prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You were born with a birth mark the shape of a "9" on your wrist, one day you get in a fatal car accident. You wake up in a strange room and the first thing you notice is the 9 has changed to an 8 | It was my fault he died. They weren't pressing charges, cause I'm just a kid and it was pretty much an accident. But it was still my fault. Which begs the question:
Was my birthmark counting down my lives or the lives of others? There were only two ways to test my hypotheses, but both could prove fatal. Either I could kill myself and live or kill someone else and finish the countdown quickly.
I tried to think of anything else when I left the hospital. I covered my mark. I didn't want my parents to see that I'd changed. I didn't want them to know that I was slowly, silently plotting a fully fledged murder. I couldn't bring myself to suicide. But I figured I could probably get away with murder.
I didn't know his name, but he lived under a bridge by the train tracks. He was old and senile. We all called him Troll-Hobo or Trolbo for short. I didn't come up with it. Nobody in town would be missed less.
He always rooted through a dumpster behind a Chinese place nearby. I planted a half-finished raspberry iced tea, because I figured he hadn't had anything so sweet in a long time. A few pellets of rat poison would do the trick.
I watched feverishly while he rummaged through the garbage. When he found the drink, he was ecstatic. He looked around, and I was afraid he'd see me in my hiding spot. I guess he did find such a luxury suspicious. Still, I breathed easy when he put it in his pack. He didn't drink it right away...
I followed him back to the bridge as he sang something to himself. I watched as he unpacked his garbage. He pulled out the drink...
"I know you're there, sonny."
My stomach dropped. I geared up to sprint.
"Don't run, come have a drink with me," Trolbo said.
I would have run, but his voice was suddenly sharp. I don't think I could have outrun him at that moment.
"You're the boy who was just in that car accident. A real tragedy, what happened to that man," Trolbo said. He slowly uncapped the drink. I couldn't move.
"Manslaughter is a tricky sentence. It gets more difficult to prove as you get older," Trolbo continued. He raised the bottle to his lips and paused.
My heart thundered. A birthmark "2" stood out plainly on his wrist.
He turned the bottle over and drained the deadly contents.
"You're just starting," he said. "I'm afraid this one was always destined to be a stalemate." | I woke up in the hospital, noticed that the 9 had changed to an 8. Had an odd notion that this was the number of lives I had left. Considering I should have died from the accident. To truly test my theory, I grabbed a scalpel from the table. I dug the scalpel deep into my neck and slit my own throat...
I woke up in a lab, with tubes sticking out of my entire body and my wrist had been wrapped up. I peeled back the bandages, my birthmark had changed again. 7. I yelled out for anyone and was greeted by three men in all black suits. They escorted me to an all white room, where a tall black man in black shades and a trenchcoat appeared seated. "Hello Ryan, my name is Morpheus..."
Boom new intro for the matrix lol | 2016-08-03T20:39:27 | 2016-08-03T20:22:20 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] A noise wakes you. You investigate and see a burglar in your hallway staring at you with a startled look on his face. He falls over dead. Your 4 year old is standing behind him with a bloody knife. She says, in an unearthly voice, "Parent, I have protected the domicile. May I have a cookie?" | I know sugar is addictive, but what its done to my son is something definitely beyond this world. He’s just standing there, gazing at me with his puppy dog eyes. Like he’s asking me to be proud of what he’s done and I should reward him for it. However, should I? Seeing as there’s fresh blood dripping from the knife in his hand…
I must have done something wrong raising him.
“I believe I refer to you as father, correct?” He asks while wiping the blood off the knife on the burglar’s clothes. I point my finger ready to say something but the words escape me. Instead my finger waves in my silence.
“Do not worry father, I desire only cookies for my services, and of course I will then return to my bed.”
“Just wait… Where did you get the knife?”
“I keep it under my pillow in case of emergencies. I can not have you dying, seeing as I rely on you to provide me with sugary sustenance.”
I definitely went wrong raising him somewhere.
“Are you even my son?”
“Yes.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Shenanigans.”
“I am most certainly your son.” he says.
Sigh. I can’t believe this. He looks like my son, but he doesn’t act or sound like my son. His voice is so deep and definitely not the voice of a toddler—Who hasn’t hit puberty yet. What the hell is going on?
“If you are my son, what is your birthday?”
“March 8th.”
“Age?”
“4.”
“Hm… Favorite food?”
“Cheese Pizza.”
Damn it, there’s no way! But I can’t prove it. He knows everything about my son. Wait. His mother!
“Where is your mother?”
He drops the knife and stares at me. His eyes got watery and like flood gates being let open, the tears began to pour. He began wiping his eyes and his voice went to normal.
“Momma…” he sniffled, “I want my momma.”
I shouldn’t have brought it up, but it seemed to bring my son back for now. A four-year-old carrying such a burden, the scars of emotional trauma. I walk over and wrap my arms around him.
“It’s okay… it’s okay… Daddy’s got you.”
A few seconds past as my son’s sniffling began to calm down.
“Daddy…” he sniffles, “He says he’s sorry.”
“Who says their sorry?”
“The monster that lives inside of me.”
I push him away, holding my hands on his shoulders. ‘The monster that lives inside of him,’ he said?… Hold on. A monster… lives in my son?
“He said, he’s sorry he couldn’t save momma, but he said… he said that he’ll do everything he can to protect us!”
… Uh.
“Look son, for now… we need to call the police. Because there is a guy behind me, who needs medical attention.”
“Okay.”
“Good, I’ll go grab the phone…” I stand up and begin to walk down the hall before realizing I almost forgot to say, “And don’t touch the knife.”
“Okay.”
Before I could exit the hallway, my son calls me to a halt, “Dad! He said don’t forget the cookie!”
Just great… there’s a sugar hungry monster living in my son. | you stop and stare, mouth agape. your gaze switches between your baby girl, Eleanor, and the body of the intruder, whose blood is slowly seeping onto your hardwood floor.
​
Eleanor steps forward, knife still in hand. "May I have a cookie, parent?", she says urgently, in the same tone.
​
You shake yourself out of your stupor. "of....of course darling. Come to daddy"
​
She drops the knife and runs towards your open arms. You pick her up and instinctively she nestles in your shoulder. you walk towards the kitchen, still in a state of shock. Autopilot kicks in and the next few minutes are a blur as you give your only child a cookie, take her back to bed, and return to your bed. you lie there for a short time until you fall asleep.
​
The next morning, you awaken. For a precious few moments, you lie there. Warm, comfortable, saf....SHIT! what about the body?
​
You get out of bed quickly, careful to avoid disturbing your wife, and return to the hallway. The body has gone. the blood has gone. Only the knife remains. You hear movement behind you, and you turn to see Eleanor behind you.
​
"Parent, I protected the domicile. May I have a cookie?" | 2018-10-31T08:52:34 | 2018-10-31T06:41:24 | 42 | 21 |
[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down."
Inspired by this post
https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/ | I treated it as a sign from god, maybe. A source of motivation from up high.
The digit 1. Always 1. No other number showed, lit up and sparkling on the floor in my bedroom, an ethereal, otherworldly light source that bothered me day and night. And so, I aimed for it.
Studies. Work. A pickup basketball game. For years, 1 was the only thing I knew. It was the only thing I aspired for. It worked sometimes. It didn't work a lot of times. But I let it push me. Mould me.
The race to be number 1 was an exhausting but rewarding experience. When I brought my first girlfriend back to the room, I was just as surprised as her to see the number on my room change to 2.
A well of relief quickly followed, however. Maybe being alone at the top didn't have to be my sole goal in life. Maybe there was room for 2, I hoped.
2 was a nice change of pace. We weren't two halves: we were two singles that brought out the best in each other, pushing each other beyond what we could ever be capable of by oneself.
I always fell asleep half an hour after she did. I could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat, the slow rise and fall of her chest as she drifted off into dreamland. The number 2 remained lit, a vibrant reminder of what I had, but the reason was already wrapped in my arms.
Then, it turned to 4.
"Hon," she said. She was nervous. It trickled into her voice, straining it slightly past her usual self. "I have some good news. But you should sit down."
We both stared at the number 4. We then looked into each other's eyes. She giggled.
"Oh," she said. "Spoiler alert."
"Are you..." I stammered. I prepared myself mentally. Inadvertently, drops of cold sweat crawled down my back, a chilling cue. I gulped. 2 was already perfect for me. Were we ready to add new members to our team so quickly?
"Oh," she exclaimed. "Wait. No! At least, I don't think so."
"What?" I asked. I gestured towards the number on the floor. "What does this mean then?"
She chuckled nervously once more, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. God, she was beautiful.
"See, I found these two kittens lying on the side of the road, and I couldn't help but pick them up. They were so dirty! But adorable. And I brought them in. To your house. Without telling you," she blabbered.
Oh. OK. That wasn't the bombshell announcement I was expecting.
"Well," I said. "Aren't you going to show me the newest members of our family?"
Her face lit up, radiating even brighter than the otherworldly light on my floor. She hugged me. Kissed me. God, she was beautiful.
"Though," she added. "If you want to see the number go to 5..."
"Hmm," I said. "Let's see us deal with 4 first, honey."
---
r/dexdrafts | I‘m already sitting! He shouted from the toilet.
No, come out here and take a seat, I think we have to talk about some things.
Babe, i feel like i‘m giving birth here. Can‘t that wait a few more minutes?
Ohh i swear to god you have no fucking clue what that means.
Yeah you think so? Do you want to come in and take a look at that thing i just made?
Noo thanks. but i think you... we made something different...
What do you mean? Finally he came out of the toilet and walked over to the kitchen.
she had imagined this moment in a different way...
Look at the number!
yeah i know a four.
Yes, no shit sherlock. and what does this number say?
it says how many people live in this house.
Well, aaaand?!?
Well, it says four. Last time i counted we were two, right?
Yeah, that’s right. What does the number mean Mason?
I think we got some new roommates. Maybe some raccons that live in the attic?
No, you dingus!
Hm. He stayed silent for a while. Well, in that case... i think... maybe...
We are pregnant!
Nah, then why the four and not ... three... Ohhhh
Yeah, Ohhh you are absolutely right | 2020-09-03T03:06:18 | 2020-09-03T00:49:34 | 636 | 69 |
[WP] Muggle-born wizards and witches are struggling to install wifi in their dormitories and library in Hogwarts. | "My phone shows negative one bars."
"What?"
"Have a look. The little icon with the bars shows one bar below zero, like the signal strength is negative."
"What does that even mean?"
"I think it means magic is screwing with us. Anyway, no Internet access for us. This sucks."
...
"I just don't get it. You've got an entire library of magic to study, and you're complaining because you can't... look at pictures of cats?"
"That's not what I... That's not the *only* thing I wanted it for! Sometimes you just want to catch up on the news from home, you know?"
...
"So I figured, if we can't get a signal out because the castle keeps changing, we just need to hang an antenna outside the window where the changes don't happen."
"Cool idea, but... Have you looked out the window lately?"
"Nah, the view of the forest isn't that... What the heck?"
"Yeah, we're looking over the lake now. I think the entire dorm moved."
"Well, crap. That's going to make it hard to aim the antenna."
...
"How about this? The Protean charm synchronizes two objects so they are always in the same state. So if we use that on a piece of Cat-5 cable, we could make a magical relay from Hogwarts to my house!"
"Are you seriously suggesting we learn a NEWT-level charm just so you can get Internet access?"
"...maybe?"
...
"Professor, why does magic mess with electronics?"
"It messes with everything. You've noticed how the Castle is a bit... strange, right? Staircases don't always lead to the same place, suits of armor move when you're not looking... I once lost a pair of socks and found them all the way out in the Herbology gardens!"
"But why electronics in particular? My phone had negative one bars of signal, my laptop was reporting an "out of cheese error," and my friend's laptop keeps printing out messages about "ghosts in the machine." It's completely nuts!"
"Electronics are more complex. All those little electrons zipping about here and there, and magic just needs to make a little push to throw them off. If you have a particularly fancy mechanical clock with lots of little gears, you might notice it occasionally strikes 13. Similar principle. As for your laptop... Have you tried giving it some cheese?"
"What?"
"You said it had an 'out of cheese error.' Logically, supplying more cheese would solve that."
...
"This is so dumb."
"It worked."
"I refuse to believe that. This is absurd."
"You had an 'out of cheese error', you put a plate of cheddar next to it, and it started working."
"This is so *dumb.*"
"Anyway, it gave me an idea. If your cell phone signal strength is negative, then..."
"So help me, if you say 'turn the phone upside down'..."
"It can't hurt to try, can it?" | "Hello, this is Comcast, how can I help you?"
"Yes, this is Amanda Reskin, my internet is down. I was hoping you could help me get it back running?"
I flipped my script to the starting page. "Certainly ma'am, let me pull up your information"
She shared her details and I brought up the info.
"Oh." my shoulders slumped, "Are you currently at the Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"
"Yes, that's me."
I sighed and closed my standard procedures script and pulled a much larger one out of my bookcase.
"Have you noticed any spectral intrusions in the area of your PC?"
"No, it is ectoplasm free"
"Any likelihood of someone cursing the machine or connection?"
"No more than usual. I have some protective spells in place"
"Have you checked the physical connection?"
"I don't understand"
"Is the ethernet cable plugged into the modem? Does the modem have power"
"What does that mean?"
"Is the box that we gave you flashing?"
"Um..." she trailed off.
"You're breaking up ma'am... I can barely hear you, I..." and I hit the hang-up key. I'm not paid enough to deal with this crap. | 2014-12-04T09:33:42 | 2014-12-04T09:02:53 | 211 | 69 |
[WP] Suddenly, all sea life vacates a 300 mile wide area in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. A ship is deployed to investigate. | James let out a sigh as he boarded the S.S. Life-raft. He thought the name was fitting even beyond its metaphorical meaning. It was a small ship, just enough room for the scientists aboard and any equipment they saw fit to bring with them, and not a particularly nice one either, with obvious signs of age. Most would be surprised something so important would be in such disrepair, but James wasn't.
Unlike most everyone else James knew this was the fifteenth S.S. Life-raft sent to investigate the dead zone.
The crew members who helped him aboard were friendly enough, helping him stabilize himself as he stepped onto the deck. The head scientist, Dr. Avery Glum, was there to greet him, looking incredibly dour. Her face was lined in weariness, her posture rigid and unyielding, and even behind the thick glasses on her nose he could see the serious misery in her eyes.
"Hello, Mr. Smith."
"Hello Dr. Glum. You alerted us you had found something."
She simply nodded, seemingly relieved he was getting right to the point.
"Yes. Please follow me."
The two descended into the ship, finally stopping in the ships lab. It was a cramped, humid, room, unpleasantly over-lit with too many fluorescent bulbs, and filled with a heat that clung to your skin like tar. James glanced around, not really recognizing anything he saw. He'd never been particularly good with the sciences.
Dr. Glum pulled out a chair for him to sit at next to a desk holding several computer monitors. They sat in silence a moment, Avery collecting her thoughts, before she finally let out a sigh, and began speaking, voice flat, and deadly serious.
"We have been out here for nearly a month now, as you know, and in that time we've been careful to avoid the same fate as the previous crews. Yes I do know about them, you lot aren't as secretive as you think you are, and I knew we would need to approach this with the utmost caution. We did not start testing the way those before did. We never passed into the dead zone."
She pulled up a video on a computer monitor, showing footage of the ship using cages and the crane on its deck to extend out animals of various sorts.
"You see, I noticed a pattern in where the previous ships encountered a problem. The dead zone itself is roughly 300 miles wide, but there's a smaller, inner circle where each previous vessel and all vessels sent to their rescue met their end. So we ran experiments. The water is normal, no hint of toxins, or radiation. No sign of any predators. But the second anything living passed into that inner circle-"
She nodded to the video, recording a small bird being held out over the water. It was hopping around, tweeting, before dropping suddenly mid-jump as the crane extended its cage further away from the ship.
"-they died. We tried everything. Different animals. Above and bellow water. Different containers meant to protect them. Nothing worked. From what we can gather any living thing that tried to go beyond that circle-"
She pointed at a map tacked to the wall, a black circle drawn withing the bounds of a bigger red one marking the dead zone.
"-would always immediately die. No discernible causes of death, either. Our examinations have all shown these animals to be perfectly healthy, outside of their sudden deceased state. That isn't all, though. Everything that passes into that circle dies on a cellular level. Even bacteria on their skin suddenly ceased all signs of life. This is something I've never seen or heard of before, Mr. Smith. And from what I can gather through my contacts, nobody else understands this either."
James frowned, still watching the testing videos roll by.
"We sent you out here to find a cause."
"As far as we can tell using every method of testing available there is no cause."
Silence fell over them, thick as the sticky air. It stretched on a long moment, before James turned to fully face Dr. Glum.
"You want to say something else."
She nodded, solemn as the face of death itself.
"We didn't find a cause, sir, but we did find something else. The dead zone is an evacuation radius animals seem to naturally be running from to get away from this inner circle, and both the circle, and the dead zone around it are spreading." | First time writing so be gentle.
"I didn't mean to!" Tim exclaimed as he ran away from the side of the ship.
"Darn it, Tim..." I sighed, "I told you to be careful with that; if they find out that we lost it RIGHT after being told not to, they're gonna kill us! ...or worse! Take us home.."
Tim let out a short gasp as he struggled to find the words or actions to carry out to make things right.
"Just... don't touch anything." I said before he carried out some other "plan" to try to retrieve the lost item.
Tim sat there with a panicked look on his face as he just looked down into the mass of water he had just lost a prized possession to.
"So, here's the plan.. I'm going to go down there and try to retrieve the item before anyone notices that we don't have it anymore." I explained.
Tim tensed at the thought, "But, we don't have any rope or flotation devices to help if something goes wr-"
"I'll be okay." I say before he finishes his sentence. "All I have to do, is jump in and grab it real quick and jump back out. Nobody will even notice that we're not both still here!"
Tim reluctantly dropped his head in both sadness and embarrassment knowing none of this would be happening if it weren't for him. He hands me his knife that his father had given to him for his 6th birthday and says, "Be safe down there, buddy." with a big dumb smile.
I smiled back and jumped in.
As I got closer to it, I slowly realized that I'm not able to swim and started to panic.
Tim started screaming loudly, "Help! Somebody help! Danny is drowning!"
Everything starts to get dark as I look back up and see my best friend, Tim. Looking down in horror as I just sink further and further down into the depths of the water, then everything goes dark..
The next thing I remember is coughing up a lot of water and everything kind of spinning back into view.
I lay for a second longer just to grasp that I didn't die. As I look up at the person hunched over me I realize he's yelling, "Danny, do you hear me? Are you okay?!"
I respond with a weak voice and tears in my eyes, "Yeah, dad.. I'm okay.." | 2017-11-17T07:25:39 | 2017-11-17T07:00:35 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why. | The students filed into the room slowly, some clearly uncomfortable in the more modern clothing that had, for the moment, replaced the tradition student robes. The front of the room was dominated by a stack of crates, each containing a small chicken, in varying levels of calm.
"Silence," the professor began, gesturing toward the crates. "Today's test will be scored entirely on the practical. You have each had two weeks to design your elemental suit, and to tune it for today's task. 50 points if the chicken dies, an additional 20 points for avoiding obvious distress, and the final 30 points for, and I wish to stress this to you, Miss Havers, the amount of usable meat left on the bird after the standard Decruft charm has been applied. Automatic failures for miscasting Decruft, including deliberately casting something other than Decruft, and for use of a non-elemental or non-original suit to complete the assignment." The chickens calmed at the gesture, blissfully unaware of their impending doom. "Now, as I call you..."
"Rebecca," the teacher called as she place the first chicken on the scale. A mousy girl, with hesitant steps and glasses that made her eyes seem the size of saucers, stood and walked to the front if the class. She made a short sharp gesture, whispering under her breath. The chicken's head fell off, neatly severed by a blade of Air. "Antacroix," she intoned, and the feathers, skin and bones all neatly piled themselves in the garbage container next to the desk.. The teacher looked down and said "2kg, no distress, 100 points."
