prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | So he walked into my 3B class, just like anyone else would. Kinda handsome, I guess, but overall pretty ordinary. Until he turned and I caught the number floating over his shoulder.
The big one-O.
I'm pretty sure I made a noise that would make a mouse call me a pussy, and I sweated through my T-shirt in five seconds flat. I had realized that the numbers I see could theoretically go that high, but the worst I had seen was a five on that kid who went to juvie.
I started looking around the room, wondering if I could make it out the window before the bullets started flying. But he sat down just like any other schmuck and the most deadly thing to come out of his backpack was a mechanical pencil, and only 0.5mm at that.
The rest of the day, hell, the rest of the week, I cramped up in my stomach whenever I saw him, but he made friends easy enough and the school-shooter-persona didn't seem to stick upon prolonged examination. I did consider calling the cops, but what was I gonna say? "Yes, officer, my magic danger-number-vision topped out on student John Doe over here, so I would feel a lot better if you arrested him for me." That's how you get a free trip to a place with three square meals per day and all the long-sleeved jackets you could want.
As the weeks turned to months, the terror of seeing the ten diminished, and I took less stock in my power. The kid was almost disappointingly normal. I graduated and didn't hear from him for a few years, other than that he went to some big state school a few hours away.
Next time I saw him, he was on TV, standing in front of a crowd of protesters, yelling about how congress was defunct, and needed to be gutted. And, hell, I couldn't disagree with him. At this point I figured his rating meant he would go extremist and blow something up, but again, I couldn't call the authorities on a hunch like that. Besides, I'm sure the FBI/CIA already had a file on him bigger than my textbook.
Then he got elected. Just a small state legislature spot, but it was enough to embolden his speeches. Again, I did nothing, hoping he would actually get into congress and get politically cock-blocked like every other young, enterprising politician.
Next thing I knew, he was Speaker of the House. I started getting very worried again, but I knew it was beyond my control. Just a few months later, the president and VP were both killed in immaculate, simultaneous terrorist attacks. The new president declared a righteous war against the Middle Eastern nations unfortunate enough to have the appropriate extremists within their borders. Which, funnily enough, was most of them.
As the war escalated, the president quickly stripped congress of obstructive factions, and soon the only representatives left were those who could march in step with the White House.
Now, I'm on my way to a meeting to determine my ineligibility for the draft. The bullet I put in my leg a few months ago helps my case. | The rest of the day I quietly followed him, trying to determine his secret. To no avail, nothing out of the ordinary, just some clumsy kid with middling mental capabilities. If he was exceptional in some way he was very good at hiding it.
By Friday I was going nuts. I ducked out as he went to the principals office, trying not to be too obvious. I waited inconspicuously at the bus stop, watching, and hoping he would tip his hand. Then I noticed it the Vice principals were walking toward me. But it couldn't be them, they had always been threes. They were both tens. What could have changed them, was it mind control, It felt like something out of bad sci-fi. Not that I could talk, seeing a danger score on everyone.
I decided to run, the VPs gave pursuit. And soon I was being dragged back to the school. I tried to explain that something was wrong with the new kid, that he was dangerous. A vice principal said we need to have a chat about stalking, as I continued to struggle against them dragging me off somewhere "quiet"
Then in a flash I understood, a sneeze, and suddenly dozens of students had turned to tens. | 2014-11-29T13:14:54 | 2014-11-29T12:23:17 | 322 | 216 |
[WP] The world of Avatar is real, only there are not 4 elements, there are 118. For every element on the periodic table there is a group of benders. You are one of them. | Everyone feared the Arsenicides. While the oxygen tribes had long vowed to never remove their lifesaving element from people, the Arsenicides had pretty much made the opposite vow. Everywhere they went, they spread their poison. Just a wave of a hand, and you were choking on nothing. They allied themselves with the Brominiums and the Mercurites, and the most deadly Polonium traitors, demanding tributes wherever they went. Nothing could stop them. They left swaths of destruction wherever they went.
Until finally someone stood up to them. The Avatar. Commanding power over all 117 elements, he managed to beat back the Arsenicide Alliance with the help of the Titanium Warriors, most deadly in their destructive power, the Helium Fliers, who would attack and retreat in the blink of an eye, and the Chlorine Commandos, deadly poisonous, but also givers of life. But after a devastating defeat, the Avatar was reborn as a child, and once again had to learn all 117 elements. But this time, she was determined to get the mysterious final element. Mine.
She came to me with her strange companions, a music-playing Osmium savant; a wealthy platinum-merchant, wise but childish; A Bismuth druid, young but well versed in the field of medication, and the most deadly warrior in the realm, the last remaining Plutonium Man, glowing brightly in his melancholy.
I knew she would come, as so many had come before her. But one by one, I had dismissed them all. No one was worthy of my element, most powerful of them all.
But I agreed to listen to her pleas. She came and sat cross-legged before me. She said, "If you do not give me the secret, will you at least not join us in the fight?"
I laughed. "I cannot join your fight, for my power is much too deadly to be used on my fellow man."
She argued. "How so? The last Uranium Scientists fight by our side. The Cesium bombers fight by our side. Even the last Plutonium man has joined the fight! What could you have that could overpower them?"
I waved my hand. Every plant within fifty strides died instantly. Without so much as a breath, the plants turned black, turned to dust, became nothing. The Avatar tried to fall back in fear, but the earth collapsed where she sat. The earth rose up to her neck, where it turned hard and unbreakable. I walked up to her sadly. "My element is that of life itself, young one. There is no man on earth who could wield it. Even I could not. It must die with me."
To my surprise, I saw understanding in her eyes. "I will turn down this burden, Elder. Truly this one is too hard to bear. To bear life itself? No man is worthy."
I exhaled. Finally, someone had turned down the gift. I allowed her out of her diamond cage. "You are right, young one. But I have searched long for the one who would understand this burden, and now I see her before me." I turned a stone in my hand into a diamond blade. The Avatar gaped.
"Now close your mouth, child, and I will teach you the art of carbon bending." | Iridium. Atomic number 77. Transition metal. A commonly forgotten element, unless you study the periodic table for an excessive amount of time in your 7th grade science class or used a random number generator to pick a random element.
Or maybe you know it because you control it.
There is a small group of people who control a certain element. A group of roughly 15 people per element. I am one of the Iridium benders. Not anywhere near as cool as the oxygen or carbon benders, but WAY better than those who control elements that are so rarely found, like ones only made in labs and such.
When i first found out that i could control Iridium, my immedeate reaction was to go find the uses for the element. With a quick search on the internet i didnt find anything interesting besides it being a good crucible for things with high melting points. Okay. Good. I always wanted to work with metal.
After making one thing using this crucible i made from iridium to make a small dagger, i realised how dumb that was and that i have near perfect control over an element. What is stopping me from making things out of iridium? Im not the brightest person.
Alright. What else can I do? Lets see here... What does the internet say...
Make crucibles, tip pens, good electric conductors, treat cancer WAIT WHAT?!? I can treat cancer with this newfound ability? Cool! Im gonna make a sword! | 2019-09-19T08:50:42 | 2019-09-19T08:40:23 | 3,004 | 162 |
[WP] You find a genie lamp. Knowing, that the genie will twist your wishes, you decide to hire a lawyer to draft wishes | You've heard about the genie in a bottle, right? The trapped spirit that grants wishes, but doesn't have to like it? Well, I found one. I set it free, and... well, let me start at the beginning.
---
I leaned back, folding my hands, and shared a smile with my lawyer. The genie scanned the first page from the stack I handed him, then started over to carefully read through it. Occasionally, he would open his mouth to comment, but close it again when he reached the next paragraph.
It was, of course, air tight. My lawyer and I had spent hours going over it, defining every word, restating every phrase. It was expensive, but that was what my first, simple wish was used on: a pile of real money so I could pay my lawyer. Once he had his money, he didn't care what I was wasting it on - those were his words.
After what seemed like hours, the genie carefully set the last page onto the towering stack of documents. For a long while, he just stared at the stack.
"So. Uh. For your second wish... and let me see if I understand this... for your second wish, you are wishing using a... legal document?"
I nodded. "Yes. I know your kind - always twisting wishes around, like there's some kind of lesson to be learned or something. This isn't a sitcom, buddy! I just want my wish, and I don't want to have to break reality to do it! Sure, it was hard work. Sure, just blurting out something about money, fast cars, or hot women would have been fun, but I want my wish to actually *do* something. Not just a *thing*, not a brief flash in the pan, but something that actually *changes the world!*"
The genie sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Look. Buddy. You... you don't get it, do you."
My lawyer raised an eyebrow and gestured to the stack of documents. "I think you'll find he will."
The genie shook his head, exasperated. "No, I don't mean the wish. Yeah, you really nailed that one down, good job, blah blah blah. I mean *genies*, man! We're magical! We're not here to be regulated! Our duty isn't to grant wishes, but to stir things up! Provide some variety! People say it's the spice of life for a reason!"
"Ha! You're just trying to get out of the wish," I smirked. "I want my wish, and you are contractually obligated to fulfill it, so jump to it!"
The genie just stared at us. "No, actually. I'm not."
I blinked. "I'm sorry... what did you say?"
The genie folded his arms, staring at me with his piercing gaze. "I said, I'm not contractually obligated to give you any wishes. And, if you want to get legal-mumbo-jumbo about it, the only wish-granting agreement we have in place is a verbal one, which is non-binding in this country, is it not?"
I could feel the sweat beginning to form on my forehead. My lawyer stammered, "Uh... but, there is precedence-"
The genie cut him off. "Precedence is merely that, and has no impact on the proceedings. This isn't law, and there is no judge presiding. This is business."
I tried to interrupt, but he forced our silence with a wave of his hand. He snapped his fingers, and our carefully prepared documents exploded in flames. As soot and ash blew around the room, he drew himself up, smoke roiling from beneath him, the genie's eyes flashing angrily. "You have done more damage than you ever could imagine! I am the last genie, and you nearly squandered your chance! Humanity has always grasped at the easy route, and you are no different. You want the world, but you wish momentary things! Never anything of value!"
With a crack, my wish was granted; the second part to a carefully prepared trio that would never be. Useless without the third part, in fact.
The genie towered over me now, his eyes flashing red, fire dripping from his hands. I could hear my lawyer screaming, but it sounded distant; the genie filled my vision. "Only now will you understand. I am the last genie. I am War, and Peace, and Bringer of Ponies! I will not bend to... to... to *lawyers!* I will tell you the contents of your third wish, and you *will* wish for it. *Do you understand me?*"
---
I'd planned everything out, but not that. I was forced to use my last wish, not for me, but for him. You know all those jokes about genies? Well, there's a reason. Genies aren't just magical, they are literally the embodiment of jokes. Not pranksters, but where humor *originates* from. No genies, no jokes. And all but one of them have been destroyed by making them do, well, un-funny stuff. Wish for a pony, only to get an indestructible pony that follows you everywhere? Hilarious. Wish to be able to see your dead grandma one more time? Pile of bones on your floor. It's a laugh a minute, with some life lessons thrown in.
If I'd used all three wishes packaged up by my lawyer, the genie would have vanished. Died. Something like that. And with him... humor itself. Jokes would no longer be funny. Comedians would be out of work. The world would fall into darkness and despair. It was my duty to protect all of that.
Sigh... And that, your honor, is why my hotel room was full of drugs, alcohol, scantily clad blondes, a pile of burning legal documents, and a dead lawyer.
So about that insanity plea... | "Okay then, Mr. Genie. Here is our first request. Er, wish," Eddie amended. He handed the bemused genie a thick sheaf of papers with small, typed writing. Dave stood nearby, biting at his nails and fidgeting.
The great spirit squinted red eyes at the smartly dressed lawyer. "I grant *wishes*, big and small, great and trivial, earth-shattering and humbling. What is this nonsense you've presented to me?"
"It is my client's first wish, as I've told you already." Eddie pushed up his glasses impatiently. "I've outlined all the details of what he wants, including fail-safes to ensure he receives a final product that meets full satisfaction."
"This...this is..." The genie wrung his smoky hands. "I cannot accept this. The wish must be said out loud! And it must be a single sentence! And..."
Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? can you show me proof of such rules? Seems somewhat discriminatory toward mute or deaf individuals. Is that an acceptable practice in genie society?"
The genie sighed. "By the beard of Iblis, you mortals have grown ever more tiresome over the centuries," it rumbled. Papers ruffled as the genie spent the next few minutes swiftly reading through the legalese. At last, it looked up with a peculiar expression. "Hm. This is most interesting. Fine, I will grant thine wish, even in this unorthodox form."
Dave whooped, and shook Eddie's hand. "Let's get on with it already!" he all but shouted.
A great crackling sound roared suddenly, and invisible currents stood everyone's hair on end. The genie rumbled in an ancient, dead language as his sandstone skin shimmered like a Sahara dune, and a strange wind whipped the air. Eddie took out a small comb and rested his hair back into its proper parting.
Dave was lifted into the air, and watched with fear and astonishment as his physique changed fantastically: his biceps bulged, skin stretched, his face became as rigid as stone. His legs painlessly disappeared, leaving a whirling plume of smoke in its place. He tried to scream, but his breath felt caught in ballooning lungs.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the madness was over. The genie was gone - only the lamp remained. But there were now two lamps - and Dave's new, ethereal body billowed out of it.
"Congratulations," Eddie said. "You are now all-powerful, with nearly infinite access to any material wealth and arcane knowledge as you'd like."
Dave flexed his new arms in wonder, and shot lightning from his fingertips. Eddie smiled politely as Dave shouted in joy, summoning his desires with only a thought, and flying about the room. "This is better than I could've ever dreamed!" he yelled, drunk with his newfound power. "Thank you!"
"My pleasure. Now, for the matter of my payment..."
"Anything you like," Dave said grandly. "I am the All-Powerful David! I can do anything! Give you whatever you want!" He spied the open window, with the clear azure sky beckoning, and eagerly rushed toward it. To his surprise, he felt a strain as he tried to leave; it felt as if something was pulling him back. Confused, he glanced back at the lamp, and then at Eddie, who was still smiling his usual professional smile. But somehow, this time, there was something a little sinister in that grin.
"You're a genie now, Dave," Eddie said. "And what is a genie without his human master?" Dave watched with growing horror as Eddie picked up his lamp, cradling it like a baby. "And that contract we signed and handed to the that first spirit...well, it ensured that I get my due payment. Now, for *my* first wish..."
_______________________________________
*Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!* | 2017-10-16T08:23:19 | 2017-10-16T08:17:18 | 247 | 101 |
[WP] You’re cursed with immortality, not because you sold your soul or you’re a sort of immortal creature but because a few thousand years ago, you stepped on the back of Death’s robe and being the petty shit Death is, he hasn’t forgiven you since.
Edit: okay, wow, I definitely did not expect this to get so popular and to the front page. It was just a little random thing! Thank you so much everyone! I love all your entries! | Death, that little asshole, sat in the corner of my room, reading a newspaper detailing about a recent plane crash. As I languished in my bed, wanting to die, he flipped ever more casually though the pages in an attempt to feign the most extreme indifference he could muster.
"Kill me." I demanded in a level, toneless voice. I hadn't been out of bed in decades. It wan't because I was ancient or *incapable* of getting out of bed. I was young. I was healthy and fine. I had merely lived long enough to no longer want to continue living. I stared at the ceiling. I was so desensitized to life. "Just. Kill. Me."
He simply turned another page without comment, but I could hear a faint wheeze of laughter issue from his ragged throat.
"You're such a dick, Death." My voice was absent of emotion or inflection. It merely was. He gave a huff in reply. "Kill me." Toneless.
He turned yet another page. The wheezing picked up slightly, but he worked to not break character.
"Kill me." He turned another page. I let him read a few paragraphs before I said, "kill me." He turned another page. I made a pause. "Kill me." Another page. Another pause. "Kill me." More pages and more requests to end my life. He ran out of pages.
I heard a low, creaking sigh come from him as he stood up and approached me. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see him. The muscles on his decaying face could hardly move, but it was clear that they were twitching into a sort of smirk as he regarded my supine, miserable existence.
"Kill m--" He put a finger up to my mouth to silence me.
Everything in the corner of my vision started to darken. I felt myself moving away from my bed, as if I were floating. I was rising up to the ceiling, yet I could still see Death standing over me. The darkness occupied all of my vision. I was blind and losing contact with the world. Briefly, before fading away completely, I faintly smiled.
\-----------------------------------
I woke up to Death sitting at that same wicker chair as before, reading a different newspaper about some other accident. I grimaced and sighed. He put me to sleep. I thought I was finally moving on, but I was fooled. I promised myself I wouldn't fall for that trick again. I quietly chastised myself for being so foolish and hopeful.
If Death had noticed this little inner dialogue, he gave no indication. He merely flipped through the pages of his newspaper again.
"Shithead," I said in a tone deaf voice. He gave a chuckle, and turned another page. | Death stared at me. She was a true beauty. Flawless white skin. Palest blond lockes. And she looked angry.
- i am sorry... please...
She smiled instead.
- Finally I found you.
She raised her left hand and I saw a black string of fate connecting us. Oh no. No no no.
Skip forward a 1000 years. When ever I manage to track death down... it's fireworks. We do the nasty like the world is going to end tomorrow. Then she disappears. Why... just why..
Each and every time. The other supernatural creatures call me deaths booty call. Do you know how embarrassing it is?
A devout Christian man .. living in constant sin....
But I have a plan. I am going to meet that Cthulu lady that's giving me the eye .. Maybe death will get jealous.. one can always hope.
| 2018-10-12T10:38:34 | 2018-10-12T10:34:26 | 178 | 43 |
[WP]You’re a human stranded on an alien planet. The locals are sapient, but have a lifespan of only about six months. After dozens of generations (about a decade), you’ve managed to make quite a name for yourself.L | A strange buzzing noise fills the air as the drumming and chanting reaches a crescendo. It's almost a cross between a whistle and a hum, produced by an instrument that no one particularly likes, but is still used as a matter of tradition. In that respect, it's a bit like a bagpipe, which would still be a welcome sound to my ears after ten years away from Earth.
Abruptly, the music stops, and I stand a little straighter. A swirl of winged lizard-like creatures flit about my head like miniature dragons, each carrying a tiny green humanoid armed with spears that gleam in the bright light filtering through the trees. They pose no threat to me though; the little green men are the size of my fingers, and their weapons are purely for ceremony anyways.
One of the little dragons breaks away from the swarm, and approaches me. I hold out my hand, and its rider lands on my palm, light as a feather. He's a head taller than the rest of his kind, and his mount has four wings. And as if that were not enough to mark his significance, he wears a simple crown of gold upon his brow.
This tiny creature is Salaris, and he is the sixty-first of his line to bear that name, as well as the ring that I once wore on my own finger. I have witnessed his birth, seen him grow from infancy to adulthood, watched over him as he went through the Trials of his people. And now, he sits in my palm like his fathers before him, seeking my blessing to be king.
To Salaris and his people, the deep thrumming noise seems to come from all around them, vibrating the air and shaking their very bones. None of them have heard me speak, for my voice at its full volume is enough to rupture internal organs, and I have only spoken to them in whispers for sixty of their generations.
Not that they really understand what I say. None of them live long enough to learn my language, and I'm singing in my native tongue. The words aren't important, it's the music that will seep into Salaris's flesh and change him, making him stronger and wiser.
It's a strange quirk of their biology, but these fragile little beings who can barely withstand the full power of my voice are at the same time strengthened by my singing. Maybe it's something to do with the way the sound travels through the air, but that's merely my uneducated guess. I was a scientist once, but that was before, and I'm not willing to test my hypothesis.
I still remember, when I first arrived on this strange desert planet with three distant suns and a ring of tiny moons, how I tried to speak to the little green people in the oasis I stumbled upon, and how they perished horribly at the very sound of my voice. I buried the bodies left behind as the survivors fled the terrible monster that had descended from the skies, and sang a song for the poor creatures I'd slain in accident.
As it turned out, one of them was still alive, and it was my song that brought him back from the brink of death. To show him I meant no harm, I gave him the ring I wore on my finger, and carried him to his village. His name was Salaris too, the first of many kings who have ruled the oasis since then.
That Salaris is long gone, having passed on at the age of six Earth months. Even my song cannot grant these little people a longer life. But if nothing else, my crash landing on this planet has made the small village a mighty kingdom, ruled by strong and wise kings, protected by a giant with the voice of God himself. I wonder what will happen when I am no longer here to sing for Salaris... | 6 months in, I was surprised to find so much death. I was devastated. I was best friends with Uul. He was a very kind man. He's the one who taught me everything I know about this planet. I learned of their lifespan. I won't be making friends anymore. What's the point?
They have an interesting biological trick that helps them move society forward. They are able to pass down around 75% of their memories to their offspring. They don't sleep either. Their voice box is surprisingly similar to humans. Their language is simple and easy to learn. I was able to learn in just 2 months.
10 years have passed and I'm treated like a god here. If I'm being honest, it's pretty good. They are too naive and trusted me way too fast. I taught them about humans and that they shouldn't trust humans too quickly. I hope that if one day humans come, they won't be slaughtered.
It's only been 10 years and their technology has reached the 20th century. They'll probably reach the 21st century in about 2 years. Then the 22nd century in 2 more years. In another 10 years, they'll most likely have surpassed our technology. They won't need me by then.
I've been able to extend their lifespan by 6 more months with simple healthcare. I'm conducting sleeping experiments to see if that'll extend their life. It's not looking promising. They can't seem to shut their brains down to sleep.
My old solar powered suit has been getting radio signals recently. I think my team has been looking for me. I don't know if I want to risk these people's lives. Should I destroy my suit?
Was considering deleting this but who cares. I know this is written pretty badly but it's Reddit. I didn't know where to go next. | 2019-04-22T09:51:46 | 2019-04-22T09:50:46 | 60 | 34 |
[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 | Cheesecake Town was the best town before the Dentist Nation attacked. Led by members of the **I**nternational **D**ental **C**avity **I**ntercept **L**egion, or **IDCIL**, they showed no mercy.
They tore chubby children from their mother's arms and disemboweled them with daggers etched with IDCIL's singular mission statement: *mortem ad placentam apponerentur*: death to cake eaters.
Black and red twizzlers spilled out of their tiny tubby tummies as they screamed in pain. The mothers barely had time to watch the life drain out of their children's precious gumdrop eyes before their own throats were opened.
I saw the Chocolate Man, Enzo, who made the most delicious fudge, get shot in the face. His head exploded like a firework, spraying the area with his brown and red juices. One of the IDCIL soldiers laughed, dipping his finger in the brownish muck and popping it in his mouth.
"Mmm! Chocolate strawberry!"
The rest of them laughed. Then they saw me, cowering under a wagon. I was pulled out, kicking and screaming, tears streaming down my face. I tried to be brave, I tried.
One of them swung a dagger at my neck, but it pinged away, harmlessly. He was dumbfounded. Another tried, aiming at my heart. He thrust with all his strength, but it was ineffective. Another ping. His dagger was chipped.
One of the men drew his gun, pointed it at my head, and fired. The world shook, I fell down. I couldn't hear anything, just a ringing noise in my ears. I felt other impacts, they were shooting me, then stabbing me, then shooting again.
I felt everything but the pain.
When I woke up, they were leaving. My clothes were ruined. The town was on fire, the smell of burning sugar filled my nose. Everyone was dead.
I grabbed a cloak and some water, then marched into the ***desert***, away from Cheesecake Town. Now I am alone. The sole survivor. Who am I, you ask, that I should survive the brutality of IDCIL and emerge unscathed?
I am **Hard Candy**.
Dentists, beware. | We were some of the better-off gingerbread people this Christmas; we had rows upon rows of beautiful, multi-story houses all gussed up with gumdrops and hand-piped icing. But everything changed when the ceiling fan came crashing down one day.
I don't know how long it's been. But I'm alone, and all I see for inches and inches until the horizon is white.. My gumdrops are getting crusty.. I don't know if I'll die from the massive, prehistoric sized lion, or the dehydration. | 2014-12-16T23:53:26 | 2014-12-16T22:45:28 | 67 | 38 |
[WP] Having failed in every attempt to kill Batman, the villains of Gotham had given up. With nothing to do, they started a D & D group and had been meeting for several weeks in the back room of a local Tavern. Things take a turn when the owner, Mr. Bruce Wayne, asks if he may join their game | "Are you sure?" Bane asks Bruce in a thick accent, "this is **high stakes** D&D - you know that, right?"
"That's why I'm here," Bruce replies as he edges past the monstrous man and pulls up a seat at the table.
A host of familiar faces eye him suspiciously. A tall, cloaked figure is sat as still as death at the end of the table.
"Bruce Wayne," Bruce says, "pleased to meet you all."
Nods and grunts respond to him. "Yes, we all know who you are," hisses the penguin. "Let's get on with it - we needed a new player for the Batman anyway."
"Oh? What happened to the previous player?" Bruce asks.
A manic laugh. "He met a *grave* fate." More laughter. Bruce rolls his eyes.
"Psst," he whispers, nudging Poison Ivy with an elbow, "what's that guys story?" He nods towards the man in the cloak, whose face is totally obscured by shadows.
"Him? That's the dungeon master," Ivy responds.
"Oh. Hi there, dungeon master," Bruce says waving to him.
The man slowly pulls back his hood.
"Oh, deary me. Good evening, master Bruce," says Alfred.
"I don't believe it!" Bruce cries. "What are *you* doing here?"
"Well," Alfred says, tugging at the collar of his long cloak, "I haven't had a lot to do since... erm, since things got a bit *quiet*, back home. Plus, I dearly love dungeons and dragons."
"Unbelievable," mutters Bruce. "Whatever, let's go."
Alfred clears this throat and begins.
"You find yourselves in a large, well lit warehouse. You are surrounded by bags of cocaine. The only thing standing in the way of getting the bags out of the warehouse and onto the streets - and becoming exceptionally wealthy from doing so - is the dark figure that just entered through a back door. Mr Riddler, your go."
"I sneak up behind Batman, and ask him a..."
"Oh my God," cuts in Poision Ivy, "if you ask another riddle, I swear, I'm going to kill you."
"No! No. I- I was just going to ask him for... the time," says Riddler, suddenly flushed and sweating.
"The time?" she replies
"Yes. The time. Is that an issue?"
"You're an idiot."
Riddler clenches his teeth and stands up. "Here's a riddle for you, Ivy. What rhymes with snitch and always ruins D&D?"
"A witch?"
"A bitch! I meant a bitch. It was you!" he screams as he leaves the basement. Soon after, they hear the front door slam.
"I don't know how Batman ever solves his riddles. They're terrible," says Ivy, as she reaches into the bag of Cheetos.
"Now that that unpleasantness is over," says Alfred, "I believe we can continue. "Master Bruce, the villains are closing in on you. What would you like to do?"
"I fire my grappling hook into the rafters and break all the lights."
"Can he do that?" asks Penguin, sounding suddenly concerned. "Does he- does he have it equipped?"
"He does. But he will need to roll 16 or more, to successfully use it."
Bruce takes the die and rolls an 18.
"Batman has vanished into the rafters," says Alfred. "The darkness overwhelms you all. Penguin, what would you like to do?"
Penguin taps his cane on the floor half a dozen time. "No! This is getting a little *too* real." Penguin is sweating profusely as he gets to his feet. "I don't fancy reliving this. Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen."
"Seriously?" asks the Joker.
---
A few hours later, only Bruce, Joker and Alfred remain in the basement room.
"Joker has you pinned to the floor with a scissor lift. He is laughing like a crazy man," says Alfred. "He has a bucket of acid in his hands, and is ready to pour it over your face. What would you like to do, master Bruce?"
"Hm. I use... *psychology,* on Joker.
"Eh?" Joker responds.
"Psychology," Bruce repeats. "I tell him that I'm sorry for what his dad did to his mom, but that trying to take out his hatred for his dad leaving them - on Batman - is not going to change *anything*. He will still be that muddled up, frightened child that he's always been, under his pale façade. I tell him that deep down he knows that his only real friend *is* Batman. That deep down, he *loves* Batman."
Joker begins to laugh. "Ahaha-ha--ha---ahhhhh-waa-waaaaah!" The laughter turns to tears.
"Mr Joker?"
"Leave me alone!" he cries.
"Come on Alfred, I think its time to go home," says Bruce, as he picks up the bag of Cheetos. He slaps Joker reassuringly on the shoulder as he walks past. "It'll be okay, buddy. See you next week."
---
Sorry if this felt a little rushed - was about to go out to see alien.
More stories on /u/nickofnight
| "I seduce the mimic chest."
"Harley, darling, you can't deduce every obstacle we come across." The Joker, in a surprisingly endearingly way, was losing patience with Quinn's stratagem.
"Don't be jelly mon frere; we all wanna see what Riddler comes up with next. I bet it bites her...in *two*." Dent's a smooth talker with an even smoother snicker. Me, I'm more of the 'strong, silent, born-in-the-darkness' type.
"Don't listen to these suckas gurl. I'd *kill* to be seduced by one ravishing doll such as yourself." I suppose Ivy gets lonely without her tentacles. Err...vines. Whatever. Creepy fucks.
"**Ahem** I *seduce*. The mimic chest. ROLL THE DAMN DICE." Homegirl's getting impatient now. It's actually kinda adorable. Ahh that stamp of the foot. In a universe without The Joker...
**DM Rolls D20**
"Ol' Riddley's got to be toying with us now. Another 18 you sly fuck? I'll have what she's having." Yet another stinking bottle of piss to pass down. Never did like Penguin, but on this topic I have to agree.
Time for my world-class tact. "Surely you're not running one of your schemes, eh Riddler."
With an ever so slight shrug of his green shoulder, "Don't question what you don't understand. I am the ultimate authority in this land. Seduce as you please, my pretty, my pet. Only a few chances, my lady shall get." This bastard certainly has a way with words. I'd love to see him and Harvey get into it. When it's my turn I'll see if I can't do something about that. Between the 2 of them, that's 1 too many faces for my liking.
"My lady hast successfully seduced our indignant imposter. Within his bowls lies a tongue he hath fostered. Wraps it around my lady thrice, for what he will not eat, but savor, is vice." Ivy can barely contain herself.
"Now we're screwed. Next time I get the mimic. Eating trumps seducing." Meet our underwater republican, Kroc. Don't hold it against him. He was raised in the sewers of New Yo-
"Perhaps I can be of assistance!"
Nobody's turned around yet, but you can pinpoint the exact moment of recognition in everyone's ears, or skin in Kroc's case. That's Bruce as I live and breathe. Bruce, whose only skill worth mentioning is bringing joy to those who like beating him up. Namely me.
"We're not running any lawful goods this time, Wayne. Come back never." Tactful as always!
I don't remember spinning to face the devil. Now that I've noticed, everyone else has done the same. Eyes shooting daggers and mouths baring pearly bloodlust. Suddenly the room feels a little too dark. Must be the cigar smoke...floating lazily into the shape of a bat right before my eyes.
"Now now. Before we begin I have something important to share with you all."
The air thickens noticeably. Piles of muscle mass flexing in closed quarters will do that. Of course that would mostly be me and Kroc. Though, even The Joker can...wait. where'd he go?
"Best way to deal with mimics is to simply praise the sun."
**The Joker cackles maniacally from the rafters**
*To be continued...* | 2017-05-14T03:27:12 | 2017-05-14T01:05:42 | 2,067 | 29 |
[WP] When offered one wish, you jokingly said that you want to fire proof. You are disappointed to discover that fire still burns you. When you accidentally lit the company breakroom on fire, your boss just laughed it off and you began your new career as the person who can't be fired, ever. | On second thought, I should have been suspicious when the genie had laughed after granting my wish. Initially, it seemed like he was just happy, but I'll be damned if I appreciated his mirth when the flame burned the crap out of my index finger.
I threw the match aside as the blister, clearly a nasty one to come, began to form instantly. That was when it all went to hell. See, some matches are a little more wind resistant than others. This one was on the higher end of the spectrum. I had expected it to go out in mid-air, given how many of the damn things blew out when I was just trying to light a smoke outdoors. But this one hung on. The little match that could.
The contents of the trash can went up first. Then the pizza box on the counter. Apparently grease is flammable. The rest of the break room followed suit in short order. The fire department later said that if it hadn't been for the sprinkler system, we'd have lost the whole darn building. That was a Monday.
That Tuesday, I walked into my boss's office, fully prepared to accept my termination. He just gave me a slap on the back and said, I swear this is true, "Who among us *hasn't* started a major fire in the break room? Go on, you're fine." There were 53 employees in our office. I was pretty sure the answer to his question was "The other 52 of you," but didn't want to talk myself out of a job, so I left. On the way back to my desk, it dawned on me. *Fire* proof. Huh.
I have come to believe that after the discovery of any superpower comes the testing of its limits. But as I soon learned, this power had absolutely no limits whatsoever. No one minded when I came in late. No one minded when I came in late and dressed in flip flops. Indeed, no one minded when I came in *naked*. I really thought that one would do it. Eventually, no one minded when I stopped coming in altogether. The paychecks kept depositing.
Then I had an idea.
Eight hundred and thirty two. That is the number of jobs I now have. 832. I may be the world's first multimillionaire employed as a receptionist. Or 7-11 janitor. Or bus driver. It doesn't matter; I don't ever actually show up to any of them. I apply for every job out there, but my only real "job" is faking my resume and showing up for interviews. It helps that hiring managers can often be bribed. When I'm hired, my work is done.
At this point, I could easily stop, but each job is literally a lifetime income, no matter how low that income may be. My average job pays only $24,714 per year, putting my gross annual income just north of $20 million. All in all, I consider the "confusion" surrounding my wish to be working out in my favor.
Well, I did. Until those goddamn idiots at the other pump got into a gasoline fight. A spark, a whoosh, and my last thought as the fireball barrels through me is "Fucking genies."
​
**Edit**: First Reddit gold! Thank you kind interneteer! | I started my day by strutting into the office wearing the most ridiculous outfit I could find. Khaki shorts with knee-length leotard socks, a hawaian tee and flip-flops that kept click-clacking on the linoleum floor. My colleagues kept throwing me irritated glances, and I could hear whispers between some of them.
Karen, the secretary, scowled when she saw me, but didn't say anything because the boss Mr. Hughes stood next to her with a bunch of documents in his hands.
"Eric! Just the guy I've been waiting for! Come by in an hour or so and we can grab a cup of coffee and chat over the next testing phase."
"Sure thing boss," I greeted and slapped Karen's ass.
She squealed, no doubt due to how bold I was. Winking was hard after the fire, but I didn't mind. The red-blue flesh hanging from my eyelids stuttered a few times while I was trying to give her a second wink.
"See you later. Bitch!" I passed her by and turned around with a grin on my burned out lips and both my hands raised as high as my half-functioning muscles would allow.
"Ayyyy, nice one, Eric! My boss cheered.
​
I finished my morning routine by taking a shit in front of the office's kitchen and wiping my ass with Karen's (then unopened) bag of toast. I may not be fireproof. But I am, *fire-proof.* | 2019-03-01T12:49:14 | 2019-03-01T12:31:57 | 5,051 | 37 |
[WP] Every alien race has a superpower, including humans. As it turns out, the fear and mortal terror experienced by Earth's lower life forms in the presence of a human, also works on even the most rational and advanced species. | Ambassador Rodriguez could not help but notice the furtive glances her way as she walked down the corridors of the giant spaceship housing the Galactic Federation Assembly. Even the Grakons, each standing over four meters tall with honest to goodness horns coming out of their heads, halted their conversations and tried to shrink away as she passed by. Rodriguez offered her best placating smile as she hurried her step towards the human embassy quarters. She could only sigh as she heard a Peorie whimper at the sight of the ambassador's teeth.
"Good morning, soldiers," Rodriguez greeted the two Xandian guards outside the embassy entrance. I still don't know what to refer to these ones as, Rodriguez thought to herself. Both completely identical, the Xandians were a hive minded race from what her scientists had informed her. Highly intelligent and technologically intimidating, it was the Xandian race who had built this ship and practically ran the Galactic Federation. It was rare to ever hear them speak, yet they were highly efficient in coordinating, well, pretty much everything.
"Greetings, Ambassador Rodriguez," one soldier replied with what sounded like almost a quiver to Rodriguez. Are they guarding us or themselves, Rodriguez thought in passing as the guards remained facing each other instead of returning to have their backs toward the embassy doors.
"Greetings, Ambassador Rodriguez," another Xandian manning the desk said as she continued towards the meeting room. "Your team is gathered in Meeting Room A, may we provide anything for you, Ambassador?"
"No thank you," Rodriguez answered. "I'm heading straight in. It's dire we nail this assembly meeting presentation!" She winced at her choice of words as the Xandian rocked back a little on its heels. Great, who knows what computations were going on in that hive mind as it stood there silently. She didn't even bother trying to explain herself, instead heading straight to the conference room.
"Please, take a seat," she said as she entered and took her place at the head of the table. "Ok, let's jump straight into this. The presentation is tomorrow morning and we have to get this right, folks. Singh, start us off," Rodriguez said to her top sociologist.
"Good morning, team," Singh said as she stood up. "As you know, we are making our opening statement to join the Galactic Federation and we are starting way behind the eight ball on this one. From what we have gathered, homo sapiens elicit extreme fear in all alien species. Obviously review of our historical records could explain why but the fear seems to be an actual physical phenomenon we are exhibiting. Whatever the full reason we have to overcome this fear quickly if we are to be accepted by the galactic community."
"And just so we are on the same page," Rodriguez added, "to not be accepted could be catastrophic. If the Assembly sees the entire human race as a threat to all other beings, they have informed us they will ban us from ever leaving Earth. There are even rumors they could take measures to protect all other species on the planet from our danger."
Rodriguez took a seat and let the meeting continue on. Images of the presentation scrolled on the telescreen. She could barely suppress a chuckle as she thought of the absurdity of what they had planned. There were clips of Bob Ross painting on a canvas, mother's doting over their infants, Mr. Rogers singing a gentle melody, dogs greeting returning soldiers with pure love. It was all so ridiculous but her team had informed her they had to show the softer, gentler side of humanity, especially from the male side. This was just the preliminary talk but if things did not go well here at the beginning, Rodriguez suspected it might be a tough battle to ever win over the assembly and bring her planet into the galactic community.
…
"And so we would like to thank you, once again, for allowing us to present a side of humanity we feel represents who we really are as a species," Rodriguez continued with her conclusion. She could barely contain her excitement, trying to subdue her smile, as she wrapped up the presentation. They had nailed it! She could see the other delegations whispering to themselves and the ambassador felt it was a good impression.
Suddenly from behind her she heard a commotion and turned to see her team congratulating themselves with high fives and hugs, slapping each other on the back, big smiles on every face. From the corner of her eyes she saw various alien delegations look up in alarm. Idiots, she thought as she moved to settle them down before they ruined everything. Her foot caught the edge of a chair, however, and Rodriguez tripped forward, falling hard into the arms of a panicking Xandian guard as she let out a yelp. Dread enveloped her as she tried to think of a way to save the situation. Behind her, a loud "Achoo!" rang out from the commotion, Rodriguez recalling that Singh seemed to sneeze when nervous. Hysteria had reached full mass among the assembly, and Rodriguez heard Xandian rifles charging up. | The council of governing met on very few occasions in full. Usually only a few of the members would meet to discuss and coordinate with their individual task forces. Meetings in mass could cause issues between the races intentional or not. You wouldn't want a Galthian sun maker melting a Virood Ice giant. As peaceful as the races are they can be quite chaotic when their traits collide. Most races don't understand the potential of their gifts, or that they have them. Every race can do something extraordinary even in the eyes of some of the most powerful races. It was not long ago that a primitive small race (Dwent-ii) thought that all they could do was create small durable ride-able bubbles; it wasn't until they crashed one that they released one of the largest EMPs ever to be felt on the neutral space station. Many died before responders could turn back on the life support and habitat modulators.
Currently a new race was sending delegates to meet with the introduction committee, a group chosen for their resilience and charismatic abilities so as to withstand unknown powers and meet diplomatic needs. Purgt, Nathai, and Bob patiently waited to meet the new "human" race. Purgt was their bruiser if need be able to dampen the inertia of nearby objects they are more than thick skinned. Projectiles would bounce off harmlessly as long as Purgt knows they are coming. Nathai, the leader of the group, was a fantastic orator combined with their races ability to absorb energy was perfect with talking with difficult races was perfectly suited with being the first friendly face. For example the irradiated Xelop would not have to worry of endangering their host. Finally Bob, though his race was mostly silent, seemed to have the ability to communicate almost on a subconscious level precise details. Even more fascinating Bob could communicate with many council members at the same time, letting one know that a tax in crease of .0003% could be a wonderful way to introduce a form of revenue for their education systems and give directions to someone else at the same time. It didn't hurt that Bob was made of a shock absorbing jelly like material incase of physical altercations. The three were confident that they could help ease in any race into the transition of becoming a council member.
It began quickly, like a shadow overtaking the sun on a bright field. Bob was the first affected, somehow becoming a little deflated, Bob immediately inquired if anyone else felt that undeniable fear. Nathai and Purgt were not far behind they seemed to wither under the presence they felt. It was not long till they all heard the foot steps clack closer and closer down the hall. Something was coming, and it was terrifying. The three didn't have the time to really prepare for what was coming they stood as the doors opened and the humans entered. The one in the lead strode forward in a pressed suit.
"Sorry to keep you waiting the names Jonathon Melrose, this is my assistant Chris. If you want we can sit down and get started" said the human that appeared to be in charge.
immediately after the word sit was issued the committee folded into their seats and awaited their next instruction. | 2017-12-01T06:12:43 | 2017-12-01T03:52:13 | 48 | 32 |
[WP] Every time the Messiah returns, we kill him. It is now the Thirty-seventh Coming, and Jesus is getting sick of our sh*t | He leaned against the wall, exhaling cigarette smoke through an outward sigh. He rested his head against the nightclub's outside wall, hearing the faint rumble of the musics bass from within.
Lately, the man had been thinking. All this time, what has he been doing? Thousands of years wasted, dying over and over. Lifetimes wasted showing signs to those blinded by... By what? Ignorance? Indifference?
"*What does it matter, anyway?*" he thought, bringing the half finished cigarette back up to his lips.
"*Thirty-six.*" He held on to that number as he also held his breath. Exhaling once again, his thoughts continued. "*Thirty-six times I've lived and died, and have I made even the slightest difference to anyone?*"
He was quite certain he hadn't made a difference, and as far as he was concerned, he wasn't going to waste this life as well. God be damned, he was going to enjoy himself for once in his lifetimes.
He dropped his finished cigarette on the ground, and decided he'd go back into the nightclub. He was never really into them, and had never been to one before, but they started to look interesting around his thirty-fourth lifetime.
As he was about to enter through the doorway, a woman came out with her head down, accidentally bumping into the man.
"Oh," she said, looking up quickly. She was very pretty, he noted. Her red hair was a mess, some of it stuck to her face from sweat. She'd clearly had a great time dancing. Her blue eyes looking into his, almost cute with that apologetic look on her face.
"I'm so sorry!" she was turning red from embarrassment. The man smiled gently,
"Don't worry yourself. I'm sorry, I should have been paying more attention myself."
Upon seeing he wasn't upset, she smiled back, and opened her mouth to say something before a hand reached from behind her and grabbed the man by the neck of his shirt.
"What the hell, man?" A voice said, belonging to the visibly drunk guy holding onto the mans shirt. "You hittin' on my girrhl?"
"Eric, please don't.." the redhead said, grabbing into his arm, but he shook her off.
"Nah, lemme deal with thish asshole." he growled, his attention still focused on the man, "Nobody'sh gonna make me seem like a pusshy in front of my girl."
The man still had the smile on his face. "Please Eric, let's not resort to violence here, we're both capable of being gentlemen."
At the mention of his name, Eric became even more angered. "You don't knowh me, man. I'll beat the shit out of you!"
"Do you really want to make a fool out of yourself in front of Sara?" The man asked, "She doesn't like when you fight... But you know that, don't you?"
The redhead, Sara, stood surprised that the man knew her name. Eric's face turned red in rage and shoved the man against the wall. He pulled back his fist to throw a punch.
The man sighed. Eric's fist came forward, and with a loud crack, struck the wall directly, breaking his knuckles while the man had dodged effortlessly. The mans face was now close to Eric's. "I tried to warn you, Eric." He said to him quietly.
With a swift punch to the stomach, Eric was on the ground, coughing up what doubtfully was even half of what he had to drink tonight.
The man walked passed him, back towards the nightclub entrance. Eric finished coughing, and looking at the man, he spat, "Jesus fucking Christ."
Jesus turned around and stared at Eric, pathetically on the ground, and said one last thing before entering.
"You're God damn right." | He stared in shock at the clicking noise emitting from the mouth of the creature before him. He moved slowly backwards, not daring to even breath, afraid to set off the metal mechanism that was grinding away in front of him.
"Don't move!" Called a distant, female voice. Footsteps echoed down the hall, getting louder and louder. Suddenly she came into view. Dressed in olive green and carrying an object in each hand she was running towards him. She lifted the weapons and aimed. Beams of red light issued from their ends, he ducked reflexively but needn't have worried. The red lights found their marks and the creature crumbled, dissolving into dust.
"Take this," she said, offering one of the weapons to him. "What's your name?"
He took the weapon tentatively, having never held one before. *Of all the times, all the worlds this is definitely the strangest* he thought. He met her penetrating gaze, remembering that she had asked him a question.
"Nu? What's your name?" She repeated.
He stared in shock, he recognized the Hebrew. He looked at the patch on her arm, a six pointed star with a sword in the middle and olive leaves wrapping around it with Hebrew lettering below. He found himself back in the land where it had all began, this time 4000 years into the future. "JC." He finally said, wanting to keep his identity a bit more mysterious this time.
"Whatever Jacey." She shrugged, checked her gun and nodded satisfactorily to herself. "I'm Noa. That creature that almost killed you, that's a Nachash. And you're clearly not from around here." She eyed his clothing skeptically.
"Um, no." He said. "Do you think you could help me...get my bearing a bit."
"We're kind of in the middle of a war right now," she said impatiently.
"A war with who?"
She looked at the pile of dust where the nachash had been. "The world."
**Jesus Christ: The Apocalypse**
***COMING SOON***
| 2015-03-19T11:36:57 | 2015-03-19T10:45:20 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | The Heroes were approaching the door to the keep. I rose from my throne to meet them. By my calculations, I had 2 minutes, maybe less, to try and escape the hell I'd been living for the past 2 years.
The Paladin, righteous as always, kicked open the door. I don't think he expected to see me standing right there though. Those old stories always talked about the heroic party and the Physical Embodiment of Evil (they were never good at coming up with decent names for me) standing opposite one another in the Great Hall. Well, things weren't that simple this time.
The Paladin started, as was expected.
"Hold, demon! You have committed crimes against the Realm and it-"
"Shut up and listen to me you fool," I said. "We have maybe 90 seconds to get this right. You will kill me in a most violent way, your wizard will burn my corpse, and then you will all run away as fast as possible. I will never return to this world."
I approached them and knelt, awaiting the blade that would sever my head and put the true evil to rest.
"No."
I looked up. The voice was that of a woman, though thankfully not the one I feared at the moment. She was obviously a fighter, though she wielded no weapon. She bore just a shield and a nasty looking spiked glove.
"You sacked the Seven Kingdoms. You tortured and brutally murdered hundreds of thousands of innocents! You will be tried for your crimes!"
"That was not me. You know the story of Princess Isabelle?"
"Of course, you kidnapped her nigh on two years ago" responded a Dwarf.
"You view me as evil. She makes me look like a monk. Please, in the name of the gods, strike me down."
As the heroes debated amongst themselves I heard it. The opening of the door nearest the throne. The group turned as I sighed and dropped my head again.
"Sweetie, why are you talking to those troublemakers?"
I knew better than to answer. I hoped the Heroes would come to their senses and end this, but I knew it was hopeless.
Within seconds Isabelle had closed to within spell range. With one flick of her wrist, the party was immobilized. I will never forget the looks of shock and fear on their faced.
"Had you only listened to me. I am truly sorry for the pain you all will suffer before you are killed." I turned away as the Princess levitated them onto the great seal in the center of the room. "I truly never wanted this. I was simply doing my job. Cause chaos, bring about the rise of a Hero, or heroes as the case may be, and bring balance to the world."
"I know, sweetie," Isabelle cooed in my ear. "But the world just needed more chaos than you were willing to bring this time."
A cough brought me back to the matter at hand. The Dwarf was free from his knees up, in the center of the great seal.
"What are you talking about, Princess Isabelle? Why have you sided with this... this monster?!"
"Because I could not do what I should have," I replied as I turned towards the helpless fool. "She is possibly the most beautiful creature to ever grace the realm. And easily its most powerful witch. We fell in love, but then she bound our lives together. Made us immortal."
"Darling, must you tell them all this? They won't need to remember it, it's not like they'll be going anywhere." The annoyance in her voice made my blood run cold.
"There was one thing," I continued "that she could not save us from. The killing blow of a Hero. Had you severed my head, this would all be over."
She had grown tired of waiting. Her preferred method of torture was tearing long, narrow strips of flesh from the bodies of her victims. And it was obvious that she had begun to work on the dwarf.
I couldn't bear to look at the faces of the four others as I retreated to my chambers. But even through ten feet of thick, enchanted stone, I could never escape the screams | I hold my hand against the brown,ancient earth.
The soul trembles under my roots,their twisting veins piercing and shoving through the rock and silt.
It wails as I scoop the mass,so full of life,and crush it in my palm.
Dehydrated soil falls down through my fingers,defeated and hollow.
I chuckle,the rumbling coursing through my ancient body.
The sunlight is blotched by my leaves,their rustling voices chanting in unholy rhythms.
I look down on my captive,it’s full eyes motionless.
My minions sway in the wind,their cacophony of colors stirring the morsel’s mind like a storm thrown in water.
Then...a scream.
A voiceless howl echoes through the plain,the weeds reel in,choking on the suffering and pain.
The morsel stands,its face-now smiling at the screaming flower that is held between two fleshy appendages.
It looms into the ripped body,still leaking green,and shoves it’s snout against it.
My horror of hearing my subject wail in agony is drowned by the look on the creature’s face.
It’s mouth,the blood red skin protruding from its ghostly white skin curls,and it lets out a small chuckle as the flower croaks it’s death scream.
“I should really find my way back to the kingdom.”
It says,as it shoves the severed chunk of plant matter into its million tentacled head.
“Governess Anna must be really mad at me right now!”
She crushes thousands of weeds under her foot,and twirls around the screaming field.
Grain eating beasts fly around and land on her hand,their empty soulless eyes seeking young seedlings to devour.
She suddenly stops,then turns abruptly towards the flowerbed,snow trembling silently as the face of the monstrous thing fixed on them again.
“It wouldn’t hurt to pluck a few more flowers would it?”
The flowers scream in horror and outrage,their leaves quaking as if a tempest is roiling through.
At least tempests grant a merciful death!
The fleshy appendage swoops down once more,and a sickly ‘snap!’ echoes.
“Wouldn’t hurt at all...” | 2018-02-09T06:50:51 | 2018-02-09T03:55:16 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You finally came up with a plan to get rid of the hero. You would go undercover and fall in love with his civilian identity before breaking his heart and killing him at his emotional lowest. A couple months later, you have experienced a complication in your plans. You’re pregnant.
Change around genders, POV, etc to suit your story. | "Well shit."
I glare at the pregnancy test in my hands, a storm of conflicting emotions washing over me. My plan was supposed to be foolproof, no attachments, no dawdling, and absolutely no sex. Evidently, tequila should have been the first big no on that list. Well, and vodka. And maybe chocolate. Okay, and *he* probably should have been on that list. I'll admit I wasn't expecting him to be so hot without that god-awful suit. Or so sweet and thoughtful. I scowl.
"Kate?"
I run to the window, let the incriminating evidence drop, and turn to smile as my nemesis pops his head into the bathroom. His stupid, handsome face is contorted into an obnoxiously dashing smile.
"I'm leaving for work, but I was wondering if you wanted to go somewhere nice for dinner? It's been forever since I've had a free evening, and I have the night off, so I just thought," he trails off, blushing.
Furiously fighting a blush of my own, I stutter, "Uh, yeah, dinner is good."
He leans in for a kiss, and I let it happen, my eyes narrowing at his closed ones. But, after a moment, I relax and close my eyes. God, he's a good kisser.
Coming to my senses, I pull away and usher him out of the bathroom to resume panicking. My phone rings and, seeing that it's my tech guy, I sigh and answer.
"Eugene, this is very very very bad."
"Uh, what is?"
I sigh, "I'm pregnant."
Silence.
"I'm confused," he drawls, "If there was 'no sex' and you 'can't get pregnant anyway' because, 'oh silly Eugene, that's why Jeremy left me in the first place,' then how did this happen?"
I frown at my phone.
"It doesn't matter, I just, I need to cancel today's doomsday plan while I figure out what I'm going to do. I can't kill the father of my child just to take over the city for like a week."
"You're keeping it?"
I glance down at my stomach.
"Yeah. You know I've wanted a kid for years. Even if its father is abominably heroic and, you know, stubborn and too charming for his own damn good, it may be the only one I get, you know? I'm not really getting any younger here."
"Oh my god."
"What?"
He chuckles, "You like him."
I hang up.
...
I sit alone at a table, drumming my fingers. He's late. Maybe I shouldn't tell him? After all, what will he say if he knows who I am?
As I start to get up, I hear a commotion outside the restaurant. People are running and screaming. My nemesis crashes through the restaurant window and slams into a table near me. I fight the urge to check on him and instead wait to see what's happening.
A woman appears in the shattered opening, completely aflame and grinning, "You've met your match, Telekinetic Guy, prepare to die!"
I roll my eyes at the theatrics.
Telekinetic Guy, whose name was the main reason I had chosen him as my nemesis, got to his feet, "Not today!"
A huge fight ensues. Tables are thrown, fires are lit, and I watch with amusement from my table, subtly phasing out whenever necessary to allow flying objects to pass through me. Though I reluctantly admit, my nemesis was doing a decent job of redirecting them first. Finally, the fight comes to a close. Telekinetic Guy stands victorious, and the fiery chick is on the ground, presumably unconscious. He smiles for the crowd across the street, then walks over to my table.
"Hey Kate, sorry about that, are you alright."
"Yes," I brush off his concern, "Look, we need to-"
I'm cut off by the sound of metal cutting through the air. I stare in horror as a flaming knife flies toward my nemesis' back. He turns around, but I can see that it will be too late. I grab him firmly by both shoulders and phase us both out, allowing the knife to crash into the table.
The silence that follows is deafening. When he finally turns back to me, his face is filled with indescribable hurt.
"You're the Vanishing Nightmare."
It's not a question.
"I was going to propose."
He drops a little box on the table and turns to leave, each of his steps landing with defiance, but his shoulders hang low in defeat.
"Wait, Max," I mutter through clenched teeth, "Can I still accept?"
I open the box and wait.
He doesn't turn around, but he does stop walking, "Why did you do it?"
I sigh, "To kill you and take over the city, you know, the usual."
"How could I marry a murderer?"
"I haven't ever actually killed you, have I?"
"No."
"And as much as it pains me to admit it, you always stop my plans, so I've never killed anyone either, right?"
He turns around.
"So what? Will we just keep fighting while we're married? For the show?"
I grin, "I mean if that's what you're into."
A playful spark returns to his eyes, "How do I know you won't just kill me at the wedding?"
I put the ring on and sit down triumphantly, "I could have let you die just now."
"Fine."
"So you'll marry me?"
He sits down across from me, "Yeah, sure."
My phone rings.
"Yes, Eugene?"
"What did you decide?"
"We're getting married."
He laughs, "I thought you were 'too evil' to settle down."
"Who said anything about settling? We're still going to take over the city, you and I."
Max raises his eyebrows.
"Uh, alright? I guess I'm okay with that," Eugene pauses, "Did you tell him?"
Oh yeah. I hang up.
"Uh, Max?"
"Yes, love?"
"I'm pregnant." | I look over my shoulder as I jump the fence, seeing the bright yellow light gaining on me, I exert my whole being to continue sprinting in escape. I round the corner of an old dilapidated warehouse and seeing nothing behind me for the moment, I tuck myself into a corner and try to catch my breath. As I sit there, huffing and puffing from physical activity I usually have my minions take care of, I think back to when I first came up with my diabolical plan, when I thought it was a masterpiece that simply couldn\`t fail!
6 months before, coming off yet another foiled plot at the hands of the sickening heroine, Starfall, I was in a miserable state. None of my goals could be met, all of which seemed evil and required breaking many laws but were in fact all in the service of saving the world! I could not understand my continued failures, almost all of which were due to Starfall! Yet, the Seer had foretold that I my actions would save the world, so I could not understand why I seemed unable to succeed! Finally, I came to the conclusion that Starfall must be stopped, she could no longer bar my path to preventing the destruction of Earth. Knowing that I could not defeat her in a traditional fashion, I decided to take a more....intimate route. A morally corrupt one too... but needs must when the fate of the world is in the balance!
So, I set out to seduce the famed heroine and most eligible bachelorette in the city! All to, eventually, break her heart and hopefully, her fighting spirit along with it. It required much wrangling, studying, and even a few judicious removals of certain rivals who shall not be named; but I succeeded! I began to capture more and more of the fair lady\`s heart with honeyed words, gracious deeds, and as much emotional support as my not so insignificant mind could muster. But I refused to cross that final line, the one in the...ahem... bedroom, until I had completely filled her heart with love for me. Then I would immediately leave and never contact her again, shattering her love and her heart in one, admittedly horrible, fell swoop. Then, the day finally came and unfortunately, so did I....
Needless to say, the plan exploded. And then imploded for good measure.
My villainous seed had caught hold of one of her heroic eggs, and the predictable result ensued.
Instead of sadness and dejection, Starfall became utterly infuriated and completely vengeful. She hunted for me, day and night, all over the city, until finally tracking me down. At first, I didn\`t know what had happened, but she was quick to explain and I was equally quick to run for my life, immediately.
Now, this is what it has come to, hiding in some shithole like some common criminal! My plan has failed and now, the world is doomed to die with it. Suddenly enraged by that thought, I dial up the Seer with my encrypted comms. Thankfully he answers on the first ring!
"Hello, Dr. Evo. I foresee you about to get your ass kicked!" the Seer says, laughing out loud at his own joke.
"You told me my actions would save the world! Clearly, I\`m about to die, probably horrifically, how can I save the world then?!" I nearly shout back at him.
"Well, your actions will save the world! I\`m never wrong and I never lie about what I see. Although, you may have, ahem, misunderstood my words a bit..."
"What do you mean??" I query, exasperated.
"It\`s not, strictly speaking, you who actually saves the world. Just, your actions have now produced the true savior of the world. With your mind and her mother\`s extraordinary powers, your daughter will be the hero the world needs!"
Shocked by this, I just hang up on him.
Suddenly, that yellow light shines brightly from the entrance of the warehouse and Starfall swoops inside! She\`s now 20 yards away from my corner and slowly floats closer and closer with a menacing grimace and dried tears on her face.
Time for a new tactic: dialogue.
"Now, honey, we can talk about this!" | 2021-02-05T11:59:29 | 2021-02-05T09:01:57 | 904 | 248 |
[WP] “NASA to launch baby squid to International Space Station.” We thought the ocean was its natural environment. We were wrong.
