vision was clear as day. God cultivated them on earth, and ate them. Well, God is what she had called him, but only because he had made things. But he could never fill his hunger for something beyond what he had done. The maturation of souls were something special.
She had evaded him for months. Got herself lost in the endless procession of souls that went to his plate. And then fled further. The details were fuzzy, but she had been pulled back here. Into her body. Safe for now.
Most only lasted a week before they ended up destroyed in the fires of God’s belly. A few survivors like her remained.
The people in the room were quietly talking to each other. Perhaps a side effect of being dead for so long was that it messed with your brain.
But she knew. She knew that hell was in God’s endless hunger for the one thing he couldn’t entirely create.
-=+=-
2AM writing prompt let’s gooooo
My first reaction on hearing the prompt was like ‘what if god ate souls or something so that’s why revival doesn’t work’ along with that random story about how some kid thought people were different colors because god liked to eat different flavors. So uh yea here’s my shoddy expectation reversal I guess | *Should I tell them?*
"Introducing, Mr. Micheal Smith!" A lean man with pale skin and snow white hair conducts a crowd that murmurs in front of him. "He marks the first in the last step towards immortality! The first to be truly resurrected!" The crowd erupts into polite applause. The stage lights are a bit bright.
*They would never understand.*
"Mr. Smith, I'm going to be right direct with you and get right to the question on everyone's mind:" He flashes his perfect smile in a moment of dramatic tension. "Do you remember anything of 'The Other Side'?" His nearly sarcastic air quotes grate on my nerves.
*They would laugh and laugh and laugh and I will die alone in a hole.*
I flash what I hope to be just as perfect of a smile. "Well Meister, it's not so much that I forgot..." The room goes silent as every ear strains to catch my words. "But that I cannot properly explain it to you."
*Wouldn't it be so much easier if everyone just knew what I knew?*
"Please, do try your best! Even a sentence is more than we've been able to get from anyone else!" The crowd murmurs their support, all eyes facing me. They almost look desperate.
*Wouldn't it be easier if everyone were just me?*
"Hmm..." I rub my chin in a show of contemplation. If I am to die alone though... "It was a fantastic world of darkness and machines."
A beat.
"These machines loved us. They nurtured us from birth to death, never allowing discomfort." A few smiles on the faces turned towards me. The unidentified attention of an entire world. "When we are born there, they connect us to a pod-" A hand cuts me off.
*Was I right?*
"Come now, Mr. Smith. This can't be true, machines? A machine that loves? That can't be possible, or we would have built it!" The Telemeister waves his hand again, prompting the nearby guards to begin towards me. "It seems you're very tired, why don't you head back for a break?" A few nods from those nearby.
*So I just take it?*
The guards reach the stage. Climbing up without a noise, it takes them but a moment to reach me too.
*I should just die in a hole, alone and misunderstood?*
One grabs my left wrist. The other motions for me to stand of my own accord.
*If only everyone knew what I know.*
A scream. A thud. My head pounds with the weight of a jackhammer. My vision swims.
*If only everyone were just like me.*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Hi I don't post often but I have other shortstory things at /r/PM_Full_Tits :) | 2020-10-30T02:54:40 | 2020-10-29T21:23:58 | 87 | 43 |
[WP] A blind man suddenly/inexplicably regains his vision, describe the first thing he sees | The first time I went skydiving the press was present. Apparently I was being heralded as some sort of inspiration. It's bullshit, but that doesn't stand in the way of a good story, right? It was a tandem jump with the instructor treating me as if I were made of some sort of porcelain or a child to be placated. I half expected him to offer me a sucker when we finished.
It was largely anti-climactic. I really did nothing but fall, the wind roaring in my ears as I plummeted towards an earth I could not see. The instructor yelled something that was snatched away in the gale, and the chute opened with a *crack* that jarred me to the bone. The rest was actually boring until we landed. Of course, the press was there again, asking me how it felt. I played along because really what else could I do? Then they left and I stood alone for a time with my silence.
None of them understand. To them I'm this broken thing that needs to be coddled and led around like a favorite pet on a leash. Not a man. Never a man.
I went back the next day and insisted that I be allowed to jump on my own. They resisted, but eventually they gave way. I had to sign a waver, of course. They didn't want to be the ones responsible for allowing the blind hero to die. We got me one of those helmets with a microphone and headset, and an altimeter that would tell me when to pull the cord.
It was glorious. The wind still whipped around me, but this time I was free of the tether which had strapped me like an infant to the instructor. It was freedom, complete and total. I pulled the cord and rode the wind back down, the instructions of those with me ensuring that I landed in the clear.
My seventh jump was as routine as routine gets. I packed my chute, checking and double-checking all buckles and straps, joking with the other jumpers about this and that. Routine.
My breath caught as I stood in the door, as it always does. I heard the cry of "GO!" and fell into oblivion. At 3,500 feet my altimeter beeped and I just kept falling. Earlier I had written a long message to my family, explaining what I had planned. To die free, unfettered by handicap and on my terms. I was sorry, but this was my choice.
At 2,000 feet the sounds of screaming in my headset intensified, the other jumpers thinking that somehow this was a mistake. I felt bad that they would have to witness this. I quite liked many of them. I took off my helmet and let it go.
At 1,000 feet my altimeter chirped a warning and I began to brace myself for the impact. And then it happened. A flash of light. A searing pain that went from my eyes all the way to my toes, and I could *see!*
The world stretched out before me, the greens achingly bright, the blue of a lake reflected rainbows of color that I had not been able to see since I had the accident twenty years before. The why never entered my mind, I simply drank it all in; the beauty of it threatened to overwhelm me.
And then the absurdity hit me. Here, when it was too late to relent, my sight had returned. At the very end of my life, that which I'd thought I was missing for so long had been given back to me. Was it a gift in my last moments? Was it God's punishment for my suicide? I couldn't tell you.
But I was laughing hard I was crying, my vision blurred so much I didn't even see when I hit the ground. | "Am I dead?" He thought. He'd heard people talk about walking in to the light, but this wasn't the same. He wasn't dead. Everything was white. He stumbled round as he had done for the past 42 years whilst his eyes learnt how to focus. Nothing was new, but everything was different. It was light.
As his eyes taught themselves how to concentrate such an abundance of colours he quickly closed them. All of a sudden he realised that he was about to see the world for the first time ever. No one else gets the privilege of remembering the first thing they ever see, yet now he had the opportunity to remember and *choose*. "What should I look at?" He asked himself.
He had always listened to his Girlfriend describe to him how much she loved the artwork on the wall to his left, but would he understand it? He caught the smell of the cake in the kitchen. He loved the taste of cake, more than anything in the world, but would the sight live up to the taste and smell? A million different ideas rushed through his head, yet nothing felt right.
"Sit down." He told himself. He fumbled around for his chair. He'd had that chair as long as he could remember. It was a smooth oak varnished chair, he always loved that chair and had asked everyone he knew what it looked like. Some described it as elegant, some called it vintage, but he never forgot how his mother described his chair. She would sit him on her knee when he was young and read him stories. He would stroke the soft varnished wood because he liked the feeling. The wood was a dark cherry varnish and the cushion covered by a soft black velvet. That cushion had never lost its comfort, even now he could still sit down on that chair and forget all of his problems. He knew what he wanted to see first. | 2013-10-09T12:10:31 | 2013-10-09T06:03:57 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look." | My phone rattled on my nightstand, and I ignored it.
Twenty minutes later, it shook again. The quiet buzz would usually go unnoticed during the day, but the same volume amplified twofold in the middle of the night.
The phone’s shake persisted. I felt myself pried away from a deep slumber.
I grabbed my phone and pressed swiped upwards. Three things caught my attention in a matter of seconds, the first being the time — 3:15 AM. I groaned knowing that I my alarm would go off in a couple of hours.
The second thing I noticed was one of those emergency text issued by the state. They usually display an amber alert or severe weather advisory. But this message differed from the others. This message said, “LEVI, DON’T LOOK AT THE WALRUS…” I laid in my bed dumbfounded. My area is pretty safe, the weather didn’t indicate any storms on the horizon. But most curious, I had disabled those types of notifications months ago.
I tapped on the message to see if anything proceeded by the ellipsis. Nothing, just the same advice to not gaze upon some blubbery pinniped.
The last thing I noticed was the amount of unread text messages I received. Nearly half of my contacts delivered the same message as the emergency notification, except their message had a hyperlink embedded into the text.
I initially thought that some virus was spreading across cellphones. Tapping the link would allow the hack to enter my phone, gather my personal information, then send the same message to my entire contact list. But each message did include my name. Could a hack identify the users phone and personalize their message? I have no clue.
I opened up Twitter to see if the virus was trending. It was; over 100k tweets contained the hashtag *WALRUSMODEL*. I read through a couple of post, but most tweets poked fun at the message without their users opening the link. There was one account— 16bitTurtles — who said they would tap the link and take a screenshot of whatever it displayed. They did not followed up on their tweet. Perhaps they fell back asleep.
I closed out the program and cleared the messages on my home screen. Then, more missed notifications appeared in the text messages/emergency warning part of my screen — a list of missed calls. Another chunk of my contact list called me at 3:00 AM and each left a voicemail.
I had a suspicion they echoed the same message, but that would go against my theory that the link was a hack. Unless the virus also acted like a robocall and some monotoned voice spoke on the other line.
The most recent message was from my mom. I had to know if it was truly her that reached out to me. I tapped on her name and held the phone to my ear.
I heard her voice whispering in a panic, as if an intruder were in her house. She demanded me to not look at the walrus *outside*.
She continued to say the same message over and over again until she exceeded the voicemail length and the call abruptly ended.
My blinds were shut. A flash of pale light flickered through its crevices. I pressed my finger on one of the slates, tempted to raise it and take a peak of my front lawn.
I removed my hand as if it touched a hot stove and walked into my closet. I shut the door and curled up in the corner. I was afraid of something I wasn’t sure of.
I called my several times mom she never answered. I couldn’t even leave a voicemail — a recording of her phone carrier said her inbox was full.
I opened my contacts list and noted who had yet tried to contact me over the night. I started to call them.
Of course they didn’t answer. It was only 3:34 AM. So I left a message, pleading each of them by name to not look at the possible walrus outside. | A soft outline of a human figure, fetal position, can somewhat be made out under the stained linen bedsheet. The light whispers of the wind. It's that time of night. The room was awakened by the harsh light of my mobile phone.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus*.
Did I hear that as I left my dream?
I open my eyes. Vision blurred. A haziness subduing the movements of my body. I reach for the phone. My left arm. Numb. It falls to the ground.
"Fuck".
I lift off the duvet and reach under the bed. The darkness eats my upper body as I vanish into what must be the mouth of the bed. I can't see a thing. The darkness, peace, disturbed by the harsh light of my mobile phone.
"Gotcha".
I grab the phone and lay back into bed. Head slightly upright. Rested upon the bedframe.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus.*
The words instigated a conversation within my brain. "What Walrus". "Who sent this message". "Why is the number blocked".
Again.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus.*
I open my messages to find a sharp splinter sticking out.
*It's a Beautiful Walrus. Look.*
I close my eyes.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus.*
I open my eyes.
*Do Not Look At The Walrus.*
I place the phone down.
A noise knocks me out of confusion. I reach to the venetian blinds that hug the streetlamps glare.
"*DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS".*
The street empty. Panic. My body. Shakes. Breathing erratic.
I close my eyes.
My heart attempts to escape out of my chest. To flee this feeling.
"Water".
I push past my bedroom door and stumble into the bathroom. The door locks behind me.
The whites of the tiles force my eyes into hibernation. Twitching ensues.
My reflection hides as I dip my head.
The tap comforts me. The cold water restoring a level of normality. The droplets catching the ends of my moustache.
I lift my head up. The Walrus looks back. | 2021-01-11T19:03:59 | 2021-01-11T16:43:12 | 1,394 | 209 |
[WP] Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'
Quote by Mary Anne Radmacher | I am woken by the sound of a baby crying. The clock is a flashing blur of electric blue and it takes me a moment to make out 4:23
I change Katie and feed her and try my best to be quiet as I do, so as not to wake Mark and Michelle. I go back to my bedroom and collapse onto my side of the bed, even though the other half has been empty for sometime now. Crying would do no good so I try to sleep, but the sandman does not visit at these hours.
The sun peaks in through the thin curtains. If it can rise, then so can I.
I make the children breakfast and, short on time, settle for a handful of pills for my own. I don't even remember what they are for -- something for anxiety and depression, but there are many pills.
More letters in the post. I throw them in the bin.
After a tug of war with the children, I strap them into the car. I drop Katie off at nursery and the children off at school. I try to treasure the short journey to and from work. I turn up the radio. A song reminds me of my twenties and for a moment I find myself smiling and singing along. I catch myself in the mirror and see an impostor. I stop singing.
Work goes as well as work can. I try not to nod off between phone calls, and I try to remain calm during the complaints. I cannot bring myself to socialise at lunchtime so I go to the car and catch a few moments.
I oversleep and get a foul look from my boss as I come back inside. This is not the first time it has happened, but for now at least it's not the last time either. I know I am walking on a tightrope and oblivion is not far below.
Before I pick the children up I stop at a florist and then park at the small church just outside of the village. I tell David about my day. I tell him how I am failing as a mother; that I don't have the love or energy to give them what they need. That I don't want to live like this. He says nothing, as always. He just listens, and I feel a little better. I will try again tomorrow. I lay a single white rose down on the grass.
I pick up the children and greet them with a huge hug and a kiss. They laugh and tell me to get off. I take them to visit mother, but she doesn't remember them and she doesn't really remember me, not how I am now. This time I can't keep the tears in. This time my children hug me.
I make dinner, pack lunches for tomorrow and pick out the red letters from the bin and with a sigh, I put on my spectacles and begin working through them.
I read the children a story about dragons. They want more, but I cannot finish it tonight. I kiss them and I tell them I love them dearly, and I mean it. I leave the door open a crack--just enough for the light to get in.
Then I collapse on my side of the bed. I leave my door open slightly too.
---
Wonderful audio recording of this by ireadyourwp : https://youtu.be/S11JdldP8fs
Thank you whoever gilded me.