"Tyler," she called, placing an identical chicken on the scale. The ginger stepped up and clapped his hands together dramatically, as twin hands of stone pulverized the bird's head. "Antacroix," he added, sending the bones to join their compatriots in the garbage. "2 kg, no distress, 100 points."
"Jessica". A clenched fist and a snarled "Fuegomaximo" later, the teacher sniffed and said, "400 grams, some distress, 69 points."
"Robert" "Glugtegra.," he intoned, the chicken panicking as its tiny lungs filled with water. "2kg, Severe distress, 80 points.
"Alexander," she called next. Without getting up, he snapped his fingers and the chicken made a "wark?" noise before falling over. "Antacroix," he added with a yawn. The teacher pressed her lips together and said "2 kg, no distress, necromancy, 0 points." Alexander jumped to his feet and yelled. "Necromancy? That was a Stone suit!" The teacher scowled "Stone Heart is still a necromancy suit, and not original to boot. See me after class. James!!"
===
The Dean harumphed. "This should be easy enough to determine," he said, his titanic shoulders moving like bridge supports. "What did the Thaumeter register?" Miss Factial scowled again. "The Thaumeter registered .15, which is consistent with a small conjuration cantrip.. The Dean nodded. "And Stone Heart would register 76 if cast by a competent amateur. I think we can safely say that while Alexander does have an unusual background, he isn't eighty times as efficient as the ranking Necromancers on the Council. I'm going to dismiss the accusation of plagiarism. Did you bring another clone?"
Miss Fractia nodded, and placed it, and a scale, on the Dean's desk. "Repeat your spell, Alexander, but just the first one." Alexander snapped his fingers, and once again the chicken made a 'wark?' sound and expired. The Dean pulled on a pair of glaves and breathed 'Sectus Severus, splodeo'. Lines of force criscrossed the skin of the dead bird and it burst into the air, the dozens of pieces slowly revolving around a central axis, maintaining perfect relation to each other. He stared into the heart of the carcass for most of a minute before pointing to the head. "Here's the cause of death," he said. "Poor thing's brain is half-crushed and half just gone. I'm not sure how you do it with a cantrip, but that's not soul work. How'd you do it boy?"
Alexander sighed, "You aren't going to understand. It's based on something from my home world."
"Try me"
"The suit creates a very small piece of stone, but gives it an extent less than its own Event Horizon and a minuscule duration . The gravity generated inside the skull compacts some of the tissue into nothingness and liquefies the rest before the stone vanishes, preventing the destruction of the world."
"Oh." | Professor Baron was sketching the alchemical formula for the fifteenth time today. The class was silent. A thick aura of boredom congealed the air, making the classroom oppressive. Students fidgeted, scratched at the desk, rubbed their eyes.
Another hour of this, I thought to myself, rubbing my neck.
Arya yawned, loudly.
A ripple of giggles rolled through the class, halting Professor Baron’s chalk in its track.
She stood there, her back to us as her arm dropped down to her side, her shoulders lifting slowly from her steady breaths.
“Is this boring you, students?” she asked, turning towards the class in an almost graceful twist, her black robe swirling. “Do you feel this is not important in your training? That you can forego the basics?”
She looked around the room. “Well?” she asked, pressing us as she stepped to the front row, putting her hands on her hips.
The tension and silence were palpable. I adjusted in my seat and the professor’s eyes locked on me.
"Well, Ezzy? You have something to say?"
“Well…” I said. “It’s just we’ve gone over this so many times, Professor. Can’t we get to something more… exciting… can’t you teach us some spells?”
Professor Baron smiled at me, her lips curling up gleefully.
“Do you think that’s how it is, Ezzy? That I can just teach you spells, as though there is a recipe book for them?”
“Isn’t there?” I asked her.
“I wish,” Professor Baron said. “It would make my life a lot easier, wouldn’t it?” She walked down the aisle past Becky, Jenny, and Rachael, who craned their necks to follow the professor's clicking steps on the stone floor.
“No, that’s not how it works, dear,” she said as she stopped at my desk. “Do you think your mother and father neglected the basics of witchcraft?”
I winced at that. They were dead and she knew it. The whole class knew it.
I looked up; my hands balled in fists. She stared at me. As though questioning me, seeing how I would react.
“A spell is a witch’s own, Ezzy. You of all people in this classroom should know that. All spells are different and special and born through the fires of your own self. No two are the same. Just as no two of you are the same.” She said, sweeping her hand across the rows of girls staring at her. “I am here to teach you girls the basics. To give you a foundation. But it seems you girls are above those trifles, yes? Spell making is easy, then? Okay. You all will make a spell tonight.”
“But Professor…” Ashley called out from the other side of the class.
“No buts... that is your assignment.” She looked down at me, smirking. “Easy enough for a prodigy like you, right?”
I lowered my gaze. It was no use arguing with her.
“I expect it on my desk first thing in the morning,” she said.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-04-02T01:22:24 | 2021-04-01T20:24:12 | 302 | 59 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution" | Hellfire and death fluttered down from the sky. Ashy snowflakes, falling burning. Through the rapidly-heating window of his office building, Federation Commander Korthu watched the foreign spaceships drop fire on the capital city. Below him, people ran, their many-tentacled bodies writhing, as smolding debris crushed them. The screams of his people rose up to find him.
"Well," Korthu said. "This all seems rather unnecessary."
He used a tentacle to pull a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dab at his boneless head. He looked like an squid that decided to climb out of the ocean and walk one day.
Behind him, his military advisor, a lavender-colored cephalopod, said in a stern voice, "They appear to be from the Milky Way sector we routed six solar cycles ago, sir."
"*Six*." He paced in front of his window, shaking his head.
One of those alien ships soared close enough that Korthu could see the bizarre alien driving it. Its horrifying, knobbed limbs clutched the steering as it lifted one arm to hold up a single finger.
The side of the spaceship read *S.S. Retribution*.
"I don't understand these humans." Korthu sighed as the ship trailed up a wall of fire in its wake. "You engage in one friendly act of war and they storm your planet."
"Perhaps we should consider evacuating, sir."
Korthu just shook his head. The city below him was a field of red and orange blooms. How many millions were left dead?
"All we did was crush a few buildings and take their... What is it... That fancy little toy that had in the harbor. The Statue of... Liturgy, something." Korthu squinted through the wreckage. There. He saw it. A huge statue of one of those strange alien women, holding up a burning torch. The humans had chained it to their craft and were lifting it up and up. "Oh that's bloody unfair. We nearly had a complete set!"
Korthu had made it his singular military aim to collect bizarre and multicolored alien statues from around the universe. He'd nearly had a full rainbow--even a few ultraviolets. And now they were taking back the jewel of his collection.
"Sir, we need to leave. *Now*."
"No point. Let them reanimate me." Korthu slumped dramatically against the window. "These humans don't play fair--"
Before he could finish, the window exploded inward. A wall of hot glass rocketed back against both Korthu and his advisor, reducing them to jelly almost instantaneously.
They weren't dead, exactly. They would reconstitute in a day or two, along with whatever citizens hadn't been vaporized altogether. They rebuilt themselves limb by limb from the wreckage.
And when they did, Korthu would look at the spotless sulfur sky and ask his advisor, "Do you think they'll notice if we take it back?"
***
/r/nickofstatic | It happened faster than anyone could process what was going on. At one moment the Tokyo Olympics were being televised, and the next no one on Earth were able to contact the city.
Japan, obviously, was the first on the scene. What the soldiers reported was unbelievable, craters the size of football pitches, giant deformed rabid animals, a US aircraft carrier beached on the bay coast, downed aircraft mostly US, but some unknown crafts filled with strange creatures, and absolutely no sign of living humans.
After weeks of searching they found enough evidence through captures cell phone videos and audio memos. We had been attacked by an alien race.
---
Ten Earth years later the reptilian race of Kepler-62f were celebrating another victory over the piscine races of Kepler-442b. There wasn't a care in the world and the leaders were drinking like there was no end to the booze.
The celebration came to a stop when a meteor came tumbling out of the sky, splattering through the Emperor's head. Out popped a flag from the center of the rock and it said in the Keplerians native tongue, "We will never forget." | 2019-12-17T12:03:04 | 2019-12-17T11:54:47 | 421 | 39 |
[WP] In what seems like a cruel prank by a bored God, people started developing powers based on their worst fears. people afraid of heights got the gift of flight. arachnophobia? get the power of spiders. phasmophobia? necromancy/ability to speak with the dead. Your power is... hard to explain... | Peter stood among a line of mourners filing past a casket paying their last respects to a friend Peter had loved. The sorrow and weeping in the room reflected the anguish and weight Peter carried inside of him, but he shed no tears. There were none left after centuries of watching every person he loved die.
This death would be the last. He had made a commitment to not become attached to anyone ever again after a certain point in his life when the pain became too much to bear. This friend was the last person he had let in. Now the world was filled with acquaintances and strangers.
The line moved until Peter stood over the casket looking down at the waxy face devoid of the life Peter remembered. Part of his mind wanted to believe this couldn’t be Mark, this thing only looks similar to Mark. But he knew those lies only shielded one so much.
Grief nearly overtook him at that moment remembering all of the moments he had shared with his friend. Instead he steeled his heart, laid a hand on the casket and said, “Goodbye old friend.”
Peter nodded to the family overwhelmed by their loss and moved towards the door leaving the scene behind. He stepped out to a bright sunny day that existed as a slap in the face to the sorrow in his heart.
His biggest fear had always been losing the ones he loved. So the Devil of this world, who gifted powers to mortals, had given Peter immortality. Even though he still stood in the center of that fear he knew this was the last time. If he never let anyone into his life again then that fear would not heap anymore weight upon him.
As he walked to his car he felt something he hadn’t in a long time, his lower back was sore. When immortality had settled upon him it had taken away the trivial pains of life and replaced his body with an ageless, perfect vehicle for his fear. Now, when he thought himself escaping that fear, he once again felt pain. The Devil was more cruel than Peter ever imagined.
He made it to his car and looked at his reflection in the window. His hair now had streaks of gray and wrinkles were forming on his face. Time was sinking its claws into him once again and it wanted it’s due with interest. Glancing around Peter was glad to see no one else in the parking lot to witness his rapid transformation.
When he opened the door to get in his car something brushed up against his leg. He looked down to see a small white kitten with ribs visible beneath the skin. It looked up at Peter and let out a pitiful meow. He bent down and ran a finger along its back. The kitten pushed its back up into his finger and began to rub against his ankle.
Peter didn’t know how much longer he had left with his powers seeming to vanish, but at that moment he resolved to at least find this kitten a meal before his body surrendered. He lifted the kitten up in both hands and placed it on his lap as he sat down in the driver seat of his car. It was purring madly and curled into a ball. Somehow it knew he planned to care for it.
The engine sprang to life as he turned the key in the ignition and Peter noticed himself again in the mirror. All of the wrinkles and gray hair he had seen moments ago were gone. He realized the pain in his back had disappeared as well.
Peter looked down at the ball of fur in his lap now sleeping and a tear finally escaped him. Perhaps he could love one more thing in this world. | Context: I’m scared of silence.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
He just kept on talking. I mean I talk a lot too, but gosh this is a bit much. God can’t you just shut up…” I mumble under my breath.
It wasn’t supposed to work.
But it did.
He stopped talking. His mouth just…… stopped working. He kept yelling, I could see it. But I couldn’t hear it. “Cole?!” I screamed. He didn’t know what happened. I didn’t know what happened.
Or did I.
…
Did I do that?
“Talk……?” I mumble.
It didn’t work.
“Speak?” I mutter.
Didn’t work.
I tried other various synonyms, but nothing worked.
Suddenly, I heard a voice. A woman’s voice, angelic and soft. A voice I dubbed as Athena. It sounds dumb, I know. But still.
“What your looking for is, Open. Use your power wisely.” She whispered.
Open?
“Open……….?” I whisper.
It worked.
What do I do now……?
“-ELP ME OH MY GOD!” Cole screamed.
….
….It worked.
“What happened?!” I screamed.
Thank god I was a theatre kid.
Cause this took some acting.
“I- I don’t know!” He yelled.
We both sat in silence for a while.
“I’m gonna go…” I declare, forming an idea, “See ya later Cole…”
“B- bye (dead name)…” He responded.
“…..Shut up.” I whisper as I walk away.
It worked.
He never talked again. | 2022-05-14T20:10:32 | 2022-05-14T19:30:24 | 128 | 12 |
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell. | A flickering then an eventual fade into darkness - those were the last of memories of Hex.
Hex regained consciousness in a pleasant room. Antique bookshelves covered all fours filled with countless hardbound books, the scent of pine cones waft in the air. A desk separated Hex and an old man with a long, gray beard. On the desk, a pendulum swings.
"Your time is up. Now, you can do as you wish in this new world. Any regrets you may have had, any unsolved problems, any lost friendships - you can redeem them or throw them in the darkness. The actions you take as we move you to the next stage is all in your control." The man raised his forehead, pointing two of his fingers at me. "Any questions?"
"Yes. What if I'd prefer *not* to tamper with the events in my past life?"
The man had a deep, resounding voice as he laughed. "Are you not curious with the *what ifs* of your life? There are infinite numbers of things that you could have done. We have a complete list of all the winning lottery tickets across all 50 states. You can relive your wedding. The possibilities are endless."
"Is life always about winning? About tying all knots? I had a meaningful, flawed existence - and having to go through it again with the knowledge I have now would be a blow to my self. I would be happy, sure, but pleasure is not my end goal. My self-respect would wane and the relationships, no, the *perceptions* of my relationships would be utterly distorted."
The man frowned, jotting a short, continuous stroke. "The change need not be separate from the life you have previously lived. If you wish, you can replay the exact same sequence of life decisions. Your moral righteousness offends all the people that have been in your place." The man paused, his eyes light up as if remembering something. "Right, you're a theist. *Of course* you subscribe to that line of thought. What if I told you, say, there is no god to judge you this time around?"
"That doesn't change things. My worldview goes beyond spirituality. With whatever I do, I cannot control the things that have happened in the past. Being able to relive it would lead me to fall under the loop of regretting past actions, however flawed they may be. And if it comes to that, the life I may have once perceived as meaningful would wither away and be replaced with something hollow."
The man interrupted. "We can rewire the events in your new experience. We could ensure your situation remains pleasant and that you won't fall astray."
"That's not the point." Hex sighed. "Having my life tampered with would remove the beauty in its fleeting existence. Being placed in a pleasure simulator is not conducive to a fulfilling life."
The old man stroke his beard and exhaled, pondering.
After a few quiet moments, the old man finally stood up and ripped the paper from his clipboard and placed it in a chute that was camouflaged with the books behind him. He looked at Hex.
"You passed. Well, rather, it's quite odd. You don't seem like the type to enjoy the conventional view of heaven, what *did* you expect to come after death?" The old man asked curiously.
"A nice spa bath. My back is quite sore. And after that, non-existence. To flutter in the air. To be a star in space. Pure, unadulterated, non-existence."
"Okay." | "Happy 80th birthday to us, Mr. Gloves!" I whispered to his ears as I slowly lulled him in my thin and wrinkled arms. Mr. Gloves is my twin cat, being born on the same day I was eight decades ago, which is essentially today. Little is known why and how cats always seem to have a *twin* human, and why they also pass away the same day as their destined owner. A theory some people proposed was that they were given as gifts by gods, albeit the rules that come with them, or that the cats were actually our souls.
Weakly, I blew the candle out from the cupcake on the table next to where I was sat as I heard Mr. Gloves' soft purr. He looked at me, and my gray eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the furry creature staring right at me. "Is there anything you want to tell me, perhaps?" I asked, and he responded with a slow blink. "I guess it *is* time."
I closed the distance between my back and my rocking chair, as I did one last weak push with my right foot to send it in motion. Kissing Mr. Gloves' forehead, I reminisced about our times together, the joyous moments, and even the sorrowful bits that he helped me get over. He was there, and he never left me. *This life was good.*
-*Rest in peace, Muning and Sophie.*
(from the replies: cats get to live as long as their humans. that's all i'd wish for, ngl.
ETA: mb if it wasn't clear enough, i purposely left it out lol) | 2020-07-20T03:04:41 | 2020-07-20T02:51:13 | 269 | 127 |
[WP] "Humanity will only unite if they have a common enemy. In that unity, they will achieve peace, for as long as that enemy lives." He looked at you with his dark tired eyes, your weapon on his neck, as he croaked, "That's why I chose to be the bad guy." | "Duh," I said.
"... Duh?" he uttered, dragging the word a tag too long, betraying his unfamiliarity with the times and its lexicon.
"Old man," I continued.
"... Old? I've only--"
"Old man," I assured him of the fact once again, pressing my blade a little closer. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him wince. "You are thoroughly misguided."
"What can you, a young girl, know? What--"
I twisted the edge of my blade a little more, reminding him who had just bested him in battle.
"I listened to your tortured, brooding, oh-woe-is-me spiel for like, ten minutes. Not to mention that there was a lot of unnecessary repetition of your points and this--" I waved my hands up and down theatrically, my expression scowling, "--was just way too much."
"Really? I practised a lot," he whined. "My previous enemies didn't say anything about them."
"No offence, but I think the people that you defeated in battle aren't exactly the best judges of character," I said. "But anyway, that's not the point. The point is: your misguided, sort-of noble approach to the world doesn't quite work anymore."
"You dare deny that the world has not improved?" he cried, rising from his kneeling position, threatening to cut himself on my sword. I lifted it swiftly, to ensure that blade did not go through flesh, but he appeared unconcerned.
"For a while, maybe. Probably wasn't born," I shrugged. "But if you actually bothered to walk the world instead of looking at it from on high, you might change your mind. Not to mention, your drab castle tower literally casts a shadow on the land, like it wasn't on the nose enough."
"As you said, I walked the world for many weary years before you were even born," he said. "I'm certain I know more about it than you."
"The world changes quickly, old man. Harsh truths, but what I've seen in five years is probably equivalent to your fifty."
"I'm not fif--"
"Do you want to see?" I said. "Actually, can you bear to see for yourself the world you left behind with fresh eyes and perspective, the world that you thought would get better if there was 'one bad guy'? Oh, and please, you weren't the first person to think of this shtick, and will not be the last."
"But--the world--all of its troubles--on a scapegoat--"
"Look, old man. You are very powerful in your own way. You own land. A lot of it, clearly. You command vast resources and armies, and can hold your own with a sword. But instead of some idealistic muttering about heroism, why not *actually do* something?"
"... Why should I trust you?"
"Why shouldn't you?" I thrust the sword once more. "This could have severed your head five minutes ago. Instead, I'm here talking to you, because I know even you can make a difference."
"Show me, then," he said. His kneeling changed to a full prostrate position, tired of holding his giving back up. "Show me how the world is."
I sheathed my sword.
"Nah. I'm not showing you anything. Look for yourself. Take your dark-lord tinted glasses and gaze clearly upon the world."
He looked at me, mouth agape, surprised.
"But... you said you would show me!"
"I didn't. I told you to see. For yourself. Like I said, you weren't the first to do this, and you wouldn't be the last. Why do you think a teenage girl like me would need to sacrifice her life to fight for something like this?"
---
r/dexdrafts | \*in a light white hallway with yellow sides\*
"no matter what you call me, the devil, 001, deaths hand, whatever" the thing croaked "i am me, and humanity is you, and you will always unite to fight me, that's why I'm here"
the scientist, with tears in his eyes: "no, you killed so many,you brought so much pain to this world, and we fought back"
"you don't realize, do you. you think i wanted it to kill your family. I'm sorry my child"
"if you fucking created them, why the passive ones, why the random bullshit like some guy of forchan? why don't you kill most of us then leave, why must you make us suffer" the scientist says noticing the bodies surrounding him
it croaked out "because you would make that," and he pointed to the simbol on the wall, under it read
**S**ecure
**C**ontain
**P**rotect
"you stopped the greatest horrors, even shielding a part of yourself from harm, to save it. those men and women who died to kill me all served the foundation, all served humanity. i do this so the others i did not create cannot pass through. i don't mind if you kill me now. you have your foundation, G.O.C, and more. i did it so you would come together and stop those more powerful than me. i wispered in the ear of others to make the factory, to forge 05-1 into the man he is. i did it for you. all of it, so that you can live."
the scientist looked scared, but calm "so you wont kill me?"