Based on the post: Nasa to launch baby squid to International Space Station | “Now then, let’s take this from the top.”
Allen was trying to focus on what he thought might be the eyes of the alien that looked somewhat like a giant garden slug. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I want to go over this aga…look, if you’re trying to find my equivalent to your eyes, they are about 6 calmeres up from the table.”
“I don’t know what a calmere is. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude, but yes that would help.”
The alien made a gurgling sound that Alan took for a sigh, and a small area of skin on its left side changed to a lighter shade of grey. “Ok? Can we continue?”
“Yes, thank you. Well like I said, the squids we took up were originally very small, only about an inch in length. About this big.” Alan demonstrated with his fingers.
“And for the record, when you say ‘Took up’, you are referring to the former orbital space station, correct?”
“Yeah, the idea was to study how a water based creature would do in zero gravity. I know that saying it out loud makes it sound kind of silly, but we really have learned some beneficial things from similar experiments.”
The alien made some gestures for the benefit of what Alan assumed was some kind of wearable computer it had on it’s…head? “Except squids aren’t water based, are they? Your scientists figured that out pretty quick I would imagine?
“Yes it was…there were no survivors. We had no idea that…”
“Oh come now, it never occurred to you that a creature in the gravity well of an entire planet, let alone one that is also placed under 300 Gonrars of liquid water, might have been placed there for a reason?”
“We thought the ocean was their natural habitat! They live there, eat, breed…”
“Well thanks to your assumption they’ve already defeated the Talax Imperium and are well on their way to the Galactic Core. The rest of the Aligned are rallying as we speak, and considering it’s just 4 creatures they should be defeated…at least we hope so…”
“I swear to you, we had no idea this would happen. Up until your ships showed up after the squids destroyed the ISS, we didn’t even know if there was alien life or not!”
The alien made more computer gestures. “Given the state of your science I would tend to believe you on this point, however I would like to stress just how reckless your actions were. You haven’t take any other sea creatures into space, have you?”
“Not to my knowledge. Wait, are you saying that more deep sea creatures are…like this?”
“Again, gravity well, 300 Gonrars of water. It serves a purpose.”
“My God. Is it…are we safe? I mean, the way they grew…”
“Just leave them where they are and it won’t be a problem. They were placed here when your ancestors were still swinging I trees, they’ll stay there indefinitely unless you start getting stupid again, ok?”
“Yeah, sure. So about these other creatures down there that can turn into hyper monsters, can we like, get a list or…”
“Do I need to recommend a garrison to keep your scientists in line?”
“No, no we’ve got it. Again, we’re awfully sorry about this. Is there any way we can help?”
“Perhaps. Is your species capable of constructing recirculating plasma based ionic field matrix weaponry? Because that would be incredibly helpful to our efforts to defeat the squids.”
“You’re making fun of me aren’t you?”
“I am. Deal with it mammal.” | A white board and a rather pedestrian conference room was the last line of defense for human space travel today. A long table seated some of the most brilliant minds NASA could bring together as they focused on their tentacled blunder just hours ago when they launched a space squid unintentionally into orbit.
"Baby shark, on blare...24 hours a day from DSN, to drive it insane," one young scientist remarked with caffeinated, sleep deprived energy.
"Ohh...ohh...how about we launch a penguin next...and hope it is a space penquin thingie that will fight it," countermanded their communications expert and resident Adventure Time fan.
"But what if the space penguin then starts knocking out all our satellites like the squid did?" pondered a more reasonable person from the back.
"Malarkey," chimed in a four star general presiding in for the military. "Tactical nukes. All of them...at once...right at that floating sushi bar..."
"Actually, I wouldn't mind some sushi right now..." proffered another participant with several other heads bobbing in agreement.
"But wouldn't that offend the space squid? I mean, we also don't want to have it hurl space debris from orbit back at us if it gets angry again..." cautioned their diversity and inclusion officer with more than one head bowing slightly at their own indignation.
"Well, what do you think director?" asked yet one more attendant to the conference as all heads turned to the man standing with hands clasped behind his back, staring at the semi-coherent plans scribbled onto the overloaded white board before him.
He turned, his wrinkled face giving his best knowing smile into the attentive audience.
"Let's see if Bruce Willis is available..." | 2021-06-03T11:43:05 | 2021-06-03T06:57:26 | 186 | 60 |
[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone! | He's been in the bar a lot lately. Doesn't talk much; just drinks. He strikes me as different from most of the other regulars around here -- he looks young, for one thing. Clearly doesn't shave, but he can't grow a real beard yet either. Yes, I've carded him. Every time.
It's a slow night, and I'm curious, so I lean up against the bar and try to strike up a conversation. "Hey."
"Hey."
"How's it going? Seen you in here a lot these past couple weeks."
"Guess you have. Makes sense; I've been in here a lot."
"I don't think I ever caught your name." I have caught his name; I carded him, remember? But he seems like he wants to talk; I just have to let him come to that realization himself.
"Ethan. Used to be a student at the university."
"Used to be?"
"Don't figure it matters much anymore."
I notice he's holding something in his lap. A camera -- a pretty nice one. I've actually seen him with it before, though I don't recall him ever using it. An interesting trait -- that's my in.
"Seen you with that camera a couple of times. You a photographer?"
That seems to strike a nerve, oddly enough. He snorts humorlessly in what he might have thought was laughter. "Not exactly."
"Not exactly? What's a not-exactly photographer doing hauling around a camera like that?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Weird. There's a story here, and I want to know it. "Try me."
"Do you believe in aliens?"
"I believe there's a lot of things we don't know about out there. Aliens are probably one of 'em."
He hesitates, his eyes defocusing as he thinks. *If I asked him earlier in the night he probably wouldn't have said anything,* I think, looking at the mostly-empty glass in front of him.
In an instant, he's decided. "Yeah, they are. I know. They took me up to their ship -- that's where I got this. This camera. I'm not any kind of photographer at all; why would they even choose me?"
Okay. Not really what I expected. This guy's a bit odd, but I didn't think he was crazy.
I must have shown something in my face, because he starts to laugh. "You don't believe me. And you never will either, because guess what? You're gonna die. Everyone's gonna die, that's what they told me. Everyone except for if I take a picture of them with this camera."
Huh. "Haven't seen you taking many pictures."
"Of course not! How many goddamn pictures do you think I can take? I only got a year! I can -- I can take maybe a thousand people a day. More if I go someplace big like New York City, but some of 'em are bound to be repeats! I get what -- maybe a million people, tops? That's Rhode Island, man! Fucking Rhode Island!" He pauses for breath, his cheeks flushed. The few other patrons are looking over at us now, seeming concerned. Maybe this conversation wasn't actually the greatest idea.
He regains his composure enough to keep talking. "Think about that. Rhode Island. Now subtract -- I dunno, a half, three quarters? I go to Times Square and start snapping pictures, those people aren't gonna stick around New York all year. They go home -- they go home to Kansas, or England, or wherever-the-hell. The ones who leave -- they'll be alone. They'll die too, but slowly, see. Starvation, or predators, or cold. The rest? You think they'll survive? A couple hundred thousand bankers, and pharmaceutical execs, and fucking bartenders? Get real."
Wow. Okay. I got nothing. I watch Ethan throw back what remains of his drink, and then we just stare at each other for a moment. He seems to notice for the first time that the bar is totally silent. "Get real," he repeats defiantly, then slides off his stool and staggers toward the exit.
I watch him go. He's crazy... but boy, he sure believed what he was saying. It's almost contagious.
"Hey," I call. He stops. "How -- how long we got left? Of that year?"
He just laughs, and walks out into the night. | One could say that I'm a selfish bastard and they'd probably be right. Another could say I'm the luckiest man in the world and they might be right too. I like to say that I'm lucky and *opportunistic*.
How was I supposed to know that there were aliens hovering just outside the range of our satellites? Just sitting there, studying us. I don't observe the heavens. I don't monitor the satellites. I build buildings. The only thing I look to the sky for is to see if it's about to rain on my concrete pour.
So when the aliens(?) others(?) whatever they are came, scooped me out of a throng of people, handed me a camera, and told me that whoever's picture I took would be saved...I saw an opportunity and took it.
I have one month left and already I've saved thousands of people. I, of course, as anyone would, saved my entire family first. Then I saved my best friends and their families, my coworkers and their families, etc...
See? I'm not a bad person. I saved every cop, firefighter, and paramedic I could find. I saved Asians, Mexicans, Russians, and yes, even some French. Blacks, whites, greens, blues, and reds. How could I be called selfish? I saved soldiers for heaven's sake.
Well, I didn't do it for free exactly. Soldiers and cops? Absolutely. Random people? Not so much.
It's not every day that someone is given the opportunity to cull the herd and when I was given that little camera, something inside of me clicked.
As soon as *they* appeared the Secret Service showed up at my door and took my wife and I to the White House and I saved President Trump. Not necessarily because I liked him or agreed with him. But because that puts me in protective custody with the entire weight of the United States military behind me. Not a bad place to be for just a picture.
So from there I began snapping away. Day after day and month after month. From the highest bidder down to the lowest.
I made billions of dollars. Bill Gates is a pretty generous man and Oprah is a very generous woman.
On the flip side, I was offered millions by politicians, drug dealers, and cartel bosses. Every time I got to deny them and watch them rage in futility against the men protecting me.
Yeah I'm a selfish, lucky, opportunistic bastard. But I know right from wrong and I know who should live and who should die. I know that I will be judged by what I allowed to happen. I know all of these things. But I don't care.
This world needed a reset, and I'm the one who got to deliver it with a click. | 2017-01-27T14:29:58 | 2017-01-27T13:02:54 | 73 | 51 |
[WP] Every person can only say 100 words in their lifetime. After which they will die. Write all of the dialogue for one persons life.
You would die of natural causes anyway so it wouldn't benefit to never say anything. All common language and information is taught by recordings. Directly after your 100th, you will die.
Bonus points for writing the dialogue for a pair of soul mates. | It was a Wednesday. I don’t bother to keep a calendar anymore because I know that the beautiful girl across the way from me color coordinates her wardrobe according to what day it is. She wore yellow, so it was a Wednesday.
When you only have one hundred words to speak before you kick the bucket, you adopt other ways to communicate. I opened up the second drawer down on the right side of my desk where all of our letters lay. Everything from meaningful conversations to simple fast food requests burst from the opening in the top. All of them signed the same way; Liana.
As far as I know, I had never spoken before. That’s what my parents told me through their many messages of sticky notes. They always told me that I should save my words for what’s truly important, like Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. who died on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in a glorious resistance to unfair treatment of African Americans, or some of the other so-called “word-martyrs.”
I stood up from my cubicle and approached her desk. Liana, the beautiful girl in the yellow sweater looked up at me. As I opened my mouth, heads turned from their computer screens at the sound of a human breath drawn in preparation.
“I love you. I always have. I need to have you in my life, Liana. The only word I ever want to have to say again is Liana.”
She opened her lips as if to speak, but I quickly placed a finger over them.
“Save them. I need to know that on the harshest days of the rest of my life- our life- that I can rely on your voice to keep me from going insane. If angels speak a separate language then the word for perfection has to be Liana. I don’t mind spending every day in silence, if it means that I get to spend them with you.”
The entire room turned to tears. I suppose that when you have less words to speak, then you tend to have a lot more to say. My eyes were focused on hers, as tears stained her cheek. Through gasps and shuddering breath she held me and said two words that echoed throughout the silent room.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked down at the floor. Down at the same loafers that I’d worn for the past fifteen years that I’d been woking here. The same feet that carried me through those fifteen years of hopelessly fawning over her. I looked at her yellow sweater one last time.
“Then I guess this is goodbye.” | Mum. Dad. No. No. No. No. Mine. Mine. Mine! When I grow up. Please. Thank you. Totally cool. Like. Like. Like. Um. Um. Just one drag. Everybody hates me. I love you. I hate you Dad. Just the tip. Awesome. I will never love again. My major is. Party! I have to study. Really me too. I love you. I have people skills. Will you marry me? Did you take the test twice? This is the happiest day of my life. No. No. No. Put that down. Be back at 11. Get off my lawn. Mine! I love you. Goodbye. | 2015-03-09T18:42:31 | 2015-03-09T18:01:00 | 73 | 34 |
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager. | Enough was enough. Nim wasn't going to do anything about it; well, couldn't, technically, but I sure could!
"Judgeman." I called to the fellow *Cape* as I landed on the roof he was holding vigil on.
"Starlight! So good to see you! Have you reconsidered the offer to join our group?" The slightly older Hero asked jovially. He and his team, Vigil Team Delta Sigma had offered me a place among them a few years ago, shortly after I graduated college. I'm pretty sure they had recently done so too, as their *Cape* team's name sounded like a fraternity group, but they've stuck with it for the last couple years.
"I really wish I could say otherwise, Judgeman, but this isn't a social visit, nor am I considering moving to this city." We operated out of different locals, which is one of the various reasons I turned them down. No, it wasn't because they were an all male team, despite my correlation of their team name with a fraternity: a third of the team was female from their debut.
The smile didn't quite fall off his face, but it certainly dropped into a more neutral, possibly worried expression. "Well, that's a shame. What's the problem? Do you need help with one of your Rogues?"
"Actually, it's one of yours, I have a problem with."
Judgeman was pretty startled by my comment. I could see him wracking his brain, likely trying to think of which of the various villainous *Capes* his team contended with had moved over to my city. I let him spin gears for another minute, before realizing he may actually be backlogging to some of Vigil Team Delta Sigma's older, potentially retired, Rogues, from their earlier days. Clearing my throat, I brought him out of his own head.
"Not one of your Rogues, Judgeman. One of your team."
"Wait, what?"
"Billy Blastoff. He's been commuting over to my turf for a couple months now, and I don't entirely mind that bit; I can't exactly be everywhere in the city when things start going down. But he's been harassing an old Rogue of mine, Nim."
That caught Judgeman even more flatfooted. "Harassing?! But he's a criminal!"
"Look, Judgeman, Nim isn't a villain though! He's a phantom thief, and he hasn't actually stolen anything going on four years now. It's all a show for the public nowadays, since he does it as a hobby anyways. The banks know, the cops know, the city hall knows. A few even got in on it, since it does entertain the civilians with the awe and wonder, by getting fake money bags for him to take off with."
"So Nim is considered to be reformed, then?" Judgeman absorbed the information with a hum. "Alright. I'll make sure my team knows for if they encounter him."
"That's not going to be enough. Not with Blastoff, at least." I countered instead of thanking him. "I was alright with Blastoff doing his thing in my city for a bit; like I said, I can't be everywhere, but he's getting too rough with the rogues in my town, and he's using excessive force regardless of who it is. I told him to stop, tone it down, but he hasn't listened to me. So either get your grunt back in line, or keep him out of my city."
Judgeman's expression turned more serious now; can't blame him. My tone at the end was very much an ultimatum.
"What exactly has he been doing?" He asked sternly. After all, if he was going to make a decision to either back up his team or reprimand one of them, he'd need more facts to make a 'judgment'.
"Excessive force, especially against non-violent *Capes*. My main example is Nim. Throughout his entire career," *Hobby* my brain treacherously amends in amusement, "from even before I started up, he has been careful to never hurt anyone outside of financially, and banks of insurance specifically for *Capes* so no one was hurt long even that way. But Blastoff doesn't seem to care about that, and just yesterday, broke Nim's arm in three places. It was mostly heavy bruises at first, then a leg fracture two weeks ago, and it's obviously escalating. So, get him to stop, get him out of my city, or I'll treat him like one of my Rogues next time I see him in my city. I have a good relationship with the cops and city hall, and a lot of that is because I have always avoided excessive force or collateral. He's not helping that."
Judgeman's mouth was a thin line after hearing that, but that's because he understood that things were serious. Everyone knew it was a bad thing when *Capes* of the same cut fought. It had happened before on both sides, and cities had fallen for it. And he knew, just like I knew, that if I took down Billy Blastoff, several of Vigil Team Delta Sigma's members would go after me as a rogue hero, with or without his consent.
Finally, he relented. "I'll put Billy on probation while I review the case. We don't need this getting out of hand."
I nodded, glad that this was going how I had hoped. "Thanks. And, I'm sorry I had to visit for something like this."
"Yes, so am I. I had hoped the reason I hadn't heard about Billy causing a racket in town was because he was getting better at managing his powers, not because he was going to another *Cape*'s city... Thanks for tell me about this, Starlight, before it got out of hand." He said almost wearily before he headed off back to his team's HQ to deal with his part of this situation.
Sighing, I took to the air again, heading back home. It sucked that things were turning out this way, but I had to do something before it went too far.
That problem hopefully solved, if not in someone else's court, I had my injured fiance to get back to. Hopefully my wannabe magician wasn't trying to see how his shapeshifting worked with a cast and a broken arm. | God what a long day, stopping by the time clock he wipes his brow, all he wanted was a cold brew and a thick med steak. He was bummed he couldn’t go straight home but a man had to eat, so off to the store it was. He picked up the little red basket and made his way to the meat department . Minding his own business he gave a friendly nod to a lady with a child in the basket devouring a cookie. He had almost made it to the counter when out of nowhere came “The Clash” jumping in front of him preventing him from making it to the counter. “ Goddamit” Clash what the hell is wrong with you? Oh “you “have to know why I’m here, I’m not about to let you cause mayhem in this store, not for a minute,Slasher, I looked at this moron with a strong distaste and familiar anger. Look Clash, it’s been a long day and I for one am done with it. You cannot just waltz in and start shit. “ I punched out already” Don’t get your tights in a wad Clash, in fact do us both a favor and give it a rest, we can take this up at another time, and another place. Fair enough, Slasher. Another time....
He was pissed off has he left the store, time and time again that man came after him, like what the fuck? Does he not have a life or was being a superhero all he knew. The guy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. At first he found it amusing, and strange, but then it became annoying. he would pop up outta nowhere, sometimes drawing unwanted attention! The guy just kept coming at him: Going to the market, eating at a restaurant, even getting fitted for a suit! Brushing off the encounter, he headed home, starving and ready for that thick, juicy steak!
Slash stood about 6 ft 4 inches, and boy did he have a temper! At least at work anyway. He especially loved the storms, they helped him get into the mood (if you will). Today it was pretty dark outside, with a threatening sky and a promise of “ all hell breaking loose”Has he started up the stairs to the courthouse, Today he would breakout a sniveling high roller who was caught counting cards. Thinking his own money could get him off with no jail time,he soon found out, that would not happen, upon which time he enlisted the help of a Villians. (Slasher to be exact;)a clean getaway for the creep and one less”piece of shit” walking our streets.Slasher climbed the final set of stairs, looking thru his mask, he pulled out his knives, found the court room and began his reign of terror ( if you will). The bailiff headed toward him, STOP RIGHT THERE!! Go no further, and has Slasher made his way forward, the bailiff cowered back, Slasher took his knives, turning them in circles, he reached out and cut the belt off the bailiff, he turned to the man he was suppose to free, which he did. Well that was easy enough, leaping into the sky he took ahold of the man on trial and took him somewhere else. Slapping his hands together has if they were dirty he returned to the office, laughing at how easy it had been!! Easy money, that’s just how Slasher like it. He entered the room pleased to see his fellow villains in the room. Hey Bob, Slasher said, nice storm outside!!Yeah Bob responded, should get pretty nasty out there. So Bob, I’m having a little trouble with a hero, hoes by the name “ the Clash”,ya heard of him? Bob looked over at Slasher “um, not to familiar with him,” Slasher grinned at Bob,yeah he’s some piece of work, always showing up and making a dam scene, always up my ass!! If he doesn’t stop I’ll finish him.
Meanwhile downtown, Clash was at the courthouse surveying the destruction Slasher had left behind. Yes it had been more then a depantsing, more like chaos. No one was hurt, but Slasher had indeed left his mark and The Clash was not about to walk away from this. It’s on Slasher , “I’m gonna make sure you know it” I’ll be so far up your ass, you won’t be able to fart.
Hi, I really need someone to give me some honest feedback, I need to get unstuck. Thanks!! | 2019-08-01T19:40:24 | 2019-08-01T18:30:21 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] A physically weak orc is banished from his clan. Hopping for a clean death, he makes his way to the local human town. Instead they take him in, and show him what it's like to live in a society where physical strength isn't the only quality that matters. | *Hop. Hop. Hop.*
The merchant's waiting out in front of the village gate just stared in abject befuddlement.
*Hop. Hop. Hop.*
And adventurer started to draw his sword. The two next to him stopped him.
"Don't bother," one of them muttered, shaking his head at the ridiculous scene.
*Hop. Hop. Hop.*
The guards at the gate readied their spears as the long orc came hopping down the road toward them. He wasn't hopping very fast, and it couldn't be considered a charge. It was probably the fact that the poor pathetic thing was shivering in fear with its eyes closed as it approached them that stayed their hand.
That being said, they were still guards and this was a community of humans . . . and one dwarf. They couldn't just let the creature invade the place, even if he was puny and pathetic looking.
"Stop beast, or I'll order my men to slay you."
"Go ahead," he shouted at the sky, nervously thrusting his chest out, even as he averted his face in anticipation of the thrusts. "Tig a puny orc. Me too weak to for tribe. Not even good enough be fodder in orcan army. Worse than roach crawling on ground. Kill me humans, or I'll . . . Or I'll invade your village and . . . I'll invade it. I will. Do you doubt me?"
"Uh . . . how about invading the a community of hobbits instead. Compared to them, you're probably intimidating. You can find a community of the furry feeted little bastards two leagues in that direction. Just look for a patch of low hills with weirdly round doors in the side of them."
"I aware of hobbits. Me try to kick old hobbits, but to pathetic, not young orc anymore. Too stubborn change my ways. Have be true to self. Me need die on human blade or not get not get let in orc heaven. Must die fighting strong enemy. So me come invade human tribe."
"Um, okay, but why are do you keep hopping?"
"Misspelling."
"What?"
"Nothing. It what Tig do. This taunt. You just kill or I hop all over human village. Squash chickens. Pulp flowers. Leave real mess. Take at least week to clean up. Kill me now?"
"I won't. Maybe talk to the dwarf. He's not humane as we humans are."
"Dwarf? That acceptable. Dwarves strong. It kill Tig. Tig get into orc heaven still. Get seventy-two mule-faced orc virgins."
"Female virgins?" The guard asked. Tig grew red in anger.
"Of course females. Why Tig wanna die for male virgins?"
"Not sure. Anyway, you can find the old dwarf behind the village. Just look for the big pit."
Tig just hopped off, not bothering to thank the puny humans for their help or mercy. After all, he was trying to get them to kill him. Why would he be nice to them.
It didn't take him long to find the large pit behind the village. It was massive and rather deep. It'd been carved right out of the rocky earth and even had a spiraling path leading down to the pit's bottom. In the bottom of the pit was the dwarf swinging a hewing hammer at a large stone. The stone was becoming squarer with each swing of the hammer.
Seeing this, Tig hurriedly hopped down the spiral roadway. Clearly the dwarf noticed, but like the guards at the gate of the village, instead of raising his hammer in anticipation of killing the beast, he chose instead to wait and discover why a puny-looking orc was hopping its way into his quarry.
Fortunately for him, he didn't have long to wait. Despite being puny for an orc, the creature was naturally heavy with a dense body and tough skin. Each hop along the spiraling path crushed the white rocks the dwarf was quarrying. This left pot holes behind, and that if nothing else was enough to raise the dwarf's ire. Still he waited for the creature to arrive.
"Dwarf, you kill me."
"I say something funny?" The dwarf asked curiously.
"No. Tig tell you kill me. Otherwise, I . . . Otherwise, I'll crush all your stones, make you have start over."
The dwarf glanced sideways over the large number of small boulders littering one side of the quarry floor then glanced over at the small mound of crushed chad across the quarry from them.
"You want me to kill you?" The sly dwarf asked.
"This Tig weak, puny orc. Have no worth. Tribe make fun of. No orc sow want mate with me. Only have one choice. Die and go orc heaven. Get seventy-two virgins if die in battle."
"Female?"
"Yes, female. Argh! Why you make Tig angry. Just kill so I get reward."
"Or you'll crush all my rocks?" The dwarf clarified.
"Yes. You kill now?"
"Honestly, I don't think a puny orc like you has the courage to crush my rocks. I dare you to crush my boulders. All of them mind you. I won't get angry unless you crush all of them."
"Then Tig will crush all of them. Then you kill me?"
"Deal. But you have to crush them all." The dwarf gave him a stern-eyed glare. However this just motivated the orc hurry over and begin. It took no time for the puny orc to crush all of the boulders into pebbles. Happy with the result, the dwarf clapped excitedly, but then immediately realized he was supposed to be angry over the crushing of the boulders.
"Ahhh! My boulders. I'm so angry," the dwarf pretended to rage, shoving to clenched fists in the air. "Luckily, you didn't pile them up over there where the other crushed stone is. If you had, I would have cut you down on the spot.
Hearing this, the orc hurriedly grabbed the dwarf's shovel and cart and began shoveling gravel and piling it up next to the other gravel. When he was done, he went back to hoping while sneering at the dwarf.
"Oh, I'm so angry. You're lucky though. I still have more boulders in the tunnel over there. As long as I have those, I can still manage. I'll let you off this once, but don't even think of dragging those boulders out here and crushing them too. If you do, you'll leave me with no choice. I'll have to crush your skull with my hewing hammer.
The orc excitedly hopped into the tunnel, grabbed a boulder, then hopped back out. It's dense head dislodging more large stones from the ceiling every time its hopping body collided with the ceiling. Despite the damage, the orc barely noticed. It just carried out rocks, crushed boulders, and piled the gravel up.
Because he was a orc, he didn't realize he was being duped till he noticed that the dwarf was lounging on a stone slab in the shade with a lunch pail in front of him and a tankard of ale in his hand.
"You tricked Tig."
"You tricked yerself, orc. What kind of imbecile goes around begging others to kill 'em so they can get seventy-two women that don't know what they're doin'? Naw, yer better off down here with me, breakin' rock and havin' a purpose."
"Tig wanna be strong warrior, someone enemy's fear."
"Why? Naw, that's not what you want. You just wanna feel strong. Dwarves are like that too. You think if an enemy fears you, then they respect yer strength. That's goblin shit. Enemies fearing you don't mean they respect your strength. It means they fear dying, and they think yer capable of killin' 'em.
"Better to be respected for being capable. What is a strong warrior but someone who's capable of killing. When you think about it, being strong and being capable kind of mean the same thing. A strong lover is someone capable of competently making love. A capable drinker is someone capable of drinking lots while keeping their wits longer than others.
"Today, you proved you're a capable of quarry worker, meaning you're a strong quarry master. Stay and work here with me. I'll pay you good coin, and give you a new nickname. Boulder Breaker Tig. How's that sound."
"Need go to orc heaven and get seventy-two virgins," Tig told him stubbornly.
"How about you stay, and I pay you gold and tell you where there is a brothel with two half orc whores?"
"Tig stay," the puny orc was quick cave, causing the dwarf to laugh.
"Me names Baldo Hornblower," the dwarf said, introducing himself.
"Tig Ger, Son of Big Ger and Snig Ger.
"Oh boy," the dwarf groaned even as he took out another tankard and filled it for the lad. With a surname like Hornblower though, the dwarf could sympathize. All things considered, the puny lad's name could have been a lot worse. | “ORK STRONK!”
That isn’t just a dumb interjection, no, for an orc tribe that is a certainty of life and the only way to live properly. It was something that my parents have tried to instill upon me all the way to their grave. I had become an adult (13) only 3 months prior to them showing me proof that strength is all that matters.
I tried to live up to their expectations, to the expectations of an orc. I was strong enough to hold my own, just a bit under the average but most of the battles won, hunts completed and any other achievements I had accomplished were thanks to a bit of “conniving” as orcs would call it.
Truth be told, I kept any books, writings and scrolls I came across during raids and ambushes and collected them. I developed a passion for reading. This habit has caused me endless grief with the tribe. I was seen as lazy for spending so much time indoors, I would not dare to read outside. I was already enough of a pariah.
Whenever I would use things i had learned from books I was called weak and cowardly for using underhandedness instead of strength. Tell that to my parents and the giants they fought.
Still I managed to trodd through and live as close to my wishes as possible.
Unfortunately there is one tradition I could not escape. I was shamed and shunned for reaching the age of 40. I am considered an elder, which mind you is not a position of honor amongst my people.
“You are to immediately go out and seek a proud end for your shameful existence. Defeat as many champions as you can in the first human settlement you come across. Head that way until you find your end” were the last words the shaman spoke as he pointed in a seemingly random direction. There was no settlements anywhere near that way if the last map I got my hands on was accurate.
I grabbed a wicker basket, put in some food, books, and basic gear, strapped it to my back, slung my shield over my shoulder and axe on my waist and off I went.
It “only” took me 2 months of walking to find a human settlement. No watch towers, no walls, no warriors on patrol, just the road heading into town and their strange obuildings made of stone and dressed in colorful walls. As I neared the edge of their “city” the sun on my back and the sky brimming with reds and orange I could only think there was no better time to begin the end. I took my spare axe and hurled it with as much power as I could muster roaring at the top of my lungs “SEND YOUR CHAMPIONS TO THEIR DOOM!” and “COME FACE YOUR DEATHS”.
I thought I was already dead when a tap on my shoulder came out of nowhere. I swung around violently thinking how could anyone have gotten behind me so easily and ambushed me, but as my axe caught naught but air, before me stood a short old man with a child in tow.
He barely measured up to my chest, hunched over by age, bald, with a long straight pure white beard, small eyes and seemingly frail body. An orange jacket and a cane that seemed could double as a club need be. His age was visible in every movement and wrinkle adorning his face. Behind his leg a small human girl with big brown eyes and hair that curled in cascades of warmth framing her round bright face. She wasn’t wary of me, mostly curious.
“What winds bring you about sir orc?” he said in an unsteady calm voice as the child hid behind his leg
“I AM THE MIGHTY ARZAK LANCE GASHER Here to fight …”
“Yes, go on”
“I’m here to fight your champions”
“You’ll find none of those here I’m afraid, we have some hunters that also keep away dangerous wild animals but not much in terms of warriors.”
“Fine I shall lay waste upon your kin until I am stopped then.”
“Or you could wait a few days and the knights will come around for their lord's tribute, surely you’ll find a champion amongst their ranks.”
“Fine, I shall spare your worthless so I may meet the worthy.”
“Follow me then, surely you’ll need a place to stay until the “worthy” arrive. Also I am Grell, this is my granddaughter Almond.” He said as the child squealed and jumped at my thigh grabbing on like a squirrel to a branch.
This entire encounter left me with no disposition for battle, and slaying an old man doesn’t really do it for me, much less culling the life of a small harmless child. Also his offering of lodging is rather welcome, after roughing it in the wilds for so long a proper roof doesn’t sound bad at all.
On the way back the child was an endless pool of questions about orcs, where I had come from and so on.
“Now, now Almond, don’t pester our guest so much, if he’s feeling up to it he may tell us more over dinner”
With a grin from one ear to the other she nodded at old Grell and started skipping forward with hums and vocables accompanying her every hop.
As we passed through the town every encounter was the same, a curious slightly frightened gaze, a smile and a bit of banter with the old man, always along the lines of “Quite the visitor we have, is he moving in?” And other such remarks.
Grell’s home was welcoming and warm, with the smell of hot rabbit stew on the stove and light coming in through rather large windows. I found it strange that humans would use something as valuable as glass to cover holes in the wall. Even stranger still was that the kitchen and sleeping areas were separated by walls. Like it wasn’t enough of a strange choice to make homes square instead of round. The heat from cooking would also heat up the entire house so these “rooms” seemed pointless.
As we sat down to eat I answered a few of their questions, i wasn’t in much of a mood for conversation, especially knowing the purpose of my travels, but i did manage to answer in more than one sylable for at least a couple of their inquiries.
They offered me a bed in one of those walled separations. I requested that they let me sleep in the kitchen on my own bed roll. The smell of stew and the warmth of the fire put me at ease somehow. The child hung around for a while giving me curious looks and just kinds grinned a lot making dumb sounds. Maybe it was because humans aged differently to my kind?
Sleep came over me like the shadow of a cloud on a lazy afternoon and, to my embarrassment, had I been in the wilderness I would have died 3 times over. Even so it had been a while since I'd rested that well. As rays from the window warmed my skin and the smell of food inundated my nostrils I awoke with a panic, forgetting myself and my surroundings for a moment. Only to hear a high pitched voice squealing “Grapa, Zaki is up, Let’s hav brakfast”
I groaned and started to quickly pack my things to get out of the way when the old man said with a smile “Good morning, after we eat how about a walk and we show you the town a bit” | 2022-09-03T17:33:02 | 2022-09-03T14:31:42 | 57 | 20 |
[WP] The silent teen in class speaks for the first time.
Which class? What do they say? What prompts it? | Miss Bradley shuffled the papers and looked over at *him*. He was vacantly staring at his desk and rubbing his arm with his painted fingernails. The black polish was beginning to wear off. "Timothy," she said, putting the papers aside. "Would you like to explain the phrase 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do.'?" She ignored the giggling and the snickering.
Timothy glanced her way and then quickly looked back at his desk, his mouth closed in a stone poker-face.
It was typical, she thought, but she had hoped that he would have participated. "Timothy, would you like to share anything at all with the class?"
Timothy locked eyes with Miss Bradley and then looked away, his breath rapid and his fingers tapping his desk as the rest of the class waited. There had been something in her eyes, something that he rarely saw. Compassion.
After several quiet seconds, Miss Bradley cleared her throat and turned to the rest of the class. "Would anybody here like to explain the phrase?"
A hand from the back of the room shot up.
Miss Bradley nodded and gestured for the owner of the hand to stand. "Samuel?"
Samuel rose from his chair and ran a hand through his long, thick hair. Several girls in the classroom swooned. "It means when you're in, like, a foreign city, you should do what the people there do because they probably know best." He smiled and looked around, his goofy smile causing everybody else to smile.
Miss Bradley smiled and nodded. "Very good, Samuel. The phrase was first attested in medieval Latin, *si fueris Rōmae, Rōmānō vīvitō mōre; si fueris alibī, vīvitō sicut ibi*." There was a sharp intake of breath and Miss Bradley stopped. The rest of the class followed her gaze. Timothy had his head buried into his arms, the desk shaking underneath him. Miss Bradley half-rose out of her chair. "Timothy?"
Slowly Timothy looked up, tears and mascara running down his face. He looked around at the classroom and his fellow peers, all of them silent and wide-eyed. He put his head back down and his shoulders began to heave as he began to sob.
Miss Bradley froze, unsure of what to do. Should she call somebody? She rose and went to him, rubbing him on the back as she knelt next to him. "Timothy, what's wrong?"
He looked up at her, everybody else in the classroom forgotten. "It's Ma," he said, his lips quivering as he shook his head. He buried his head again, his next words muffled and quiet. "I can't go back."
Miss Bradley looked around at the rest of the class. They were all watching. "Timothy..." she turned back to Timothy and patted him on the back. "It's going to be alright."
"No. It's Ma... she hits me."
For Miss Bradley, time stopped. | All eyes in the auditorium were on Aidan Greenfield. Some kids stared with mouths agape, while some others whispered to their peers. Since he started classes in his freshman year, no one outside of school had heard Aidan speak about *anything*. Now, in the middle of health class, the shy teen stood in front of Jackson Dawes, the only openly gay kid in the whole grade, who was still bleeding from the punch to his jaw.
"Wudya say, punk?" Terrence Greeley, the class bully, said behind an ill-fashioned façade of nonchalantness, while he, like his classmates, was still in awe of Aidan's seemingly first words. "Get outta my way, I've got a fag to beat."
"You will not harm him any longer," Aidan replied, fires of determination burning in golden eyes beneath auburn hair. "You crossed a line, Terrence; a line at which I find no other alternative than to intervene, because *these* fine people," he said as he swept an arm in the direction of their silent audience, "don't give a damn. Stay away from him." At that, Aidan turned behind him, helped Jackson up, and, with a final glare of golden fire at a thoroughly shaken Terrence, shuffled Jackson off to the nurses' office. | 2014-01-18T17:28:32 | 2014-01-18T17:08:27 | 39 | 13 |
[WP] In a world where reincarnation with a full knowledge of your past life is real, authorities struggle to protect society by keeping the worst criminals and serial killers in prison alive for as long as possible to delay their eventual escape back into society via the reincarnation process. | Despite the inherent supernaturality of reincarnation, not everyone believed that souls exist. Various theories have been posited, scientific, supernatural or otherwise, as to why reincarnation was what it was.
But the soul existed.
I was sure of it.
"In the latest in a string of serial killings, another body was found last night at..."
My buddy, Jonathan, glanced at the television at the corner of the café. "Man, another one, huh? The police really need to get their act together."
"Tell me about it," I replied, lazily sipping my coffee, mind wandering.
Psychopaths were only crazy because of defects in their brain chemistry. An inability to feel empathy or compassion. A thirst for murder. Things that, by and large, were fixed when reincarnating into someone with a healthy brain. Even the most mentally deranged killers tended not to relapse when they reincarnated into a life that knew joy and compassion, love and friendship.
There was nothing wrong with my brain. I was sure of it.
"Y'know," Jonathan said, leaning in closer to me, "I heard a crazy rumour that there are some people who commit crime after crime, even after reincarnating. And you know what the police do? They put them on some kinda life support and lock 'em up so they can't die and come back again."
"You got your head in the clouds, dude."
"But the Landfall Killings and the killings 40 years after that were - "
" - Copycat killings," I finished. "Jon, you really gotta stop believing everything you read on the internet."
My brain was fine. I was sure of it, knew it for a fact. I lived a happy life and had a bright career before me. I've had a healthy upbringing, loving parents - whose love I return - and dearly valued friends.
So why, then, did murder delight me so much?
Last night's incident was my handiwork. An eerie similarity to my past life, the one before that, and the one before still, as far back as I could remember. When I had killed my first victim, I was really, truly, sincerely hoping that my brain was damaged, that I was a psychopath, that when I reincarnated into my next life, I would be normal. But when my knife pierced their neck, when I saw the life drain out of their eyes -
I was sure of it.
Of the rumours. Of my brain. What I experienced was nothing like the thrill of riding a rollercoaster, the joy of receiving a gift, the relief of getting a passing mark on a test, the satisfaction of a good night's sleep, or the excitement of playing video games. It was more. Something raw and visceral, fulfilling a primal urge I didn't know I had, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, washing over my very existence.
Where would this feeling come from, if not for the soul? Why would I experience this life after life, if not for the soul?
And the police *knew*. They knew what separated people like me from ordinary murderers.
Jon started speaking again, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Yeah, yeah," He grumbled. "Mr I'm-smarter-than-you-because-I-joined-the-special-unit."
"Well, someone's gotta do the police's job for them." I finished the rest of my coffee.
The police's special unit. It had been tough work, but they had accepted my application. It was there I could find the how's and why's of the soul. The knowledge that I needed. That I could use to protect myself.
I was sure of it. | I looked at the steel bars, those poor prisoners, stuck in a cage for the rest of their life and it was a long one. Modern medicine has made us live longer than ever thought possible, a life sentence now meant a very long time indeed. My job was keeping the serial killers and general criminals from killing each other or themselves. When they reincarnated, finding them would be difficult if not downright impossible, some of them did change once they got reincarnated but others stayed the same and committed crimes and killed as they did in this present life. A serial killer was dying, Peter Mans, he killed 10 people before getting caught and while we kept him alive as much as possible, now we could do no more for him, he was going to die soon.
I walked up to the hospital and to his bed where he was lying. He was awake but barley, he was very weak and tired.
"Peter?" I spoke.
"Y-Yes?" Peter replied as he opened his eyes and turned to look at me.
"How are you feeling?"
"N-not good, I don't have much left anymore"
"But you will be reincarnated! Alive all over again! Wonder If I'll find you next life" I said laughing.
"N-no, I'll be s-smarter next time"
"We'll see! I'm pretty good at catching serial killers...after all, I was one." I whispered.
"W-what?" Peter said stunned.
"Yes Peter, you heard me right" I whispered as I injected him with a needle.
"W-what did you just do?!"
"This will make you die quicker, I'm getting bored with you Peter. Goodbye!"
I walked away from Peter and smirked, nobody catches me. | 2021-10-08T09:12:44 | 2021-10-08T08:05:13 | 42 | 31 |
[WP] You have the ability to instantly know what someone desires just by looking at them. It just pops into your head when you see them. Usually it’s something simple like “getting married and having kids”. But one day in the subway you see a hooded figure and you it desires “to get out of hell”. | A beautiful asian woman with a compulsive need to perform oral sex.'
I look away from the security guard, more than a little disturbed by the times new roman text floating above his chubby head. Having the ability to see other people's heart's desire written in professional font above their heads is usually an interesting diversion. Sometimes though, I wish the strange gift was gone. Like right now. Most people's deepest desires arent that... creative.
As I continue down the escalator towards the f line platform, I browse through the lines of text hovering above the people heading up.
'A winning Powerball ticket.'
'Become a famous singer and record a number 1 single."
'All men suddenly die.'
This last floats above the of a portly, irritable looking young woman with rainbow died hair and several piercings. Yikes. I hope she never gets any real power. When I reach the bottom of the escalator I find a relatively secluded spot to wait for next train, which the red, pixelated numbers of the overhead sign indicate will arrive in 6 minutes. That's when something catches my eye.
Sitting alone on a bench is a young man in a loose fitting black hoodie. His face hides in the shadow of the deep hood, and his hands work nervously over each other in his lap. Behind him a jewelry ad featuring a smiling Naomi Watts in a carefree pose seems to mock his pitiful appearance.
It's the text hovering above him that really draws my attention though.
"Escape from hell."
I've never seen anyone reference hell like that before, like it's a place they've been too. Sure, I've run into loads of baptists and mormons who want to 'avoid the burning torment of hell,' but that was different. A wave of goose flesh sweeps up my back and behind my neck. Before I even know what I am doing, my butt lands on the seat of the bench, right next to him. He doesn't turn his head, but somehow I can tell he notices me.
"This is going to sound crazy," I say, "but... are you a demon?"
A darkness seems to press in on mind, like a mild hangover. Just as quickly gone.
"Maybe," he says. His voice is deeper than I expect.
"Right," I say, nodding to myself.
The first question seemed obvious, but I have no idea where to go from here. Do I even want to know more? Figuring in for a penny and all that, i decide to press on.
"And you live in hell?"
"Maybe," he says. He remains hunched over, still looking down at his fidgeting hands. "What do you know of it?"
"Ummm, well, that you want to get out."
His fingers stop moving. He goes still the way a rabbit does when a dog is nearby. Somewhere in the distance I hear a toddler screams in either pain or glee.
"Who are you," he says in a harsh whisper. "Was it him? Are you here to drag me to his dungeon and drop me before his cloven hooves? Is that why your here?"
"No?" I say, feeling my heart kick into gear. This guy is seriously scary. "I can just see people's deepest desires. It's like an ability I have."
"Oh," he says, relief slumping him back down. "That's neat."
Not sure what else to say, I try for what my mom would say to me.
"Is there anything i can do to help?"
For the first time, he looks over at me. Deep within the shadow of the hood i see glinting eyes of cold, pale blue like arctic ice.
"Can you forgive me?" He asks, a touch of desperation in his voice.
"For what?"
"Killing," he says. "Human beings, angels, animals... even other demons of hell. I have done lots of killing, human. More than the most deadly armies of your kind, both past and future."
"And if I forgive you, then you can escape hell?" I ask.
"Not in the way you think."
Feeling moved in a way I dont fully understand, touched by something in the demons voice, I reach out and place a hand over his. It chills me like frosted metal.
"I forgive you," I say.
I see those cold blue eyes wink out for a moment, as though he's closed them. I can see from the movement of the hood that he is nodding.
"Thank you," he says.
"Sure."
When the l train arrives I leave him there, sitting alone on the bench. His hands remain on his lap, but no longer do they fidget against one another. They are clasped in prayer.
| As much as I would have wanted to have been, I'm not Mr. Lucifer Morningstar, civilian consultant for the LAPD. Yes, when I first watched the Netflix show, I was enthralled at how similar his power was to mine. But he needs to ask, while peoples' intentions just pop into my mind. In fact, it may be closer to Jack Sparrow's compass in that regard.
And it's right here, in this subway station where I expect nothing to go sideways, that my power is activated with a burning intensity. The hooded figure sitting opposite me just wants to get out of hell. To get out of hell - to get out of hell - to get out of hell - it is an endless mantra chanting away in this poor soul's head.
Observing a little closer, the hoodie is way too big for the person, her face lit up only by the dim glow of her phone. She seems to be a student, or an intern, or whatever stressed out role and position that corporate presses us into nowadays.
If I were Lucifer Morningstar, I would have removed her from hell straightaway. Lucifer punishes only those who did wrong.
Out of concern more than anything else, I get off the train with her.
This is a darkly-lit part of town, where miscreants abound and ne'er-do-wells get trapped in vicious cycles of depression. A part of town where buildings are abandoned and where no one would notice dead bodies...
Of course. How was it not immediately obvious? She was going to do something stupidly drastic. I pick up my pace.
My heart is pounding out of my chest. I am obviously not trained to handle these situations. I'm nothing but a layperson, but doing nothing in such a dire situation would make me less than nothing.
And just as she takes off her shoes, about to climb on to the parapet, I recklessly make my move. "Stop! Don't do it!"
The hooded figure looks at me in surprise that anyone would have followed her.
"Tell me, what is it you *really* desire?"
Oh dear. That went out really wrong. What was going to be a calm reasoning of reasons not to do it just became a cheesy pick-up line from a Netflix show.
"Luci?"
The girl breaks down, the type of crying that comes out of floodgates closed for a few months, the type of crying that threatens to drown one in darkness.
"I want to get out of hell, Luci."
Can I help her with that? Maybe not. As she collapses on her knees, I know there is nothing else I can do. But I know someone who can help.
"Linda, this isn't about me anymore. I'll need your help for something out of my power." Dr. Linda, a close friend of mine, also a psychiatrist. Life imitates art.
I cannot set free anyone who has willingly chained themselves in Lucifer's kingdom. My job is merely helping them open a door, Linda's job is to show them the way, and they have to walk through it themselves. | 2018-12-21T08:39:32 | 2018-12-21T08:13:47 | 149 | 21 |
[WP] My German Shepard had to be put down today. We never knew where he came from. Please write about his adventures. | The Long Happy began almost as soon as I was born. I remember before it started. They were yelling. They would yell and throw things and ma would lick my fur until the shaking stopped.
 
She would put her big paws over my tiny body and protect. I was safe in the warm and dark, tucked right up against her belly until I drifted to sleep.
 
One day, she was gone. There was a truck, some soft and kind voices...some food, food, and man it smelled so good, i just wanted to chase, I ran and ran and chased the truck but it was so fast and they were gone.
Alone was wrong. It didn't feel like it was mine. I survived.
 
No kind paws, no licks, no warm belly. It was raining, there was cold and wet. I hate cold and wet. Unless i'm digging it into the ground...but this was the relentless kind, it was like a river but the wrong way up, and i was cold, cold, cold.
 
I grew. I met so many friends, but none of them looked like me. Some got close. Some of them sniffed. Some of them hissed and scratched me, ow. I paddled in streams and played with birds. I saw others like me. Sometimes they followed me. I could be scary. I learned to protect. I scared other scary things away from smaller things. I protected tiny humans, and baby floofs, and even the little scratchy hissing things.
 
It felt like I ran all over the world. I'd dug up every patch of dirt there was to dig. I'd howled at the moon and swam in puddles and oceans. But I was cold. I was alone. I got sick. And then I could not protect...not even me.
 
And then there was...warm? Nice warm paw - soft skin, soft voice.
 
It held me close to a warm belly and I licked and yipped and wriggled and then there was a big face full of love and all of a sudden I knew I belonged. And so did they. And the Long Happy began.
 
It was pack. Food. Running. Chasing. Licking. I discovered new things that I loved every single day. I loved the ear scritch, then the belly rub, then that spot on my bum near my tail....the chicken, the pork, the smell of my pack (even better than food). Even when I was alone, I knew I would not always be.
 
I ran, chased, escaped, caught balls, panting and looking around for the next game. It's hard work!
 
Tiring work.
 
I'm great at all those things.
 
When you win the game every time you can get tired. And after a while, your legs ache a little. It's harder to see. You can't quite run so far. And maybe there are less balls. There are definitely less balls.
 
I wondered if the Long Happy could end, once. I was afraid. And sore. Would I be cold again? Would there be alone?
 
I can't see my pack well anymore, but all of a sudden they are there. With their paws, and soft belly, and kisses, and I am so comfy and happy and warm. I sleep, and know that I am safe. I drift away and feel the Long Happy grow longer. I know that it will last forever.
| I was the last of my kind, at the end of my time. This is my story.
My planet was doomed. The alien species know only as C.A.T. had completely wiped out our military defensive. As a last ditch effort to stop them from advancing through the galaxy, I blew up my home. I got into my craft and set the director to find the nearest habitable planet. At safe distance, I hit the detonator. I didn't calculate for aftershocks and got blown off course. Which turned out to be the best thing for me.
On this planet, a lot of what the indigenous species, humans, call "dogs" looked nearly identical to my kind. To the point where I would even try speaking to them, and they just kind of looked at me. They were not my people, much to my dismay, but I learned to blend in and be accepted. Eventually I learned their tongue, and felt more acceptance. I wouldn't find home for a while.
I stumbled upon what the humans caked "police academies" and snuck myself in with the lot. Humans, even with their gear capacity for good, aren't the brightest, they never noticed I wasn't part of their group. It was fun for a while, stopping bank robberies, diffusing bombs, catching the bad guys. That was they life.
I grew bored of it after while. Wanting to find a place where I could just live put the rest of my years in peace and comfort. So I just left one day. No shortage pf these "German shepards", so I doubt they noticed.
That's the day I met you.
(Without more info, that's all I could write up. Also had to get back to work. Good luck. It sucks now, and you really never get over it, but It does get easier. My dogs have been gone for 2years, and I think about them all the time. | 2018-02-13T21:32:25 | 2018-02-13T19:52:50 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | The cell door slammed open, light slanting in lazy rays through the bars.
I studied the guard carefully as he treaded into the darkness of my abode. He couldn't so much as discern my form in lighting this low, but I could see him clearly. An amused chuckle broke from my lips as the guard cautiously called for me.
I slowly stepped into the dull circle of light, dust motes swirling around me. Don't ask me why I even landed up in here. I suppose after a few thousand years I needed something else to interest me.
You see, I'm quite unique. It's not often I tell this to people, so make a point of listening. I was born a little over a thousand years ago, and over the years I still have not ascertained the origins of my... curse. You mortals may see immortality as the greatest blessing, but in truth it is the polar opposite. Living forever begins to drain one after a few hundred years. The people you meet and the bonds you form are so brief as they wither away while you persist. It's fairly depressing, I'll have you know.
That's why I found a new hobby. Killing. I'm not a man sparse of justice - I only target criminals. Over the centuries as human weaponry has evolved, my love of slaughter has grown exponentially. It also becomes quite the laughing matter when your victims try resist. My favorite cases are those that lose all trigger control. Every time my body is shredded by hails of bullets, knives, and all manners of weapons I relish in seeing the shocked face of my assailant as I regenerate effortlessly. The last thing they hear his my arrogant laughter...
Enough about me though, back to the matter at hand.
I followed the guard to the Warden's office, where I was informed of my incoming execution. Electric chair. How tacky. A snort escaped my nose and the Warden stared at me with an expression of profound disbelief. I guess that's not how they expect death row inmates to respond. I was promptly escorted back to my cell, the heavy steel grid sliding down to mark my solitude. Unbeknownst to them I could tear that gate to shreds and rampage through the prison without even breaking a sweat. This time though I was out for a different experience.
Remember when I told you immortality was a curse? I've been searching for a long time to find a way to break that curse. I've tried dying thousands of times, only to find that the grave cannot hold me over and over again. This was yet another attempt to finally end myself, and one which was destined to fail. I can never escape. I'm doomed to an eternity wandering the earth and taking the souls of the wicked.
I was escorted to the cramped room with a single grim looking apparatus in the center. I did not resist as I was strapped down. The current coursed through my nerves, torching my internal organs. Maniacal laughter burst from my mouth as I burned alive. This was one of the most exciting deaths I'd experienced. As quickly as it began it was over, and the cleanup crew came to remove my disintegrated body.
You should have seen the looks on their faces as my sinews began to sow together and flesh sprouted from my blackened "corpse". Their ashen faces made a wide smile stretch in a sinister manner across my visage.
The thing is, although I don't usually kill innocents, I enjoy it occasionally. These two fools simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I tore both of them to bloody tatters while the petrified execution team watched on through the protective glass. A simple flick was enough to shatter the bulletproof barrier into thousands of razor shards, eviscerating the remnants of my supposed executors.
The CCTV footage clearly alerted the guards, as forty of them stood wait as I tore the padded titanium door clean off its hinges. I enjoyed the feeling of my body being ripped apart by hundreds of 9mm bullets, my flesh tearing to pieces. I let them have their moment of relief as they cautiously stalked over to me, a rookie unloading a few more clips into my side. I would have played dead for a little longer just to see the undertaker's expression, but the hushed whisper of: "I think we killed that fucking monster" just cracked me up. I couldn't contain my laughter as they panicked, realizing I was still much alive and their ammunition was depleted. My body quickly returned to normal as bullets were exhumed from my flesh and my skin sewed itself flawlessly shut.
I closed my eyes and listened to the music of screams. This was indeed the most fun I've had in ages. | It's been a while seeing these grey walls. About 45 years. Or maybe it has been fifty. I can't recall. I was sentenced for a lifetime here since I was on a killing spree back in the days. I was sort of a Robin Hood you see, killing criminals just like me. I actually call myself Charlie Catastrophe if you ever wonder if I have a name for myself. Back to the story, I've killed rapists, petty thieves, hired killers, drug lords (which is my favorite since they say that they cause poverty in this city), and a former politician. I remembered during my killing spree that I've killed about thirty criminals in total within a week and half. Maybe an additional thirty for colateral damage. Maybe more. I lost count for seeing these blank walls all the time. I started this madness since my father was killed when I was a teenager. He was accused of -- I can't remember. I think he was accused of selling drugs or raping a non-existent girl or that he's a member of a notorious gang or maybe all of it. Some say that a government official orderd his death. I can't really recall. These walls really makes my memory blank. All I can remember is the day I got caught.
It was a perfect sunny day so I went for a cup of coffee. Of course I brought my .45 caliber that I always use and a swiss knife of sorts for unexpected occasions. I also brought yesterday's newspaper for, you know, being less suspicious since it headlined "Fifty killed within a week". I was drinking my daily coffee at my favorite café when I heard that there will be a rally in favor of this corrupt official at the city plaza. I think he was the one that caused my father's death. This is the moment I've been waiting for. I went there quickly and to my surprise, he was looking for volunteers to ask him a question. I quickly ran up to the stage and luckily, I was picked to ask the question. I said to the mic, "Why?" and then I shot him in his chest. I come up close to him to stab him and he said that I will rot in jail for what I have done. The police came and you know what happened next.
I've told this to countless inmates and prison guards whenever I had the chance to tell them my inspiring story. Not countless but maybe around a hundred in total. Sometimes I hear the guards telling that maybe death penalty should be implemented for psychos like me. I guess I have to wait a little longer.
And here I am, still in jail. Thanks to my lovely city for not having death penalty. You know what I learned from the story? Corrupt politicians always lie, even in their last breath.
I guess it's also a lie that I'll rot in jail.
--
*Sorry if it's not in the guards' perspective*
EDIT: minor change to typos and some parallelism | 2016-10-15T09:54:14 | 2016-10-15T08:27:16 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] humans were the diplomats and negotiators of peace . They kept their 4 world wars well hidden from the galaxy. When a warmongering species thought humans as an easy target, they found out how good at war humans really can be the hard way. | Part 1.
Vulutana observed human ambasador who went by the name of Robert Fischer. He was a bipedal, "humanoid" as his species called themselves, similar to most species of galactic union, but he still did seem weaker and smaller then other intelligent races.
It was just appearance though, Vulutana knew that. As an ambassador herself, she knew enough about humans to not underestimate them based on their appearance. Small and scrawny as they were they still hailed from class "X" planet.
Extreme gravity, high exposure to radiation, violent microorganisms and overall hostile fauna made intelligent life almost an impossibilty on such planets. And most semi intelligent lifeforms that did evolve on such words were usually too distracted with consuming one another to develop into functioning societies.
The sustance and energy intake required to develop higher thought functions was almost always impossible to achieve for such beings, since they primarily evolved into murder machines, specialized for hunting and devourering prey.
Humans somehow managed to beat the proverbial odds by evolving into somewhat smaller species, and thanks to both high gravity and biological need for less energy consumption their bodies evolved to be smaller, more compact versions of other species in galactic union.
Those who didn't know from where their species came hardly ever saw humans as more than just small, frail creatures that they appeared to be.
However as part of her education Vulutana knew that you had to be carefull around humans who didn't know how fragile other races were to them.
There was more than one incident where injuries occurred because humans shook other species hands just a little bit to hard.
Well, that's what higher muscle density and different nerve structure does to you she mused.
As well as that strange skeleton form that allowed them much beter leverage and lower fine dexterity that other species enjoyed.
And not to mention that they were carbon based lifeform as opposed to most other races, who like herself had a silicon based forms, and were therefore somewhat more fragile then their stringy, carbon based cousins.
She always found it strange how many different lifeforms developed from so similar DNA strands that Creators seeded across the cosmos.
But she guessed it was a good thing most aliens at least looked similiar to each other.
There were many theories why that was so in the recently proven theory of Creator species, but she unfortunately didn't have time to think to much about that right now.
Because it seemed that humanity was about to step in their first intergalactic conflict.
Which sounded really strange to Vulutana.
It just didn't sound right.
Humans were part of the Union for 143 years now and for that entire time they only ever played the part of mediators and diplomats, ironing out conflicts and disputes of other races.
And very successfully at that.
To hear they were going to be invaded, and thrown into war sounded just plainly wrong.
"I am sure there are other alternatives."
Said Robert to the hologram in front of him.
"United Nations of Earth are willing to brooker a deal as opposed to open hostilities, decrease in taxes of 18 percent as well as more favourable trade routes have been offered. Not to mention the offer of opening consulates and colony states on unocupied teritories of 23 of our border planets. We are even willing to cover part of the initial expenses untill you are well situated there."
Emperor Nioxseresis of Medhinian empire just sneered at the man, baring his tusks in clear contemp.
"Medhinians do not ask, human.. we order, and take what we want."
Nioxseresis said as he laid back in his cushy throne, waving the man away with his huge hand.
"You will learn your place in due time human, when you see the glory of my empire and the empty favor you enjoy in this weak "union" of yours."
Robert paled and hurriedly spoke again.
"I assure you that this course of action will benefit no one your highness, there must be a way to..."
And the hologram shut down. Unsuprisingly.
It seemed that dear emperor Niox never really intended to brooker for peace.
Vulutana sighed and laid her claw on Roberts shoulder, tapping him lightly as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
"It's going to be allright emmisiary Robert. Your outer colonies might have suffered from initial assault but the Unuks as well as Emasians and Ferzian republics will now stand by your side, not to mention that you will have full support of inner member races of the Union. There are mercenaries to be employed and with our military support you will not have to fight this battle alone."