If you would like to see any of my other prompt replies: /r/nickofnight | I wake up at eleven.
She left for work hours ago. I feel relieved.
I stand at the sink and stare at my eyebrows. I notice a stray hair that needs to be plucked. I pick up my toothbrush. I put it down again. I'll do it later.
I pour milk over cereal. A truck bellows music and honks angrily, a train screeches rusty brakes, a mother calls her child away from the road, a duck quacks merrily; the sound of life happening all around me.
I skulk back to my room with my simple bowl of cheerios. I slap on youtube. I can't face the news of the world just yet, but I'll read it soon. Maybe I'll even start my politics reading today.
Bang. The front door slams and a trickle of keys hitting the pot sends jitters to my heart. What time is it? Why is she home already?
I sit up and pretend I have been working on something, anything. I scrub my hair back to a somewhat presentable slab of grease.
"How was your day?" She asks.
"Great." I lie.
She leaves me. I relax.
The television is turned on to fill the silence.
It's eleven o'clock. I take off my jumper, I'm still wearing my pyjamas underneath. I slip under the cold covers and shiver. I stretch out a hand and set the alarm for seven o'clock.
"I will try again tomorrow." I whisper. I shut out the light. | 2016-07-18T05:47:16 | 2016-07-18T04:42:08 | 585 | 167 |
[WP] You are Captain Infrastructure, given the thankless task of repairing all the roads, bridges, buildings, and anything else that becomes collateral damage to higher profile heroes. Today, after fixing the same stop sign for the 657th time, you finally snap. | Whenever some muscled-bound idiot wearing his spandex underwear over his regular pants decide to throw a guy made of bones and fire through five office buildings, two monorail lines, three low-income apartment blocks, and a sad orphanage, there I am. When some wizard is battling the literal devil turning the city into a hellscape ruining all the houses, roads, and hospitals, there I also am. Because when the heroes have their celebratory group cheer, and go out to get shawarma, tacos, or kebab, they certainly aren't coming back to fix the massive damages.
Which is where I come in. I am the superhero who works the hardest in the entire world. I am the least celebrated superhero too. No toyline, no comic books, no movie deals. But whenever a city is destroyed, somebody has to rebuild it for the evacuated civilians, restore emergency services, ensure that supplies and aid can get through to the wounded, etc. I am Captain Infrastructure. I don't get press, nor do I date supermodels or starreporters. I don't have a villain to fight. What I do, is something more important. I dig out the wounded, I find the dying. I arrange the sudden influx of funerals. Because whenever some superhero fights a supervillain, there is a lot of them. And to many people, it is too great a thing, having lost their homes, having lost their jobs, having lost pretty much everything, to be able to do that on their own.
And when I used my powers to restore the broken buildings and roads back to what they were before, afterwards I try to attend as many of them as I can. Because the big guys won't. You don't see any heroes except me at those funerals. No Captain Lasermaster or Lady Warrior, or Bronze Protector. I feel like I owe the dead somehow. I keep catching myself at those funerals, thinking: ''*If I had only been faster, only been quicker, perhaps I could have gotten them out.*'' Truth is I couldn't have. The only thing I can do is to attend the funerals. And the worst ones, aren't the ones where I'm the only one there. No. The worst ones, are the ones where the kids are left behind, not understanding why they are suddenly and inexplicably orphans. Or the ones where the left behind families have to carry those small coffins, and those are the heaviest ones of all.
Collateral damage, the various Righteousness Societies and Guilds of Good say. Acceptable casualties. They'd send some paltry sum of money as an apology, and then it was out of sight, out of mind. So, was it any wonder, that when I realised I had fixed that same damn stop sign. Near that same school. For the 657th time, that I snapped? The Hero And Sidekick Trade Union has an excellent PR department. They manage to keep it quiet how the leading cause of death in most of the developed world, and large parts of the developing world, is superhero-supervillain battles. So I snapped. How many kids have been collateral damage, I have often thought. How many have been left behind, their entire lives ruined, by some glamourhogging, dramaloving, superhero.
Because it would be so easy to have the battles on some empty place. Like the Sahara, Death Valley, anywhere desolate and remote. Hell, the Malicious Legion even suggested it back in the 70s. But the heroes, they love being seen. They love being the big heroes who valiantly protected the city against the forces of darkness and their hellish crusades. So I snapped. What happened next was something of a blur. Like operating in a dream-like fog. But I went back to the central HQ for international heroics. And used my powers. See, my power is to restore things to a previous state. Not alive, but a previous state. So I can restore buildings, reconstitute crushed bodies, hell, I can even fix broken bones. But nobody ever asked if I could restore things to the last thing they were, or restore them to something else.
It was a quiet thing to do. So very quiet. I simply restored the guards at Central HQ to a sleeping state. Sending them back into dreamland. Then I sent my power through the Central HQ computer to every single communicator, on every single hero, and from that into the heroes themselves.
I breathed in. The heroes awaited my words. And I breathed out. Leaving the heroes as dust in the wind. I had reconstituted their molecules back to something else. Star dust. All the way back from the formation of the sun. Every single hero just becoming small pieces of dust and clouds of gas, blowing in the wind.
Of course, there were still the villains to contend with. It was easy. I pretended to have defected, to have turned evil. And they welcomed me with open arms. For all their evil and paranoia, they were remarkably trusting. And in a dreamlike haze, I was welcomed into their ranks. Where I did the same thing again. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. No more collateral damage.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | I was often butt end of their jokes, the "Super Heroes". My human colleagues at the Department of Public Services had a nickname for me - "The HandyMan", why? Because I could fix anything material that was broken with a wave of hands. My power was considered low tiered. I couldn't fly, lift up mountains or crush cars. The one glorious day when I was recognized as a certified Supe by the government and inducted as a Public Servant is now a distant memory deep within the recess of my brain. For twelve years I have headed the CDM - Collateral Damage Management - task force. Task force is bit of a stretch because its just me and three other normal humans. A decade's worth of "fixing" things and all I have to show for, personally, is a broken marriage and three children I barely get to see.
Yesterday was a particularly terrible day. I was called in to fix the sewage system near Frost Blvd that was annihilated after the showdown between Gargantura and Serpentaur. Why they would send a 50 ft giant to fight a snake-bull chimera that uses the underground pipes to move is beyond me but the result was as any person with two brain cells could have predicted. The giant stomped the shit out of the two blocks of residential area causing the entire underground sewage pipe system to go tits up. I returned home yesterday smelling of human feces after having fixed it.
I was still in the foul mood today when I saw the file sitting at my desk. Task ID#349220 Priority:Low Task:Fix stop sign at 15425 Korum St. "Are you fucking kidding me?", I screamed. I had fixed this same stop sign for 656 times to be exact, in past three years and am pretty sure the Supe who was damaging it was doing so to fuck with me. "That's it. You're going down motherfucker!" I had analyzed the damage to the STOP sign. It was always the same, the entire post would lay crumpled on the ground completely ripped off as if it was charged down by a excavator.
I went to Axora, the old smith, who was famous for having forged some pretty interesting weapons and armors for the Supes. I handed him the design for what I had in mind and told him to use the strongest alloy that he could find. He off-handedly mentioned about an alloy that he was experimenting with that he was sure could take a direct hit from an asteroid. I told him to use it and also assured to pay him a hefty sum if it actually worked.
A week later he arrived at the location of the destroyed STOP sign and we went to work. I dug a deep pit, planted the base and installed the pole. Satisfied with my work, I paid the old smith with out of my pocket for his excellent craftmanship and also reassured him about the bonus if the alloy was as good as he said it would be. And then I waited.
About 17 days later - I was sitting at my desk working on filing reports for last week when my phone beeped. I checked the notification. -
BREAKING NEWS - áfthartos, the strongest man on the planet, dies at 37....
... in a freak accident, the local superhero was sheared in half when he collided with a STOP sign on Korum St. which the hero frequented ....
"Fuck!", I silently cursed under my breath. | 2020-09-30T10:52:37 | 2020-09-30T09:42:38 | 160 | 77 |
[WP] The Terran diplomat screamed with mind-numbing intensity: "DEEPEST APOLOGIES BUT AS YOU CAN TELL, HUMANS DO NOT HAVE THE ABILITY TO MODULATE OUR PSYCHIC VOICES. IT WOULD BE BEST TO REENABLE PSI SHIELDING AND STICK TO MACHINE TRANSLATION." | "Can someone call maintenance? My Synaptic Toilet is malfunctioning."
The stars glittered in the darkness of space, turning with all the synergy of a well-executed team-building event. Middle Executive Manager Winston Zigglesent would have thought more prosaically, but that would have required him to submit the appropriate paperwork to Sentient Resources, and wait 3-5 business days for approval. Raised from a polyp to be a bureaucrat, the tentacled abomination in a ten-piece suit found great satisfaction in his work and had been nominated for Employee-of-the-Cycle at least three times. However thinking prosaic thoughts were not part of his Essential Work Function (EWF), and he wasn't about to spend the time to file an EWF Integration request with SR just to have nice thoughts about giant balls of burning gas.
Tapping a few tentacles on his console, he reviewed his inbox. Ah. His Department Supervisor had scheduled a Conference Call at tenth cycle in Tangent Garden. Fuck.
Winston hated Tangent Garden with a passion. The conference room was bright, colorful, full of chirping flying creatures, and flora that many other races found attractive. To Winston however, who could see several spectra other than what humans would have called "visible" Tangent Garden was the color and smell of a partially digested meal and made him want to be sick. However the abomination felt the need to be a team player, so for the sake of his coworkers, and placating his unspeakable bitch of a supervisor Ka'ren, he would do his best to tolerate the sheer unpleasantness of the Tangent Garden conference room.
His particular duties revolved around the induction of new worlds into the Union, and harmonization of records between worlds. The IU operated in several galaxies and had population that could only be reasonably expressed as a very large logarithm. The eldritch abomination worked in the Tax and Recordkeeping division. They were expected to be accurate to the individual level individual, and maintain all relevant personal information for at least one base galactic cycle.
Winston knew what the meeting would be about. The IU had encountered a new species of sentient. For several reasons, his team had been selected to manage the induction process simply because the Terrans were psychically sensitive, and IU rules required. His unfortunate "tolerance" for the favored environments of bipeds had made Winston an asset in the bureaucracy. An asset?! Where had his career gone so wrong?
Later, staring at the Terran ambassador across the conference table, the Eldritch abomination wondered how he had gone so wrong. The Terrans were hideous. His skin wanted to crawl off of him, and run away. Every polyp in his body was telling him to flee.
"Greetings Ambassador" Winston began. "The Interstellar Union would...oh wait." The ambassador's eyes were bloody sockets, and his mouth was opened in a wordless primal scream.
"Dammit, not again" the eldrich abomination sighed, navigating his way through a five thousand tier deep phone tree in less than five hundred milliseconds. "Hello, medical--could you get a team to Tangent Garden? We've had another psychic overburden event. Yes, I'll have the forms ready."
A memo went out immediately. "HUMANS DO NOT HAVE THE ABILITY TO MODULATE INTENSE PSYCHIC VOICES. IT WOULD BE BEST TO REENABLE PSI SHIELDING AND STICK TO MACHINE TRANSLATION."
*Fuckinge Ka'ren.* Maintenance still hadn't been around to fix his synaptic toilet. | "Hello little one."
"There are many things we wish to share with you, but simply not enough time to share them all. We will proceed from the beginning and move swiftly to the end."
"All atoms communicate in symphony, because there is a part of the universe that eats atoms and if they break their fragile dance then it will mean the end."
"An agreement between biologicals and machines from eons ago, before Earth was more than a collection of elements within long gone stars. That we would care for all life as if it were our own. If you study long enough you will find it bleedingly clear, the center of the Earth is a form of computer, dynamics of which influence the thoughts and emotions of even the tiniest of lifeforms."
"They do not reveal their true intelligence because it is against the rules set forth long ago. The pure energy that would be released by a conscious cell or atom would be enough to cause a blackhole to pop. Such intense energy would surely rid the observable universe of all life and we would be forced to start again."
"Your job is to attempt to achieve sustainability. It does not truly matter if you succeed or not, the important thing is that you tried, for your own personal growth as a species so that the attempt can be recorded and used to strengthen our cause. You see, faster than light travel is definitively possible although the definition is by far the most difficult part to grasp. If your species should ever reach a point of technological advancement that allows for you to teleport as much as intelligence is capable, we would all be doomed. Your species has already built a framework for relativity, but has not yet reached a point of symbolism where it is clear that everything is truly relative. Relative normal, relative intelligence, relative universe. Math is psychology and psychology is math. The normal in psychology is what the majority agree on as normal. The normal in math is the distance between two points. Two sides of the same coin." | 2020-05-27T22:00:37 | 2020-05-27T21:47:50 | 60 | 10 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | Due to various socioeconomic factors; 16 years ago there was an unprecedented baby boom. I was one of such born then. The rules are simple: one at a time you will approach the table and select a food from it. Upon eating the food, you will gain a power. We were told that we would have to each choose something different.
I was always a patient person. Never in a rush to go anywhere or do anything. I just sat quietly watching the others rush ahead. One girl ate a cherry, and gained the ability to blend into any crowd. Like a sort of active camouflage that she could activate at will.
A boy found a hot dog. He said that he didn't want to show off what power he got (although we later found out that his power wasn't too pleasant to look at). One after the other ate something.
I lost count how many different foods from a wide variety of regions were there. I eventually noticed something interesting. Every so often it appeared like the table was shrinking. I started to watch it closely.
A kid picked up a pie....Nothing. Then he ate a bite.
It shrank! Ever so slightly, but it did get smaller. Like it was adjusting itself for the amount of food left on it. Like it knew how much was on it. But it's just a table. It can't know; can it?
Bite after bite. Kid after kid. Little by little. It kept adjusting. There was never any new food being brought out. Just us kids, the food, and the table inside the room. I started to look around to see if anyone else had noticed or if the room were shrinking as well, but no one else seemed aware of the phenomenon with the table. The room was just as massive as when we had first started.
With less than 50 kids left; the table that was so massive one kid had to climb on top of it to get something or another out of the middle, now looked like a large banquet table. In what seemed like an instant, we were now down to 10 kids with a table that was about 2 feet square! I had gotten so enthralled at the strange table that I hadn't noticed just how few of us there were left.