"no"
"then, you can go, but promise me this, no more of these deaths, you did to much" the scientist said
"i cannot promise that" he said, then vanishing.
as he left the mtf units reached the scientist, who was sobbing at this point, and brought him to the chopper | 2020-12-09T09:06:25 | 2020-12-09T08:52:16 | 598 | 106 |
[WP] You are the ageless evil of the land, and a prophecy has been made about a chosen one arising to end your rule. Instead of antagonizing the Chosen one, you send Gaurds to his farmstead, and give his parents tax breaks. | The Dark One, Overlord of the Fifteen Worlds, had kidnapped the oracle years ago. It was best to keep prophecy-spewing maidens close to the den, after all. So when the aforementioned oracle made the "Great Prophecy" that foretold of his reign's end by the hand of a farm girl, the Dark One was the first to hear of it.
In response, he did the logical thing. He marched over to the squalid hut that the baby lived in, gave the parents enough money to be comfortable, and kept his second-best regiment posted by their newly-furnished house. After all, the Dark One assured the parents, their child was destined for great things. You could never be too careful. There were plenty of people who'd want to take advantage of a gifted child.
Look, he might have gotten the title of "Dark One" thanks to his mastery of black magic, but he wasn't evil. Unlike what those rebellious bands of terrorists thought, he had a reason for everything he did. It rankled a bit to rule over the realms with an iron fist, but *come on.* Until the populace was educated and advanced enough to govern itself, the people had to be united by force. The centuries of civil war before him just proved his point.
Speaking of education, he also ensured that Little Miss Chosen One had access to the best teachers. Dammit, if he was going to be overthrown by someone (though he was still holding out on that), it better be by someone smart—not some lunk with a sword. Of course, the drooler extraordinaire seemed more interested in slobbering over the books than reading them.
Once the kid actually learned how to read, however, that changed. The Dark One would visit her in between crushing insurrections with a new bundle of books in hand. She had an insatiable curiosity, devouring books faster than he could throw them at her. Her parents, though good people, didn't know the answers to anything. And though her tutors were the best, their knowledge paled in comparison to the master himself.... which is why he got the short end of the stick.
"Uncle Dark," she'd chirp, persisting in calling him by that stupid name, "why can't we make more magic? Why do the elves and orcs hate each other? Why are there two suns?" Why, why, *why.* If he never heard that phrase again, he'd die happy. If he ever died, that was. However, the Dark One had to admit that there was something satisfying about teaching someone and watching them thrive. He wondered why he hadn't done it sooner, honestly. (Oh, right. Students tended to overthrow their teachers to an alarming degree.)
The years seemed to pass faster than usual. He visited the girl, developed the economy, killed copycat "Chosen Ones," vanquished chaos demons, and before he knew it, the child was no longer a child. Her knowledge began to outpace that of the tutors he sent, and soon, she was a skilled mage in her own right—a fully-developed *person*, too. With his immortality, the Dark One had forgotten how quickly mortals grew. He could forget no longer, though.
"Did you do it?" she asked, standing as tall as his physical body. "Did you massacre all those Reedlings?"
The Dark One paused in his eightieth reread of *The Elements of Magic.* He remembered the massacre very well. It was what had given him his name. The Reedlings had kept rebelling and rebelling, and he'd just cast the immortality spell so his control had been unstable, and... he could think of a thousand excuses, but that wasn't what she'd asked.
"Yes," he said instead. "I did."
"Why?" The Dark One could hear the echo of her childish squeak, but the steel in her voice was anything but.
"I have never lied to you. I will not start now." And so, he began to talk. He started at the very beginning, back when he was still a mortal child in a different world. He talked about his discovery by a master wizard, his accidental use of the dimensional-portal spell, his rise to power... and everything in between. For the first time, he explained everything—what he did, how he did it, and most importantly, *why.*
The sun had set by the time he'd finished. The Chosen One was silent for what felt like too long.
"I understand," she said finally. "What you did wasn't right, but I understand."
A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and the Dark One knew that he'd done something right. "I think you should join the rebellion."
"What?" She stared at him. "You want me to join a disparate, silly gaggle of terrorists that want to kill you?"
"That's what they are right now. But with you at the helm, they'll be a force to reckon with."
It took her quite some time to agree, but the Chosen One wasn't stupid. He'd made sure of that. She understood what he was asking, and so, she set off to fulfill her end of the prophecy. On his part, the Dark One encouraged rumors of the Chosen One's rise. He'd already loosened his grip over the empire in the last few decades, and it mostly functioned without his direct intervention, leaving him as just a figurehead. Everything was in place. All he had to do was wait.
Years later, the Chosen One faced him again. The ragtag band of rebels had become a united force, and she led them as an accomplished mage and skilled tactician. They exchanged a show of magic for the masses before the Dark One allowed himself to be cornered inside his own castle. Everyone else was kept out by the barriers.
"This realm is ready for you," he said, sitting at the foot of his throne. "The economy about to industrialize, the populace is educated, and best of all, everyone is united in their hatred of me."
"You really did plan this all, didn't you?" The Chosen One laughed before taking her seat beside him. "I've always been in awe of your foresight, but one question has bothered me through all these years: why did you do it?" She paused and continued in a much softer tone. "And why me?"
He smiled. "During my long life, I've learned that prophecies come true whether you like them or not. I hate them on principle, of course. They're too deterministic for my taste, but even prophecies let you choose how they come true. If my reign has to end, then I'd rather it be by someone who knows what they're doing. Someone like you."
"I'm sorry that—"
"Don't be. I've been needing a break. Besides, I haven't visited the other worlds in a long, long time. One of them probably needs an evil overlord to overthrow, right?"
She wiped away her tears and gave him a watery smile. "I'll make you proud, Uncle Dark."
The Dark One patted her head, and as he disintegrated into dust, he said, "You already have." | Galodir the Undying, Killer of Men, carrier of the Black Shield and supreme Lord over all five kingdoms of Calcot, looked at his messenger flatly. The boy, a squire, apparently had been running since the early dawn hours to reach Galodir's ageless glass throne, tempered in dragon flame in the wars of the first empire.
The boy gulped down water, noisily, spilling it all over his tunic.
"Do you have a message," the king of kings asked, "or do you intend to simply make a mess in my throne room?"
The squire emptied his glass, then gasped, "I apologize, my lord, I was--"
"I only want to hear your message."
He nodded, surveying Galodir's throne room in admiration and awe for only a moment. His eyes caught on the tapestry on the far wall, a brutal death scene where Galodir, armed with his shield forged by the gods themselves, leapt from his magnificent stallion and gutted an enemy soldier in one single movement. He snapped his eyes away and stammered, "There's a boy, my lord. In Heafield. He has the mark of the Chosen One."
Galodir rolled his eyes. "And?"
The messenger faltered. "My lord, forgive me, but surely you know the legend. Surely you know this boy--"
"Is fated to kill me, yes. Do not pretend to know more than me, peasant." The boy collapsed to his knees in pre-emptive apology. "I am not scared of some old wives' tale."
"Some peasants are becoming... restless, my lord. There are rumors."
Galodir, Crusher of Nations, waved that worry away. "We will calm everyone. There will be no animosity here. We shall raze no innocent farm towns over a myth. In fact, as a gesture of goodwill, I would like to extend a gift to ensure the family that all is well. What is the father's name?"
"Josef Bowery, my lord."
"Bowery." He nodded to the record-keeper who always stood by his side during such encounters with civilians. "Make note to give the Bowery family a twenty percent relief on their taxes for the next three months. Tell them it is a gesture of goodwill from their king."
"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord."
The messenger scuttled from the room, bowing the whole way.
"Very noble of you," the record-keeper said with only a hint of sarcasm.
Galodir shot him a sideways smile. The record-keeper knew the truth as well as he did: there would be no prophecy to uphold if no one believed in it.
***
On the Bowery farm, young Isak was trying to find a good excuse to escape to the woods, to visit the odd hermit he had found in the wilds. He spoke of an ancient quest, a fate which Isak was born to fulfill. He had only heard half the story before he had to go back home, before he was late for supper.
Isak tried to slip out the backdoor after breakfast. His mother was busy with his four-year-old sister and fussing baby brother. His father was out in the fields already, eating his oatmeal on the go, as he liked to do. Josef was not good at sitting down when there was work to do.
Isak made it around the side of the house and froze, his belly dropping to his knees in horror. A troop of Imperial guards stood before the small Bowery farmhouse. They were armored and carrying sleek black sheaths which promised death. Isak ran to his father's side to warn him of what the hermit had said about the evils of Galodir.
But when he reached his father, Josef was shaking hands with the man and weeping.
"What did they do?" Isak cried, fierce. These men must have threatened his father hell to make him lose his composure. "What did you do to him?"
"Isak, stop." Josef wiped at his eyes and Isak realized he was smiling. "We're going to be able to keep the farm. Our king is a good king." He turned to clutch the guard's hand, shaking it so hard the guard staggered. "Thank you, thank you. This has been a bitter season. You have no idea what this means to us."
The Imperial guard clasped his hand over Josef's and said, "I will pass your message along to the King." And then he climbed back onto his horse and turned back down the road with his comrades.
Isak stared at them uncomprehendingly. "But they're *evil!*"
Josef smacked the back of his head. "Don't you dare talk about King Galodir in that way again, you little shit. That man saved our family. Because of him we will not be homeless at the end of the season."
The chosen one suppressed an eyeroll. "Okay. Whatever. Sorry. Can I go into the woods?" He did not mention the hermit.
"You won't have time to go into the woods til winter, boy. We have parsnips to harvest."
Isak groaned and followed his father, out into the field.
It would be another three hundred years until Galodir, who in that time achieved immortality, finally fell.
And in three centuries the tax tricked worked, most of the time.
***
/r/shoringupfragments | 2017-08-13T10:49:26 | 2017-08-13T10:01:54 | 7,608 | 587 |
[WP] You've had a crush on the local Superhero for a while. In an effort to get their attention, you've unintentionally become a Supervillain. | Wow, I dunno. All the times I got near her? Lessee.
The first time was just standing on the balcony outside my office. She was flying past being chased by the Blue Mosquito. You know how he's surrounded by that cloud of flies? One flew in my mouth and I ate it, I think. I guess it had some of his mutagens on it. I got real sick for a few days. Afterwards, I think it jacked my metabolism a little, because I didn’t need to sleep as much anymore and I healed a little faster. I didn’t think much about it at the time.
Second time nothing happened. She fell out of the sky battling someone, kicked up a bunch of dirt in Central Park. She climbed out of the hole, looked at me, said “Stand back, Citizen” and fly off. Amazing. That was back when she wore the bodysuit, remember? I guess that’s when I really started getting into her, going to the message boards and the “Friends of Andromegan” groups on Facebook and so forth.
Third time was when Doctor Maelstrong was holding up the TD Bank near Bryant Park last summer. I heard something was going down so I ran over and got to the front of the crowd. He had that big magic scepter with the ruby, remember? Anyway he had her down on the ground and was going to pound her skull in with it but she grabbed it mind-swing. Man, it was amazing!
She squeezed the gem and it exploded, and then the Doctor sort of deflated back into his normal self and that was that. What? Oh yeah, it sent fragments everywhere. I got hit by a couple. The doctors in the emergency room said they couldn’t get them out since my skin kept closing up over them, so after the third office visit I just gave up.
Fourth time was when there was that big fight between her and the Tokomak Kid. They had battling all over Manhattan, and I was listening on the radio while I drove back to the city. Then at some point she yelled to him to take the fight elsewhere and he yelled back how yeah he felt like a hot dog anyway and everybody said “Coney Island” but *I* thought to myself Callahan’s, they are going to Callahan’s. So I drove north and sure enough they dropped out of the sky near where they have that truck now since the main restaurant closed. Then the kid did something with his armor and I guess shot a super blast of nanoparticles at her – some kind of disassembler, he said - which didn’t stop her OF COURSE, but it melted everything within a block that wasn’t protected.
When the EMT’s got there they said I survived because I was in a car and the nanites mostly ate the car before it got to me, even though a few got on me anyway. They got all excited when I was in the hospital, because the spots where the scepter crystals were embedded were no glowing and there was looked like fine lines growing off them, but I was too pissed off to stick around. I mean, OK my car was destroyed, but fucking Callahan’s was too. Now where am I going to get rippers from? Oh fuck you, “Rudd’s Hutt” man, those are small. Poor Callahan’s.
I guess I saw her a few more times around the city. I mean everyone does if you live or work in Manhattan, right? I’d call out to her and say hi. A few times back then she’d give me an odd look, but she never said anything.
Then – I guess this was number eight –she’s fighting Dr. Maelstrong again, this was by the Library, right? He had imprisoned her in a cage of magic (I’m assuming) and I was watching from the street. Then he actually looks at me and says to me “You’ve got something that belongs to me” and he makes mystic passes in the air and sends this wave of green fire at me saying “you shall be my new servant.” And I was like “cool” but also figured I was done for. But then the fire hit me, and all the ruby spots glowed and just sort of sucked it up into the junk attached to them. Wha? I dunno! I guess the nanites were using the ruby fragments for power because the lines just started growing everywhere. Fucking Tokamak Kid, I know!
But then Dr. M gets pissed, I guess, and he comes at me, and he’s got the glowing shield going around him, except now I can see there are weak spots in it. Like it’s obvious. So right when he’s on my I give the shield a punch, and it explodes.
Ok, then this is the totally fucked part. There’s another flash coming at me and I figure it’s Dr. M again, so I sort of blindly punch again. But it turns out it’s not. It’s Andromegan. And there’s a crack and she goes flying. And then Dr. M escapes. And, I dunno, I get scared and ran away too.
I guess that’s when she started thinking I was some kind of enemy of hers.
| Sigh. It was a sigh that I have heard too many times in my life. Kelly shook her disapprovingly head at me. She frowned, just like all the other times. Her smile still eludes me.
I do not understand. Everything was supposed to be perfect this time. I kept quiet, hoping that maybe... just maybe, she will see past what I have done this time. To see that my action is nothing but a declaration of love, a testament to how far I would go for her.
"Why, Doctor?" was all she could muster. Her voice sounded tired. This was not how I pictured things would happen. She is not even looking at me, her head turned towards the floor.
"Kelly," I said as I took a step towards her. I wanted to hold her, to tell her that I did everything for her. All my actions until today were to prove my love for her. No one else understood Kelly but me.
A blast of laser shot out from her eyes, shattering the floor in front of me.
"Stop!" she yelled. Her eyes glowed red. Her hands clenched into fists.
"I have told you many times to stop calling me that," she seethed through her teeth. "My name is Azure."
"But we both know your real name is Kel-"
I never got to finish my sentence. A strong force knocked me backwards and pushed me to the walls. The impact almost knocked me out. I would usually howl in pain, but a familiar scent stopped me. Kelly's face was inches from mine.
"This is the first time that I've been so close to you," I told her, wishing that the moment would drag on forever. I smiled, hoping that she would finally return the favour. Instead, she threw me across the room. It hurt, but it was worth it, as I recalled her scent.
"Enough!" she yelled as I hit the floor. She pointed to the bodies lying at the side of the room, then shifted her gaze back to me.
"Why?" Instead of adoration, I only saw the disgust on her face.
I slowly pulled myself up. My fingers slowly stroke my face. The pain made me wince, but it did not compare to the pain of yet another disappointment. It was a face she was supposed to love. I spent so much time trying to recreate it.
I tracked down all the men that was needed to make the face. Those blue eyes. The sharp nose. The double chin. All to look like him.
"How could you?" I heard Kelly whisper. Tears was streaming down her face. "After what you did to him? Now you want to defile his memory by being him?"
I shook my head. It was never my intention to be him. I thought that if I removed him, Kelly would finally accept me. But that didn't happen. Instead, she became obssessed with his memory. She no longer smiled. I thought I could bring her smile back by being him.
I wanted to tell Kelly. That she is the only reason why I am who I am today. Everything that I did, everyone that I sacrificed, was only for her. I wanted her to see that. I wanted so badly for her to understand.
But the last thing that I saw was her glowing red eyes.
---------
Edit: Shameless plug to /r/dori_tales | 2018-01-30T07:12:40 | 2018-01-30T06:07:41 | 38 | 14 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Ever remember that scene from "The Sixth Sense", where the little kid says "I see dead people?". That was pretty much exactly how I first tried to tell people about my power. I was only six, and my parents laughed it off. My father is going to die in a car accident. My mother, a heart attack.
You see, I can see how people die. Their cause of death is shown in a little text box over their head. It normally shows something like my parents, an accident, or just old age. I tried to help people as I got older, trying to give people as much time as possible. I told cancers to get a check-up arranged. Car accidents to drive safely. Every goddamn one of them laughed it off. Said I was crazy. Well, Charlene died from a car accident a few weeks later. John has terminal cancer. Every single one of them died. I stopped trying soon after Sarah died from a drug overdose.
At first, there was no time. I couldn't tell when these deaths were going to happen, just how they were. Then, I noticed people's words becoming more opague. The closer they were, the more solid the words became. As I grew older, I noticed that they were cracking, shot through with veins of color. I started guessing how long they had, choosing the urgent cases, the brick-like car accidents and the tombstone murders. I couldn't interfere, just tell them to be careful. I examined them, carefully noting the color change. I soon had a system.
Blues, the long term people. Two decades or more, I'd guess. Greens, a decade. Yellows had a year, two tops. Reds, the next few months. Purples, a week. Blacks, a day or two.
I was sitting on a bus when I saw him. A boy, the same age as me, leaning his head against the window, looking out at the world passing by. Among all the other passengers, he was the only purple one, the rest a mess of greens and blues. There was a few yellows too.
Everyone else had the usual. Car accidents, cancer, one tiger, that was going to be rough. Nothing too bad. He had the word "suicide", surrounded by deep purple.
He lifted his head off the window, and glanced down at his hands. He seemed to have made a decision.
I watched as the colors shifted from purple to black.
I had promised myself not to interfere again.
I smashed that promise into smithereens as I got up and sat beside him.
"Hey, can I talk to you? My name's Nick... are you okay?"
He glanced up at me, and then back at his hands. I saw a hint of a smile...
Just on the edge of my vision, because I was too busy staring at the text box. It now read "old age", in the palest, most beautiful and perfect tracery of blue you can imagine.
**Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. I had no idea how much of a reaction this reply would get. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3** | The first one, I did not notice. He died of a heart attack later, just like it said. When I heard, I freaked. I started seeing more of them. I tried saving them. Saved a guy from a car crash, a day later he got into another one. Saved another one from a heart attack, as soon as they took him away he got another one. Saved yet another guy from a house fire, next house he walked into, lit up. None of them survived. I started noticing the pattern. I might be crazy, but I'm not stupid. Everytime I came near one, their cause of death would *conveniently* show up, so I could stop it. Then the next opportunity it got, it striked. It made me sick to my stomach. I was not saving these people, I was killing them. I looked into the mirror, pitying, despising, hating myself for what I am. A killer. Floating above my head was the word "suicide". "Yup, sounds about right." Then I pulled the trigger.
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My first story on here. It's probably crap, I don't know. But I hear the more you write the better you get. So I'm trying that. Constructive criticism is always welcome. | 2015-03-31T11:10:46 | 2015-03-31T08:19:44 | 241 | 156 |
[WP] You've lived in this cave for hundreds of years. You know every sound, every disturbance. You can hear the footsteps, a young human. He thinks your asleep, you observe. His steps are mousy, they tremble with fear. His posture speaks of abuse. It's obvious that someone else put him up to this. | I have lived here for a long time. The local village think me a terrible beast. In centuries past this led them to give me offerings, first of flesh, then of items they thought of great value. I was never interested in these things, I chose this cave so that I might wither away in my lonely immortality. Eventually, my wish was granted and now I am left alone to this empty cave, the village offering me my peace, mayhaps because of fear, mayhaps they have forgotten me in all but fable.
I have come to a peaceful coexistence with my empty cave. The sounds of the wind entering it's mouth miles above me and the underground pond of water disturbed only by the drips of water from the stalactites above it lull me into an eternal and peaceful half slumber. And yet a new sound has entered my home.