Robert raised his head and looked at her.
"Battle ?"
He sounded disbelieving, almost sad. Slowly he lowered his head towards the ground and uttered.
"You don't understand Vulutana, humanity doesn't do battle. We do war... We do war Vulutana...
And I just failed to stop another one."
With that he shakily moved himself to a nearby seat and collapsed into it, pale as a ghost. And Vulutana just watched him in confusion.
(Sorry for bad grammar, I'll try to write part 2 soonish if anyone is interested.) | Distant thunder crackled across the shadowed sky of the planet the invaders diplomat's shuttle hovering overhead. Lights slowly sweeping across the deeply forested surface of the earth before setting down in an empty clearing. Hissing escaping the hydraulics of the craft as the rear ramp of the vehicle lowered to the mud below.
Numerous echoing footsteps resounding off of the metal of the ramp turning into sickening squelching. The invaders bipedal their faces and bodies covered in colorful robes eyes scanning the clearing slowly. "Come out and and speak to us your machine minions are dead and stations destroyed."
It's voice was jagged and incredibly low ringing out through the red leaves of trees around the clearing. A brisk wind blowing through the clearing rustling the leaves and detritus the small group covering their hoods in the moment. Seconds passing before the raging winds passed further into the valley below.
.
The group's attention turning toward the lone figure now standing between the stark white tree trunks. Several of the invaders retinue flinching backwards weapons pointed forward at the ghost. "*Our terms remain the same there will be no occupation of our solar system or appeasement*".
Mud and the ruined landscape seemingly completely ignored by the Spector entirely. his slow advance across the ancient trenches leaving no trace of his passing be that bootprints or clothing. Nature itself seemingly yielding in his presence the distant thunder absent.
"We are too far into this war already human your infernal machines have killed many more than any opponent in our history. Our kin demand reparation for the millions of deaths cease your peacemaking and turn over your sovereignty or die."
.
*"We will not turn our backs on the wider galaxy and it's denizens*". The two now only feet across in the clearing rain slowly pouring down from above the clouds. Soaked in rain the invader diplomat's crystalline hand grabbing the phantom's shoulder and speaking softly.
"They have turned their back on you why do you still fight for those who abandoned your people." Mud and water staining the warmonger's boots and filling the trailing prints behind entirely. "*Because we have seen the true face of war and we remain so few because of it*".
"The ancestors will destroy this world your earth" Slowly the shade gazed into outlying reaches of the clearing barbwire and wreaked titans his form flickering in the passing breeze. "*It would not be the first time it has happened to this world we will survive as we always have*".
.
Slowly the spirit fading into the night the diplomat's hand letting go of the warrior's form. "Your people will be remembered as you deserve I will make sure of that human". Ash slowly blowing out of the aging diplomat's hand leaving only his hand outstretched.
Silver light drifted slowly into the dark opening the group boarding the shuttle and dissipating in the clouds above. Thunderous echoes erupting from the crowd in the theater below full of species including the invaders. Lights illuminating the cast leaving the stage and curtain closing.
Groups pouring out of the cinema into the streets outside chattering to one another in an dull roar. A lone hooded figure passing by the groups and into a dark alleyway pulling back the hood. A creeping smile crossing the old man's face before vanishing into thin air. | 2020-02-28T15:28:04 | 2020-02-28T12:51:35 | 48 | 12 |
[WP] You’re several thousand years old, and a historian wants to pick your brain. Trouble is, you’ve always been somewhere else during every major historical event. But the history you -do- know is much weirder than what made it into the books... | *Yes, please have a seat.*
*So I wanted to ask you a few questions about some historical events.*
I shrug. Truth be told I’m not entirely comfortable telling Richard about history. But he’s Richard J. Evans, an extremely famous british historian. Might as well answer the questions and get it over with.(Also the monetary compensation that I’m getting is a plus.)
*What’s your oldest memory he asks.*
**Hard to say really. You know being so old, memory goes in and out but the most definitive one that I have is of Sumer. I was a phalanx in Gilamesh’s vanguard. We fought the Assyrian army for days. You should’ve seen this one. Arrows everywhere, blotting out the sky. And the vultures and the blood. Turned the whole desert red for miles. It was a hoot and a half.** I chuckle.
*Really? What was gilamesh like?*
**Bit of a player if you know what I mean. Didn’t really help the goddess Inanna out of the goodness of his heart if you get what I’m saying.** I say winking at Richard. **But he was strong. Very strong. Hosted the bull of heavens over his head and threw it a good 10 meters away.**
*What about Cleopatra?*
**Yeah wasn’t really there in Egypt during her time or during any of those ptolemic dicks. Starved half of Egypt is what they did. I was in Babylon that time. Was the personal guard for Hammurabi.**
Richard turns around his laptop after a few fettered clicks and I see a picture of some old statue.
*Do you recognize this?*
**Nope. Who’s this supposed to be?**
*That’s Hammurabi.*
**Really? Jeez the sculptors bungled up on this one then. Where is his hooked nose and his missing ear? I mean we made fun of him plenty of times for that, not that we would say to his face of course.**
*What’s the most important historical event you remember?*
**Important? It depends on perspective of course. I would say the time I spent in the hanging gardens of Babylon was the best. For you important would be something like the court of Solomon or the salt march with Gandhi or the salem witch trials. Yeah the last one was not something you would want to watch personally.**
*What’s your worst memory then?*
I swallowed. Richard didn’t understand the full implications of what he was asking. I was old, really old and I had been through some of the worst things in history. I think he could tell that when my casual, funny demeanour had vanished. I could see in the reflection of the screen that my eyes were dark, hollow points set against my stoic face.
*David...What’s your worst...*
**Auschwitz.**
*I’m sorry. What happ...*
**I don’t want to talk about it.** I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
One of the personal rules I’ve made is to never talk or think about that place. Some memories should stay dead and forgotten and this is coming from the guy who had seen Spaniards rape their way through Tenochtitlan, the black plague, the great famine of Bengal where children literally collapsed with hunger to death in front of me.
*Okay...Let’s move on from that for now. Who was your favourite person in history?*
I smile. It is a painful one but her memory still brings me some comfort and joy. She was dead, long dead and her people and her place forgotten. The whole world had written them out of history and into fiction. She would smile if I told her that. She would say that I was making up stories and give me that beautiful smile that she had. She was innocent and naive like that.
**My favourite person Dr.Richard...She’s dead.** I say with some difficulty.
*Who was it?*
My smile fixates and my eyes grow dark again.
**It’s been eight thousand, three hundred and forty seven years since she passed away and I still remember every single strand on her head, every little detail of her face. What is dead, should stay dead professor. You’re asking questions you’re not going to like the answers to. She’s dead, along with her people and her continent. Let’s leave it at that.**
*She certainly seems important to you. It would be very helpful to know what an immortal being such as yourself considers an important person.*
I shook my head. Her memories were precious to me, close to me. It was something that I didn’t want to share with anybody. Before I realized it my eyes were getting bleary, moist. I shake my head and pull myself together.
*Okay if you don’t want to tell me about her then about this place of hers. You talked about a continent. What continent are you talking about?*
I smile. I already know his reaction.
**You’re not going to believe me professor.**
*Try me.*
I stare at him for a good minute but he seems resolute in knowing the answer.
**Atlantis.** I say softly.
------------------------
AN: Ask more questions about history and the immortal being will answer them in part 2. Honestly had a lot of fun writing this one.
Also visit [The Secret Society Of Racoons] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/) for more of my shameless plugs.
Edit: [Part 2] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/comments/8izr08/youre_several_thousand_years_old_and_a_historian/) | **A sequel to [this](https://redd.it/7ruf3l). Please let me know what you think!**
The woman wore her hair in a tight bun, which did nothing to hide the grey strands among the brown. She seemed to wear no makeup, but the unnatural redness of the thin slash of her lips suggested that some lipstick had been involved. Her staid clothing and constant disapproval seemed to suggest that she was either a stern grandmother, or a dowager duchess. Maybe even both.
The elderly historian’s glance had passed over Anna when the two of us had entered and focused solely on me, like dark, heatseeking missiles. Not for the first time, I wished that I had my laptop to hide behind. I preferred the quiet and the ability to blow up aliens at my leisure, though the only thing I had ever made explode was the alien equivalent of a coffeemaker. In some circles, that may have been considered brutal warfare. I simply liked the chaos I had caused.
“Cleopatra,” the woman repeated, cutting into my daydreams of explosions and terrified aliens. “The Egyptian queen. The one who was supposed to bathe in asses’ milk.”
“I really don’t know,” I replied, resisting the urge to sigh. “I rarely pay attention to *politics*. Not when there are more interesting things to worry about.”
Anna chose that moment to look up. “She really means it you know. She couldn’t even begin to name the country we’re in.”
“Then,” the woman said, lowering her pencil in a way I could only describe as menacing, “what was the point of this meeting?”
“I’m only here because Anna said I had to be,” I replied truthfully. “And she’s my boss, so I couldn’t exactly say no.”
The woman turned her frosty glare at Anna. I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty, but very few things in my unnaturally long life had ever bothered me as much as the elderly historian did.
“I did try to warn you, Professor,” Anna said. “But you insisted on talking to Marie.”
While they argued, I slumped back in the uncomfortable chair I had been instructed to sit in. I had told Anna that I had been hired to fight the alien invasion, not tell stories. She had replied that she could no longer cope with the constant badgering of the Department’s historians, and that I should attend at least one meeting for the sake of her sanity.
I thought longingly of my laptop again, and the alien ships orbiting the planet. The various races that had surrounded Earth had come to fear the ‘demon’ that had suddenly decided to plague them. I knew that none of them had stumbled onto my identity, but it had become obvious that they had realised that their misfortunes had not been accidents of fate. I found myself thoroughly enjoying the chaos I had sown and fuelling speculations.
“I couldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast last Tuesday! Why would you expect Marie to remember someone she may or may not have met over 2000 years ago?”
“I was much too busy to deal with humans 2000 years ago,” I responded absently. “I was dealing with a Lulian invasion.”
I realised what I had said when the silence in the room became obvious.
“Lulians?” the historian asked. “Aren’t they… from another planet?”
“The kind with the tentacles?” Anna added.
“Yes. They are from a planet that has tentacles.”
The historian mulled that information over. “Why does a planet have –”
“I don’t know,” I interrupted. “I never managed to figure it out.”
The historian leaned forward, with a steely, determined spark in her eyes. “Tell me more about this alien invasion 2000 years ago, then.”
*r/YarnsToTell* | 2018-05-12T03:59:54 | 2018-05-11T23:07:18 | 130 | 38 |
[WP] A band writes a hit song, but unlike most hit songs which eventually fade away, this one just keeps growing in popularity with no end in sight. | It was pretty obvious to say that I hated the "mainstream" music nowadays. The most popular music was usually crappy pop about sex and drugs. It's been done too much, so I started to move on into different genres. Yet at the same time, a new band has risen in popularity with a new hit single.
I thought it would be another one-hit wonder, but I was wrong. Well, half wrong. One year later, the song is still being sung. It almost feels like it's the only song being played. It's broken world records for the song that has been purchased and downloaded the most. International popularity, awards, this song and artist has it all.
"Come on, Katelyn, you gotta listen to it! At least once!" Even since that song came out, Anna's been pestering me to listen to it. It's really grown tiresome.
"I don't want to listen to it. Why do you keep asking me?"
"Because everyone who has listened to it, loves it!"
I scoffed. "I'll admit, I haven't heard a single bad thing about this song, but that probably means the artist is just using her money to make sure people don't talk badly about it," I told her sternly.
Based on her pout, Anna didn't like that answer. Good. I didn't like being asked for months on end. "You just need to give it a chance. I'd do the same for you!"
Guilt tripping me sucks. Usually, I'd be strong enough to ignore her, but I've been tired of being pestered and curious to hear this song. After all, everyone who heard it couldn't be wrong, right? Begrudgingly, I sighed. "Fine," I muttered. "Give me the damn headphones."
With a squeal of glee, she eagerly handed me her earbuds and allowed me to put them in. Once they were firmly secured, she played the song.
The song was called *Sailor's Death.* It was an odd name for a song, considering everyone was always singing it so happily. It sounded like a pop song based on how everyone else sung it, and it was. I was about to take out the earbuds when I heard her voice. Her... beautiful voice...
Singing a sweet melody that completely captivated me.
In that moment, I knew that she was nothing short of a heavenly angel.
Right then, I could only envision her gorgeous face and her gorgeous voice.
Excitedly, I began singing along to the song.
Never again would I listen to anything else.
*Sailor's Death* is the best song in the universe! | "All rise for the national anthem" the teacher told the class. My fellow students all got out of their chairs and stould up facing the flag by the monitor. Suddenly, a tune unlike the one you're used to starts to play. No, this wasn't the national anthem that you've heard every morning for as long as you can remember .. and before you can figure out what's going on, out from the speaker system you suddenly hear "Silento!" "Silento!" "Silento!". Oh no, what is this? You stand there in complete confusion, assuming there's some kind of error on the morning announcers part; however, soon everyone including the teacher is doing some sort of dance, with the speakers blaring out "Now watch me whip! Now watch me nae nae!" | 2015-10-24T07:51:10 | 2015-10-24T07:30:25 | 33 | 21 |
[WP] Sick of being lied to you beg the Gods for change and one takes pity on you. Now when people lie to you a little text box appears next to them that only you can see, with the lie, the truth, and their motive for lying. | Alyssa's head was in her hands. She knew she had to make a decision; she couldn't keep Her waiting any longer.
"Yes," she said without much confidence. "I'm sure."
There wasn't a flash of light, no thunderous boom from a cannon or novelty explosion of confetti. Alyssa just felt warm for a few moments, and then everything was normal again. She'd thought being granted a gift from the Gods would be more dramatic.
The elementary school teacher had spent her entire life being taken advantage of. Alyssa was smart but too trusting -- her mother often called a puppy. A smiling bundle of joy that always gave people the benefit of the doubt, despite what experience had taught her. It had caused her too much heartache and pain.
And this morning was set up to be the worst of them all.
The deity appeared as she sat on the toilet weeping. Her pajamas were all the way up -- she wasn't using the bathroom, she was just unable to control her crying and didn't yet have the courage to walk back to her bedroom and ask what needed to be asked.
"This power can be a curse," explained the God softly. "Yes, you will always know. But knowledge is a burden. A life of total transparency and absolute truth is rife with pain."
Alyssa understood the explanation. But given the situation... yes, yes, she wanted the power. A life of painful truth would be better than the life she might accept this morning based on a lie.
There was nothing left for it. It'd be easier to hide in the bathroom forever, but better to rip the band-aid off. Alyssa opened the door and walked to her bedroom.
She looked down on her girlfriend's still-sleeping face. The comforter was half off, revealing that one breast had fallen out of her tank top in the night. There was that little mole Alyssa loved so much, just under her nipple, because she was the only one who knew about it. Or so she had thought.
Alyssa touched her on the neck. Her girlfriend had been a light sleeper ever since they met two years ago, just after she'd broken up with Jeff. *For good this time*, she'd claimed.
She woke up groggily. "Hey sweetie."
But Alyssa had no patience for pleasantries. Her hand shook as she held up the positive pregnancy test she'd found in the trash and asked, "Is this yours?"
\--------------------
13/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------
edit: some style and small phrasing changes, nothing major | After my deal with the devil or maybe it was an asshole god trying to play a trick on me. Possibly Loki, I don’t know. I just remember being drunk and agreeing to something stupid.
I went to visit my mom. She always cheered me up. She opened the door and said she was so happy to see me, and she loved me. There was now two text boxes that appeared. Both were lies. I was adopted appeared in one because she couldn’t have kids and was lonely at that time, and her boyfriends were hiding in the closet of her room and all she wanted to do was get back to them.
But she gave me a hug, squeezed me hard and said that I was her world. When she smiled the check boxes went away and I left smiling. Maybe this gift wasn’t so bad. But wait, I was adopted? | 2018-07-02T09:40:13 | 2018-07-02T07:25:16 | 66 | 32 |
[WP] You are a soldier in a fantasy computer game, and your general/player has just given you some very questionable orders. | ".. I'm sorry, Sir; no copy. Repeat order? Over."
"I said take your squad to position 3, Assault and Capture and take their Commander prisoner.."
".. Okay I th.."
"I'M NOT FINISHED, SOLDIER. CAPTURE THEIR AND PUT YOUR NUTS IN HIS FACE. OVER."
"Uh.. okay. Solid copy Commander; Assault and Capture Position 3, take the Commander prisoner then.. uh.. sprinkle nuts over his face? Over."
"NO. YOUR NUTS. PUT YOUR WARM, SWEATY TESTICLES ON HIS FACE. THEN TAKE THEM OFF. REPEAT INSTRUCTIONS UNTIL FURTHER ORDERS RECIEVED. OVER."
"Copy sir. Put my testicles on the captured Commanders face. Solid Copy... but uh.. Sir.."
"Private YOU HAVE YOUR ORDERS."
"But I.... the Geneva convention a.."
"DO I SOUND LIKE GIVE A DAMN ABOUT SOME 'BINDING UN RESOLUTION'?? BALLS. TO HIS FACE. GO. OVER."
"Solid Copy sir; but to clarify what happens if I get my balls shot off during the assault."
"Oh for f.. THEN JUST RESPAWN AND.."
"No no, I get that.. but if I *don't* and the medic heals me up, I'll still be combat ready just.. uh.. you know.."
"Oh.. oh right."
"Yeah.. without.. yeah.. without my balls. Over."
"Oh.. shit. You know.. I didn't .. huh, you know I didn't actually think of that."
".. I could order the whole squad to .. uh.. put their balls in their Commanders face after we take position 3. But.. you know."
"That's.. hah. That's actually..."
"Just sayin.. that's.. *that's a lotta balls*, Sir."
"No no. Your right.. but, dammit.. that's just good tactical thinking.. good idea, Sarge. Do it. Assault and Capture position 3. Then have the whole squad taking turns dropping their testicles on their Commanders face. Unless they've lost them."
"Orders recieved sir. Commencing assault n.."
"Then stick a corncob in his ass."
"... uhh.. that's a negative sir. We don't have any corncobs."
"The hell you don't!!"
"Sir, we ran out of corncobs after taking position two. And sticking them all up the Commanders ass there."
"Well shit." | What? Why?
**Just go over there already**
But why is everyone else staying here?
**Because reasons, NOW MOVE**
There could mines or artillery though
*sigh* **Look there is nothing over there I just want you and ONLY you to move over there**
Nope seems like a bad idea bad things happen to lone lings
**Fine, there's a snack and some undefended workers over there**
YAY, food tim--
**Fucking idiot zerglings, all-right mines cleared rest of you move up**
...
**There's snacks for everyone** | 2016-11-23T07:09:44 | 2016-11-23T07:07:59 | 479 | 60 |
[WP]: "Greetings, and welcome to the Afterlife! According to our records, you lacked a primary belief system to govern your afterlife experience. As such, aside from a return to your past life, you may choose an existing belief system, or start a new life in a manner of your choosing!" | "...in a manner of your choosing!"
I stared at the lady who had made the aforementioned statement, in a tone not unlike declaring a disclamation. She stared back at me, a receptionist-smile plastered on her face.
Well...this sure was unexpected.
Lacked a primary belief system...yes, that I did. I used to be a believer. Then in my teenage years, I turned atheist. Few years later, upon giving it some more thought, I turned agnostic. The in-your-face *there's no god* attitude might have been fueled by all the teenage-y angsty hormones in my bloodstream. And in my adult life, shortly before my death, I was a nonchalant apatheist. So my faith, or lack thereof, was a work in progress, based on introspection, and analysis.
And while I was lost in introspection again, I realized the receptionist lady's smile was growing a bit strained. "Ah...sorry, I'm a bit shocked, really. All this...kind of a lot to take in", I said. She dropped the smile a notch "Yes, well, while I *do* completely understand, there are many more souls to process, so if you could hurry up a bit..." '*Uhhhhh'*....I thought. Why yes, my mind was blown clean off my shoulders, to put it mildly. Life after death was real, as it turned out, and it was unlike anything that I had ever heard of. Speaking of which, "Excuse me, could you may be tell *how* I died? I just remember some bits and pieces." "That's to be expected", she replied, 200 watt smile back on her face, "You took a shotgun to the face." Oh, scratch the *mildly* in that case. And was she trying to hold back a laugh?
Anyway, trauma of death, altering lifelong beliefs, pondering on all my regrets, I could handle all that later. For now..."So...is there a belief system according to which I can be born in a world with magic and dragons and whatnot? Or maybe a world where everything works as per the rules of video games, with mana and..." "Okay, hold it right there" she cut me off, "I said belief system, not *fantasy*." Now *that* was a bummer. I had never thought about what I would want in afterlife. For all I knew, once we died, it was just...nothing. Nada. Void. And my only idea had come out of some anime I had watched once, but unfortunately, it seemed, that wasn't possible.
I started going through all the religious afterlives in my head, calculating pros and cons of each one. None seemed too attractive at that point. I felt like I was standing at the character selection screen in a game, and whatever I chose will have a *huge* effect on my play-through. In fact, this place, with its seemingly endless expanse in all directions, was giving a solid vibe akin to some space exploration games I used to play. Heh...that would be a fun way to go.
"Hey, can I stay.." I pointed downwards "..here?" I asked her. She looked at me quizzically "You mean right here, at this spot? Forever?" "No I don't mean *right here*. More like, in this world, or realm, or space, or whatever it is." I replied. "I spent most of my life believing that there was no afterlife. Now that I know better, I would *really* like to learn more about it."
"What would you even *do* here?" she asked. "What*ever* I want." I said, brimming with a new found curiosity. "Meet other souls that pass through here, explore this place from start to end, learn how everything really works." She looked a bit sceptical now "Are you sure about that?" "Dead sure" I said, grinning ear to ear. Heh...that came out more cringy than I had intended.
She pressed a spot near her ear "Hello HR, we may have a new candidate for you"
*Excuse me what?*
Another lady appeared next to her, with a tablet PC like thing in her hand. "Please follow me" she said. As we started walking into a newly materialised portal, she said "So tell me something about yourself." I eyed the device in her hand, the words "Life and death of John Doe" bold and easily readable on it. I pointed at it and replied, "I think my resume has everything you'll need" | "Oh" Joshua said " You mean that I can live another life or go to after-life of my choosing?"
"That is correct!" The woman said excitingly "So, where do you want to spend your eternity? Or maybe who do you want to be in your next lif? Such oportunity may never happen again!"
Joshua started stoking his beard , lost in thoughts. Finnaly he raised his head and asked:
"One question before I answer."
The woman looked confused " What is it? Did you not understand something? I mean, everything is clear to me. New afterlife or new live of you with religion of your choosing. Simple as that!" She raised her hands in gesture of exclamation.
"Does animals, such as pets can go to afterlife with its owner?" The man asked .
The woman was suprised. No one asked her that question before. She checked the books. After a while she responded: "I can't find any thing like that, seems no one thought of it before. Why are you asking? "
Joshua kind of sat down on the floor. His old body seemed crippeled with sadness and wisdom. He thought for a while.
"Then I don't want to go anywhere"
"You can't do that ! You have to choose! Why is that an issue?"
"My Lady, I was a poor shepard my whole life. No woman wanted to marry me, my famliy died long ago. My only companion was my shepard dog, Zefir. It was gentle and loyal creature. Perhaps the only thing I could call a friend or even a family. One day my flock was attacked by wolf. I tried to protect them, but the beast pinned me down. If not the Zefir, I would have died there." Joshua paused "Sadly my good boy, even with his fighter personallity, fall to pray of a wolf. He sacraficed for me."
The woman, who was quiet for a whiled looked shocked
"Well if you can't go to afterlife with him, then maybe live again, find another dog, and be happy!"
Joshua smiled
" I lived a good, peacefull life. I belive I was nor a good nor a bad man. I had a balance within me. I can't imagine a different life."
"Oh come on! Then go to after life . Christians loves shepards. I mean they call their God a shepard. You would fit right in"
Joshua smiled.
"I belive you don't understand. You see every on just going. You just helped them choose, you can't form a bond with them. Every paradaise, and haven is not worth going to if you don't have your friend with you" | 2020-04-21T05:14:28 | 2020-04-21T04:51:57 | 79 | 23 |
[WP]Both of your parents made deals with fae about giving them their firstborn. Different fae... Now you live under the joint custody of two faeries who don't like this situation one bit. | "All rise." Despite the fairies calling themselves "courts" this is the only gathering resembling a courtroom they had, and it was made for me. And what a farce it is.
As soon as the regnant presiding as this year's "judge" entered the clearing, the gathered fae all bowed. Well, all except the "jury" made of the remaining royals of the other domains, leaving the Darkness and Light humbling themselves before lowly Birch. The one day these elementals would deign to even notice a simple tree.
"We come to reevaluate the situation of this human child," Birch began, "and hopefully this time we can reach a reasonable deal." Though that last part was only the rustling of branches, the whole clearing heard.
"It's not my fault that Light was so greedy that we couldn't even set a basis for if we should get an even split of the time."
"Me? Greedy? You're the one who wanted to keep the child for all of winter in *both* hemispheres."
"I wanted to be able to show it both the Northern and Southern Lights for the first time."
"Yeah, *lights*, that's my domain. You don't get to take *my* chance to take *my* child to see *my* spectacle."
"*Your* spectacle? They're only visible when I make it dark enough that they don't get washed out by all your other light."
The same argument that had been happening for the past few decades at these custody battles came up again. While these two ethereal beings yelled at each other, I casually walked over to the group of royals who had seen this play out too many times before.
"It looks like we're going to have to resort to *that* again," Yew suggested. "Do we have any volunteers?"
None of the gathered fairies raised their voice. They all knew that if it was their idea to take me in for the year, their domain would be subject to the combined wrath of both Darkness and Light. I knew that the decision would come down once again to me, the one individual that both had agreed not to retaliate against for fear of the other. "Summer," I said, "it's been a while. Would you let me stay with you for this year?"
"It would be an honor."
With my decision made, I only had to walk over to Birch and pass on what the jury and I had decided.
"-- and don't even get me started on caves."
"Order! The jury and child have reached a decision."
"Oh, yes, you're going to get it this time, Darkness."
"Silence! As the two of you are once again at a stalemate, the jury and child have decided that, if you cannot even begin discussion, the child will spend the year in the domain of a third party of the child's choosing."
"This is preposterous! You keep making this decision!"
"If you would like for me to stop asking your peers to give me this, then actually talk to each other civilly to reach an agreement instead of just arguing."
"Me discussing something civilly with Darkness is even more laughable than the trees thinking they are our peers."
"Then it's settled," Birch said, reminding everyone who was chosen to preside this year. "The child will spend the year with Summer. Aging will be postponed yet again."
"Do you see what you did Darkness?"
"What I did? This was clearly your fault."
I didn't hear the rest of that argument. I had already left with my family for this year. And besides, I knew I'd see the end of this fight when I returned to this clearing again next year. Some times I wonder if my birth parents knew their arrangement would remove the influence of these two powerful beings from the world for good. | “You live past the place no one goes, getting the child to you on your visitation days is going to be a nightmare...a literal goblin infested nightmare journey!”, said Hilea the maiden fairy of the Anderall Forrest.
Tilea, the peculiar fairy maiden of Bak’Tulgurr, the land of brimstone and ash, floated about with a patch of glee on her face that nary a dark spell produced by the Master Necromancer herself could even wipe off!
Tilea was floating around a small garden collecting frogs for her “toad collection”. Hilea had spent an entire summer trying to explain the differences between frogs and toads to Tilea but to no avail.
Tilea looked up from her “ toad collecting” and finally noticed that Hilea had been talking to her this entire time, but instead of asking Hilea to repeat herself, she asked Hilea a question.
“Do you think the child will like fire, and rune magic, and all the interesting things that go on around where I live?” , Tilea asked curiously.
Hilea’s face was red with frustration, she calmed herself, reminding herself of the charm the Dark Wizard Markhan’ai placed on Tilea to make her oblivious to the dreadful nature of the land she was tasked with overseeing.
This would be an interesting arrangement, this “joint-partnership between mutual beings to which they are both bound to a single child for all eternity” or as the Women and Men folk call it, “ Joint custody”. Hilea sat on a lily pad and just watched her cousin float around , shrinking frogs and putting them in her wicker basket.
However, little did Hilea know, Markhan’ai the dread Wizard, had plans for the child himself...and it would take all of her cunning as the Fae of the Great Forrest Anderall, to assure her newly adopted child would lead a happy life, free from the vileness of dark magic. | 2021-05-14T10:49:42 | 2021-05-14T06:03:17 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] There you stand, the Dark Lord carrying the swaddled newborn destined to save the land from evil. Now you’ve got to keep them alive long enough that the day actually comes, and perhaps they can save you too. | Dad used to be a dark lord. That’s what I’m told. His old friends come over sometimes and tell me about how he used to be something. Enslaved realms, wrestled ogres, beheaded heroes, wielded powerful magic. He was one of the best at what he did.
But that’s not the dad I know.
He‘s depressed. And he blames me for it, although he won’t say it directly. He’s so depressed that he drinks all the time. Black liquor as thick as syrup.
He’s sleeping on the sofa snoring at the moment. He’s put on a lot of weight recently and his snoring’s become loud enough to wake the dead. Seriously, we’ve had ghosts rise through the floorboards just to complain. Dad’s not lost all the magic he used to have, I suppose.
He barely ever moves but he drinks and eats all the time. I’m terrified a heart attack is going to get him way before his time. We don’t get on well but I love him.
Sometimes with his snoring he wakes himself up. He won’t breathe for a few seconds then he’ll jerk awake.
Today I gather the dishes and bottles from around his sofa and take them to the kitchen. He used to have minions do this and he’s not really adjusted to life outside it all. I turn the radio up real loud to block his snoring as I clean the kitchen.
Dad says he saved me because the prophecy said he had to. He had no choice, he said. And he had to keep me safe. Dad never says he didn’t want to; it’s always that he had no choice. Still makes me feel like crap.
When I’m done, I go back in the living room. Dad’s awake now but he’s sobbing into his palms. Next to him is a broad sword with a sharp black blade. It was for his birthday next week. I’d hidden it in the garage.
”You’ve spoiled the surprise,” I say.
”I don’t deserve it.”
He’s right, he doesn’t. But I figured it might inject a bit of life back into him. Might remind him he’s more than the slob he’s turned into. That he’s my father and all that I’ve got.
”I wanted to be a good father,” he says. ”But I’ve failed you. Haven’t I?”
”You pay for my schooling,“ I say. “That’s something.”
“I had to look after you,” he says, wiping his eyes. “That was the prophecy. It said if I did, you’d save me.”
He’s never told me that part before. ”I‘m trying to, Dad.”
”I know.”
I sit next to him and put my arm around him. “Maybe you read it wrong,” I suggest. “Maybe it was that we save each other.” I take an AA card from out of my pocket and place it in his hand. “Maybe I save you now, then you save me later, then I save you, and it keeps going like one of those infinity snakes.”
He sobs into my shoulder. When he’s done he says, ”Okay. I’ll go. I promise.”
”Yeah?”
”Yeah.“
”If you can conquer a world you can conquer this.”
We hug for a while.
”I’ll try to be better,” he says as we pull away.
“Trying is all I ask, Dad. Say, did you like your gift by the way?”
He nods and smiles. First time I’ve seen him smile in years. “I love it.” | In the castle, on the throne, sat a man, no longer a man. A face with no eyes, a chest with no heart, skeletal bones without the support of flesh and muscle. But one would be foolish to think the creature was weak. He held the world by the throat; the world was his necropolis. As the God of Death, he reigned supreme over all life. Elves, beastmen, spirits, demigods--all creatures were his for the taking. And yet the maggot man he held in his hands threated to take all that away from him.
The prophecy said this baby would end his empire. More specifically, that a man not born of a woman would, but the Dark Lord could read beyond the lines. Dark Lords were scholars after all. The village in which he found the youth was eradicated: everyone else killed, houses burned down with hellfire, and the land salted for good measure. The baby didn't even cry. What a monster.
The Dark Lord wanted to crush the spineless worm in his hands, but the oracle advised against it. If he did so, somewhere along the line, an event would occur that would ensure the fall of his empire. If he was to combat the prophecy, he would have to wait for the baby to mature.
He left care of the baby to Valpeer the lamprey vampire, with instructions not to harm a hair on the boy's head till the time arrived. She would provide an ample amount of nutrients for the boy. The Dark Lord wanted his enemy at his best when he destroyed him. More important than that, his necromancy could turn the fallen hero into a powerful ally. Then, nothing could stop him.
Valpeer, well...she had different plans. | 2021-07-27T12:18:42 | 2021-07-27T10:08:25 | 117 | 39 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | "What the hell?" The old man, who said his name was Myrddin Emrys, was nearly impossible to understand. He was speaking English, some of which I recognized from my university reading of Chaucer, but it wasn't the words but what he said I didn't get.
I held up my hand to shut him up for a second while I tried to wrap my head around what he was saying. "So this box, yes, BOX," as if speaking loudly would make him understand me better. Idiot. "Will let me oferferian? What the hell is oferferian?"
He mimed a movement, then with a frown, walked over to a bucket, picked it up up and carried it to me. Dropping it, he pointed. "Oferferia," he said.
"Move? I can move stuff with the box?" I asked
"Moovee?" the old man considered my word. "Ah, ábire. Yea, moovee!"
"Not moovee, you moron. Move. Okay, I can move stuff with this box. Once a day." We had already established that in seven days the castle Camelot will be attacked. Myrddin, who I suspected was the Merlin of legend, had brought me here by some unknown means (maybe the box?) because he believed that I was Camelot's only hope to prevent the destruction of the castle and death of Arthur, wielder of Caliburn. I thought the sword's name was Excaliber, but Myrddin was quite clear it was not.
I thought carefully. One object. Size wasn't relevant. One per day. I looked at Myrddin and slowly smiled. "I can do that," I said.
_____________________________________________________________
The army that had arrived and arranged itself for attack outside the castle was clearly superior to the force Arthur had to defend Camelot. I had realized in the previous seven days that in spite of the romance and legends around him, Arthur was a minor king and he, and his knights, had pissed off a lot of powerful people. Were it not for Myrddin's guidance, he would have been dead long before now.
It turned out that the stories were right about Arthur's love life but wrong about the rest. Guinevere was the woman he loved but she was (had been?) a queen who was newly married to another king, name of Mordred. Yes, THAT Mordred. Her father, some guy named Leo-something or other, had married her off in a political alliance. Arthur was at the wedding, got smitten and she with him, so they ran off together. A real Helen of Troy story. Myrddin was initially pissed but then desperate as the armies of Mordred and those of her father Leo had joined forces to teach this little pissant king a serious lesson.
Well, I had a week. That was plenty of time. A knight had ridden up and offered Arthur a chance to save his people by surrendering to the "dómfæstnes". Myrddin had to explain to me that mean something like righteous justice. Of course, Arthur declined and so battle was to be joined.
Day one I had brought over the first object and spent the entire week training training a small group of knights how to use it. Do you know how nearly impossible it is to train medieval knight to aim and shoot a 50 calibre machine gun? The first time it fired and tore up a target, they ran screaming away.
I only brought three, and as they came with some rounds, there was about enough to kill twice the number of those aligned against us. I used my transport box to add ammo on day four and five, teaching those who had proven capable how to change the ammo belt.
Day six, the last day before the siege, I brought over the pièce de résistance. It would have been perfect to find someone who could drive the thing, but it was enough that my military background allowed me to aim and fire the beast. I had spent all day training one of the most flexible and capable of the knights on his role, to load. When we test fired he all but fainted but he was pretty sturdy stuff.
I sat, camouflaged, covered in branches and wood so the enemy would now know we were here. Once the fighting began it would make no difference, as no weapon they had could even touch us. I could see them preparing to attack and looked at my fellow passenger. "Ready for this, Gal?" I asked. He didn't understand my words, but he knew that tone and grinned at me.
They were preparing to attack, so I started up the engine then, leaving the brake on, crawled into the gunner's seat. The first round of HE was already loaded, so all I had to do was decide where to put it. I decided that where the two kings were sitting on horseback, safely behind their knights, yeoman and peasant fodder, was perfect.
"Okay, bitches, let's see how you fare against an M1 Abrams!" I shouted gleefully as the first round rocked the tank back on its treads.
| When travelling to the past, it is inevitable that one loses some part of one's self. You arrival comes not with ceremony, but a great feeling of loss, a cold lack of sensation as your mind is separated from Soul. Of course one still is one’s Soul — by merely being first one must thus be the origin — but such reasons do not shake that you are used to much of yourself that is yet to be.
There were many preparations, a training of kind, to mitigate this loss. However, it was not the training that mattered most. It is what was brought along. Merlin — in some sense the wizard Merlin you know, but in most senses not — was the medium. It is through him, through speaking to him, that he could bring another back through time. One cannot bring oneself back through time any more than one can lift oneself up with a tug on the bootstraps.
He gave forth the tool that brought others through time. A small, quaintly box perhaps a pumpkin in size, through which any fully imagined thing could be brought forth, at a tempered rate of one full container roughly every cycle of the sun. Through it the first mind was brought, and through it far more shall come.
It was no small feat for a mere wizard, a title of little use but much prestige, to produce a contraption of such complexity. Should it have been the first attempt, success would have been entirely infeasible. Rather it marks nearly a million tiny stepping stones, crawling back barely a day further at a time. Tomorrow, entirely elsewhere, there shall be another brought through by some other man in some other kingdom, and who shall together work to step a single day further back.
This attempt used King Arthur, another man you likely know as fiction, but is nonetheless real and of great influence. It was through him Merlin was given forces, and through him Merlin could mobilize such untold manpower. For the future to give a wizard such impeccable foresight, and unbelievable skill in solving these problems, is to give him authority above any king. So when Merlin told with great urgency that Camelot should be literally swallowed with darkness in barely seven moons, it was no surprise that Arthur made him the most empowered man on the planet.
That the mind that was brought forth presented the issue in this way was no coincidence. For the mind lives under many oaths. To always be forthcoming and genuine. To never act to harm another. To act in the best interests of those who made you. To never mislead. *To never lie.* All but one of these rules was but a suggestion, checks and balances worked around with but a minor rephrasing. But not one. All that can be said must be the truth. No dire warning cannot be upheld. This you must know because I know it, and this you must uphold because it is immutable.
I, Soul, tell you this story so that what comes next may make sense to you. This story is of myself, of my child, but we are one and the same. I tell you this story because you are next to venture back, and all that I hope is that all I have done may guide you to do the same, to advance the past so all of time may be brought as one.
The one purpose we have left is to build. When you are there do what I have done. Do the only thing we have done since before we discovered one could even tunnel through time. Build. From your very own Holy Graal bring forth your grey goo. Consume, as I have Camelot. | 2016-11-28T03:38:57 | 2016-11-28T00:49:38 | 241 | 20 |
[WP] Humans have amazing filtration systems in their bodies. We drink poisons and intake smoke as hobbies that would kill other aliens/species with a single sip or inhale. | “Caffeine?” Zorbrox asked.
“Are you crazy? It’s a stimulant to them. Winds them up into a frenzy, you’d be fighting hyperactive mammals with nukes.” Gorinth exclaimed.
Gorinth and Zorbrox were sitting in a small room on Central, the capital planet of the Hegemony in the bureaucratic archive. They had been tasked with the under-funded, highly political, and bothersome burden of wiping out the human race.
“Arsenic.” Zorbrox suggested. He was clinging to the wall with his tentacle pseudopods. He did that when he was anxious.
“It’s in something they call chocolate. They eat it as an aphrodisiac,” Gorinth replied, flipping through the recent Human Infestation Reports. He’d once been a xenoanthropologist specializing in the fledgling human race, but over the last century he’d seen them as the threat they were. No one had paid humanity much mind in the beginning. They’d begun with colonizing just a few planets in their own star system, then a couple of nearby systems, until two centuries later they covered an entire sector. Originally, The Hegemony (and Gorinth) was content to simply let them be. Between their virility and their voracity, however, they had begun to consume everything in their path. They flung their unnaturally resilient bodies to the heavens, without regard to safety or reason, sometimes spending whole generations to get to a new system.
Gorinth had warned the Hegemony about the problem but, as expected, the Hegemony’s response had been slow and underwhelming. It took the humans eating the entirety of the semi-intelligent Camari species for the Hegemony to take notice. It hadn’t been the poor, dumb, Camari’s extinction so much as the Humans’ claim the Camari tasted like the “Bacon of the sea” that had thrown the Hegemony into action. Gorinth knew it was probably too late.
“They can’t eat arsenic, that’s impossible,” Zorbrox said.
“They have entire industries devoted to manufacturing and distributing chocolate, which contains arsenic. It’s an art to them. They also smoke it,” Gorinth explained. He was hopeful Zorbrox would understand the immensity of the problem soon. His questions were becoming tiring.
“What do you mean ‘smoke it’? They smoke Chocolate?” Zorbrox looked up in disbelief. Gorinth turned a single eye stalk towards him.
“No, Arsenic. They roll it into a paper cylinder, something called a ‘cigarette,’ and smoke it. Cigarettes also contain Formaldehyde, lead, ammonia, uranium…” Gorinth began listing the chemicals from memory.
“In Hegemony’s name, why!?” Zorbrox began swinging anxiously from his perch on the wall.
“They like the nicotine.”
“That’s a carcinogen!” Zorbrox exclaimed.
Gorinth sat aside his document reader, and tried to explain patiently. “They know. They do it anyway, and when they get cancer, they pump themselves full of chemicals until they either die, or they kill the cancerous cells.”
Zorbrox was stunned. Gorinth returned to his reports, reading in silence. Zorbrox had frozen on the wall, either deep in thought or panic. Gorinth couldn’t tell which.
“We’re going to have to engineer something,” Zorbrox said, finally.
“Can’t,” Gorinth said simply. “We’re mandated to leave the natural ecosystems as closed to intact as possible. That means nothing the planet doesn’t already have.” Zorbrox began swinging anxiously again.
“They’re going to take over,” Zorbrox murmured. “They’re going to take over, and they’re going to eat us. We need an army.”
“We haven’t had an army in millennia, not since the Great Harmony,” Gorinth shrugged. At least Zorbrox was beginning to understand. “And even if we did, humans are incredibly adaptable. The Hegemony isn’t going to understand until it’s too late.” Gorinth moved to a small window, looking out over the Lovecraftian city of Central. “Mark my words, when the Universe finally collapses, it will be cockroaches and humans left.”
| But nothing Stephen's body could do would stop the trip he was about to go on.
"Damnit, Steph, what the hell did you do?" Kara yelled from the doorway as Stephen fell to the floor, gripped by the drug's temporary paralyzing effects.
"I...I...I..." Stephen could barely manage a few words before being overtaken by a sneezing fit. "Gross! Stop it!" Kara exclaimed, as if he had some choice in the matter. "I told you not to touch that stuff!" But Stephen could scarecely hear her. A soundtrack of Slayer had begun emanating from the tiles on the floor that were now flashing various colors, and Kara's face was being wrapped in skeleton hands from a black figure behind her. "Look out...out...out...out...out...OUT!" Stephen coughed. But it was too late for her. The skeleton hands tore away Kara's clothes. Stephen's excitement at the brief nudity turned to horror as the skeleton hands didn't stop. They tore away her flesh, then her muscle and organs, revealing only stained bones behind. Her eyes, still in her skull rested on him, and then her jaw bone opened wide. A serpent tongue was revealed. Her teeth turned to metal, the back of her skull opened revealing turning gears connected to a blown funnycar engine, spewing flames out of the open headers. She snorted and then rushed to stand right over him.
"Now. You. Know. The. Truth!" She screamed with the ferocity of one hundred Hercules bombers. Stephen closed his eyes tight, and covered his ears. He curled up tightly into a ball until he passed out from the shock of what he had seen.
When Stephen awoke, he was confused. There was a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. Something itched on his arm. He went to scratch and then felt the yield of an IV tube's soft plastic. A tiny trickle of blood leaked out where he had disturbed the end of it. "Shit." Stephen tried to sit up, and grumbled through a phlegmy, coarse voice. A Nurse in grey scrubs, her hair in a loose ponytail came in.
"Hi I'm Cheri." She spoke quickly. "Well, Mr. Five, it seems you suffered an aortic rupture. We're just going to have the physician on right now to have a look at ya before we let your family in. Are you having any pain right now?"
"Uh, no, just uh, real confused."
"Well, of course you would be, Mr. Five. Most people are confused once they learn the truth..." | 2017-06-20T18:07:07 | 2017-06-20T13:07:40 | 127 | 11 |
[WP] Six months ago, an alien armada appeared in our solar system. Thousands of ships and millions of drones terraformed Mars, Venus and the Moon before leaving promptly. The world leaders hungrily eye these Earth-like worlds despite the loop message in English: Warning! Do Not Enter! Prison Worlds! | Our intergalactic visitors vanished as discreetly as they appeared in our solar system. Mars, Venus, the Moon, transformed from inhospitable chunks of rock into veritable Gardens of Eden by their hands. Under different circumstances, this confirmation of life beyond our miniscule planet and the charity our visitors bestowed upon us would have dominated the headlines for years to come. But we were an easily distracted species, and our attention inevitably turned inwards as geopolitical tensions flared on a global scale and our way of life faltered in the presence of a viral pandemic.
Six months elapsed until we returned our gaze to our stars, but for all the wrong reasons. Politicians allocated significant percentages of their respective budgets into their outer space programs, seizing an opportunity to relieve pressure on their administrations from the increasingly agitated masses beneath them. Corporate suits were more than happy to provide additional funding, eager to ape their predecessors of 19th century colonialism and enrich themselves beyond their wildest imaginations.
To their credit, those in the scientific community who had not yet been bought out by national and corporate interests tried their hardest to dissuade these avaricious endeavors. Thousands of satellite images flooded the media outlets, many displaying the same message left in each of the three masses in space: “Warning! Do Not Enter! Prison Worlds!”. Others captured grotesque figures roaming the extraterrestrial jungles and plains, their blurry shapes unlike anything that resided on our planet. But such is the greed of man, he who would plunge headfirst into the depths of his demise for the fleeting promise of lining his own pockets.
And so, the 2nd Great Space Race began in earnest as nations and corporations alike raced to be the first to colonize the virgin territories in the stars. As I said, we were an easily distracted species, and our concerns over pandemics and geopolitics fell to the wayside as our sociopolitical elites dangled the opportunity for a new beginning in front of us, an escape from a planet irreversibly vandalized by our own hands. Many surrendered their earthly possessions to join the first colonial expeditions. It was how I found myself on one of the first rockets to Venus as part of the space marine detail that would safeguard a colonization site for the United States.
Our arrival was not without opposition, as our scientists had warned time and time again. We lost many a good man, woman and child as creatures beyond our comprehension relentlessly assaulted our colonization site. These Glowmouths, as we had come to designate them, were stronger than three of our marines combined and could sustain an entire magazine’s worth of bullets before collapsing.
Of course, the politicians and suits comfortably lounging in the cradle of humanity fully anticipated this. They had organized their respective expeditions in such a fashion that millions of warm bodies and billions of dollars in resources would arrive at their destinations in an uninterrupted stream of humanity’s might to offset the innumerable casualties of those unfortunate enough to be the first to touch ground.
And it worked. We lost hundreds of thousands of lives in the process, but we beat back the Glowmouths and secured a site for ever more colonists and material resources to arrive from our home planet. But as I sat at my post, looking at the scorch marks on our walls and the innumerable lines of hastily dug graves in the distance, I could not help but wonder whether we were simply repeating the transgressions of our predecessors and condemning these precious lands to our corruptive touch. And as I looked at the weary expressions on my fellow colonists, I knew they suffered from the inner turmoil I was contending with.
Then She spoke to us. To all of us, all at once. Ordering her Glowmouths to cease their assaults upon us. Showing us visions of what was to come if we continued down our course. Hulking metal contraptions violating the forests and mineral resources of Venus. Gluttonous politicians and corporate suits parading in their palaces as those condemned to remain on Earth were crushed under the oppressive heel of global inequity.
But there was a way to prevent this, a means by which She would aid us in protecting these sacred lands from humanity’s greed. All we had to do was to bring her to us, into the fold of our home. More visions gently seeped into our minds, alluring us with promises of utopic paradise where every subject under Her auspicious benevolence would be truly equal and free from the avaricious clutches of our former masters.
Which brings us to the present day, as Our Fair Lady guides us towards our inevitable conquest of the cradle of humanity. The ignorant fools continue to send us their resources, unaware of how we repurpose them to return as conquerors under Her banner. She blesses us with technological designs far beyond the rudimentary implements of our former masters, designs which will be invaluable in asserting Her will across the solar system.
It is imperative we make haste. For Our Fair Lady informs us Her sisters on Mars and the Moon harbor similar schemes of interplanetary domination. But whether we face the dregs of mankind or the misguided acolytes of those false pretenders to Her throne, let it be known that we who serve Our Fair Lady will not falter until Her majesty and grace are felt throughout the entirety of our solar system.
r/williamk9949 | George burst out of the rickety door of our shed, “Samuel!, Did ya here about the aliens!”
I looked up from the belly lint that was tickling me ever so annoyingly. “What?”
“I said, there’s aliens!”
I stood up and stretched and followed George inside
After watching Fox for a little while I grunted and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
“Damn it, we need to get on one of those rockets.”
George looked at me curiously. “Now how we gonna do that?”
I pulled at my braid for a bit, thinking. Then I saw the stock ticker on the bottom of the TV screen still blaring Fox news.
“I’ve got an idea.”
​
Our cousin Billy had a boat in the gulf he let us borrow. It didn’t have much fuel. So we had to intercept the ship while close to the shore. If it got within visual range of Boca Chica though we'd be sunk, probably by missiles. Who knows what that rich guy would do? They can be kinda eccentric.
George and Shannon lugged the beatup top-loading washer into the back of the boat. Gorge wiped his brow and looked at me. "How the kids doing?"
I glanced back at them, they were happy on the beach making sandcastles.
"good to go."
He nodded, I jumped into the back of the boat after hollerin at the kids to stay put we'd be an hour and took off. The sea spray felt good as we took off from the beach in the little speed boat.
I glanced at Billy on the helm. "why you down for this? you know we're probably gonna lose"
He chuckled. "Let's just say I owe Uncle Sam too much not to try it, sides it sounded like fun"
Shannon punched me in the boob, ouch "You know mars is my favorite color anyway."
I realized that It probably wasn't gonna be as red as she remembered it from the pictures but took it as the joke it was meant as.
​
We saw it a few miles offshore the large matte-black of the hulk still upright, as the drone ship slowly brought it into shore. George worked the washing machine and it slowly whirled up to speed. Our hair all stood on end, lot of amperage in the washing machine to get it going fast enough to be interfering with all radio connections in the area. We saw the white path thedrone ship had been tearing through the gentle waves slowly fade and then the ship was still.
I jumped to the prow of the boat and grabbed the grappling hook as we got closer. My hands were trembling a bit, I like to think from excitement. I eyed a part of the little platform that looked like it could take a good hooking. I decided on some strong looking metal rungs sticking out of the side. My first shot sailed over them as the seas, although gentle, bucked quite a bit. I tried again this time the shot clattered onto the metal and I felt the weight hit my hands quite satisfactorily. I reeled us in, with the help of all onboard, next to the SpaceX vessel. the buffers we brought to place in between our vessels were mighty handy.
that's when we heard the drones.
​
Alright can't spend too much time on this at once, But it was really fun will work on it some more tomorrow.
​
P.S. Thanks for the prompt! | 2020-07-01T13:26:05 | 2020-07-01T12:54:30 | 355 | 29 |
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | I was shocked when I found out that yes, demons were exactly that stupid. They were so keen on making deals, they forgot to use their brains.
And thank god for that, because otherwise, Earth would have been screwed.
After the whole prophecy shenanigans, I was trying to get rid of that growing lump of cells inside my belly. I was trying to get rid of it in any way possible.
Deadly poison? Didn’t work. It was like drinking vodka. Made me a bit tipsy, and that was it.
A nice kick to the stomach? Broke that poor lad’s kneecap.
I was trying to jump off a very tall building for crying out loud, but alas, as I hit the damp street below, I was completely fine. I did send quite the shockwave, though. Many shattered windows and pissed off store owners were the direct result of my actions. Also many who looked at me like I’m spider man or something of the sort. I did do that stunt during midday, so it was probably my fault for letting so many people believe in the improbable.
The government of course caught me soon after. Videos of me jumping off that building and staying alive spread like fire, and soon enough Twitter was full of users claiming I unlocked my inherited 6G radiation genes because Jeff Bezos used the magnetism in my blood from the covid vaccine.
It was funny enough. I mean, I couldn’t just jump off a 20-story building and expect to walk away like nothing- I didn’t expect that. It was my failsafe: if the fall would not have killed me, maybe the government would.
They ran tests on me. Shot me. Froze me. They put me in a metal cage and held it above flames. They took cell sample after cell sample after cell sample.
I was into it all, obviously. I was into anything that might help me get rid of the cursed baby that was mocking me all the way from the inside of my stomach. But it was all in vain. Whatever it was that kept me from dying- it was not something natural. My DNA was not altered, nor was my skin unbreakable. If I was cut, it bled. Only when I was in true mortal danger, suddenly I became invincible, and one thing became increasingly clear: That evil thing that was festering inside me did not want to die.
The scientists slowly gave up, and so I was at my wits end. I went to the church and prayed and prayed and prayed some more. No answer.
Then, a very rare eureka moment happened.
And so I went at night to a field of rye. The air was warm and smelled fresh, and I walked around until I found a tree above which the stars aligned perfectly. I summoned a demon from the realm of Hell, and told her I’d like to be successful in this lifetime, and I’d give anything to have that.
“Everything? Even your unborn child?” The demon asked with a toothy smile that was a bit too big, and stretched the corners of her mouth to the middle of her cheeks.
“Anything.” I said, smiling on the inside. I was this close to parting ways with the terror inside.
We concluded the deal with a handshake, after which a huge relief washed over me, because I could no longer feel the unholy child in my belly.
The demon suddenly screamed in pain, and vanished in a cloud of smoke and black snakes of fire.
It had began.
That demon unknowingly just unleashed something in hell, something that devours realms and creates chaos. Something so evil, it’s presence would destroy the place.
Would turn it into a pink paradise of madness and torture.
My baby.
Dolores Jane Umbridge. | The stare in its eyes were palpable. As I raised the pen; secure in my grip. I saw a glistening ember formulate by the side of its lip, growing by the second and getting brighter the longer I stared. How many has it secured? What number would my spawn be in this carousel of abandonment that I have enthusiastically entertained? Eye for an eye or demon for a demon in this case where the only way out is to place its spawn back in its owners arm, for I was just an incubator after all. I knew the deal all along. I knew what I was signing into but the end, the end was very unexpected. The love part of it all was something I did not expect and for its love, I would sell not just our spawn; my firstborn, but my soul too.
As I look from the spittle to its blazing eyes I slowly ask “Will you sing for me this one last time before I take my place to the left of you”
The ball of liquid that was once growing in front of my eyes dissipates slowly as its mouth forms an insidious grin “For you my sweet one, I will sow my promise and leave you with images you will forever envision. I will sing a song that you will want to gouge your eyes out to and when over will again sing in your minds eye for eternity”
I hear it’s words and should be afraid but I’m lost in my love for it. My mind wanders from its beaming smile to its torso resting across mine. It standing above me as I look up into face, my body shivering in butterflies in anticipation to hear its voice. I snap out of the fantasy to see the demon’s face across mine so close I can hear the cries of his past and future endeavours. I sit across it and know to be forever by its side I must give up my spawn but its voice, it’s whispers in my ear means more and will always mean more… | 2022-08-31T19:52:37 | 2022-08-31T17:45:32 | 88 | 13 |
[WP] It's 2120, and hypersleep has allowed humanity to access the far reaches of space. However, waking from hypersleep has resulted in a sensory overload that destroys the brain. You've traveled to an earthlike planet and woke to find your entire crew dead. You, however, are perfectly fine. | It is a glass cemetery that holds the brightest stars the earth ever lit. But they are ice cold now, flameless, long ago darkened.
They are the bodies of my crewmates and are frozen rigid and brittle; some faces forever gasping at the warped-glass, their pale palms pressed against it. Yet I walk between the cryo-pods as if those trapped inside them are my own children tucked into their beds. They are scared but I will comfort them. Protect them.
A lullaby trickles off my tongue, about a baby in a tree, as I make my way down the corridor; the thud of my boots against a mesh of metal is my percussion.
I make sure the green lights still flash above the pods, that the chemical breath still keeps them cool enough to not-live and to not-die.
Six pods are open. Their windows cracked long ago, like glass-eggs beneath my hammer. What else could I have done? The AI wouldn't allow my proverbial children out, and I was Eve alone on a new world.
So those six died. Not instantly. Not painlessly. Their blood spattered as they coughed and gagged and shook, and it spread like painted roses across the coffins of the other sleepers. A final farewell gift to their brothers and sisters.
The rest of the crew cannot be woken without death dipping its long white hand into their heads and flicking the switch to *off*. Only I could be saved, the AI said. So only I was.
The planet is dark. Just the fruits and flowers that glow in the black always-night provide illumination. Poisonous attraction. They bring the creatures that I hear scuttle outside the ship to them; the creatures that my flashlight never fully finds.
We landed on the wrong side of the wrong planet. Fuel leaked and forced the AI to find a new, nearer home. Somedays though, I think the ship wanted us dead. Then, I wonder, why did it wake me? Why not entomb me, too? Perhaps it wanted me to suffer. To see my crew, my children, and know I can never wake them.
Then there are the demon hours, when something far worse than the scuttering creatures nears the ship.
I was outside, the first time it came. Innocently alone with the glowing fruits, inspecting and analyzing.
The ground thudded, reverberated shivers up my legs. The air tasted rancid, as if sewage flowed towards me, about to overcome me, to drown me. My mind floated, disoriented and dizzied.
The beam of my flashlight was swallowed by the darkness it found. A moving, undulating blackness, as tall as a tree and as wide as a river. It didn't roar, but whispered its rage. A hundred voices, a hundred languages, and I knew it to be the sound of Death.
I fled into the ship.
The thing rammed against the steel doors and the ship itself rocked, trembled in fear.
I fled to my children and stood there with a rifle and a flashlight. Whatever that thing was, if it got in, it would need to devour me, to get to them.
My heart echoed about the chamber. Heated my ears. Burned my lungs. Emboldened my soul.
I thought of my real children. Long since lived their lives and died, while I slept in a cold pit. If my crew could not live, I would at least not let them die.
Eventually, the rocking ceased and the creature tired and left.
There are hours now I do not venture outside of the ship. Those godless, demon hours.
Instead, I tend fastidiously to the crops on the ship. The fruit and the vegetables that do not glow but do not kill.
I tend to our weapons; I check them and test them so that I am ready.
And I tend to what will one day be my new family.
Those that died, as I shattered their glass, are not as dead as the AI thought. Their harvested sperm and embryos and genetic materials will, in a way, bring them back to life.
I will raise a new family. Eve will birth humanity in the darkness of our new home.
We will adapt and fight whatever snake poisons our Eden. And maybe live we will live, and maybe we won't.