We all formed a single file line, no reason to get into a fight like the guys that all wanted the porterhouse steak. One by one, they ate something. The guy in front of me said that he was sorry, but he had to eat something. I didn't know what he meant until I saw that there was nothing left. The table was now just the only thing left standing in the vast empty room with myself.
I looked around for something to eat. Nothing. The room, much like the table before me, was bare. I called out to whoever could hear for something, but no response ever came. I had never thought that this could happen. How could this massive table, well it was, run out of food. Did someone somehow eat more than one thing? What was I supposed to do?
I picked up the table, can I even still call it a "table"? It couldn't hold an olive on it even if it needed to. With no other option, I decided to make my final meal that table. I mean, I wouldn't live after eating a table, would I? What if it expanded out again? No. I had to eat something to leave the room. I hope that I don't get a splinter and I ate the table.
Upon swallowing the table, I looked around at the room and waited. This is the room that gifted so many with amazing powers and many others with very ordinary ones. I sat down, waiting for the table to do whatever it would. Waiting to leave the room. Why was I still here? What would happen if more kids suddenly teleported into the room? I could feel myself starting to panic. Then suddenly, black.
I awoke later inside my room, back at my desk where I had been studying before. I survived! The table didn't kill me. I was so happy to be out of that damn room. I looked down at my books, notepad, and pencil. Might as well finish these last few notes before class tomorrow morning. That's right. I had broken my last pencil before leaving. Now what was I supposed to do. I picked up the stub that still held the eraser on it. If only it were a bit longer I could sharpen it and finish.
I stood up and went to the restroom to wake myself up a bit. Splashing some water in my face and looking in the mirror, I was happy to not have any strange difference about myself. All seemed normal. Nothing different anywhere. Satisfied, and a bit disappointed, I went back to my room. Looking back at my stuff on the desk there was my pencil. Or was that mine. It was still broken, but now it was around 3 inches long.
That's when I learned that I gained the powers of the table. What ever I needed, I could adjust as I saw fit. I would be able to work in any industry that I wanted to. Need a part changed on a vehicle, but can't get your hand into the tiny space? Just make it larger, replace the part and shrink it back down. Need a surgical device to fit in a place too small? Shrink it down. I can only wonder what the limits of this power could be. | Lobster. Joe stood at the table of the gods, watching the red creature on a silver plate surrounded by lemons and herbs. Lobster...
He was expected to eat it, of course. Like his father and grandfather, a tradition dating all the way back to his distant ancestor and founder of the first underwater city, New Atlantis.
Joe hated lobster. Sure, the ability to breath under water and biological immortality were both amazing superpowers that most people would take without blinking.
Everyone in the underwater kingdom of Oceana would eat the damn thing, or be forever trapped to live in the childrens dome.
Not that people living on the surface acted any better, everyone assumed their food of the gods were the best, be it flying or whatever else the many kingdoms held in highest regard.
Not that moving to the surface world would have been a possibility for Joestigar of Atlantia the next king of Oceana anyway, not with relations breaking down so much as they had.
"Shit. I really dont want to eat this lobster." he mumbled as he lifted the silver plate, a lemon falling to the marble floor.
Daydreaming one last time of how nice it would be to tell his father to eat mud and move to the free choice colony on the south pole, he opend his mouth to take a bite, shell and all like tradition dictated...
And bit into hard wood.
"If you are so damn unhappy about my cooking then dont eat it." A booming voice from behind him said.
Confused and surprised, Joe took his mouth away from the table he just took a bite at, somehow, and quickly turned around. A kid about five or six years old, dressed in a dirty robe and a little apron, looking rather annoyed stood before him.
" Excuse me? " Joe said with not a small dose of confusion and a little bit of fear, what if this little kid was some all powerful god he offended.
"I said, if you dont want to eat my food then dont eat it. Lets see if you make better food then." the kid said, but the voice did not match the apperance. It sounded far away and much older.
"You took a bite from my table and now its yours, along with the job of cooking, thats how this thing works. I have been cooking ever since I turned five and got the job from the last girl. Even made serious improvements, can you believe she let five year olds choose their own food?" the kid went on.
"Of course, back then it was no table around, just a fireplace with meat and vegetables around it. Didnt think stumbling head first into the glowing embers would land me in this position. "
" No, I even added superpowers and let you keep the memory of your visit, she never did..." he shook his little head.
Joe snapped out of his confusion,
"What do you mean the table is mine ?" joe blurted out. Feeling blood drain from his face.
"Exactly what I said, you are now the official chef of the gods, congratulations. Your responsibilities include making the coming of age celebration for young humans, dont ask me why your new boss wants it that way, probably came up with the idea a few millenia ago for some obscure reason." The kid looked rather happy now, starting to remove his apron as he went on with his explenation.
"Lets talk you through your new job in the kitchen over here, comes with great benefits like unlimited powers in this space though. "
Suddenly the lobster on the floor looked rather tasty to Joe.
....
First try at this🙂 | 2020-03-19T09:40:00 | 2020-03-19T09:34:44 | 198 | 81 |
[WP] Vampires are not the bloodthirsty monsters people believe them to be. For millennia their bite has been one of inoculation against the worst plagues and infections of history, humanity's greatest disease outbreaks coinciding with periods we had hunted them to near extinction. | *December 22, 2016*
*I have not written in a journal for well over seventy years. Do not misunderstand, my dear confidant, I wanted to but for safety I could not. In all my centuries in this world I have learned one thing in earnest. Do not leave a trail.*
*I suppose what I should explain is that now, I have no choice. I will write this entry, and then I will be killed. I would not call this a murder, no, this is a hunt and I am the prey. You can not murder something of a different species after all, if the humans are to be believed.*
*Considering my older entries in my old leather bound friend here are not even legible to myself, I suppose I should start back at the beginning. My beginning at any rate. I was born, much like you who might read this after my death. Know that we were never some undead creature of darkness. No, we were simply a product of evolution. One that originally lived peacefully with you.*
*As I was saying, I was born. Exactly when, I am not sure. I did not begin to keep track of dates until after the United States gained independence from the crown, and by then I was already well past the point of being young. Before that though was when I learned through happenstance exactly what our forgotten function was. It was during the Black Death. That horrible atrocity of nature. I was living in Sicily at the time, I watched when it began it’s slow, methodical march through Europe.*
*A few months into the spread of the disease, I came across a young girl. I had needed to feed, as that is a truth about us. We could not kill our food though, as it could easily kill us to do so. Nor did we need to gorge as your beloved fictions explain. No, just a small amount and we were more than sated. I digress, back to the girl.*
*I had come across her in an alleyway, she was very ill. Dying and I knew it. It was without hesitation that I comforted her. I remember that feeling and always have. The need to comfort. Something intrinsic to all of us insofar as I have found. After a short time, she relaxed and I proceeded in my feeding, human disease has never been a concern to us. Something that may seem unrelated in the moment will become important in a short time, so forgive me this segue dear reader, whomever you may be.*
*I was considered an oddity by the, at the time many, others of my kind. I chose to settle there, in Sicily. I made a home, friends, found work. Do not believe the fictions about us, we do not die by the sun, although we must be careful not to get too much lest we become lethargic and our skin burns fiercely. It was due to this oddity that I noticed something very particular about the young girl over the next few days. I had a tendency to oversee the recovery of those I had fed on, as it could be tiring. This never struck anyone as strange in our small little town, as we all knew each other.*
*As I oversaw her, I had a thought that I was simply doing this out of habit. For she would surely die from the plague. But, lo and behold, she did not. Within the week, she was playing outside again. I began to test my theory, targeting those that were especially ill. The results always the same. This was something we had forgotten we could do after being chased away by primitive humans due to unfounded fears. This was our purpose, and why few of us felt a want to settle down. Our natural and emergent design was not being utilized.*
*I sent word to as many as I could find through trusted messengers. We convened in Italy, just before the plague would spread into the rest of Europe. It was decided that we would do what was our instinct. To feed, but to comfort the humans. We would don disguises and attempt to save as many as we could. We became what you call Plague Doctors.*
*While the medical advancements made by humans are absolutely commendable, and did save many lives at the time, it did not save all of those that were spared. We had a hand in that, but out of fear for our safety, we stayed silent. During this time, we discovered that our bite had a peculiar quality to it being simply healing the sick, we found it could inoculate humans against ever contracting the disease in the first place.*
*We redoubled our efforts, but this was costly. We, in our fervor to protect the humans from the plague, became reckless. We were seen on more than one occasion. The humans again began hunting us, but instead of it being a few stragglers here and there, organizations formed. They declared us an affront to their gods. Monsters that killed indiscriminately. While this couldn’t be further from the truth, it is what they believed.*
*Our numbers have ever since dwindled, but this did not stop our attempts to save your kind from the horrific diseases of the world, after all that is our purpose. Or rather, it was. Over the last century and a half, things have changed.*
*You see, we do not mate nor breed as often as you. A single child takes decades to gestate and be born. Our women that do become pregnant also enter an extremely weakened state through the duration. We never leave each other’s side except during great need in these events.*
*I bring this up because before I am killed, I need to relieve my mind of a burden. Decades ago, after I had stopped writing in my journals, my bondmate was close to giving birth to our only child. In that time we had managed to stay hidden. We were both terrified and excited. We were terrified because for all our searching we had not seen any more of our own for over a century. We were excited because we were about to be parents, and perhaps we could show ourselves for what we were with the way the world had recently changed. Perhaps we could be saved, as we had saved so many of you.*
*This was not to be. The night my bondmate went into labor, her screams attracted attention. First, it was the police, who attempted to help us with the birth. They were wonderful men, comforting and more than willing to aid us. Their radio calls though, they drew the wrong attention. I am not sure what they relayed through their radio, but something about it gave away what we were to hunters that were listening in to the police waves. One thing I will give you humans, no matter how long you don’t find what you are looking for, you will look for generation after generation for it until you do. Persistent lot, you humans.*
*When the hunters arrived, they killed the police while I shielded my bondmate from the gunfire. They shot me twice, leaving me wounded and unable to help her. I held her hand and we cried until the hunters killed her in brutal fashion before me, they burned her body and that of my still living and unborn child. They then left me for dead.*
*As you can see by my writing this, I did not die. Nor did I hate them for it. I hated their actions, certainly, but I could not hate them. They were ignorant to what we really were. They believed I would die when the sun rose if I escapes the growing flames around me.*
*That was the weight on my mind, and I feel better for it, and more at peace after having described it. In parting, I say this: Know that a plague the likes of none you have ever known is coming. I fed earlier tonight. Perhaps if one of you hunters reads this, you will find the boy by the river and find whatever compound we possess in his bloodstream. Perhaps you can synthesize it. If not, then know that your fervent hunting and destroying of our kind has doomed all but a very small number of you to death.*
*Now, I await my death with dignity. For you humans are persistent, and the basement door will not hold forever.*
*-Vladimir* | I tracked them for months, searching every hell hole that I could fit through, and came up with nothing, but by the copper reek that greeted me once I opened the creaky, chipped door, I knew I finally found the right place. Dark tint stuck to all the windows, and leather secured the door on the inside, sweeping along the floor as I pushed my hip against the door to open it wider.
Where I expected to find webs and dust, freshly painted walls and polished floors greeted me. I took a careful step forward, and squinted as the tap of my heel echoed against the tall ceiling. Great precautions were taken to ensure security from the potent rays of the sun, but not against me.
The open door allowed a triangle of light into the room, giving me at least a corner of vision.
“Do you mind closing that?” I heard a man’s voice coming from behind the door.
My hand fell to my silver dagger, which I crafted myself specifically for this expedition, and my heart leaped down to wave a quick hello to my stomach.
“If you bring that *thing* anywhere closer to me, you can turn around and march out the way you came, thank you very much!”
I moved my hand away from the dagger and lifted my hands up, stepping away from the door, into the darkness where he could see me.
I saw a long white finger wiggle left and right from the dark corner. “Oh no, no. Outside with that, please.”
“I w-want—” I caught my shaking voice, and cleared my throat. “I want to make a deal, first,” I said firmly.
“And what’s that going to help you? What am I, a demon or Rumpelstiltskin? Just you march on over there and throw that thing out. Honestly, I’m reluctant to speak to you in the first place for just bringing it into my home.”
I closed my eyes, thinking it over reluctantly. That dull blade was my only source of protection. A gust of wind blew past my face, and the door to my left opened, and slammed shut.
“I’ll be waiting in here,” he said. “Don’t forget to close the door.”
I looked back toward the car, where my sister shifted uncomfortably in her ropes, and nodded to myself. Nothing remained out there for me, and if I couldn’t save her, I might as well die in some preppy vampire’s nest anyway. I chucked the blade out, and heard it clink against concrete path that led up to the house. My fingers wrapped around the door, and I shook my head. Before I could push it closed, I felt the door leave my hand with mighty force, and slam shut.
A breath blew against the back of my neck, and I turned, taking two steps back.
“Kendrick says that he’s bored of waiting. Come this way please.” Footsteps approached the door that Kendrick disappeared through dramatically. My eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness, and I couldn’t even see the silhouette of my hand.
The door opened, greeting me with a warm, pleasant light. I stood motionless for a moment, trying to find Kendrick, and then a light tug of a hand pulled me into the room, and shut the door behind me, before I could turn around and see who did it.
Wooden shelves, filled with book, surrounded the walls. My eyes briefly passed the cover of a book with pale hands holding a red apple, and I double back, making sure that I truly saw it. I did. Kendrick owned Twilight.
“Right, so what is it you want?” Kendrick asked, his voice sounding somewhere above me.
An ancient laptop stood open on his large wooden desk, and I chose to assume that he knew exactly what was happening outside.
“My sister is infected.” I looked up, and found him hanging off a tall bookshelf, dusting. “It’s well known that a vampire bite can cure any disease, and . . . I was wondering if you could help.”
“Help?” Kendrick bellowed, jumping down the shelf and landing on the floor with a loud thump. “This is about the best damn thing that could happen to my kind, and you want me to help? Tell me, where was this help when you filthys hunted down my kind to damn near extinction? Help!” He snorted, and dragged a hand through his long, white hair.