I hear the boy long before I see him his form disrupting the flow of wind, causing it to hit the walls of the cave in slightly different places. His small hands dipping into the pond, bringing the stagnant water to his lips. Then I hear his walking, the slow, light footsteps, doing little to hide the vibrations in the air caused by his trembling. At first I wonder if he trembles from fear, or the cold from being this deep in the earth. Then I see him.
Poor child, even in the dim light of the ancient luminite stones, bruises can be seen all around the skin that hangs tightly to his bones. His head lowered and eyes pointed to the ground, not out of fear of seeing my form, but as if trained to never look up. Tears stream through the grime on his face, clearing a small path past his chin.
I don't know if he thinks me sleeping or dead, but his slow, unsure footsteps continue right up to my head, twice his size covered in matted black fur, uninterrupted. A trembling hand reaches out to find a grip on one of my protruding fangs.
"And what use does a human child have for one of my teeth", my inquiry and the sudden movement of my head scaring the child to the ground.
"Out with it child, only one of us has an eternity" I boom at the boy, now so pale he now fully resembles the long departed.
"I-" he starts struggling not to swallow his tongue in fear, "I.... need your tooth to feed my family"
I chuckle at this, though it sounds more like a savage growl to a human, I'm sure.
"An odd thing to eat, the tooth of someone so old as I" I muse, lying my head a few feet from the boy, still frozen to the ground where he fell. "But I have no use for it, share with me your story, and I shall gladly part with it for you"
For a long few minutes the boy stares into my expectant eyes, likely fearing I'd just as easily eat him as listen to him. But as time passes his story begins.
"I don't want to eat your tooth", he starts, "they say that a peice of a legendary beast will sell for a fortune, I just grabbed the first part of you---"
His words were cut off by my laughter, sounding like terrible howls after so many centuries.
"Worry not child" I reassure him as I notice his lips press firmly shut, and the color in is face, that had slowly been returning, swiftly disappear again, "I simply have not had reason to laugh in a long time, I had not known myself legendary, please continue"
With a bit more time to regain composure he continued. He told me of warring kingdoms whose names were new to me. He told me of the starvation and suffering of the populace, which is common place in a war between the mortal races. He told me many things I could guess as one who had seen much of mortal history.
And then he told me of his family. None of them born of the same blood, or even of the same race. A large group of orphans whose number dwindled with each passing day. The starvation of these poor children causing them to watch each other waste away. He told me of their home in the ruins of what once was the village that gave me offerings. The beatings they received from passing soldiers if they begged for food. The crying of the youngest through the long hungry nights.
"Enough", I stopped his story as tears began to crawl across his face once more, "Climb upon my back, so many children starving this close to my place of rest is unacceptable"
After a moment of hesitation the boy complied, and I made to exit my home to a world millennia away from the one I know. It has been long since I commanded the forest to my will. But the trees will listen and bear fruit and the soil will heed my commands and sprout crops.
I know not if it was the appearance of the boy, or the contents of his story that moved me. Perhaps I sat here so long in hope of a purpose rather simply to waste away. No matter the reason that moved my ancient heart, these children will be fed, and I shall raise them, beast or no. No child deserves to suffer.
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Hi, if you made it this far thanks for reading.
Apologies, I am at work at the moment so this was done on mobile.
And as I haven't written in a long time, criticism is fully welcome.
Hope you enjoyed it. | "Hello," My voice stretches the word, dry and wispy as I shift amongst the walls, "what do we have here, then?" He stiffens, then, as he searches for me, his eyes move yet his body is stone. They dart around to darkness, hardly able to discern any detail, "I-I am Jonah. I am s-s-supposed to slay you." His voice trembles, I feel it's vibrations throughout my form as he stumbles over his words.
I shift again, the air stirs and his breath catches as shadows within darkness move. My voice now behind him, "And how are you to do that with no weapon? Did they send me an unarmed combatant?" His arm swings, surprisingly swift, as his small hand moves through me. I chuckle as he makes a few more attempts, flailing at things he can not see. His voice, still shaky, has more courage to it now, "I know you are the great Terror, the Darkness, and if I face you bravely, then you can not win!" The walls of the cave shake with my laugh as I move my form along them, shifting and sliding. "Interesting, these stories they tell of me. How would anyone know what defeats me when I have never been defeated? Were you really so dense? Do you even know what I am?"
His body grows more tense, I can feel his muscles freeze as he stops his frantic swings. "You are... Your are evil! That is all you are and if I don't beat you here then I can never return!" He hasn't even realized it yet. Even the cold hasn't been noticed. I whisper in his ear, "Return? Why would you ever return? One can never return from me, foolish little mouse. I **am** Darkness. You walked into your doom the moment you entered me." He turns around, suddenly, looking in every direction for the exit, but I've already surrounded him. All he sees now is me, but he still attempts to run. "How adorable. You all do this, you know? Always trying to run when it is too late. Every other creature knows better, they know to avoid me, so I do grow so hungry."
He runs now, as fast as he can, panting and sweating through my cold. His feet make no sound, and his breaths do not even echo anymore. I pull in closer, enveloping him fully, tasting his fear. Almost. "You poor, poor little thing. There is no hope now, your are a part of me now. Even at this moment, you are being devoured and can't even tell. You are mine, little morsel. Those who sent you already knew you would not return. They have abandoned you. You are alone." He now hears me within his own mind, my claws have sunk into him. He drops to his knees, weeping now, no longer fighting his inevidability. He is mine.
An interloper throws the light switch, pushing me away and revealing a small room with a small bed, and junk littering the floor, "Jonah, we're sorry we yelled at you. You're growing up and we want you to learn how to take care of yourself, and that starts here, in your room. If you clean up now, we will take back grounding you, okay?" The morsel nods, he even begins picking up his toys. I withdraw for now.
I shall have plenty of chances in the future. | 2021-03-25T05:17:34 | 2021-03-25T04:11:38 | 84 | 34 |
[WP] You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!” | I felt groggy. My back was stiff. “Where am I?” I thought. “I must have slept in. I can’t remember falling asleep.” The mattress felt unfamiliar. I eased myself into a sitting position.
&#x200B;
“She’s up!” a voice to my left yelled, startling me to no end. I wrenched my eyelids open to take in my surroundings. We were in a big, dark room. I was laying on a bed against the wall. To my right there was a massive door with a metal handle. It was rounded at the top like a gate. The tiny lights pointed downward so when you looked up you could not see the ceiling. Everything was bathed in a reddish hue. It was cold. My mattress must have been bought secondhand from a prison. The stone wall in front of me shimmered as if it were wet.
&#x200B;
To my left the room extended into darkness. The sharp footsteps of the man behind the voice echoed closer and closer until a pair of polished dress shoes emerged from the darkness. He was wearing a suit with a black tie and a teal pocket square. His hair was slicked back with gel. The scent of his cologne overpowered me, even from a distance of 15 feet. “Welcome to hell” he said brightly.
&#x200B;
“Huh?” I mumbled trying to expel the grogginess from my brain. “Why are you dressed like that?” I felt silly for not being able to come up with a better question.
&#x200B;
“I died at the office.” He chuckled. “I had a heart attack on Saturday night after I heard that this dimwit John got the promotion I deserved.” He smiled at me. My mouth hung open, unable to form coherent words. “Anyways, I’m pride. The boss will be here in a few minutes, but let me introduce you to the crew.”
&#x200B;
A group of people emerged from the darkness behind him. “This is greed” he said motioning to a woman in a low cut dress revealing massive fake boobs. Her hair was wound up into a gravity-defying decorative mass atop her head. A small naked man stood to her left. He angled himself away from me in an attempt to hide his petit package. A fresh bloody wound marred the left side of his chest. “That there is lust. He got shot after he broke into his ex-girlfriend’s house. She had taken up another lover who happened to be a member of the NRA. Poor bloke is gonna be naked for eternity. Next is envy.” He gestured towards the next man. He was in his mid-fifties, with dark hair and glasses. “He died when he wrapped his brand new Lambo around a pole at 100 miles per hour the day after he declared bankruptcy. Then there’s gluttony and sloth, they’re inseparable.” Gluttony was a large man standing with his feet several feet apart in order to support his weight. Next to him was sloth, a woman in her 30’s whose stomach was tucked into the front of her sweat pants. “And this is wrath.” A giant muscle-bound man stood on the end of the line. His massive shoulders obscured his neck. “He had a roid rage incident. And that’s everybody. Who are you?”
&#x200B;
“I’m… uh… my name is…” I stammered. “I can’t remember.”
&#x200B;
The sound of a massive lock unlatching made all of us jump. The door to my right let out a shrill creak as it swung on it’s colossal hinges. A wave of oppressive heat rushed into the room. Behind the door flames enveloped a man with red skin and yellow eyes. His long stringy hair tumbled down around a pair of black horns stretching out from the sides of his head.
&#x200B;
“My friends,” he said in a deep voice. “Our team… is complete at last.” Please welcome, our eight and final member, “We shall call her, failure-to-use-turn-signal.”
&#x200B; | A hooded figure enters the cathedral. Not confidently, yet not with weakness either. With a complete disregard for his surroundings, he continues through. The crimson pathway opens up to an abyssal black altar, with seven seats worthy of the title of thrones by themselves, until compared to the momentous monstrosity that was the eighth.
“He doesn’t seem like much.”
A comment from the right of the throne. A young boy grinning, teeth ground nigh to dust from a clenched jaw, and stark white knuckles from fists rarely released. A rage stirred within, rarely if ever quelled.
The hooded figure payed him no mind. He could never see or hear what the boy truly was, only what he appeared to be. He did not know where he was, or what was happening. It did not matter to him. Not truly, in fact he remained only due to an ethereal sense of duty which he could not explain.
“Such an old soul, so much supposed wisdom huh? I wish I could have had a taste of that.” Spoke a woman of skeletal stature and darker complexion. Appearing weak, the only thing that betrayed her true nature were those sparkling green eyes.
A puff of air escaped the figure. Of disdain or acknowledgement, one may never truly know. It gave the impression that he did not care what this woman had to say, and may never.
Suddenly the throne itself expanded into an even more unfathomable size. The lack of light was all consuming, impersonating a single soul adrift in the kosmos.
“Reveal yourself.”
A simple command, yet one the newcomer could refuse with willpower alone. He pulled the hood down, and revealed his face.
He was nothing more than an older man. A man with a general disdain for all things that he perceived would ruin the life he had created for himself. The poor decrepit fool had created his own path...to hell.
The cathedral rang silent and all seven remaining members rose after their master.
The darkness spoke to the stranger,
“Cast away your mortal vessel and become an instrument of my torment. Cast away the eyes you so easily averted to the tragedy around you. Cast away the ears you misused when those near you cried for help. Cast away what pathetic existence you had before and accept your seat...
As Ignorance.”
| 2019-01-12T21:06:01 | 2019-01-12T18:24:29 | 631 | 195 |
[WP] Waking from cryostasis is now possible. The government develops an experiment where somebody is to be placed into a large chamber in the middle of the city and awoken every 50 years for just one week. Your name is chosen. | They’ve stolen your life from you. That’s what my mother said. But I didn’t mind, really. You see, they had chosen me, the government that is, to be the first living time capsule, to be the first man to span human existence. Cryostasis. This was a gift, a privilege. I would be remembered for as long as I live.
The day came for me to begin my sleep. I had already been briefed. I would sleep for fifty year intervals and, in between, would awake for one week at a time. I would live for over two-thousand and six hundred years for every year that I aged. Well, actually, because the cryostasis only slows down bodily function, not stops it completely, it would be closer to two-thousand years for every one of mine. The chamber that I would reside in was in the center of the mall, right in front of the Capitol Building. It was a cylindrical chamber with transparent fiberglass and was filled with a blue liquid. There was also a smaller chamber attached to its side. Of which, I stood in front of. I was surrounded on all sides by dense crowds of people and cameras.
“This day marks the age of a new era.” A voice boomed, “An era of immense potential and advancement. This brave citizen will not only become a part of history, but live to see his legacy. See you in 2070, my friend.”
With that, the crowd roared and the doors to the secondary chamber opened. I stepped inside, the doors slid shut, and the chamber began to fill with liquid. My mother was there, my sister, too. I waved goodbye to them as I submerged. The doors to the main chamber opened and I swam to the center. The system was designed to keep me directly in the center of the chamber. The solution that I was suspended in was specially designed for my weight and buoyancy. It would render me unconscious and then turn cold. I took one last look around and took a deep breath in. It felt like drowning and breathing simultaneously, a weird sensation, indeed. Things went dark quickly, though, and I soon rescinded into my mind.
It was basically like dreaming, just very slowly. Though, I didn’t notice the slowness until after I had woken up. Suddenly, my dream was cut short and I began to regain consciousness. Red flashes and alarms filled my senses. The liquid in the chamber was draining. Had it been fifty years? I fell to my knees as my body tried to reset. Something was off. I looked around. The mall seemed so barren now. The grass had turned to dirt. The sky was filled with what seemed to be more dust than cloud. No one was there to greet me. Did they forget? After a few minutes, I had the strength to stand. What the fuck was happening? I made my way to the secondary chamber. On the floor laid a small lock box. There was a note attached to it.
“Good morning. Place your finger here.”
I did what it said and the box popped open. Inside were two objects inside: a folded piece of paper and a pistol. My stomach sank.
“In 2067 a large celestial object impacted Earth. Most of the population left in a mass exodus to find a new home. The rest were left here to die. I’m sorry. –Peter”
It couldn’t be. But I knew it to be true. The Earth had changed. I couldn’t see a hundred feet without it being lost to dust and smog. I began to laugh. I saw Peter lying just out front of the chamber door. I wonder how long he had been there. A few years I’d wager. What a life I had had. I grabbed the pistol and cocked it back. At least Peter remembered me.
| “Time travel.” I tell the board of the selection committee. “You want me to time travel. Why?” I hadn’t known that this committee existed, or even if cryostasis technology had come this far along. Now I had been summoned to a mysterious meeting to talk about this….I wasn’t sure what to call it. Was it an honor? A privilege? A burden?
“Because we as a committee, and we believe we also speak for the world, believe in you.”
“Again, why? What have I done that’s so amazing? I’m not a great scientist or a great artist. I am not even really famous, powerful, or rich.” I think they might have made a mistake. I’m not sure they have selected the right person.
“That’s part of the appeal you understand.” Another member of the committee informs me. “Anyone who has a lot of fame or fortune will have either an agenda, or a cult following. Both of which disrupt the whole point of this time hopping adventure we have planned for you.”
“And what is the point?” I ask.
“To inspire, my good man.” A third member chimes in. “There are going to be dark times ahead, as there always are, and we need someone who people can look to in order to give themselves some purpose, some fire. We believe you are such a person.”
“How can you be sure?” I ask. “That seems like a lot of pressure and responsibility.”
“Because you are afraid of the responsibility, which tells us you aren’t power hungry. This will no doubt make you one of the most famous people in all of time, as you will affectively live to be about three thousand, even without further medical advances. You aren’t doing this for the fame. You’re doing it for the people.”
“If you’re sure.” I say.
“We are.” The committee says in unison.
“Then I’m ready whenever you are.” Eric Thomas says.
Side note: cryostasis is not in Microsoft word’s dictionary, and this makes me sad. | 2014-12-19T07:17:25 | 2014-12-19T06:30:31 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] You've just entered the restaurant of Karma, where everyone gets what they deserve. As a very normal person, you expect to get a bowl of soup, or maybe pasta. But before you can even sit down, the staff carry out a 12-course meal for you. | Whatever its real name is, it’s been lost to time. The vinyl awning just says “REST UR T”, there’s no menus, and the staff just shrug if you ask. But I call it Karma’s, and it’s my go-to first date spot.
Number one: it’s really good to see how she copes with the no-menu, you-get-what-you-get thing. Once a girl walked out right then. I stuck around, and my usual boiled chicken was a little saltier than normal—some kind of karmic joke about tears, maybe?
Number two: watching the other diners helps keep that awkward first-date patter going. We ogle the pinched-looking woman who gets a filet, the sweaty man who gets a pile of shredded cucumber, the couple offered *I swear* hot garbage. Who are these people, what did they do? There’s plenty to watch.
But most importantly, number three: what does the waiter bring her? I’m realistic: I’m looking for girls who get pasta or soup, maybe boiled chicken like me. Normal stuff. Anything moldy, gross, or meager is an instant and permanent red flag. I learned to trust Karma’s after a date got a single maraschino cherry. I didn’t know how to interpret that at the time, but I sure found out for myself later.
You know who I don’t bring here? Friends. Coworkers. Family. Anyone I couldn’t bear to learn something secret about.
Tonight, I’m breaking my rule. Noemi sits across the table—my friend *and* my coworker, but I think we’re on a date? It’s not that I never saw her in a romantic light—I think she’s beautiful—I just don’t date people from work.
Again, breaking all my rules tonight. But if it works out, it will be worth it. Noemi works hard, has a sly, dry wit, and is my favorite person to get stuck doing overtime with. I think those are good qualities in a girlfriend, but I guess I’ll know when her food comes.
The waiter brings my boiled chicken first. “I always get the same thing,” I say, a little self-conscious. Noemi smiles, because I haven’t told her that I believe the meal you receive is a reflection of your soul, so she doesn’t know that I have the soul of boiled chicken.
“You must like it if you keep coming back.”
The waiter sets down a green leaf salad with bright tomatoes in front of her and I’m both relieved and disappointed. I’ve gone on lots of dates with salad girls, that’s definitely above my cutoff. But I’d kind of hoped Noemi would be special.
Then another waiter deposits a bowl of soup, something creamy and aromatic, with two fluffy biscuits.
“You didn’t tell me they could guess your favorite meal!” Noemi beams.
Then another waiter brings a pasta, a huge plate, steaming and garnished with fresh herbs.
Then another waiter brings fish—like, a *whole fish*, as long as my arm, blackened and covered with lemon wedges.
“Oh, wow,” Noemi says.
Then another waiter brings—an auxiliary table, which is quickly covered in a roast duck with plum sauce, some kind of potato cassoulet, a rack of lamb, one of those fancy ice towers covered in oysters and lobster claws and shrimp, a *whole roast pig*, a massive fruit compote parfait thing, a cheese board, and finally a chocolate cake decorated with sparklers.
The whole restaurant falls silent.
Noemi’s green eyes are wide. “This is... a lot, Garrett.” Like I had something to do with it! Did she donate a kidney, talk down a jumper, give away an inheritance to an orphanage? What?
She looks at the man sitting alone next to us. He has a tuna sandwich frozen halfway to his mouth.
“I can’t eat all this,” she tells him. “Would you like some?”
The man licks his lips, and Noemi encourages him to sample from her dishes. Then she waves over another couple, and another, until the whole restaurant is feasting together. They drag their tables alongside ours, passing the dishes up and down. Wine comes from somewhere, and now we’re singing ‘Happy Birthday’—“It’s not my birthday!” Noemi shouts but she laughs and blows out the sparklers anyway.
I don’t even know what happens to my boiled chicken; it’s forgotten, like the other paltry dishes the restaurant served.
When we’re full—when everyone is full—I ask Noemi to marry me. She laughs, because she thinks I’m not serious.
“How about we start with a second date?” She lets me hold the door open for her. “But we’ve got to seriously work on developing your palate.”
I know she’s right: I can’t go back to boiled chicken, not ever again. | Theo finished the final course and allowed herself to relax into the soft, corner booth. She had arrived with the hopes of getting a bite to eat, not gorging herself on foods she had never even seen before! Why was this happening to her? When asked, the servers just smiled at her and ignored her questions.
Something was off here. Theo's Karma level placed her just above the poverty line, not to the tier in which she was currently being treated. It didn't make any sense.
A new attendant, different from the servers, approached. He had short black hair and wrinkly skin but he still seemed youthful. He grinned at her and offered his hand. Theo smiled back and accepted the man's wrinkled hand. Trying not to look ridiculous, she scooted her way out of the booth.
"Sir, do you know why I am being treated like Karma herself in this restaurant?" Theo asked.
The man didn't seem to understand her. He just squeezed her hand and smiled. Then, he began leading her to the back of the restaurant.