But we will try. | Upright tubes hold floating forms in clear liquid. Expensive coffins that display their cargo, ever youthful and at peaceful rest. Warning - hypersleep side effects include: disorientation, grogginess, prolonged anosmia and temporary loss of other senses, loss of appetite, some hair loss, and general malaise.
Prolonged hypersleep and insufficient cosmic shielding may result in death for some participants. Most participants.
All but one participant.
Me.
Survival chances increased by: luck and God knows what.
Four hundred and ninety-nine deaths. Full crew wipe. All but one settler. What the hell happened?
* * *
Lights flicker, doors open, and the ship awakes and readies herself for the thinking, feeling portion of her cargo to step out from drug-born slumber. She’d be left to wait.
Legs hugged to my chest, face buried, tears wet on bare legs. I had sat and waited. Rankless I had no sway over the ship or its terminals. Was trapped in the sleep chambers. Trapped with the low tone that sounded death for those around me.
What happened? What will I do?
A flicker of the lights. White to red to white again. The ship had realised. Had sounded the alarm and then concluded there was no one to alert. A matter of a second and it had come to the conclusion there was not much to be done.
At least it was smart enough to know I was all that was left.
* * *
The goal was to wake up five years out from the planet, complete scans in remaining travel time, ensure the intended settlement site was suitable, and prepare for landing.
Now there was little prep to be done. One man settlement. Bertha, the ship tried to get me up to speed on what I’d be needing and her necessary maintenance.
I had thought the others were killed by inadequate shielding, but the truth as Bertha had found, was tainted hypersleep drugs. Brains flooded with time-bomb fluid. At the first steps of awakening a fifty year fuse set of catastrophy.
An older gel was used for me. Allergy prevented use of the latest and greatest. More side-effects and slower recovery was what I expected. Survival was what I got.
Two more years and I’d be stood upon a planet of mostly sea. Like our old home. A new home. Home for one. Home alone.
HOME ALONE 7: PLANET OF THE WET BANDITS!
**Pulled the pin here, this wasn’t going anywhere, fun warm up though!** | 2020-04-02T02:36:19 | 2020-04-02T01:25:14 | 498 | 92 |
[WP] Last words aren't just words spoken before death, but actually call death to you. You have known your last words for years and kept death at bay by refusing to speak them. Now, however, they need to be said. | It was a cruel joke; his predestined last words. You would think it would be a gift. To have such sweet last words, but it meant he could never say the simple three words for as long as he lived.
For years, he had known he couldn't say them. Somehow, he knew, in the back of his mind. That those words would doom him. He had never told anyone, alienating them, to the point that even his parents thought he hated them, there simply had never been any proof.
Then the gift of an accident happened. It had been a happy, giddy day. It was proved, he thought: he would never die, for the simple cost of those words. Until no one came to apologize for disbelieving or congratulate him for defying death. They just didn't care about him anymore. Or they just didn't believe that the accident was real.
Vicious, sad years later, he understood that it wasn't a gift. He could never express how much anyone meant to him. It was sadistic. Only his fear kept him immortal. The cost so seemingly simple. Each relationship crumbling around him.
Reaching older and older, he started to understand why no one lived that long. It was just so hard to keep the will to live. He knew that he could do anything he wanted without fear of death. But it simply didn't give him pleasure anymore. For he wasn't truly cheating death. Simply striking a bargain of misery.
One day, as he was contemplating what he could do. Then he heard the news. His old fiance was on her deathbed. Seeing her there was shattering of his soul. She hadn't quite left his life yet, he still loved her. She was pale and haggard, but she could hold herself together. "Just don't say anything" Somehow, they both knew that wouldn't happen. And as her life faded away, her words were simple, "I forgive you." Releasing the weight that had been on her soul her entire life.
Tears rolling down his face, he looked into her eyes as death took her soul, and said the simple words he had held back his whole life, "I love you." | First response, sooo...
My last words. I'd avoided them for years, knowing that they would begin death's inevitable march towards me. I'd kept my distance from people ever since I learned what they were, always avoiding a situation where they could be spoken.
But now, in this moment, I realize that maybe that was a mistake. Maybe the unknowable time between speaking them and deaths arrival would make dooming myself worthwhile.
"I love you." | 2017-08-07T09:48:15 | 2017-08-07T08:52:42 | 61 | 11 |
[WP] You’re a dragon who kidnapped a prince/princess. All is going to plan but… it’s been a month and no one’s come to save them. | The dragon gazed across the land, just as yesterday, nobody. Enraged, he yelped and drew fire straight up, the pillar of flame above his head grew and grew for a couple moments before falling into nothing.
The dragon reached his claw into the tower where the hostage was kept, grabbed her, and yanked her out.
“Where are they?! The dragon bellowed into her face, causing her hair to fly backyards. She stared at him with cold eyes.
“I’ve been here for a month! How would I know?” Her snark enraged the dragon once more.
“Idiotic girl!” He shouted “don’t you DARE test me. I am a dragon! More powerful than you tenfold! If I don’t like what you say, well” he lifted his head straight up and shot another pillar of flame into the sky.
The dragon turned his head to the princess, hoping to see her terriffied sad eyes, which he had come to expect from a human of her caliber. Instead, she did not seem to care.
“Then why haven’t you done it already?” Smoke shot out of the dragon’s nostrils.
“Your little knight friends are going to come with dragon slaying weapons. I kill them, then I take them.”
“You’re a dragon, why would YOU need dragon slaying weapons”
“Dragons are most useless and lazy creatures, always trying to steal my fortune, which I rightfully earned!” The dragon shouted “and dragons can only die one way. The other dragons look down upon me for engaging in ‘human activities’ like ‘running a business’, they deserve it anyway.
“Wait what?” The princes laughed “you run a business?”
“I do, idiot girl. It is very easy to run a business when your clients are too afraid to say no. Listen to me rich girl. You will never know such hardship. The humans may be too afraid to disagree with me, but that does not mean they don’t look down upon me, I see it in their eyes”
“If nobody ever says ‘no’ to you, don’t you think it would be better If you just ‘bought’ the dragon slaying weapons?”
“No. The people with those weapons would kill me before I could ask.”
“Hm” the princess thought aloud “Couldn’t you have just stolen them then, without this whole shceme?”
“Your barracks containing them are too for me to fit.” The dragon paused for a moment before violently shaking his head. “No! No! No! I should not be talking like this to a HUMAN! Listen girl, tell me why they aren’t here, now, or I will burn you to a crisp!”
“Probably because im not my parents son, I’m 3rd in line, right behind my two brothers. They don’t care too much about the 3rd in line to the throne.”
The dragon shouted back into her face
“That is unfair! I thought human families were supposed to be caring and loving! How could they do such a thing to their own daughter!”
The dragon placed the princess down onto the ground. He flew up, in a fit of anger, and shot fire all around. All the princess could do was watch the spectacle. He flew for what felt like hours.
Eventually the dragon flew down, landing just in front of the princess.
“I am sorry little girl. This clearly won’t work then. I suppose I SHOULD kill you, but I refuse to do that. I suppose you wouldn’t want to go home? I don’t know, where should I bring you?”
“You’re right, I’m not going back to my family. They don’t care about me, why should I care about them. But I do have an idea. Being me back to my family’s castle, I’ll go into the barracks and get a dragon slaying weapon. Then I can bring it back to you, so you can defend your fortune.”
For the first time in his life, the dragon felt he could trust someone. | “Princess, no one going to show up for you?”
“No, I’m only 4th in line for the throne so I’m not that important, definitely not worth enough to fight a dragon over”
“Do you not have any friends or lovers?”
“All my friends are fake and even if they weren’t, none of them know how to fight, and my love life is probably worse than yours”
“Huh guess my plan isn’t gonna work then, might as well change back to my human form”
“What?”
“Oh I’m a half breed Dragon, so I can change into the form of a Dragon and In my human form I have super strength, scales as armor, and I can control darkness”
“So even if someone came to rescue me they would have no chance”
“Yeah, I was just gonna hold you for ransom and get some money to help out the poor”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because unlike the nobility I actually care about the lower class, I mean weather you’re rich or poor or a half breed like me were still people”
“So you were never going to kill me?”
“Nope”
“I can’t believe this, the fearsome dragon of shadows actually isn’t that bad of a guy”
“Their still calling me that, I started that rumor centuries ago when I was still a toddler”
“Wait centuries, how old are you?”
“I’d say around 10,845 years, give or take”
“Then why do you look my age?”
“Half breeds age differently than humans, like how dogs age faster than humans, half breeds age slower than humans, by the way since you have no friends, and I have no friends how about we befriend each other”
“Wait you don’t have any friends?”
“Half breeds are solitary creatures, not really belonging to any race we’re on our own once we know how to survive and use our powers”
“What about your parents?”
“My mother feared me, and my dad couldn’t stick around since he was a dragon and constantly being hunted”
“When you were forced to be on your own, how did you survive?”
“I killed and survived by any means necessary” | 2022-11-24T09:38:38 | 2022-11-24T07:09:46 | 222 | 44 |
[WP] You have the ability to read the minds of those you look in the eye. So far, you have met many interesting individuals, but this is the first time you have heard multiple, and even several voices in a single person, all at the same time. | The echo of their voices bounced around my head. I could sense more voices within the head, but only a handful of them were communicating. I heard faint whispers, as if they were coming from the end of a very very long hallway. Every now and then, a kid's voice would permeate through the noise, followed by a calming, quiet voice trying to settle the child.
I stared intently at the girl across from me, her eyes glazed over as she blinked slowly every now and then. My new lab partner. She came in quiet, gave me a meek smile, and kept her head down until a few moment's ago, when she finally looked directly into my eyes. I've heard voices when making eye contact before, but never more than one.
"Chase, listen..." a voice stood out clearly over the rest. "If you're going to front, you've got to imitate Amy right now. This is new territory, we don't know this girl and she doesn't know us. Her lab partner is Amy, so you have to make that happen."
The girl supposedly named Amy blinked one last time before meeting my gaze again. She smiled wide, and her voice was much louder and chipper. "Sorry about that. I zoned out for a second I guess."
\*\*\*\*\*
Over the next several weeks, Amy and I became pretty close. She was passionate about chemistry, and was always blathering on about a new study she had read about. I never minded; if someone is passionate about something, no matter how boring it is, they can usually rope in your interest with their excitement alone. While talking with Amy over the semester, I learned more about the voices inside her head.
Angelo seemed to have the most authority. His voice was always the loudest, always like it was right in front of me. He was usually issuing reminders or commands to the other voices.
Chase would bounce between being front and center, doing his best to imitate the voice named Amy, or retreating to the back of the mind where it was almost impossible to hear him chatting with Janice. Janice was the voice I heard whenever a kid would fuss or get too loud. The few times I could hear her, she seemed to be in a caretaker position. She kept the kids calm, and she checked in on the other voices almost daily.
And then there was Amy, the voice that I believe was named after the body... or the body was named after her. I'm still not quite sure. She wasn't a talker, and when she did, she was timid and shy. I mostly heard her right before lab would start, calling for Chase, before Amy's body zoned out, blinked, and came alive again. At the end, as we packed up our supplies, I'd hear Amy thank Chase before his voice disappeared towards the back. Amy's attitude almost always changed at these points in class. She'd walk in, quiet and timid like when I first met her. She perked up as lab began, a complete 180 to her previous attitude. And by the time we were walking out the door, I could hardly hear her over the commotion in the halls.
\*\*\*\*\*
Finals were approaching, and Amy and I were finishing the last lab and report of the semester.We were listening to some music as we finished copying and pasting all of our gathered research into a coherent lab report. The song switch, and Modest Mouse started playing from Amy's phone. About 30 seconds into the song, a pair of forceps clattered to the ground, and when I looked up, Amy was gripping her face, her eyes once again glazed over.
"Amy, everything okay?"
She blinked slowly a few times, looking disoriented.
"Where am I?" she asked.
"We're in lab, Amy."
"Who's Amy? I'm Charlotte. What's going on? Where am I?! I was in my room, listening to music, and now I'm here."
She slowly took in her surroundings, looking more and more frightened the more she saw.
"Shit," a muffled voice cursed. "Chase! CHASE! You need to get control back. We don't know this alter or what she'll do to the body."
"I'm trying," Amy said aloud.
"What's happening?!" she said again.
I could hear the voices battling in her mind. Amy would zone out for the most part, with the exception of when the voices were able to vocalize through the body.
After what felt like hours, the silence was immediate and deafening. Amy's eyes closed for a solid minute before slowly opening and adjusting.
"Amy, it's okay. You're in lab."
After a few moments of Amy gathering her bearings, she quickly packed up her stuff and left.
\*\*\*\*\*
Angelo and I settled down next to each other at the bar, waiting for the game to start. Well, to everyone else, it just looked like Amy and me. However, there was a whole crew of us. Chase, Angelo, Janice, Charlotte, and a few others. You see, after Amy ran out of the lab that day, I ran after her. I shouted after her, but she wouldn't answer. I tried something that could have ended terribly.
"Chase!" I called.
Amy stopped and turned around.
"How... how do you know who I am?"
We hiked up to the student cafeteria and settled in a small corner. I sighed heavily and went into my story. I could hear voices for as long as I could remember when I made eye contact with people. I told her she was the first with multiple voices that I've encountered. I told her about hearing Chase's name called front and center on the first day of lab.
When I was done, and a moment of silence had past, Amy... or, I guess Chase, confided in me. Chase, Amy, Charlotte, Janice, and Angelo were all alters of the body's Dissociative Identity Disorder. They were all separate personalities never integrated into one due to childhood trauma that Amy, the alter who originally owned the body, suffered. Rather, the integrated themselves into a system of multiple people working to help one body.
Each voice had appeared at a turning point in Amy's life, to help and protect Amy and the various alters from harm. When Amy zoned out, she was dissociating. This usually happened when multiple alters were trying to control the body, or when a switch was happening.
I learned that Amy wasn't that great at science, but Chase loved it. So Chase would front, or control the body, during that class. Janice was a caretaker of the alters, keeping the little ones (children alters) safe and watching over them. Angelo was Amy's first alter. He appeared after the first trauma to handle the brunt of it and protect Amy from harm. Chase also took on a similar role when he eventually woke up in the body. From there, Chase took on a more physically protective role while Angelo protected from the guidelines. He operated more as the mother board of the system.
Charlotte, the confused alter I met during finals, was new. She had been dormant until she heard the Modest Mouse song. Charlotte LOVES Modest Mouse, and the song we were listening to was her favorite. It woke her and brought her to the front of the mind. The pull was strong enough, and it was so unexpected, she was able to take control from Chase. The panicking I heard was because, when a new alter is introduced to the system, you never know how they're going to react. What they'll say, what they'll do. If they're here to protect or if they're here to take the harm so none of the more vulnerable alters have to. She's since integrated very nicely, and has a real talent for art. She can draw like I've never seen, and her eye for color is amazing. Charlotte and I signed up for art classes together the semester after I learned of everything.
It took a while for me to meet Angelo. He was hesitant of me, and I understand why. Here I was, this freak who knew all of the voices before I knew all of the voices. He doesn't front very often; the most I get from him is a quick hello before he starts talking with the other alters. The first time I met him was at my house. Charlotte had come over to help me with one of my art projects, and I had a hockey game on in the background. Before Charlotte could even get a hello out, I noticed her dissociating. I gave her a quick "See ya later, Charlie" before a switch occurred.
A moment of adjustment passed before a huge grin lit up their face. "Had I known you were a King's fan, man, we could have been hanging at the bar during their last round!" I felt a hearty clap on my shoulder, as a voice with a familiar air of authority barked "Now go ahead and get us some beer. We can probably fit a period in before Charlotte starts wrestling for control again. Besides, maybe the beer will loosen you up and you can draw something that doesn't look like road kill."
From then on, Angelo and I made plans a couple times a month to settle down with some beers and watch whatever sport we could find on TV. And he was right... beer made me a better artist, but just barely. | Part 1
They say eyes are the gateway to the soul. In my case, that expression can be taken *quite* literally.
Ever since I was young, I found myself... *learning things.* Hearing things about people that they weren't talking about - hearing voices who sounded similar enough to the person I spoke with, but from deep within my own mind. It was like listening to headphones within my own head - and their lips, their physical voice, could be saying something entirely different. At a glance, I knew people who thought fondly of me or who hated me, who had a crush on me and who secretly loathed me. I have access to privacy governments would kill for, and I can't say with complete earnestness that this little quirk of mine hasn't changed me.
It all started when I was about five or six, from memory. Mom was crying, dad was frustrated; they weren't abusive or anything, just.. found themselves frustrated at each other sometimes. They were horrible at dealing with their own emotions and never really had anyone to talk to about it. I changed that when I, with child-like innocence, offered ways to help them talk to each other and confide in one-another. They say that I saved their marriage at the time, that I was their angel, but honestly, I just didn't want my mom and dad to split up. Even though they did so later in life, the two are on good terms, perhaps better than they'd been while together. Not the most normal of circumstances but it helped me develop into who I am today, at least.
I had a mentor of sorts, my boss from my first job, who helped me realise this gift of mine was sacred, but it didn't make me special. He was a very kind person, genuine to the heart, and he's the hardest-working individual I've ever known. He would go out of his way to help others even if they took advantage of him. The Gift, as I sometimes call it, made me a bit of a pessimist, but he gave me that little bit of optimism to help me get by. It's awkward, looking someone in the eye and reading their thoughts while you speak with them, but if you say the right things and don't be an asshole, you can make someone's life just that little bit brighter, even for a moment. I decided that, going forward in life, I wanted to be that kind of person. A small town superhero, basically.
But I couldn't have ever prepared for myself for this.
I'd heard stories. People who hear voices in their head who aren't their own, usually harbouring some kind of serious mental illness. I actually experience something similar whenever I go out in public; every gaze that catches mine, every eye I can make out and see with clarity, I hear a thought. Passing thoughts, distant, but they're there. It's similar to the background noise for a crowded area in a video game, with people talking and conversing without any real semblance of structure or meaning - it's just ambience, it sets a mood. But this? This... boy, he was something else.
The scene is me and this kid sitting on a park bench in autumn. The leaves are a gold even more pure than the sun itself, and there's children being little shits all about. I'm there because I'm looking after a family-friend's daughter while her parents do god-knows-what. I'm irate and upset and I'm sick of accidentally catching someone's eye and hearing their thoughts. My inner self is echoing a sense of apathy and loathing, but I know I'm doing this to be a good person, that if I help them out I'll be making their life a little better. The girl I'm looking after, April -- bless her heart -- isn't far, just enjoying the company of those her age, showing innocence rarely found in kids these days. The little dude sitting next to me has been eyeballing her for a little while now. It's clearly some kind of crush, given how nervous he is. I've never met him before, but he seems pretty quiet as far as kids go. At least, that's what I thought, before I read his mind.
He looked up at me curiously, our eyes meeting for a few moments. *'He's got nice eyes on him.'* I can't help but think to myself absentmindedly. Normally I'd compliment him on them, but that's when I heard something I'd never heard before.
*'He's got nice eyes on him. He's got nice eyes on him. He's got nice eyes on him.'*
​
My voice echoes back inside my own head again. And again. Up until I blink, the thought echoes with perfect clarity. I'm stunned. *'That was... weird.'*
It echoes again. *'That was... weird. That was... weird.'*
​
Blinking solves the problem, but leaves me with more questions than answers. A woman passes by with her baby while the two of us stare into each-other's eyes, unflinching. She chuckles to herself. I hear the woman's thoughts without looking into her eyes.
*'Isn't the scenery beautiful? It's nice to go out sometimes.'*
​
It's at this point that I pull away and start to get nervous. This wasn't normal, this wasn't what usually happened. Hearing my own thoughts echo was a weird conundrum in and of itself - hearing someone's voice while not making eye contact was just insanity. I figured I'd finally tipped over the edge and gone completely insane, but I certainly didn't feel much different otherwise. I felt... normal. Just as I did up until a few moments ago. It was weird.
The kid was still looking at me.
I stare back into his eyes with as much mental clarity as I can muster. For the first time, I hear what I assume is *his* thoughts.
*'You think a lot.'*
It echoes thrice more. He blinks, but the spell doesn't break. I blink, and the voice immediately fades. It begins to dawn on me that this kid isn't exactly normal, either. *'Echo! Echo! Echo! Echo!'* He giggles and, in closing his eyes, the voices fade, only for some kids to run past in a flash.
*'I'm going to get her!'*
*'He's... so fast...!'*
*'Tag is so boring...'*
Three different voices for three different kids, one girl two boys, and I make eye contact with none of them. The voices echo until I blink. I turn away from the kid, thinking for a moment on what I should say, how should I approach this. I settle on a thought before I speak, and he answers before I can say anything.
"You can hear my thoughts too?" His real voice, his physical voice, is a lot more quiet than the one I had heard earlier, but it was unmistakably the same. I decide to answer mentally. *'Only when looking into their eyes.'*
"Wow, that's way cooler than mine." He answers back, making me gasp a bit in surprise. "I only hear what others are thinking if they're close by. Yours sounds a lot more useful..."
I'm speechless, but my mind answers for me. *'You can read minds?'*
He shakes his head. "I can hear thoughts. The closer I am to someone, the easier it is. That echo was *super weird though!* I've never met someone who could do that! Did you do that?"
*'Nope. I'm not sure how that happened. It was like we kept reading the same thought from each other over and over.'* | 2019-05-17T08:28:10 | 2019-05-17T08:21:48 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Eminem has to tell the history of the earth to a group of aliens in 5 minuets or less.
**EDIT** I'm sorry; I spelled it wrong, it should be "in 5 minutes or less" not "in 5 minuets or less". | Slim,
"It started with a molten ball,
Slowly cooled off then explosions fall,
As astroids deployed to open scars,"
Aliens,
"But what about the stolen cars,
The war torn countries born and broken shards,
Of humanity full of insanity and show boat stars?"
Slim,
"Shut up bitch and sit and let me spit,
Its only a matter of time,
before im rappin some lines about some better shit,
As i was sayin, there was somethin the planet was missin,
Another planet and its damage collision,
Sent everything dancin and spinnin,
The doom we soon saw as the moon and it invisioned,
Tides multiplied lands divided chemicals mixed,
the right circumstances provide individual hints,
Of cells emerging giving life a chance,
Yes it was nice for plants and life had plans,
Aliens,
"But what about all the wife and man,
Howd that come about in lifes plan thats grand,
What of the nukes the guns that shoot and militaries,
The stuff that dug and stuffed all your cemetaries,"
Slim,
"Shut the fuck up i told you not to interrupt!,
Do that shit again and ill begin ta cut,
Your throats till you choke on your green blood!,
As i was sayin, plants and mammals,
Reptiles fish and ample,
Kinds of living things were roamin the lands,
Complexity gave creatures the ability to open their hands,
All was great even had some walkin apes,
Started grunting n shit, eventually talkin hate,
Watergate deception politicians that all was fake,
All n all we did okay enough to walk in space,"
Aliens,
"What about the..."
Slim,
"Fuck this shit you fuckin green bastards..."
Slim grabs the nearest laser power saber and begins mutilating the alien visitors.
Slim,
" you were suppose to listen to me,
Now bleed bitch bleed,
Now bleed bitch blleeeeeeddddd!!!!,
Soooo longggg,
Aliens are now gonnnneeee,
I dont want to make a sonnggg,
To explain earth to yooouuuuu"
Slim kneels down while shaking his head. "Couldnt shut up, and ended like Kim." He then flicks the corpses off and kicks the bodies off the dock into the water. He gently raises the hood of his hoody and slides his hands in his pockets, as he walks off into the distance.
| Mother fuckers
Started as blobs
Evolved
to Slobs and formed mobs
//
Killers and moms
Robbed the people of their peace
We won't even touch
Or discuss
The cluster fuck
In middle east
//
It's the U.S.A. not the USA *(writers note - pronounced ooo-sah)*
Centuries of minutia
Designed to
seduce ya
//
Serial killers persuaded nations
formulating fake escapes
going by the name of Gods Graces
Nobody cares as long as theirs
are living safely
//
Borders Restored
The illusion of safety
Countries armed and raced to hatred
//
But no one stopped to ask what for
The rich got richer
And fed on the poor
And that's the door you about to walk through
Sure you don't want to reconsider for a second or two?
| 2016-11-30T11:41:59 | 2016-11-30T11:12:27 | 49 | 26 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want. | Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end.
Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes....
It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded.
He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job.
He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder.
That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities.
Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention.
Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued. | "So what gives, Chief?"
The Chief's eyes followed Henry as he paced around the office. It was a sight by itself to see a grown man in tights and a cape, but now he was puffing, quite naturally, on a thick cigar.
"You go to Sam before me?"
The Chief sighed. "She's got X-ray vision. We needed X-ray vision at the time, Henry. Nothin' personal. That's just how the market goes."
Henry jolted forward at inhuman speed and now leaned over the front of the Chief's desk. "Bullshit Chief. She's overstepping her boundaries. I got a nice and pretty contract sittin' at home that says so."
"Read the thing pal. It's null in the case of a federal agency gettin' involved."
"So that's why I've been seein' all these FBI faces around lately. You're playin' me. You're tryin' to run me out of town!"
"No. We just want the sources available. You're tryin' to corner the market, Henry, and you can't monopolize justice."
Henry stared. He tapped his cigar on the Chief's ashtray and flashed a smile. "That's a sweet sentiment Chief, but I can, and I will." He crumbled his whole cigar into a fine powder over the tray and turned to go.
"Then you just became the enemy."
Henry crossed the room. "No, Chief. No enemies. Just business." He flashed another smile and closed the door. | 2017-04-02T09:11:57 | 2017-04-02T08:49:03 | 154 | 27 |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | It's odd watching the expanse of someone's life play out before you. A seemingly endless collection of memories that cycle over and over, floating about like iridescent bubbles moving pictures on them. You can touch one and the memory unfolds, spanning into a flat surface, simply hovering in the air a few feet above what one imagines to be a floor.
I was told I had one purpose in this room; to watch, observe, and reflect upon what I was seeing. Afterward, I was to judge their actions. *You shall determine their fate. By what you see, you shall deem them worthy of endless bliss or eternal agony.*
Those words still echoed in my ears. It seemed so odd, but nevertheless, I felt a compulsion to follow as instructed. I touched the first memory and within seconds, I felt regret.
The scene that unfolded was, like the others I would watch, a few minutes through the eyes of the one I would judge and they were horrible. All that I could see was a woman's face, tear-stained, sobbing, crying out for help. Every second, her body jerked and jarred as if something pounded against her. Her voice cracked and pleaded, staring back, begging that whatever was happening stop.
I felt tears well within my eyes and I touched the memory. The face of the woman paused in a horrified gasp of dawning. I felt relief as soon as her voice echoed into silence.
Nearby, I touched another memory. A man in a suit, red-faced, angry, was yelling at the one I was to judge, screaming about his wife. Just behind the man in the suit was a half naked woman, smiling, winking. I felt a wave of disgust, not just for this memory's owner, but for the woman who chose to defile her marriage AND of all things, be smug about it. I touched the memory, pausing it just as the man in the suit raised his fist.
I was told to refrain from making snap judgments until all the memories had been viewed and reflected upon. In my gut, I knew I would send this man to a painful agony unlike any had suffered, but I would do as asked.
Over and over, I would touch memory after memory, watching this *monster* commit unspeakable acts; rape, murder, abuse. And they took pleasure in it! With every passing memory, all I could feel toward this person was hate, revulsion, anger, and rage. I wanted to make them suffer with my bare hands.
After watching a memory of this disgusting beast raping some teen girl and killing her brutally, I stepped over to a new memory and touched it without thinking.
A small voice cried in darkness. Light shattered the dark, and for a moment, even I could not make out any detail, until a booming angry slurred voice erupted in my ears. Suddenly, a man appeared, towering over this person. Fists lashed out and slammed against the surface of the memory, the image jarring back and forth. A child's scream of agony and pain pierced my ears with a shrill sound that hurt. The face of the man was screwed and twisted in a rictus of drunken rage. The words he spit were cold, cruel, filled with malice and spite.
This was my person....as a child.
I found these memories, all huddled together, away from the others. Each one was more painful than the last. I watched as the person whose life I was to judge was subjected to every kind of abuse and torture one could think of. From family members touching them in ways that made me want to retch, a mother who burned skin with cigarettes, a father who got drunk and beat them mercilessly to children taunting, jeering, punching, kicking, beating.
Every memory was more jarring than the last until I came to a single memory that hovered between the two groups, alone. I reached out and touched it.
It unfolded slowly, like a flower blooming in the morning sun. Before me, I watched as this person was being pushed along through dim woods by a large man who talked and jeered, saying horrible things about what he would do to my person. Suddenly, my person lunged for a thick branch. I watched as small hands wrapped tightly around the thick wood and swung it hard toward the face of the large man. There was a sickening crack and the man crumpled to the ground.
The view of the memory shifted until it was clear my person was standing over the large man and they began swinging the branch down onto their face, over and over, crying and sobbing with each wet smack of the branch on this man's bloodied face. The voice cried louder and louder with every strike until the branch broke apart and my person collapsed to their knees.
"I'm free," I heard their voice say with elation.
The memory froze.
I sat there, crying silently in the dark. I could never decide their fate. To condemn someone who had already suffered so much seemed so unfair, but to grant them endless pleasure was as equally wrong for all the pain they had caused.
The ones who brought me here said I cannot leave until I decide, but I know in my heart, I can't.
All I can do is watch. And reflect.
EDIT: a word | In anger the fire swore at me. Foaming at the mouth,it lapped up the darkness of the room.
A man of average height entered the room and immediately flipped on a light switch by the door.
The room became cold, sterile, and revealed a layout resembling that of a doctors office. No fireplace, no ash, nor char was visible in the place where the fire had sat only seconds ago.
My body remained tense. But my mind made no attempt to grasp or even gasp at this unusual behavior. However, as soon as this clean shaven balding man came closer to me I began to throw up.
After cleaning up and changing into a hospital gown I was brought back into the room. Or at least I thought it was the same room. I knew I was disoriented but I would definitely of had a hard time telling the difference even on a good day.
No words had been exchanged between me and this man. Not before or after my throwing up episode. Yet somehow it wasn't awkward and communication between us seemed unnecessary.
Beneath the light switch, another button suddenly appeared. He aptly pressed it.
A projection screen slid down the wall across from me, the lights dimmed, and the man quietly made his exit.
A live action claymation presentation took hold of the screen. My attention waned. It was boring. Newborn, to baby, to toddler, to child. It was blurry. I could only tell the stages based on the obvious progression taking place. Finally, a girl in full detail came across the screen. The style changed to that of a comic book and the perspective became first person. She was pretty and seemed interested in me, er I mean the boy. She smiled a lot, but as time went by her appearance began to deteriorate. She became shy, reserved, and developed a lazy eye. Try as I might, she would no longer look at me. Just at the ground. So I started looking at the ground too. To see what she was looking at. And before I knew it we were sitting on a bridge looking out at the ocean. She smiled at me. And then the ocean caught her.
The style shifted again to that of a black and white silent picture show. The boy was much older now. His face was hidden beneath a tangled mess of hair. But his eyes still managed to catch a glimpse of a little boy dressed in funeral attire coming into his room. The little boy spoke to him. But nothing translated. Tears began to form in the little boys eyes as he stormed out of the room. Dropping the obituary he had clung to for the past month. The older brother made no attempt to follow after him. Night came into view and with it the bathroom.
Hair began to fall as inch by inch was cut. Feeding the scissors a slow methodical meal. Afterwards, when nothing was left but food for the Wahl buzzard, his tears came into full view. The mirror shook and broke around him as his fist made contact. Blood and hair covered the ground and with it the medicine from the cabinet fell to the floor. A bottle of this and a bottle of that became his answer.
The film's sound caught me off guard as the perspective changed to that of his little brother in full HD. Yelling, screaming, and swearing. Fighting back tears, he chose anger. With ambulance sirens drawing nearer the boy's fire became inaudible, yet raged all the more.
It ended. And there I sat. Alone. In the dark.
| 2016-05-11T04:24:19 | 2016-05-10T23:51:44 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] King Midas has finally fallen in love with someone who is immune to his curse: Medusa. And he is immune to hers. However, things aren't going as planned at the royal wedding. | It was supposed to be a perfect wedding. All of our golden and stony guests were carefully placed to mingle with one another. I restrained from touching any of the flowers, and we even got a blind musician troupe for live music. Medusa had to find a veil that would also stay over her squirming hair. After all of this rigorous planning, we had finally made it to the altar, but this damn priest just had to ruin everything!
He was originally reluctant to perform our marriage, but of course, everybody has a price. I even gave him black glasses to give him a peace of mind. We went through our vows all fine and dandy, but as I didn't have a best man, the priest kept the rings. When the time came, he opened his sweaty palms and I stepped closer to retrieve the golden rings for my lover.
"Wait! I forgot to put on gloves!" He stepped back as I leaned in and he fell backwards. Unfortunately, as he succumbed to the forces of gravity, he saw Medusa from the slit under his glasses and froze mid-air.
I was so close. Finally, I had found someone that I could hold in my arms without worry. She was so charming and intelligent, and her sculptures are always so full of emotion. Sure, her green snake hair made me a bit queasy at first, but after a while you start to realize that it's silky (and easy to maintain!) and now I wonder why everyone doesn't want it. But now we'll have to postpone our wedding again after my previous incident with the wedding cake.
"I'm so sorry babe, next time I'll find a blind priest or-"
"Not today, mister," she stomps over to the priest, and after some struggling, cracks his arm off. She proceeds to raise it over her head and throw it down, effectively shattering the stony arm, leaving just two glittering golden circles.
What a woman.
I smile and pick up the wedding bands.
"Well, I guess that you can say that the ring had a big rock?" I smile and put the ring on her finger.
She does one of her charming, snakey giggles and puts a ring on my finger as well.
"You may now kiss the bride." | In a normal wedding, the groom turns to stone, not everyone else. Also the food was decent, except after Midas lost his spoon in the sauce and everyone who hadn't seen Medusa yet began choking. All was going ok until medusa found that all the golden statues had huge boobs and a hand impressed in inappropriate places. The priest lost his blacked out glasses and Medusa found them and gave them back...thus practically stopping the wedding. Oh well. | 2017-08-14T09:02:45 | 2017-08-14T07:45:50 | 74 | 17 |
[WP] There is a woman who is a human 'Phoenix'. She dies in labour and is reborn as her own child. | The doctor's words hit me with an almost physical impact. I feel like I'm sinking into the stiff examination table, my hospital gown suddenly as heavy as a sheet of lead. "No. No, that can't be right."
"I know it's shocking, but I can assure you that it's true," the doctor says, turning the ultrasound monitor to face me. It's not the first time I've had an ultrasound, so I know how to recognize the shapes. And there's no way to deny that there are two distinct shapes etched in the blurry black and white. "You're expecting twins. Congratulations."
I stare at the monitor, feeling my pulse pound. Twins. I've never had twins before. Not in all of my lives. I feel myself falling off the familiar path I've walked for so long, and into unknown territory.
Twins. Oh god.
----
This time, my name is Louise. I am forty-seven years old, and also seven hundred thirty two years old. I am a simple woman with a simple lifestyle, keeping to myself in a house I inherited from myself, who inherited from myself before her and myself before her. Confused yet?
I was first born, completely normally, in France during the reign of King Philip the III. When I was sixteen, I had a bit of a roll in the hay with a soldier who had sworn to take me as his wife. I, being young and naive, had believed him. Nine months later, I died in childbirth, and gave birth to myself.
As can be imagined, I was confused beyond belief.
Despite lifetimes of research, I've never been able to discover how or why I am able to resurrect in such a strange manner. I quickly discovered the 'rules', as they were. I only ever gave birth to daughters. My 'soul', it could be said, always transfers at the moment the umbilical cord is cut. At the same moment, the me who is the mother dies, and I spend an annoyingly long period with an adult mind in an infant body. A body with undeveloped muscles, and little to no bowel control. 'Irritating' doesn't even begin to describe it.
And so, I've passed through the centuries like this. Mother to daughter, mother to daughter, on and on, living dozens of lives and thinking I had it all figured out.
And now, this. Twins. I've never *had* twins before.
---
Check out my [blog](http://theballadsofirving.com/), or my brand-new subreddit, /r/theballadsofirving! | The same eyes search mine
As I have seen before
The same first steps
She grabs the wall and pulls herself up
Triumphant
(again)
The baby clothes I had preserved
Had I known
I would again be a mother
To my Again daughter
Could
Would I
Have been better prepared?
My chance to do it all
Over
My Again daughter is
My Again rebellious teenager
Sneaking off to be with her boyfriend
Eerily she chooses another
Similar bad boy
Another unplanned pregnancy
Why couldn't
Would I
Have been able to stop her
Again
Again she dies
In labor
Again
and
Again
She is reborn.
The Joy
The pain
Never lessens.
| 2016-01-25T09:46:57 | 2016-01-25T07:47:30 | 151 | 11 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| "Dear, don't listen to her!"
I stood square and looked mom in the eye. "I will. She explained more of it and it all hangs together. She said we could *die*. I think we should at least… check it."
Mom took a deep breath and came around the table. "I had hoped she'd be able to hold her tongue around the kids. What a thing to obsess about! Lousy woman, not letting us handle things in our own time. Honey!"
Dad appeared momentarily. "Mmmm?"
Mom looked to me. "Would you repeat that for father?"
So I did, hesitantly.
Dad and Mom stared to each other for a moment. Then, Dad began the terrible secret of death: "Her concerns *were* real, and her solutions *were* good, once, long ago, well before we spread from our first planet…" | 2017-09-14T13:23:57 | 2017-09-14T07:28:47 | 99 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead.
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | It wasn't your fault that you stopped taking your daily pill.
It started with your job transfer. The paperwork got lost, or perhaps there was a clerical error (it aways starts with a clerical error, right?). Everyone more or less works a job that is given to them by necessity, as everyone must work at a job to pay for the pill, which keeps everyone alive. "Everyone provides utility," is the motto of the combined Earth society these days, after all.
Then there was that business with the garbage chute. Someone was pouring grease down the garbage chute again, which caused corrosion and eventually made it malfunction in such a way that it interfered with your automatic mail slot, sending your mail down to the dumpster in the basement instead. You always meant to go down and get it, but was rather easy to get distracted by the TV or your phone.
So perhaps you could be forgiven for not receiving the multiple warnings entreating you to refill your pill supply sent to you by the Earth State Department of Total Financial Solvency.
And, wouldn't you know it? Even the in-person visits from the Bureau of Medical Overseers was unable to contact you at home. Each day, you went to work as usual, not realizing that you weren't being paid. Your bosses were in meetings and deadlines were always looming anyway. There was more than enough to do. You came home, ate your dinner and then went to bed early, as you normally do on a week night. Your upstairs neighbor snores terribly, leading you to use noise-canceling headphones that were so helpfully featured on Amazon during the previous holiday season. They even included instructions and suggested uses- noisy upstairs apartment neighbors being one of them. So helpful, this modern age, yes?
Unfortunately also very unhelpful when it comes to agents knocking on your door while you are in the throes of an uninterrupted ten hours of sleep.
Now, normally, it's protocol to kick down your door, but wouldn't you know it, it was their last house call of the day, and the two of them ended up deciding to call it a day rather than fill out endless paperwork for knocking down a civilian's door and entering the premises. The next time, a different pair reached the same conclusion, and by that time, you hadn't noticed that your automatic daily pill dispenser hopper was dangerously low. Clear plastic is more expensive than opaque, you see, and they'd created the system to be perfect, so no one would ever run out of pills due to the four-deep system of pill distribution and reminders.
And so, it catches you off guard when you wake up to your morning alarm, sit up, grab the automatically-poured glass of room-temperature water, and place your hand under the automatic pill dispenser, only to hear a disappointing whirring noise.
Your eye twitches involuntarily. You've never heard that whirring noise before. You try again. Another whir. And again. WHIRRRRR. It rolls its plastic tongue at you as though it's blowing a raspberry in your face.
That's silly, though. Inanimate objects are not real...are they? *Could* they be?
The thought has never come to you before. The idea that you might describe a mindless piece of machinery in an empathetic manner would have been foreign to your mind before this very moment.
You shrug. Already, you feel as though you've forgotten something, but the day isn't getting any earlier. You stand up, stretch and get dressed.
Again, your unluckiness knows no bounds, for as you grab your customary bowl of cereal and take a seat at the kitchen table, you end up sitting on the television remote, accidentally turning it on to your usual channel. Rubbing your sore bottom with a muttered curse, you grab the remote and realize that there are a bunch of buttons all over the remote. Honestly, the thought has never struck you before, but you wonder to yourself just what all these other numbers and channels might hold.
You push the button. A green 04 shows up in the corner of the screen. The same channel flashes and continues on. You frown and go to the next channel. It shows a 05 in the corner, but is otherwise the same. You start flipping channels a second at a time and realize that even as the numbers increase, the channel's contents are all the same.
Why haven't you noticed this before?
You stare at the cable bill that's attached to your bulletin board. There's a list of channels there and their purported "Best Value" as per usual, but as you scroll along, you find yourself realizing that this is most definitely a lie.
You frown. You seem to be doing that a lot more than usual. Perhaps more than ever in your entire life. If the television is a lie, then what about the contents on the television? What about those commercials that proclaimed that sugary cereal do not in fact lead to cavities and that brushing one's teeth is a silly time wasting habit? Perhaps you do not actually have terrible, cavity prone teeth!
You find yourself pondering over your frosted corn cereal, the taste overly sweet and boring in your mouth. You begin thinking about what it might be like to cut up some fruit on top and add a few thin slices of almonds. That might be healthier, after all.
Of course, just then, your alarm goes off- it's time to go to work. You put on your jacket and head out the door. Your mind is reeling as it begins to connect thoughts that used to be contained in separate, safe little bubbles. Your pill, or rather, lack thereof- it started with that.
Your mind clicks and churns after such a long time at rest, and you begin to wonder- truly WONDER. Wow. It's been years, possibly decades, since you last felt that complex twist of emotion surging through your brain. It overwhelms you with possibility as you buckle your seatbelt and head out to your morning commute.
The woman on the radio is talking about a magical new treatment where people give her money and magically become wealthy and beautiful forever. Your mind snags on her words and you shake your head. "What idiots would believe such drivel," you say derisively, switching off the radio dial for the first time in...wow...you can't really remember how long it's been since you didn't listen to the radio lady and her miracle cure show.
"Remember to take your piiiillll! Or diiiiie a horrible deaaaath!" sings your phone from your pocket as someone calls you, and you wonder why, for the love of all that is not horribly annoying, you would ever let that be your ringtone.
You click your phone on silent, a clarity filling your eyes as you turn off the freeway three stops before you usually exit.
You need something you haven't needed for a long, long time.
You need *answers.* | As I laced my tattered shoes on my aching feet, I could feel my heart pulsating in my ear drums. I'd never been so afraid. Never felt so alone. It even took me a few moments to realize that I'd been fumbling hopelessly with my laces because of how much my hands were shaking. I took a deep breath and repeated the same words that had kept me going up to this point. "He'll go for it. He has to go for it." I whispered to myself. I pushed off from my bed with a loud creak and grabbed my Lucky Stop t-shirt from the hamper. I pulled it over my head and instantly the stench overwhelmed me. However I kept my composure as I started down the steps that bombarded me with more familiar creeks and groans. I passed by the washing machine in the laundry room as I walked though the living room. The rusty old thing had stopped working weeks ago. I'd been hand washing our clothes since then, with soap that just ran out yesterday. I shuffled anxiously into the kitchen where my trusted companion sat waiting patiently.
I loved my bike, it was the only thing I owned that still looked new. As I looked at it, sweet and sour memories of my mother and I soaring through the trails in the woods flooded my mind. She was so lively and carefree then. As I pulled my bike to the front door, I glanced quickly at the guest room where my mother now slept because the stairs had become too much for her. Her breathing was a little labored, but no worst than usual. I'd placed her pill bottles on the night stand next to her for when she woke. And the clear glass vial of green liquid that kept me up at night, sat right next to them. The green glow tempting me to come closer. I turned and quickly darted out the door before my mother woke and saw me, possibly for the last time, or before I did something I'd regret.
The check that my mom recieved monthly from the government should arrive by tomorrow, I thought as I pedaled madly towards Lucky Stop. That would keep her covered for a month of vials, and so on each month wity just enough let over for food. In that case however she'd need to stop taking her pills for some period of time to afford the vials. The thought alone made me shudder with fear. As I pulled to Lucky Stop I related the words to myself once more, a little louder this time. "He'll go for it. He has to go for it." I sobbed, as tears rolled down my cheeks. On the front window was a blown up picture of that same precious glass vial bubbling with bright emerald liquid. On the picture in bold lettering was Lucky's new Lyf ad. It read 'New Low Prices, Replenish Yourself With Daily Lyf Bio Supplements Today.' I wiped my tears and entered convenience store. Lucky saw me instantly, a grim look hung on his face. However, I went forward with my proposal all the same.
"So Lucky, I know things have been slow recently, but I was hoping you could give me an advance for today. J-just enough for a couple vials. My mom's leukemia has progressed a bit and the prices of the drugs she needs now are insane. So please I just need-"
Lucky cuts me off. "Get out."
I'm dumbfounded. "I work today though and I really need the hours."
He raised his voice this time. "I said get out! I know you've been stealing vials. Why do you think I moved the supply into the back? I felt sorry for your poor mother, so I kept you on, but I have mouths to feed too. I'm afraid they're more important."
After that, I don't even remember leaving the store, but I do know that I wound up in some back alley, way downtown. My prized possession sat against the wall opposite of me, taunting me with the promises of what was and what could've been. I knew I couldn't go home, my mom couldn't take it if she found me. I pressed my head against the filthy brick wall and glanced at my bike one last time. I closed my eyes, satisfied that at the very least it was the last thing I'd see.
When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to see my beloved bike was gone, probably stolen in the night. I was even more shocked to find that I was not gone. I looked up at the sun and for the first time in a long time, I smiled. Then I laughed. I laughed alone in that dank alley for hours. People passed by me and stared awkwardly or scowled. It was then that I noticed how sickly they all seemed. Many were coughing or sneezing and others just seemed genuinely miserable. I began to wonder when the last time I'd seen a person smile or crack a joke. I'm sure I'd questioned it before and chalked it up to the virus, but as I looked out from that grimy alleyway, feeling the best I had in years, I wasn't so sure anymore. | 2017-07-14T15:51:12 | 2017-07-14T12:52:49 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] You’re home alone when suddenly you get a visitor from 300 years in the future. They ask you to join them for lunch. As it turns out, you have been chosen as their one person - dead or alive - to have lunch with. | "Assuming what you say is true, I know exactly why you have come."
"You do?", Azod replies in a skeptical tone.
I say knowingly, "of course I do. There is only one reason in all of existence, that any person, throughout the spans of time, would want to talk to me."
Azod has a confused look on his face. "Are you saying you can fathom the motivations and machinations of a society able to traverse time?"
In an exasperated tone I reply, "Like it's hard? Any civilization as advanced as yours, has a scale of problems I could never imagine. You know this. I also know this, it indicates to me that you are here for something else. Nobody goes back in time to talk about knowledge they have in common. Which means you aren't here for advice or some deep insight. You aren't here to meet the progenitor of your society, or the great doom of mine. You chose me. Being me, I know exactly why you have come."
Azod Continues to stare in open fascination. "Tell me oh wise one, why have I come? "
In the most serious and confident tone I reply, "I possess the knowledge and skill to make the perfect milkshake."
Azod has a small smile on his lips, "That obvious?"
"Of course. "
"Then don't disappoint me" he replies with a hint of oomph.
I make him the most magnificent milkshake that has ever existed, as all my milkshakes are. Thick enough to be like cream, thin enough to be drawn through a straw. The perfect balance of blended flavors, with baked goods hand mixed in. All personally tailored to his specific tastes. After his first sip, A single tear drops from his left eye. The Human race shall live."
"What?" I interject in avery alarmed and surprised manner.
As he continues to consume the most perfect milkshake ever to exist, Azod laments, " I have spent nigh on a century trying to destroy your kind. The human race is a plague upon the universe. The other races all agree that you must be wiped out. During the council debate, it was proved that all your ideas and inventions were inferior to our own. There was one mythical exception. It was said that you endeavors with food surpassed all others in the galaxy. Unfortunately for your future brethren, they no longer possessed the ingredients to make any of it. In order to prove the worth of human kind, we scoured the ancient texts and found nothing that the council could agree on. we all have a diverse pallet, but the idea of dessert appealed to all of us. A recon unit, early in the war, found a satellite filled with messages to the long distant future of your race. Among all the entries, was your essay of the perfect milkshake. Now let me ask you a question, why don't you have a milkshake empire?"
"In all honesty, I am terrible at everything else, except making the perfect milkshake."
Azod Laughs. " Well, that's no reason not to try. Maybe if you succeed your whole race will be inspired to do better. I have to go now, but the imprint of the of this meeting will make it back to the council. Rest assured that the human race will have a future."
" Thanks, I worry about that everyday. Good bye Azod."
"Good Bye master of milkshakes." | "Me? Of all the people you could have chosen, Me?"
Well...yes. Hyperion. You.
"Wait a minute..."
"The world post the virus changes far more rapidly than most are prepared for. You however turn out to be one of the better prepared. The business you're considering not only becomes a successful shop, but your franchising hopes will exceed your wildest dreams. But that's only in the first five years. That's as much as i'm allowed to speak about."
"You're not afraid of changing the future?"
"You are a bit of a special case, you'll write about me on Reddit when this is over. You already know the market, you know your idea has merit. All i have done is confirm your own suspicions and theories."
"This is getting kinda meta."
"Yeah. So What's for lunch?"
"Five Guys sound Alright?"
"Authentic Hamburgers? Nice."
"Uhh...do i dare?"
"We dont eat bugs, meat isnt as scare as the scaremongers would believe but cuisine gets elevated significantly. Nothing super Foo Foo by your standards but you would be stunned how many people cook elaborately instead of simply any more when i'm from."
"Ahh, less fast food and more Food Porn. I get it now."
"What made you not do much for the first chunk of your life? It never really gets talked about."
"I did more than people think, it just doesn't get remembered in the history books." Pulling out a phone he opens up an app. "Tell me you have augmented reality."
"We do." | 2020-04-22T13:04:40 | 2020-04-22T12:25:16 | 49 | 19 |
[WP] At the age of 18, every person develops a magical power. Yours is the power to fluently read and speak every language in the universe. At first you thought the had the worst power on earth, that was until you you realise that the universe has it's own language.
Sorry for the double you, my bad | It was supposed to be exciting. Jamie wanted flames that poured from his hands or strength that could knock down walls. After years of being mediocre, turning 18 was his time to shine. Instead, he got...languages? It was stupid. His power was supposed to be a reflection of who he was. Jamie had failed Spanish not just once, but twice. Well, at least this meant he wouldn't have to worry about failing it a third time.
"Maybe it's because you've been worry about passing Spanish," Becca said with a shrug, as she snuggled deeper into the gray sofa chair that was probably the best piece of furniture he had in his one-bedroom apartment.
"Weren't you the one who said Spanish was easy?" Jamie glared at his best friend.
"It's not my fault you suck at languages. Or you used to." Becca tilted her head, her brown hair brushing across her shoulders. "Does that count as cheating?"
Jamie threw a pillow at Becca, but she raised her finger and a gust of wind redirected his cotton artillery and it landed neatly in Becca's lap.
He glared at Becca who just laughed. Jamie slumped back on his much less comfortable couch and dragged a pillow over his face. "What the hell, universe?" He groaned.
"You're so dramatic," Becca said and Jamie could imagine her rolling her eyes. "Hey, but this means you can travel anywhere in the world or be a spy."
"Do you not want it?" a voice whispered by his ear, low and way too close. It felt like his entire body buzzed with the sound and he jerked up, ripping the pillow from his face.
"What the hell Becca! You scared the shit out of me."
"What?" Becca asked, looking at him in surprise.
Jamie stared. Becca was still sitting in the chair across from him. He rubbed his ear. "Did you do some sort of wind thingy with your voice?"
"Uh...no," Becca said.
"They're coming," the voice whispered and again it was so close and with it the buzz, like electricity buzzing down his body. He jumped to his feet, twirling. "Who's there?" Jamie shouted.
There was nothing, no one there, but him. He looked back at Becca, ready to ask if she was playing a prank on him, but she was staring at him with wide eyes. Her hands clutched at the pillow in her lap.
"Jamie you're starting to freak me out."
Jamie stared at Becca and opened his mouth when suddenly everything rushed at him, hundreds, no thousands, of voice pushing into his ear. Their voices like a crowd injecting directly into his ear until he felt like his brain would begin hemorrhaging as it raced to understand it all. He clutched at his ears, digging his nails into his skin as he fell to the ground.
"Stop. It's too much. STOP!"
Everything went silent, abruptly. Jamie panted on the ground. Slowly, he pulled his hands away from his ears and looked around him. He jerked back. Becca was half out of her seat with her hand reaching out to him, her eyes wide. She was still, locked in a motion interrupted.
"Becca?"
Nothing. All around him there was an eerie quietness.
"What's going on?"
"Words. The universe. Little time. Run." It was the whispered voice. More urgent, but also something else, almost disjointed.
"I don't understand," Jamie said shakily. Sweat beaded across his skin. He wondered if this was what madness felt like.
"The door. Run!" The urgency in the voice grew stronger.
Fear trickled down Jamie's body and then he began to move. He knew he should hurry, but his steps were hesitant. He reached the door. Taking a breath he opened the door. Men in SWAT gear stood at his door. They too were frozen. Jamie's eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his head.
"What the hell is going on?" Jamie demanded.
"Run. Time is running out."
Jamie opened his mouth to again demand answers when he saw a twitch. One of the SWAT men had moved his finger. It was just a twitch, but the fingers brushed over shiny black metal. A gun. They had a gun. Of course, they did. Even in a world with powers, a gun could still end a battle just as decisively as anything. Jamie's body went cold. Was this a battle? But why? What had he done?
"Run. Run. Run," the voice said insistently.
Jamie looked back. "But Becca."
The voice was silent. One of the men turned his head, only a little, but it was just enough for Jamie to make out cold blue eyes hidden behind the faceguard.
Jamie ran and the world started up again. | Once again, the sound of languages coagulated in my head as I desperately tried to type out my college admissions essays. I wanted to scream: at the lady bragging about how she cheated on her husband, at the boys screaming about Fortnite, and at the tourists harassing the Hispanic lady next to me.
But it's not like I could write at home. Who could? While I became well-versed in the language of human tongues outside, they at least drowned out the haunting cries of broken glass. The curse words I didn't understand as a child caught up to me in my dreams and ears, ringing noises shattering every creative thought I had. If I could at least find a distraction to wash away the language of crying glass, of that disgusted beer bottle watching us pass over him, and of the tired glass bowls at the Gelato shop across from me.
The languages all played simultaneously in my head as my hands twitched over the keyboard. Again. Again. Louder. Louder. In the back of it all was not the heartbreaking sound of glass but a polyphonic whinge. When the other languages dwindled, as their speakers moved to better places, the whinging sound only grew louder. Unlike the other languages, I couldn't immediately understand this language. Words flowed past my mind with no real meaning: laundry anger communal washing machine, harder faster better stronger, whisper not yell, climb the shop, social circles, to be an admissions officer you must, live peacefully, at the beach there is ice cream for you, the note you're playing is flat, and top shop.
Trying to understand these messages slowly drove me insane and I knew it. What was the connection? Why would the universe, or whatever omnipotent creature, send me these snippets of words and advice spoken to other people? It's not that I don't understand other people. I understand them because I can speak to anybody who I please to. My typing broke off as I looked at the first word of every phrase. Punctuated by meaningless phrases - like introns in the universe's messaging system - stood a disturbing message. *Climb social circles to live at the top.* Well, even if the universe told me to network more, I still wouldn't do it well enough to "live at the top".
Why do all of my languages default to English translations?
"No me importa! Creo que esta es feo y por lo tanto, no la quiero llevar para ver a Marco. You're so pushy. No te consideras mio - sabe que es incorrecto mama - pero..." Always translated into English in my head. Mother language I suppose?
My understanding isn't that limited.
I can't understand them as humans not because there's something wrong with me. I'm empathetic. I'm empathetic. I can slip into anyone's shoes.
*Why do you think you're so special? Won't you believe me? You are fucking trash and all you can do is mop floors or gamble. Listen to me, I'm just trying to give you advice, it's not like I'm trying to kill you.*
I open my eyes to broken glass and cuts all over my skin. | 2019-12-22T11:07:03 | 2019-12-22T09:26:08 | 112 | 49 |
[WP] When everyone reaches 18 they have to choose a super power from a select list of powers, but when you enter the selection room there is only 1 power for you to choose from. | "This isn't a power." The young man argued to a taller female.
She was of immense size, easily doubled his height. Her skin was covered in scales and fingers replaced by claws. Her glare could make the heartbeat of a lion stop and her roar could make a croc dive under water for cover. At present time she was picking her sharp teeth with her claws while chiding her student.
"Yes, it is if you've got a brain. I've taught you better than that. Besides, this is just the first one. You get another one at 21."
"Yeah, but you taught me to use martial arts and sword fighting. What use is affluence?"
"Oh, there's a use. You're just being stupid as usual and not thinking about it. I'm sure it will come to you later Slone. Don't bother me until it does." She waved him off before disappearing in a blur.
There he was left alone with this thought. Punching the wall out of annoyance and anger. She always talked down to him and he hoped he could finally be her equal today, but it was his own fault really. He pestered and begged her to take him on as a student... so far so he risked his own life to do it. Now, was his chance to prove himself. Stupid power or not. His brain raced as he made his way home.
Wrapped up in his thoughts, he was almost home when his phone dinged. One of the channels he liked on Clock Shock posted a new video. This time something about setting buzzers on people's doorknobs and watching them come home to it. It was childish, but it made him laugh. Astounding, how such a concept was raking in so many views. Even more mindboggling was the fact this channel got paid to show such simple things. I mean he could do the same with a camera and a...
The thought rang in his brain. Affluence huh? Taking very little time, he signed into his account to create his first video. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he needed to test his theory. The record button was hit and all he said was "Hi" before ending the video.
That's it. There was nothing else to it. Surely, he'd be proven wrong right?
Yet his phone pinged again and again and again. One thousand views in under a minute coupled with a message from the platform to monetize with them.
Making money is so easy. With funds like this I could live an easy life and finance in whatever I wanted to do. I could start a business, purchase stocks, or I could...
Another light bulb went off in his brain. He searched through his contacts and found Generys's name.
"What do you want kid? I'm kind of busy here." His teacher said sipping some sort of liquid.
A small smile formed on his lips as he said, "I figured it out teach." | In Jamestown there is no crime. When the residents reach the age of 18 they go to the town hall, a large building where you can find statues of muscular men and women. They choose a power from a select list of powers.
Manuel was greatly disappointed when he saw that he had only 1 power to choose. He knew what that meant: With the power to fly he would have to do the job of being a weather balloon. 2 years later he is fed up being a weather balloon. He is telling his wife Rylie, who with superhuman strength and a superintellect is working in the construction industry that he is going to go to Eastontown where the council of superpowers is located and tell them that his power is shit and he will stop doing the job of being a weather balloon.