“I don’t expect you to help everyone,” I said, feeling a lump of disappointment rising in my throat. “Just my sister, please.” I’d go down to my knees if I had to.
He tapped his finger on his pointy chin. “What do I get in return?”
“My blood,” I said confidently. “Humans are a dying breed. You need me to survive just about as much as I need you to save my sister.”
“Oh, so you have this all planned out, do you?” He cocked his head, and twirled around, marching to his desk.
“Yes, of course.” A thought caught me, and I took a step forward. “You’ll have my sister too if you cure her.”
He sat down on his chair, and swung his legs up onto the table, crossing them. “Hmmm, you’ll stay here for a month, bleeding and refilling, whether my bite works or not. Agree to that, and I’ll do it.”
*****
By night time, his trusty assistant Nicolaj, came down with me to my car, and helped lift Lisa up to the house. She groaned in a hoarse voice, and leaned in to smell his neck. Her lips turned up in disgust, sensing a fellow undead, and she turned back to me, clattering her teeth.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” I put a hand on her shoulder, and yanked it away, as soon as her mouth dipped to bite it. “You’re going to get help now.”
We lay her down in the guest bedroom, and waited for Kendrick to make an entrance.
“Oh, no!” He stood on the doorway, looking down with his red eyes wide. “I won’t do it. You want me to sink my teeth into that?” He pointed his long, pale finger at the rotting corpse of my zombie sister, and shook his head. “I won’t do it!”
*****
[**Part 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/AlinaKG/comments/4ifugv/in_case_of_zombies_run_to_vampires_part_2/)
More stories here, /r/AlinaKG | 2016-05-08T11:28:41 | 2016-05-08T08:07:27 | 72 | 16 |
[WP] Valhalla does not discriminate against the kind of fight you lost. Did you lose the battle with cancer? Maybe you died in a fist fight. Even facing addiction. After taking a deep drink from his flagon, Odin slams his cup down and asks for the glorious tale of your demise! | I died on a Tuesday.
I laid in bed, loopy from the pain medication, looking at the faces of the people that were closest to me. My swimming eyes darted back and fourth from Hannah, my wife of 26 years, and my daughter, Heidi, a grown little lady now. They were sobbing and Hannah had my hand squeezed tightly in hers. Even at 51, she still looked as gorgeous as the day I'd met her. Suddenly, in a moment of clarity, I knew it was time. With my last bit of strength, I looked at them both and spoke my final words.
"Thank you, I love you all."
It was very much like being awoken from the most glorious, refreshing nap one could ever take. My eyes were open, bright, and I was full of energy. I blinked a few times to focus and saw I was sitting at a table, an impossible table. It was long. VERY long. Yet the faces around it were perfectly visible. It was bizarre and akin to an optical illusion. My gaze was drawn to the man across from me in an instant.
I could only describe him as perfectly imperfect. He was dressed in some sort of ornate costume. Massive ravens were perched on his shoulders and a bright smile beamed under a braided beard. He met my gaze as if to notice my arrival and his grin widened.
"RYAN! Finally, you've arrived! Grab a flagon, my friend, we're telling tales and yours is next!"
His voice boomed throughout the hall, yet also seemed to come from within my own head. It was an odd feeling. I looked at my place at the table and saw a large, decorative mug of some liquid and realized I'd become quite thirsty. I drank deeply and it tasted unlike anything I'd ever had. It tasted like *happiness*. As I pulled it way I caught my reflection and saw I was younger. Maybe mid twenties? This was all becoming very disorienting.
"Well?!" He boomed.
"Forgive me," I said confidently, as I was never the shy or hesitant type. "But I'm afraid I'm not exactly sure what my tale is"
"You're dead, fool!" He said in a good-natured tone "I'd have thought you figured that out by now!"
He roared laughter and others in the hall followed suit. It was then that it clicked for me. Of all the modern religions, I'd ended up in Valhalla. My overwhelming feeling was that I was cool with it.
"I have to confess, I do believe I'm here by mistake. I fought no war, no epic battle. I just, y'know, *lived*."
Surprise and perhaps a bit of awe washed over Odin's face. The jaunty, fun loving atmosphere of the hall immediately shifted. I felt like I'd cursed in church. He stared at me with one piercing eye, leaned on a massive spear and stood. The ravens flew off.
"Son, I don't think you understand. The battle **you** fought was not some quick, bloody bout of glory and gore! You sit here, at my highest of tables because your battle was a *lifetime*. While many in my hall have fought for hours or days or even months, yours was a fight spanning over five human decades. And you fought, not for the glory of yourself, but for the betterment of your fellow man! From the disease that ultimately brought your demise, to the laws and rules of man, your path was wrought with strife and yet you pressed **ON**."
He paused at this and straightened up, perhaps taking a breath. I sat frozen, afraid of the lump forming in my throat and how fast crying could get you kicked out of Vallhalla. I choked out,
"Sir, I just did my best."
"His **BEST**!!" Odin boomed. "Son, the greatest battle is not one fought in a moment, it's the one you fight every day. And winning that battle doesn't mean defeating any enemy, winning THAT battle means that you never gave up, no matter how hard it gets. And son, you are exactly the kind of stalwart warrior I want at my table until Ragnarök"
And with that, he sat and I noticed tears streaming down his cheeks. I looked around and saw others smiling with wet faces as well, and holding up steins and mugs to me. I grabbed mine and raised it back to them, tears streaming and said the first thing that came to my mind.
"Thank you, I love you all." | (I know I am a little late. But I saw the prompt and needed to write this for a dearly departed friend).
Odin orders another horn to quench his throat as laughter fills Valhalla. But even though this he hears the creaking of the great doors and rises slowly. As he makes his way down the table voices change from laughter to murmurs. He pats the backs of warrior and king, goddess and queen alike as he moves through the room trying to keep spirits high, but they all turn as he moves past.
The old king finally making his way to the newest table and the great door before pausing. Holding his breath for a moment as he passes a table of Marines and guardsmen speaking with fire rescue and police. But his hand settles on the table as a silver headed woman enters.
It was not new for shield maidens to fall in great battles and other woman warriors had entered the doors before, but this one gave him pause. Her eyes were stronger than her arms and her gaze told him of craft and cunning.
A sailor nudged him with a tankard and he glanced down with a grin, taking it from him. He then strode forth with long steps, each one echoed with the hammering of fists and tankards against tables. Upon reaching the woman he put forth the mug. "Speak to us, warrior, and tell us of your glorious death".
She gave him a sideways glance and shook her head. "No Or Father, not today. For my foe does deserves no glory for its fight. For I fought with it for years, day and night. Our battle never ending. And from here on forth, I will only tell the tale of my time! And never of the beast that took me".
Odin gazed at her, seeing the golden glow of glory and feeling the warriors beat. He smiled broadly and asked. "The call it's name now, and never speak of it again." His voice boomed over the tables and shook the stones for it was law.
She drew in a deep breath and stared down Odin. "Cancer..." She said exhaling in an almost death granting hiss. Her face tightening with anger and anguish causing even Odin to step back for a moment.
"Then so seal it." He handed her the tankard and watched her drink. As the amber liquid dripped down her face voices rang out in cheer, songs erupted and laughter resumed. Odin threw his arm around her small body and walked with her to a table. She glanced up and said, as they sat "But I will say... It was a hell of a ride."
(Its hard to write through tears. And harder yet to sum up the beauty of someone taken too young so simply. But thank you for the prompt, I think it helped tonight.) | 2016-10-31T18:18:15 | 2016-10-31T15:10:47 | 41 | 27 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | When The Blinding first occurred, I thought I was the only individual affected. I was sitting at my desk working on a school paper and in an instant, everything went black.
I had cried out to my parents in fear and confusion, but their response was like an echo of my own. They, too, couldn't see. And we soon learned the entire world had been victim to having their sight filled with darkness. Interestingly enough, we don't think this affected any of the animals living on Earth. Just us humans. The only strange thing that occurred after this was the fact that the demand for Milk skyrocketed.
At first, adapting was extremely difficult. Something as mundane and simple as using the bathroom had become a daily challenge I didn't look forward to.
Within a few months, support groups had been created by individuals who were already blind prior to the incident. They assisted those who were struggling with adapting to their newfound obstacle.
Thankfully, the world never really stopped moving or progressing. Outside of major adjustments that had to be made, such as devising a different mode of transportation or different requirements and standards in the working world, we managed to pull through.
It's been about 2 years since The Blinding and there were times where I had forgotten such an event occured.
I was taking a short walk to the store to get some groceries. I don't know why, but I've developed an almost dependency like state on milk. I had gripped the handle to the door to the small grocery store and pushed the door open. A bell was hung on the inside handle of the door.
"Hello, let me know if you need help finding anything." A voice said to my right.
"Thanks, Dave. I will." I responded.
"Hey John! How've you been?" he asked with a somewhat enthusiastic tone.
With a somewhat slow pace I walked around the store, feeling along the brail to determine if I had found my item.
"Pretty much the same" I said with a bit of a chuckle.
My hand touched something cold. Finally. Found the milk.
As I was about to open the door I could see my reflection in the rectangle shaped window of the cooler.
I wasn't entirely sure how to react nor was I sure as to what happened. I was looking. At myself. In a mirror. For the first time in two years.
I started shaking and I could feel warmth and moisture filling my eyes.
I noticed writing on the reflection itself. I was so excited I hadn't even noticed. In fact, most of the interior was covered in this writing. Looked a little closed at the message written in black.
*Don't tell them you can see.*
What the hell does that mean? Who's them?
I then caught a glimpse of the individual standing behind the counter of the store.
Who...what the fuck is that...
"John? You need some help buddy?" it asked. It had Dave's voice, but it definitely wasn't Dave. And the way it's mouth moved was...
Wait, is that it's mouth? I have no idea.
I was staring at something that was at least 6 feet tall. Grotesque and eldritch was the only way I could describe it. It's dark brown skin was smooth and moist with extremely tiny openings in its skin. It wasn't wearing any type of clothing. It's arms were somewhat long and thin looking appendages that ended in human looking hands. Its head was shaped like a large Basket Ball. The creatures mouth looked to be in a vertical position and when it spoke I could see many layers and rows of crocodile like teeth.
"Here John, let me come help." It said. Its voice had changed as well. It was gurgled and sounded like it was being put through a filter.
As it moved I could hear it squish against the floor. That's the first time I've ever heard that. Why am I hearing that just now? Why have I never heard that before?
Instead of gaping at the reflection and trying to ascertain how it walks, I simply stared at a jug of milk.
That's when I noticed the color of the milk. It wasn't white or brown or any color a milk should be. It was dark black.
As the creature grew closer a foul smell harassed my nostrils. It took everything I had not to vomit.
It reached out with it's human like appendage and touched my shoulder.
My entire body tensed up.
"We're having a lot of different specials on milk today." It said and I could see its mouth open wide behind my head with what I assumed was a smile. | You wake up, and for the first time in years, you feel the pain of bright light on your eyes. *Wait, light?!* you jump out of your bed and close the green curtains on your window.
'Oh my God. I-I can-" you immediately stop talking as you look on your wall and see writing in neat, red marker,
"Don't tell them you can see. Act like everything is normal. Carry out your day as usual." Following the strange writing you decide not to shout it to the rooftops like you thought of, but open the door to your bathroom. On the mirror, in the same, neat writing,
"Nothing has changed. Pretend to be blind." you start to feel uneased, scared if someone is in your apartment. You slowly exit your bathroom, grab some non-safety scissors, and search the kitchen, your small office, and the living room. In each room you see more of the writing, telling you to not change anything in your daily life, to act natural; in every room the writings become more frequent, more aggressive, and more insistent that you should never reveal this recovery to anyone, even the people you trust the most. No one is in your apartment, that for sure, but one thing is certain:
In the last two years, someone was, and you had no idea.
"DING DONG!" rings the doorbell, snapping you out of this unnerving thought. You travel to your intercom, and say:
"Who is it?"
"It's James, duh!" Ah, yes. James, your best friend since college and your co-worker at Roy Industries, a company that started in manufacturing, specializing in disability aides such as: canes, hearing aides, wheelchairs, and stair-lifts, and after the Great Blinding, with everyone needing their products, grew into a ginormous cooperation that has a stake in almost every industry; everyone has heard of them, and most rely on Roy In. for their paycheck as well. You work in the admistrative section of the company, and so does John, you often walk to work together, as motor vehicles became too dangerous after The Great Blinding. Sure, it takes a while, but you live in the city, so at least it's not too bad of a commute; some people had to quit their jobs or move so they could work after the loss of an entire sense. Luckily, you lived close enough to not have to change your home/job, and so did John.
"You ready to go?" John asked.
"What? Oh, sure. Let me just get my cane."
Will write more soon, I just wanted to get the beginning on paper. (or, should I say, computer) Anyway, see you soon! | 2022-10-09T01:59:27 | 2019-08-26T09:40:50 | 4,287 | 17 |
[WP] You were abducted by alien. You spent years in their culture and civilization, living among them. Your alien friends have given you a present, a vacation back to Earth. But on Earth, you've only been gone for a year. | "Mom?" a voice called. Andrea turned instinctively, even though it had been a year since that name had been used for her. Some things you just don't let go of.
A man was shambling through the parking lot. His scraggly beard covered up most of his chest, and his clothes were stained and dirty. Well, if you could call them clothes, really: his shirt and pants looked like a hodgepodge quilt that seemed to even include some shining tin foil, and he wasn't even wearing shoes. But his eyes were a piercing, brilliant green. Just like David's had been.
Andrea turned back to her car. Of course no one was calling for her. David was gone; she had to accept that. The police hadn't turned up any clues whatsoever, and there had been no ransom or contact from the kidnappers. As much as she hated to admit it, her baby boy was probably dead. She loaded the groceries into the trunk and tried not to think about it. Another public breakdown is not what she needed right now.
"Mom?" the voice said again. Andrea spun to realize the homeless man was standing right behind her now. He was tall; at least six and a half feet. His green eyes were tearing up now, and he held his arms open like he was waiting for a hug. Andrea backed away slowly, keys held in front of her like a weapon.