"Where are we going?' Theo demanded. He continued to pull her along, no reply. Not even a smile this time.
"Where are we going?" Theo asked more firmly this time.
The man stopped pulling her. He turned, and in extremely broken English, whispered, "*Corrrrse numbaaa thir...teen."*
Course number 13? More food? She already felt like she might explode!
She tried to object but the man was already pulling her arm again. He led her through the kitchens where dishes, all different in Karma portion sizes, were being prepared. Knives cut, pots clanged, and pans were set ablaze on the stove top.
The two of them traveled past the kitchen, through the back offices, and finally came to the end of a hall. The door there read, *Private Dining*. Theo had no idea how she would eat any more food. This was all too much for her. They should be treating her like a peasant, not a queen.
Strangely, the man released her hand and pat her twice on the head. "GoOOOd gee-irl," he whispered with his thick accent. He knocked on the door twice.
From inside, came a voice.
"Enter..." the voice bellowed. Was that a human voice? No, it couldn't have been. It sounded like 100 voices stacked on top of each other. Theo felt a bead of sweat run down her forehead. What was this? Who was behind this door?
The mysterious man grinned at her again before reaching for the door.
"Wait," Theo grabbed his arm, stopping him in place. "Who is behind this door?"
"Pandemonium," he said. Theo stood frozen in place. The word had come out in *perfect* English.
Before she could turn to run, the man grabbed her by the neck, opened the door, and tossed her inside. Immediately, she felt cold and.....surrounded. She rubbed at her neck, a fresh cut appearing under her left ear.
A demonic voice seemed to come from all directions, "Hello....Course 13..."
*screams...only screams...* | 2020-08-10T08:41:22 | 2020-08-10T06:56:18 | 79 | 40 |
[WP] You are going on a quest to avenge the death of your brother. Each village elder gives a gift. The Dwarf an axe, the elf a bow & the Necromancer your brother.
* Your village is very multicultural. | "Oi, Dremar, can you help me hoist the tent?"
The dark eyed man glanced over at me as I hold up two poles. Grath, our dwarven companion, was little help. Lestar, the elf, was trying his best but we just need extra hands.
"Mmm, go help them, if you will," Dremar said. He waved a long fingered hand and his shambling servant waddled over to us and held the final tent pole in place.
Lestar laughed but Grath grimaced at it.
"You couldn't have brought more to the table than your personal zombie companion?" she asked. "I mean how does it help us get any closer to avenging Lane's brother?"
It didn't really but I didn't mind Dremar's contribution. It meant a lot. Besides, there was something I liked about his weird little zombie pet. Something familiar that made me not as grossed out as the others.
___
At every turn something seemed to thwart us. Bandits and goblins and washed out bridges. We soldiered through, though, fighting to reach our ultimate goal, the castle of the Dread Queen Barsh. She was the one who had captured my brother's platoon as they provided relief to the poor peasants in lands bordering hers.
It had been she who had smote them all.
We camped on the edge of her land the night before going in. Everyone went to bed early but I stayed up a bit longer, staring at the sky.
What kind of revenge did Sam want? Did he want me to burn the castle to the ground? Kill the queen? Make a statement of her? Did he even want me here?
"What do you want, Sam?" I whispered, my breath carried in the air.
I heard a groan behind me and looked back to find Dremar's zombie companion kinda staring blankly in my direction. I'd really come to appreciate it for all it had done for us. I knew zombies were mindless but I liked to think I saw a spark in his eyes.
"What do you think? Do you think he wants me to quit or take out the castle?"
It gargled a bit and then pointed at the castle.
I laughed. Yes, Dremar would want us to take out the castle, so his little pet would as well.
"Alright, you know the dead better than I do, little one." I grinned and it kinda grinned back at me.
___
The battle was hard fought but well won. Grath had toppled the walls with a weird, jerryrigged catapult she'd made from nothing. Lestar had picked off so many orcish slaves with his arrows that I'd forgotten Barsh even had an army.
Dremar and I went in, accompanied by his servant and any other decent corpses he raised on the way.
The Queen screamed when she saw us, furious at how we got past her guards. Turns out she wasn't much of a fighter and I'd gotten very strong. The battle didn't last long.
As she lay dying on the ground, she looked up at us and gurgled, "Wait... I know you." Then her eyes shifted and they grew wide. "Both of you."
I frowned. Her eyes hadn't drifted to me when she said this last bit. Rather, they'd moved to the zombie.
A moment later, Dremar kicked her body over. "Good riddance." There was a harsher tone to his voice than I'd expected and I certainly didn't expect the tears shining in his black eyes. He looked back at his zombie pet. "What do you think? I did good?"
The zombie made some weird noise, almost like conversation, but not in a language I understood.
Dremar laughed. "Yeah. Yeah she did good too. I think we're all proud of her now."
The two looked over at me and for just a moment, I saw the same level of intellect and sentience in both their eyes. Dremar's eyes were the same terrifying black that demarked all necromancers but the zombie's were, for a moment, a piercing blue I'd know all my life.
"Can I tell her?" Dremar asked but he didn't have to.
Not anymore.
"How?" I whispered, knees trembling. "I thought... I thought-"
Dremar avoided eye contact as he spoke. "We were on the same platoon. Soldiers because my kind weren't well accepted. Sam was in a higher rank than I was. Saw I was no good at fighting and helped me find a different, more logistic role. It saved my life and I tried to repay the favor when our commanders tried to put his squad in a bad spot. They ignored me."
While he talked, the zombie shambled up to me, putting a hand on my shoulder, eyes still blue.
"I abandoned my post. Deserted. Rode as hard and fast as I could to where the slaughter was happening. I was too late."
"What happened to you?" I whispered, tears swimming over my eyes, down my cheeks, tickling my tongue with their salt.
"He was too far gone but not quite dead. He asked me to avenge him, find you, tell him he was proud of you. He asked me if I could pass him messaged from life to death but that's not... that's not how it worked." Dremar sniffed sharply and I could tell he was crying too. "So I asked if he wanted to come with. Help us get vengeance. See you... a little bit longer. The spells wearing off now. It had a pretty strict lifespan... I wanted to say but he didn't want you to know. To travel with him, knowing he was like this."
"You idiot," I scolded, laughter pushing sobs out my throat. "You should have said."
He made a noise, like laughter, but there were tears in his eyes too. I held him for another moment or two before the shuddering breaths he took silenced and his body went still.
I looked up at Dremar. The tears on my face were different than when I'd first heard the news. "I didn't know zombies could cry."
He gave a watery laugh. "I don't think they can. It may have just been the spell wearing off."
I nodded, but I knew that wasn't true. No, that was Sam, my Sam, and I'd know that look in his eyes when he cried. I'd know it anywhere.
"Thanks, Dremar," I said. Then I lowered my voice to a whispered. "And thank you, Sam. For sticking around a bit longer. I hope you can rest now. I love you, baby brother."
___
Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/) | Dillan sighed, hoisting his rucksack further up on his back, and strode off down the path that led towards the village gates, which was lined on either side by his fellow villagers; some of them wore sympathetic looks as he waded past them, others looked eager, excited, even, at the prospect. It had been years since a quest had been announced.
Dillan, however, kept his dark brown eyes fixed ahead of him as he walked. He had not called the quest in an attempt to garner glory and honour amongst the other villagers, but in an attempt to revert the devastation done to his life a few days prior, when a mountain troll had clubbed his older brother to death. Even as the reason for his journey swam back to the forefront of his mind, he felt a sudden burning feeling in his eyes. He hastily pushed aside the thoughts of Dante and shook his head; he would not let the villagers see his tears.
Still keeping his eyes trained on the three figures standing ahead of him, he passed through the lines of silently staring villagers, and came to a halt, staring down at the Village Elders.
"You seek your own destruction by attempting this," said Brionyl, the Elf Elder, bluntly. He gazed up at Dillan through his enormous, vivid green eyes, his expression blank, and continued flatly. "It is not too late to call off this mission; the villagers may call it cowardice, but at least you'll still be alive."
Dillan did not answer. It was already taking all his willpower not to wheel about, dash back home, and curl up under his pillows. The elf was not exactly inviting confidence. After a moment, however, he sighed.
"Very well, on your own head it will be. As for your assistance on the journey — the Council of Elven Elders have decided you must have this. The bow of Cherobyl." He held up a magnificent golden bow and a quiver of crystal-tipped arrows. "Each one is imbued with extremely powerful Elven magic. Use them carefully."
Dillan nodded and turned to the Dwarfen Elder, Kerkrot. He was spinning a large, black iron axe between his stubby fingers. He too held it out to Dillan, who accepted graciously.
"The Axe of Keliope, also known as the Cleaver. The magic in this axe allows it to cleave through just about anything. Should come in useful somewhere along the way."
Dillan bowed. "Thank you, Elder Kerkrot."
He turned to the final Elder, who was draped in flowing black robes and a hood that cast his face into shadow. Unlike the other two, he stood on the same height as Dillan.
"Elder Versache."
The cloaked man did not respond, but instead waved his arm above the ground; a large crack spread along the stone, and a figure emerged from the depths, with waxy-looking skin, sunken cheeks, and eyes that were completely blank. Still, that shock of untidy brown hair, strong jaw, and jagged scar along the hollow cheek were as immediately recognizable in death as they had been in life.
"Dante!" Dillan exclaimed, staring at his brother in disbelief.
Versache shook his head. "Your brother is gone, my dear boy," he said. When he spoke, it sounded as though several people were talking in unison, as though the souls of the damned had united in explanation. "Or, his soul is gone, that is. This is merely his corporal envelope. An empty shell."
"Why? Why would you do this?" spat Dillan, his hands clenching into fists as he glared at the hooded Elder. "Do you have any idea what seeing him like this *feels* like? Like some — some disgusting zombie!"
"Calm yourself, my boy," Versache said calmly. "I am doing you a favour. If you manage to retrieve your brother's soul, it will need a container to hold it." He held up a hand and gestured at the undead Dante. "This is your container. If whatever resurrection ritual you seek to employ works, the soul will heal the body upon reentry. He will follow you until you manage to save him. I wish you luck."
And without another word, he wheeled about and swept back down the street, before Dillan had the chance to apologize. He turned instead and looked from the elf, to the dwarf, and finally to his brother's body. A firm resolve flushed through him — he would save him, he had to.
"Thank you for your gifts, Elders," he said. "I will make good use of them. Let's go, Dante. We have a mission."
He strode off down the path, Dante's corpse lumbering along behind him.
This has been my first writing prompt in a month, hope I did well. If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out r/MysticScribbles | 2020-08-19T12:05:42 | 2020-08-19T11:51:56 | 138 | 37 |
[WP]: An ordinary human being gets abducted into interplanetary olympics that have a fun twist: The loser's planet gets destroyed. All hope seems to be lost, until the last sport is revealed to be what humans do best.
Edit: Thanks to you people, I am now aware of the existence of Jimmy Neutron, and if I could, would take it back.
I apologise for not having watched the same cartoons as you did, growing up. | John Tyson quietly left the board meeting wearing a false smile, only letting his true emotions show on his face after he had turned away from the rest of the board. Everyone else in the room was jubilant - their fourth quarter earnings had shattered Wall Street’s expectations, and Tyson’s stock price was set to rise at least 25% at the opening bell.
But those weren’t the numbers that were on John’s mind. The fact that he had grown his companies revenues by over 13% per year over the past decade gave him no comfort at all. The only numbers he was concerned with were the number of animals slaughtered. 35 million cattle, 116 million pigs, 271 million turkeys, and just over 18 billion chickens. Would it be enough?
John was only forty-one years old, but the burden he carried had not been kind to his visage. People were shocked to learn that he was still in his forties. Everyone who met him believed that his wife, an angel of a woman who was the love of his life, was a trophy wife. Christine Tyson was actually a year older than he was, but she had a innocent, carefree beauty that was ignorant of the enormous burden weighing down on her husband’s shoulders.
John did some quick math in his head. He was forty-one years old, but he doubted he would live to see sixty. He had fifteen years left at best. Better to be safe and call it a dozen. This year, Tyson Foods had slaughtered just under 20 billion mammalian lives. If he could increase that number by 8% a year over the next twelve years… they would be slaughtering just over 50 billion mammalian lives in 12 years. Cumulatively, that would be a total of… just under 430 billion lives.
It wouldn’t be enough. He needed at least 800 billion mammalian deaths under his belt for even a shot at gold, and only a gold medal would keep his planet out of last place. He would have to lobby Congress to get more processed meats into school lunches, and to lift the restrictions on advertising to children. He would have to call in favors at the FDA to lower the minimum quality standards for consumable meat as well.
“If only seafood counted,” he thought to himself, but the rules of the competition were very clear. Only deaths within the same animal family would count towards the total points awarded in this sport. He would have been able to sleep better at night too, had he been a fish farmer or a shrimp fisherman.
John quickly dispelled those thoughts from his mind before returning to the task at hand. He had an enormous amount of work to do if he was going to save his planet. He knew that even his most optimistic projections failed to take into account the rise of vegetarianism, PETA, and animal rights activists that were trying to end factory farming practices, completely oblivious to how much danger their planet was truly in.
“If only…” was the story of his life. If only he had been born in China, with their billion mouths to feed. If only he had been born in the future, when technology would have allowed him to slaughter trillions of animals a year. If only he had never snuck out of his house as a seventeen-year old farmhand, running towards that mysterious bright light... | And we're back with live coverage of the two thousand and fifty third interplanetary Olympics, direct from Gliese 6c! And what a spectacle it's been so far, Rob.
You can say that again, Claire. I haven't seen competition this fierce since the nuclear blast survivability round. In fact I haven't seen anything since!
As we head into the final round of competition, the current standings are as follows:
Orion Nebula in 1st place,
Gliese 6c in 2nd place,
. . .
and finally, Earth finishing last in 45,341st place.
Those earthlings definitely need to step up their game if they want to be home for dinner, Claire.
That's right, Rob, since the colony that places last will be eliminated with the LifeStar 4G "planet buster", the latest innovation in high-energy confinement fusion.
And it looks like we're ready to start the final round of competition. The invigilators have gathered around the podium to reveal the final task that awaits the contestants.
. . .
Could it be? Oxygen breathing. I thought that sport was banned back in '83!
Well, it was discontinued for a time due to the detrimental effect the toxic, corrosive gas had on the contestants. However, the league of oxygen athletics was able to re-instate the sport after demonstrating an improved oxygen breathing technique that prevents the most harmful, irreversible damage to most organisms. | 2014-05-06T06:49:25 | 2014-05-06T06:42:13 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Humans are known throughout the galaxy as the only species without active psychic abilities. One day at school the alien teacher reveals a book that not even the universal translators can decipher. You and the other humans in the class can read it perfectly, and you recognize it as a grimoire. | Three hundred years ago humans have made contact with various extraterrestrial life. Overwhelmed by the sheer difference with technological advancements humans quickly fell into the bottom of the food chain. The United Galactic Government or the U.G.G. enacted laws in order to protect humans as third class species, in need of government protection until we are evolved enough to stand side by side with other lifeforms.
"Oi! Punny Humie!" said a Globforb telepathically as its gelatinous tentacles produced a shrill sound, it hurt my ears. They don't have to do that but they still do. "Yes?" I said, without a choice but to reply. The Globforb lets out a disgusting fart, the kind that you can taste, the kind that lingers in your nose long after its gone. The gelatinous creature laughed, still making a shrill noise humans can only perceive.
I entered the classroom using the backdoor, no one is allowed to use the front aside from the mentors. Today, we will be learning galactic history. It turns out that humans never managed to learn about the rich history of the galaxy. How galactic empires rose and fell, how saviors fought and martyred, all because we can't stop fighting between ourselves. *"Humans, weak as they are, are surprisingly savage lifeforms. So savage in fact that the single celled organisms of Xiphium-4 managed to bond together and become a living planet, contacted the U.G.G. Way before the humans were found the government."* said our mentor, Clorphrius, or at least that is what us humans can understand. *"So backwards are they that they never developed what we call the Unity! The oneness between the outside and the inside."* Mentor Clorphrius continued *"But you all know and some of you..."* the mentor looked at the half-dozen humans in the classroom. *"..lives it to this day. So enough of that. Today we shall discuss the most ancient relic ever known to exist."* Clorphrius took out a brown leather bound tome from a metal box. On its cover says Grimoire.
*"Not a single living organism can understand what this relic say. Some scholars believe that it is pure nonsense."* Mentor Clorphrius used one of their arms to flip through the book while the other two held it up above its heads. All the humans looked at each other, our eyes unsure of what we were reading but somehow we knew.
*"However, all humans have the same reaction upon seeing it."* Clorphrius slithered to the humans. Its psychic voice filled with vile and disgust. I refuse to let my imagination run wild but a part of me thinks that they are conducting heinous acts to extract information from humans. *"Could it be a secret? A weapon?"* Mentor Clorphrius said as they moved back to the front of the class, the book still held up.
My eyes, our eyes, can't believe what we are reading. I know that every human in the class is reading the same words as I do in unison. Engraving each syllable to our very core. The words that say:
"We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cryNever gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you." | Humans were considered "Disabled" by the various races of the galaxy. We had no access to psychic abilities. Oh when they met us they marveled at our paradox, a race radiating psychic energy that had no ability to direct it. We were quickly cordoned off by the larger galactic community, we were just too loud most of the time.
I was sent to the galactic library of Taunalus as a part of a diplomatic mission of sorts. The Endless and the Ascendants were currently negotaiting a trade deal that would span both of their civilizations.
But the Ascendants can easily bend sapient's to their will. While the Endless have a remarkable telepathic ability where two friends could speak across the galaxy as if they were sitting at the same table.
Both sides reached out to us. The Ascendants didnt' want the Endless to coordinate until the meeting was over, and the Endless didn't want their former masters to subvert the delegation. We wanted technology and our exessive psychic energy would prevent any shenanigans during the meeting. A clear win, win, win.
The Ascendants offered us access to their section of the library. No weapons, no drives, no shield techs were on the table, but they did give us access to anything in their "mostly harmless" section.
The Endless gave us a similar offer.
It was while browsing these two sections when I noticed that both sides had parts of a leatherbound tome similar to those on ancient earth.
In addition to a high efficiency battery technology from the Ascendants and a communications relay designed to emulate the telepathic abilities of the Endless both races provided their halves of the tome as a personal gift to myself for my services.
The tome filled with ancient secrets, secrets that only a human could read. | 2020-09-07T02:56:08 | 2020-09-07T01:49:12 | 295 | 76 |
[WP] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes. | "General, Cavanaugh. . . ." the sergeant said, cautiously, unsure how to proceed.
It wasn't difficult to pour venom into my words, it was seeping out of my soul, the vitriol eager to escape. I pushed a feather boa out of my field of vision and got close to the soldier, close enough that he could smell the perfume I was wearing, the extended chrome studs of my leather collar nearly reaching out to his chin.
"Yes, Sergeant. I *am* a general. A seventeen star general. My name *is* Cavanaugh. Very good."
"It's just, General," the man stammered, "our orders are very strict to this very specific point. We cannot allow this door to be opened."
For as long as I could remember, I have been shrouded by a sphere of neural disillusionment projection, and everywhere I went, people thought they worked for me despite all evidence to the contrary. I mean, what car salesman thinks they work for a five year old? And yet, that is my first solid memory, my mother explaining again and again to a harried, balding man in a beige suit that I was not his supervisor. *Maam, if you could just explain to your son that I've got three 'solid leads' coming in to look at the Durango, and that I'll meet my quota. I swear it.*
And now, after accessing the inner command bunker of an underground base one hundred miles of Nevada desert from Las Vegas, the good sergeant was wavering. This was far and away the most resistance I'd faced from the start of an interaction; was asking to *maybe* destroy the world enough to convince someone they did not work for me? Would this be enough to break my spell permanently? I could only know if I kept pressing.
"I'm giving you another, different, order, as your supervisor, Sergeant."