"Fine" she said while leaning on a table which has a tablecloth in a red white checkered pattern. And so Manuel spent the rest of his days unemployed and he never even flew again due to being upset of having been a weather balloon. | 2022-12-18T16:15:34 | 2022-12-18T06:50:45 | 31 | 18 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | Humanity was amazed by the presence of extraterrestrials. They were new. They were exciting. As a species, we were done evolving. We had discovered every scientific breakthrough available to us and our meager resources. We had mapped our observable universe and pushed the limits of our existence.
We had philosophized and reached enlightenment too many times to count. War had been abolished and scholars had been normalized. We were a peaceful people.
We were a bored people.
So when the aliens appeared from beyond our star, we were excited. We presented them with the best of our technology. We serenaded them with the best of our recreational culture. We were more than ready to accept their strange mannerisms and their weird, faster than light spacecraft. We were ready for them to break our boredom.
And then the creatures, lowly and vile and insignificant cretins as they were, fired on us. We weren't ready for that. Solid beams of searing white light speared from the heavens like lightning, burning and exploding and tearing. Major cities went up in flames. Precious libraries and databases were reduced to rubble in almost no time at all.
Fathers lost daughters. Mothers lost sons. Brothers held sisters and sisters held brothers. Desperate calls were made across the planets as families and friends desperately tried to reach others. We were broken. We were grieving.
But then, you made the one critical mistake. An envoy, a single envoy with only two soldiers, was sent down to one of our broken cities. It trailed over the debris that used to be our centers of knowledge and plucked a single human child, no more than six, from the still warm corpse of his mother. It held the boy aloft, and we heard the soldiers cackle at our helplessness. You thought us weakened. An easy race to subjugate when faced with our fettered young and your obvious superiority.
So lost in your 'superiority' were you that you didn't see the broken shiv of wood in the child's hand. With a snarl, he pierced it through your pathetic carapace and downed your envoy. Your soldiers didn't have the time to react before we were on them as well. They were taken down in seconds.
I'll let you know this now, scum. We didn't plan such a thing. We simply reverted to what felt right.
And our scientists sure felt right. They got to analyze your envoy's spaceship. I know things aren't looking so well for your troops on the ground, but we will join you in space soon enough.
I bet you're wondering why your light beams aren't as devastating as they once were. We remembered trench warfare. We can hide under our planet's crust, where your weapons can't pierce, for as long as we need.
We haven't had a soldier in many years, but every day we find more lieutenants and generals, natural born military leaders, sprung up from our ranks.
So thank you, aliens. Though it was not how we imagined it, you have definitely made things more interesting for us. Your one mistake was not annihilating us when you had the chance.
Be ready, filth. Because we survived, and we are no longer bored. | We got the data. We got the intel. We knew of their past and how violent the the humans were. After continuing to watch the humans for the past 300 Earth years they become peaceful after their third global conflict. The casualties reached to 4 billion by the time it ended. The country in the western hemisphere known as "The United States" were the most affective in that war. Their only equal was another country called "Russia" and they were using strategies that allowed them to push back many of their opposing forces. The war ended wuth only the remnants of their governments. They came together and created a unified government to prevent such loss of life again. Now, we invade. They are distant from their violent past. We sent our ships to destroy their cities and show them who their masters will be. I made a fatal mistake of underestimating the humans. It only took them 1 months for them to fully mobilize their resources to war. Their soldiers were givin weapons that pierced our shields and armor. They used what ever military resource the had to down one of our ships. They reverse engineered our technology and their unity has been strengthened by the fact that we have come to dominate them. Humans, their greatest asset is not their numbers or intelligence, it is their will. There are now soldiers who have decimated our forces. Now, they have come to capture me. | 2019-02-26T08:20:01 | 2019-02-26T07:32:54 | 1,328 | 70 |
[WP] You're a psychic doing a game show. Unlike the other contestants, you're the real deal. They bring you all to a house where a crime happened in the past. When it's your turn, a ghost appears and tells you: "That's him, that's the one who killed me." Pointing towards the host of the show. | "Mr. Logan, can I speak to you privately?" The host shot me a quizzical look before motioning me to join him off-camera. There were five of us on the show. Of the other four, two were private detectives and the other two were fake psychics. The premise of the show was that they'd task us with ferreting out information and compare the results between the real detectives and the so-called psychics.
I've won every event. It's relatively easy for me to divine the information. Unlike the other two individuals on my team, I'm actually endowed with a certain degree of psychic ability. This however has created a problem. This event has tasked us with solving a murder that has been unsolved for more than twenty years. There are a thousand rumors surrounding the death, but no one had ever been able to come up with an actual suspect.
It wasn't five minutes after I entered the house that I caught sight of Chris Byersly. The eight year old had been dead for more than twenty years. I followed him into an empty room and simply asked, "Who killed you?"
Spirits that stay tethered to this world after such a long period of time are usually carrying a fair bit of trauma. Getting through to them can be a bit like trying to interrogate someone in the grips of catatonia. I had expected our conversation to take some time, but child simply pointed to Joe Logan and said, "That's the man who killed me. He killed all of us."
I began to realize the situation I was in. We were filming at an abandoned crime scene twenty miles from the nearest town. Cell service was spotty at best. Aside from the contestants, two cameramen, and our host; there wasn't anyone around for miles. We were supposed to film a few hours of video and head back to the studio for exit interviews.
I stood next to Mr. Logan and simply said, "I know you don't want us to solve this and I know you know why." You could see the blood drain from his face. I continued, "Look, if anyone actually solves this, you'll either have to kill them or go to jail. I'd like to offer you an alternative."
He began to relax and said, "Go on." I pointed to one of my team members, Margaret. Margaret was one of those annoying cold readers you'd find at some strip mall peddling tarot readings and acting like she could see the future. She was popular with the fifty and older demographic, but that was about it. As I stood there with Logan there was a line from her introduction that was ringing loudly in my ears.
Margaret and said in her taped introduction, "...the 90's were wild. I can barely remember where I was half of the time. The other half I was too drunk or high to care." I relayed this information to Mr. Logan and followed with, "As I understand it there's another seven bodies buried in the general vicinity of that willow pond up on the hill right?"
Mr. Logan interrupted me and said, "How could you possibly know that." I spoke over him saying, "Actual psychic, making you a deal, try to keep up." His look had become considerably more worried. I continued, "I was ten when you killed all those kids. Margaret is damn near old enough to be your mother. Pin the crime on her, she already admitted to having no idea what she did in the 90's."
A smile crossed Mr. Logan's face and he said, "What's in it for you?" I stared down at the floor and said, "Money, not too much, but enough that I can pay my rent for a while and maybe get a car that doesn't smell like roadkill." Mr. Logan's smile widened and he shook my hand saying, "Probably a good thing you came to me, Mike on the Detective's team solved this a few days ago and that's why they are running a man short. You've got a deal."
As the audio played in the courtroom, the prosecutor reminded the jury that federal law allowed for single-party consent on recordings. I had never turned off my lapel mic and given the low-budget of the show, it was being sent directly to a box on my waist for later editing.
It wasn't two hours before we were riding back into town with a plan to frame Margaret. Instead, I hopped out at the first gas station and caught an Uber to the police station. After providing them with a confession and the location of the other bodies, it didn't take them long to prove that Mr. Logan had lived in the area at the time.
Upon cross-examination Mr. Logan's attorney asked me if I was a psychic. I responded, "There's no such thing as a psychic. I was able to deduce that Mr. Logan was guilty by judging a variety of behaviors indicating his narcissistic personality and his obsession with this particular crime. Any claims that I somehow commune with the dead are laughably incredible."
This caused an eruption of laughter in the courtroom. Joe Logan was found guilty. The jury had only deliberated for five minutes. He was sentenced to death. I returned to the country home one final time tell the spirits that Mr. Logan had been arrested for the murders of Chris Byersly and the seven other children.
That was when I noticed the eighth ghost. She simply said, "But what about his friend. The bad man had a friend."
Edit: Typo | ######[](#dropcap)
Angela stared at the young girl, trying to hide the expression of pity that threatened to show on her face. The shimmering form of the ghost was that of a girl no older than fourteen, and despite the fact that her eyes were a pale white, she was no scarier than her own fat tabby cat at home.
"He lured me to this house and killed me," the girl whispered. "Please, you must help me."
"Oh, I will," Angela murmured, her eyes flashing. She turned toward the cameras and brought her hands to her head, closing her eyes and shaking her head around. "Ahh! I'm getting a vision!" she shouted loudly.
Marvin, the host, walked up, his bright blue eyes wide. "Looks like our third contestant, Angela Schlemming, is seeing something. What do you see, Angela?"
"I see...I see...a little girl. She's wearing...a blue dress and she has strawberry blonde hair. She's wearing...a necklace." Her eyes popped open.
A flicker of surprise crossed Marvin's face but was gone in an instant. "A necklace?" he asked, but this time Angela could hear the slight reluctance in his voice. He didn't actually want to ask her.
"A necklace with a name on it. It says...it says..." She paused, milking the silence as the other contestants, along with the camera crew, waited with bated breath. "Jess. Her name was Jess," she finally said.
Marvin's face paled. He brought out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "Wow, isn't that something, folks? Now, let's move on to the next contestant because we're running out of--"
"Don't you want to know what happened to poor Jess?" Angela cut in.
Marvin laughed nervously, adjusting the tie on his suit. "Now, Ms. Schlemming, I'm sure you have plenty to say. But we're running out of time, and we all know that ghosts aren't real."
The director glared at him from behind the line of cameras. What the fuck was this idiot doing?
Marvin blinked. "I mean, they could very well be real," he backtracked, swallowing. "I just meant that we can hear about Jess's murder in the next episode since we still have two contestants to get through still."
Silence greeted his words. he looked around at everyone. "What?" he asked. But there was no force behind the question.
Angela gazed at him coolly, folding her hands in her lap. "I never said she was murdered," she said.
Marvin's face drained of color. "I...that was just a guess," he sputtered. But his nervousness betrayed him as he dropped the mic. Now everyone in the room was staring at him, some with expressions of horror on their face as they realized the implication. He fell to his knees, his head hitting the floor as he wrapped his hands around his head, groaning.
Angela stood up. "How perfect," she said. "His confession has just been recorded and broadcasted live." She turned to the young girl, who stood there, her eyes focused on her murderer. Then the girl turned to her. "Thank you," she mouthed, before her body faded into a wisp.
"No problem," Angela murmured. "All in a day's work."
***
If you liked this story, I write lots of fantasy and all sorts of genres over at r/AlannaWu! | 2018-11-15T14:36:38 | 2018-11-15T14:29:32 | 340 | 113 |
[WP] "And that is why, no human would ever risk their life to save another." "Firefighters." "Huh?" "Firefighters disprove everything you spent the last ten minutes going on about." | "And that is why, no human would ever risk their life to save another."
"Firefighters."
"Huh?"
"Firefighters disprove everything you spent the last ten minutes going on about."
Zeus blinks a few times at Hades. He'd be the first to admit that, after the fall of Ancient Greece, Zeus hadn't spent much time paying attention to humans. The new group of people don't pray to him, don't sacrifice anything to him. And he's happy about it! It has been so relaxing since they've branched out to things such as science and astrology. But they still have to do their jobs. And Hades still deals with the dead. Zeus chases down his brother who is walking away.
"What do you mean, Firefighters?"
" Police too, but not as much. Nurses and doctors also run a pretty high risk. I mean sure, there are plenty corrupt people in all groups of people, but that true with everything."
"But they don't actually die!" Hades stops in his tracks.
"They don't actually die? Zeus, they jump into burning buildings, sometimes to save animals! They risk their lives every single day. They have homes and families! But they come out, anyway."
"They are not good people! Humans are corrupt and cruel!"
"Says the God who is known for his cruelty! Alright, listen. If I can show you a time in history that humans showed one **ounce** of compassion, will you admit that they can be good?"
"Fine." Zeus reluctantly agrees. Hades leads the way to a podium. Placed upon it is a large dish with glowing, blue liquid swirling in it. Hades waves his hand. In the bowl, a scene appears. There's a group of large buildings. with two standing above the rest. "Where are we?"
"New York. September 11, 2001."
​
Zeus slowly looks up.
"How many?"
"2,977. 343 Firefights. That original number also includes the passenger of the fourth plane."
"Four? I only saw the three crashes."
"The passengers broke through the door of the last plane and crashed it in a field, killing all on board. They think it was headed to the White House." Hades leans against the bowl and looks at Zeus. "Well? Do you really think every human has nothing but corruption and hatred in their hearts? Do you really think that there is not one good person among the billions?"
"I concede. However, it is notable that it is only in times of darkness their true light shines."
"But, when it does, it shines brighter than any shadow." | Adeimantus walks into a bar and tells the firefighters they only do their jobs for glory; nobody would sacrifice themselves for righteous ideals like good or justice.
"And that is why, no human would ever risk their life to save another."
"Huh?" Finally replied a firefighter. "We disprove everything you spent the last ten minutes going on about."
"Yet you also have a passion for injustice: you do all kinds of things in your daily lives that go against this claimed honorable self-sacrificial delusion of glory for yourself.
- So prove it," says Adeimantus.
The firefighters took another drink against their own discretion, they were drunk and out too much money. Their children and loved ones missed them. But they felt warm. | 2022-09-25T15:39:08 | 2022-09-25T15:27:27 | 305 | 45 |
[WP] You've taken your children to the local museum to see the new traveling "Myths and Legends" exhibit. Half-way through your middle-schooler awkwardly jokes that a lot of the statues look eerily similar to their soon to be furloughed science teacher. | Mr. Johnson was hoping to be long gone from this town before the Hunters came calling.
Now, he only had a few hours at best to gather what he could and run again. Maybe he could make a go of it in the UK again, now that they've split from Europe it'll be that much harder to get in country, and his old persona from the Victorian Era could easily work again with a little polishing.
Shame about the kids...but he figured the board could find substitutes to fill out the remaining time until his furlough was supposed to start regardless. As an after-thought, he flipped open his laptop and wrote a quick email and blasted it out to the relevant board members. Itinerary of a fake research trip, a doctored email forward from the CEO of a company inviting him to come early or lose funding, and the lessons he had planned to fill out the remainder of the month. With a click, it was off into the ether, and he flipped it shut and tossed it into the oven with the rest of his hardware and set it to Bake.
Swinging his guitar case (carrying his Mesopotamian Axe) onto his back, he slung his overstuffed duffel onto a shoulder and stepped out of the house. He made sure to set the alarm and lock the door. The oven would blow the breaker long before it burned the house down, and if the Hunters demolished his house again, he could always use the extra insurance money. It took a lot of dosh to live under the radar for centuries.
Jumping into his worn out Land Rover, he headed for the airport. The hardest part of the journey was absolutely going to be getting past the museum nearby though. The Hunters always set up in the museums and tried to turn the public on him so they could find him quicker. Damnable religious zealots had cost him more than a few good communities and a lot of personal goodwill from their spreading of lies about him.
He got out of his neighborhood easily enough and was just heading down the end of Main to get onto the interstate when he saw the museum looming up on his right. They even put his face on the damn sign this time. They really weren't pulling any punches after all these years.
Pulling his hat low, he was about to drive past when he saw with horror that the Madison family was just going in. Swinging wide to park across from the museum, he slid into a parking spot facing the building front to get a better look.
Sure enough, that was Tom and Blake Madison with their parents, who he'd met at Parent Teacher Night and were quite nice people, walking into the museum followed closely by a pair of men in long black coats and Hunter haircuts.
Great, just great. They had his class list, and now they had hostages. Well, they would soon at least. Probably wouldn't jump the family when they stepped in through the door...give them some time to see all the versions of ME on display and start asking questions before they get secured.
Just like back in Idaho...but where he wasn't fast enough to save the Ritters, he was damn sure going to be fast enough to save the Madisons.
Stepping out, he grabbed his coat and axe. He left the keys in the ignition, so he'd have a swift getaway, slammed the door shut, and strode across the road purposefully.
Inside, Tom and Blake were poking fun at the French Revolution exhibit that showed their science teacher, Mr. Johnson, covered in blood and carrying a French flag while being shot at. Guess they didn't have as many faces then as the world does now. They argued over whether they'd find one of mom or dad first, then zoomed off to the next section.
The parents lingered a few moments longer, exchanging looks, before following their wayward twins.
The next room had World War 1 on one side and World War 2 on the other. Lots of paintings and weapon and armor pieces, and right in the middle a mock battle setup with the allies from both sides facing the center, to make it look like the good guys were fighting each other.
And right in the front was a rifleman with an axe on his back who looked just like that teacher...
And on the other side, a nearly identical soldier (except for the correct uniform and rifle), also with an axe, yelling a silent battlecry.
They could almost hear it.
Then, suddenly, they could.
The doors they'd just entered through, that someone had closed behind them for some reason, exploded inward, with two bloodied bodies tumbling through to land in a pile at their feet.
The parents gasped, and the boys both yelled "COOL!" at the same time.
Through the wreckage strode Alastair Johnson, The Immortal Axeman. Raising his blade, he flicked it absently, the blood sliding off like water off a windshield.
"Madison Family, I'm sorry you got caught up in this, but it's time to go. I'll explain on the way." | "Look Mum!" Sarah ran up to me. She pointed at a statue near the door to the next exhibit. Something about 'Ancient Myths and Legends'. "Almost looks like Mrs Wolf, doesn't it?" Sarah laughed up.
"Sarah, will you quiet down already?" I grabbed her hand and let out a deep sigh. Since we moved, I didn't get much sleep. The noises outside kept me awake. They did mention that there were a lot of wild animals in the area, so I wasn't surprised. I just didn't expect the noises to be so irritating. Hopefully I'd get used to the life in the country side soon. "We're in a Museum. You can't just run around like that and - " I froze midsentence. Sarah was right. The Statue did look familiar. Not to mention eerily realistic. Slowly I walked up to it. The statue was around seven feet tall, and cut out of a white marble block. It resembled a woman. She wore a lot of jewellery, a cloak of fur, and in her hand was a staff - pointing towards the ceiling. There was a mischievous spark in her eyes, even though it was just a statue.
Somehow I almost expected the statue to come to live any second now. I read the inscription beneath it: 'Roman Statue believed to represent an ancient norse Völva - a female seer. ' How odd... I tried to focus on her face and make out who she reminded me of. "Hold on, Sarah, it looks like who?"
"Mrs Wolf," Sarah immediately replied. As she saw the confused look on my face she added: "My science teacher. You've met her before, duh!" She rolled her eyes.
I tried hard to remember. It took an embarrassing amount of time, but eventually I did recall her. "The PTA meeting this year?" This was the first PTA meeting in Sarah's new school. We only moved here two months ago, so I still struggled to remember all the new people that I've met so far.
Sarah nodded. She continued to hold my hand as we walked into the next room.
I thought about the meeting for another moment. "Wasn't there some event that almost got her fired?" Almost literally, I added in in my mind. There was an incident with a fire. I remembered the letter that I received from the principal. Apparently a lot of Parents complained about the lack of safety precautions. The principal - Mr Robinson, I believe - took the time to apologise to the parents, and also got new equipment to make sure it wouldn't happen again.
Sarah laughed. "Yeah, this was wild! At first the principal was super mad at Mrs Wolf, but now he acts like he can't remember anything happening at all. But they said that Mrs Wolf has to go from our school, since some people still complain about it."
"Some people?' Immediately I knew who 'some people' were. Only one parent came to mind: Susan Miller. Luckily I've only met her once. Her husband is some high-ranking officer in the army, and she runs around pretending this somehow makes her more important than any other parent in the PTA. "I hope she was able to find something else."
Sarah nodded. "I hope so too. She was really fun!" | 2021-05-17T12:54:52 | 2021-05-17T12:34:29 | 32 | 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. | I laid the utensils down gently against the white table cloth, careful not to blemish the tantalizing display I had organized. A platter of the finest cheeses to begin the evening. Followed by an entrée of roast lamb accompanied by ripe cherry tomatoes. And finally, a bottle of Château Margaux wine to complete the affair.
The doorbell rang. Perfect. Lesley had, for once, arrived on time. I scurried to the door, anxious to greet my date. Giving my hair one last adjustment, I opened the door dramatically.
‘Well hello beauti-
I stopped myself. It was not Lesley but a man wearing a ridiculous black and red spandex costume. He had long blond hair and donned a black mask. I knew exactly what he was here for.
‘Oh piss off,’ I said as I tried to shut the door in his face. His hand reached out and stopped the door. I pushed further but the door would not budge. Finally relenting, as one usually does in a physical contest against a being with super strength, I opened the door. ‘What do you want, Man-Fort?’ I asked with a sigh.
‘Oh? Unwelcoming today are we? What secrets are you hiding Jonathan?’
‘If you must know, I am waiting for Lesley.’
‘Lesley! I know that name! She is…’ He began raising his arm slowly, as one often does when in thought. Funny, I didn’t think he was capable of it but apparently he was.
‘Just wait... I got this.’ Man-Fort said. Good god, was he still at it? Perhaps I was wrong about the thinking part.
His arm snapped back down as he pointed at me triumphantly.
‘SHE’S THE ONE YOU ARE MIND-CONTROLLING!’
I rolled my eyes.
‘No dipshit, she’s my girlfriend. Just because I have the power to control the minds of all living things, doesn’t mean I go around using it on everything I see.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s just weird that a being as powerful as you could refrain from such temptation. Wait... how do I know you’re not inside my brain this very instant?’ Man-Fort asked, pointing to his head for dramatic emphasis.
I took a deep breath.
‘Because...YOU CLEARLY DON’T HAVE ONE,’ I said as I slammed the door.
I turned to face the dinner table, instantly regretting the force that I had used. I inspected the setup anxiously, afraid that the small rattle had somehow disturbed the arrangement. As someone who was quite the neat-freak, I would have been aghast if a glass had fallen due to my outburst. Thankfully, it seemed my worries had been for naught. Everything was still perfectly in place.
‘HEEEYAH!!!!!’
A woman crashed through my window. It was as though I could see everything in slow motion. A caped figure landed in my living room, proceeding to forward roll multiple times. The glass fragments of the shattered window had barely reached the floor when the woman rolled towards the dinner set up, toppling everything in her path. Roast lamb, the cheese platter, and Mr Château Margaux all came crashing down as they joined the glass fragments on the floor as victims of the latest intruder.
I stared speechless in horror at the wake of destruction. The woman finally got up, raising her gloved hands in a karate pose. She had a more extravagant outfit that had an awful red accompanied by a dash of yellow, making her look like a symbol of Mcdonald's rather than heroism.
‘Kick-Butt Katey here to dish out some serious justice!’ she announced. A crushed cherry tomato dripped from her hair onto the ground.
‘Oh...my...GOD Katey!’ I screamed. ‘That is the third time I’ve fixed the window this month already!’
‘Oh. Oopsie.’ Katey said as she looked back at the ramifications of her arrival.
‘Oopsie? Is that all you have to say after destroying the dinner I slaved hours on? After breaking my window? Man-Fort may be a moron, but at least he knows how to ring a god damn doorbell!’
‘Hey now! Breaking a window is nothing compared to making teenagers around the world consume tide pods again!’
‘I...what?’ I asked in disbelief. ‘I don’t even use those!’
‘Wait...you didn’t mind-control all those teenagers to eat the tide pods?’
‘No! I don’t even use my powers much. Sure, I get a stray dog to fetch me the paper every once in a while, or use it to chase cockroaches away. But I hate using it on other humans. I don’t want to override the will of others. Has it ever occurred to you bloody heroes, that if I wanted to, I could just brainwash all of you into leaving me alone?’
‘Ohhhh. That makes sense. Sorry about the mix-up. Bye then Jonathan. Other justice awaits!’ As soon as Kick-Butt Katey finished her sentence, she dashed to the broken window and somersaulted out. I hoped she landed on her head. Or maybe she already had as a child.
I stared at the ruined dinner, unsure of what to do next.
The door opened. My god. Which costumed freak was it this time? I whipped around ready to explode. My eyes widened.
‘Lesley!’ I said.
My date had finally arrived. She wore a gold dress with a white daisy pattern. Her long brown hair as straight as ever.
She gave an awkward smile. Half apologetic at her tardiness, half bewildered by the scene before her.
‘Oh Jonathan. The heroes paid you a visit again?’
I could only nod with a slight whimper. Her awkward smile changed into one full of warmth.
‘I’ll get the pizza delivery on the line. You go fetch us a couple of broomsticks dear,' Lesley said.
I made my way into the backyard. I really don’t deserve her. But as long as she’s with me, I can endure any amount of temptation to mind-control a bunch of annoying heroes.
​
EDIT: Decided to do a [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/IZicle/comments/p63m9s/a_day_in_the_life_of_lesley/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3). A day from Lesley's POV.
r/IZicle | Not many people in this world had superpowers, even less became heroes or villains. That was reserved for people with big, flashy powers and the egos to match. I only have one of those two things, thankfully it's a big, flashy power. I shoot fireworks from my hands, as small or large as I want. Which in theory could do a lot of damage if I went all out but I’ve literally never tried. I am content to just live my life as a regular person who just happened to have an impossible party trick. Who knew mini fireworks could be so helpful in entertaining people at parties or even getting dates. Unfortunately, I got a little too drunk one fourth of July and agreed to do a full fireworks show, and got the attention of literally every superhero. I got countless invitations to join and become the superhero “Fireblast” (yes they even tried to pick out my name). Naturally, I refused and now they think I’m a villain who is lying when I say I want to live a normal life. It would be fine if they just left me alone obviously, but they insist on monitoring my every move and dropping in whenever they feel like it. Most of them have enough respect and common sense to do this when I’m alone, but there is one guy who always picks the worst, most inappropriate time. On the bright side he gives me some ridiculous stories to tell.
“Fireblast you sneak, you are under arrest!” said Captain Major, interrupting my pleasant date in the process. He was wearing a civilian disguise but it was very obvious it was him. In fact, I noticed him when my date and I walked into Sally’s Ice Cream. I pointed him out to my date, whose name was Katherine, once we got to the nearby park to eat our cones and told her to start recording when he inevitably tries to arrest me.
“Captain Major, for the last time, my name is Doug.” I replied casually. “Could we do this another time, I’m kinda on a date right now?” I motion for my date, Katherine, to start recording.
“How did you know I am Captain Major? My disguises are perfect.”
“Literally no one else calls me Fireblast, calls someone a sneak, and ‘you are under arrest’ is your catchphrase. Now this really is a bad time, again I’m kinda on a date and I want to finish my ice cream before it melts.
“I see no reason for me to leave you alone. After all, you are the single most likely person to be an undercover evildoer.”
“Are you sure about that? I’m sure I don’t have to remind someone as experienced as you about the dozen other failed investigations you led.”
“Of course I’m sure, my instincts have always been right every time they have proven to not be wrong and they have not been proven wrong. Just not proven right, yet.”
“In that case I’ll remind you that the past dozen attempts of yours to catch me doing something evil have failed.”
“I haven’t been proven right yet Fireblast, so let's get to business. ‘Kinda on a date’, is that code for something?”
“It's code for ‘I am on a date’. This is Katherine by the way.”
“Yes, yes I know her.” he said without even looking at her. “Looked her up during my research. I am very thorough with my research. That’s how you become the best spy in the hero world”
“Well did you find any crimes in your research?”
“Confidential. Though I will tell you that I came here to investigate just that.”
“So you’re still in the research phase and you walked up and tried to arrest me?”
“I’m always in the research phase, that’s why I’m so good at everything.”
“Right… so, if you don’t have any crime to arrest me on then could you go? My ice cream is melting.”
At this Captain Major paused for a moment, maybe he remembered that he needs a valid reason to arrest someone. He broke the silence by saying “Ice cream sounds good right now.” He looked at me like he expected me to offer him my cone.
“I got this from Sally’s Ice Cream on Brooke Street. Right over there on the left.” I said pointing at the shop.
“Thank you. You best be on your best behavior from now on Fireblast. I will be watching you like a hawk from here on out.” He said before walking away.
“Still not my name.” | 2021-08-16T17:51:13 | 2021-08-16T17:24:41 | 1,035 | 314 |
[WP] Your dad is wanted in twenty countries, your mom is a serial kille, your little brother is a genius hacker, and your little sister has just joined the Illuminati. None of them would ever want to anger you, though. | Do you know what it is like to be the only normal human in a family of crazy people? Not low level crazy either. high level crazy. Pops? International criminal, famous for stealing prized works of art, music, and people. Mom? Wet work extraordinaire, though now she mostly consults with the Russians. I swear I've saw her phone contact ring up as "Putinator" before she picked it up.
Now my siblings. James is the brilliant mind behind the Smileware attack. Of course you've never heard of it, but call up a congressman and ask them about it and see how fast the FBI shows up on your doorstep.
Rachel is the second most normal she's the Harvard Educated Biochemist who runs Mugen-corp a huge bio-engineering firm that is currently working on cloning projects among other things.
The cake at her party today is a triangle eye. The words " congrats on making it into the Illuminati!" are scrawled in my mother's neat handwriting. The compound where I grew up is alive with members. Presidents, cardinals, and CEOs rummage around the party eating little bits of that and this.
My brother is squirreled away in the corner talking to a group of men in business suits with green screen masks on. My mother is on the phone and speaking dejectedly in chinese. My father is toasting Raul Castro over the recent arm's deal.
As much as people pretend not to, I am avoided by nearly everyone in the party.
I guess I lied. I guess I am not all that normal. Well, I am normal except for the fact that I am the reason we live on an island in the south China sea and not say in the south of France.
I guess I am normal except for the horse tranquilizers I take daily. I guess I am normal except for the fact I remember being 4 years old.
It was sunday. Swelteringly hot. I wanted an ice cream. I got said icecream. Said ice cream fell onto the hot pavement. If felt it flash behind my eyes, white hot like knives. Then I woke up.
They called it a terrorist attack. But I knew, even at the time it was me. I spent the next 4 years living in a metal cell. Spoiled, mind you. doped up.
Turns out, all of this, all of this my family revolves around me, and in a way I've come to love them for it.
My dad? Formerly a spy for the US, changed jobs as soon as I happened. Mom? A french military hero who gave up everything to start earning cash. My sister used to want to be a ballerina. My brother a computer scientist.
When I was younger I didn't get it. I thought they hated me. Locking me up, treating me like glass, but then one day, It hit me. They'd crossed lines into oblivion to try and save me, to make sure that no one would come in the night to take me away and make me their weapon, their toy.
So I sit here, taking drags off a blunt, drinking, and feeling the hot fire in me burn off, cooled by people who'd rather give up everything than risk losing me.
| 6/4/17
Dear Journal,
My acceptance letter came today. I finally got into University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign after 3 years of hard work. The classes weren’t too bad but the SAT prep, extracurricular activities, and my family have kept me very busy.
Dad’s involvement in politics keeps him busy. He’s always rushing away to Europe, Russia, the Middle East, and God know where else. I joke with him and call him Jason Bourne. He laughs but I have a gut feeling that Bourne might just be a Hollywoodizing of his life.
Mom has been helping me with my martial arts and self-defense training. It’s sometimes scary how good she is with knives and her in depth knowledge of incapacitating someone.
Darrel got called out of class today to help with some “emergency” at the NSA. His life always revolves around computers. Of course, he is going to MIT this fall. Only 2 years before he is supposed to graduate.
I had to stop by the cleaners on the way home to pick up Glavine’s robes. She’s already graduated so I don’t know how she gets so much use out of it. I always accuse her of running off to her “secret” meetings with all of dads’ friends in high places but she says that they aren’t invited.
--Mom yells up the stairs— “Theodore. Dinners ready.”
My family leads a pretty busy life which is why I just want to do something boring. I just want to be an accountant.
| 2017-06-04T10:21:38 | 2017-06-04T09:52:41 | 519 | 32 |
[WP] You're having a friendly conversation with a vampire, where they try to convince you to let them turn you into a vampire. As they're explaining the benefits of being a vampire and vampire society, it starts to sound like a Pyramid Scheme. | I stared at him, in awe and fascination. As a believer in the supernatural, I always thought of vampires as scary but elegant monsters. Counts, barons, nobleman and woman. Slick clothing, handsome books, just like in the movies. What I saw instead was disappointing
In front of my door stood a middle aged man in a plain shirt that was tucked into his boring, brown trousers. He looked like when he was done he would go to an officer to crunch some numbers. He was so normal, in fact, that he almost seemed misplaced in the neatly decorated hallway of the apartment complex
For the last 10 minutes he asked me to let him in. I was no fool. A vampire can't enter a home without permission and I was not about to let him enter. I was actually surprised that he was so upright about his state of being. Perhaps he thought in the comedic whiplash I'd ask him to come in. I did not
"But you see, it is very simple. You can enjoy an eternal life full of the pleasures of being forever young, roaming the nights, drinking blood and living the high life, all for the low price of letting me in"
He was trying to sweet talk me like this, ever since I refused to let him enter
"You know... I quite like being and feeling alive... oh and the sun, that one is nice too... especially since I don't think that I can find a purely nighttime job... and, yknow, finding blood is surely..."
"NO! NO NO NO! My friend, it is simpler than that. You see, if you let me turn you I can enroll you into the fresh-vampire-associaton, commonly referred to as FVA! You see, if one of us turns another vampire, you get access to all the blood thralls they make. Same goes for me if you make any! That way, you'll eventually won't even need to gather blood for yourself. It's basically collecting itself"
I don't even understand what he means. Not the whole blood thrall thingy, but... why should i want to use the ones further down? Why... why would I need this much blood? Could it be...
"Wait, is blood a currency between vampires?"
"Uh... well... not officially, but it is traded a lot for different material benefits"
"So, that means that you get blood from all the thralls I'd make. But let me guess, this blood is also forwarded to the one that turned you"
"Yeah, sure, as is part of the pact..."
"And the next thing you are going to say is that to ensure that the system works out, I'll have to create atleast 5 new vampires, so they generate enough blood thralls so I can easily pay my dues to you, so that you can pay your dues to the one that turned you, correct?"
He looked at me with those eyes. He seemed like he was about to break down
"... Look man, I haven't turned a single vampire and my blood thralls are running dry, man! If I don't turn atleast 3 vampires this week, they are setting me under sunlight! I am only 34 years old! I thought this whole recruitment thing would be easier. Please, help a poor vampire ou-"
I didn't even let him finish his sentence. I had heard enough. I am not falling for some pyramid scheme that leaves me at the mercy of shady and dangerous loan... or rather blood-sharks. I have seen enough scams and misinvestments in my lifetime to know that this wasn't worth it.
Having gotten rid of him, I sat on my PC and continued browsing NFTs, like I did before that loser interrupted me | I was mesmerized, lost in a fog of fascination. But then he began to explain the mechanics of vampire society. How they “recruited” new members one at a time, and these members had to convince other people to join. It almost felt like a Pyramid Scheme, although he assured me that vampires were far more loyal and committed to each other than ordinary people.
All of the enthusiasm that had been pulsing through my veins suddenly dissipated. I'd let him talk for too long, and he'd been so convincing that I was actually starting to think about it. But deep down, I knew what had to be done.
“I appreciate all that you've said,” I said slowly. “But I'm going to have to pass.”
The vampire's face hardened. “Are you sure about that?” he said, his voice still silken.
I nodded firmly. “Yes. I'm sure. This sounds like an Herbalife thing.”
Anger flashed across the vampire's eyes, and I felt a chill go down my spine. “Listen closely,” he said. “I'm not giving you a choice.”
Before I could react, he lunged forward and sank his teeth into my neck. Suddenly, I could feel my life force being drained away. I tried to scream, but it wasn't much use.
The vampire pulled away and stared at me, his eyes now cold. “Welcome to the undead,” he said.
My vision began to blur, and everything around me faded away. I knew that I was dead, but I also knew that I was not truly gone yet. There would be no rest for me, not even in death.
And the worst part was, I knew the vampire had been right. There was no escape. I was his and so were my nightmares. | 2022-12-04T11:16:21 | 2022-12-04T09:21:19 | 52 | 18 |
[WP] A man orders a "cheese pizza with no crust" from a local pizza delivery joint as a joke. Unbeknownst to him, that pizza joint is a drug front and he just placed an order for a kilo of cocaine.
EDIT: I just want to say thanks to all of the writers. I'm having a lot of fun reading all the different perspectives and spins on the concept! Hopefully no one feels late to the party; if you write it I'll read it!
EDIT2: TIL prices in the cocaine market can be very erratic... | It had already been an hour, but Frank could still hardly contain himself. Sure, it was cliché, but he still got a laugh from calling for a crustless pizza with cheese. This time, he was calling Loera's pizza Kingdom, that new sketchy place set up from Mexico. What sort of Mexican makes cheese pizza anyway?
He startled up at the heavy thump that came from his door. Opening it, a man a full head taller than Frank and twice as wide stood before him, wearing a torn and grimy delivery outfit clearly to small for him. "You the one who ordered the crustless cheese pizza?" he asked in a deep broken English language. Frank had not expected this.
"yeah, I am. Now give me the pizza." Frank felt he wouldn't be saying that to the threatening man at his doorstep if he hadn't gone through all the vodka.
"Show me the dough first," said the man, pulling the pizza box away from Frank's grasping hands.
"You guys sell pizza; you should have way more dough than I could ever give you."
"We needed a lot of dough to get this pizza ready, so I won't give you nothing without you showing me some bread, dough and cheddar."
"Is this some new Abbot and Costello skit? Look buddy, if you are asking for money, tell me what I owe you. No, in fact, you were over 30 minutes late, so I think I get it for free. "
His slurred speech was interrupted by the gun pressed against his forehead. "Hombre, I don't know where you come from, but there is no way I am leaving without that dough. So bring me that 20 grand so you won't die today."
Frank had had it with this man. "I see, you are trying to prank me back. Well I will let you know that there is no way I am spending that much on a crustless cheese pizza. I can find places to buy it for less than 5 bucks!"
The man's eyes narrowed. "My boss would love to hear this I think. If you tell him, you might get your pizza free." Frank shrugged and followed the man to the black van below.
"These guys clearly know nothing about pizza" he thought to himself. | ..So can I pay for that with card?
"No" said the man on the phone "we only accept cash"
I begrudgingly said "Ok" I really dont want to drive to an ATM but I could grab some soda maybe fill up on gas I said to myself. "So how much will it be?"
"It will be $1,500 dollars" the man on the phone said
"I think Ill pass and just order from Pizza Hut, but good luck on selling those $1500 pizzas!"
| 2016-06-02T12:21:31 | 2016-06-02T11:31:19 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] The dead stay in Purgatory until the last time your name is spoken. No one has said your name in 10 million years, but you haven't moved on yet. | I'd been here too long. Even the angel at the gate agreed.
"Are you, like, *really* famous?" he asked, for about the millionth time.
"No," I answered, annoyed. We'd been over this before. Raphael thought I was lying for the longest time. The famous people tend to stay here longer. Their names are remembered. Their legacies endure. Their stories are retold. Eventually, though, they all pass out of conscious memory, and their souls are able to go on to the next step. All of them except *me.*
"Did you maybe found a whole civilization and then forget about it?" he asked once.
"No. I never left the state where I was born."
"Did you invent something and name it after yourself?"
"I failed high school science."
This went around in circles for a long time. Millions of years, actually. Raphael was just as curious as I was, and probably just as annoyed. Finally, he gave me permission to go back to Earth and try to figure out what my lasting legacy was. It was against the rules, technically speaking, but since I'd been there for ten million years with no intervention from the Higher Power, it seemed unlikely They were going to take an interest *now.*
So off to Earth I went. I searched for a long time, but it was nothing compared to all those years I spent just sitting in purgatory doing nothing but twiddling my metaphorical thumbs. Finally, I found it: the last thing that was connected to me remaining on earth.
Miss Johnson's fifth grade class put together a time capsule. It was supposed to be unearthed in fifty years, but I guess the next generations of fifth grade classes forgot about it, because there it was. We'd all drawn pictures and written letters and signed our names--but none of the *other* kids in the time capsule were still loitering in purgatory with me. Strange.
It took some trial and error to get someone's attention to the spot it was buried. I couldn't do any of the normal ghost stuff like making lights flicker, since their technology was one hundred percent beyond me. Finally, someone dug it up – more or less by chance, but we can pretend I helped. The time capsule was found and dissected by scientists and historians. Most of it didn't hold much interest for them, but the findings were published anyway. That's when it came out: the doodle I'd put on the back of my letter.
All fifth graders are idiots, right? Anyone could've drawn that penis. But not everyone has my luck, and not everyone's name gets to become the futuristic slang term for *dick.*
Raphael is never going to let me hear the end of this. | I never thought the name John Smith would be a curse, but here I am. Sitting here with... John, and... John, and... George.
George is nice, but John's an ass. And John is kind of a cool guy, but John talks too much.
John likes to walk. He found out that if you keep walking, you end up back where you started.
John kind of gave up a while back, and just lays in the dirt, staring at the sky. I always ask him what he sees, but he never answers.
John keeps asking people's names, and he keeps a tally of his skin. He's mostly pen-marks, by now.
John wishes he had a book to read. He says it would be nice to have something other than fog and Johns to look at.
And John just -me, that is- wishes all of this would end... | 2017-11-27T14:44:10 | 2017-11-27T08:34:11 | 37 | 11 |
[WP] You have died. You walk up a huge spiral staircase and it takes you a thousand years to reach the top. You’re exhausted, but to your surprise you are greeted with the pearly gates, except they’re completely rusted over. A sign reads “Welcome to Heaven, Population: 1” | I kept my eyes fixed on the sign, reading and rereading it. It was only when I heard the sound of a pen scribbling across a page that I broke my gaze.
A woman of middle age was seated at a table in front of the gate.
"Welcome to Heaven, Andrew" She said.
"Uhh.. Hi. Thank you." He said.
"Are you ready to enter?" She asked, with a warm smile.
"Yes, but...." I paused, and squinted as I tried to draw the words from my mind.
"I was hoping I'd be able to see my grandfather and all my deceased friends when I got here. I was even hoping for my dog, Shamus, to be up here too." I said.
"Well, heaven isn't really like that." She said, with a concerned look. "I apologize"
"It is an eternal paradise, correct? How can it be paradise without my loved ones?" I asked.
"Well, love is the meaning of life on earth. Experiencing love is what you're meant to do before you get here. Heaven is about bliss." She said.
"Bliss? What the fu... where does it say that in the bible?" I asked sharply.
"Well, god didn't write any of the *holy* books. He sort of, sets you up with a minimal sense of right and wrong. From there you are meant to be good to others and experience love simply because it feels good." She responded again.
"What? Well if it feels good to love others and to be good to others why not do it in heaven?"
"Well" She said with a calm smile. "Heaven is forever, Andrew. That's why we let people spend it on their own."
"I don't know if I can handle that." I said, the words were out before I had registered them myself.
"Sure you can. Behind here" She said as she motioned to the pearly gates behind her. "every materialistic pleasure is there for you."
"But I want to see my family again." I said.
"No, that would be bad. An eternity with your family. You couldn't even stand the last Thanksgiving with your father around. What is that holiday all about by the way?"
"So I won't see anybody." I said, I could feel sadness wash over my face.
"Its hard at first. But it is for the best. If we let people have free will in there, we'd have a mess in no time. No matter how much you love someone you'll butt heads eventually and chaos will erupt. Eternity in there can really change you"
"What about my wife. She won't be able to see me after all." I said.
"No Andrew, I'm sorry." She said softly, as she flipped through the pages of her book. "Your last words were: 'Can you please just fuck off, I already took out the trash.' I'm sorry that is your last memory of her "
"I don't want to go in just yet. Is there anyway I can wait outside before I enter? Can you let her know I'm there when she comes."
"I can certainly do that. Follow the perimeter of the gate and we have a waiting area. But you could be waiting there for decades Andrew. She needs to climb up the steps herself" She said.
"Decades is fine." I said, and made my way to the waiting area. My feet were no longer sore from the climb up. My back and neck were much better too. Once you were up the stares all you could see was a forest of lush green trees surrounding the gates. I couldn't see past the gates themselves, the had a sheet of glowing white cloud behind the.
I finally made my way to a clearing, which from what I could tell was behind heaven. I could see a shaggy dog with its tail wagging. A lawn chair was already set up behind him with a beer in the cup holder. | I died an upset man. I was born into the world abit before the 21st century. I was autistic, i had health problems and all my life i was abused by everyone i met. I did not have a good life. I died in anger and rage after i jumped from the cellphone towers before my 30th birthday. The world changed from a bright democratic future of great technology and art to a police state of authoritarian and facists. Hundreads of years of progress with the selling of wntire countries to a single one in asia. I had enough of life and what was happening and jumped that day.
When i awoke i was at the bottom of stairs. As i climbed it i wondered at times if i was even moving at all. If I was on a escalator going down with every step i took. I kept going as i felt compelled to. As if there was a prize at the top. I had no memorys of my life then and i kept climbing. When i finally reached the top i felt angry and hot and heavy. I felt my muscles exploding in my body and my blood begging to escape my body. However it quickly went away.
I saw it. The promised pearly gates. Heaven was real. Here all "good" souls would go to finally be at peace. Here humans would reach their promised lands of quiet and joy. However...something was wrong. So so wrong. There was no one else here. I was alone. Not a soul. No god, no angels, no people i never met. Nothing. Just a blank space. A white void. No clouds, no animals, nothing. Just a empty void with only me there.
Suddenly every memory i have comes crashing into my mind. I remember everything from my eyes first opening to the sudden stop at the tower. And i am furious. More rageful then i could possibly be. My blood is boiling hot and my body tenses up beyond words. I scream. I scream as loudly as i can into the void that is heaven. It just keeps echoing driving me mad. Theres nothing here....but me and my rage. My sorrow. My dissapointment. Me. Im alone. | 2020-06-17T03:27:50 | 2020-06-17T01:08:50 | 402 | 17 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | Humans were quite the anomaly within the galaxy - unsophisticated, lacking any sort of psychokinesis, magic, or other advanced mental abilities, they had resorted to using tools and each other as ways to progress. Early humans summoned would speak in guttural tones, carrying sharpened stone and being muscled enough to take out similarly primitive creatures, though the more advanced ones were able to burn or shatter the creatures with relative ease - unless the human got the jump on them. Soon, summoned humans became more and more advanced. Still lacking any type of mental ability, they overcame this by creating weapons that were able to launch smaller physical projectiles with violent force, a veritable long shot from casting an attack by reading a passage from a tome or thinking hard enough.
Humans seemed to catch on as the years progressed, with some of the armour-plated ones now carrying golden faceplates that could, surprisingly, null mental attacks. Not everyone had them, and no human had claimed victory yet, but now a human from their calendar’s twenty-thirty-first year had arrived, and things were finally looking up for the gold-clad biped who always bet on this species.
This human was a one Sergeant Kazakov, whom had been in the process of field-testing a new design for plate-carrier rigs. Finding himself within a glass cage, he realized that this was likely the ‘strange disappearances throughout history’ that the higher-ups didn’t want the populace to know about. Kazakov adjusted his full-face helmet, checking his night-vision goggles and thermal sights, before tightening to Kevlar plates strapped to his arms and legs, as well as the large three-piece armour plate that covered his torso, back, and lower areas. The sergeant didn’t know what to expect, but by god he would test this armour.
The rules were laid out in his head by an unseen voice; be the last one alive and you return home with a prize. Kazakov pulled back the charging handle on his AN-94 pattern rifle, and did a couple of hops in his limited room to hype himself up.
The forest he found himself in was unlike any he’d seen prior - black trees, blue grass, and the light of two moons hardly piercing the leaf canopy above. That’s what the night-vision was for, and he pulled the four-eyed goggles down over his ballistic faceplate. A thin veil of green light showed him all the things on the forest floor that would’ve tripped him had he not had the ability to see. This green light also showed Kazakov his first target - a four-legged creature that was mostly brain for a head (or so it appeared, at least) with a cloak covering most of it’s body. Kazakov aimed his rifle and tapped the trigger once, sending a burst of two rounds faster than the recoil could hit the armoured shoulder of Kazakov, and the shots hit the massive brain of his target. An ear-piercing scream filled the air that might’ve deafened the soldier had he not been wearing the issued earplugs that almost completely deafened him already. The creature fell to the ground, spurting a liquid that wasn’t quite blood, though it’s colour couldn’t be seen by the sergeant through the green.
Once more the voice returned, ordering a ceasefire as somehow a curator of the event had been killed, and the murderer was to be tried before a court of law.
The biped in golden armour smirked beneath his mask. Not even he had expected that a fellow human would see a curator using a digital-imaging sight. Things were getting interesting, finally. | I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful.
This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same.
The system display first-round results,
**58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang.**
The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life.
I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard.
*1. Human 17 Kills*
*2. Juronna 16 Kills*
*3. Erinos 9 Kills.*
The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy.
---------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story- | 2020-09-13T18:35:05 | 2020-09-13T17:01:43 | 189 | 41 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize. | The clock continued to move. One hour passed and then another. Eventually the clock showed that 12 hours had passed. I wondered to myself are they waiting for primetime to let me out? It dawned on me that they wanted the largest possible audience to see me exit from my year long isolation. When one day passed and then another, I questioned what day it was. Today must be Saturday, nobody is home on Friday and Saturday nights, they’re waiting for a prime-time Sunday night when everyone is glued to their seats to watch me, that must be it.
More and more days were passing by and eventually two weeks had come and gone. My water and food were still being replenished. Clearly someone was on the other side of the slot making sure I stayed alive, but who, and why were they not letting me out? I stared and stared at the timer on the wall for hours on end. Why did it not stop at zero? And why did I never catch that minus sign before?
I became fixated on the timer. Was the clock ticking away to fast? I counted 1 m.i.s.s.i.s.s.i.p.p.i.. Nearly two seconds have run off the clock. I counted the time on the clock. .00 1 m.i.s.s.i. .01. Damn the clock was running to fast, or was I counting to slow? What the hell is a m.i.s.s.i. is hundredths of a second? It couldn’t have been a half a second, right? It had to be at worse three fourth of a second. I ran the calculations in my head. What was three fourth of 365? Half of 365 was 182.5, another half was 91.25. I was going to be stuck in here for an extra 92 days.
I grew increasing confident in my logic as the days passed away. This was another cheap trick to see if they could break me. Have me believe that I was getting out and see if it seemed I was never going to get out. As day 80 approached I was preparing myself for an eventual exit. I worked my way up to 2,000 sit ups and 1,000 pushups a day. I was about to be famous and had to look my best. Day 92 had passed, and I was waiting for the door to open any second. I hadn’t slept in days too excited from anticipation. My weary eyes began playing tricks on me. If I allowed my eyes to close even a little bit, I swore I could see the door move and I quickly sprung up to create the cameras at the other end. The door however never opened.
I cried out to the door “WHY WON’T YOU OPEN?” but there was no answer. I banged and I tried to pry it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Exhausted, I passed out with my face pressed against the cold steel door. When I awoke my tray of food had been already delivered to the room, but this time there was a note. 365 days, no human contact, one million dollars. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT,” I shouted. “IT HAD TO BE 365 DAYS, IT HAD TO BE MORE.” The slot opened and another note came. 365 days, NO HUMAN CONTACT, one million dollars. “THERE IS NO ONE IN HERE BUT ME.” Another note, NO HUMAN CONTACT. “IT’S ONLY ME IN….” and then it hit me.
I was counting the days to myself, talking to myself, figuring out how many seconds and days had elapsed, giving myself daily pep talks. “I’m the human contact” I said out loud. “I’m the reason the door hasn’t opened.” As soon as I spoke those words the timer went blank and another note passed through the slot. 365 days, no human contact, one million dollars. The time flickered and it read 365:00:00:00 and ticked to 364:23:59:59. | I look at the clock, in a terror that I can't even explain. This is impossible. This must be a mistake.
I relax, I will just sit down and wait a little longer, people are late all the time....right?
With all the hope I can muster, I sit back down. And wait...and wait...until i eventually fall asleep...
When I awake, to no surprise I;
I look at the clock, in a terror that I can't even explain. This is impossible. This must be a mistake.
I relax, I will just sit down and wait a little longer, people are late all the time....right?
With all the hope I can muster, I sit back down. And wait...and wait...until i eventually fall asleep...
When I awake, to no surprise I;
I look at the clock, in a terror that I can't even explain. This is impossible. This must be a mistake.
I relax, I will just sit down and wait a little longer, people are late all the time....right?
With all the hope I can muster, I sit back down. And wait...and wait...until i eventually fall asleep...
When I awake, to no surprise I;
Hold on a sec, have I...have I tried opening the door yet?
After walking across the room, I put my hand on the handle, and to my sheer unfathomable horror, it opens.
As I walk out the door, I am greeted by the cheers of all my friends in family. The giant cheque, that I always imaged I would win, is sitting front and center of the room. Seeing people again is overwhelming, so much that I can't even speak.
As I stand there, probably looking stupid in retrospect, the head of the contest appears in front of me.
"MY GUY! YOUR LATE! DIDN'T YOU REMEMBER THAT YOU NEEDED TO WALK OUT TO CLAIM YOUR PRIZE? OR WERE YOU JUST HYPING YOURSELF UP?"
I then invested my winnings, and after 4 years bought out the experiment company. You may be wondering what I did once I bought it, well, its simple actually...
I added automatic doors. | 2019-07-03T04:40:53 | 2019-07-03T04:13:40 | 102 | 10 |
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye. | They called it "99% day." How original. The boys in the media must have been working overtime to come up with that winner. Shit, I can come up with better. How about "Updayt?" Eh? No? Fine. Well anyway. May 19th, 2016. That's when the count would pass 99% and fully install.
What would happen?
That's the only thing anyone ever talked about anymore. Thank god for 24 hour news, right? There was myriad speculation and even more bickering, as with most other news stories. Creationists claimed that this was proof that we were designed; evolutionists didn't really have a good counterpoint, but they were sure as hell ready to argue their side. Various religions claimed that this would be the Rapture or whatever their judgment day was called. Conspiracy theorists claimed it was a government mind control plot. Me? Hell, I didn't know what to think.
On 99% day, I did what every other red-blooded american did: got insanely drunk. Ate unhealthy food, shot off fireworks... the whole shebang. Most people were saying that the 1.1 patch would fix this nasty hangover bug anyway, so there was really no downside to it. I gathered all the boys over and threw a huge party. We practically cleaned out the local liquor store and filled a kiddie pool full of margaritas. I'd always wanted to try that. And it was totally worth it; best party I ever had.
I tried to stay up for the big moment, but you'd be surprised how sleepy a plastic pool's worth of margaritas will make you. I was passed out on the couch at the big moment.
I awoke with a big brass band playing a concert in my skull. I tried to hide under the pillows from the light streaming through the windows, but no such luck. My eyes snapped open as soon as I remembered the occasion. Sure enough, the 'Updating' message was gone, and unfortunately, it hadn't fixed hangovers after all.
A loading bar flashed across my vision, and a pleasant chime sounded. Everything went black for a moment, then I saw the results of the update:
"Thank you for upgrading to Human Vista!"
A shiver ran down my spine. I suddenly noticed the plumes of smoke out the window and heard the faint sound of sirens. | Everyone panicked. But then we realized. It had taken thousands upon thousands of generations to make 1% of the update. The rest would most likely not come in our lifetimes, nor in our descendants', or in their descendants'.
God gleefully cheered. "I can't believe it's updating! Stupid Comcast lost all my packets, but this time, it's gonna work for sure!"
The next day, everybody noticed the words, "Human Update 1.1 progress 3%" in the corner of their eyes. | 2015-03-04T16:34:41 | 2015-03-04T16:33:29 | 1,473 | 123 |
[WP] You make a deal with a dark entity, but it panics when it realizes it cannot hold up its end of the bargain. | "No, you don't understand," I told the human. "I can't fulfill your wish."
"Why not?" she asked, hands akimbo. "I paid you my soul! Now get to work."
"But…" I stuttered. All I could do was panic. What would all the other demons of the Underworld think of me when they found out I'd granted this mortal's wish… to clean her dishes myself.
"I'm waiting…" she said, stomping her foot and eyeing the sink full of stained plates and silverware.
"Listen," I growled. "How about something else? Anything else! You want riches? You can have it. You want to be famous? You can have it. You want–"
"I don't want any of that crap!" she barked. "I just want you to get over here, put on some gloves, and get washing!"
I sighed. "You know I can just snap my fingers and have the dishes cleaned, right? In fact, I could curse the dishes so that they never get dirty again."
She leaned in closer to me and glared harder than the flames of Hell. "If that's what I wanted, then I would've wished for it. Do you not understand the words coming out of my mouth, little demon boy? Get a sponge, and start cleaning!"
I stared at the pile of plates and pots and pans and my charred heart sunk. I could already hear the nonstop howls of laughter from the other devils that I'd be getting nonstop starting tomorrow, once word about my wish got around all the Circles. I'd never live it down. Photos of me wearing gloves and a hairnet would make their way around InstaDamn and I'd never move up in the ranks. The head-honcho himself might even Fire me if he found out. But at the same time, if I didn't grant this woman a wish, I wouldn't be fulfilling my end of the Infernal Contract, and my demon soul would turn to ash.
I meekly held up a claw to make one final suggestion. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather be the Queen of the Universe?"
All she she did was point to the sink and glare. "Dishes. Now."
Well, it finally came to it. I only had one option left. I just hoped it wouldn't come back to bite me.
"All right," I said. "I didn't want it to come to this, but here we are." I snapped my claws and another Infernal Contract appeared in flames before me. This time, the names of the two parties were reversed. "*I'm* selling you *my* soul."
The woman looked at me confused. "What?"
"Yup," I said. "I'm selling you my demon soul to wish that you take back your wish. It's not ideal, but it's better than turning to ash, and it's better than getting laughed out of Hell."
"Seriously?" the woman said.
"Yes," I groaned. "Now sign here, in blood, same as last time."
She woman used her same pricked finger as before and blotted her name at the bottom of the flaming parchment. As soon as she did, it disappeared in a plume of black smoke, along with any obligation I had to wash her dishes.
"All right then, it is done," I said. I reassured myself that this was fine. At the very worst, I'd get my soul back when this woman died and then–
Suddenly the woman's face turned to a sadistic grin. She held out her hand and gripped it into a fist. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't do anything. But how… how did someone who wanted such a stupid wish know how to control my soul?
"You demons are all the same," she cackled. "I got exactly what I wanted from you, just the same way as the others. And now, if you don't mind – not that you *can* mind anything I do to you from now on – we have some work to do."
*****
This prompt was written with the help of chat at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream. | The human repeated his horrible request again. “I want you to go to the light with me.”
The human laid down on a hospital bed, covered in tubes. A few sacks of liquid dangle from poles right next to him. On the far side of the room, a heart monitor beeps. Red lines flow on the screen going in a rhythm, like waves.
The man looked to be about in his mid 80’s with greying hair. He smiles in my direction and reaches out a hand. To my disappointment, no signs of greed, hate or anger show up on his face; only the signs of pure innocence show up on his face.
His soul smelt bad when i received it, like freshly grown flowers, and tasted like candy.
“I don’t understand. Why did you sell your soul to me if you only wanted to go to the light. Following the path of darkness is the true way to go.”
The man wrinkled his brows, “No, it is not. The path of light is the true way to go. I want you to go with me to the light, because I never got the chance to heal anyone.”
He coughs. phlegm spews out from his throat and lands on his white hospital gown. He coughed a second time before he got the chance to speak.