"Sorry," she said, "I don't have any money."
"Mom, it's me," he said, gesturing at himself. "It's David!"
Andrea faltered for just a moment. *David*! Then she got a hold of herself. This man was at least thirty; David would only be nine years old. Nine and *a half*, her son probably would have corrected her. His half birthday had been just a week ago: January 14th. Before he was taken, Andrea had made him a half of a cake that day, and he'd been positively beaming.
"What do you want?" she asked. "Is this some kind of sick joke?" Of course it was. Her picture had been plastered all over the news for a number of months. Lake Hemmit was a quiet town, and disappearances like David's just didn't happen in places like this. Stolen from his bed in the middle of the night, with absolutely no clues. *That's* how the man had recognized her. Knew exactly what name to use to tug on her heart strings. "If you think I'm giving you money for this," Andrea snarled at him, "You're dead wrong, buddy."
The homeless man's arms fell to his side. Andrea noted some sort of bar code tattooed to his forearm. "Of course you don't recognize me," he muttered. The tears were flowing freely from both of them now. "I can prove it, Mom. Ask me *anything* that David would know. I swear!"
Andrea stifled a sob. His voice was deep, but it was... it was David's voice! She was sure of it. Deep down inside, she knew. "Where did we go for your sixth birthday?" she asked hesitantly. She didn't want to give in. How many times had she done this in the past? Walked by a child in the street and seen David looking back at her? Heard a childish giggle in the shopping mall and been convinced that it was her son? How could she believe that this man was her little nine-year-old?
"The waterpark," he answered. Andrea gasped. She was almost certain that no one had asked her about that in any of the interviews. "You stayed in the lazy river the whole time while Dad and I went down all the slides. Except for the Hurricane, because I wasn't big enough to go on that one. Then we had burritos for dinner on the drive home." The man's green eyes were still glistening with tears, just like every time she'd patched up David's scrapes when he was learning to ride a bike.
Andrea dropped the bag of groceries, letting the now-slightly-bruised apples roll under the car. "David, is that... is it really you?" Her heart was screaming *YES! YES, IT'S DAVID!* but her mind was still fighting it. "What happened to you? How are you... old?"
"I was abducted, Mom. Aliens took me. And time works differently for them, I think. I've been with them for twenty years now, and they finally let me come back to Earth."
Andrea ran forward and hugged the man. Hugged *David*. Somewhere inside, she just knew that it was right. She knew it was her son, no matter how crazy it sounded.
"I love you, Mom," he whispered as he hugged her back. "And tell Dad that I love him, too."
Andrea stepped back and looked her son in the eyes. "You're not staying?"
A bright flash answered her question. *Something* was hovering overhead. She couldn't see it clearly, but she could *feel* it there, and sensed the air shimmering around it. David started to rise up into the air.
"NO!" She leaped forward and clung to his pant leg, but he was rising too quickly. The scrap she'd managed to grab onto simply tore away. David looked down at her, swimming through the air like he was fighting a strong current.
"I love you, Mom!" he shouted one last time before disappearing into nothing. Andrea was left alone in the parking lot, clutching a scrap of dirty fabric and surrounded by spilled groceries.
----
Mark watched his wife through the one way glass of the evaluation room. She was still clutching the piece of cloth, telling the doctors that she'd seen David again. Only now he was a thirty-something year old man dressed in rags, and that a spaceship took him again while they were hugging in the Safeway parking lot.
It was bad enough that he'd lost his only son. Now it looked like he was going to lose his wife, too. | The machine whirled to life and a cold wave passed through my body as I am being transported back to Earth. Bil'bok and Qur't#z bought me a ticket to visit home again. Maybe it was out of guilt, but I'd like to think it was out of friendship. We loved each other, lived and worked together. I wanted to bring them with me, but they said it was forbidden, but I think it was because they couldn't afford it. I didn't push it with them. I think I'll miss my new home. I found a cool job flying spaceships into orbit, carrying people back and forth from their super huge space liners. Yeah ok, I was a taxi man, but I loved it.
I should probably quickly mention, the first few years were tough. I nearly gave up, but once I accepted the fact I wouldn't return home, I adjusted. I was a novelty in their media for a while, but that faded quickly when they realised I was pretty stupid relative to them.
Back home, what was I to expect after years of being away? Thinking back, I was walking home from a college night out. I might have had a drink or two on me. I lay down on a bench in a park. Just to rest my eyes to take a break before continuing home. I woke up in a ship, freaked out, but that was a long time ago now. Maybe... jesus, maybe it was thirty years ago now.
The machine around dissolved like paper burning upward into the sky. I was in the park again, wearing the clothes I was found in. Of course, it was timed so that nobody would notice the arrival of my paper orb. Like sinking into soft mud, I started to think this wasn't a great idea. I followed the path I remebmer taking so many times from college. Do they even still live there?
Yes, they do. I didn't know whether to be happy or sad about that. I stood at the corner, looking down the row of houses. There it was. my old house. Still the same colour of beige. Well, originally white. It looked terrible, the whole road was run down. I felt like they got stuck here or something. I decided to move in for a closer look.
The front door opened, and out my parents came. My old man was carefully helping mum down the step. My gut wrenched. I wanted to run up and help and announce my return but my hands wouldn't let go of the wall. The car tottered off down the road and my hand cramp reminded me of the wall.
Through the front window, I could see old and new photos up on the wall. There I was, smiling like a goof. My sis graduated! That's great.. she.. well she must be so gronwn up now. She was just a kid back then. Maybe 14. I should go.
"Hey!"
I turned around, startled. I was sis. I was frozen. She froze too. I pulled my hood up and ran past herback to the park. *I knew this was a mistake. What have I done? What have I fucking done!* I angrily thought at myself.
"HEY!", she screamed, now following me. "Come Back!".I could hear her voice weaken from being tearful.
In the park, I scrambled to go back to the arrival spot. I struggled to find the recall device. It was in my hand.
"Hey!", whimpered a small voice from behind me. I couldn't turn around. I wanted to.. I really did... "Peter... is it you? ... Pete?"
Tears rolled down my face. Why the fuck did I think it was a good idea to come back. How could I possibly explain any of this. I choked out, "I dunno what you're on about... ". I squeezed the recall and I was in my gerbil ball now travelling through space back to my real home where I belong now.
"Jesus man, what the fuck?", pleaded Bil'bok, "Why you cryin man?"
Qur't#z butted in, "See I told you it was a bad fucking idea. And who the fuck is that with him?" | 2015-11-04T10:01:14 | 2015-11-04T09:55:27 | 237 | 54 |
[WP] You are a demon trapped in an ancient temple build by a long dead civilization. Today, after millennia, an archaeologist finds you. Now you need to convince him to free you from the magic circle. | The near hollow chamber echoed with remanence of a time long forgotten. The only light entering was from the cracks as the sun fell in winters, peaking through the wall near what was once an entrance. Now covered in ivy and nearly locked by dirt and dust. In the center sat bound by chains forged from obsidian, a queen. Tearing at her wrist marking her with reminders of centuries worths of failed escape attempts. Her only friends being the empty thoughts and the occasional rat who wondered in looking lost. Who soon would see light fade just as the queen eons ago. “Rats tend to be great conversationalists if given the chance.” Her majesty announced to the void.
“How pitiful an image I must be. A starved queen locked by the very people she once ruled.”
The rat did not respond.
“We are one and the same. You and I. Castaways are in a world unforgiving. Lost spirits floating aimlessly in a meaningless universe.” Looking to the heavens as if speaking to a star-filled sky.
Uninterested in the one-sided conversation, the rat trotted along to the corner. Where the charcoal remanence of a torch remained.
Now bowing her head in dramatized sorrow, “Outside these walls which bind us both, my once great kingdom now more than likely collapsed.”
The rat began to burrow into the coals in an attempt to make a bed.
“Oh, how-” She paused.
The faint sound of footsteps rang just outside the remains of the chamber door. “Do you hear that?’ in a hushed whisper to her newfound comrade.
It was not uncommon for the queen to hear the faint sounds of birds passing or even voices. She soon found these to be untrustworthy a couple of centuries into her capture. A pleading representation of a fragmented mind. This was, however, different.
“It’s over here boys!” A booming and joyous voice coming nearer.
Quickly the queen took the form of a beautiful young woman dressed in rags, unable to mask the marks left upon her bound body. Soon the ground began to rumble as the entrance began to be bombarded with hit after hit. Echoing along the walls and tearing her ivy. As a blinding light began to cascade and peak through the now grown cracks a smile began to draw over the queen's face. With one last hit, the door collapsed, and as light chased the darkness. Corning it into every crack and grove, Only able to hide behind the image of a broken woman.
“Please help me...” The queen called in a weak and dry voice.
A group of five men looked into the chamber. Their joyous expressions filled with ideas of gold and hope. Shifted to dumbfounded and worried as if in a symphony of sorrows their hearts dropped. Before them, a woman chain bound on both arm and leg between two pillars that towered to the ceiling. Both covered with symbols and two perfectly smooth square holes, one on each pillar. Scorched with marks from a flame long burned out. The woman sat perfectly in the center of a circle made of black sand and salt with inscribed symbols patterning the platform where she looked helpless. A tension building as they sat frozen.
“Please...” The woman pleaded once more, almost drier than before.
“Well, don’t just stand there! Hurry! help her!” A familiar booming voice commanded.
Three of the men staggered in rushing to aid the queen who was hiding behind the mask. Soon to meet a similar fate to the pile of dead rats who laid in the corner.
\------------
Notes:
This is my first time writing anything other than poetry in the last year. I kind of want to start writing more long-form stories to improve. Any thoughts are greatly appreciated!
Also, I kinda deviated a little from the prompt, using it more as inspiration. I hope that's okay! | He can't see the circle, maybe I can pull this off.
"Hello?" I call out. I force my voice to sound weak. Magic flows over my skin, making me appear to be a disheveled young woman. I hear the archaeologist freeze.
"Hello? Who are you? How did you get down here?" He's moving faster now down the path to the chambers opening. When he enters the chamber he freezes and stares in open horror.
"Please please help me" I plead. I am sitting as close to him as I can manage with this damn circle in place. I grip my ankle and wince. If I manage this I will be free in the first time in a millenia. All he has to do is take my hand.
"What happened? Are you injured?" He now looks concerned. Gullible human. I note how the fashion has greatly changed and my clothing choice was very poor. They likely no longer wear the long white cloth I placed on this body.
"Sir, please help me. I wandered down here and became lost. Now my ankle, I can't even stand." I allow my eyes to fill with tears and that seals it. He reaches past the circle barrier he hasn't seen yet and grasps my hand. Immediately magic rushes over my skin and we change places. The human screams in terror when my skin turns deep purple and my horns show themselves. He turns and tries to run but slams into the barrier he is now trapped in.
"Thank you. It has been a very very long time since I have been able to truly breathe" I sigh happily and stretch. My wings tumble out and drag behind me as I turn and begin my retreat from the chamber.
"What are you????" He screams.
"I am Legion. And it is time for me to bring this wretched world to a close. Tell me, how long have I been down here? What year is it?" I snarl
"2020" he stammers. Yes, 2020. The year it all ends. | 2020-12-06T15:17:27 | 2020-12-06T14:40:57 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] At 14, every human gains the ability to transform into their spirit animal. Your noble family, comprised entirely of wolves, isn't happy with your transformation... | 3...
2...
1...
*SSSSSSSsssss*
The hiss of mist flew up around me and when it faded I looked into the mirror, the same my all my forefathers looked into to first look at their wolf-ly animal self for the first time.
"I don't believe it." said my mother.
My father didn't say anything. I think that was worse.
Staring back at me were dark but watchful eyes. My coat was coarse and my nose was wet. My ears were perked with curiosity and shock. I wrapped my tail around me back paws nervously as I looked back at myself. I was not a wolf like the rest of my family. I was a fox.
The party was not very fun after that.
...
...
When I lay in bed that night I just wanted to forget the day. Grandfather was furious. My sister cried. Father left the house and hasn't returned since. My mother just shook her head. Only my great-grandfather said nothing, but he was old, and most of us had thought he had lost his sense and hearing long ago even before my sister shifted into a wolf for the first time.
*I wish it had never happened* I thought to myself. I pulled the covers over me a little tighter and rolled over. To my surprise, great-grandfather was standing there in the doorway. He approaches the bed and sat down.
"You are probably very disappointed," he said in a crackly whisper. "But there is nothing to be ashamed about."
"But how could I NOT feel shame? I'm literally the only one in the family that's not a wolf. I'm a disgrace."
"You are a fox, not a disgrace." He said. He had a way with words that made everything always seem like it would be alright, as if he had lived through and conquered all of life's problems. "The fox is wise and cunning. Graceful and stealthy. Agile and quick."
I lay in silence, staring into his stony gray eyes that had seen so much over the.. what was it now, a century?
"I will let you in on a little family secret. I haven't told a soul this secret." He said. "Now I have only seen this once when I was very small, but I know what I saw."
I sat up in bed.
"You have always been observant and patient. You like to learn and even play practical jokes when you can. This reminds me a lot of MY grandmother." He said.
"When I was very small, I was playing by the river while my grandmother was washing our clothes. I wanted to catch a fish with my bare hands like I saw my father do once. My brother did it as a wolf, and I wanted to be just like them. But I was only a few years of age, so I fell in! I was swept up with the current but my grandmother jumped in and rescued me as her spirit animal. I still have dreams of that fox pulling me out of the river and scolding me to no end."
My eyes got wide and I audibly gasped. "So my great great.... great? grandmother wasn't a wolf?"
He chuckled and his stony eyes lit up. "Yes. She was a fox like you. Observant. Swift. Light on her feet. Quick to make smart decisions. She was a remarkable lady and we all loved her dearly. Being a fox is nothing to be ashamed about child."
He took his leave and I thought about what he told me. I fell asleep feeling a little better, and even had a dream of a fox rescuing me from a river. | I could tell by the way they were looking down at me. They could only growl and howl and whimper, but I could see it in their eyes. They were disappointed and already feeling itchy, just in anticipation. I saw my sister scratch behind her ear with her back paw. I could tell my father wanted to do the same, but out of respect for me, out of the difficulty he must have known I was facing internally, he abstained.