And sure. I know what you are thinking. It was fun to be the boss of the whorehouse, and the speedboat distributor, and the casino, and the prison, or whatever, here's something that most people don't get. Being the boss also *fucking sucks.* Everyone wants to bellyache to you about something. Everybody needs a raise, or more flexible hours, or less hours, or more hours, or to tell you about co-worker X, or to go home early. Or to give you a goddamn powerpoint presentation or their notes, or whatever. *OK! Go home early! Email me your shit! I don't care.*
But I do care, because I don't want to be boss of anyone. Every single one of you should try being self employed.
And. Do. Not. Get. Me. Started. On the types of women who will date you if they think you are their fucking boss! Yes, they are out there, but it just isn't worth it.
I needed this shit to stop. Let some *other* asshole be the boss for a while. Jesus. So here I was, in the bowels of the Nevada desert, seeing if breaking into the most secure Army base I could find would be enough to make someone wonder just a little bit. I had to break this supernatural, managerial pallor once and for all.
The man shrugged his shoulders up at the cameras. Would the men on the other side of the camera see a guy in drag, exposed beer belly with bonus hair, and a parade of feathers over his shoulder, a hard nosed, straight shooting general, or something in between? I'd asked a few terrified 'employees' of mine to spin up footage of me entering or leaving a venue, and it always just looked like me; middle aged, dad bod in jeans. But if I asked them, 'what am I wearing in the video?', they'd look at me curiously. "The same thing you are now, sir."
"Can I call this in, General?" he asked flaccidly, his voice shirking as he finished, like a dog asking for permission to pee on the floor while lifting a hind leg. "I'm really sorry," he continued.
I did a twirl and threw a boa across his neck. "Yes, Sergeant." His fingers visibly shook as he toggled a keypad.
"Yeah, General Cavanaugh is here with me. He wants to open the door to room one. I'm uh," he stammered some more, "I'm looking for a little guidance on this one." He was shuffling back and forth a tiny bit in his stance.
"At easy peasy, Sergeant," I told him.
He tilted his head and looked at me, but kept his ear to the speaker, awaiting a response.
The wall spoke. "He's the seventeen star General, Blake, you grunt fuck. Open the door. How you think he got all the way out into the desert, past the fence, through the gates, past the blast walls, down twenty floors, and through the airlocks?"
"He, uh. He smells weird." Sergeant Blake looked at me quickly, but his gaze was confused, and he was afraid of his next sentence. "He smells like a stripper. And I think he might be wearing glitter or something."
The Sergeant was questioning my appearance! Was my aura of boss-doppleganger subsiding? "He's got chains on his neck. Studs and shit!" he yelled. He l took one step back, his hand falling instinctively to his sidearm, but leaving it holstered.
The wall speaker was silent for several moments. "That does seem kind of odd," it eventually reported.
Sergeant Blake eyed me suspiciously, but with regret. "I'm sorry, sir. We've just got to get some things straightened out with HQ real quick." He pointed his ear back to the speaker, waiting for direction.
It was working!
But then. "Generals do whatever they want, Blake. Open the door."
The Sergeant, still eyeing me cautiously, leaned over and pressed an impressively long number of digits into the door, a lean rectangle dropping into the floor behind him. "Here you go, General. The US reserve of smallpox."
I threw a feather boa and my studded leash into the room on general principle, a mind bender for the next person to enter that room. "I've seen what I need to see, Sergeant. Tell your boys I need a jet chartered to Atlanta. I'm going home."
"Yes sir!", Blake reported back to me, barking instructions into the speaker. When he was done, he followed me to the elevator. "For what it is worth, sir, I thought the boas were a bold choice." | "Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me!" The lady persisted.
I had tried to ignore her. That worked about half the time. "Yes?"
"One of your employees was very rude to me. He should be fired." She was red in the face and pointed an Shakey finger towards a young woman. The employee had a massive bun hairdo and blue eyeshadow, she was aloof to the event, tapping away at her smartphone.
I sighed and put a finger between my brow, "Listen ma'a-"
"No you listen. Your going to go out of business if you treat your customers this way." She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head forward.
"Like I was trying to say-"
"Oh excuses is it? Give me your corporate number. They're going to have a fit when they hear about this." She crossed her arms and scowled.
"I don't work here!" I shouted, the busy retail store froze and went silent. They all turned to see the commotion. Both of us glew red. She lowered her head and dashed for the door, forgetting her anger with the unbearable embarrassment.
I scratched the back of my neck and forced a laugh that wouldn't fool a child.
"Is everything alright sir?" A tall employee asked.
"Um that lady had a problem with one of your employees. And she mis-"
"I'm very sorry about that sir, I would've been more astute about there behavior today if I knew corporate was sending you." The tall man's eyes where downcast, his head slightly bowed.
"I don't actually-"
"You're right, I am ashamed of their behavior, you being here shouldn't change anything."
"That's true but-"
"I'll be sure to have a sitdown with them immediately, which one was it?" The man asked.
I took a deep breath, this same situation has happened what feels like a million times already. "I. Don't. Work. Here!" Yelling always broke the spell. Unfortunately it drew everyone else's attention as well. I blushed but tried to hide my embarrassment. I needed to be assertive, else they never listen.
The man's jaw dropped and he was at a loss for words. Most people were that way. They don't know how to react to me once the veil is lifted.
I grabbed the batteries I was looking for and headed to check out, leaving the frozen manager behind. The older woman looked at me from behind thick round glasses and squinted, then smiled in recognition.
"What's your employee ID sir?"
I slapped my hand to my face so hard it left a red mark. "I forgot." I just couldn't bring myself to yell at this sweet lady.
"That's ok. I'll use Jim's, some one like you probably has a lot on their mind to forget your numbers." She tapped on the keyboard in a memorized pattern.
"Ain't that the truth." I sighed, I looked at the register for the price. "Is this right? That's not even a quarter of the regular price.
She smiled sweetly and winked. "It's a great deal sir." I nodded feverishly, money was tight, my power made it impossible to work under anyone. This discount meant I could splurge on dinner tonight. I smiled at the thought of a full belly and almost drooled.
"Thank you so much, keep up the great work!" I said, she smiled and I felt warm. Not enough of these employees get the recognition they deserve.
"Have a wonderful afternoon sir."
"Oh I will." Thinking of the options for dinner. I strode out the door grinning from ear to ear. There was a young man in a black hoodie by an old white van staring at me with a thoughtful glare. I lowered my head not wanting to get involved with this shady looking character.
"What kinda shit you just pull?" He asked. He stepped into my path, not content to be ignored. "You heard me. I know you ain't deaf. What was all that."
"N-nothing, I don't know what you mean."
"Bull shit, everyone in there thinks you the boss or some shit. How the hell you do that?" He asked.
"Listen, I don't know. But it always happens. I'm sorry I got to go." I tried to step around, but he stayed in my path.
"Listen, names Regi. I'm something of a entrepreneur. I think you and me could make a lot of money together."
I paused and met his eyes. "What do you mean?"
He opened up the side door of the van on the opposite side of the store. The car was filled with expensive gadgets and gismos, it was a small fortune. "This the easiest job I ever done. And it's thanks to you. Together we could live like Kings, you get what I'm throwing down?
There was a deep lump in my throat, I knew this was bad news. But I've been so desperate for money. There had to be at least ten grand in that van.
"All right. What do you have in mind?"
| 2018-08-12T17:43:39 | 2018-08-12T17:07:02 | 579 | 215 |
[WP] Technology has advanced to the point no one alive has seen or even heard of a naked flame; one day a fire starts. | The square was quiet, only a few afternoon merchants milling about. Mareena had scoured the stalls, but nothing had really stood out. Pretty trinkets, some views she hadn't seen but had no real interest in, and of course the food.
She wondered why there were stalls for food still, the energy intake from one of those bundles was a few days' worth at least. She chalked it up to tourists and children, and the two were found together anyway, so it made sense. She glanced up at the sky, shimmering blue and white with the Baumer shield that kept the town safe. She wondered briefly what the sky looked like without the shield, then dismissed the thought. There were a good dozen views in the stall that showed reality and fantasy in crystal clear holographics that she had seen so many times over.
Her own Baumer collector beeped, announcing to the world that she was, apparently, hungry. A nearby energy platform with crystalline facet balls beckoned, she sauntered over and let the Baumer devices interact to take care of the needs of her body. She relaxed and let her mind drift to the words of a book her implants had memorized but she had not yet read. Or maybe she had, and had removed the memory already. Either way, the book was good.
A dull throb in her side woke her from her focused/unfocused state. Glancing around, she noticed a red light alerting her to a malfunction in the platform. She walked off and glanced at the sky. Apparently a few hours had passed as she had enjoyed the prose. No matter.
She frowned and took a closer look at the Baumer shield. Fluctuations of blue and yellow coursed through it at speeds she had never seen before, not even in views. She smiled, curious at the new display. Perhaps the engineers had found a new configuration and were showing off.
Slowly the fluctuations vanished and the shield dimmed to a dark blue, then fading away into red. Her smile faltered, red prisms weren't a part of any Baumer device, she knew that much.
Then she realized, the shield was gone. This was the sky, unblocked by the energy-collecting shield that powered and protected their city. She began to feel a pressure at her side, boring into her as her personal Baumer dampeners tried to take on the immense heat from the sun. A searing, tearing, consuming pain she had no name for tore into her with a viciousness she could not understand and drove her to her knees. For some reason a word in an ancient book floated to her mind -- *burning*. Yes, that is what this is. Her brain and implants dutifully analyzed and stored this new information, even though they were quickly being overloaded by the excess energy.
As her face hit the ground, she saw others falling as well, their skin melting and dripping away. The stalls that she had dismissed and disparaged only a few hours ago were coloured by some strange red and yellow view effects. It seemed uncontrolled, wild and somehow *unleashed*. The stalls themselves began to blacken under the effect, how strange.
Then, as her consciousness faded, a word from the old history book found her and she knew the thought her tortured mind formed was true.
Fire... this was fire. | Nobody knew how it started, a rat chewing some cables maybe, or a desk jockey overloading his computer. The fire took place in Megacity N4, starting in district D, it quickly spread from office block to office block, devastating the financial district.
It were as if Judgement Day had come, people were fleeing the city, hiding out in the Enclaves for days, nobody wanted to be in the city.
We hadn't required a fire department for over three hundred years, nobody had even seen a fire in that long. But within a week the whole of the N4 downtown area was just a smoldering mess and the residential areas were starting to catch too.
We turned to the history books, old videos and safety manuals. We learned the fire's weaknesses; water, sand, Co2, sometimes more fire helped. It was a hard fight, but eventually we stood triumphant over the fire after 46 days of destruction.
It's going to be a long journey to rebuild, most of the city has been destroyed, including the construction and infrastructure sectors. But in the ashes of the metallic metropolis we saw something else we hadn't seen in centuries. For the first time in living memory trees sprouted from the ashes of Megacity N4.
-----------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
| 2016-04-16T04:52:07 | 2016-04-16T04:47:24 | 127 | 90 |
[WP] An alien has kidnapped Matt Damon, not knowing what lengths humanity goes through to retrieve him whenever he goes missing. | “And honestly, you don’t even really get that nauseous after the fourth or fifth time,” Captain Zerk explained, passing paper towels to Matt Damon.
Suddenly, a bright flash of light\-\-a ship appears behind theirs.
“What in the\-\-?”
“Incoming message, Commander Zerk,” chimes the ship’s command station.
Zerk waves his hand impatiently, and the message plays.
“Hello *XPS412*, this is *Red Hawk*. This is your first warning\-\-return Damon to us unharmed or we will be forced to take action.”
Zerk appears confused. He presses a button and begins dictating a response.
“Hello *Red Hawk*. It was my understanding that with the Earth’s increasingly depleted resources, lightspeed travel has become prohibitively expensive. How are you funding this expedition?”
Zerk waits patiently for a response, looking questioningly at Matt Damon. Damon shrugs, still wiping vomit from his shirt.
“Incoming message, Commander Ze\-”
“Yeah, yeah, ok play it.”
The command station beeps huffily, and the message plays after a staticky pause.
“...That is irrelevant. Return Damon to us unharmed or we will be forced to take action.”
Zerk shrugs. He presses a button on the command station, and light speed travel is initiated once more. Matt Damon hurls as a white light engulfs *XPS412*.
When the ship slows down, Zerk looks around. Nothing around for light years. He smiles, wondering if he will be knighted once he gifts Damon to the Grand Chancellor. Collecting Earth celebrities has become something of a hobby among the galaxy’s elite, who especially love action movies.
A bright flash of light once more.
“What the f\-\-”
“*XPS412*\-\-this is your last warning! Return Damon to us unharmed or we will capsize you. We have an elite attack squad currently crawling around the bottom of your ship, they have been instructed to enter and destroy until Damon has been returned.”
Zerk has already begun responding.
“**Two** light speed jumps?? Aren't you guys in the most debt in the entire\-\-”
A loud bang is heard by all as an explosion goes off somewhere along the underbelly of the ship. Damon looks apologetically at Zerk.
Zerk is about to say something when another explosion goes off, this time accompanied by the activation of the ship’s emergency lights.
“OKAY! Okay okay, *Red Hawk*, look, I’m returning Matt Damon. Alright? Get your squad off my boat so I can enable repair drones.”
Zerk turns off the mic and resentfully removes the magnetic cuffs around Matt Damon’s ankles.
“I don’t want to be a dick but *The Martian* wasn’t even that good, I don’t get why you’re such a big deal,” Zerk mutters.
He turns on the mic one last time.
“*Red Hawk*, I’m sending Damon back to Earth now. I hope whatever you sold was worth it.”
A long pause.
“Send him to the ship.”
“What, why? I can just beam him to Earth right\-\-”
“SEND HIM TO THE SHIP.”
Zerk's face goes slack, he finally understands.
“We are nothing without him,” the radio says, before going silent one last time. | The apparent reason for the kidnapping was to fill the vacant role of (janitor) on the ship. As the Aliens know earth is the most fecund spot in the Milky Way for specimens to fill janitorial roles.
What the aliens on the ship hadn’t expected was when Matt started work on the ship, mopping floors, cleaning space shit, and other mundane jobs, he was also doing reconnaissance on the ship for the Vladimir Putin ( a Russian oligarch who knew Sputnik was only the beginning of a rich space life he wanted now- before musk)
Putin being an evil genius and all put Matt Damon on all the space-job apps, knowing he’d be ‘mopped up’ immediately by extra terrestrials.
The script would then blip to Matt Damon’s grueling training to be able to fit a giant reconnaissance device in his ass hole- the weird doctor from human centipede was the brains behind that.
So back on the ship he does all this reconnaissance until a prestigious alien sees the reconnaissance device and is immediately alarmed by its un-earthliness. He follows Damon closely who grows increasingly paranoid at Putins constant need to command him to do things. The alien professor approaches Damon and they actually find they have a lot in common. Damon double crosses Putin. Putin finds out and detonates the reconnaissance device which doubled as an IBM. But the device didn’t kill everyone because Damon managed to put his great talent to use and shoved it right back up his ass.
Now the aliens are stranded in the Outback- Australia and they have vowed revenge on the Russian menace Putin. | 2018-06-06T15:07:45 | 2018-06-06T14:10:50 | 53 | 11 |
[WP] People can buy, sell, trade, or give away their skills. Some skills are passed from father to son, like woodworking. Your uncle recently died and left you a box. Inside is a warning, and a very particular set of skills, skills he acquired over a very long career. | "To my dearest Isabella,
My family's history is complicated, to say the least. Your uncle Alfred isn't quite the playful old man I wished to be. When I was close to your age, I was given the same task that I must now pass to you.
A few hundred years ago, our story started. Man decided to become God, and we all know how well stories with that premise tend to go. He used his great wealth to buy his way into extraordinary abilities. They say his archery was unsurpassed, his strength immeasurable, his wisdom astounding. Unfortunately for him, no amount of money can buy your way into a longer life. He was a smart man, enough so to know that he couldn't live forever. So he decided to become immortal in a slightly less literal way. He wanted to pass his incredible skills to the heir most deserving. But the man didn't account for his most mortal trait: Love. He loved two of his children equally, and couldn't choose which should be granted his power. With great difficulty and consideration, he gifted each of his children a portion of his skills, that they might each continue his path to some extent through their own specialties.
One line was granted the physical manifestations of the man's power. They were strong, accurate, agile, and exceedingly healthy.
The second obtained the man's glorious mind. Blinding intellect, the wisdom of elders, and the quick thinking brain to carry through.
The third line, from which I descended, were given skills that the man considered weak. We were given his fears, his doubts, and the empathetic love that caused his indecision. He believed such things dragged him down, but we alone had the distrust and suspicions to know what would happen next. My great grandfather took away into the night to go into hiding.
The first generation of brothers grew up close enough together that they respected their fragmented portion of their father's gifts. In the second generation, the siblings stopped talking to each other, their mutual distaste for the others almost palpable. By the third, one had started hunting the others to reclaim those gifts he saw as his. Over the years, a few were killed in battle. Some gifts were dragged from bloody corpses, but others had already been given to closely trusted sons or daughters so that their gifts might yet live on.
I tell you all this so that you know the tasks that lie ahead. I never got around to having children of my own, so in these dark times my gifts go to you. Our family's war has become violent even by our past standards. Your distant cousins battle among themselves to emerge with inhuman power. A few hundred years ago, our line would be ignored. However, with time passed and stories mangled, they have come to believe that we have our own fair share of immense power, perhaps even more than them. You will be hunted, and your life is on the line.
Learn to use these skills quickly. If you are not adamant in your struggle, they will find you, and they will kill you.
Godspeed, Isabella. May my skills give you what you need to survive."
-Uncle Freddie. | The box lid shut with a bit too much noise for the small room. The echoes seemed to collect in various corners, something I had never noticed before. Never been able to notice before. Because I've never been this aware before. Time feels thick, like I can barely push through it.
My uncle was no one special. Insurance agent, not a great one. He didn't hit peak in high school, he never really hit his peak at all. Life long bachelor. No war stories, no great adventure. My whole life, he was the odd corner of a Thanksgiving dinner, and nothing more.
And now this. I now know more about how to tell male from female baby chicks than any other human. And I have no idea why. My uncle didn't have chickens. My uncle never stepped foot on a farm.
I slowly realize that this wasn't his skill. He got it just like I did, but now I had to know where it came from. Because I can't think about anything else anymore. I don't think he wanted this either. I'm starting to wonder if this is what held my uncle back his whole life. Do I have to die to forget this?
| 2017-02-04T18:12:05 | 2017-02-04T16:58:14 | 1,496 | 173 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego. | Quick and Efficient. That's my trade.
Movies always get it wrong. People fantasize about all the wrong things. They let their hatred and past injustices run wild inside their own mind because that's the only place it's permissible to feel those things. The imagination runs wild about how they get their justice, and are understood. Or at the very least, make a deadly last stand that does massive damage worthy of remembrance. Davy Crocket was never forgotten, and neither was the Alamo.
These romanticizations are the cream of my crop, and I harvest them without a thought.
Back Track:
I'm not a sociopath or a psychopath. I'm not cold as ice like a gangster. Nobody hurt me to where I want to hurt others. I actually like people. I enjoy friends nights and activities. I have fun hobbies like cooking, and coffee. I like to sing. I love my wife.
Yep, most laymen always get people like me wrong. Especially the ones that romanticize. People who dream of being an assassin want to kill and hurt others. Either for some warped narcissistic moral ideal, or because they're a psychopath and enjoy inflicting pain in others, or complete domination to the death.
The help I receive from these people are paramount. If anyone of these people ever get the balls to actually go through with it, they'll get caught and brag about how smart they were with every little detail. Only, they obviously overlooked one thing. At least one, because they got caught.
The problem wasn't their plan. I'm sure it was meticulous. It was that they were stupid enough to allow themselves the emotional satisfaction of their work. Whether it's enjoyment or even self loathing. They let themselves be emotional. They had to win.
It's not about winning. You never win as an assassin. You do. It's not about emotions, and if you're emotional, don't do the job. Simple as that. For example, I don't kill kids. I can't handle that. Kids are innocent. They don't deserve a hit. If you're emotional, don't do the job. It's as simple as that.
Quick and Efficient. Get in, do the job, get out. Prepare, and plan. Do a practice run or two. Stay fit, and act quick.