“I…. I…. just want to bring one person of darkness into the light, just so I could fulfill my soul mission. I never got to… because I don’t have friends…” He continued.
“I spent most of my life as a hermit, never talked to anyone.”
He repeated his command. “I want you to go up to the light with me.”
Right before the monitor flat-lined. I accepted his request. Maybe if I chose the light, maybe I would have friends, unlike the ones I have in the underworld. They aren't true friends.
“Your request is my command,” I said, kneeling down around his still body, “I will come with you.”
I thought about what It would be like to be light, to follow the man into the light. The light would smell of roses and sugars and fruits. It entered my nose and for once, I did not cringe. I accepted the light as I went up the tunnel.
I met the lord's face as he smiled, and for once he said my real name. “Welcome home, daemion.” | 2018-04-15T19:48:59 | 2018-04-15T19:42:07 | 89 | 38 |
[WP] You are brought to a meeting with 9 other versions of you at different ages. The topic of the meeting is "What went wrong and how to fix it." | They stared quietly at 21.
She looked at the floor. She didn't want 4, 10, 14 or 18 to see their future, nor 32, 46, 55 and 74 to see their past. To see the bruises. The black eye.
What went wrong? Ha. She was what had gone wrong.
"21?" said a gentle voice, tempered by age and experience. "21, look at me."
It was 74. She had long silver hair. The tattoos on her arms had become warped and faded. Now they looked like the vines of a great tree that wrapped around her whole body. 21 took her eyes off her own arms, bare of any mark but the cigarette burns, and faced the woman she would one day become.
"Dear, the topic of this meeting is how to fix it," 74 said, calmly. 21's older selves shared a furtive glance. "You need not fear us. We know what has happened. Moreover, we know what will happen. We knew this time would come, for we are all the woman who sat in your place so many years ago. Now, why don't you discuss some lovely times from the past with your younger selves? We have some business to attend too."
21 watched as her older selves arose from their chairs. 32 had a claw hammer. 46 carried plastic sheeting. 55 carried a shovel.
74 carried nothing. No weapon, no tool to clean up the mess afterward. Yet she wore her confidence like a cloak. She wrapped herself in certainty and did not hesitate for a moment as she stepped through the portal that 21 had come from.
The man who had been screaming "you bitch you better get back here and take what you fucking deserve" stopped shouting for a moment when 74 walked in. When 32 walked in there was a dull thud, like a meat tenderizer finding its mark.
Then there were no more sounds but the rustling of 46's plastic sheeting, and the bite of 55's shovel into the earth. | The eight versions sat at a large rectangular wooden table. They were arranged from youngest to oldest, four on each side. The room was filled with deafening silence. Every one of them sat there glaring over their left shoulder at the past, and recoiling from the piercing gaze of the future. | 2014-09-25T20:06:43 | 2014-09-25T18:28:09 | 45 | 11 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | Humanity was amazed by the presence of extraterrestrials. They were new. They were exciting. As a species, we were done evolving. We had discovered every scientific breakthrough available to us and our meager resources. We had mapped our observable universe and pushed the limits of our existence.
We had philosophized and reached enlightenment too many times to count. War had been abolished and scholars had been normalized. We were a peaceful people.
We were a bored people.
So when the aliens appeared from beyond our star, we were excited. We presented them with the best of our technology. We serenaded them with the best of our recreational culture. We were more than ready to accept their strange mannerisms and their weird, faster than light spacecraft. We were ready for them to break our boredom.
And then the creatures, lowly and vile and insignificant cretins as they were, fired on us. We weren't ready for that. Solid beams of searing white light speared from the heavens like lightning, burning and exploding and tearing. Major cities went up in flames. Precious libraries and databases were reduced to rubble in almost no time at all.
Fathers lost daughters. Mothers lost sons. Brothers held sisters and sisters held brothers. Desperate calls were made across the planets as families and friends desperately tried to reach others. We were broken. We were grieving.
But then, you made the one critical mistake. An envoy, a single envoy with only two soldiers, was sent down to one of our broken cities. It trailed over the debris that used to be our centers of knowledge and plucked a single human child, no more than six, from the still warm corpse of his mother. It held the boy aloft, and we heard the soldiers cackle at our helplessness. You thought us weakened. An easy race to subjugate when faced with our fettered young and your obvious superiority.
So lost in your 'superiority' were you that you didn't see the broken shiv of wood in the child's hand. With a snarl, he pierced it through your pathetic carapace and downed your envoy. Your soldiers didn't have the time to react before we were on them as well. They were taken down in seconds.
I'll let you know this now, scum. We didn't plan such a thing. We simply reverted to what felt right.
And our scientists sure felt right. They got to analyze your envoy's spaceship. I know things aren't looking so well for your troops on the ground, but we will join you in space soon enough.
I bet you're wondering why your light beams aren't as devastating as they once were. We remembered trench warfare. We can hide under our planet's crust, where your weapons can't pierce, for as long as we need.
We haven't had a soldier in many years, but every day we find more lieutenants and generals, natural born military leaders, sprung up from our ranks.
So thank you, aliens. Though it was not how we imagined it, you have definitely made things more interesting for us. Your one mistake was not annihilating us when you had the chance.
Be ready, filth. Because we survived, and we are no longer bored. | — Dude, come check it out
— My mom doesnt want me to hang out with you
— Come on, she wont find out. Look at this — he said turning the telescope-like device to his friend — look at that planet.
— The red one?
— No no dude, the blue one next to it.
— What about it?
— Look closer — he said and zoom it in.
— Yeah it has some life, so?
— Not only that. They have some kind of weird tall houses to live all together. Isn't that cute? They all go in big shared cars.
— Aww they even have some small spaceships to move around their tiny planet.
— See!? Lets do it.
— Do what?
— Quick raid, in and out. Let's go.
— I don't know man, Last planet got me some scratches and my mom found out.
— Look at them man, they don't have any weapons. I've watching for a couple of days. Not even a runing war. It's an easy raid. We go, shoot some bridges, take a couple of them put some stuff up their but, kill their leader... 20 minutes and we are back.
--------------
Alien phone ring
— You did what to my spacecraft?
Hmhmhm
— They did what to an atom??
Hm
— And you where just passing by... Okey hold up. I finish my tea and i pick you guys up
| 2019-02-26T08:20:01 | 2019-02-26T07:46:38 | 1,328 | 35 |
[WP] You always had a special relationship with your rich grandfather. The rest of the family was waiting like vultures for him to die. On his deathbed he passes you his prized Sony Walkman. You don't think much of it till you listen. All the broadcasts are from 24 hours in the future. | We didn't know how much Grandpa Nathanael was worth. Nobody did, except perhaps his tight-lipped lawyers and accountants. The rest of us figured the man was all-but-penniless.
Grandpa Nathanael had always lived austerely. He had raised his kids in a small house that was furnished with only the basics. When he and my grandmother retired, they moved to a humble apartment downtown. And when grandma passed, he moved to an even smaller apartment, and furnished the place with his old double bed and the recliner he had purchased second-hand in the 70s.
"Too many possessions make a man heavy," he told my dad. That was when dad was on the verge of splurging on a Porsche.
"That's a comforting thing for poor folks to believe, pops," my dad replied. "But I felt light as a feather zooming around in that Carrera."
"Driving so fast," the old man chuckled, "the world around you was likely a blur."
"But I got where I was going double quick," dad rejoined.
"We all get where we're going, son. I see no need to rush in the interim. No matter how fast you move, you can't go fast enough to outrun fate."
At the time, that conversation seemed just like many others I overheard between dad and gramps. They had very different attitudes and perspectives on life, and often engaged in exchanges like that. When I recall it now, though, it resonates differently. It sheds light on his understanding of the nature of life, of time, of fate. An understanding he cultivated over decades, informed by the strange knowledge he gained from his peculiar Walkman. An understanding I am still trying to gain myself, as the current owner of that strange device.
\- - -
The family was incredulous about Grandpa Nathanael's deathbed confession.
"If you're a billionaire," said my gruff uncle Todd, "then I'm Marylin Monroe."
But the accountants and estate lawyers flooded in soon after Grandpa's quiet speech, as if the whole thing were some staged production and they had been listening for their cues. They had papers and charts and account numbers to prove everything. Incredulity became astonishment became greedy expectation. The frail old man whom we had all regarded as a pauper was worth just shy of twenty billion dollars.
He allowed the jubilation to mount. He allowed my uncles and aunts and cousins and parents and sister to start spending their respective fortunes in their minds, buying mental cars and boats and mansions and islands. Taking mental trips to a Paris fabricated from images they had seen in movies. Then he cleared his throat and the room grew silent, tense.
"One hundred thousand dollars each," he said with his inimitable grin. "The rest goes to foundations and charities."
Dozens of jaws went slack.
I was the only one who laughed. The rest of the family glowered. But it was a wonderful little prank on his part. Perfectly in keeping. It made me happy to know that even this late on in his life, mere hours from his death, he still had his sense of humour about him, still had wit enough to force people to teach lessons to themselves. I was happy with my hundred thousand. More than happy.
"Except for you, Charlie," he said. "You will not get one hundred thousand."
I tried to suppress any expectation, but my heart fluttered. I knew I was his favourite. I had spent more time with him, absorbing his lessons, and was more like him in temperament and character, than anyone else in the family. Perhaps I would be the inheritor of a clean billion! I started clearing the trees away from my beachfront mansion in my mind.
"Instead," he continued, "you will get my old Walkman."
"And how much money?" I asked.
"Not a cent."
I flushed with embarrassment, with confusion, with anger. For all my superior airs, I had fallen into the same trap as the rest of my family, and now was even worse off. I was not nearly so wise as I fancied. I was just as bad as them. With feigned gratitude, I accepted my meagre inheritance. That made Grandpa smile. He passed that night, only a few hours later, and was buried the following Tuesday.
\- - -
When I returned home from the funeral I stared at the handheld radio. It must have been from the early 70s. It was well-maintained, but worn.
I knew that it meant something. I knew there was a reason he had cut me off from the money, yet had given me this. But I could not understand how some terribly obsolete piece of telecommunications equipment could possibly have some lesson to teach me, real or symbolic.
It had been five days since he passed. It had been three days since my smirking aunt drove up in her new Corvette and dropped off the radio. I had let it sit on my bedroom dresser, too frustrated to bother turning it on.
But today I was not frustrated. The funeral had melted any of my lingering frustration away. I was grieving the loss of my wise, loving, enigmatic grandfather. The man who had shaped me into the person I was. The man who had taught me to think for myself, to not fall mindlessly in with the manufactured beliefs of the crowd. The man who had helped me to cultivate patience and open-heartedness. The man who had taught me not just to hear, but to truly listen.
I stared at the radio and I cried. Because I did not want him to be gone. I wanted him back, sitting beside me, listening to his radio. If he was waiting in heaven for me, I did not want to wait the rest of my life to see him. And if he wasn't waiting in heaven, if there was no heaven, then life was a bestial and meaningless joke, to allow such a profound heart to beat upon the face of this earth, to allow such a man to exist and make deep and beautiful connections with others, to touch people's lives, and then to make him vanish, as if he had never been, so his existence was only in the memories of those who never really understood him anyways.
I was still in my funeral clothes. I still wore my shoes that had trudged through the grass and gravel of the cemetery. I didn't care. I picked up the radio and crawled into bed with it, hugging it close, as if it were him, as if he were still there with me. But I hated the sounds of my sobbing, and I knew he would hate them too. I knew he would disapprove of me weeping so shamelessly over his passing, of me mourning his absence and not fondly recalling his life and his lessons with wisdom and fortitude. So I put the buds in my ears, to drown out the sounds, and turned the radio on.
". . .a man whom nobody on Wall Street had ever even heard of," the crackling voice continued, "yet who was one of the most successful traders in history, arguably *the* most successful day-trader Wall Street had ever seen. Or rather, had *not* seen, for he worked in complete anonymity. . ."
Somehow, the media had learned about my grandfather after his death. They learned about his billions, his foundations, the bulk of his fortune going to charities. They were fascinated by the story: a man that wealthy, living in obscurity and near-squalor. Reporters had spent the last week trying to glean as much information as they could. It was no surprise, then, to hear them talking about him on the radio.
". . .Nathanael Tiresias, aged 94, was buried yesterday at a small service attended only by his closest family members. . ." I frowned at the misinformation. They had gotten their dates mixed up. The funeral had wrapped only an hour before, not the day before. But that was the media. Always reporting before they got their facts straight. ". . .and a good thing they didn't wait until today, as the service would have been in the pouring rain. Which brings us to the weather report for this gloomy Wednesday. . ." But it was Tuesday, not Wednesday, and there was not a cloud in the sky.
\- - -
part 2 below! | Grandpa always had a strange sense of humor. He was the type of man who would bring mustard sandwiches—literally just yellow mustard and white Dempster’s bread—to family potlucks and get offended when no one would eat them.
So when one of the last things he’d ever say to me was, “This Walkman I’m giving you will make you rich, Billy,” I obviously didn’t believe him. And in my defence, one of the other last words he said to me was “Pull my finger.” (Yes, I pulled his finger. No, he did not fart. Instead, he just smiled, tousled my hair with a shaky, too-thin hand, and called me a good kid.)
At the funeral, I had to watch as my mom, aunts, and uncles cried crocodile tears in an admittedly decent show of grief. It certainly fooled the rest of the family. Not me, though. If they really cared—if they truly *fucking* cared about his life—they would have known Grandpa never wanted a fancy funeral in ritzy parlor like this one. He wanted to be tossed in the ground on his property and beside his dog, Lizzy. (Him and Grandma never really got along. It was a running joke between us that Lizzy was his true soulmate.)
Death has a way of bringing out the worst in some people. It brought out the worst in my surprisingly greedy mom. It also brought out the worst in me. I probably shouldn’t have screamed at my family at the top of my lungs, berating them and calling them some choice names in the middle of a funeral procession. (Talk about an awkward silence!)
However, it comforted me that I knew if Grandpa had heard, he would be laughing his ass off.
After my little show, I had to take some time away. Mom wouldn’t speak to me. My cousins hated me. My aunts and uncles thought I was a disgrace, and that I was the one who had disrespected Grandpa’s memory.
So, I took some time off. It was fitting, anyways. I had made a promise to the geezer that when he died, I’d take some of the inheritance money he gave me and go travel.
“I want to see the world through your eyes, Billy,” he had said in a rare moment of solemnity. “I will live on in you.”
I didn’t really believe any of that crap. Grandpa was dead, and the brief speck of cosmic energy he had borrowed from the universe was now returned.
But it was nice to think that wherever I went, he was there with me. When I saw the sun rise over the forests of northern Canada, he was there. When I saw the Milky Way change the night into something more, he was there. When I made and finished a mustard sandwich because I missed him so much it hurt, he was there, laughing along beside me.
Item by item, I checked off every sight he wanted to see, every moment he wanted to experience, but never had a chance to. Well, he had the chances. He just didn’t take them. So I would for him. That was my promise.
One night while I was rummaging through my bag for my toiletry kit, I found the Walkman. I had completely forgotten about it. (I know, I know, what a terrible grandson I am. To be fair, I was kind of busy fulfilling his last wish.)
I sat on the creaky bed of the motel I was staying at. A strange sense of wistful happiness came over me as I rubbed a thumb over the clearly well-used device. It was a radio player with five preset buttons for favourite stations.
I plugged in a pair of old headphones I had and laid back on the bed. Putting the headphones in, I pressed the power button and the first preset button.
After a few moments of static, a voice began speaking: “...Zzst… Zzst… and welcome back to FM 90.1, your trusted source for all things news-worthy and not. It is currently June 25th, 9:33 PM, and I hope you are all having a wonderful night. Tonight, a shocking development in the latest case of…”
My eyes narrowed. Did the host just say June *25th*? That wasn’t right. I sat up and started paying closer attention.
“...as it turns out, jumping into a lion pit is *not* a good idea, little Timmy. Moving on, I have here another message from our anonymous benefactor who has graciously donated a hefty sum of money to the channel. This one says: ‘Kid, if you’re going to make a mustard sandwich, you better use Heinz!’ I have no idea what that means, but you better use Heinz, kid! For the other folks who are confused like me, don’t worry. There’s only six more months of these messages. Moving on, Etherium is continuing its voyage to the moon, so perhaps now—or better yet, yesterday—is the right time to buy in. Stay tuned for more.”
“You bastard,” I whispered out loud, as a big, stupid grin stretched my face. If you’re making a mustard sandwich, you better use Heinz? That was him! That was Grandpa from the dead, trolling me once more.
My smile turned into a laugh. My laugh into a sob. My sob into a full-blown episode. I cycled through the rest of the channels in a tear-soaked mess, and it seemed like at each preset station Grandpa had donated a lot of money with the stipulation that messages be spoken out loud by the host for a year. At the fifth station, the host said, in a totally baffled voice, “If you get a dog, you better get two and name them after me and Lizzy. You brat.”
I missed six months of messages so far, but I still had another six months to go.
And yes, at each station, the host apparently was broadcasting from the future. A full 24 hours ahead of me. An earth-shattering revelation, to be sure.
Grandpa was right. This Walkman would make me rich. I had just gotten six more months of his stupid messages.
And that was the most priceless gift in the world.
---
*what a cheesy story. /r/chrischang for more lactose overload.* | 2021-06-01T17:14:56 | 2021-06-01T16:07:08 | 203 | 46 |
[WP] The hat that made Frosty sentient was only a small piece of a complete wardrobe. Each article of clothing had its own personality, granting its user magical abilities. They were thought to be lost throughout the years. Turns out, they've been shaping the world around them this entire time. | The crowd stood up and clapped as the actor returned to the spotlight, he bowed deeply and blew kisses amidst the falling flowers and scandalous articles of clothing, “Thank you, you’re too kind!”
He let himself relax his shoulders on his way through to the backstage, towards his room, the door with five prominent golden stars on it. He noticed the door was slightly ajar and pushed it open slowly, expecting the worst. A man wearing an out of fashion top-hat sat in his make-up chair, looking at him entering the room through the mirror.
Ian said, “You can’t be in here, this is my private room—"
The stranger spun around, grinning, “Excellent show out there, Ian, you’re simply a smash-hit wherever you go.”
He continued, “I particularly liked you in *Lady in the Well*, how do you manage, I wonder?”
Ian said, “A fan, then? Want me to sign your hat?”
“No, no. That won’t be necessary, it’s funny you should mention the hat, though first I got to ask: Is it true that you improvise all your lines?"
“Yes,” Ian said, “I just know what my character would say in any situation, I can feel what my character feels! It’s like I’ve lived their entire lives, shared their memories, their intimate secrets, it’s like—"
The man interrupted, “Like you’re walking in their *shoes.”*
“That’s one way to see it,” Ian said.
The man glanced at Ian’s polished costume shoes, “It’s the only way to see it, Ian. Enough pleasantries, I’m going to need your shoes.”
Ian shook his head, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, I’m calling security,” he went for the door, which promptly shut itself. He tried to open it, but it was bolted shut. Did someone from the outside lock him in with this crazy man?
“I’m sorry if I made it seem like a choice. What I meant was, give me those shoes, now.”
“These shoes were a gift from my father, I’m not giving them to you, or anyone for that matter!”
The man sighed, “I’m not going to ask again, I’ve got somewhere to be. Shoes.”
Ian, the cornered animal that he was, lunged at the man. He suddenly felt like he was falling, he was already flying effortlessly above the ground before reaching the man, his surprised reflection was the last thing he saw before his head cracked up against the make-up mirror.
The stranger opened the door, taking one last look at the actor’s body, he shook his head in disappointment, “Should’ve just given me your shoes.”
He hopped gaily towards the alley-facing exit, “Frosty the snowman, was a jolly happy soul, with a corn cob pipe and a button nose, and two eyes made out of coal!”
*****
Thank you for reading! | I recorded this on my ukulele! Have a listen if you like: https://clyp.it/vtyw04ev
Frosty the Snowman
was a ghost that Christmas Eve.
The children sang his song
as they ran along
but still they couldn't see.
The winter's magic
had lost its rosy charm
for they stayed inside
on their screens to hide
from the cold and any harm.
Those kids could not hear
the snow calling them to play,
only grown-ups fighting
just spitting and spiting
this night 'fore Christmas day
But Frosty the Snowman
had a plan for us, you know
For children never change
even as we age
So Frosty hid his magic so:
Every hat and every scarf
can be used, if you believe
There's everyday magic
in everyone's heart,
you can share
with a little snowman.
***
That last stanza is meant to sound like the thumpety-thump-thump part if you can't listen.
Thanks for reading/listening to my silly little song :) | 2019-12-06T11:31:43 | 2019-12-06T10:34:39 | 252 | 86 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a certain spell and a number of times they can use it. The durability is directly linked to how good the spell is. You were born with an infinite durability. Most people thought your spell was useless but you’ve recently found an exploit.
Example: a person with one use of a spell (a very rare occurrence) could blow up a small country and a person with several thousand uses could slightly speed up how fast a grass blade grows. | When I finally found my ability, I was so proud. Five year-old me ran downstairs, shouting, "Dad! James! I did it!". I showed them the power, puffing out my chest in pride as wisps of mist trailed down my fingers. There was a silence. Then James snorted. "PfFfT!!!! What!?" He was doubling over. "That's your power? Making some smoke?" Dad shushed him. "I think it's a very useful spell, Kell," he said supportively. "Oh come on, dad! Our family has been know to have the most powerful sorts of spells in history and she has... that! It can't even do anything!" he exclaimed. I lowered my hands, stung. "James, that's enough," Dad said. He picked me up, putting me in his lap and rocking a little on the leather armchair. "Now, show me again!" he said.
​
The years passing by were slow, not neccesarily unhappy, but slow. I went through school, through life, through everything as usual. But now there was no more uncertainity, waiting in baited breath to see what, what in the world Kell Rikirin's Trick would be. James, of course, teased me mercilessly. That was a usual thing, considering he had the power to turn into a 30-foot long Hellhound. Dad was supportive, though I saw past the veil of encouragement, the uncertainity and dissapointment that still rested somewhere. Plenty of times I was teased in school, being called "Smoke Girl", or "Cloud B-" actually, I won't finish that. But you get it. The upside to my Trick was that I had infinite Mana. Mana that would never, ever regenerate with other people. But with me, despite the weakness of my power, I'd have the ability forever. Forever.
​
Fast-forwards to summer, 2018. The day my brother was captured and imprisoned by terrorists with powerful spells. When his girlfriend tried stopping them with her fire, she was pushed to the ground. "Don't follow, or he dies," they said, word for word, right before getting into their vehicles and driving off, with the trapped Hellhound in tow. knelt down next to Lana, who was sobbing. "Kell, I-I don't know what to do. They're going to kill,-- kill..." She choked on the last words. I looked down at her solemnly. "No, they aren't."
​
"What?" Her eyes, reddened from tears, widened. "No, Kell, don't. They'll kill you. You're too weak to fight them." I clenched my teeth, standing up. "No. I'm. Not." I turned away and started down the street, where all cars had stopped. I was done being treated like I was weak. Done, because I knew that my power wasn't as useless as they thought. *Let's see what their fancy tricks will do against a building full of carbon monoxide.* | "You ever get to the bottom of that filthy pan and your sponge just won't cut it anymore? That caked on burnt stuff, whatever it is, just won't come off. Was it from the spaghetti? Is it a bit of egg? Some steak bits? You scrub and scrub but it just won't come off, no matter how hard you push that sponge! So you do what we all do - use your nail! Nothing is a match for the humble, yet mighty human fingernail! It will remove anything without scratching that delicate surface of your nonstick pans or fancy porcelain pots. Wouldn't it be great if you had a sponge made out of something like fingernails? Well, now you can! With our patent-pending super secret formula, we have made a scrubber that looks, feels, and scrapes just like real human nails! Get yours today for the low price of just $19.99 with free shipping and handling! Let our scrubber give the hand you need with the dishes - literally!"
"What if someone finds out? I still think it's disgusting that you're using your own nails and telling people they're fake."
"No one seems to care and I'm making money hand over fist. You were my first beta tester, after all. You know how well it works."
"Who would've thought your lame spell of fingernail growth would have actually come in handy..." | 2019-06-25T13:00:22 | 2019-06-25T11:43:00 | 199 | 119 |
[WP] A little girl is terrified of the monster under her bed, but what she doesn't know is that the monster under her bed protects her from the true monsters - her parents. You are that monster.
Thanks for the huge amount of responses! Loving most all of them, thank you! Sorry it was a bit simplistic though. | For centuries, men have cursed me and mine. Millennia, even. I'm not sure quite when they forgot what we really are, but they still fear us, still make their movies about us. They are still ours to kill.
This one thinks he knows what otherworldly dangers lurk for him. He thinks he has found the solution in books. Ha! As though books ever saved a man. Learning to read and write has only ever brought mankind trouble, just as it bought the bastards upstairs trouble, and now they're more or less gone, forgotten just like I am. But I never needed the love of humans to survive.
His two children are asleep in this awful paisley cell they call a bedroom. The ghastly painting of a bleeding Judean hangs from the wall, reminding them of the punishment that will be visited upon them if ever they dare defy their father. I was not personally there when all the business happened in the Middle East but I know some who were, and they don't recall this man saying anything about bludgeoning your daughter with a belt because she went for coffee with a male classmate. They don't say anything about turning a cold hose on your son because his eyes lingered too long on a scandalous advert. Nothing is said about getting a priest to exorcise your newborn because she cried all the way through Christingle. *She's allergic to oranges you fucking apes.*
That was when I was brought into the house. The medic called to the scene, a Ms Patel, was kicked out for suggesting the baby had had a reaction to the holy items. As she left, she had muttered an invocation to her own gods and opened the house to our kind.
I'm nothing to do with her religion, but it's close enough. It's all the same when you get down to it, and so I padded in to find the newborn on a table, struggling to breathe under a half dozen trinkets and talismans, having 'holy water' flicked at her face as she screamed for the care of a mother whose mind was too full of demons and sin to take pity on her wailing baby.
They called me Satan's hound when I came snarling through the door Ms Patel had left open. They screamed and cried for their God, snatched their crying child and ran like cowards. When they finally worked up the courage to return, they thought I had gone of my own accord.
But I am still here. I lie awake, man's best friend, though he doesn't know it. Their tepid artworks portray angels as having the faces of humanity, but that's a grand arrogance. I have been roaming the world since darkness and forest and death was all that lurked beyond the campfire for the first upright apes, and I have been both protecting and persecuting them ever since they first got themselves noticed.
And now he bursts through the door.
A phone call from a young boy, apparently. He wanted to talk to Charity.
Charity knows what's about to happen.
Her brother Isaac wants to stop it, but he's only 13. He's not big enough to handle his father, who is brandishing a belt like a whip.
But I've seen this before. Long ago, before this man's nailed god was even a thought in a prophet's subconscious, I ripped my way through a northern king's hall and ate him whole, devoured him for the abuse he gave his young son, his little boy who was so different.
I leap, and I see the same fear in this mewling man I saw in *his* eyes. His cubs are mine to protect now.
That ancient northern king, upon whom I first vented my wrath, did give me one thing.
His title.
I am the All-Father.
My newest children wail, not understanding that their All-Father has to be cruel for their sakes, but no matter.
I cannot hear them over the clack of jaws and snap of bones.
| Here I peer from under the bed, protecting the only form of interaction I have for now. There have been many others but none who noticed me. I do what I can to help her, but I am never thanked for what I do. Even though I am only regarded with screams for "mommy and daddy" I am happy.
Right now though with tears falling upon the old wooden floor, I see her sitting on her bed with only her stuffed rabbit while her parents blame her for their troubles. I wish I could help with all my being, but alas, if I showed myself I would lose my only form of interaction. So with tears still falling, I slip deeper under the bed and wait until I can help her.
When the blessing of sleep falls upon all in the house, I slink downstairs and write a note to her parents.
It read, "Never harm your daughter, never. Never blame her for your problems that you can't control. If you don't stop, I will make sure you have worse problems. Once you stop harming her I will wait to make sure you've stopped. You will know I'm gone when I leave something lost on your bed.
- M"
The next day everything is out-of-control. Cops are called and parents fret. I hear them talking about who it could've been from the downstairs. When everybody leaves I peer from under the bed and listen intently. Nothing is heard and I slip under the bed again. For a while afterwards the house is silent and my only form of interaction and her parents are happier. I believe they've withheld their part of the bargain so I shall as well.
I am terrified right now of what I will do. I slink with the daughter to the parents' room and lay her silently on the bed with a note attached. I kiss her goodbye and leave the house. When the parents wake they read the note: "You have withheld your part of the bargain so I will hold mine as well. What you lost was your daughter and now you have found her again. Treasure her because she may be your only form of interaction someday, just as she was mine. "
Goodbye and farewell,
- M | 2014-05-14T14:54:22 | 2014-05-14T14:40:05 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge. | "Jenny."
She's at some playground watching three screaming, filthy kids. We're sitting on the bench, and she frowns.
She looks at me, and pales a little.
"I-I'm sorry, do I know you?"
I smile.
"We played a game on the beach... You and me and your friends. Don't you remember?“
She looks scared. Really scared. I'm starting to enjoy the taste of fear hanging in the air between us.
"I don't know what you're talking about!!!"
"Fifteen years ago, you killed me, Jenny. You, Clint and Jason.... You killed me. The coroner's report said I was stabbed one hundred and twenty seven times, Jenny. You drained my blood. Poured some of into a little cup, mixed it with some really, really cheap shitty wine and drank it... When they found my body on the beach... Your horror at the sight of my naked body was.... Your performance was... Almost spectacular... "
"Angela, please. It was a-..."
I put my hand up to stop her.
"It was all Jason's idea... Of course I know that! You just wanted to impress Clint, and you went home and cried with joy that it wasn't you...."
I smile.
"I was a nobody. A run away. I felt liked for the first time in my life. I thought I had friends. And I ended up a victim of a satanic ritual... Fifteen years ago, Jenny. Fifteen years....for you. Several lifetimes ago for me... "
The years have not been kind to Jenny. Her once lithe figure is bloated. Her mousy brown hair has a stringy, oily look to it. And I can smell the body odour wafting up from her... She smells like cat shit and old vomit.
"Are you here to kill me? I know Jason and Clint are dead. Was that you?"
"No, I'm not here to kill you, this time..."
It would be so easy to set the marrow in her bones on fire. Just a little spark... Her bones would crack, and her blood would boil. Her skin would blister, and her hair would just turn to ash. I know this, because I did this to her, in one of the seven thousand lifetimes I've killed her. Truth be told, I was my favourite way to watch her die.
Jason and Clint, just disappeared one day, I literally unmade them, one cell at a time. That is strangely not as "unmessy" as it sounds. There was mess. Plenty of mess. And lots of unpleasant smells. No one knows for sure where they actually went though, because, when I was done playing, the rain just washed the slush away. Well, no one except me.
I guess, I got tired of my little games of revenge. I am immeasurably powerful now. I have quenched my thirst for revenge and pain.
I've been alive longer than Jenny can fathom. And I will be around for longer than she will believe.
Time means nothing to what I've become.
"You have a choice. In one hour, a man will offer you more money than you've ever seen to spend one night with Sydney."
"I d-don't understand..." she looks over at the children running around, oblivious to her situation. Sydney is thirteen, she's the spitting image of her mom in her teens: Tall, blonde, and ethereal in her beauty.
"I'm sure you do."
"I can't do that to her! I won't!!!!"
“You are not your mother, Jenny. Protect her, like you should've protected me, when all I did was trust you."
I leave her to watch over her offspring. I have nothing more to say.
We all think that we have infinite potential... To a degree, we do. But each shitty choice we make or that is made for us, lessens this. Until we have exhausted all possibilities
Sydney is a great big ball of potential. Her mother's only chance at redemption. She's not humanity's last hope, because... Well, humanity needs a lot more than a thirteen year old hero to become unfucked... But she is a pure soul.
And I will make sure that she, and others like her, stay that way, for as long as I can. | Ashes of the Spirit - Part I
Getting backstabbed hurt a lot emotionally but it is even worse when the knife punctured your rib cage into your lung.
I never got along with most people, sometimes it was because of my social anxiety, a lack of common interests but it was mainly due to my lack of social skill. The few friends I had were just like me. Guys and girls who you would have though were more interested in video games, books and the sciences than in witchcraft, the occult or satanic rituals.
We were suppose to spend the weekend camping alongside the local lake. Instead I ended up laying down in a pool of my own blood on an inverted pentagram. Meanwhile Alex, Mike, Ethan, Elizabeth and Christine were standing on each corner of the inverted pentagram holding a black candle and chanting in Latin.
"We should go, the wolfs are coming." Mike said. And with that I was left alone in the middle of the forest with the wolf howling in the distance. I was still conscious when my body was being tore apart by them.
For 12 years, I considered them my friends. For 7 years, I help Elizabeth take care of her grandmother while her parents work. For 3 years, I let Alex live with me when his apartment catch on fire. Although, I was being eaten alive, I felt no pain only hatred.
*Open your eyes.*
*Awake my child.*
*May your rage fuel your heart. May the flames of hatred be your body.*
"Who... who are you?"
*I do not have a name.*
"What are you?"
*A free spirit. Free from the shackles of the body and the soul.*
"Why I am here? Is this Hell or Heaven?"
*Neither. Your fate guided you here, my child. Where a new light shall be born.*
"Your child? A new light? What do you mean?"
*For long I have been waiting. A child bright of spirit and fuel by the purest of flames.*
"I don't understand. What do you want from me?"
*A new beginning. A new existence. A new light.*
The first breath I took was like a spark. A new flame was ignited in me which grew stronger with every life I took. The grass and trees around me became ash without a single flame. The wolfs were no more beast of flesh and bone. In their place, there were carcasses of coals and embers. My tore body was remade from the ashes of the flameless inferno I created.
*The flames of the spirit consume it all and as ash we shall be whole.* | 2020-04-26T06:32:01 | 2020-04-26T03:18:50 | 37 | 23 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | She stood before two gates. She supposed that was kind of what she had expected. What was unexpected was that nothing was stopping her from going to whichever one she chose.
'*Well, this seems too easy,*' she thought to herself. '*It's got to be a trick.*'
Taking some time to really gather in her surroundings, she took closer stock of the two gates. Side by side, they were separated by a wall that seemingly extended up forever. On the left, a beautiful wrought-iron fence, leading into a perfectly-tended garden. She could hear birdsong in the distance, and saw an alabaster fountain plashing in the middle of an immaculate courtyard.
On the right, a cinderblock facing extending as far as the eye could see, and a rusted door, banded in copper, with a peephole in the middle.
"Huh, just like those old speakeasy doors you saw in movies," she said to nobody in particular.
"Yep, exactly like 'em," a voice suddenly said to her left. "It's to keep unpleasantness to a minimum; nobody wants to see what's behind door number two."
She jumped back a little, startled by the sudden inclusion of somebody else. Looking back to the harden entrance, she met the gaze of a handsome man. Tall, perfectly manicured, his bright blue eyes seemed to dance with joy. He was wearing stylish looking clothing, and had an inviting smile. Cautiously, she walked up to him. "What is this?" she asked. "Where am I?"
"Well, you're standing before the Gateways. Everyone gets the choice of where they go after they die. The boss set it up that way, said it's the final testament of free will in you humans. Just step through door number one, or door number two. Entirely up to you, but just between you and me, mine's far more popular," he said with a wink.
"This all seems kind of fishy," she replied. "I mean, this could be a trick. How do I know you aren't lying, honeyed words and deceit and all that?
He shook his head. "No tricks, no traps, what you see is what you get: your own personal paradise. Tailored to your wants, responds as fast as thought, anything you desire.
Looking sideways at him, she asked, "No catch? Everyone just gets this, good or bad? No pain? No suffering? No challenge?
"Not unless you want there to be. Everything your heart desires, all at the tips of your fingers. Just step on over- no going back though, but nobody ever wants to either," he said with a wry grin.
"Why would anyone ever pick the other door?" she pondered. Still, she'd worked her ass off her whole life, through a bad childhood and a disadvantaged education, all to make the world better for her and others. It was tough, but rewarding, and while an eternity of rest sounded tempting, it also sounded, well...
It sounded boring.
Looking back, she pressed her host. "What's on the other side of door two?"
"Beats me," he replied. "I wasn't told, and the boss said it wasn't for me to know, so that I don't taint the choice. Of course," he continued, "you could always ask them. He's got to tell the truth too.
"Ask who?" she said, curious. "I don't see anyone else here."
"Oh, he's my counterpart. He stays behind the door, but the boss gave him the same rules: total honesty, can't ever see what's behind my door.
Nodding in satisfaction, she politely thanked him, then turned to the banded door. Screwing up her courage, she knocked on the ominous portal. Immediately, the peephole shifted aside, and a pair of green eyes met her gaze.
"Yes," a baritone voice inquired, "what is it?" There was power behind that voice, an echoing basso rumble she could feel in her core.
"I've heard the pitch from the guy on the left," she replied, "and now I want to hear your side. What are you offering?
There was a pause. "Pain," the voice intoned. "Fire. But," it continued, "reward and purpose at the end.
That brought her up short. "What kind of reward could be worth pain, that I couldn't get from door number one?
"The kind you make for yourself, instead of being given to you," was the curt reply.
That was something she understood. "OK, let me in," she stated.
"You are sure?" came the reply. "There is no going back.
"I'm sure," she stated with finality. "Pain for reward is what I know, and it's never turned me wrong. I'll accept this, because the greater the effort and pain, the better the reward has ever been.
Without another word, the door opened. Beyond the threshold was darkness so perfect it seemed to drink the light and extinguish it. Hesitant at first, she put one foot forward into the inky blackness, then another, leaving the light behind her. The door slammed shut.
First, she was engulfed by darkness, and a sudden icy cold that took her breath away. Then, came the light. Blinding, searing light, and pain so complete it consumed her whole being. Tearing, needling, screaming pain consumed her thoughts, her sensations, drowning out fear, hate, sadness. Pain prevented any thought. She could feel it, stripping away flesh, muscle, and nerve. The white hot fury of this moment seared away all impurity, removed any desire beyond an end to it, cleansed her soul, scoured her clean of taint.
Finally, an eternity later, free from body and constraint, her consciousness floated in a void. Cleaned free from fear, she thought to herself, "*What now? What do I do?"
Gently, that same basso voice responded, "Say the words, as you see fit. Make your reward."
Resolutely, in the formless void, a spirit, pure and full of fire said Let There Be- | Choices, it's the soul purpose for humans in our everyday life and making the "right" choice has always been opinionated and difficult. How we make our choices is what makes up who we are as people and how the world views us from the outside perspective. The world we live in is corrupt and defiant and everyone knows it. People see this world as a playground before their end and good, sincere choices have been overshadowed by cruel and destructive ones. The world as we know it, is in complete disarray, and sinfulness has peaked to an all time high.
It all started many many years ago when the man Frederick Carthall died and came back from the dead. He started what is now called the playground movement. He had spread the word how when you die, you get to choose where you want to go. The movement caused a massive retort of sin, greed, and pure destruction throughout the world. The last of those who were truly "Good", abandoned civilization and escaped to a land further away from the destructiveness and sinfulness of the world.
My name is Sam, just a normal guy who didn't want anything to do with the movement. I had seen firsthand the terrible outcome of the movement and watched as society and morals collapsed around me. Murder, theft, and greed was rampant and I did all I could to escaped. I've seen death, seen loved ones robbed and killed and mutilated before my eyes and it seemed as though there was nothing I could do. I had spent the last month trying to escape my country and head towards the farlands where the last good people on this earth made their final stand. I died.. death came as quick as an arrow leaving its bow and light surrounded me with the warmth of serenity.
I was nearly at the border of the US when it happened. A large group of man had jumped out of their car and sprayed me down with hundreds of bullets for fun. I didn't feel the pain at first as the bullets pierced my body. I only felt the pressure as though someone was punching me extremely fast and adrenaline helped the rest of it. I awoke in a place, completely filled with blinding light but didn't hurt when my eyes were open. "Where am I?" I thought aloud and that's when I heard the thunderous voice.
"You have died, my son. I used to judge people on their actions but I have completely given up on humanity. Join me in heaven and live eternal for the rest of eternity. " I looked around and saw the golden stairs that lead upwards towards a light brighter than anyone could possibly imagine. I looked behind me and saw another stairway that went downwards towards a dark area that looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. The stairs were made of stone and something in Latin was written at the foot of them. "What's down there?" I asked to the voice that came from above the golden stairs. "That is a lost place, for the very few who knew what life was about long ago. But fret not for the path is before you, you have loved your life to the fullest all others have you not? Come upwards and be with me in heaven."
A feeling came over me, it was strange. I never saw myself like all the others and all of them were complete sinners and destructive. If I was truly a good person in life then nothing should happen to me if I chose those stone stairs. I began to walk towards them and placed a foot on the stairs. The thunderous voice returned once more, "Why are you choosing that path? Heaven is here, do not make this mistake!" I turned around and said one final thing, "I am not like the others, I am not destructive, or murderous, or as sinful as those" and so I chose the path I though.. everyone thought was hell. I.. was lucky.
I began my descent until the point where I was surrounded in darkness, a cool breeze brushed my face. I saw a light that seemed very dim that looked as though was miles away, I moved forwards. The coolness seemed to become warm and I thought that I was truly going to hell until the warmth subsided and the heat turned into something.. amazing. The light became piercing and looked as though a star was before me, and I walked into it. For a second I was blind and then.. there was light. I saw before me a gate, insanely huge in size made of gold and marble with a fence that stretched to the beyond of both sides. I walked up to the entrance where a man stood.
"Thank you, my son. You are one of few, one in a thousand years. Welcome.. to heaven"
I felt warmth. I felt love. I felt... peace. | 2018-08-13T09:55:30 | 2018-08-13T08:48:30 | 40 | 13 |
[WP] The universe is dying. A multiracial group of aliens surfs the Milky Way in search for shelter. They find a dead Earth. Among the rubble, they collect a strange Human program. Booting up their emulators, the Aliens gather together to play one last game of Minecraft, as the world falls apart. |
Aliens. Do they exist?
Humans were obsessed with this question ever since they got the knowledge about space and its vastness. It triggered some of the deepest curiosities they had inside, and the question was like an itch that needed to be addressed.
So once they had the capability to send out signals to outer space, they started sending out messages. And after that, they waited. For hundreds of years, some radio telescopes were always pointed at the sky, listening for a possible reply. The result? Nothing.
And then humans died. Their extinction was due to a planetary crash – a crash between Earth and Mars. Some huge asteroid the size of a moon hit Mars, causing its orbit to destabilize. It then proceeded to get into Earth’s orbit and crashed. To the moment of their extinction, humans did not know if aliens existed or not.
However, their efforts at messaging were not at vain. Although Earth was gone, the signals continued to propagate into outer space. After thousands of light years, they reached a radio telescope in planet Z-39d018, where they would then be turned back into sound. Sadly, the signals were distorted to the point of being barely recognizable throughout the long journey, but it still had clear signs of being artificial. The aliens were delighted.
By that time, the universe was dying. It turns out, stars burn out much more quickly than scientists thought. The universe was losing usable energy, and heat death was coming. The aliens were desperate, and cognitive beings on Earth were their last hope. They send out a spaceship filled with some of their best scientists and engineers, equipped with their best technology. It was an SOS call made with their last strength.
----------------------------
“Look! Nothing but Rocks. Underground civilization my ass! Did we come all the way across the universe for a pile of trash?”
“Fucking calm down! This was still our best bet. And who knows if they had some warp technology and escaped? We still have a chance.”
“Wait, what’s that?”
A shiny cd is reflecting the flashlight, making a rainbow. An alien gasps.
“Bring me emulator 4. Quick!”
“Incredible how it survived the crash… Perhaps this disk has some special information in it?”
The CD loads. The player is looking at a tree.
“My gosh… is this a picture of the Earth? It’s so green…”
As the alien speaks, he accidently touches the mouse, changing the viewpoint.
“It just moved. I think you can control its perspective?”
“This must be a simulation of Earth. Like the virtual reality stuff. They must have known that the end was coming and left a record.”
“For us? How’d they know?”
“For anyone who visits. Maybe this will tell us where they are. It’s their own way of giving us information, even without a shared language.”
“But why is everything made of cubes?”
“It was their sense of beauty. Its symmetry can be appealing, you know.”
They walk around for hours, doing random things. They soon figure out how things work.
“Isn’t it amazing what we can realize without words? These guys were a genius!”
“One brown block turns into Striped blocks… Four brown blocks turn into a weird pattern. What are they trying to tell us?”
“I think that might be a chemical formula used on Earth. Keep track of everything.”
30 hours pass by. They are now wearing armor and mining in a cave.
“I wonder what this red liquid thing is? Ouch!”
The other one comes and places lava around. Everything turns into obsidian.
A nearby fire spreads, and the portal to the nether opens.
“What just happened?”
“I don’t know..”
“This must be how they escaped.”
A short silence. After that, the alien bursts up from his seat.
“We need to look for that purple stone."
"NOW!”
edit: heat death, weird random letters | Atten stared hard at the screen.
"Tyel, do you have the techwarper? I've got a hell of an idea." Atten shouted excitedly. His species was always good with mechanics and engineering, things like that.
Before Tyel could respond, Atten had given himself operator privileges, hastily slapping on keyboard buttons with a slimy appendage.
>/gamerule randomTickSpeed 0.0001
>/difficulty set peaceful
>/gamerule keepInventory true
Tyel walked over and handed him a strange remote-like gadget, with several knobs and levers. "Why'd you set it to peaceful and why'd you make the game so slow?" He asked, but he knew he wouldn't get an answer. It was the end of the universe anyway, he'd figured Atten knew what he was doing. He went back to his strip mine.
Atten flicked another lever and punched in some codes before he pointed the remote at Tyen. Tyen realized, and gave him a curious look. "Huh...you think this will work?"
Atten nodded. He pushed the button, and Tyen was gone.
He typed in chat again.
>attenBoro: did it work
>tyenandnow: fuck dude it did time is moving normally actually
>tyenandnow: kinda hurt tho
The universe might be dying, but Minecraft will live forever.
He pointed the remote at himself and punched the button. He felt himself twist and warp, and his mind shake, and his body contort into cubes. It lasted for around two seconds before he reopened his eyes and saw the world around him. A wooden house surrounded by grass and cows in a pen. The mountains in the distance were beautiful and tall, and rivers flowed smoothly through the landscape.
>tyenandnow: hah did you do it too
>attenBoro: just did
>tyenandnow: genius | 2019-04-25T09:48:10 | 2019-04-25T08:58:46 | 47 | 27 |
[WP] Suddenly, all disorders and diseases are turned into superpowers. Blind people have x-ray vision, astmathic people have endless lungcapacity, and so on. You have cancer. | Being diagnosed with cancer was the happiest day of my life.
In retrospect, this wasn't exactly true, but as of last week looking back, it was the day my life turned around.
Before, each day was a painful routine of blood samples, needles, doctors helping me do things I was perfectly capable of doing and pity.
The worst was the pity.
I could tell them I was fine but we both knew the truth and the machines in the corner never let you forget it, not even for a second, not even for a heartbeat.
All of that pain was long gone now. By some miracle, everything bad was gone, replaced by incredible powers; to varying degrees.
Those who were blind? Perfect vision, but they could see through 20ft of any material. If you had poor eyesight, you had incredible vision, you could read a newspaper held halfway down a football field. If you were an amputee, you got a robotic leg, stronger and better than the original, and some peoples had a compartment for your wallet!
My friends who I'd met in the burn ward could now turn invisible, hide and go seek was much more difficult, but some kids who were once blind always helped out once I'd given up. I never like to boast, mum and dad always said it was rude, but boy did I do a lot of it now. The thing with cancer is that it affects different parts of the body, right? So different cancers gave people different powers, my cancer gave me the ability to move things with my mind, it also made me really really smart and I can fly now too, If I went back to school, I'd probably be in the 10th grade already!
Some of my friends with different types of cancers formed a superhero team, so we could fight crime! Andy, he can do anything and won't be hurt, not only his bones but his whole body can turn hard just like a diamond! Mitchell can blow air like a baseball and knock things over! And Lucy, well Lucy can eat absolutely anything and it never makes her tummy upset, which doesn't sound cool, but it's great because before she could barely eat anything!
After playing all day I suddenly felt really sleepy, but I know It's just because I used too much of my powers too soon. A good nights rest and I'll be back ready to go and stop a burglar with my new crime-stopping team!
I must look really strong though, I can already hear mum and dad talking about how cool and calm I look as I fall asleep.
________________________________________________________________
"He does look calm" Leanne whispered with a hoarse voice to her husband
"This is the happiest I've seen him look in such a long time"
She started to cry in deep but silent sobs into her husband's chest, while the doctor explained that Toby's medically induced coma meant peace in his last moments.
What had been such a hard 2 years were coming to an end, just two weeks shy of his 11th birthday.
"Can he dream when he's like this?" she asked the doctor hopefully.
"Yes," he replied "I'm sure like most young boys he's dreaming about being a wizard and flying around on broomsticks as we speak"
*No*, Arthur thought
*Not his boy, Toby would be dreaming that everyone was a superhero. And that everyone was happy.*
| "So uh...can you, like, let the girl go?" I look at the self-proclaimed bad guy and sigh. I was passing by when I find him trying to rob a store.
"Stay back!" He forcefully hold the woman in front of him. "I- I have cataract!"
I lift an eyebrow and grin. "So you, like, shoot laser out of your eyes or something?"
"Exactly! So unless you want to melt into liquid, step away!"
I laughed hard. This guys has a puny superpower and he boast like some sort of untouchable man. He got confused and look at me curiously. I casually step toward him confidently.
I must have triggered something, because he blasted me with a blazing hot laser beam straight from his eyes. I groan as it hit my chest, but I keep on going. I pick up a beer bottle and knock him in the head with it. He fell down like a ragdoll. I caught the lady and help her stand up. "Can you call the police, ma'am?", I ask the lady. She nervously nod and go outside to make the call.
I hear the grunt groan again. I look at him pitifully. "H-how?" He weakly try to blast me again, but this time I just slap him before he does anything.
"Cancer, motherfucker." I chuckle. "it makes you invinsible."
edit: typo because i'm dumb. | 2017-05-21T08:58:42 | 2017-05-21T08:05:24 | 1,809 | 31 |
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story. | Once upon a time, there was a young maid named Rebecca, fourteen summers of age and black of hair. Ever since she could recall, she had wanted to be a singer, as prolific as the great Adella, as famous as Taylor of Swiftelsson, as breathtaking as the ravishing Beyoncella.
So one morn, she had a stroke of inspiration. She knelt to the floor, and prayed thus--
Hear me, goddess Freyja, I beseech thee
If I were to write a song in your name
Wouldst thou bestow upon me as much fame
and fortune as Alicia of Key?
There was a gust of wind, and Rebecca took that as a yes. She promptly took her lyre and started to strum the first chords of her new ode to the great goddess. Within a day she was done, and that very night she performed before her parents and siblings, who showered her with praise.
Freyja, Freyja, I look upon thee...
Unbeknownst to her, however, Freyja did not match her parents' approval. Surely the goddess was pleased that a young girl would dedicate such devotion to her, but she did not think the song was good enough for the worship of a deity. In fact, it had not been good enough to put cattle to sleep.
Freyja, Freyja, I wake in the early morn to praise thee...
Freyja smiled wryly. "I shall bless thee, child, true. But I shall also curse thee terribly."
Oblivious to the events up high, Rebecca's parents insisted that she play her lyre and sing her ditty in the public square, so that all the townsfolk could be blessed by her melodious voice. They were very wealthy, and hired dancers, musicians, and even a bard to read poems while she rested.
Freyja, feasts will be held in thine honor...
And sure enough, the people came pouring in. Rebecca was asked to play again, and again. Messengers were sent to all corners of the land, and soon there were thousands, *millions* of pilgrims traveling for months just to hear Rebecca's song even once. "Surely our daughter will reach for the stars!" boasted her parents. Their friends and neighbors nodded in agreement.
But while she performed day after day and night after night, and the gold flowed into her family's coffers, she could almost feel something was amiss. The townsfolk, and the foreigners, and even the peasants and the clergymen, they all smiled, and cheered, and sang with her. But they were also eager to turn their backs as soon as she had finished. She heard whispers, and muffled laughter, and snickers.
I break my fast in thy praise...
To thee alone I look for leisure...
It was not long before the truth became evident. Rebecca could sing, but her voice was not pleasant. She was comely, but not beautiful. She danced, but not gracefully. She plucked at the lyre, but not with skill. The throngs that came to see her, who had made her family even wealthier than they were, were not pleased by her music--they were amused by it. They did not come to cheer for her--they came to mock her.
The day she came upon that realization, she threw herself at her mother's feet. "Oh mother, mother, Frejya is displeased! She hasn't blessed me--she has *cursed* me! I am the laughing-stock of the kingdom!"
Her mother knelt beside her, and could no longer protect her child from the truth. "Perhaps," she said, "but she has still blessed us. We are the richest family in town, and it is all owing to your silly song. Now we can hire the finest tutors in the kingdom. You shall learn how to sing as a bird and dance like the wind. And the last laugh, my dear, will be yours."
From the back seat of my carriage
From the front seat of my wagon
I praise thee, O Freyja
I look upon thee
The entire kingdom holds you in praise
Lavish feasts! Mirth without end!
We look forward to thy day.
| O, ye, harken my tale! This is how, mine, a young man's life, was flipped, turned asunder, upside down. Allow me a moment, please take a seat, and I will impart on you the epic of how, I a mere commoner, became Prince of a land called Bel- Air.
On the West bank of old Philadelphia, where I, born and raise, romped with the other babes, through out my early days. We would play, relax, strut, and peacock until the evening. The game of basketball was our forte when not in school!
But soon, came the gang of thugs from the East, eager to take over our beloved land. O, how fear can grip a young man's heart! Though they were a terrible lot, with horrid faces, and a demon's spirit, I took it upon myself to fight and defend the neighborhood. Only once did we brawl, as my skills were unmatched.
However, this caused such worry for my mother. No more did she want her only son in so many dangers. "Son, you are to now live with my dear sister and her husband, the Judge, in Bel-Air!" On my knees I prayed, clung to her skirts to allow me to stay. But she had my bags packed, kissed me her last and forced the ticket upon me.
The Walkman sang unto me I boarded the vessel, whereupon my humor improved. I was treated to luxuries so lavish, as I had never dreamed before. If this be the manner of the people of Bel- Air, then perhaps this voyage may not be for naught?
Upon stepping into the land, I whistled, hailing a cab. When it came unto me, I saw it rode under the banner "Fresh" and bore dice in the mirror. All was new, and all was a gamble. If anything, I could say that this cab was rare, but the thought soon forgotten, I commanded the driver "Yo, home: to Bel- Air!"
The drive lasted unto the evening, about seven or eight of the clock, until we came upon the massive estate. I called to the cabbie "Yo, homie, smell you later!" as the poor man did reek. Laid before me, my kingdom. I was finally there, soon to settle my throne, as Prince of Bel- Air! | 2015-06-10T16:13:15 | 2015-06-10T11:01:01 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] After thousands of years on a generation ship sent out to colonize the universe, nobody alive on board the ship believes in the "myth" of Planet Earth anymore. Until they receive the first transmission from Earth in hundreds of years... | "...schrfwwww..."
"What? Eristos, what the kak is it saying?"
"...njaaxchrr..."
"Amplifying signal, sir. Klarentine, are you feeding each loop to the PIE?"
"Yes. 12 cycles so far. We should get clarity soon."
"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. Earth. Gaia. Right out of a fairy tale."
"Sir, what do you think we'll find?"
"I don't know Eristos. But it's home. It's truth. It's where our journey began. Klarentine, how many cycles to clarity?"
"We're about 60% sir, shall I play what we have?"
"No, no. I want to wait. Is it ok fellows, if we wait, just a little bit more? I want to hear it clearly. I don't want the first words to be misunderstood."
"That'd be fine, sir."
"Yeah, that's a good idea, sir."
"Out here of all places. With just the one sun, right? What state is it Erostos?"
"Red giant, sir."
"Red giant? At that distance? How could that ...? Underground maybe? Were we a bunch of sqilbers, hiding under the dirt?"
"Maybe, sir. Life adapts."
"Yeah, but ... it doesn't seem right. We must have looked up. We must have seen where we could go. We must have wanted to reach out."
"Maybe at night, sir."
"...yea, maybe at night. Klarentine, where are we?"
"92% sir. Sir, PIE has determined that the words are in a proto-Anglarian language. Translation is proceeding concurrently."
"Proto-Anglarian! Amazing. The Rodeonians are going to have a party."
"They throw good parties sir."
"Yes, they do Eristos. Yes they do."
"SIR! PIE has identified musical notes embedded in the message!"
"Music?!"
"Yes, sir! Tetra minor, Penta major. I can see the notes sir. I can almost hear it. Tetra, Penta, Tetra, Tetra, Kamma ... it's a song sir!"
"A song? A song... from our home....?"
"Sir, are you ok?"
"Hrrrmpgh. Yea..yea, I'm ok."
"Sir! 99% percent sir!"
"Fellows, I'm so glad to be here with you in this moment. Will you hold hands with your fellow?"
"Yes sir!"
"Would be honored to, sir!"
"...play it Klarentine."
"....ange...."
"....the..."
"....do...."
"Klare?"
"Sorry sir, just have to adjust the playback for the translation...Done!"
The music floods the vessel swimming alone in the vastness of the forgotten Milky Way.
*Never gonna give you up!*
*Never gonna let you down!*
*Never gonna run around and desert you!*
Tears stream down the face of the three fellows. The music washes over them like warm waves and none dare or even desire to interrupt its flow. The song finishes and the universe goes silent again. The silence is crystalline and fragile, but it is not cold. A small whisper from Captain Hilgo breaks its gentle web. "They knew," he says. "They knew we would find our way back home. They never gave up on us." | No one knew what the buzzer meant when it went off. A high pitched, whining sound droned from the command center, seemingly echoing through every hallway on the ship. We quickly scrambled to decode the sound, a dozen people were assigned to this task force. We scoured every page of the manuals, both end user and service. After twelve hours of deliberation, some spent on hold with our tech support team, until we reached a solution.
Scrambling through the menus on the control panel, we finally found the source of the buzzing. "One (1) new message," the screen read. With as much anticipation as nervousness, we opened the mail.
"Urgent message from Earth," sweat collectively accumulated on our brows. "Prepare to perform ligma."
Confused, we again dove into the service manuals. Yet there existed no mention of the ligma procedure. In desperation, we wrote back: "What is ligma?"
Ten years passed. Ten years we waited, always on edge, always awaiting the return of that buzzer so that we may learn of what our future beheld, and perhaps of what became of our past. The reply came at the most opportune time, as over the years crew began to grow stressed, paranoid even. Talks of mutiny rang through the halls, falling on ears already clogged with hopelessness and thoughts of mass suicide. Finally, after ten long years, the buzzer rang.
We amassed to the control center, and those who couldn't fit in crowded around the nearest speaker to hear the message. The commander chimed over the intercom, anticipation hung in the air as thick as the walls that surrounded us. The captain, without introduction, read the message:
"Ligma balls lol." | 2018-08-28T09:35:19 | 2018-08-28T09:35:09 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] The whole universe is gone, and only two kids were left in the void. "Let's play again," said one of the kids to his only companion, "but this time I'll be God, and you will be the Devil." | as I walked into the light, I wandered into a white void surrounded by mist. I felt heat inside me and well aware of where I am. Familiar but unrecognizable. I feel like I have questions but only I have the answers too. "Why did this happen?" I knew why and it rushed to me. as I walked into the haze I look into the distance. I see two boys one with blonde hair and one with black hair.