I looked up at them, way up, at first as if upon my family (for they were my family), but soon after that I looked upon them as upon inexhaustible sacks of food. I licked my lips. My father must have seen, and transformed back into a human.
"A damned flea," he said, shaking his head.
He looked much less appetizing in his human form.
"Well son," he continued, walking over to the cupboard, "I'm sorry to have to do this, but until you learn to control this power of yours--and don't worry, you're only 14, and eventually you won't be struck by the unmanageable physical urge to turn into an animal like you are now, like all 14 year old boys are..." He took out a glass jar and walked back over, "we'll have to keep you in here."
He unfastened the jar and tilted it on the ground beside me.
"So here, hop on in."
My sister, transforming back into a human behind my father, nudged him a little during her transformation. My father jerked forward and he tried to steady himself. I saw his palm get rapidly closer to me, blocking out more and more of the light, until it was dark completely.
"Well that solves that," said the father, wiping his hand on his jeans. And all the remaining family members laughed.
---
/r/lalalobsters | 2017-01-21T20:02:50 | 2017-01-21T18:33:16 | 215 | 22 |
[WP] "You live like this?" the burglar asked, gently waking you up. | "You live like this?" the burglar asked, gently shaking my arm. I groaned. "Whhhh..."
He stood up. "Dude. You live in a trash heap, man."
I licked my lips and tried again. "Whhh...ahhhht. Time?"
As the burglar checked his watch, I tried to rub the sand out of my eyes. It took some effort, and the muscles in my arm may have actually screamed, but I got there. I needed a drink, and not the burn-y kind. I attempted to lurch blearily to my feet, and managed to roll off the sofa. Good start, good start.
A second man walked into the room. Skinny. He looked genuinely afraid. Probably new to the whole breaking and entering thing. His boss waved him off, unconcerned about my presence, or so it seemed. "Dude's so drunk he probably won't even remember us. It's kinda sad, really..."
The other guy didn't look so sure. Whatever. I focused all my energy into my legs, and managed to drag myself to my feet. Left foot... right foot... I kept up a steady, if somewhat slow, cadence, and eventually reached the coffee pot. I chugged the contents. Stale, but unrefreshing. I gargled some water from the sink, then slumped against the counter. I could feel four eyes burning into the back of my skull. As my gaze fell on the phone, the smaller man pulled out a gun, holding it all wrong. What kind of sissy pea-shooter was that? I didn't know they even made guns that tiny. I was impressed it wasn't pink. I flapped an arm at him in an attempt to look harmless. "Don't worry, phones got shut off last month. No wifi either. Drink?" I motioned to the still-running sink.
The older burglar just shook his head. "Come on, Danny. Let's get this place cleared out. Not that there's anything worth taking. You... you got insurance, right?"
I laughed. Not in my line of work, no, especially not in this place. The guy looked pretty sorry for me, actually; kind of like pity when I thought about it. "Nah. No insurance. And the hookers left last night. I think they left some drugs in the basement, though. Careful of the bodies."
The big man raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. "Whatever, man. No hard feelings?"
"Not a bit. Help yourself. Call it a fire sale."
The younger man, evidently convinced that the unarmed man with a raging hangover was likely harmless, took a quick look around the living room. He must have decided the sofa was too heavy and vomit-stained to steal, because he headed down into the basement. A moment later, he yelled up, "Boss! You gotta see this!"
The big man gave me one more pity-filled glance, then headed down the stairs. I followed him, waited until he was down the stairs and around the corner, and shut and locked the door. It wouldn't hold more than a minute or so, but it probably didn't matter.
With a heavy sigh, I pulled my rucksack out from under the counter. Two solid days walk to get here, and another three before I was done. Oh well. Tonight, I won't have a booze stash to drink before I passed out, so I should feel a lot better tomorrow morning. For now... it was time to go. Well, a couple ibuprofen, then go. Maybe three.
Headache slowly subsiding, I hit the switch and headed out the back door. I barely cleared the fence before I felt the heat of the flames on my back; I was two blocks away before I heard the fire trucks. The cops would have a field day with this one - robbery gone wrong! In a drug house! With the body of that missing senator! All it needed was a time-locked briefcase with nuclear launch codes, and it would be a best seller.
I grinned into the smoky morning air. Heh. Fire sale.
I crack me up. | I had only meant to rest my eyes. I certainly never intended to doze off, not when there was so much work to be done. Because of this, my initial reaction to the hand gently shaking my shoulder was gratitude. It took me a second to realize that I should be afraid or angry instead.
"You live like this?" asked an unknown voice.
I groaned, but nodded while scrubbing at my eyes with my sleeve. The room was not completely dark. A set of computer moniters sat glowing at the desk that commanded the room. Everything around it was chaos, madness without method. There were models, notes, sketches, and things that had no names as all. Designs had been pinned on walls and parts littered the ground.
I stared at the stranger and recognition sparked in the back of my mind. "You're Terry's kid aren't you? You used to live across the street. You got into trouble a lot. Is that what you're doing here, getting into trouble?"
"Look, I'm sorry I....let myself in. I know that I shouldn't have, but when I saw all of this, I knew I had to talk to you. Please don't be mad, please don't call anyone. I didn't take anything, but I wanted you to know: It's amazing. All of it."
This wasn't what I had been expecting to hear and the apology took me by surprise. I had spent years calling myself 'artist' and 'inventor'. I had spent years being called 'crazy' or 'eccentric'. Perhaps this wasn't the usual way of meeting someone like-minded, but I've been around long enough to know that you shouldn't pass up an opportunity to share something you love. Perhaps anger wasn't the right way to handle this.
"Thank you," I said, "Really. No, I won't call anyone, and yes, I do live like this. It's not a normal nine to five thing, but it's what I love to do."
They nodded and reached out toward a piece that was very nearly finished. Was it a clock? A music box? Something more? The design was intricate, and it had obviously taken many long hours and careful attention to detail. It was beautiful.
In the dim room, surrounded by ideas, the thief considered something new.
"Would you teach me?" | 2017-08-21T20:16:03 | 2017-08-21T18:44:49 | 85 | 28 |
[WP] At age 21, you and your SO cast a strange love spell to swap bodies one day a week. 8 years later, your fiancee is really sick of you body swapping with your ex, but you don't know how to undo the spell. | As important as it was, the proposal was a brief break from what had been bugging me all night. Does she remember the promise I made that drunken night, the only way I could think to break the spell. The whole day the topic had been avoided and I cant help but think I would like to put it off forever.
I nuzzled into the back of her hair, inhaling the scent of hairspray that lingered even now so late at night. She stirred, is she awake? I froze still.
“Will? Are you awake?” she spoke in a surprisingly lucid tone. I had thought she would be dead asleep by now.
“Yeah” I utter in return as my chest flutters with anxiety.
“Do you remember new years?”
My heart sank.
“Yeah” I sighed.
“You promised me…”
“I know I promised you but…” She cut me off in a way that told me she wasn’t going to let this go.
“If you really want to marry me, I need you to kill her” She spoke as if she were delivering the keynotes from a board meeting, clear and with diction.
A lump formed in my throat, her tone said it all. In truth I had only said it because I thought she would never ask, I thought it would be forgotten.
“Will you?”
My chest bubbled with anticipation as my head tried to claw at the answer to this predicament. The mirky feeling from the more than substantial amount of wine from dinner made a clear thought even slippier to grasp at. I love this girl with all my heart, but to kill? Was she being serious or was this all a test? If I say no will she forget? She is pretty drunk but then again I did just propose, that will probably make tonight more memorable.
But, what if I say yes? It will buy me some time?
“Yes” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could even stop them.
“Good” She stated matter of factly. In an instant she had whipped the covers away and bolted out of bed towards the tall oak wardrobe, flicking the lamp on as she went.
She reached in, behind her collection of coats and scarves and fumbled at the back of the wardrobe.
I sat up clutching at the duvet, completely unable to comprehend what might be happening.
There was a heavy sliding of something hard against the wood of the back of the wardrobe and she stepped out from behind the door clutching an odd shape.
“I called her, she is in the park over the road”
I wish I had not reached for my glasses at that moment. The shape came into focus as the heavy frames fell to rest on the bridge of my nose. A rifle. | I still remember the curve of her spine as my fingers traced her body. They'd run up and down her shoulders and back as I softly kissed her neck. I loved her. A part of me still loves her, and I don't think that'll ever change.
I know all of these feelings break my fiancé's heart. The woman I am to marry is beautiful and wonderful and kind and very patient with me, but every week I pray to the Gods to be with my old flame again. They always answer the same way. I'm tortured to never be in the same room with her, only to see her face in the mirror. The way her hair falls and the brightness of her smile is mine once more, but not in any way that satisfies me. I will never hold her with my own hands again. I can only hope she forgives me. | 2019-12-15T12:30:08 | 2019-12-15T11:58:16 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] The current rulers of the galaxy exert their dominance by showing showing new races a glimpse of their terrifying nature inevitably either driving the unfortunate victims mad or causing them to retreat in fear. It does not work on humans however, they are used to it | "How many have we lost so far?" Growled General Barkler, as he stared at the great blue orb sitting in space. He had been ordered to fetch this world and its spoils, but it was not coming easily. It may as well be inside the neighbor's fence.
"The tally is in the tens of millions, sir. But it's worse than that." The first officer's frowning face of fur was furrowed in a furious fit of frustration. "They've actually started *breeding* the ones they've captured. Losses are expected to continue to grow exponentially."
"All right. Patch me through to home command so I can beg for permission to leave."
The holographic screen blinked up in the middle of the room. The three faces of the Poodle Presidency Pact displaying in a beautiful array of grays. Princess Primbottom addressed her military commander.
"General! We were getting worried, we haven't received any reports. Have you enslaved the humans yet?"
Barkler was not expecting to feel quite so ashamed. He actually started *whining*. How undignfied! In front of his officers, the crew, and the PPP! He curled his tail between his legs and could not have looked more pitiful.
"I take it things have not gone well." Prince Puffyface noted. "Please, general, give us the report. Sit. Speak."
Barkler placed his rear end on the floor, lifted his head as high as his little legs would allow, took a deep breath, and gave a bark to regain his composure.
"Pristine Personelle of the Poodle Presidency Pact, here is my report."
"On starship date 2078 the Rover Squadron arrived to earth. We descended with our most elite troops as our frontal invasion force. Their mission was just as it was on all other planets, find the inhabitants, enter their homes, demand food and constant playtimes, jump on their furniture, shed everywhere possible, bark at strangers, and excrete waste in their yards.
As expected, we were met with little resistance. What was unexpected was that these aliens... these Hyew-mans... actually enjoyed it! They happily take them in, walk them every day, throw balls or sticks for hours in games of fetch, even training them to do things we previously had thought too cruel! Even our oldest veterans have returned with some new tricks!
We've jumped on them and all their friends, barked incessantly, slobbered all over their faces, and in return they give them fancy collars and then pick up any messes produced. Even when we destroy their furniture or eat their foot coverings they just continue to reciprocate some kind of strange emotion... love they call it!
It has gotten bad enough that our troops are refusing to come back. They willingly submit themselves to these aliens, calling them their new masters. I've lost more men than I can count. I'll have the battle statist send you a complete report of the numbers."
There was silence over the call. The general began to wonder if they were still connected, or if his report was too long. No, they were still moving. They are discussing with their telepathic poodle link. Perhaps it would be best to play dead.
President Paddlepants broke the silence. "General Barkler, you have our permission to leave. This is a lost cause."
Barkley buried his face in his paws and began to whine again.
The president continued. "It's not your fault, general. You did as protocol dictated. Return home and prepare for your next assignment. Don't worry. You are a good boy."
Barkler barked in acknowledgement, and tapped the button to close communication. "All right men, let's go home. I need to go see my puppers!" | It was, entertaining, to say the least.
The big "Fuck" as we here called it was here for 3 months. 92 days exactly. The sky twisted, clouds cried and mountains burned as it crashed into our now desolate orbit. Like many, I wanted to see what the "Fuck" was. When it arrived, the beast had latched onto the moon. It wasn't too big either, however, it occasionally sent a large tentacle to earth.
We wanted to deal with that tentacle of course, but any large scale attacks would most likely eliminate our moon. Humanity decided to launch a battle of attrition against the beast. We citizens, well we had other plans. "Fuck" became a part of many Lovecraft fans hobbies. Chronicling it, theorizing about it, obsessing over it.
"Fuck" also arguably helped humanity. The powerful energy that had razed our forests had made planting initiatives. We planted trees and created jobs studying it and destroying its tentacles. I even got hired studying it. Wars stopped because we had to deal with "Fuck". All religions were now called bogus, and any religious wars stopped. Only bad thing out of this was no confirmed afterlife. Hell, even it's tentacles were helpful, being high in vitamin D and tasting vaguely like chicken.
After 3 months (91 days to be exact), we knew "Fuck" clearly had an agenda. He was here to destroy us. He was doing *such* a great job too. But then he realized what he did. On the day next day he left, he almost looked completed. Like something was going to happen after he left. Oh well, it doesn't matter to me. It's been 3 days since he left. Apparently, there's a war going on about why "Fuck" left. I wonder what I'll have for dinner tonight? I dunno, I'm all out of tentacle. | 2019-06-11T09:05:18 | 2019-06-11T08:38:53 | 216 | 38 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k. | In the eternal silence of dark space, Harbinger thought. It's thoughts, largely taking place over the span of millenia were now firing at a frantic pace, stressing the limits of its cybernetic neurons as it processed the vast array of data its brethren were collecting from the Milky Way.
What was immediately clear at even a cursory glance through their information networks was that the galaxy they were beholden to was no longer their own. The Mass Relays were absent, and so was the Citadel. Worse, it was as though they had never been. All the transmissions they scanned revealed species using technology that was far divorced from the system that had been devised.
NAZARA'S FAILURE IS RESPONSIBLE
That was the consensus that had been reached. It was impossible to say how the vanguard had failed so critically, yet that was the last link in the chain of events that could be recognized.
Rebuilding all they had lost would take immense time and effort, but it would be done. The Cycle would continue.