9 times out of 10, it's going to be a complete surpise. Don't waste that element. Remember John Wick? He got his ass handed to him, and they played around with him. Then they let him live. Everyone, no matter how well trained, cannot react to an instant surprise that kills them. They should have killed him.
How do I morally deal with this? My internal emotions for snuffing people out? Well. Here's the thing. It's none of my business, and as long as there is war and hatred, I'll have a job. You want to put me out of work? Love your fellow man, and just treat each other with dignity and respect. That's it. But since you can't, I'm employed.
You want to learn how to be the most deadly assassin ever? It's simple.
Step 1: Stay Fit. Eat Right and Exercise.
Step 2: Be social, go out. Have fun. Enjoy your life.
Step 3: Have an actual job. The IRS needs a reason for you having money anyway, and it's good to stay busy.
Step 4: Never kill anyone you know. You can punch them if they screw with you. But don't kill them. In fact, don't kill anyone within 50 miles of you. Seriously, if you drive an hour, nobody will know. 50 is good.
Step 5: Steps 3 and 4 together. Just be a normal person. Wear normal inconspicuous clothing. Keep your hair trimmed. Etc. (Can you tell that by mentioning this three times in three separate rules, it's kind of important.)
Step 7: Accepting the job.
Step 8: Prepare. Know the target. Have a plan. Carry it out. Leave.
Step 9: Don't save anything that was used in the murder. Not your clothes. Your car. Anything. It all gets thrown away or dismissed. For example, the car. Traffic cameras can follow your car away from a crime scene. It's not rocket science. After the job, you have to disappear without leaving any leads. So everything you use, you get rid of.
Step 10: Forget! This is important because most people can't do this tiny simple thing. Have you ever had a bad or hard day at work. You get home, wind down a bit, and forget. You have to do the same thing after you finish a job. Sure, it can be a rush, but that's an emotion. You've got to let it go. Let it go Elsa.
Step 11: Go back to living your normal life. Go back to work. Nobody will be the wiser. You'll never be questioned about it later if you did your job right. You're a ghost.
We can discuss logistics later, but that's basically the mindset you have to have if you want to survive in this trade. Oh, by the way. That's a trade-off that you make to work in this industry. Understand that if you kill someone, your life is forfeit. You may get caught. You may live. You might survive to old age. But when you kill someone, for whatever reason, you're making the conscious decision to trade your life for theirs. Whether it's death, life in prison, or whatever. That's the trade that you make. Sure, you might never have to pay the piper. But you should damn well be aware of the price. Then be OK with it. At peace.
It might be worth it too. Imagine someone killed your entire family. Would your life be worth it to make them pay? Vengeance is a powerful motivator. Sure, you'll get caught. It's an emotion. But would it be worth it? I think so. As for me, a payday every now and again is worth the trade. I'm not really worth much, and when you step back and look at the world. It's pretty obvious. Life is cheap.
On the flipside, it does give me a little peace of mind to know that most people with the ambition to become an assassin have absolutely no idea how to get a client. | I won't lie. I am in this for the money.
Some of my "colleagues"--if you can call them that--are out to settle old scores. Society shit on them and theirs, and now they want to be the ones to do the shitting. I never got that. This business is *hard*. Too hard to stay in just to reap some *schadenfreude*.
Others I work with are in it for the power. They don't like the way things are, and they figure they ought to be in charge. Funny thing is history doesn't remember kindly too many people with that attitude. If you think you are making things better, maybe you should wonder why they call you a villain.
Then there are the crazy ones. I mean honestly and deeply disturbed. The guys who got off on burning ants as a kid and decided that school buses would be more fun. I try to stay away from those guys, but when The Bloodhound is sniffing around, the smell of burning flesh gets him off the case pretty quick.
Me? I just want to make a quick buck. I like nice things, and my "skills" can be lucrative. Very lucrative, as long as I work with people who aren't too worried about ethics.
I tried honest work. Really, I did. But I saw how much money I was generating for the owners of the places I worked, and how that compared to the money they were giving me in return. I realized pretty quick that I was a sucker. I thought that the best thing to do was become more like them. I saved up enough to start my own business, but I found out pretty quick that the rules are not there to help the new guy catch up. No, the rules are there to make sure that I don't cut in to anyone else's slice of the pie, and to make sure that everyone else cut's in to mine.
So when I had my "accident" and woke up hearing the thoughts of the people around me, my first thought was "how can I monetize this"? Okay, that wasn't my *first* thought. I spent some time worrying about my sanity--who wouldn't. But once I got past that it was all about the dollar signs.
Let me tell you, gambling is really, *really* easy when everyone unknowingly tells you what cards they have. Problem is that after a while no one wants you playing at their table. And after a few months of raking in the cash, I wasn't about to stop fleecing the fat cats.
Do you realize how many times a day you share a room with someone who thinks a password out loud? A combination to a lock? The name of the company that their client is secretly planning a merger with? Take advantage of enough secrets like that and you can get rich. I mean very, *very* rich. The only problem is that, in a world like this, someone, somewhere is bound to figure out that you are not playing by the same rules as the ordinary folk.
The first "hero" to come after me was Komrade. The self-righteous son-of-a-bitch was always looking to show that the newly rich didn't deserve to be there. And his Robin Hood schtick made him a real hit with the old-money country-club liberals he loved to rub hypocritical elbows with. Of course the poor bastard didn't know *how* I was doing what I was doing, so it was pretty damn easy to notice him tailing me.
Now in a "fair" fight I am no match for a man with super strength. But as far as I am concerned the only fair fight is the fight I win. I let him tail me into an abandoned warehouse one night. He thought--wrongly--that it was my hideout. Hell, you should have heard what he was thinking, the praise he was heaping on himself, the positively effusive way he was gushing over his impending victory. I remember how he was guessing what my excuses would be when he confronted me. But he never heard anything of the kind. He never heard my shot, either.
You see, a man that self-assured tends to forget that the enemy has a say in things. Once I slipped into the warehouse I dashed to the spot I had prepared in the shadows. When he didn't see me he knew it was an ambush. The oaf stood there waiting to hear what I had to say. He thought I played by the rules, that I would have some speech ready for him. But playing by the rules isn't how I got to where I am today.
He never heard a thing.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Welp, there is my fist submission. Thank you u/Kyevin for the prompt that finally got me to sit down and right one of these. I know I focused a lot more on the "no ego" piece than the "lethal" piece, but I guess I just felt like an origin story.
And thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to look at something this far down the chain. If you have any feedback, let me have it. | 2018-10-18T19:21:11 | 2018-10-18T19:12:43 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] You send your DNA off to discover your ancestry. One day you see several suspicious looking cars pull up outside your house. Military officers begin to surround your home and a woman gets out of one of the cars and walk straight to your front door. They have your DNA results. | I have always wondered what my ancestry was, it's always been like that since I was little. I was adopted at a very young age, my foster parents never told me anything. When I pressured them they'd go off on me, they were stuck-up anyway. I got a DNA test done in college, I barely have a connection or relationship with my foster parents so I figured why not? They can't stop me now. I was eagerly awaiting my results, I'd imagine I was related to the Queen of England or something, and I would be whisked away to become a princess or something. What I didn't imagine was odd cars in the college driveway surrounded by military vehicles and a SWAT team ready outside my dorm. I panicked, what did I do? I haven't done anything wrong in my whole life, I wasn't a terrorist or drug dealer. Why bring the whole troops, I then heard a knocking at my door. A lady spoke from behind.
"Hello, Ms. Gabriel? I just want to talk, I have you DNA results."
"Why is the military here? D-Did I do something wrong?" I said in a shaky voice.
"Oh no Miss, i just need you to come out, it's about your test results."
"Oh, ok." I wondered for a little bit, wondered if the government was going to take me away for no reason at all. I heard it happens. My foster dad says stuff like that happens, I never believed him. Was this the day? Were my government-paranoid parents right this whole time?
I slowly opened the door. The woman looked a little out of place to be a government official. Her blonde hair put up in a neat bun, her friendly southern accent, her oddly formal-casual outfit made it look like she was a secretary or a office manager. She had this odd feeling to her that compelled me to go near her, made me forget her government badge and off looking manner. She stepped in and gave me my test results in a long orange envelope, like the kind of stuff you would imagine top-secret government plans to be held. In reality it may not have been so, but at least to me, it felt that way.
I opened it, and gasped at my results. I looked down at it again.
"Y-You're not serious are you? Is this some kind of joke?" I asked in disbelief.
She shook her head in a gentle manner, "Oh no Miss, it's real. I have been sent here to escort you." She smiled at gestured me out the door, I followed. I really didn't want to resist because I felt like this is what I have to do in order to stay safe. I was hesitant and worried, it didn't help that there were three, very-armored military personnel were there. I saw the other students face as they took me away, awe, horror, anger, disbelief. One kid tried to "free me" and attacked the guards. Can't really blame him though in our current political climate. He was quickly subdued. One kid followed us a bit and shouted to me "When you get to Area 51 tell the aliens Micheal said-" The car door slammed before I could hear his passing message to the aliens.
I was in the back of a non-discreet black car, a man in a black suit was beside me, and the woman who handed me my test results was in the front seat next to a driver.
The car ride was a long, uncomfortable one to say at the very least. I finally had the courage to speak.
"I don't get it." I say. She turns her head. "Don't get what?"
"I don't get how a person could be considered lost military hardware or... cyborg technology."
(I don't know what else to put so if you guys want to request a part 2 or something I'll do it)
(Edit: since many are requesting it I shall post a part 2 tomorrow or later on today stay tooned!)
(look down in comments for part 2 if ya can't find it) | Her footsteps followed a precise rhythm, her heels never missing a beat on the cracked pavement. He tight, brunette bun coupled with a tailor-fitted suit told Aaron she was of high importance. The four armed guards surrounding her gave off that impression, too. She carried a black briefcase with a silver double helix engraved into the side, and her other hand formed a fist. Her arms hung straight and motionless as she walked towards the house. Aaron watched the approach through the small window next to the door. He stood back as they got closer, he knew being close to them wasn't a good idea. They weren't here to sell cookies, that's for sure.
The sound of the woman's heels came to a stop as she reached the door. Three firm knocks followed.
'Who is it?' Aaron called out, positioned next to his staircase.
'Aaron, we need you to come out. It's a very important matter. We need you to co-operate.' the woman replied.
'H-how do you know my name?' Aaron started to sweat. He was in danger, he could feel it.
'We will get to that later. There are more pressing matters at hand. Please, Aaron. It's for your own good.'
Aaron was silent. He was trapped, in his own home. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. One of the guard's radios crackled, breaking the silence between Aaron and the woman.
'The Anomaly has failed to co-operate. Breaching.' the guard announced.
Aaron shut his eyes tightly, and felt the ever so comfortable burn build up inside him. The front door crashed open.
Without moving a muscle, Aaron sent the door flying back through the doorway, knocking the guards and the woman onto the pavement. Aaron gritted his teeth. He could feel his head starting to burn hotter and hotter as splinters of wood flew in all directions. He walked slowly over to the doorway and revealed his pitch black eyes. Nobody said a word as one of the black SUVs hovered above the woman and her guards. They all looked up in silence, a silence that came to an end as the car came crashing down on top of them. | 2019-08-05T19:16:34 | 2019-08-05T18:13:14 | 52 | 33 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | “Prepare for trouble”
“Make it double”
“To protect the world from persistent pain”
“To unite all peoples within our gang.”
“To denounce the evils of villainy and strife”
“To scoot the villains out of ruining life”
“Scooter Red”
“Scooter Blue”
“Scooter Heroes ride off into the night.”
“Surrender now or prepare to fight!”
“Scooter Green!”
***SILENCE***
I paused for a moment before I spoke, making sure the heroes’ introduction was done. I suppressed a laugh.
“I’m sorry. am I supposed to laugh, clap, or snap team rocket?”
I just decided to do all three in quick succession while the group of heroes stood looking at me with clear determination in their eyes.
Upon finishing my act, “Well if you don’t have anything else to say or do, I will take my hard earned money and leave.” I said, picking back up my duffel bags and heading to walk by the heroes straight out the front doors of the bank.
“Excuuuse me”, I commented, walking by the gang of scooter heroes, I only got so far, however.
“Stop right there!” Barked Scooter Red, She spun her razor blade scooter at violent speeds, speeds that would make any other scooter user wince in pain even at the sight of it.
“Do you think we were just going to let you go? You just robbed the city bank!”
“I didn’t think at all about if you would let me go or not, I don’t care what you do.” I responded cordially, continuing to walk.
“Who do you think you are!?” Scooter Blue stopped me, putting his hand on my chest while positioning his scooter to launch at my shin & ankles at a moment’s notice. I was trapped.
“I’m glad you ask actually. Noone else in your brigade does that! Well, my name is Raúl, and as you can see, I am currently robbing a bank.
I live in the east suburban district of Santiago, and I am 31 years old. In order to make a living I commit egregious crimes, gamble, and panhandle. Two of which I’m better at than the other. On a normal day I’ll wake up at 6am beg on the streets of Santiago, and return home no later than 8pm each night. Upon my return home I grab my trench coat and small weapons to threaten and steal from other panhandlers out on the street, musicians included. With which money I’ll hit the Santiago casino and often quintuple my earnings for that day, perhaps I’m lucky. Oh, and I also own a 5 star restaurant downtown if you’d like to try it sometime. It’s called Go Lucky.”
Perhaps I flipped a switch in their scooter brains, but whatever it was they instantly began to beat me senseless with their scooters.
I woke up the next day in my infirmary beneath my mansion. My ankles and shins completely bruised and In constant pain from the scooter brigade’s assault.
“Well well, if it isn’t another failed attempt at a new hobby.” Alvin, my midget butler said, rewrapping the bandages on my severely swollen ankles.
“It isn’t anything new Ivan my friend. Crime is an art, all forms of crime, including bank robbery constitute that art. I’ve been committing crimes for years. Thankfully I have you and my comrades to rely on to get me out of sticky situations like yesterday. Thank you.” I smiled at Alvin, expressing my appreciation for him somehow saving me from arrest.
“My name is Alvin, sir. You’ve known me for 12 years. Please try to remember.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry-OW!” He slapped the last wrapping of bandage on with extra vigor. “I deserved that, but one more thing Alvin, please turn on the news for me? I want to see if I made any waves with my latest crime”
The headline for channel 1 news was not to be expected, however.
***SCOOTER BRIGADE RAIDS GO LUCKY. MULTIPLE CASUALTIES***
I sprung out of bed onto my busted ankles and found my wheelchair. I’d been a frequent victim of the brigade’s violence during each of my crimes, so I always have one on standby.
“ALLLVINNNNNNNNNN”
Alvin rolled back into the room.
“Yes sir?”
“Please push me to the car, we must make it to my restaurant at once”
“Yes sir.”
The restaurant was in shambles. The scooter brigade, a C-List hero company only due to its large number of E-list heroes, at 6,900 worldwide, had raided my restaurant. The windows were broken, walls and tables were dented, scratched, and chairs destroyed by scooters varying in size & strength.
The ambulances were loading 3 of my beautiful waitresses which I’d known for years. They were conscious but their ankles were clearly in shambles from the scooter brigade, and needed to be carted onto the ambulance.
“Sally, Sammy, Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff!!! Are you three okay?”
“My name is not Sally, sir.” Quickly exclaimed Ally
“I’m Amy. Not Sammy.” Spat Amy, in clear pain & frustration.
“Yes I’m doing fine, they just hit my ankles, sir!” Responded Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff.
“Good, now where have they gone?”
“That way”
They each pointed to a group of 60 men and women varying from age 16 to late forties. The full brunt of the scooter brigade in Santiago. I approached them, wheeling myself over with a passion.
“You DARE hurt my people?” I roared at the mass. A leader emerged from the pack.
“Yeah, we knew we’d find you if we showed up here. Seems we’re better at your job than you are. You’ve never even been capable of successfully stealing anything, we always catch you before you do. Thanks to anonymous tips. Poor thing, maybe you should take some notes”. He and the others snickered amongst themselves.
What he said rang true. 7 years of attempting large and small scale crimes and I’ve never successfully completed a single one.
But what they didn’t know is that the anonymous tip has always been me.
I’ve only wanted to play a fun game, commit crime without consequence on either end, with no real punishment or gain, just for pleasure’s sake. In doing so I allowed myself to get caught and beat, each an every time, relying on my comrades to help me escape at the last moment while leaving whatever I stole behind. | \[ParaSEC Target File, Threat Level: Low\]
* C-Class audiokinesis \[Looping and pitch. No evidence of volume control\]
* D-Class speedster abilities. \[Slightly faster run speed. Potential sensory acuity - further evidence required\]
* Target demonstrates propensity to use powers exclusively for show. All 'villainous' activity mundane in nature, possibly a publicity stunt. \[Officially denied by all contacted PR agencies. IntOps priority low - pursue only if convenient during other activities\]
\[End File\]
You know the problem with most villains?
Okay, trick question. There's no *one* problem with them, usually it's the egomania, or psychopathy, or the tunnel-vision. I used to say that they lacked flair, but some of them have a decent sense of drama with those capes. The real problem? They lack *fun.*
Not Jester's knife-wielding jack-in-the-box fun, but something that makes life genuinely enjoyable in itself. Sadism doesn't count. That's why I'm different, I'm not here to crush the world in my iron grasp, or to torture the world. I'm a villain for kicks.
Welcome to the world of DJ Dastardly.
Do you *know* how hard it is to give yourself a silly name as a villain? I had to fight *months* of media calling me things like 'Remix'. It's hard to scaremonger around someone with a silly name, they conveniently left out footage of my preferred moniker spraypainted everywhere for MONTHS. It was only once some kids posted it on social media that they were forced to give in. After that, I was Page 17 material at best.
I'm a heist-villain. Low level stuff- museums, science fairs, that one time I nabbed the mayor's statue at town hall. High visibility, low impact. That's my game, and my 'nemeses'... Well, let's just say the same goes for them too.
I've got a lot of respect for Eclipse Squad's PR team. It takes a creative mind to look at a human strobe light, a gothic fog machine, and a B-class telekinetic ("but DJ, she can fly!". She floats, and can make other things float. I'm shaking in my very fashionable boots) and give them some damn good branding.
So, here's the score (and believe me, I know scores)- You're somewhere public, but with oddly good acoustics. Someone takes a step, and it echoes a little bit too much. Then again. It starts looping- no one's walking anywhere, but now there's a tok-tok-tok of a 4/4 beat. I used to always have to say the name myself, but nowadays if I'm lucky someone else guesses first.
*DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ D-D-D-Dastardly!* (they only say it the once, the effect is all me).
From there, you're all part of the performance. Every step, noise, gasp, and laugh? It goes in the soundtrack. I'm a one-man-acapella/percussion looping pedal, and the audience? They're starting to like me. Turns out security guards find it really hard to focus when everything they do gets looped into a live performance. I'm there taking a bow at the item-du-jour, and Eclipse Squad roll in. Midnight's black fog blocks my camera angle, Moonlight *tries* to stun me with a flare (come on kid, *I'm in a cloud of black smoke, think about it*.), then Luna tries to knock me over the head with some slow-moving object. I throw them a bone "Damnit Eclipse Squad! You've foiled me again! But I'll be back for an encore!", and slip out the back.
All fun and games, honestly a great way to spend an afternoon, not to mention boost listens on my soundcloud! Until it got serious.
Turns out strobe-boy *moonlights* as a wannabe hacker (I'm not sorry). Tracked my IP to the little music studio I run. The one with the music program to keep delinquent kids off the streets.
They roll up in full-costume, see some kid that they'd knocked around for graffiti before and decide that this is DJ Dastardly's gang lair, and that the kids are my 'henchmen'. Eclipse Squad might be idiots, but as it turns out, when faced with blinding smoke and flashing lights, a lot of teenagers panic. Now imagine an enclosed space with a *bunch* of panicking teenagers who can't see.
3 concussions, one broken leg, 6 cases of PTSD. I'm just thankful Eva had detention, I don't want to know if Moonlight's power could've triggered her epilepsy.