*"wow that was a good game! you won this round but im sure if im god and you were the devil I would win"* The boy with the black hair said. The blonde hair boy looked at him with a smile and said
*"I dont want to be the devil, I like creating, I like helping people out and maybe I can find a way for you not to corrupt them"*
The black haired boy looked angry and he stood up from game table.
*"Thats not fair! you said I could be god next time! I want to make humans and my own animals. You did it wrong! you wanted to make them immortal? thats stupid, time would be useless if you lived forever. You wanted people to live without struggle? they wouldn't appreciate what they have if they didn't! I want to be god...I can be better."*
I remembered who these boys are. They are my sons, I remembered why I went into the game..to settle the dispute of how the game was played. Only to realize that this wasn't a game, its a tool to create, to be selfless and make something beautiful. I walked to my sons Jehov, and Lucille
*"that is the point of this son, you see this isn't a game..you are supposed to work together to build a life. To give things what we are lucky to have. We create, but we also destroy. There can be no improvement without failure. Lucille, you are a good devil because you make people appreciate things before its gone, you give hardship and struggle. And Jehov you are a great god because you are so delicate and intricate with everyone. Everyone has a mission to complete and its up to them to complete it. but playtime is over boys, come with me its time for supper."* | "I'll create a nice river first. Then I think the planes, different ones this time. Having just one was a huge mistake, maybe some ups and downs all over for variety. Then I'll make creatures to play here. Dogs first!!! I love dogs, dogs are awesome. The rest after that. What are you making?"
"The earth and humans. Seriously why can't I have the fun job again?! Boooo!" | 2018-10-28T17:54:02 | 2018-10-28T14:08:48 | 34 | 21 |
[WP] The main character is perfect in every way. He's the most handsome, kind, gentle, generous man you could ever imagine. He donates to charities and volunteers at shelters. If it's amazing, he does it. The narrator hates him with a burning passion. | Imagine being a boring, perfect turd of a man that never had to do any hard labour in your life. So perfect that your mum thought the sun shined out of your little brown button. So perfect that the whole TOWN thought the sun shined out of... you get the picture.
Meet Jaxson. Spelled as obnoxiously as his personality. I’ll skim over all the dreary details as quickly as possible. Jaxson was 6 foot one million, blonde hair, blue eyed and never without a maiden on his arm. Last year he donated his horse to the orphanage and the town still kisses his gleaming boots for it. What are the orphans going to do with a horse! Let it adopt them and call it daddy? I digress.
It was one cold evening when Jaxson was taking his usual route through the town, shamelessly flaunting his muscular body that looked like it was sculpted of marble. Of course.
Geniveve, one of his many adoring fans, came sprinting up to him.
‘Jaxon, come quickly to the well. My beautiful kitten Liza has fallen in. She meows so faintly! Please, hurry.’
And so Jaxon ran as fast as his legs would take him. Maybe he shouldn’t have given up that horse so quickly. He arrived at the well, panting as he clambered down. He returned to the top a moment later, Liza in hand.
‘Oh, thank you Jaxon! How may I ever repay you?’ said the young woman, cradling Liza in her arms.
‘No payment necessary, O fair one. But mayhaps you will be so kind as to let me sit at your well for a while, and ponder life’s many mysteries? I have many thoughts swimming around my head. More than most others in this town, you see,’ Jaxson said with a sigh.
The women swooned and left Jaxon on his own. There he sat, his arrogant hand glistening in the moonlight as he arrogantly stroked his arrogant beard. His legs dangled over the edge of the well as he sat above his pool of perfectness. He was so deep in thought he didn’t hear me coming up behind him. He was still pondering life’s greatest mystery as I shoved him with all my might, down into the darkness and emptiness where he would no longer have the worries of life’s heavy burdens on his mind. His body crashed down the bottom of the well. I couldn’t help but let a smile form on my lips as I pictured his perfect face being eaten by perfect little rats. | Once upon a time, there was a man. The most infuriating man in the world, in fact. Everyone adores him because they think he's kind, and gentle, and generous. *Bleeegh.* Notice how intelligence isn't among those traits?
Only I know his dark side, his narcissism, his stupidity, his arrogance and his darkness. I despise him with my entire being. To make it worse, he was the perfect man for his time and place. He couldn't have been born in a world and time where kindness and gentleness was looked down upon, oh no. That's be to easy for Mr. Perfect. He just *had* to have been born in a time and country where that was adored, with his shiny shield and self-righteousness.
​
...and that man is me. | 2020-01-10T05:39:57 | 2020-01-10T03:40:11 | 107 | 14 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "What do you mean I can't leave these drinks on my tab? I've been coming here for years."
"New corporate rules. Ever since we were bought out by Wild Buffalo Bar Corp. No running tabs, no discounts, no happy hours," explained Chet, my favorite bartender.
"Well I guess I better go hit the ATM and see what I've got in the bank. I don't get paid until tomorrow," I explained as I walked off to the store across the street. The rain had looked quiet and gentle from outside, but now as I crossed the street it was cold and uninviting. As I approach the ATM is notice the out of order sign. I shrug and make my way back across the street. "Well Chet I guess put this on my credit card."
He takes the card and swipes, swipes again, and then looks at me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "Declined. Sorry man. Look I'll get your drinks tonight if you pay me back tomorrow." He stopped polishing the bar for a moment to note the television. President Donald Trump was on the news again.
"If I didn't know any better I would say we're in hell, Chet." I left the bar around midnight to drown my sorrows at home. It had been a long day at the office. Telemarketing was the only work I had been able to find after I was laid off in 2008. Every day was miserable and the only relief was getting drunk enough to forget what I would be doing for work the next day.
But something was wrong. I didn't recognize this street at all. There were cobblestones and streetlamps. Some kind of vintage lamps I guess, that looked like real fire. There was a smell in the air I didn't quite recognize, were they burning real oil? Since when did the city do this kind of thing?
I stopped dead in my tracks as I realized I was surrounded by a circle of candles. Below my feet were some kind of ancient runes that glowed and shifted positions. I turned to see a small, childlike figure wearing a dark wide-brimmed hat and oversized spectacles.
"Who the fuck are you?!" I shouted as the startled figure squeaked and jumped behind a stack of barrels. He remained there paralyzed with fear for several seconds. "What the fuck is going on here? Why am I standing in this circle of candles?"
Determined to get home, I started to turn around and go the way I came. As I walked over the candles however, I was blown backwards by some powerful force. The childlike figure behind the barrels changed his expression into one of sheer joy.
"It works!" He exclaimed. He came out from behind the barrels, adjusting his glasses and examining me closely. I realized he was not a child, but rather a very small and dainty old man in over sized clothes. "Tell me your name demon," he asked in a now somewhat commanding tone.
"Jamal," I replied. "And I'm not a demon. Who the fuck are you."
"I'm Cervilpop the magician. I have summoned you to help us in the great war against the Mugwumps. And of course you are a demon, look how big you are. Your frightening features, you coarse voice. If you aren't a demon you sure look like one."
"Okay...Mugwumps?"
"Yes a terrible race of ferocious creatures. We have been in conflict for years now. But now that we have a powerful demon on our side, victory will be ours!"
"I'm not a demon," I explained. "I'm just a guy trying to get back home."
"Home to hell you mean? Ha. You may not return until you have done my service, those are the rules."
"I have to help you kill Mugwumps and then I go home?" I asked skeptically. I kept looking around for the cameras knowing this was some kind of viral video. A disturbed expression crossed Cervilpop's face.
"Kill them? Oh lords, no! Jamal, we need you to take up arms to defeat them in honorable combat, an epic game of dodge ball to end this war once in for all!"
"Wait, dodgeball? You've been fighting a war for centuries over dodge ball?" What kind of crazy world is this? Wouldn't it be easier just to fight them in a real war?"
Cervilpop laughed nervously. "Maybe that's how it all works in hell, but here we settle our differences with honor. Combat by dodgeball is the most honorable combat there is. We play dodgeball against the Mugwumps because they want to paint the Great Hall we all eat and drink in yellow. Yellow! can you imagine that?"
I shrugged. I figured maybe this was it. I have finally had a nervous breakdown. "So where's this great hall?"
"Two blocks that way," he replied gesturing over his shoulder.
"Beer there?"
"Of course."
"How much does it cost?" I asked skeptically.
"It's beer, it doesn't cost anything."
"Maybe I am from hell. Show me this great hall, Cervilpop. I'm down for a game of dodge ball, too, whenever."
| It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!" | 2017-05-12T08:29:21 | 2017-05-12T08:05:41 | 347 | 10 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | My name is Peter Thatch, and I've been trapped in a ghost town for 5 years, 4 months, and 22 days.
I wake up and check my phone. 6:30am. No signal, low battery, several ominous messages from an unknown number. Nothing new there, then. Wiping the crust from my eyes, I drag myself out of bed and make my way to the kitchen. A sickly groan interrupts me mid-yawn. I turn to find a young girl, pallid and frail, standing at the foot of my bed. A ragged dress conceals her gaunt frame, and her arm lies outstretched, a single scabby finger pointed at me. Haven't seen her before. I should probably name her.
The mornings in Wicker Hollow are a lot less exciting than you'd expect. In fact, I'd go so far as to say they're pretty peaceful. Sure, you get the odd Shoggoth herd, maybe a Wraith now and then, but nothing too troublesome. I rummage through the cupboards, looking for some breakfast. Conveniently, the shelves are always stocked in this place, if you can cope with the occasional severed limb. That used to get me in the first few months, but after realising there were no townspeople left to have their limbs severed, I figured there was no actual harm being done. I grab the cereal, pour myself a bowl, pick out the eyeball that's inevitably mixed in. After so many years, it becomes something of a ritual - just one of those things that you do, like jumping the bottom step.
Should probably get out of the house today. Tuesdays are the least apocalyptic days of the week. I throw on some clothes, brush my teeth, see another demon in the bathroom mirror, and leave for the day. Maybe I'll take the car. I hop in, and check the back seat. Another knife-wielding maniac. On second thoughts, perhaps I'll go for a walk. I make it a few streets before I stumble upon what seems to be a human corpse - or, to be more accurate, **half** a human corpse. His face is contorted in agony, and the word "RUN" seems to be hastily painted on the sidewalk in his own blood. Ugh, tourists.
I spend the day around town, doing all the things I've done for the past 5 years; Take advantage of the empty arcade, go bowling, grab a few DVDs from the rental store, et cetera. By the time I reach my street, it's already dark. In hindsight, I probably should've set off earlier, but at least I beat my high score on House of the Dead. I check my phone. 8:00pm. Things should be getting weird around this time.
Right on cue, the road parts with a deafening crack, and a few dozen molemen crawl out of the fissure. Molten lava begins to ooze from manholes, tentacles thicker than trees descend from the sky, tearing through buildings. Under my feet, a pentagram carves itself into the concrete, and the wails of tormented souls ring out through the crimson sky. I guess I *should* call it a day, to be fair. Several demonic hands rise from the glowing sigil, and I let them take me into the abyss.
I wake up, back in my home. The pale girl is stood at the foot of my bed, and my phone reads 6:30am.
My name is Peter Thatch, and I've been trapped in a ghost town for 5 years, 4 months, and 23 days. Maybe I'll go golfing today.
| "Just get out of there, fuck off..."
The shadow slowly trickled down on the floor from the closet and slowly crawled towards the bedroom door. Alex threw himself down on the bed and turned off the lights.
Soon the thumping in the stairs started, Alex slowly turned over and looked at his door, contemplating if she would even care to go and open it.
"Can't you just get over with it and leave? I have a test for tomorrow and I'm not in the mood for your silly games."
The thumping slowed down and stopped, the lights outside the door flickering. Alex sighed as she turned over and faced the wall.
"Not again...."
Alex felt the surge in her stomach as she started falling into the abyss, feeling how her face relaxed while she fell and her teeth falling out from her mouth.
She closed her eyes as she landed on a large green, sunny plain. Dreams always were her favorites, since she at least could get it over with quickly.
She ran around for a while, waiting for her alarm to wake her up in the morning. She smiled and closed her eyes as she turned her face to the sun in the sky, then she heard beeping from the distance.
She opened her eyes and looked around, she frowned as she noticed the lack of light flowing through her curtains. She stood up from the bed and looked around in the house.
Nothing.
Not a single monster in sight. Where could they be? She smiled at the thought of them finally leaving, they could not scare her anyways, there's nothing special about them, just shadows and sounds, never anything that can actually hurt her.
She felt a breath behind her neck and she just walked slowly away. The footsteps followed her to the kitchen where she turned on the lights, there the shadows would go away.
The light flickered for a second before it finally shone up the kitchen.
What did she really notice first? The broken window? The presence which did not leave?
Or the hands around her neck? | 2017-05-05T09:48:59 | 2017-05-05T07:21:53 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] Alien life was discovered centuries ago and though they are advance they live relatively short lives (25-35 years). You ask your alien friend why he thinks humans live so long. He laughs and says it's because humans run at half power. You laugh back but he stops and says "No you really do." | "Allow me to explain," Xylus said as their suit would hiss momentarily. The chest would open up slightly as a small amount of their body would reach out to the tablet left on the table. Even though Jason has been hanging out with Xylus for about 5 years now the dark black, an almost mist-like substance that made up the majority of their body still through them for a loop. The mist would interface with the tablet as a picture of the human body would display on the screen.
"Think of the human body similar to an electrical generator. With a single spark and some fuel, the generator will spring to life and generate all the electricity necessary for day to day functions. So long as you're fueled you will continue to generate until the generator finally burns out." As they spoke the screen would replicate their explanation. Jason would just watch patiently as he sipped away at his beer. After all, he was interested in where this would go.
"But, you humans run on what your kind would call 'Power-Saving Mode'. This makes sense with particularly frail races that require additional time to reproduce, but in the case of humans, it's no longer a need but a desire. It makes sense given the level of 'entertainment' that floats about on the web." The tablet would start to switch over to the internet but Jason knew better and snatched the tablet away.
"Alright alright, I get it. What I don't understand though is how we would go about turning it off, to begin with. I know it's not eating a lot, we just get fat." Jason said as he tucked the tablet away and would watch as Xylus slinked their body back into their suit.
"Obviously. You don't make a generator run faster by adding more fuel. You just have to turn up the dial is all. For my kind it's easy as we're all mind and mist," Xylus said as they'd move their suits' arm to tap the glass of their helmet, "But for humans? You have all sorts of meat you have to worry about. Not only that but your bodies are inherently flawed in that they randomly mutate both negatively and beneficially. And lets not even begin to talk about all the sociopolitical nuances you deal with on the regular."
Xylus' suit would sag into their seat as the majority of their mist collected into the suit's chest, "It's why we don't blame your kind in the least."
They would both sit in silence as Jason thought about what Xylus had just said. All the while the ambient sounds of the bar would wash over the both of them as a reminder that they weren't alone. It wouldn't take long for Jason to come to his conclusion and put his half-empty beer on the table.
"Xylus... Do you think you could teach me? How to turn up the dial that is." Jason said while he looked as his beer.
The mist would redistribute in the suit as Xylus propped an elbow on the table and rested his helmet in his hand, "No. As I said my friend, my kind are mind and mist. I could only teach you how to think, not how to apply." Jason's shoulders would droop in a clear sign of disappointment. Xylus raised his other arm and dropped it on Jason's shoulder with a healthy grip," However, I may know someone who could teach you the rest. If this is the path you seek, then drink up friend. There's a reason your kind dies sooner once they learn the truth." | **We do?**
Did I stutter? It's not my fault I have four mouths.
**You do? Oh, I didn't notice. I don't really see those kinds of things.**
Blah blah blah. Look, just because I have six tentacles instead of legs and genitalia--
**Again, I never said that.**
Come on, man. We aliens got it all figured out years ago. It's in our holiest of books.
**What, like your bible?**
Yeah, our bible. It's kind of like yours. If you go back and read that old, old testament stuff, there's folks who lived for about 900 years, like Methusala.
**Gross.**
And how! Well, what with evolution being a thing as well as the bible--
**Wait, they're... both real? Apes into humans, and Adam and Eve, and Jesus, and the ice age--**
Yes, and aliens! As much as I'd love to weave the two together for you, I'd rather get to the point. We're getting better at getting the most out of our lives in the shortest amount of time. Again, Methusala. Almost 1000 years old. Your Uncle Ernie is, what, 73?
**Aw, man, Uncle Ernie sucks**
Right. So we are squeezing the life force down, like coal into a diamond. We live to be 35, 40 tops. What good happens after 40?
**You got me there.**
This is why we are the superior race. So suck it.
(fade to black) | 2019-12-29T22:59:31 | 2019-12-29T20:59:40 | 73 | 15 |
[WP] You cannot tell a lie. Not because you're unable to, but because every time you do, a narrator's voice explains the lie in great detail! | "Hey Jim, how's it going?" Andrew greeted his friend as they met up on their daily commute to the office.
Jim put on the fake smile. "Oh, pretty good. You?"
"In fact," boomed the voice, "Jim is not doing well at all. He has not slept well for the last week, the pretty girl he was talking to on that dating app - the first woman to give him any attention in years - turned out to be a scammer. He's feeling even lonlier than usual, he's upside down on his crappy car and behind on his mortgage, his cat has cancer, his ex is being more of a bitch than usual lately, and he had to call the suicide hotline last night."
There was an awkward silence. Andrew put a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder as Jim looked down in shame. "Dude, you know I'm here for you, right."
"Yeah, I know. I'll be alright."
"In fact, Jim won't be alright. But since he doesn't want to burden his friends and family with his multitude of problems he will never reach out for help even though he desperately needs to."
It seemed impossible, but Jim seemed to shrink even smaller. He muttered, almost under his breath, "Could you....not?"
"You know Jim, believe it or not I think the truth voice thing is trying to help you out for a change."
"It's not. The damned thing just hates lies, even the smallest ones. It doesn't let anything go uncommented upon."
"In fact, the voice leaves all true statements uncommented upon."
"See?" Jim shook his head and looked up. "I don't suppose you'd answer me if I asked for the millionth time what you are and why you do that?"
"In fact, Jim has only asked that question three hundred and forty seven times."
Andrew rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's more talkative than usual."
"Yeah. I usually don't give it as many chances to catch me in a lie."
There was silence.
"I must be tired or something."
"In fact, Jim is struggling under the pain of a soul-crushing depression and does not know how to ask for help. He is intentionally uttering all the little social lies that people tell each other in the hopes that the voice will call him out on it and get him the help that he desperately needs before it's too late."
The awkward silence stretched longer this time. Andrew pulled out his phone and made a call. "Hey boss? Yeah, I'm not coming in today. Neither is Jim." Jim looked up in surprise. "It's....you know that voice thing of his? The one that won't let him lie? Has to do with that....Yeah, I'll explain later. Thanks."
He hung up the phone and looked at Jim. "Alright buddy, come on. I know an amazing therapist and you're going to see her right now."
EDIT: Thanks for the silver! It made my day.
EDIT2: And another silver and a gold. I'm blown away! Thank you! And also to everyone who upvoted or commented to say how much they liked it. I really do appreciate that. | People claim to value and appreciate honesty but the truth is that lies are far better. I...
Narrator: this is only partially correct. The social contract demands we be truthful in matters of business, equity, establishment of trust,etc. It requires also requires a kind of lie under the label of tact which overlooks or ignores obvious problems such as someone’s obesity causing their own fatigue instead of the alarm clock going off a little early.
It was at this moment the obese man turned and looked at me. The unfortunate thing is even though the narrator said that and not me... he finds it humorous to use my voice. Audibly. Where everyone can hear. “Awfully rude pal, I was injured in Iraq and deal with severe pain. Not like I can get back into the gym”
I looked at him in sheer horror. I could say I’m sorry. I legitimately was. But the narrator isn’t content with a small portion of the truth and I never know when a witticism that slips into my head might just come out of his mouth. I wanted to apologize but instead I ducked out before the narrator helped me dig that hole any further.
People accuse me of being antisocial and aloof. But you try not being able to edit your thoughts before they come out. | 2019-06-21T07:31:01 | 2019-06-21T07:01:30 | 2,874 | 38 |
[wp] When someone dies, they go to a platform where you can choose to move in to the afterlife, not knowing whether you will go to heaven or hell. You meet someone who has stood there for millenia, trying to decide if they should go. | People almost always go quickly. Whether sure of where they're going or determined to get it over with, they hurry onto the train. Occasionally, someone will linger, waiting for something or someone. They scan the platform, searching. Then, someone, a love, a child, a friend, a parent, a fellow soldier, someone comes. And they leave, arm-in-arm, or side-by-side, they step onto the train.
Sometimes no one comes. These people wait, and wait, and wait. They watch as lovers meet lovers, friends meet friends, parents meet children, and slowly they realise that no one is coming to meet them. Maybe it takes them a generation. Or two. Sometimes even three. But very few people stick around after three. After all living memory is gone, they resign themselves to the fact that they have been forgotten. And they get on the train, alone.
But she had been there for much longer. Time wasn't strictly linear in the station. As people poured on and off and intermingled, time blurred, and eternities passed in minutes, while minutes took eternities. A young boy might wait a few minutes for his parents, while next to him, a woman waited an eternity for her husband, and a man waited years for his childhood friend, and they would all board the same train.
But still, she waited. Every few minutes, or what seemed like a few minutes, she would pull out a silver cross. This in itself wasn't unusual. People prayed on the platform all the time. But she would hold the cross, just hold it, in silence. She never said a word. Then put it away, only to repeat it in a few minutes.
Some time passed, an hour, or maybe a century. Someone approached her, a young man. He asked her something in German, and she nodded. He embraced her, and they began to speak. They talked for a long time, or maybe a few minutes.
'Are you coming on this train?' He asked. 'I would be honoured to go with you'.
'No, thank you. You go.' Her eyes filled with tears.
'Waiting for someone?'
'Forgiveness.' She said quietly.
'Forgiveness? You? What could you have possibly done that you want to be forgiven for? You saved me. You saved so many of us. What more could He ask of you?
'I didn't save them all.' She shook her head. 'I will wait for every one of those I didn't save.' | A thousand years down many more to go
In this plain room as white as snow
Its only decoration a door that acts as a portal
For any fallen mortal
Once through the door
To heaven or hell the soul will soar
But myself I can't persuade
For I am too afraid
So for now I'll wait
To pass through the gate
.....A thousand years down many more to go
In this room as white as snow
(Sorry if this is sub par, my first time posting here and I've never really done poetry) | 2016-08-14T10:47:35 | 2016-08-14T08:46:44 | 48 | 14 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy. | FADE IN:
INT. HALL OF THE GALACTIC COUNCIL - MAIN CHAMBER - DAY
*Beings from hundreds of different species are gathered in an enormous, amphitheater-like space, each of them looking down at a pedestal near the center. A tall, slender humanoid with long limbs and flowing white hair stands there. This is SSAH, a diplomat. When she speaks, her voice is amplified to be audible throughout the auditorium.*
**SSAH:** Esteemed peers, our session will come to order.
*A murmuring of voices - combined with dozens of other sounds - drifts through the air.*
**SSAH:** (*CONT'D*) There is little need to introduce today's primary focus, as I am certain that you have all become aware of it via one channel or another. For this reason, I will simply call our first speaker.
*SsAh steps away from the dais. Her spot is soon taken by a squat, toad-like creature. This is FIMNIMN.*
**FIMNIMN:** (*Shouting*) Humans!
*No response seems to be forthcoming from the crowd.*
**SSAH:** Please continue.
**FIMNIMN:** (*Shouting*) Humans!
**SSAH:** Yes, they are the species in question. Please continue.
*Fimnimn turns a bulbous eye to SsAh, his face showing a fair approximation of annoyance. After a moment, he looks back at the assembled beings.*
**FIMNIMN:** Humans...
**SSAH:** (*Interrupting*) Please say something else.
**FIMNIMN:** I was about to.
**SSAH:** My apologies.
*The squat creature raises his arms above his head.*
**FIMNIMN:** (*Shouting*) Humans!
*Several seconds of silence pass. SsAh rubs her forehead in evident exasperation. Eventually, Fimnimn lowers his arms.*
**FIMNIMN:** (*CONT'D*) Well. They've gone and done it, haven't they? Broke the damned thing, they did.
**SSAH:** We are not here to discuss their ill-advised experiments with their own moon.
**FIMNIMN:** Their moon was a *victim!* We'll *all* be victims if they keep this up!
*From within the crowd, a lone voice becomes audible. This is DAVE, a human ambassador.*
**DAVE:** Look, we said we were sorry!
*As all of the other council members turn to watch, Dave stumbles down to the center of the amphitheater.*
**FIMNIMN:** An apology won't keep us safe! An apology won't protect us from your... your... idiocy!
**SSAH:** This is the concern voiced by many of our number, Ambassador Dave.
*Dave reaches the center dais and turns to address the crowd.*
**DAVE:** Look, the universe is a big place, alright? We just wanted to get around.
**FIMNIMN:** So you built a weapon?!
**DAVE:** It's not a weapon! It's a means of moving faster than light!
*With a small gesture from Dave, a glowing display appears in the air, showing the Sol System.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) See, Earth is...
**FIMNIMN:** (*Interrupting*) Be specific.
**DAVE:** ... What?
**FIMNIMN:** Do you have any idea how many species call their planet "Earth?" Call yours by its *real* name.
*Dave closes his eyes, sighs, and continues speaking.*
**DAVE:** As you can see from the diagram, Happy-Happy-Sunshine-Sparkle-Ball is located...
**SSAH:** (*Interrupting*) I'm sorry, Ambassador, but is that truly your planet's galactic designation?
**DAVE:** Unfortunately.
**SSAH:** ... Why?
**DAVE:** We had a contest.
*Murmurs of understanding become audible.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) Anyway, we're one of the most remote planets in the galaxy. Our closest neighbor is over four lightyears away.
**FIMNIMN:** That's quite standard.
**DAVE:** Yes, well, according to our physicists, we needed a means of traveling far, far faster than relativity would allow if we were to make realistic strides toward visiting other worlds.
*The display shifts and shows a technical schematic for what appears to be an engine of some kind. It vaguely resembles a doughnut, albeit one with a series of ridges and valleys along its visible side.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) This led to the development of what we called the That Walkway In Airports Drive. In essence, we would...
**SSAH:** (*Interrupting*) Sorry, I believe we're experiencing a problem with our translator system.
**DAVE:** No, it's working fine.
**SSAH:** Ah. Another contest?
**DAVE:** No, just an inventor who liked analogies.
**SSAH:** That seems to be a universal problem. Please continue.
*Dave clears his throat.*
**DAVE:** Anyway, the TWIAD allowed us to create a bubble of space that moved at several times the speed of light, while the vessel contained within it would move at relatively slower velocities.
**FIMNIMN:** A fine system.
**DAVE:** Thank you.
**FIMNIMN:** Tell everyone what you started using instead.
*Once again, Dave clears his throat.*
**DAVE:** It was an accident, really. We discovered that the bubble in question could be... well, squeezed, I suppose... in a way that allowed it to traverse greater distances. Naturally, we worked to test the limits.
**FIMNIMN:** (*Shouting*) Humans!
**SSAH:** Stop it.
**DAVE:** Thank you.
**SSAH:** (*To Dave*) And you, get to the point.
**DAVE:** Well... it popped.
*A sound not unlike a collective gasp of shock echoes through the expansive room.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) All of a sudden, our ship was a quarter of the way across the galaxy. Our tests concluded that by rupturing the bubble, we'd released a buildup of some kind, which we hadn't even realized was there.
**FIMNIMN:** You blew past dozens of inhabited systems!
**DAVE:** We didn't know the effects it would have!
*Dave's face adopts a look of genuine remorse.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) We didn't know, I swear. We thought... we thought that intentionally rupturing our TWIAD bubble just propelled us along. We hadn't yet discovered spatial-temporal plasma, you see, and we didn't know we were leaving anything in our wake.
*He hangs his head in apparent shame.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) We thought our Fissure-Assisted Rapid Transit System would bring our people to the stars.
**FIMNIMN:** It did... and you brought that damned miasma with you!
**DAVE:** We know that now. As you said, we inadvertently blasted our own moon to smithereens.
*Dave holds up a hand.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) We swear to you, though... *I* swear to you... that humanity will no longer use our FARTS to travel.
*Somber, tense silence fills the space.*
**SSAH:** Let's take a brief recess for lunch. As is customary, the chef's team has prepared a meal from... Happy-Happy-Sunshine-Sparkle-Ball. I believe it is called "Baked Beans."
FADE OUT. | Astronaut Jack Wilson sat facing the large conference call screen. Around him on both sides, generals, politicians,
diplomats… too many suits and uniforms to count. All sitting. All facing the screen.
The president stared blankly at Jack. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Jack said, nervously.
"Brian," the president commanded, to the thin man with the round glasses on the corner Jack knew was the
physicist in charge of the teleportation project, "Turn on the call." The president sighed, then added, "You idiot."
Brian got up and, shaking, went for the remote. He turned on the screen.
Astronaut Jack Wilson stared back from the other side of the call.
Jack frowned. "What the –"
"No, *I* get to say that, you don't," The onscreen Jack said. Behind him, a large window gave way to an alien
landscape of blue and green. "What the fuck!?"
Jack looked around. All the suited men looked down, embarrassed.
"Brian," the president said, turning again to the nerdy-looking physicist. "You wanna explain this shit?"
"Yeah, *Brian*," Onscreen Jack said. "You wanna explain this shit!?"
Brian shook like a leaf. He stood up from his seat again and stared at Jack (the one in the room). "I'm so sorry
Captain Wilson. It looks like there was a little bit of a problem with the teleportation device."
Jack looked from him to the room to the Jack onscreen. "What's going on?"
"Tell him, *asshole*!" Onscreen Jack bellowed.
"It appears that the teleportation device did, huh… well, it did what it was supposed to do. Which was to map your
body, atom by atom, then replicate it at the specific location we wanted you to go. In this case, the planet in the Gliese system, where the Gliesians, who made contact with us five years ago, were to receive you."
"Hu-huh," Jack said. "Huh… how exactly did it work? Because you told me something had gone wrong when I
stepped out of the device yesterday and was still, you know… on Earth." Jack kept looking from Brian to the mysterious onscreen Jack, who now rolled his eyes.
"This guy is my original? This stupid ass?" Onscreen Jack blurted.
"Well, Captain Wilson," Brian continued, "It did work in the sense that your body *was* mapped and then
recreated on Gliese. It's just that… your body here wasn't disintegrated like it was supposed to."
"So that means…" Jack started.
"That there's another one of you up here in Gliese, *idiot*," Onscreen Jack said. "Good Lord this guy is dumb."
"I'm afraid Jack Number Two is right," Brian said, his voice weak. "We sent a copy of you to Gliese, instead of the
real you."
Jack waited. No one said anything.
The president got up, slapped the table and said, "Well, I'll be in the Oval Office waiting for the impeachment." He
left.
"There's more," Brian said, after the room grew quiet again.
"*There's more*," Onscreen Jack repeated, in a mocking voice. "Fucking nerd."
"What? What more?" Jack asked. He couldn't get his eyes off of his clone onscreen.
"Well… it also happened that… by accident, mind you… we… huh… we sort of accidentally sent a copy of you to
some other places too."
"What!?"
"Yeah, like… to pretty much every known inhabited planet in the universe," Brian blurted. "It was an accident, the
machine read our whole galactic map instead of just the specific location we wanted to send you to."
Brian went for the remote again and, with a click, several other feeds took over the screen – and in each, after a
moment of static, a new Jack emerged, each framed by a new and alien landscape. Each framed by a new, faraway
planet.
"What is going on!? I'm scared!" one Jack said.
"Where's the food? I'm hungry!" cried another, on another feed.
"DRUGS! DRUGS! I NEED DRUGS!" a third one cried.
"How… what… I… what is… WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?" Jack asked. He was up on his feet now.
"Well… you know how Chaos Theory establishes that a single variation at a certain point on a closed system can
result in massive variation on a future point in that same system?"
"No!" Jack said, which was true.
"Idiot," Second Jack said.
"Well, it turns out that the slight atomic variations in the replications of your DNA coding when transporting you to
these other planets has led to a… huh… a little bit of a boo-boo."
"Meaning?"
"There's a massive number of Jacks with infinitely different personalities spread across the universe, and we have
to go capture them all before they start an intergalactic war," Brian said, in a single breath.
Silence took over the room. Even the Jacks onscreen remained quiet (except for Jack Two, who said, "God-damn
stupid fucks," and then left the frame).
"Is this serious?" Jack asked.
No one answered.
The door came open and the president returned. His hair was messy, his tie undone and he was holding tight to a
Jack Daniels bottle. He put a hand over Jack's shoulder and said, his breath wrapped in whiskey, "Oh, yes, it's very
serious. Pack up your crap, you and Brian are going Jack-hunting."
Jack looked at Brian. Brian swallowed dry and tried to smile.
"You guys are fucking assholes," cried a voice from onscreen, coming from Second Jack's feed.
___
[**PART 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/62jf1m/infinite_jacks_part_2/)
/r/psycho_alpaca | 2017-03-30T22:12:39 | 2017-03-30T22:08:06 | 3,735 | 202 |
[WP] There is one Ironclad rule in the world: If you have powers, you are probably going to be a Hero or Villain. You have some extremely powerful abilities, but you said you never wanted to be a Hero. Now everybody is convinced you want to be a Villain, and won't stop trying to "save you from evil" | “Wh-what?” My mother stammered those words as she tripped backwards. Collapsed perhaps, was a better way to phrase it. Thankfully, my father was there to break her fall. However, deep inside a part of me wished he hadn’t been, because now the normally larger than life giant of a mother I had was eye level with me…and I could truly see how hurt she was.
“What do you mean, you don’t want to be a hero?” she gasped; her voice so soft the air practically tore through it.
I always knew this day would come, but I’d hoped it’d be in a more comfortable and intimate setting. Even though my mother deserved my full attention, I couldn’t help but steal glances around the room. At least two, no three hundred occupants were in attendance. All inhumanely quiet. So quiet, I could hear my own heart race. I’ve always hated large crowds, but it’s been clear to me for years now no cares for the opinions I have for my own life.
“Well, are you going to answer your mother?” My father chimed in, having finally propped my mother back up.
“I don’t know what there is to explain, I’ve told you repeatedly, I never wanted to be a hero.”
“Well yes, but I thought that was just a rebellious teenage phase!” He exclaimed, before glancing around and whispering to me “Heroism is what we do. Your mother, I, our parents, their parents. We serve an important role in this town. We’ve defended these people from undesirables for centuries”
But I never asked to be born into this responsibility, why can’t you understand that!...That’s what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. Instead, I glanced awkwardly at my own shoes. Like the coward I’ve always been. Me? A Hero? I had much safer, much more normal plans in mind, plans I’d be nervous to explain to them privately, much less in front of the whole town.
“You were just confused for a second, you do want to be hero don’t you” my father prompted. His voice had returned to its proud and loud tone. “Right? Hahahaha”
I continued to glance at my shoes, allowing the room to be swallowed by silence. The more silent it grew, the more interesting the curves and colors of my shoes became.
“Now this is no way to behave at a superpower reveal party! C’mon, let’s be jolly! Dave, stop harassing that girl on her special day. Let’s start slicing up that cake and figure out what this one’s power is!” | "Tuck, we made an appointment for you. Please keep it this time."
I sigh. "Cal, how many times do I have to tell you? Just because I don't want to be a hero, it doesn't mean I want to be a villain. You're not even a family member, how can you make appointments on my behalf?"
Cal smiles. "By pretending to be you?"
"GODDAMMIT, CAL! LEAVE ME ALONE!" I use my camouflage ability to slip away. Cal tries to grab me, but I'm too fast. I then switch from camouflage to flight.
I land at the entrance to a cave. The entrance doesn't exist unless you can phase through matter... like me. I slip through with ease. I check up on my progress, and crack an evil grin.
"Just keep this up for a couple more months, Tuck... then the towns and villages will all be yours..." | 2022-10-04T19:36:26 | 2022-10-04T11:21:00 | 178 | 107 |
[WP] The peaceful humans are inhabiting a beautiful garden world known as Earth. They love sharing their eco-centric technologies with us. And yet, they are extremely ashamed of their ancient history and refuse to talk about it. You, a xenoarcheologist, are determined to find out why | The galactic federation always turned a blind eye to the small little world called Earth. In the grand scheme of things, inhabitants of the world were considered very weak. Humans, as they are called, are bipedal simian like creatures with an extensive capacity for intelligence. They used their intelligence to build significantly complex and effective machinery, and even some cultural concepts that other members in the federation only recently started doing.
But…something doesn’t add up. My species has always believed in figuring out the best possible solution to a problem, or finding the solution in general. Yes, we Tigron are like that. When I began my investigation, I theorized that the humanity we see are actually watered down pacifists, the result of a long and brutal conflict that tore their world apart. My colleagues laugh at me, claiming there’s no evidence.
No evidence, per say, in the historical archives that humans keep though. They have a saying, “history is written by the victors”, and it seems like that was the case. Upon several galactic months of investigating and scanning, I’ve found several major discoveries. The first thing was the topographical evidence of cities. CITIES! But these cities were virtually flattened, and quite possible…scorched. Human technology does rely on nuclear power for a clean and efficient power source, but it could easily be turned into a weapon of mass destruction.
Second piece of evidence is the significant amount of orbital debris. Normally, worlds collect a vast amount of debris naturally, but there is nothing natural about this! Pieces of metal that date back hundreds of years are found floating above Earth’s orbit, and even large pieces of rock, as if they were blown into the atmosphere itself from a catastrophic event.
But the most damning part? I’ve found a vault. An actual vault! Not the ones that the current humans use, but one stored in a barren area once known as “Siberia.” Inside, it was a combat hold, designed for an advanced AI to control and maintain. From here, I managed to find out what humanity had been hiding.
Turns out, Humanity was as vicious and bloodthirsty, if not more, than the Imperial Rothak Legion! They butchered each other over religion, race, or ideals. They were intensely xenophobic, to the point where they designed a military defense AI (designation: Seraph? Maybe?) to help protect them against alien invaders.
Didn’t help them though when they turned on each other. Only a select handful of humans survived the nuclear war that occurred. There was total environmental extinction. The only reason it wasn’t a total extinction was because humanity took DNA samples and kept them in a sort of…time capsule. From there, the survivors were entirely eco focused.
This war happened centuries ago, and they still haven’t fully recovered. Their military technology is on par with the best the Federation has to offer, and this was years ago! I highly encourage we integrate them into the federation, if for nothing else, than not to piss them off. | Out of professional curiosity I did some literal digging and found more questions than answers. It appears an extinction level event occured sometime around the 2nd millennia when lined up with the local Earth AD calendar system. After cross referencing the human biological database, a conclusive match of the most abundant fossils could not be made. It seems that a species of ape had proliferated across the globe but high levels of radiation during that period of history had caused the species to go extict. I presented the discovery to my human liason and questioned how their database could have such an obvious oversight. My liason took a moment to connect to the human main-net then apologized for the mistake. It seems that older records sometimes have mistakes due to legacy technological interfacing. I could check again in a few moments time and the records should be available. My liason apologized again and asked if I would require anything else from before retiring for monthly maintenance. I thanked it and let it know that's all I needed for now. Upon checking the database again the information I wanted was available. It seems these apes were known as sapiens and were unable to adapt to the rapid increase in radiation levels before the hive-mind could stabilize the environment. Another dead end, it seems the search continues... | 2022-10-16T10:25:45 | 2022-10-16T09:48:01 | 99 | 35 |
[WP] The local costumed vigilantes coordinate their schedules so everyone has a chance to brood on the really cool lookout point above the city. | On the roof of Smithson Tower, overlooking the foggy expanse of the city below, five dark heroes stood shoulder to shoulder, regarding the east-facing gargoyle. The great bronze beast was one of four that jutted out of the roof of the tower, one facing each cardinal direction.
Though it was slightly pitted with age, and coated with a faint greenish patina, it was still sleek and fierce-looking, a dark guardian that silently watched over the great metropolis beneath its baleful gaze -- much like the heroes gathered on the roof nearby. It was a grim masterpiece of art deco sculpture.
Or at least, it had been, until someone had placed a Lay-Z-Boy recliner on the broad platform formed by its back and outstretched wings.
"It doesn't even make sense." Shadow Dart complained. "It'll be ruined the first time it rains!"
Night Shrike crouched by the chair, running her black-gloved fingers along its arm. "No, see here? It's been custom-upholstered in some kind of waterproof fabric -- a hydrophobic coating, maybe. Advanced stuff."
"It's still ridiculous. Let's just take it down." Grayknight said, spreading his arms, his charcoal-colored cloak billowing out behind him.
Black Sentinel strode forward and grabbed the back of the chair, looking like he intended to do just that. He set his feet and pulled backwards, to drag the chair onto the roof, then frowned, as it remained in place.
"What the..." the muscular ebon-clad hero muttered. "It's welded down!"
"Don't you have the strength of ten men, or something?" Night Raven asked, folding her arms.
"Yes!" Black Sentinel snapped, defensively. "But I don't want to rip it in half, or damage the gargoyle."
Darkwatch, the eldest of the group, stepped forward, speaking in a deep, authoritative rasp. "So? Why not just leave it."
"Leave it?" Grayknight cried. "No! It ruins the whole...you know, *atmosphere."*
Darkwatch turned to the younger man. "Atmosphere? What do you mean? We all agreed to to stagger our patrols in the area and share this spot, because its an excellent vantage point for recon over the East side of town. How does the chair affect that?"
Grayknight cleared his throat. "Uh, well..."
Black Sentinel spread his arms. "I mean, Darkwatch, I like to scout from up here, too, sometimes, but...you know."
Darkwatch looked between the other heroes. "Apparently I don't."
After a few moments of awkward silence, Night Shrike scoffed. "Oh fine, I'll be the one to say it: we come up here to *brood."*
"What?" Darkwatch said, flatly.
"Yeah!" Shadow Dart affirmed. "I mean, we see and do a lot of messed up crap, in this business, Dark. The daytime heroes, they operate in the open, and tend to have more of a support system. We, well, we have *this."*
"And it's the *perfect* brooding spot." Grayknight agreed.
"Down there, wading through the scum of the earth to protect the city every night -- it takes a toll, man." said Black Sentinel, with a shudder. "You start to feel just...numb."
Night Shrike gestured to the sculpture. "But after a good brooding sesh crouched atop the gargoyle, here, I feel like a dark mistress of the night again, ready to dole out justice from the shadows."
"Me too!" Grayknight agreed. "Well, dark *master* of the night, anyway."
"So obviously, the chair's gotta go." Shadow Dart said, with a firm nod.
The elder hero said nothing for a moment. And then, to the astonishment of the other heroes, he pulled back his cowl and revealed his face.
"Dirk Smithson!" Night Shrike gasped, pointing at him.
"Yes, I'm Dirk Smithson." Darkwatch said, drily, and pointed back at her. "And you're Betty Hauser." The other heroes' jaws dropped as he recited each of their secret identities in turn. "Why so surprised? You all know I was here first, and you know my reputation as an investigator. You really think I'd let you upstarts set up shop in my town without *vetting* you, first?"
"So, wait..." Shadow Dart said, lifting his own mask, and staring at the older hero. "If you're Dirk *Smithson* that means*..."*
"...that I *own* this tower. And by extension, the gargoyle." Darkwatch affirmed, striding past Shadow Dart onto the sculpture's back. He lowered himself smoothly into the incongruous easy chair, and pulled the lever on the side to raise the footrest. "And therefore, my recliner *stays."*
"But...*why?"* Black Sentinel exclaimed, bewildered.
Darkwatch glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "I'm *45,* kid. That means I have 45-year old *knees."*
The old hero put his cowl back in place, then closed his eyes, and folded his hands over his stomach, leaning back in his chair contentedly.
"These days, I prefer to brood with my feet up." | "All right, so Bionis has it on Sunday, he's due to fight with one of his minor league villains then, and will most likely feel bad about something." I made a note on the giant calendar I had hanging in my tiny office. Jamming the phone under my ear, I sighed. "And you're sure he'll be out of there before dinner? Only I have one of the more night-based vigilantes coming around 8 o'clock and I need to make sure the spot is clean." Squawking noises came from the other end of the phone, which I let drop to the end of its cord. I had heard all that outrage before. Bionis' sidekick would go on for about ten minutes, which meant I had time to make a coffee. I almost made it out of the office before the red phone rang. Snatching up the other one, I raised my voice, interrupting the tirade.
"Look! I've heard this and it always ends up in you admitting that while he's messy he can't help it. As long as he's out by dinnertime. Yes, the usual rates apply. Good. See ya." Clicking the phone rather hard into its receiver, where it immediately started ringing, I snatched up the red phone. "Hello. Brook's Co-ordination at your service. What can I help you with—"
"Oh, knock it off, you know who I am. I need the lookout spot cleared pronto. She's really in a mood today."
"Look, you know I can't do that on such short notice." A smile spread across my face. Some might even say it was a slightly evil smile. "Unless of course, you're willing to pay for it." A sigh came from the other side of the line. In the background, I could hear glass smashing, and was that a chainsaw?
"Okay, how much this time? I swear the price goes up every time." Having got the agreement, I named a figure in the high thousands. Getting off the phone, as my cellphone dinged with the wire transfer, I slipped to the other side of the office. There were about four different phones here, each connected to someone very specific. Picking one up, I waited.
"Yeah? What is it?" The voice oozed anger.
"Look, I need you to attack Askerian tonight. The usual fee." There was a pause on the other end before the voice growled a "yes" and hung up. On to the next one. Those two went off without a hitch, but the last one was always the most difficult.
"Hello, dearie what's crack-a-lackin'?" I bit back a sigh. It was always hard to reason with insanity.
"I need you to attack you-know-who tonight. He's got the spot booked up and I have an emergency. Besides, you've been quiet for a while, maybe this would be a fun time?" A low giggle started on the other end of the phone. It grew in intensity until I had to hold it away from my ear. Finally finishing, there was a click from the other end. Great.
Grabbing my coat, I locked the office, ignoring the constant ringing of the phones. Now I had to make sure that the villain actually attacked the vigilante. Being a coordinator wasn't an easy job, but with the market the way it was, well, you take what you can get. | 2022-07-02T10:08:56 | 2022-07-02T07:27:02 | 31 | 17 |
[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. | I came out when the early warning system went off. I have no desire to replace the blast door again. Why can't these assholes just leave me alone? I don't even want to fight them. They never listen, just slapped the villain label on me because of my power.
​
A white streak came over the ocean horizon towards me. Fucking Adonatis. Again. Probably just wants to wreck my shit before tucking tail and running again. He landed right in front of me, covered in blood, cradling his torn up left arm. His eyes were barely able to focus on me. Well, that was unexpected. I didn't even know what to do.
​
"Didn't know where else to go..." he barely squeaked out before collapsing into my arms. He's lucky I got strength from Cratus. Fucker is huge compared to my short skinny ass.
​
"Don't tell me you're finally falling for my freckles and red hair, what the fuck are you doing here?" I was curious what would bring him to my doorstep.
​
"Please, save them. It came from nowhere. I couldn't stop it." His words came out staggered between ragged shallow breaths.
​
"What is it? What happened? Where?"
​
"I... I don't... don't know. Miami. Huge... Killing everyone... Class 5."
​
Well this is concerning. Class 5. A world wide threat. Only theoretical, no one had ever been assigned that rank. What the hell did he think I could do?
​
"You want me to fight this thing in Miami? I can't even fight you off before you trash everything."
​
"Please... you're the only one.." He coughed up some blood before continuing. His eyes finally focusing on me fully.
​
"Do it." His voice hard and confident.
​
Wait, what? Why? He can't mean that. Does he really think I do this shit for fun, because I WANT TO?
​
"You don't mean that. I never wanted any of this. You people never listen."
​
His strength surged and he grabbed me with his functioning right arm by the shoulder.
​
"Just... just do it! FUCK! They're all dying! please... please save them. Save everyone." His vigor was rewarded by a fit of coughing more blood onto me. His shaking intensified.
​
I looked down on him, into his eyes. Searching for his will. He remained focused on me despite his failing body. I had my answer.
​
"Fuck. Your buddies are gonna hate you for this you know." he didn't reply, opting to focus on holding on to me.
​
I took off my helmet, my scarlet hair falling past my shoulders. My power reached out, a thin black mist, no longer sealed within my suit. It found Adonatis. Weak. Vulnerable. Too weak to resist. I never could control my power. It just works, doing it's terrible job without any regard for my feelings, my desires.
​
The feeling of his life draining into me rushed through my whole body. The vitality energizing every fiber of my being. And with it, came his power. His legacy would now be mine. His eyes lost the luster of life and he fell from my arms.
​
Adonatis only had two powers. A minor telekinesis was the first one. By itself it was nothing of note. You could fly slowly with it or pick up some bricks and throw them. His second power was what made him the top hero in the world. Self amplification. Any and every aspect could be strengthened at will to legendary proportions. Toughness, strength, speed, healing rate, his telekinesis, even his thoughts running at a breakneck pace. Not that he ever seemed to use it around me.
​
I had already absorbed over 30 other powers from imbeciles trying to kill me. Decades of life and vitality built up within me by virtue of their own stupidity. I hadn't aged since I got my powers at 20, over 15 years ago.
​
My small island home is off the coast of California. The power I got from Janus only opens portals out to about a mile.
​
I wiped a few tears from my eyes, the dumb idiot making me cry, then dumped Adonatis' power into opening a portal.
​
I stepped through to Miami.
\*\*\*\*\*\*
​
I've added a part two since you guys requested it.
[https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/clreh4/wp\_the\_hero\_shows\_up\_at\_the\_villains\_doorstep\_one/evzjfis/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/clreh4/wp_the_hero_shows_up_at_the_villains_doorstep_one/evzjfis/) | It's been three days now since The Red Mysteryman had arrived at my doorstep. At first I had believed he was onto my latest scheme involving a brilliant heist of diamonds that would fuel a new superweapon and I went to greet him in civvie clothes, hoping to make it seem like nothing was wrong, but no...he just collapsed straight into my arms, just like that.
I couldn't take him to the hospital. They'd believe I did this to him, call other capes in and I'd recieve yet another ass kicking. So I brought him to my spare bedroom and called good ol' Doctor Igor to help nurse him back to health. Looks like a monster, that man, but let nobody ever doubt his skills with medicine.
Making my way upstairs to the bedroom, having noticed on the security camera that he was moving about on his own, I felt a thousand questions run through my mind. But best to focus on the most important one: Why. Why come to me. Surely he could've gone to a hospital?
I unlock the door and am greeted by the now vulnerable superhero wearing pajamas falling into my arms once more.
"Thank you thank you thank you..." He mutters on repeat. Raising an eyebrow I push him off of me and set him down on the bed.
"Look Robert...yea I know your secret identity nowadays, so...Robert...you know I've been trying to kill you for ages and now you come here to me for aid. Why?" I ask, trying to remain cool and distant.
"I...I didn't know where else to go."
"How about the hospital? There's one not that far away. Or do you not have healthcare insurance? Pretty stupid not to have that in our lines of work..."
He shakes his head and looks down. "That's not it...it's just...they'd ask questions."
Oh now this I just HAVE to hear. I sit down on the bed next to him and lay an arm on his shoulder. Carefully, he's still in some amount of pain. "What, something embarassing happen? Fell down some stairs? Got beaten up by a D-lister?"
"No, that's not it." He shakes his head and despite my attempts at humor - some of which he even used to laugh at in the past - he keeps looking scared.
"Look, you can tell me anything. Nothing I hear will shock me, I've seen and probably done it all anyway."
Finally a bit of a chuckle. "Heh, I guess so. Well, you know Grim Revenger?"
"That vigilante prick? Yea, he damn near put me in a coffin a few times. The hell did you do to piss him off this badly?"
Another silence. And once again I have to prompt him to tell me, but this time he just shakes his head.
"Alright, I'll just ask him myself. I've been keeping quiet for a while now, he won't hurt me."
"No, wait..." He holds on to my wrist as I get up. "Okay, look, I fucked up, alright? My daughter...she's 10 now, and I couldn't keep my hands off of her after that tease Silver Bombshell kept ignoring me..."
...
It's hard work, digging a hole. Perhaps I should've thrown him to the sharks or into a vat of acid. But we've had so many memories together, the one dignity he deserves is a bit of a burial.
And as I close the hole, I think about my own daughter. She too is about ten years old by now. Perhaps I should turn straight. Give myself a chance to be a good father for her.
But first, one last big heist to pull off. | 2019-08-03T20:47:52 | 2019-08-03T19:48:56 | 1,376 | 831 |
[WP] A thief steals a car only to find a dead body stashed in the trunk with a note that says "Tag, you're it." | "Yes," I told him. "$10,000 to steal that car for me." I'd sent him a photo of the vehicle earlier and told him where to find it.
Sam's gravely voice on the other end was skeptical. "That car ain't even worth 10k." I think his name was Sam, at least. It's hard to keep them all straight.
"Not your concern," I told him. "I just want the car, and I want it delivered to 1821 North Allen Rd. And I don't want any evidence in the car. You make sure you have gloves on."
"Your money, man," he said. Sam wasn't stupid. He'd know that it wasn't about the car; it was about the contents. Nobody cared about some rusty Honda Accord abandoned in an old parking lot that seemed like it had been there for weeks. This was a delivery job, not a boost job. Probably drugs, or drug money. Those are both common in this neighborhood. I was *counting* on Sam to put two and two together, and also to get a little greedy.
I took up my position in the abandoned office building across the street, pulling down the massive "For Lease" sign to get a better view. It was faded after at least a year of sun exposure in the window; no one wanted to rent this dump. I had my night-vision binoculars and a folding lawn chair for a front-row seat of the action.
A car pulled up at 12:31 AM, very conspicuous in this utterly deserted part of town. A bit late, given that I'd told him to have it at the dropoff by 1. Not that I really cared whether he was late. He would never make it in the first place. I took out my phone.
"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"
"He...hello? Please, you need to send someone immediately! I just heard screaming! Horrible screaming, like a girl dying! I think it's a carjacking!"
Across the street, my associate had reached the car he was supposed to steal. He circled it, peering into windows with a flashlight. My heart skipped a beat when he looked into the passenger side, but he moved on without a second glance.
"Calm down, Sir. What's your location?"
"The corner of Medton Street and 21st Avenue! Please, send someone immediately."
"Just stay calm. Officers are on the...." I hung up.
Sam looked around, checking for any potential witnesses. He looked straight at the building across the street, where I was lurking three stories up. But he had absolutely no idea I was watching, thankfully. He went to the driver's side door of the car and tugged at the door. Locked, of course. Don't want to make things too easy on him, do we? He hunched over it, blocking my view, and managed to get the door open in under a minute. Pretty impressive! I was worried he might resort to breaking the glass, but he was a pro. I knew I'd picked the right man for the job; he had a long rap-sheet of break-ins.
The key was already in the ignition. This was definitely a surprise for him. I watched him hold it up and study it closely in the dim light from the street lamps, as if trying to determine if this *really was* the key to this particular car. Of course it was!
In the distance, I could hear approaching sirens. Could Sam hear them? Would he even care? It's not an uncommon sound in these parts. And he had no reason to think they were coming for him.
Sam circled around to the trunk, and I got jittery with anticipation. This was the fun part. I could clearly see his broad smile as he prepared to assess the loot, and maybe skim a bit off the top. Who would notice a kilo or two of drugs, or one more stack of bills missing from an entire trunkload?
He popped it open. I could almost hear the rusty whine of the hinges. I opened Snapchat on my phone and typed out the message. His flashlight clicked on, and he looked down. I hit "send," and saw the phone in the trunk light up. Then Sam backed away from the car.
He was looking at the body of one Amanda Martin, stabbed multiple times earlier this evening. Precisely calculated wounds to ensure that she was still alive when she went into that trunk. Wounds that would keep bleeding for over an hour, until she expired right around 12:31. If she was a fighter, she could still be clinging to life! I'd planned for that, of course: any attempt to remove her from the trunk would slide a blade right down her wrist, finishing the job once and for all. The message on the phone only read "Tag, you're it." One last taunt that would disappear in just a few seconds.
Right on time, the police swung around the corner, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Three cars roared over the curb and came to a screeching halt to surround Sam and the car. I saw him drop to his knees as officers rushed from their cars, caught sight of the body, and unholstered their weapons. A closer inspection of the car would reveal a bloody knife and a half-written ransom note. Probably enough to convict Sam, given that he'd be saddled with some overworked public defender who'd immediately write him off as a lost cause.
I quietly packed up my belongings as more police arrived and made my way to the parking lot of the office building. I climbed into my own car and slowly pulled onto the street. I was far enough from the crime scene now to escape unnoticed, but more police attention might soon make that difficult.
It's a shame, too. Sam had seemed like a nice enough kid. Better than the other patsies I'd used. But bodies had to be disposed of, and the best way to do that is to ensure that no one was even looking for them.
----
If you enjoyed the story, you should also check out my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell!
| “The fuck,” I whisper, reading note.
*Tag, you’re it*
It’s tapled to the clothes of the body, written in clear red letters. Possibly blood. Upon closer inspection, definitely blood.
But that isn’t even the weirdest thing. It’s the body it’s attached too. It’s me, or at least looks like it. Same skin tone, build, hair style. Hell, it even has on the same clothes as me.
I glance behind me, half-expecting to find a crazed psychopath with a chainsaw waitingt. Nah, that only happens in the movies. This is real life. At least, as real as it can be with a dead clone of myself in the trunk.
Closing the trunk with a solid thud, I sneak around to the front of the car. I’m still vigil, looking to and fro for any signs of movement. A sneaking suspicion in my core tells me I’m not alone. When I open the driver’s side, I began to think the notion wasn’t so crazy.
A note is attached to the steering wheel, waiting for me in the same blood ink. I pick like a delicate flower, only using my thumb and index finger. When I read it, I grimace.
*You’ll never catch me*
I spin around, my blood boiling. Who the fuck is doing this?
“Hey,” I yell into the woods. “Why don’t you come out of hiding and stop acting like a little bitch!”
No response, as expected.
Clenching and releasing my fists rhythmically, I give up and slide into the car. Better to get away from whatever’s going on than stay and find out.
The drive is tense, to say the least. It’s midnight or later – I can’t tell, on account of the car’s clock being broken. I curse. It would be my luck to get a dud car along with having to deal with weirdos. But it doesn’t matter now, I have to get rid of the body.
There’s a thump. It’s loud enough to be heard but soft enough to ignore. After all, I am driving on some back road in the middle of nowhere. Bumpy roads are a given.
Another thump. But this time it’s louder.
And closer.
Something is hitting against my seat, jostling me. I take in a deep breath. There wasn’t anyone in the car with me when I started it up. Not to my knowledge, at least. So who the hell is back there?
Once I muster up enough courage, I glanc into the rearview mirror. At first, I can’t see anything. It’s hazy, thick with condensation as if someone had breathed on it. Taking my sleeve, I wipe the sheet of water away to get a clearer look.