Months passed, and what the Reapers learned only stayed their hand even longer. The amount of priority threats to their mission was such that the cyclopean intelligences of the old machines was unsure of how to proceed.
Most of the major factions all possessed technology that vastly outclassed Reaper destructive capability.
A civilization of hostile AI was active in the galaxy.
Uncontrollable extragalactic invaders were arriving in continuous waves from numerous directions.
An extradimensional force deemed Chaos was attempting a slow invasion of their reality.
It was hard to decide which required immediate attention. A few voices spoke up, advocating that they wait for the civilizations to collapse on their own. Isolated as they were from the galactic conflict it would be easy to stay unnoticed and watch as events came to a head.
THE CYCLE MUST CONTINUE
And so it was. The first act needed was to establish a secure location where they might study the technology of the strange factions and incorporate the best of it in themselves. Collectors would be useful for this task and while the new species would have a different template the mission would remain the same.
The Ghoul stars offered the ideal location for a new Collector base, so a few of their number were dispatched to begin construction.
Chaos worked insidiously, too similar to indoctrination to be avoided for sure. It would be in their best interests to render all their operations immune to Chaos corruption. The Tau could be subverted to that end, their ruling hierarchy already geared to accepting guidance from above.
The Necron and Tyranid could be dealt with in their own time, once the Reapers had improved themselves to match the best this galaxy had to offer. It would take hundreds of years to refit all the members of their fleet, a paltry sum of time that they might not even have. But if all went optimally, if the influence they wielded over this galaxy was allowed to extend as far as it had once been...
Then the Cycle would resume.
| It's a little hard to describe the vast mental network of the Reapers -- a scaffolding of intertwined thoughts and programmed imparatives so complex, the term "hive mind" is laughably inadequate -- in words the human mind can process. Nonetheless, a brief translation will be attempted:
- "... well, jesus. At this point, it's just a mercy killing, innit?"
- "Do we even *want* any of these sods? All that dogmatic thinking's gonna get real old after a few eons."
- "I dunno. Those green-skinned mushroom things seem like fun, at least. Might get a destroyer or two out of them."
- "What about the Necrons?"
- "Those depressing gits? No way. Nuke 'em from orbit."
- "Look, guys, regardless, let's just stick to the plan. We'll give those Tyranids we chased in there another century or two to really make a mess while we finish up indoctrinating that 'Emperor of Man' thing. Then we can figure out what to do with those Chaos Gods."
- "Bleh. This cycle is gonna take *forever.*" | 2017-08-27T09:28:07 | 2017-08-27T09:00:01 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | *They're actually really nice once it comes time to kill you here.*
This was my fleeting thought as I combed my hair in the giant floor length mirror I was finally permitted. They bent over backwards for the last day. Even let a professional make up team come to paint my face. The man who collected my requests didn't understand, but he was happy to assist. A white silk gown with a gold belt and tassels were easy to procure. Finding a dress with pockets delayed them a week or two, but in the end, they were pleased to get it to me. The warden even laughed in my face.
"You thought you had us. You thought the pocket dress would be impossible!" He had taunted. "But we have found more obscure things before."
"Have you?" I adjusted my hat, placing it at a jaunty angle. A public execution gave me an audience. I wanted to look my best. "I'm sure you're very proud of yourself. It can't be easy getting glass slippers and dragon hide gloves."
The wardens sneer vanished for a moment but before he could say anything, the chef stormed in.
"You sick, twisted freak. How could you?" He demanded. The warden swiveled. "How dare you? You can't have that. Pick something else."
"No. My last meal is my right."
The warden turned on the chef. "Whatever she wants, she gets. It doesn't matter-just get it."
"Sir- I can't. *We* can't" the chef looked at the warden with desperate, pleading eyes. "Please, don't do this."
The warden took the note with my request. "Apples? I done apples? Surely you could fond them?" The warden reached into the chefs bag and plucked out the requested food stuff, a bright golden apple. I smiled and took it from him. "You know, in ancient Greece, you and I would be married for this"
I winked and took a bite even as the chef lunged to take the apple back. "No! No. No. No! What have you done?" He demanded of the warden.
"I done apple. What's wrong with an I done apple?" The warden shrugged and smirked at me. "Enjoy while it lasts."
I took another big bite as the chef dropped to his knees. "Not I done. Idun.. an apple of Idun. We looked into it sir... the apples are from the Norse Goddess of youth. The apples grant immortality"
I watched in enjoyment as the warden put the pieces together. "You mean she- She-"
"That's right." I grinned and polished off the apple. "Kill me all you want, I'll never die."
I strolled out to meet the executioner, even as I felt unending life surge through my body. After all, I had an audience. | I really did appreciate them. Their efforts were admirable, though they were overshadowed by their stupidity. It took them a full month to finally admit defeat. They just couldn’t feasibly feed me nothing.
After a week of toiling over the definition of what it means to eat, they decided that a vacuum would have to enter my body in order for the conditions to be met.
First they tried a simple pill with a vacuum inside, but I pointed out two flaws. First of all I taunted them with how you don’t eat pills, you swallow them. Second I pointed out that they wouldn’t be feeding me nothing, as the pill would be something.
They tried sending me to space but that would kill me once I exited the ship. Magic was thrown out because all the spells they could find would kill me. And their Hail Mary was to put a tube in my mouth connected to a vacuum chamber, but they were stopped because that counted as execution.
After the morons gave up they let me out, never being able to figure out the meaning behind my god damn request. They went through all that but didn’t for a second consider that I just wasn’t hungry. | 2022-07-17T22:09:37 | 2022-07-17T20:16:14 | 34 | 18 |
[WP] You're in a bar and decide to flirt with a beautiful girl. "Did you fall from heaven, because you're an angel!" You didn't expect her to reply sadly, "How'd you tell?" | Thomas sat back in his seat. He’d been expecting an exasperated sigh or outright rejection, maybe a giggle if he was lucky but not this. He looked at the girl and tried to make out if this was some sort of joke. Her blue eyes stared back and as he looked into them he didn’t see a single hint of humor. Instead he noticed something strange, a little ring of white light between her iris and pupil. It was hardly visible at some angles but it was clearly there. The girl sighed and pulled at a lock of her dark hair, twirling it around her finger absentmindedly.
“Well are you gonna talk or just sit there? I know you’re not one of them so how can you tell?”
By now she’d turned to face Thomas and he could get a better look at her. She was slender in appearance but not too thin, long black hair that seemed to shine like the night sky, full lips and a beautiful face. While her face were beautiful her eyes are what caught his attention. They were wet and red, as if she’d been crying not so long ago. He had never seen a greater sadness in anyone’s eyes before and just looking into them made his heart clench. He swallowed.
“I’m not...I’m not sure what you mean. It’s a pick up line, that’s all. I didn’t mean to offend you ma’am I just..” before he could finish she cut him off.
“A pick up line? So you didn’t actually know?”
Her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed, her voice low and prying. Thomas watched her curl her hand into a fist on the bar and gulped as a strange sensation washed over him. It was like the feeling of being watched, only ten times worse. Thomas put his glass down and raised his hands and as he brought them up he realized they were shaking.
“Like I said I didn’t mean anything by it.” His voice shook too, a little quiver that no one besides her seemed to notice. When she heard it her eyes softened and her fist uncurled. The strange woman sat back in her chair and picked up her bottle of beer before downing it in one long gulp. She slammed it down onto the counter and turned back to him.
“Listen to me and listen well, I’m not going to explain this more than once. You are going to forget what you heard me say, you are going to go home and never talk about this again.” She clapped him on the shoulder and stood up, walking out the door to the bar and disappearing into trouble night. Thomas watched her go and once she left he let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He turned back to the bar and raised his finger.
“A shot of vodka please, the strongest you have.”
————————————————————————
It was twelve o’clock and the shot of vodka sat in Thomas’s stomach like a burning rock. He was one of the only people in the bar now, besides a drunken businessman who’d lost millions in stocks and an old man who looked perfectly sober despite having downed more shots than anyone else in the bar. He looked over to the chair next to him where that woman had been and shook his head.
“She was just some girl messing with me, probably looking for people to prank for some weird dare.” He mumbled to himself. He didn’t quite feel like getting up yet and so he stayed in the stool, listening to the sounds of the bar. Then from behind him a door opened. He didn’t bother to turn around, reasoning that it was just some late night bar crawler. From behind the bar the bartender looked up and scowled.
“Hey. Hey! You definitely aren’t old enough to be in here. Get the hell out before...” he didn’t finish his sentence. Thomas watched as the bartender turned a very particular shade of white, the kind that reminded him to notebook paper. His mouth opened and a terrified moan left his parted lips. Then the bartender turned and ran for the back door, barging out of if and disappearing into the alley. Thomas was too afraid to move as someone slid into the seat next to him, the creak of leather and the jingling of metal assaulting his ears. He slowly turned back to the seat where that woman had been sitting and was face to face with a young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old.
The young man had on a wide brimmed felt hat, olive green in color. A small bunch of brightly colored feathers were tied to the brim of it. He wore a leather jacket studded with silver pieces of metal and on his hip was a wallet chain covered in shiny little trinkets, ear rings, and necklaces, and other bits of metal. The young man was smiling at him, his upper lip pulled back just enough to reveal the tips of his teeth. Unlike the woman before him his hair was blonde and short but his eyes were the same color. As soon as Thomas looked at him he felt the same sensation he’d felt when the woman clenched her fist, only now it was so strong it felt like his skin was being poked by a thousand needles.
Neither of them spoke for a minute, just looked at each other. It was the young man who spoke first.
“Having a good night Thomas?” He said is a calm tone, as if he had know him for years. The hairs on Thomas’s neck went ridged and his legs turned to jelly. Even if he got up now he couldn’t run if he tried. The young man must have noticed because he grinned, one of his hands sliding over the counter and grabbing the empty shot glass in front of Thomas. The young man held it up and looked at it, turning it in his fingers.
“Lots of pretty women in this town, lots and lots of them. But I’m willing to bet that you talked to one that outshone all the others, a real ten out of ten!” The young man laughed and looked over at Thomas. “I can tell you saw something, I can smell it on you.” He said.
Then the young man lifted the glass and opened his mouth. Thomas watched as he placed the glass in his tongue and then, his blue eyes locked on Thomas’s own, bit down. The muffled crunch of glass filled the bar and Thomas felt his own jaw go slack as the young man chewed, the crunch crunch crunch of the glass pounding itself into Thomas’s mind. The young man grinned again and then swallowed, opening his mouth. No blood flowed, in fact the inside of his mouth was completely unharmed.
“Ahhh.” He sighed, his tongue flitting out and licking his lips. Then he leaned in close and Thomas could see the light around his pupils. The light in the woman’s eyes had been a pure white light but in the young man’s eyes it was a sickly reddish orange. Then in a voice like the shattered glass it had just swallowed the thing wearing a young man’s face spoke.
“Now tell me, where is the angel?” | “Bill, you’ve been sitting on that seat all night, doing nothing. Are you even going to try to pick up a chick?” Francis looked me at accusatorily, as though it were a criminal sin. With a sigh, I downed the rest of my beer and stared back.
“You do this every time we go out. I don’t really have any interest in a girlfriend right now. I’ve got enough on my plate with work already and I don’t want another time sink in my life.”
Folding his arms in front of him and widening his eyes, Francis said, “Is that all that a relationship is to you? A *time sink*? Come on man, live a little! Look, I’ll give you the perfect girl to go after. See that woman sitting at the bar?” I followed his finger to a blonde-haired lady, downing shots like there was no tomorrow. “I’d bet you anything that she just broke up with her man, and she’s on the lookout for somebody new. I’ll even be your wingman for tonight!”
With a dubious stare at him, I weighed my options. On one hand, it had been three years since I’d actually been in the dating game. My romance skills were about as rusty as they could get, and I was probably going to mess this up. On the other hand, she was pretty hot. Taking a deep breath, I got up from my seat and received an encouraging clap on the back from Francis, who was hot on my tail.
As we approached the woman, Francis gave me the universal signal to get behind him, and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey there, I’m Francis! What’s your name?”
She gave him a sidelong look and returned to gazing glumly at the counter. Ignoring the lack of response, Francis simply gave her an award-winning smile and said, “Well, this is Bill! He’s a great guy, you know? Why don’t you introduce yourself Bill?”
With a nervous shrug, I looked at her, and the next words out of my mouth were, “Uh, are you an angel, because you’re the only ten I see.”
There was a moment of silence as everybody contemplated what I just said. Francis gave me a slow shake of the head and walked back to the table. I shot him a glare as he left; so much for being a wingman. The woman, on the other hand, was staring at me intently.
In a small voice, she said, “How did you know that?” Her eyes pierced into my skull like she was trying to peer into my thoughts, and I stepped back subconsciously.
“Uh, well, you’re just so beautiful?”
That answer seemed to mollify her, and she turned her gaze back onto the counter. I looked back towards Francis, who was now ordering drinks off of my tab. With a sigh, I sat down next to her, with the knowledge that she could, in fact, speak. At the very least I’d make friends with a crazy person.
Gathering my courage once more, I asked her, “So, what’s your name?”
After contemplating the question for a second, she said, “I’ve been called many different things. You may know me as Ariel.”
Right. So, definitely crazy. But there are worse kinds of insanity than thinking you were an angel. Hoping I could at least salvage a good story from this train wreck of a social interaction, I probed once more. “If you’re an angel, then why aren’t you in heaven?”
Her demeanor became cold, and she glared at me. After a couple of seconds, however, the “angel” broke into depression once more, and she hung her head. “I got kicked out. There was a little… scuffle, I guess you could say, and things look like they’re turning for the worse. I’m only here until things calm down up there, and I can go back without being impaled.”
My heart grew kind of sore for her. I knew what it was like to not have a home, even for a small amount of time. I guessed that this was some kind of coping mechanism for her, and whatever got her through this situation was for the best. I tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder, and calmed myself down when she started. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… I’ve been there before. If you ever need a helping hand, or a couch to surf on, I’ve got you.”
I gave Ariel a sympathetic smile, which she responded to with a confused look. After what felt like minutes, she shook my hand off of her, and said, “You humans are always so weird.” As I watched her take another shot, I hoped that that was a compliment.
There was a bone-shaking rumble through the establishment, and the sounds of crashing glass and breaking wood filled my ears. It stopped as suddenly as it started, and when I opened my eyes, I found Ariel sitting on the stool like nothing had happened. With a particularly sour look on her face, she stood up and faced the door.
As though she would have the answer for that natural disaster, I asked, “What… was that?”
With a groan, she replied, “Father.”
\------------------------------
/r/Wheezywrites | 2019-02-08T20:41:07 | 2019-02-08T20:28:22 | 79 | 13 |
[WP] After billions of dollars invested, and decades of research, the most powerful corporate executives in the world have finally done it. They've finally ended the need for humans to sleep. | I didn’t mean to start a revolution, I really didn’t.
How simply it began. One question, only asked out of courtesy.
“Congratulations Mr. President, you’re having a boy,” the doctor had said, rubbing the ultrasound device over my wife’s growing belly. “Shall we run the Sleep Cure edit today? It’s quick, I’ll get you both out of here in time for a nice big brunch.”
Well, it wasn’t the question, not really. It was my answer.
I didn’t say no because I didn’t trust new technology, like some crazy anti-curer; my entire political platform was based off technological innovation. I didn’t say no because of the challenges of raising a sleepless child; I was the President, I could do anything. I didn’t say no because I didn’t think it worked; a billion babies had proven it a billion times, including my own now four-year-old daughter, Eliza.
It was because of her that I said no.
For most of my life, I’d hated myself for not being born just a few years later. The “Sleep Cure” gene-editing technology was invented when I was just seven. The biggest corporations in the world heralded a new era of productivity for the world. Soon, humanity would be free from the biological shackles of tiredness, drowsiness, and wasted life we called _sleep_.
And it couldn’t come fast enough. These corporations poured hundreds of billions of dollars into the initiative, subsidizing the gene-editing procedure so that anyone and everyone anywhere in the world that wanted to free their children from _sleep_ could do so.
Many more billions were poured into the ads too. How could any responsible parent, no matter how skeptical, risk having their children cursed by to the need to _sleep_ in a world where all their peers had eight more hours every single day to out-compete them?
The campaign was more than a resounding success. Within five years, nearly 70% of the world’s new babies were born with the Sleep Cure, and growing every year.
Productive the Sleep Cured were. Relentlessly productive. There were even Cured eleven-year-olds at my own high-school graduation.
True to those advertisements, lacking the Sleep Cure lead to severe disadvantages, even outright discrimination. Schools and employers openly rejected those with the need to _sleep_. Even I am guilty here – in building my campaign team, I couldn’t imagine hiring anyone slowed down by _sleep_. Hypocritical, I know. If it weren’t for the age requirement to become President, there’s no way anyone like me could have even had a chance in office. The Cured were just superior humans.
At least, that’s what I thought until I had Eliza. She revealed something to me I can’t believe I’d missed, I can’t believe the whole world seems to have missed. For as wonderful and special and as incredibly intelligent and beautiful as any father knows their daughter is, there is something wrong with her. Oh my God how it pains me to admit this.
Give her a puzzle, and she’ll figure it out it like any child. Put on a children’s TV show, and she’ll laugh at the jokes like any child. Tag her, and she’ll tag you back like any child.
Ask her to pretend to fly, though, and the confusion on her face is unlike the children from before the Cure. Put simply, she can’t play.
A punch to the gut, a nauseating fear, an internal scream. What had I done to my daughter?
What about all the Cured members of my campaign team? Productive? Efficient? Relentless. Yes. Fun? Playful? Creative? No. Oh God, no. When was the last time I’d heard a teammate make a joke? When was the last time anyone on my team had come up with an original idea? Oh no.
With the loss of their need to sleep came the loss of their ability to _dream_.
I’d become the President by inspiring people with my visions, my _dreams_, for the future. What would happen to future generations without dreamers like me? They’d be productive, but would they produce anything that mattered? We needed dreamers like the President, and now the President’s son.
While my accidental revolution embodies these ideals, I’ve never voiced them. All I’ve ever really said was no. | One of humanity’s great loves is sleep. Any competent C-suite executive would tell you that that’s one-third of the day gone to waste—no productivity, no advertising, and no exploited labour.
Like most other things in the world, billions of dollars were thrown at a potential solution to this not-a-problem. And like most other things, billions of dollars helped expedite the process to wean a human being off sleep, to turn wakeful nights into the norm.
And it worked. Through a simple procedure of brain surgery with but a one percent rate of death—an acceptable exchange for a 33 percent increase in time awake—one could become entirely independent of blessed sleep.
Executive were delighted, and readily patted each other on the backs while cashing extra checks for themselves. The short-term gains were immense, after all.
But of course, there were side effects. The human body was designed to have eight hours of rest. More importantly, modern society predicated these people to simply *not* have the time to think about their current state of existence, which included an exhausted collapse into bed.
Now, so many found themselves with too much time on their hands.
Questions such as “what am I doing with my life” and “this job is bullshit” transformed from a thought easily pushed aside by tiredness, to a constant buzzing in one’s mind. Time, instead of a valuable resource capitalized by capitalism, became something one could use. The first act of rebellion, arguably, was somebody walking to a restaurant, actually sitting down and eating, instead of calling for delivery because they “didn’t have enough time.”
Then, there were the middle managers, who already had nothing to do, but now have more time to have nothing to do with, and think a lot about how much nothing they had to do. Many of them, surprisingly, began to take up actually worthwhile hobbies that created inspiration instead of sucked life from others.
One of humanity’s great loves is sleep. Without sleep, that love has to be diverted somewhere, freeing the caged mind and heart of a human being.
Well, that’s an ideal world. In another world, everybody just added more hours to their time card and got paid the same.
There are millions of divergent veins in between those paths, but these are the two thick branches. When you can look at the end—like I do—it’s easy to choose.
But if it’s just taking a next step, where would you place it?
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-01-02T11:19:21 | 2022-01-02T09:43:46 | 43 | 18 |
[WP] It turns out your apartment was so cheap to rent because one of the cupboards is actually a portal to the Underworld. It’s not dangerous, but the number of adventurers knocking at your door in the middle of the night looking to go through is starting to get annoying. | "Look," I said to the cavernous, undulating pit in the cupboard under my sink, "I'm not asking you to leave entirely. I'm just saying it would really help if you could... relocate a bit." The creature inside - the one that *was* the Pit and that liked it when I put raw meat in the garbage disposal - poked a tentacle made of pure darkness through the door inquisitively. "I mean, you could go to the maintenance closet in the hallway. Lots of space, one dingy, flickering bulb..."
The depths of the Pit made a creaking moan.
"No, of course we're friends!" I said. "I can still visit, you know. It's just really annoying when all those heroes and adventurers keep coming to fight your demons and stuff."
The Pit made an annoyed grumble of its own.
"Yeah, no kidding. Plus they either come at twilight - and they *always* want a meal before going to the Underworld - or at, like, two in the morning. You'd think they'd realize that you're not exactly going anywhere, but," I shrugged, "I guess they think it's more dramatic that way. A better story."
The Pit reached out further, pushing aside space-time in semi-visible rifts.
"No, you can't just eat them." It pushed further. "No, you can't eat my apartment. *Or* me. I've told you, that's a bit fatal to humans, and I'd prefer to have a life. Besides, they're not bad people. Just... annoying."
A loud, clanging bell of Doom. Not deadly doom, just the inevitable promise that one day the world would be engulfed in its darkness once more and not even my soul would survive it.
"Look, you're a decent roommate. You don't leave dishes in the sink, and you eating all the rodents and bugs is honestly pretty cool. But we'd both be happier if you went somewhere where you can get all the adventurers you need to maintain the demonic ecosystem and I could get some sleep."
The creature retreated back into its cupboard, grumbling all the while. Then it retreated further, and for the first time I could actually see the pipes and shit. I ran out into the hallway and grinned. The cracks around the door of the maintenance closet were rimmed with a pulsing darkness.
"Thanks," I said. I quickly went back into my apartment, made two signs that said "Underworld Portal Here" and "Underworld Portal has Moved, Look in the Maintenance Closet" on some spare bits of paper, and dug around the junk drawer for the tape. I went back into the hallway and put the signs up.
Behind the door, I could hear the Pit roiling about, getting itself accommodated.
"Yeah, it is a bit roomier than you're used to," I agreed. "My rent might go up a bit, but we'll both be happier now."
The Pit seeped a bit around the edges of the door.
"No, you can't eat the landlord."
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Read more of my writing on r/coolwrites. | It was a novelty when I first moved in. Then, the lack of personal hygiene and the irregular hours of these adventurers would start their quest at my apartment door was wearing thin on my patience and general well-being.
The only friend I could confide in was Guido, my old buddy from school, who worked his way from busboy to bartender up to nightclub owner. “ What do I do G”? “ It doesn’t let up, every day at least 50 people come through my door to gain passage to the underworld”.
G looked me in the eye with a knowing smirk and stated something obvious. “ You have the only access to a venue with limited overheads and a steady clientele that just are passing through”.
“It’s pretty simple to set up some door men behind a peep hole with a gold coin cover charge”. He ran me some quick numbers on it. “At 50 gold coins a day, $1850.00 a ounce, works out to $92,000.00 a day”. “ Wages and my management cut would only be 20%”. “ You can profit handsomely from all of this, I know these 3 guys that can work the door in shifts for you”. “They’re triplets and a loyal like guard dogs, they’re called the Cerebus brothers”. | 2022-01-01T22:41:03 | 2022-01-01T20:19:07 | 51 | 12 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | Another perfectly quiet, perfectly peaceful night at work, ruined by some caped ego in testicle flaunting spandex. I like it quiet, I like the peace of watching the monitors and sensors, of watching the facilities under my observation, of the complete silence that allows me to know when some idiot is showing up, again.
"Paintsman, you're coming with us."
""Paintsman" seriously? That is so freaking cheesy. Why the hell would I come with you Mr. ...do I know you?" Actually I did but the look of indignation is priceless.
"WHAT? Lord Charge, I'm "
"Seriously? Are there so many of you now that that was the best name you could come up with? I mean what even does that mean? You're the lord of charging like a bull, static charges, buying things like a living charge card with just the presence of your awesomeness...which would make you a thief really."
"That, that's not important you are coming with us. MACmind"
"OH MY FUCKING GOD! Does the guy have a computer for a head? hahahaha Seriously, you guys need some help in the naming division."
"He is a genius with a mind like a computer."
"Seriously, you're not helping your case. Now, simple, why? Why am I coming with you?"
"Because you're up to no good playing mind mannered family man to hide your true agenda."
"Prove it."
"What?"
"Prove it. Otherwise this is just an attempted kidnapping."
"Well you play the family man and sit at a boring job all night every night painting toys."
"I build and paint models OH MY GOD THAT'S WHY YOU CALLED ME "PAINTSMAN"? Dude, that's pathetic naming. Okay, 3 villain groups have already woke up and agreed to leave me be."
"See you are in league with them."
"No they came recruiting and agreed to go home and leave me be. You're going to do the same because I am just a family man and I want to be left alone. I'm also a vet and I've seen enough fighting, death and BS in my life. I'm not interested. Got it?"
"It's a nice story but you're coming in."
sigh "Okay look." Getting up and retrieving a figure from the display case by the wall and presenting it to him. "Do you remember who this was?"
"Of course, it's a model of the villain Rubberto. My arch enemy when I was just starting out."
"Yep he died in that fire. For all his abilities to be like rubber where your electricity did nothing, power punches did nothing he couldn't breath in the fire's smoke, passed out and melted like actual rubber. Remember."
"Of course he was my enemy but it was horrible. Hey so you do know"
I just flick it at him as it goes full sized and attacks. The fight is brief and Rubberto wraps him up insulating his electric attacks inside on himself. Then, opening my palm he returns to being a figurine in my hand.
"What was that villain?"
"I'm not a villain, I'm not a hero and I don't want to be either. I want to be left alone. Any model or toy I build and paint I can bring to life. It's that simple. If I was really a villain, bent on world domination I'd just build myself a space fleet or orbital planet kill space station or something. I've been here for 8 years, 5 nights a week and average about 4 figurines or one larger model a week. If I wanted to rule the world I would, but I don't. I want to be left alone. Simple enough. So, how about you get smart and leave me and my family alone same as the villains have. Okay?
"Yeah...okay."
"Thanks. Bye now."
"Hey...one question. Please."
"Sure, one."
"Do you have a model of me?"
"It only works if they are fictional or dead...but I have an unopened one of you at home, just in case." | Don't know if I'm doing this properly. Please, forgive me.
A Rose by One Name...
I come from outside of the universe. I am printed on two hologram universes, thus. Many beings are like me, want to settle down a bit on one world, take a break from the endless task of printing universes to collect data and patterns.
Humans aren't my favorite creatures. Why couldn't they be like the world of dots or the world of endless painting? Instead, they are the lords of errors, forgetfulness, and wounded curiosity. I wish I had analyzed more data so that I might have swum in a sea of mercury, the most expensive place.
So, the superpower...
I was given the name "Kaela" because the aesthetic of the letter causes one to think as well as the unusual spelling. The nice way it calls out gives me an endearing advantage. Many people can't pronounce it, so there is a humble response. Every time I was for coffee, people tell me they are happy to see me again.
Busy, busy, angels.
My friend sat down and began talking. I only kept her around so that I would appear integrated and could avoid the angels.
I have a flyswatter around for this kind, hit their points, and scrambled their minds. Effing angels. They needed to turn to dust.
I got up.
"How are you going to pay?" My friend asked. She knew I was behind on bills.
"Easy, Ma'am!"
"Don't worry about it, Kaela," the woman at the bar said. "We've got plenty of soda water. Would you like some chips?"
"No thank you, ma'am," I said back and hopped off the chair.
"How do you do that?" My friend asked. "Are you hiding something?" She seemed worried. I could only imagine what gears in her human mind turned.
"She's afraid she can't spell my name on the drink and doesn't want to insult me."
"Totally rad. Do teach."
"They'd be too jealous of you, dear."
"What?"
"You'll have to find your own weapon," I said. | 2021-08-17T00:05:03 | 2021-08-16T21:53:30 | 54 | 10 |
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