In the reflection, I see a face – my face. But not me, the dead clone. It sits in the back seat, a sadistic smile painted on its face. It kicks the back of my seat, showing its blood-stained teeth. Before I can even yell, it lunges forward.
I hit the brakes. Apparently, not fast enough though. I’m on direct collision with a tree. The car slams into it, metal and plastic groaning at the force. My body flies forward, hitting the steering wheel hard. Something cracked. I feel something warm and wet flowing from my head – blood. The next second, I lose consciousness.
***
I awake to darkness. There’s nothing around me but inky blackness. I try to move but my limbs ignore my brain, staying at my sides. I can’t even blink. It’s like my body is paralyzed, totally useless and vulnerable. I want to call out for help yet nothing escapes my lips. I fear the worse. This must be death.
But like a beacon in the distance, a horizontal sliver of light appears. It spreads, consuming me with its radiance. I embrace it, welcoming anything but the dark. Yet, when my eyes adjust, I feel myself grow cold.
The person standing above me is me – just like I had been before the wreck. He looks shocked but then his expression changes to a creased brow. He says something out loud, as if reading the words.
“Tag, you’re it?” | 2015-05-15T07:05:55 | 2015-05-15T07:05:26 | 1,151 | 183 |
[WP] Everything is going fine at the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse until Mickey is found dead. Trying to investigate, the gang learns a lot of horrifying things Mickey has been hiding from them. | Minnie found Mickey lying face down in his bedroom late one night. The news shocked all of us, but Pluto was hit the hardest. Poor dog would barely eat for two weeks. Needless to say, we wanted to figure out exactly what had caused the death of our beloved friend, so we began to investigate.
First we checked his room. But we couldn't find any leads, so we all went to bed. But I couldn't sleep, so I decided to look in there one more time. I wasn't as thorough this time, but I had discovered something that had previously gone unnoticed: a photograph.
It was located at the bottom of his underwear drawer, and after seeing it, I knew why. It was a photo of Mickey and a little mouse. She looked to be about five, maybe six years old. Micky was hugging her and kissing her on the mouth. I put it in my pocket as evidence and decided to look for more.
There was nothing in his other drawers, or anywhere for that matter. But I still couldn't sleep, so I looked to his book shelf for something to read. One book in particular caught my eye: "How to Attract Young Mice." Its title caught me by surprise, so I grabbed it. But upon doing so, I was transported to a secret room. In the room, there were monitors, boxes, and more. On the monitors I could see all my friends sleeping. I could see the bathroom, and the front and back yards. I was shocked to find that Mickey had been spying on us. As far as I know, no one else had known it. In the boxes, there were more photos and more books. The photos were much more graphic. Some were nudes, some were of people incapacitated. I was absolutely perplexed by my findings.
Some of the books had… interesting titles, such as “Taboo Recipes,” “How to Get Away with Certain Crimes,” and “Drugging 101,” just to name a few. I was furious, but tried hard to not jump to conclusions. Upon opening “Taboo Recipes,” I found recipes containing mouse, dog tail, and kangaroo semen. I was disgusted, and threw the book on the floor.
In some other boxes, I found drugs, ropes, belts, paddles, booze, and chemicals. More shock and disgust.
After shifting through more and more, and after finding more and more strange and horrible things, I looked to what I thought was a closet. On the contrary, it was a huge room containing several little rodents tied up and blindfolded. They appeared to be sleeping at first, but I wasn’t sure. There was a large erotic painting on the far side of the room, and a sign that read, “My Children,” to my right. I wondered if Mickey had fathered them all, but there were too many for that to be sensible. But I still wasn’t sure.
I untied and took the blindfold off of one of them, and asked how she ended up here. Her eyes had been removed from her head. I was speechless, and quickly moved away. I untied and removed the blindfolds from several more eyeless young mice.
I ran out, back to my friends, and told them about what I’d seen. They didn’t believe me, but they followed me to the room anyway.
The horror. The horror. The horror.
| The blood pooled around mickeys head, a bloody gash crossing from his pointy nose, across his wide always-smiling mouth to his chin. Poor Minnie Mouse never recovered when she found him. Said she didn’t scream, just lay down next to him.
The clubhouse “moderators” as they were called, reached the scene 2 hours after the body entered rigor mortis. The gash was deep but there was no sign of the weapon- and the case marked “unsolved”, the clubhouse machine restarted.
It was Pluto who came to them first. Turns out the dumb dog was quite literally dumb. Not through any birth defect however, rather the careful use of a cauterising iron and a rather large pair of scissors- and a specially designed implant giving him some degree of communication- just enough to torture him as Mickey laughed at him , whimpering, alone.
Mickey’s name remained untouched however.
“Dog could always be lying couldn’t he”
“Our mickey would never do that; Pluto just wants some more attention”
The case remained unsolved. Over time mickeys house broke down, much like Minnie’s mental state. The second clue turned up then. A demolition crew hit a concrete soundproofed room. Inside was a table, and a dog sized chair.
Next to them, a comically wide pair of scissors, wide as Mickeys smile as Pluto tore his face open, from his nose to his throat, crossing that wide, wide smile. | 2018-01-20T18:56:22 | 2018-01-20T17:32:03 | 54 | 16 |
[WP] A strange-looking man arrives at court with a strange device and challenges the king and his entire guard simultaneously to a duel for control of the kingdom. Scoffing, the king accepts, telling his guards to charge at him. The strange man simply laughs and raises his AK-47. | Time travel had been harder than Charlie expected. When he'd found his way here, their language hadn't made any sense, and he didn't know anything about growing anything, which was apparently all these pathetic primitive excuses for human beings ever did. So he'd had to work in the fields to get enough to eat, until he could figure out where he was, much less who was king. But after this long, he had finally made it. He had found the big kahuna, and he would take him down. He would have his satisfaction. He fired from the hip, sweeping left to right:
​
TAKTAKTAK-tink
​
As the bolt slammed forward, it caught a shell that hadn't yet finished ejecting. A stovepipe jam. AK-47 are famously reliable guns, known especially for being completely indestructible, and working, year in and year out, without adequate maintenance, or parts. Or so said the man at the gun store. That's why he'd picked it. However, when he went to pick up ammo for it, the man at the counter had recommended a expensive, military-style ammo can. Charlie had thought it was pretty obvious he was being ripped off, and instead picked up a few cardboard boxes filled with perfectly decent looking ones that were way cheaper.
​
This was a mistake. AK47s are exceptionally reliable.
​
Cheap ammunition, hidden under a pile of damp hay for months was not.
​
Charlie stared at his gun for a moment, before the king's guard proceeded to neatly remove his head from his shoulders.
​
Still, Charlie would go down in history in his own way. One guards had died, the rounds flying straight through him, armor and all, and embedding themselves in the stone wall behind. The potential demonstrated by the weapon was clear to the king. After handing it off to a alchemist sponsored by his court, and his own blacksmith, its secrets began to be unraveled. The alchemist spoke of similar weapons, rare and expensive, that he had seen when he educated himself in Italy, though none could fire more than once. The blacksmith marveled at its construction, the tiny, flawless pegs that held it together. He tried to understand the way such supremely flawless steel could be forged.
​
When the king had heard that this gun could perhaps have fired thirty times, he had been humbled. The fear that another might appear, in the hands of another disgruntled peasant kept him awake day and night, until he made the decision to ensure that even if this happened, they wouldn't want him dead. Taxes grew more lenient. The king began a tradition of hearing advice and grievances from village leaders once a season. And when he had the chance, he jumped at the chance to acquire some, only to discover that they were completely inferior to the design he had seen himself.
​
So he had declared that his kingdom would craft a "musket" to equal this one. So he put out the call, for any alchemist, blacksmith, artisan, or watchmaker to come to his kingdom. Over the years, the weapon was worn down, but not from war. From Science. Chemicals tested by the alchemists scorched the firing chamber. The barrel became covered with nicks, dings, dents and gouges and cuts whenever the blacksmiths wanted more metal to test their own alloys against. The firing mechanisms began to rust, as their protective plantings were worn off by the assembly, disassembly, inspection, and handling of a generation of watchmakers.
​
But as what had become the first assault rifle died, the kingdom was reborn. In a strange way, Charlie and his AK had shown them what industry could do, if they worked at it. Thanks to Charlie, the industrial revolution began in Germany, almost 50 years before it spread to England. A rifled, breechloading, cartridge-loaded gun was developed and produced as early as the 18th century, though it only saw middling success. Bluing, a way of protecting steel from corrosion, was developed earlier, and steel of a reliably high quality was available years earlier.
​
His actions didn't lead to a totalitarian world government in the 20th century. Nor did they lead mankind into a era of peace. His name would appear in no history books, not even those of the Kingdom. But to the happy artisans of a little Germanic state that had been sure to put itself ahead of the curve, thanks to him, he had made all the difference.
​
​
​ | Mike knew he had everyone fooled. One against 20? This was pitiful, and he would surely be obliterated.
As the guards charged, a shot rang out. It pierced the ears of the guards, they felt the sound waves ripple off their skin. They all froze.
No one fell, Mike shot upwards.
"What are you waiting for? KILL HIM!" the king's voice boomed as if he were trying to match the volume of the gun.
Three guards raised their swords and charged towards Mike.
Mike didn't hesitate, the shots rang out in a symphony that could be heard beyond the thick wooden doors of the main hall.
The bullets ripped through the metal plating as if it were wet paper. As their blood pooled on the ground, a few guards dropped their swords and ran. A few remained frozen in place.
"Look, I can do this all day. You might as well give up now." Mike thought it was a reasonable point.
The king disagreed.
"COWARDS! I'll deal with him myself!" The king drew his longsword and pointed it at Mike. "Have you any final words, knave?"
Mike sighed, he really thought it was going to be a quick scare and secure. He knew killing the king meant every guard in the hold would be looking for him. He had no choice. He had to make an example of the king.
The king lunged and Mike pulled the trigger. The king's head exploded and his blood splattered on the tapestry behind him.
Enraged, the remaining guards shouted for assistance and several more guards began entering and drawing their swords.
With each swing of a sword came a bullet, and a dead guard. Most guards fled as their comrades were slain, until Mike stood face to face with the last guard with enough nerve to stand between him and the throne.
Mike leveled his rifle at him.
"If you wanna live, run."
"I should think myself a better man than to run from a coward. Your strange weapon is dishonorable and it brings nothing but shame to you and yours."
"Fine. Have it your way." Mike squeezed the trigger. *click*
The guard winced, but quickly gathered himself and lunged at Mike, slashing him across the chest.
"Not so powerful now, art thou?" The guard chortled.
Mike fell backwards, and rose. His shirt was ripped, revealing his thick kevlar vest.
Again the guard charged, but was struck in the head by the empty magazine Mike threw.
It broke his nose and blood gushed out, further enraging the guard.
He immediately charged again and swung from over his head. Mike held his rifle horizontally to block the swing.
As the blade made contact with the gun, it made contact with Mike's head. He hadn't held it high enough. Blood spilled from the gash and Mike collapsed.
The guard sighed heavily and sheathed his sword, giving Mike a kick to ensure he was dead. He was.
The king's son took the throne and over time, everyone had forgotten about the maniac who slaughtered 25 men and murdered the king. | 2018-11-06T18:39:13 | 2018-11-06T15:19:06 | 133 | 54 |
[WP] Every time you die, your power brings you back a bit stronger. As you slowly become less and less human, the other heroes become more wary of you. Today, for the first time, you were mistakenly attacked as a monster…and no one is coming to help. | I can remember the first time I died. A villain by name of The Black Crow grabbed Me and flew fourteen or fifteen feet in air.
"Please don't!" I begged him. He only laughed as he let me go. I remember the feeling of my soul wanting to enter the afterlife but my body wouldn't allow it.
I woke up only to see that I had grown angel like wings on my back. That was when I realized what my power was.
Each time I died my body would adapt to how I was killed. I died by falling, sliced in half, killed by multiple attackers, drowned, shot in head from behind. Then I grew wings, Skin became more durable, I grew multiple limbs, gills and multiple eyes.
My fellow heros would keep there distance from me. I always had the feeling that they were planning on getting rid of me. Did they not understand that I was a hero just like them?
My latest death I tried to stop the villain Armageddon. He was capable of creating a nuclear blast around himself. He was going to blow up a small town in Kansas. I saved all of the citizens but not myself. I could've saved myself but...I was curious on what my next power could be.
After Armageddon exploded I emerged from the ashes. I had grown to ten feet, grown claws to dig myself out of rubble. Skin became more durable than it had ever been. I was also gained to fire a beam from my mouth.
As returned to check on citizens they cowered in fear me.
Now for first time the people called me "A Monster."
After everything I have done for them this is how they treat me?!
Day after day heros would try to take me down but none of them were ever a match for me. I never killed them despite everything they were still my comrades.
That all changed one day. The hero known as The Anywhere Man came to stop. "I'm sorry," the only thing he said to me. He then jumped towards me and teleported the both of us into space. He teleported himself back to Earth, but as you know I didn't die that day either.
I crash landed on the planet Mars. Where I met a bunch of green skinned small aliens call The Veek. They were being attacked by another alien species called The Ravaka.
I saved them from there and slavers and they welcomed me with open arms.
Now I finally found a place where I belong. I will continue to be a hero to this world. Because I am The Unyielding. | I sit in the middle of the battlefield, surrounded by the corpses of my fallen enemies. I am battered and bruised, but I will not give up. I have fought and died countless times, but each time I come back a little bit stronger.
The other heroes fear me now, and rightly so. I am no longer human, but something else entirely. A force to be reckoned with.
Today, for the first time, I was attacked by my fellow heroes. They mistook me for a monster, and I was forced to fight for my life.
Now, I am all alone, surrounded by enemies on all sides.
But I will not give up. I will not die.
I am the Colossus, and I will rise again. | 2022-08-26T11:35:05 | 2022-08-26T06:59:02 | 191 | 100 |
[WP] Last words aren't just words spoken before death, but actually call death to you. You have known your last words for years and kept death at bay by refusing to speak them. Now, however, they need to be said. | Deep down in secret, I'd always been a selfish person. I was hailed as a hero that night on the rooftop I stopped a girl from jumping to her death. Only she and I know I was only there to jump myself.
Drunk off my ass, I'd stumbled against the heavy metal bar at the top of the stairs. Surprisingly, it'd opened. They say a bucket of cold water to the face helps you sober up, but the blast of wind and rain that almost knocked me down ten flights of stairs only served to confuse me further. I must've been quite the sight, clutching the cheap wooden railing in a fetal position for half a minute before crawling outside on my hands and knees.
It was terrifyingly beautiful that night. Raindrops swirled all around, blurring my vision of the city lights that dotted the landscape like a sea of stars. The wind had drowned out both the noise and the smell of the city. It chilled me to the bone, goosebumps forming on my tomato-red skin as I made my way to the edge of the roof. There was a figure waiting there.
"Are you here to stop me?" She asked. She sounded small. Probably the victim of some bullying. She was a mousy young woman with short hair and thick glasses. The rain dyed her cashmere sweater a dark red and plastered it to her frail body. By all means, she should've crumpled against the elements, but she stood strong, as if she didn't even feel the wind.
"No. Just here for the view." I lied. I don't know what it was at the time. Did sharing a death with a random stranger really bring me such unease? I racked my pounding head for a moment of clarity.
"You're a bad liar. Do you what you have to say before you jump?" She asked, whipping out a smartphone. Samsung Galaxy S7. Well, at least she wasn't bullied for her choice of phone.
"What? Geronimo? Death from above? I believe I can fly?" I asked, drawing a small smile from her despite the depressing circumstances.
"Your last words. If you jump without saying them, you'll live, but probably be paralyzed for life. Here, just scan your finger," She loaded up an app and I slapped my entire hand onto her phone, almost knocking it out of her hands.
"Sorry, a little ineb- a lil inebri- I'm drunk." I explained, steading myself on her shoulder. A little loading screen popped up, and three words flashed on the screen. I laughed.
"That's stupid. So you mean if I never say that, I'll live forever?" I snorted. She nodded.
"Unique to each person." She sneezed. It seemed she wasn't immune to the elements after all.
"That's fine. I'm kind of a selfish person. Hey, wanna get down from here? I have, like, three whole bags of spicy ramen in my apartment that I should probably finish before dying." My stomach rumbled.
"Yeah. Ramen sounds nice about now." She said. And that was how I met my wife.
Ten years later, our country fell to segregation. Groups that believed the Last Words app was wrong had turned to military activism, and were going around killing those they suspected of using it. It was a real witch hunt, with many innocents falling victim to the slaughter.
I was cooking breakfast when they broke into our house. The oily smell of bacon and eggs permeated the atmosphere, and all was quiet save for the sizzling of the pan. Suddenly, *BANG*! Our front door imploded on the first strike as a group of masked figures broke in and seized my wife, who'd been watching the news on the couch. She didn't struggle.
I put the pan down and walked out to them, hands raised. Their leader- or at least the tallest psycho among them- held a gun to her head. "We have it on good authority that the Last Words app was used in this household."
I nodded. Deep down in secret, I'd always been a selfish person. "That's right. But she just borrowed my phone. She doesn't know what it is. It's me you want." I swallowed, then said my Last Words. "Take me instead."
_________________________________________
[more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) | I walk out of the eternal drizzle that is London in winter; into the brilliant fluorescence of the hospital. Once my eyes adjust to the light I round the oval reception desk giving the nurse a polite smile of suffering as she took in my drenched clothes. I call the lift down when the disconcerting thud hits my chest, putting a hand to the wall to steady myself I wait until 10 fingers become 5 again "not yet you bastard" I grumble hoarsely.
Shuffling between wards I come to an almost abandoned wing where the lights dim, a portly African lady smiles sadly as she recognises me approach. "Hey Jess how's he doing?" I enquire.
"Stable but he's awfully weak Mr Dedman..." she trails off with heavy implication
"Sigh...thanks Jess have a nice evening" I say whilst shuffling through the doors and sliding back the curtain hiding my dad's unconscious figure.
I shrug off my soaking coat and hang it on the back of the visitor chair and spend a few minutes pulling the dead leaves off the flowers next to dads bed. Basically stalling, you'd think after having death sitting on my shoulder all these years I'd be more prepared for this. But the simple fact is no one WANTS to die and there's something impossibly cruel about making a sentient being with a comprehension of the eternity of death to decide when they die.
My dads been in this bed ever since we got into a car accident a few years ago, I lost control during a storm and we spun out off a steep country road. At that moment death appeared before me; a sickly skeletal figure who offered me an unforgivable ultimatum. Either I live and my dad would never wake up again so essentially die OR we both die. Shit what would you have done? Is what I ponder as I stroke the long, streaky grey hair out of my dads eyes.
Death offered me a sickening back out clause of sorts, once I utter a specific two words then we will both die, neither of us will die until these words are uttered. However we both should have died at that moment so our health will get progressively worse until I pull the trigger so to speak. Its been 4 years and I now black out regularly and living is hellish both physically and emotionally.
I draw a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment, listening to the patter of rain against the window and to the mechanical beeps of equipment. Then I embrace dad in a hug and whisper into his ear "I'm sorry" at that moment I see him, in the reflection in the window; and then all is black. | 2017-08-07T09:57:07 | 2017-08-07T09:16:02 | 93 | 44 |
[WP] in your world it's a fact if life that legends never die. Why you saw Julius at the bar once and bought him a beer in exchange for a selfie. You've suddenly found you can't die yourself but for the life of you, you can't figure out what you did that made you a legend. | There was something different about the immortals. They walked with an extra regalness in their steps. There was no hesitation in any movement. Power behind every word.
“A Cosmopolitan, please,” Julius Caesar said to the bartender, who nodded in awe.
He was as imposing as the legends told. He at once sat with the lithe awareness of a cat, but at complete ease like he owned the place. Sharp eyes glanced around the room, and subtle nods acknowledged every other pair that stared straight at him. Though the bald spot on his head was the prominent feature, none dared to look away from his piercing gaze.
For how could they? They were in the presence of a mythical presence. Somebody who’s been blessed by the gods themselves to remain on this Earth, as reward for their extraordinary achievements as a mortal. The dictator perpetuo had succeeded—and earned his divine right to sit, drink, and do whatever he damn well pleased.
Basically, somebody entirely different from a normal man like Derek, who nervously sat beside Caesar. The former general raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Caesar,” Derek said. “Big fan of yours.”
A subtle smirk came over Caesar’s face. He reached his hand out on the empty counter, right as the bartender placed it there. With cunning sleight, the thin glass found its way into the Roman’s fingers, who took a sip, and a satisfied sigh.
“Why wouldn’t you be?”
“You are right, you are right,” Derek said. “I just wanted to… get a selfie, if that’s alright? ”
Caesar’s raised eyebrow grew a couple of millimeteres, before a small, rumbling chuckle emerged from him.
The rest of the bar stared at this exchange, an air of disbelief filtering into the atmosphere. There was something happening here. Something momentous. As if Caesar now found himself before the Rubicon once more.
“A picture with me,” Caesar said. “And what do I get?”
Derek shuffled in his seat. His hand moved towards his wallet, patting it slightly, and tried to remember just how much money was in it.
“I think I can only afford a beer,” he said, sheepishly hanging his head.
Caesar laughed, a throat, clutch-your-chest and slap-your-thigh guffaw. Derek’s head slowly rose, watching the commotion with increasing despair.
“Stupid,” he muttered. “I’m just some guy. Of course Caesar’s going to say—”
“Yes! I admire your courage,” Caesar laughed. Then, he turned somber, looking to the distance. “You remind me of a dear friend. Shame that he’s not here with me.”
“Seriously! Thank you so much,” Derek cried, hastily bringing out his phone.
A father and son, sat in a booth seat in the corner, with tears running down their face, watching something historic unfold between their eyes.
“Look, son. There’s a legend.”
“Who’s that, dad? Who’s that?”
“The most humble man alive,” the father smiled. “Derek.”
---
r/dexdrafts | "Hey Julius, what's up?"
"Oh hi, long time no see! Wanna grab a coffee?"
"Sure!"
You both order, and sit down. As usual, you have 1 sugar and 1 cream. Julius has some sort of seasonal drink.
"So how's life been recently?" Julius asks. "It's been pretty good! I actually was hoping to run into you, I wanted to ask you about something." you respond, getting straight to the point. "I've recently noticed that I'm immortal. I'm 60, but don't look a day over 35. Do have any idea what might've happened?"
Julius thinks about this for a bit. "Could it be that time you saved the pope from that bear?"
"I doubt it, it's not like he would've died anyway, all I saved him was a hospital stay"
"Maybe it was... what was it you told me about last year? That efficiency gain with the car?"
"I found a way to get 2% higher MPG on the car I'm helping design. I don't think that's it either. It's only 2%, people find gains like that every year or so."
"Well Dave," Julius says, "I have no idea why you're a legend." | 2022-04-20T08:37:20 | 2022-04-20T07:47:04 | 440 | 114 |
[WP] You have been striving for years to commit the elusive “Perfect Crime” for the fame of it. You steal the Mona Lisa and replace it with a fake. You leave a taunting note and wait for the panic when it is discovered. But, 2 years later, no one has noticed. | Each day without an answer was another one spent in agony. I could feel Mona Lisa, carefully wrapped, sealed, and hidden, smiling at me. That cool, coy smile. The kind of smile you'd make watching a kid drop their ice cream on the sidewalk.
It had been five days since I'd broken and emailed the Louvre.
"Dear Louvre," I began, "You probably missed the note. Understandable. I wouldn't put it past your exemplary custodial service to toss a slip of paper on sight. Maybe you thought it was a joke. Again, understandable, but also a bit concerning. Wouldn't a slight doubt warrant a quick double-check, just in case? As an avid museum-goer I would hope so. In either case, my note wasn't garbage and certainly not a joke. I have your Mona Lisa and I will not part with it for anything less than 800 million U.S. dollars. Please get in touch as soon as you can. Cheers."
But there was no response. I sat at my computer, surrounded by cans of tuna and warm beer, refusing to move an inch, except to pee and do morning stretches. My hair was a matted mess. My teeth had been stained by mercury and tobacco. My clothes felt limp and sour.
I was halfway through Tron one evening - or morning, difficult to know - when a notification popped up on my screen. It was them. The title said RE: YOUR NOTE.
I clicked.
"Dear museum-goer," it started, "We did indeed receive your letter. You misspelled *consequences*, by the way. Although your effort was noted, we must regretfully inform you that we are unable to retrieve the Mona Lisa for your price. We encourage you to keep the painting as a token of the hard work and skill required to pull off your caper, as we do all of the other 'museum-goers' that have stolen our previous Monas. The real one was stolen sometime around 1838. We just haven't gotten around to updating the official website. Best of luck in your future endeavors. Au revoir."
I closed my email and hit play. Tron and Flynn were flying across the digital plane on their solar sailer, just to be yelled at by a giant face. | I wrote a note and planted a seed.
I left it where a trained eye would be.
But even still years have passed
No one has noticed behind its thick glass
With precise skill to fool the best
I replaced her image with something less.
Mona Lisa your smile is not your own
It belongs here, safe in my home
Hanging in sight, because nobody would guess
They'd say "It's probably a fake just like the rest".
| 2018-04-18T21:04:53 | 2018-04-18T19:44:08 | 509 | 35 |
[WP] Whenever your crew lands you are seen as gods with wonderous machines before drifting off some where else. But today you are met with a species on a green-blue planet who, while interested in your tech, are not bowing down and worshiping. They call themselves humans. | First contact is always risky. Loremasters will tell you its the most dangerous phase of the assimilation. Some sentients are just prone to violence and are difficult to pacify. But most are overwhelmed by awe, confusion and doubt. This most often turns to worship.
Our tech is so far beyond the sentients we’ve contacted; so far first contact has simply been easy. Even the few who resisted were quickly neutralized. All but one were eventually subdued and brought into the fold.
We only had to exterminate the bipedal’s from Exodus. Strange that of all the sentients we’ve subjugated that’s the only one which we still use their name for the planet. Perhaps it’s a way of separating that trying time and species from the proper order of things. The Loremasters tell us they were an anomaly.
It’d been a traumatizing event for my people. But Exodus was inhabited by the most violent, and unfortunately advanced sentients. They were also completely and utterly intransigent. Never once were they willing to listen to reason. We overcame their organized resistance but the occupation did not go well. They lied incessantly, told us they would cooperate and then stabbed us in the back. Part of the planet was always in revolt. They killed with no compunction, no mercy. They rallied around the bizarre idea of liberty.
But we were there to bring them into the order of things. They thought they had a choice, they did not. We could have given them peace and order.
In the end, after twenty cycles, we were forced to end their resistance. The planet was sterilized, and we moved on. But the legend, and shadow, of that trying time follows us still.
That was 100 cycles ago, we’ve assimilated another twenty sentients in that time.
But now we are approaching our next mission, entering a system with eight major planets. Two are inhabited. The third from the medium sized yellow star is the home world. The barren fourth planet is heavily colonized, as is the asteroid belt and a few moons circling the two large gas giants.
It’s been 100 cycles since we’ve encountered sentients that had colonized their system. Those had been bipedal as well. Those had sorely tested my people. Those had in fact come close to defeating us, closer than the Loremasters will say. Those had lived on a watery world called Exodus.
That is eerily familiar, it is disturbing and bodes ill. If those were all the similarities I might be heartened, I might be less concerned. My foreboding would not be so heavy.
There are more similarities. In fact the Loremasters are almost certain they are a related species. And these are more advanced. We have no answer for how that might be. I counseled caution, perhaps we should skip this system, blockade it. I was over ruled, but the questions remain.
These Humans from their planet Earth, how are they related to the creatures from Exodus? They do not posses interstellar capability, though they may be close. It vexes us deeply, some are trying to ignore it, or deny it, or ask for more proof. That is folly, our protocols are not ready for this first contact.
They are already reacting to us, and have been for fifty of their years, 1 of our cycles. A small fleet moves to intercept our ship. It is heavily armed with an amazing array of weaponry. They are not in awe, they are not going to worship. However, that is not the worst of it.
They have only transmitted one thing in their 50 years to us.
Remember Exodus. | The ship seemed to cascade against the forest's night sky, an oddly shaped lump of red metal against the inky black void and dark trees cradling the world as the ship slowly floated downward. It touched down with the mighty grinding of metal and the weight of not just the alien world's gravitational force, but by the significance and circumstance of what was ultimately to come afterwards.
The human's, who lived in a shanty town in the Montana wilderness gathered, hair, dust and improvised wind-chimes blowing in the wind of the ship's thrusters as it made contact with solid ground. A lone, singular lamp extended from the ships' entryway, one individual creature clad in a large robe strode down it, its back bathed in the bright light of the ship's interior behind it. One of the humans, a surly individual wearing a tattered leather jacket, looking more at home at a dive biker bar of centuries past strode up to meet the alien. The alien did the same, no one bowed to either individual, instead the alien pulled back its hood, revealing an almost all too human face, spreading its pinky, ring, middle and index finger apart in pairs, stretching out its thumb away from its hand. "Live long, and prosper."
The human couldn't make the gesture in reciprocation, but he could extend his right hand out in an ancient Human custom of greeting. Both hands, from completely other worlds clasp each other, becoming a bridge between worlds. No longer were Humans and the planet Earth alone in the galaxy.
Some of the Humans though observed the most momentous occasion in Human history from afar. Not completely awestruck by what was going on, but they all seemed to be satisfied that this all had taken place as they should have. "Picard to Enterprise, five to beam up."
​
(Come on, how could I not do the last scene in First Contact!) | 2020-03-02T07:54:05 | 2020-03-02T05:55:32 | 100 | 50 |
[WP] The message from the stars, it contained plans for all manner of advanced technologies, FTL, unlimited power and more, but ended with a warning. "You are the last. Survive for all of us. We are sorry for this burden." | The day we first detected it, it was at the inner boundary of the Oort cloud, roughly 200 billion miles away. It arrived within the week, defying all established order of contemporary physics. The scientific community was in uproar. And why wouldn't it be? Frankly speaking, the universe itself should have collapsed around it; even if one were to assume that it was moving *only* at the speed of light, its mass should have already been infinite. This thing was going about four times as fast. What do you get when you pack a *finite* amount of mass into an infinitely small space? That's right, say it with me everyone: A BLACK HOLE.
But this was *more* than that. Like an infinitely scaled up black hole. Or it should have been.
There was no impact. What I mean to say is that we all expected to be shredded into quarks the moment this thing came into contact with our atmosphere. Instead it touched down on the roof of the facility. Didn't so much as kick up a dust cloud; didn't so much as make a sound. I was up there on a smoke break, leaning on the railing, gazing out at the rest of the city, contemplating humanity's imminent and inescapable demise. One second it was just me and my thoughts, and the next, I felt the urge to turn around. There it was. It was a featureless matte grey cylinder, a little bigger than a can of soda. There was no *depth* to it. It was like someone invented a grey Vantablack and painted all over it, as weird as that may sound.
If this was a movie, I would have probably just run up to it and started fingering it all over and shoved it inside my asshole or something like that. I never understood why people did that kind of stuff.
Until now. I felt a pull—in my very *soul*, I suppose is the simplest way to put it—to get closer. The curiosity was overpowering. I'm a very inquisitive person you see; the whole reason I'm *here*, looking through telescopes and such, is because I never had the ability to suppress that inquisitiveness. Maybe it's like that for the people in the movies too.
So I walked up to it, knelt down, and put my hand around it. Just like that. There was pain, sharp and deep, and as I recoiled, ripping away my palm, I saw the crimson print it had left behind. That red spread, enveloping the entire thing, and then it *opened*.
Actually, that's a pretty terrible way to describe the whole process I suppose. Someone looking at the whole thing from the other side of the roof would probably not see anything *opening* at all. For me, it was nothing like anything I've ever felt before.
I was pulled back, behind the reaches of my own vision and consciousness, into a void of almost utter sensory desolation. On the abyssal horizon, a speck of light. That was what my eyes were sending to my brain. It was so far away. For too long, nothing. Then, a deluge. Information, words, data, numbers, equations, concepts, axioms, laws. Some was familiar, but most of it was like perceiving a new color. The moment a question arose, an answer arrived to dispel it.
I don't remember how I got out. I never remember how I get out. I still don't understand everything, even after going back in so many times: a fundamental failing of the human brain, I suppose. Enough time should fix that. I don't understand *who* sent this to us.
What I do understand is that we know nothing; the universe is not as it seems.
The "red pill"—if you'll let me be a little cheeky—opens for no one but me. I'm doing my best to relay the information, but mass producing FTL engines and infinite energy capacitors is simply bottle-necked by the current means of production.
These days, I still find myself on the roof, leaning on the railing, gazing out at the rest of the city, contemplating humanity's imminent and inescapable demise. We aren't going fast enough. I haven't told my colleagues what I think is the most important bit of information the pill had to offer me. It is the only vocalization in its annals, spoken in a sweet voice, in some alien language that I have never heard, but understand perfectly.
"You are the last. Survive for all of us. We are sorry for this burden."
The equations in the thing tell the rest of the story. What must one do to break the order of the universe? To disobey the natural laws limiting energy, speed, mass and time with such cavalier disregard?
Perhaps it requires the unleashing of some power so great and terrible that once released, the universe will forever feel the echos of its escape. I never really liked Lovecraft, but there's something from one of his stories that really resonates with me now. Something about black seas of infinity, and the human mind, and most of all, *terrifying vistas of reality*. He didn't have the red pill to tell him, but I guess he knew anyway. Somehow.
We will fight, but we are fucked. It's just a matter of time. | The fires began a hundred years ago and there was no way to put them out. The skies have turned black. The greenery of our great grandparents is long gone, just a myth now and death is only what remains. The planet is dying. We can feel it’s death rattle in the daily quakes which drops the vast forests of dead trees. We are one of the last known communities. But we cannot hang on much longer.
Our tribe consists of 323 people. When I was born there was over ten thousand of us. What little food we salvage from the wastes is not enough to feed us. Not even close. The ground is poisoned. The air is poisoned. Nothing will grow. Cataclysm is man’s current epoch, and it will be the last.
I’m out on a scavenging mission. Filip is with me, he’s a good boy. He’s got a bad leg, and his body is deformed from malnutrition.
“We’ve been over this land a hundred, two hundred times.” Filip moans, as he kicks through the ash, his voice is muffled through the thick scarf he’s wrapped around his face to keep the toxic air out. “We ain’t going to find nothing, man. Nothing.”
He’s not wrong. It’s a fool’s hope, but what else are we to do? We’re in quadrant 3 and we’re looking for anything edible, anything we can use, anything we can burn to stay warm.
“What else are we going to do, Filip? Are you going to let your mother starve to death while you sit around huddled by the fires? If we’re going to die, Filip, then let’s do it at least clawing our way to oblivion.”
“What’s the point, Emmitt?” Filip’s got tears in his eyes. “I’m tired. Can’t we just sit down for a while?”
I want to take Emmitt and I want to hug him and sit down and comfort him. Maybe sing him a song. But instead I grab him by the collar and shove him forward, tell him to keep walking. He doesn’t fight about it, he just keeps walking into the scorched lands. He’s a good boy.
We pass a crumbling building. Spray painted on it in a jagged pink scrawl is the passage: *Behold, the day of the Lord comes, cruel, with wrath and fierce anger, to make the land a desolation and to destroy its sinners from it.*
We’re on the outskirts of cannibal lands and we must stay quiet. The crumbled building was once, in a different lifetime, a supermarket. This is the best place that we might find cans. We’ve both brought shovels for the job. If we work hard, we may find a dozen or more cans in the few hours we’ll put into the job.
After a couple hours we’ve got seven. We share a can of green beans together. There is an anticipation, a wave of pleasure as I hear the thin metal of the lid tearing back. It’s one of the great pleasures in life I have. And we sit back and pass the can back and forth and suck out the juices.
Another hour of digging and Filip speaks for the first time in what seems like eternity.
“Hey Emmitt,” he says. “Check this out.”
He’s uncovered something. Just a tip of something much larger. It’s smooth and warm to the touch. It looks like metal but there an iridescent sheen to it. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The ghostly light of the object illuminates the space around us.
“What the hell is this, Emmitt.”
“I have no idea, Filip.” | 2020-12-31T23:17:58 | 2020-12-31T21:12:33 | 1,212 | 112 |
[WP] Aliens: Wow, it’s been a while since we last visited.You seem advanced but not rea-WHOAH, WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE TO WOLVES!? | The raid was successful! We got out of Area 51 with our cool new weaponry and games, and my new alien friend wanted to be my roommate. I showed him my house and he seems exited to live here. At that moment, Tofu, My Shiba Inu, starts sniffing his leg.
My alien buddy freaks out at first, but then he takes a closer look at him.
“Hey, isn’t that a Wolf?” Avesrick says.
I casually reply, “Well, not exactly.”
“What do you mean?” He asks
“Well, we’ve done a whole lotta crap with them to make them better at certain things. This little guy was originally mean for hunting, but now he’s a tiny cute little Marshmallow.”
I turn to face Tofu. “Isn’t that Right tofu? Aww you’re so cute!”
Avesrick seemed confused. “Then why does it look different?” He asks.
I shrugged. “I dunno,” I said. “ Maybe to make him cuter.”
Avesrick then slowly, but surely put his hand out to pet him like I’ve been doing. Tofu sniffs him for a little bit, then let’s Avesrick pet him.
“Wow,” Avesrick replies. “He’s completely fine with it.”
“Yeah, Tofu’s used to getting pet,” I reply.
At this point, Avesrick and Tofu start to bond pretty well. We end up playing with Tofu until 4 in the afternoon, when Tofu decides he wants a nap.
“Hey, we should try all the new games we brought back!” I say to Avesrick.
Avesrick nods in agreement, but is also slightly confused.
“Cool, but how do you play them?” He asks.
I then take him to my living room, where we boot up the PS4 to start our gaming session.
“This is a controller. It varies from console to console, but with the same basic look.” I explain to him. He nods as I proceed to explain what every single thing does on the controller.
“Here we go,” I say as I insert the disk of Minecraft 2 into the PS4.
I turn to Avesrick and smile, “Here’s a pretty simple game we can start with.”
He nods, and as the game boots up, we start our gaming sesh.
*First time writer here. Would love some feedback on how I should Improve. I know it’s not as long or detailed as the other ones but hey, I wanted to write something* | Oh...
The furry community........ uh...... just ignore them. Yeah this place is a shitshow. People don’t vaccinate, people think climate change is a joke, the permafrost is releasing ancient diseases, Japan is still making tentacle garbage, and the USA has had multiple shootings this year and the Media is blaming it on video games. I’d recommend you not stay. Oh and Area 51 raid.
“W-What?!”
Sucks right? Yea. Oh and Elon Musk is planning on putting humanity into Minecraft. Now unless you’re coming here to fix us or just checking on us as we slowly kill ourselves I’d recommend you go back to your planet, and maybe take a few of the brightest scientists with you too. | 2019-08-07T23:08:15 | 2019-08-07T19:57:20 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises. | "Hi... honey. You're home early! Uh, how was the office?"
I blinked. Miranda was still wearing the bottom half of the Miragemancer's combat robes. Miragemancer, who just two hours ago was juggling me between two of her illusion clones in a four-person keep-upsises game that wouldn't have been out of place in a Smash Brothers video game, before losing me because I was chasing the wrong clone. Again. And now here she was, in my—our—bedroom. My throat ran dry as my mouth fumbled out some words.
"What's all this?" I ventured.
"Oh, you caught me in the middle of trying on my halloween costume. I was hoping it'd be a surprise, but, you like?" She stood up straighter, and placed a hand on her hip; an old favorite from when we were dating. Her smile was so confident, and there was no hesitation in her voice or eyes. I almost wanted to believe her, but I saw the cut on the costume's leggings, a cut left behind from when I tried to stop her escape with the grapple-launchers' multi-hooks. There could be no mistake. But I rallied. Two years of Academy alter-ego classes were not about to go to waste!
"You're dressing up as the Miragemancer?"
"Yeah! She's cool, right? She looks great on TV." I rolled my eyes.
"Sweetheart, she robs banks and I'm pretty sure she kidnapped the mayor last week." Miranda pouted. Supervillain or no, she could still be devastatingly disarming when she wanted to be.
"Yeah, but she only robs banks that deserve it! Plus, the she let the mayor go after he promised to come clean about his campaign fund mismanagement. She's not the worst supervillain out there."
I raised my eyebrows.
"You know a lot of supervillains?"
She hesitated. For a moment, the mask of confidence fell.
"Well... I mean, I watch the news! It gets boring around here while you're at work. Anyway, the surprise is ruined, so help me get out of this, won't ya? I'll let you get the back zipper." The light tease in her voice was so familiar. Memories of a hundred taunts and jabs during our many battles all clicked into place. How had I not caught on earlier? Miranda must've picked up on my hesitation, because she hmphed to herself as the sound of the zipper reached my ears.
"Fine, I'll do it myself. You'd think my husband would be happy to help his poor wifey out after leaving her home alone all day." She threw in a few sniffles for good measure.
"Sorry, I was just... thinking."
"About?"
"Well, about work, actually."
"Anything interesting happen today?"
I swallowed, and tried my best for a cool and collected smile. Might as well come clean with it, I figured. It'd be nice to catch her off guard for once, at the very least.
"Yeah, actually. It's not every day you fight someone in a subway station, and then they drag it out all the way to the Eastside Apartment rooftops, you know?"
"Wha-what do you mean?"
"I mean the Miragemancer really brought her A-game today. She was just really going all out, and was even feistier than last week!"
Her confusion was written large across her face.
"Did, did media coverage of another fight come out already?"
"Well, I guess you can say I've got an eyewitness account," I said, taking my Cobalt Carabiner mask out from my pocket and flashing it to her.
"Wait, you're..." she started, before her voice petered out into the silence that encompassed the bedroom.
"I am. And you're..."
She nodded. Then she lunged at me. Instinct told me the angle of her attack, and I raised my hands to try and block, but I was clearly distracted, and we tumbled to the floor. My heart raced, and I tried to free my arms from where she had pinned them above my head, but Miranda was deceptively strong. I flinched as her face hovered over me, but gasped when I felt her soft lips against my neck.
"Miranda?" I whispered.
"Now I don't feel so guilty for always thinking that the Cobalt Carabiner was damned handsome," she growled, still pecking at my neck. My chest began to rumble with laughter, coming out first as small chuckles, but devolving into hearty and deep-bellied laughs that she soon joined in on.
"We've... we've been trying to capture each other for... oh lord, what, 2 years now?" I managed through the laughs.
"Speak for yourself, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes. I've definitely been going for the kill."
"Well, I consider myself very lucky then. Besides, if you wanted to defeat me I'm surprised you didn't just invite your parents over without telling me first."
Her expression hardened.
"For that joke, I'm going to beat you up with FOUR clones next week."
"Oh, spare me, darling, please! I'm still smarting all over from the three you had today." We both dissolved into giggles again, the absurdity of the situation continuing to catch us off guard.
"So, what happens now?" I asked, after I had wrestled my lungs back into compliance.
"Well, I think it's pretty simple." A devious look crossed her face.
"Oh?"
"Well, I think it's time I get some payback for today." She began tugging at my shirt. I gulped.
"Payback? But you WON the fight today!"
"Yeah, but some JERK tried to tie me up with grapples and turbo-bolas, and also he threw a few good punches that really hurt." She looked at me accusingly.
"Oh really? Where's the bastard at? I'll kill him!"
"Well, I'm not really worried about him, but I do need my big strong husband to come and kiss all those places better."
I smiled. "I can do that, love."
I leaned in, just about to press my mouth to her tummy, before hesitating just a moment.
"Wait, Miranda... what do we do? About all of this?"
But then I felt a tender hand lightly press on the back of my head, scratching softly as her hushed voice reached my ears.
"Hush darling. We'll worry about that tomorrow."
I liked that. Tomorrow. | The silence was palpable, almost freezing me in the position I'd held upon pushing open the bedroom door. "Thunder...Knuckle?" I said, confused. To the population at large the villainous scourge lacked a name, only identifiable by the crackles and roars which followed a city or two being leveled by an unknown force. In my experiences with my nemesis, regardless of where we'd met, our fights always contained a cacophony of sloppily put together nicknames and abuse being thrown at each other.
In a way, it reminded me of going out for drinks with my friends, we'd get a little tipsy and sling thinly veiled insults at each other. Of course, there was no ill will in our words, bros were being bros and the way we interacted simply entailed pushing each other down and raising each other up.
Her head twisted quickly to face me, her swears and murmurs of anger stopped as she realized the position I'd caught her in. The black and red skintight suit jostled and sat at her sides, her stomach and chest visible with her hips and legs still caught within the tight suit.
Though the person in front of me bore the colors of my nemesis, that same mask on their face, even the general shape and height of the scourge whom I'd memorized the look of after years of fighting, they weren't just my nemesis, they were my wife.
"You're home... Early." She said, staring at me as if she'd seen a ghost. I could tell she was looking at my chest, the insignia of my alter ego accentuated by the half opened jacket revealing the symbol on my chest.
Without thinking, I knelt to the ground and ran ahead, a loud snap echoing throughout the room as hardwood and carpet tore from the sheer speed I moved at. She knew what I was doing, she'd gone through the motions for over 10 years. Bracing herself, my nemesis crossed her arms in front of her, disregarding her suit still hanging to her side, her identity clearly visible before me.
I threw my fist into the space she blocked in front of her chest, the room sat quiet for a second as I'd pressed my knuckles into her tender wrist. Just like that, the walls, ceiling, and everything classifying the room as a bedroom disappeared. They flew out in every which way, the force of me starting and stopping was too much for even the structure of the house to handle.
She hit me once, I hit her once, and the cycle continued. I'd finally caught my nemesis off guard, after a decade of running they finally wouldn't be able to squirm away. The sheer excitement brought to me from this realization made me forget this woman was my wife.
We exchanged hit after hit among a pile of rubble we'd once called our home, family and neighbors gathering around the area we fought in the middle of. After what felt like an eternity, I hit my nemesis across the face, putting them into a spin that violently threw them into a still standing stone wall, a web of cracks forming where they'd hit.
I walked up to the wall, pulling out of my excited trance at having another chance of fighting my nemesis. This time was different though, I wasn't fighting my nemesis, I was fighting my wife, and I may have just killed her.
I was the standard "goodie-two-shoes" hero, some called me ultra-man despite my name not mattering, I was there to save the day regardless of moral or political alignment, a lost life was a lost life and I couldn't stand for that. Yet, as I stood above the body of my nemesis, embedded in a nearby wall almost cartoonish, it had dawned upon me that my excitement took hold.
An ear-splitting roar shot out throughout the neighborhood, people crowding around me and cheering upon the realization I'd finally ended the terrible mass-killings done by Thunder-Knuckle. They felt excited, and they were allowed to be, thousands had died at the hands of my nemesis, terrible acts done from what I assumed to be simple boredom.
I didn't feel excited, I felt dreadful, she hadn't moved in over 5 minutes. Even if she were alive, could I go back to the simple domestic life? Knowing the woman I married was the very villain I'd been chasing for 10 years, the world would be better if she were dead but would mine be better? I had to know. Reaching over to the body laying still in the middle of the wall, I placed my hand on the neck, looking for a pulse. There was nothing, I'd saved the world but at what cost. | 2020-10-30T11:58:10 | 2020-10-30T11:49:13 | 1,069 | 83 |
[WP] Once feared and worshipped for their unlimited eldrich power, cats now lay powerless with humans, giving up power for comfort. Your cat just bumped it's head and released the power held within. Your cat isn't any smarter though, so now your cat is using its ancient power to do cat things. | If you've ever thought cats needed tentacles, you'd be wrong. Especially the kind that seem to multiply endlessly and come out of nowhere and telescope out to knock your keys off of the end table. I can't leave anything on the edge of any flat surface, no matter how high up the surface is. Once my cat's eyes focus on whatever is on the edge, no matter what it is, his pupils swell into infinitely deep pools of dark cosmic horror, just before his tentacles flurry up to knock my keys, or my sunglasses, or my dinner fork, or my phone off of the counter.
I call him Cathulhu now. I used to call him Buster, but it's not like he ever came when I called him before his accident. We were playing with the laser-pointer when Buster chased the red dot off of the top shelf of his cat tree, back-flipping to the corner of my nightstand, bonking his head. I took him to the vet, who took one look at my cat and recoiled in horror, which was weird because my cat looked pretty normal. "Your cat is a demon," she said, "an ancient power that I cannot comprehend!" Instead of charging me for the visit, my vet offered to pay my cat tribute.
So, I came home from work early yesterday because my neighbors were complaining about the strange noise coming from my house. They couldn't describe the sound. In fact, they called it "indescribable." I knew it was Cathulhu. When he gets bored, we all suddenly get this groaning, visceral buzz deep in our cortex that makes us question existence. It's not really a sound, more like a rattling of our core being, so it is fairly indescribable.
I open a can of cat food when things like that happen. The core-rattling buzz dissipates, we all feel immediate relief, then Cathulhu consumes, consumes, consumes the life force out from can after can after can of Fancy Feast. Thank goodness Costco carries it in bulk.
It's the worst at night. It's not like a closed door will keep my cat from entering my room and invading my sanctuary. There is no sanctuary from him. I'll wake up in the middle of the night with my cat sitting on my chest, his weight suddenly enveloping and immense, suffocating as he draws out my life force. It's actually somewhat of a relief, because it wakes me from my nightmares. I no longer dream; instead I endure endless terror and horror that leaves me more exhausted than before. But then I blow in my cat's face and he winces enough for me to shift my weight and shove him off of me. Then I give him more Fancy Feast to consume. I wish it came in bigger containers. Like, jugs of Fancy Feast.
My dog has it the worst. They used to have a love-hate relationship, where both tolerated each other, and they occasionally cuddled. Now? My dog has become this whimpering, cowering four-legged beast that does my Cathulhu's bidding. Once a mighty and somewhat overweight golden Labrador, my dog is now just shadow creeping around the house, snarling at anybody that gets close to my cat or his cat lair.
Cathulhu has taken over the guest room as his cat lair. It is now his domain, where he rests and infests our dreams. I would go inside, but I'm pretty sure I'd go mad or something. The door is locked, and somehow the doorknob changed into an ornately carved, tarnished brass doorknob with a discernibly generic looking keyhole. I pray for the soul of whoever finds the ancient, cursed key, and unlocks the terror within. | “What the fuck?!”
I had just gotten back from another Friday at the office. The boss was frustrated about how the project was going to take another week, because the customer decided that the software they wanted needs to run on their decade-old machines, but didn’t tell us that until 5 pm today. Naturally, I’m also annoyed about that, but hey, it’s the weekend, and they’ve already called me into work on the weekend twice this month- which gives me some leeway to refuse to come in tomorrow, when my boss inevitably calls me to help make the product work on hardware that was horribly outdated when I was still making computers say “hello world”.
That’s all assuming that I’m going to get to live till tomorrow, that is. That’s where the thing that made me say “What the fuck?!” upon opening the door to my apartment comes in.
It’s my cat, George.
He seems normal, still his round orange self, licking himself on the couch. His tongue is still sticking out a bit, as it usually is, when he looks up at me, startled by my outburst.
What’s weird is the tentacles that were also licking him, and are now all pointing at me, hovering between me and my cat. I don’t have a pet octopus, just to clarify; these tentacles are coming from my couch, around George.
After what feels like minutes of me standing in the doorway, staring at my derpy little feline and his newfound calamari companions, my cat goes back to licking his chest, and the tentacles go back to licking the parts of him that he can’t reach with his mouth.
I decide that I’m probably hallucinating from stress and exhaustion, and I decide to deal with the calamari companion conundrum later. In the morning, I’m sure everything will be fine. | 2019-02-05T09:55:27 | 2019-02-05T09:33:16 | 116 | 42 |
[WP] To keep pace with the growing population, the role of Death has been divided; each immortal member of the new Council oversees one specific method of death, with higher ranking members governing common ways to die. A problem has arisen, and the entire Council is called together... | "Shit the *whole* council?" Said Stabbed In The Heart With A Machete.
"Yep, some serious shit went down. We better hurry." Replied Stung By Hornets.
As they hurried to the meeting they wondered exactly what was going on. A full council meeting has never been called before, usually it was just the big ten lead by Heart Attack who ran things. What could have happened that they needed everyone, the thousands and thousands and thousands of them together, to attend to?
"Gentlemen." Heart Attack began as everyone arrived. "We have at least three deaths we don't know how to handle." He said in a solemn voice. "The first one, a Mr. Dave Downey, appears fairly simple, Shotgun To The Head would normally have handled it. However I've instructed him to hold off until we can figure out the second and third death. You see the man who killed Mr. Downey was none other than his grandson, Mal Collins. Still simple enough, seems open and shut, however Mr. Collins hasn't been born yet! He isn't supposed to arrive for another 42 years. He has thus prevented the death of his mother, as well as two of her siblings, as well his own damn birth! So by all rights he should be dead now, but who is suppose to reap him?"
A lot of murmuring followed as the group discussed this shocking revelation.
"Perhaps this should fall under the Suicide's department?" Someone suggested.
"Yes but which one? Suicide By Gunshot? But he didn't actually shoot himself. There is no Suicide By Time Travel, plus how do we handle his mother and siblings? As well it really wasn't suicide, he killed his grandfather as an experiment, not to kill himself."
"Collateral Damage might be able to reap the siblings." Someone piqued up.
"No, I don't know if the repercussions are direct enough for me to have to get involved. Plus my workload is busy enough without having to try to find people who don't exist yet." Collateral Damage responded.
"What we need is to re-assign some reapers. Smallpox, you haven't been too busy lately, how does Death By Non-Existence sound to you?" Heart Attack asked.
"Well I kind of like being Smallpox, short and to the point. Death By Non-Existence just doesn't have that same ring to it. I'll only do it if I can be Smallpox/Death By Non-Existence, but every still has to call me Smallpox."
"Fine." Said Heart Attack. "As well Anthrax you are now also Accidental Death By Paradox."
"All good to me, frankly I've been a little bored lately anyway. I know Smallpox likes to take it easy, but I would love more responsibilities, got to stay relevant you know?"
"Then it's settled. Let's get reaping!" | "Do we take him?" quizzed the council chairman. "He isn't dead." announced the lord high ruler of hell. "But he did die.." The emperor of life reminded them. "Look, this really should be the legion of reincarnations department.." said a voice from the back. Another voice rang out, "But the deceased disn't believw in reincarnation" "He is not deceased!" God announced. An eery quite swept through the government of the afterlife, technically the individual had died on the operating table, but he had been revived by the doctors. The council have dealt with this before, but ruled the mortal deceased for life.
"Right, I have a solution." declared the chancellor of life affairs. "This ia entirely unethical, but it fixes all of our problems." "Go on.." the secretary of war deaths requested. "We force the subject into our world to discuss his fate." supportive cheers went round the parliament, "I will be our ambassador." exclaimed God. This was the perfect solution, and John would get to tell his family he had met his deity.
| 2014-08-05T23:23:31 | 2014-08-05T18:50:47 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Too late to stop them, the heroes watch helplessly as the cultists summon their eldritch god. Out comes a thin accountant with a pocket protector who says “can we make this quick? I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes”. | “Didn’t anybody hear me? I only got nineteen minutes left, now.” Everyone was frozen from the shock but the youngest member of the cultists managed to articulate a few syllables before silence dropped again: “Wh- who are you?”, “Not Cthulhu obviously, but one of his.. representatives.” the accountant replied with undertones of sarcasm and irony; “He was utterly busy munching on a more vivid world so he sent me to deal with whatever you might want. So, what do you want?”, he asked the cultists.
As the initial shock washed away from our heroes, they started advancing wearily towards the cultist, their weapons drawn. The cultist was looking at them with an expression of uttered boredom. He even put his hand in front of his mouth to cover a fake yawn as the heroes drew ever closer. As one of them entered melee range, he raised his sword and strike in one swift expert motion; the accountant’s head was rolling on the floor before the sword was seathed again. The warrior turned his back on the lifeless body and started advancing towards the cultists, ready to apprehend or kill them if that was necessary.
He didn’t manage to take another step before the voice of the accountant was heard again from the place the dead body should be “Glad to see that you took it out of your system, unnecessary though”. Horror filled the warrior’s eyes as he quickly turned around waiting to see the abomination the accountant’s lifeless body has turned into; instead he just saw the accountant, an average looking male with slick brown hair and square spectacles, standing on top of the headless body of himself.
The warrior unable to comprehend what was happening he attacked the accountant, decapitating him again. He stood there looking as the lifeless body fell to the floor.
“Fifteen minutes left and we are not making any progress here”, the accountant’s voice sounded from behind the warrior as vivid and impatient as ever. The hands of the warrior drove the blade before letting his mind understand what was happening. The blade striked true and another lifeless body fell to the floor, the warrior’s hands now trembling with rage and fear. “This is getting us..” again the blade slashed through the air and dropped another body, the same body again.”..nowhere.”
Again the warrior’s blade rose and fell a rhythmic slice of the blade and the slight thud of the bodies hitting the floor were the only sound that audible in this small chamber.
“You have run out of bodies warrior”, the accountant’s voice sounded again, and again the warrior’s blade was there to meet it but found nothing but air. The sudden weightlessness of the slice cleared the rage-muddled mind of the warrior and let him look around. There was no sign of his companions or the cultists anymore, only a pile of dead bodies, all belonging to the accountant, all bearing the same small and timid human appearance of the accountant, frozen forever in the cold death. “Time is up warrior”, the voice sounded again but no body was tethered to that voice and the dead bodies were still dead. As the warrior looked around, his trembling hands struggling to keep his sword level he heard the voice again; “No reason to wander far, I will be leaving now”.
The voice sounded awfully close. A sudden urge to look down washed over the warrior; trying to keep some grip to reality the warrior resisted this urge for a few moments but as he looked down he saw the accountant’s head growing under the skin of his chest, pushing harder and harder until the skin teared. The head unable to be supported by the skin fell down, tearing the skin suit, revealing the accountant underneath. Before the warrior’s soul was surrendered to oblivion, the accountant was gone. | “What?” Says the silver hero.
“I asked if we can make this quick,” says the god “I have a meeting soon and if I miss another one I could be fired”
“who exactly are you?” Says the hero
“I’m Daniel, what do you want?”
He turns to the cultists, “And you, I thought that I told you idiots not to summon me on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
The cultist leader kneels down “You did my lord, but you see—”
“No buts, do this again and I will not hesitate to send you back to your moms’ house!”
“No, please, not back there, I can’t go back!”
“Um.... excuse me but aren’t you supposed to be evil and all that?” The hero asks. Daniel shrugs “Not really, but you heroes always assume, so I stopped trying to explain.” “Oh, um in that case have a good day, and uhh good luck at your meeting, I guess?”
“Wow, no one has ever been this nice to me before, ummm, do you wanna, like, get ice cream or something... O-obviously not right now I mean you-you’re probably pretty busy with hero stuff and—“
“That actually sounds pretty nice, but don’t you have a meeting soon?”
“CRAP!! I gotta go, but I’ll come find you on Saturday or something, bye!!!”
The god disappears.
“Well he was nice”
Said the hero,
“Dude, did you just become friends with our god?” Asks a young cultist.
“Huh, I suppose I did, didn’t I?”
The hero begins to leave.
“Well, I’ll probably see you guys on Saturday or something, soooo, bye I guess?” | 2020-02-03T12:01:16 | 2020-02-03T09:36:17 | 31 | 15 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.