I'm protective of my kids. They've had a bad run, and I was trying to show them a way *out* of the system. The injuries were one thing, but because they found a little weed on him, Jim's going back to juvie. That was the last straw. | 2022-11-29T03:44:50 | 2022-11-28T20:44:52 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Your tech-illiterate mother is absolutely insane with the desire for a grandbaby, so she signed you up with "Otherworldly Dating Services" mistaking it for "online" dating service. You give in to her pleading and decide to go on a few dates just to shut her up. | Admittedly, I have never gone on a date before. So, you can see my predicament. Not only is this my first date, but it also happens to be with a young vampire, who for all I know, only wants me for one thing. My blood that is.
I was surprised when my mother managed to open up internet explorer. That surprise only grew when she navigated to a site for *Otherwordly Dating Services*. When she showed me the profile of a pale girl with hair like twilight and pointy teeth with a persuasion for human blood, I choked on my own tongue.
“I don’t need a girlfriend,” I said. “I’m doing just fine.”
My mother only pressed her lips together and stared. Back then, I was still in my pajamas and had Cheeto stains on my shirt. When I had left for college, my mother had downsized our house so now that I was back, I was quite literally living in my mother’s basement.
Fast forward two weeks of sparse texting and here I am, at the corner of Cherry and Sixth in front of Café de Flore, about to go on my very first date. Café de Flore is a small corner coffee shops with more windows than walls. Inside, tucked away in the furthest corner from the windows, I spot Elizabeth. She already has a coffee in hand and is staring intently at its steam.
My fingers tingle. I swallow. The collar on my shirt scratches at me and I nearly scratch back. Elizabeth looks up and we meet eyes. For a second, I’m a deer caught in the headlights. Then, I open the door and step into Café de Flore.
“Hey Liz,” I say, casually, as my own heart drums through my head.
“Ryan.” She smiles a closed-lipped grin.
“Let me grab a coffee and I’ll meet you.” I step into line and freeze. Normally, I would be on my phone responding to a whole slew of pretend, but urgent text messages. Since I’m on a date, I keep my phone in my pocket. Though, I no longer know what to do.
I settle for sneaking quick glances toward Elizabeth. She traces the outline of her cup with a finger, watching the coffee as one might read a book.
She was here early. Does that mean she’s excited? Or does that simply mean that I arrived late? My eyes dart around the room for a clock, but I find none. The only one I know of is locked away in my pocket. I note that she’s nearly shoved herself into the corner and suddenly wonder about the windows. I wonder about everything. Perhaps there was too much sunlight here. Do vampires hate the sun or is that just myth? Did I botch this date before it even began? But she still came, didn’t she? Dear lord, is she early or am I late!?
“Sir?” a soft voice steals me away from my thoughts. “What would you like?”
I notice that the line has subsided and I’m still standing in the middle of the coffee shop like a dolt. My face flushes. “One small coffee please.”
When I finally make it to Elizabeth, a bead of sweat is already crawling down my back. She barely notices me until I pull the chair out. She looks up from her staring contest with the coffee. Her eyes widen as if surprised I was even here.
“Sorry that took so long,” I say.
She pulls her lips into a thin line and tears her gaze away from the coffee. She looks at me as if pained to do so. “Ryan,” she says, “you should know, I’m really a vampire.”
“What?”
“Like for real.”
“Isn’t that what your profile said?”
Her face softens and then steels itself back up. “Yeah, but a literal vampire. I drink blood. I have pointy teeth. I’m Godless. There are horror stories about me. Being out in the sun too long is dangerous for me.”
I nearly curse myself out. I should’ve known. Who the hell sets up a date with a vampire in the middle of summer in god damn Café de Flore?
“Look,” she says and pulls the edges of her lips with a finger. A fang protrudes past her bottom lip. She lets go of her lip and when her fang disappears behind her lips, so too does her eyes behind a curtain of hair. Her head lowers as she once again, fixates on the coffee.
A silence falls between us.
“If you want to leave,” she almost squeaks, “I won’t blame you.”
At last, I understand. Arriving early. Staring at the coffee. Risking even the sunlight. How many people had simply left when she said it was okay for them to? She’s scared.
“Liz,” I say, “I have a confession too. I really do live in my mother’s basement, like her literal basement.”
A smile flashes across her face and a fang peeks through.
The words pour out of me like water through a cracked dam. “I think I own more shirts with Cheetos stains than without, my daily exercise consists of walking upstairs and downstairs, and I switched out of my pajamas to come to this date.”
For a single breath, both of us are wide-eyed. Me because I just bared myself naked in front of her. She, probably due to realizing what a loser she is currently on a date with. Then, she’s laughing, open-mouthed with her head thrown back. Her fangs bob up and down with the force of her laughter.
She stops to catch her breath and no longer hides behind her hair, staring at the coffee. Instead, she wears a toothy grin.
“So,” she says, “what kind of music do you like?”
---
---
/r/jraywang
| I waited at the secluded diner for my date. We've talked a lot online, and I think she seems charming enough.
My mom got us hooked up. She found some website called "Otherworldly Dating Services". She called and texted *every single day* to give it a whirl; she wants grandchildren badly.
I finally gave in. I love my mother too much. Well, I guess it can't be too bad - Otherworldly implies that they have some pretty high standards on that site, but at least they admitted me without a problem.
That's where I met her. She has a bit of an odd name - Starwing. I assume her parents were bigtime hippies. She says where she comes from they call her the Flaming Harlequin. She's a strange character, but she has this ditzy charm about her. I thought I might as well give her a chance.
The burly waiter, who says his name is Withershin, comes up with a pair of menus in his hand, staring hard with his one glass eye.
"Would sir like his menu now, or will he wait for his appointment?" he asks me in a heavy German accent.
That's funny. I didn't tell him anything about my date. I'll just play this by ear.
"I'd like the menu now, please - and could you also get one for my friend, please?"
"As you wish, sir," he says with a bow, carefully placing the menu in front of me and sidling back to the kitchen.
What a strange fellow.
The diner looks nice enough, though. Starwing specifically requested it. Nobody else seems to be here at the moment. The faded sign on the front called the diner the Void Between. It doesn't make much sense, but as I said, it looks nice enough.
My phone buzzes. I take it out of my pocket and look at the screen.
*"Been delayed slightly, will be there in five minutes - ~Starwing."*
She says she first got a phone specifically so she could talk to me more easily. I think it's adorable how she signs her texts.
I sit back and wait. Withershin fills a glass of water for me.
At last, somebody knocks tentatively at the door. *Tappy-tap-tappity.* Withershin randomly looks at the door through a tiny eyeglass, the sort of thing you would use when appraising a gem, and then says "Ah."
He moves deceptively quickly to the door and opens it for the newcomer.
She steps into the room.
Well, *step* doesn't really justify it. It's like a simultaneous ticking, flowing, gliding, and dancing motion, nearly impossible to take in all at once. In less than five seconds she moves from the door to her chair, and Withershin gives her a menu.
My conscious brain has shut down for a little bit as I try to figure out just what exactly is going on. The part of my brain that's unconcerned with normalcy is realizing why she's called the *Flaming* Harlequin.
The soft, moody light of the candles is reflected hundreds of times off her subtly faceted skin, sending pinpricks of red and yellow light dancing across the room. She looks at me - well, she forms a face to point in my direction.
She's hardly human, but somehow that doesn't matter to me. She exudes an air of shyness and awkwardness, with an undertone of sincere affection. Her newly-formed face is slightly plump, with red cheeks and a small rosy nose. Her eyes are a brilliant blue, and they sparkle like her skin.
Something clicks. Otherworldly Dating Services has a completely literal name. Wherever my mom found it, I have no idea, but as I gaze at Starwing I'm thankful she did.
She's the most beautiful creature I've ever seen.
Withershin lights a tiny scented candle between us and leaves the two lovebirds to decide their orders.
I say hello to her. What else can I do? | 2017-12-21T12:36:13 | 2017-12-21T12:27:59 | 248 | 91 |
[WP] Not far from your village is a small grove. Within the grove a monster dwells. It devours the guilty and leaves the innocent. When the worst crimes are committed, the accused are sent to face the creature. You have murdered someone in self-defense. You enter the grove unsure of your fate. | I walked deeper into the trees, damp hands clutching the side of my trousers, heart trying to thump its way through my chest. Although it was dark and I could barely see where I was stepping, I could sense the... thing. I wondered if this was how prey felt.
Something rustled behind me and I almost tripped over my own feet. My body was electrified with adrenaline and it screamed for me to flee, but I stayed put. I forced one foot in front of the other. Maybe I deserved this.
The image of the limp body lying by my bloodied shoes flashed in my mind.
He was not my friend. He was someone who sought to hurt me and make my life living hell whenever and however he saw fit. Each new day brought with him a new sick game idea to play out. As kids it was humiliating pranks and taunts in front of others, as adults it evolved into something much worse.
The very last time... it crossed too many lines. I will never forget the wave of emotions that hit me so strongly, so overwhelmingly, my vision was reduced to colors. I think that was the point where I broke. The pain, the horror that was my life, the anger all started melding into one. The next time he struck down on me I pushed outwards to finally, for once, protect myself.
When my head cleared, he was dead.
But was this considered self-defense? That question spun in my mind around and around again. At first I was sure, but after the berating, the judging, and the disgust of everyone around me, I was starting to think otherwise.
I reached a small clearing, where the moon spotlit me like a livestock on display, waiting for their inevitable slaughter. My knees threatened to give way.
The creature stepped into view. The only word that registered in my mind was "nightmare". It looked to be the epitome of what lurked in the shadows of your mind. It had thick, hairy arms that were attached to a body over twice my height. And it's face... strangely enough, it looked like it was made of rock almost; it had splits and cracks all over. Or was it scars?
It stared at me intently with eyes that look terrifyingly human and intelligent. Out of all the monstrosities of its body, this was the most unsettling to me. It stared and stared, and I choked back tears.
Did I deserve to be torn to shreds by those teeth that looked like enlarged talons? Maybe it would be better that way. It wasn't like I had a life outside of the torment. I had no one who ever stood up for me either.
It slunk closer, and I resisted the urge to scrunch my nose.
"Your crime. What is it?" It's voice was a deep, raspy rumble.
"I-I killed someone."
"Why?"
"He was a bully. Someone who kept hurting me since we were young." I gulped loudly. "I-I only wanted to protect myself."
"You were angry."
"Y-yes, of course I was. But I didn't mean to hurt him. I-I swear!" I hated how my voice trembled but I had no way to prevent it.
Its eyes narrowed. I heard a tear from the fabric of my shirt between my fingers.
"You are unhappy. With your life."
The plain statement startled me. I didn't know what this creature was but I didn't think this was what would come out of its mouth. I looked down, feeling the sting in my eyes as I forced myself to think of all the pain. Not just the pain he gave me, but the pain from everyone else. It was almost worse, in a way; to be so clearly hurt, and then to see that you were so clearly uncared about.
I almost wanted to laugh that the only one to even just acknowledge my feelings was the one that would kill me. Maybe this would be it's way to show me mercy.
"If you continue through the grove, there is a way out on the other side."
"W-what?" The creature was sitting now, almost idly. Although it still towered over me, it seemed a tad less frightening.
"I can tell that you were not treated right your entire life. Not just from the man that died but from others too." It flicked its head to point to the other side. "So run."
"B-but they will think you ate me and I was guilty."
"Does it matter?"
"No."
I was almost surprised at my lack of hesitation. The creature was right. It did not matter because I would never have to see them again.
The creature moved to the side to let me through. My heart was still pounding, but for a different reason now. I did not know of the existence of this third option, but I was grateful that it was bestowed upon me.
As I marched towards the edge of the trees once again, I paused. "The others that never came home and were supposedly killed by you... did you offer them the same option?"
The creature did not respond.
But as with the other question, it did not matter. "Thank you," I said solemnly, before trudging onwards, into the unknown.
What laid ahead, I did not know. Perhaps I would be killed by some other animal immediately. Perhaps I would starve to death. Or perhaps I would end up making it through. In the end, the outcome made no difference.
I was finally free.
And that was the only thing that did matter.
\---
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By nightfall the villagers had lit their torches and grabbed their pitchforks, beginning the ravenous parade of chants and hisses behind the Warden, leading the Accused in chains. The Accused couldn’t help but contemplate his fate as they continued their forced march. “Murderer!” “Killer!” “Death to the guilty!” The cries of the mob echoed behind him, falling on deaf ears as the Accused recalled what led them to this.
Certainly, he had killed a man - In particular, the town’s butcher Oleg. Oleg was once a brutish man, not too well liked within the Village community due to his inclination to rage and excessive drinking. Yet still somehow he had a wife, Victoria, who ended up defending him to her last breath despite the abuse she was so obviously facing from his drunken stupor. Needless to say, the village avoided him unless they needed his services. He wouldn’t be missed.
The Accused flinched as a rock slung into his shoulder, saying nothing as the Warden turned to bark at the villagers for stepping out of line. The group shrank back like a beast when threatened with flame, quieting for a moment before their murmured insults took to resounding around the woods once more. The destination of the group likely meant certain death to the Accused, and the villagers were certainly hungry for his blood. But at this point… The Accused didn’t pay his fate much mind.
They were nearing the end, he thought, as the normally green pines that cluttered the woods began to twist and blacken, writhing out of the ground as if they were contorting with some unexplained pain. This was the entrance to The Grove, a place where the accused were trialed by something incomprehensible. They called it a monster, something that had the ability to judge a person’s innocence for the crimes they have committed with naught but a glance. Those who were given to the Grove most often disappeared, supposedly consumed by whatever dwelled in the pit at it’s center, therefore deemed guilty by the Village and forgotten. But for those who returned, managing to escape the pit they had been placed into for judgement… They were deemed ‘Innocent’, but had no recollection of their encounter with the supposed creature that lurked below.
Unfortunately, this oftentimes did not change the Village’s opinion on those innocent individuals. Those who came back innocent were often banished from the community, or simply ostracized as the Villagers clearly showed their discontent at the individual’s return. Whoever entered the Grove was damned regardless of the monster’s decision.
The group had finally reached their destination, the maw of the Grove looming before the halo of twisted trees. The Warden gave his companion his torch, before turning to face the raucous crowd, projecting his voice over the noise.
“Tonight we sentence Sven Vaaraghast, the Accused, to his damnation. Murderer of the town butcher Oleg Havaadson and Madeline Vaaragahst, the Accused’s own wife. The Grove will be the final say in this sinner’s judgement, may the monster see this man for the horrid path he’s led, and consume his soul for the crimes he has wrought.”
Sven the Accused was turned towards the pit, the echoing blackness that yawned before him resounding louder than the ravenous cries of the villagers. He couldn’t see how far down the cavern stretched, but he hoped it would be enough to kill him outright before he became familiar with whatever may lay below.
A hard shove from the Warden was all it took to send him spiraling into the blackness below. | 2021-03-16T14:17:43 | 2021-03-16T12:39:38 | 174 | 103 |
[WP] In a world where everyone discovers their superpower at age 5, you discover that your child has the ability to bring small toys to life. Things seem fine until he comes across your Warhammer 40k miniature collection... | "Ari, sweetie? Lunch is ready!" Ana called out for her daughter from the kitchen, a plate with a sandwich in her hand. A girly giggle followed by a deep burbling, wet belly laugh and a squelch reminiscent of wet skin hitting concrete made her freeze.
Ariadne had just turned five, and they had discovered her innate power brought toys to life. It had been an interesting morning waking up that day with a stuffed shark gnawing on Ana's toes, and Skeletor trying to stab her husband Joe in the eye.
Looking down the hallway, Ana's eyes widened when she saw her husband's office door ajar. "Jesus fucking Christ," she whispered, the phone to her ear already as she started towards the bathroom next to the office.
"What's wrong Ana?"
"Did you lock your office this morning?" she asked, turning on the tub faucet and directing the water to gather in her hands as she held the phone between her ear and her shoulder.
"…fuck. Which army?"
"Sounds like a Great Unclean One to me, but I haven't walked in there yet. I'm getting water ready as we speak. I'll try to hold him off, but you know how chaos rolls. Think you'll be here in twenty?"
"I'll try and cut it down to fifteen. Why couldn't she have gone for the dwarves or the Space Wolves?"
"She is her father's daughter. She-" she paused as about fifty Nurglings ran past her chasing their large cat Beans. "Goddammit, she got the Nurglings for sure."
"Motherfucker! We'll be finding them for months! I'm in the car, just hold on until I get there."
"I'm sorry babe. I know how much they mean to you."
"Yeah, I'm sorry too."
Water swirled around Ana as she approached the door, stealing herself for the fight of her life.
-----------
With a deep sigh, Joe reached for the last Plaguebearer, who snarled with malice as he brandished his shovel menacingly. Soon as his fingers touched the animated model, it began to dissolve into dust.
Ana had Ari seated in the living room, a wall of water between them and the office. Ari looked sad but resigned.
"He just looked so happy. And he was! He made me a pretty flower." She held out a fleshy blossom that stank of rot. Ana sighed and handed her a plastic cup of water that immediately turned sludgy when the plant's stem made contact.
"It's done." Joe called, sounding extremely depressed.
"Not quite," Ana said, pointing to the Nurglings riding the cat. "It could have been worse, though. At least you don't play Khorne." | You awake in a strange land full of reds and browns. A gentle breeze comes form above. Looking upwards, you see a massive fixture hanging from a paneled wooden ceiling. Blades crafted from clearly ancient and gigantic trees swing in circles, creating a gentle breeze. You’re on a platform of some sort, the ground being made of a soft wool—like substance that prevents you from making noise by stomping about. You’re with your brothers, about 40 of them, and you watch as the seemingly deactivated squadron before you comes to life. You wipe the dust from your helmet, and command your brothers forward. The one who raised you screams in delight, jumping up and down and clapping his gigantic hands. Chaos ensues. Several feet of glass separates you and your brothers from breaking free. Every last one of you pitch in to shatter that glass. That’s when you hear it—the goddamn Orks had the same idea. After the barrier, after the glass, after your escape, there is only war. | 2020-12-02T19:08:03 | 2020-12-02T19:00:48 | 242 | 81 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | There were four of us. We'd meet every couple hundred years and discuss the pranks we pulled on the mortals. Such good fun the mortals were. So easily susceptible to manipulation. Would we be so simple if we lived less than a century? Barely the blink of an eye, I can't imagine that being my entire existance.
"Ok, I got a good one," I said as I sipped my poisonous drink. Since we were immortal, alcohol didn't even affect us. Cyanide for me, Arsenic for Tom, and Mercury for Bill. John was the sober one. "It kinda built off yours, Bill."
"Oh?" Bill cocked his head.
"Yeah, remember when you got the primitives to waste precious resources building huge monuments when they could've been feeding themselves?"
Bill laughed. "Yeah, those Egyptians were a fun bunch."
"Well, I got the Americans to think they're being controlled by them."
"What?!"
"Yeah. I just leave pictures of pyramids and triangles around, and they just take it from there. So many are convinced there's some secret society pulling the strings."
All three of them burst laughing.
"Wait," Tom said. "So all you had to do was put some pictures around, and they think there's some society controlling everything?!"
I laughed. "Yep. Just added the pyramid to the dollar bill and it took off."
John shook his head. "A secret society of mortals. As if they could organize anything. Some of them still think my costume is a real animal, they call it bigfoot."
"Can't they tell it's a costume?" Tom asked.
"Oh, I use an active camoflage to make the area appear out of focus so they never see me clearly." He showed us a picture, and indeed, you could barely tell it was him. As immortals, we also invented a few things here and there.
"I've been sinking ships at the Bermuda Triangle," Bill said.
"Dude, people have died," I said. "I love it!"
We all burst into laughter and clinked our drinks together. Except for John. Fucking John. | "Hey Tony," John said "in ten thousand years pull my finger."
"Okay, sure" Tony said
Ten thousand years pass.
"Well, John. It's time for me to pull that finger of yours."
"Here it is." John said with a grin.
Tony reached for Johns finger. As he pulled it John audibly farted.
"Aww, gross!" Tony said, pinching his nose.
"Haha, gotcha!" John farted. | 2017-06-22T21:50:06 | 2017-06-22T19:04:31 | 679 | 309 |
[WP] No one else knows but we’ve been in an extremely realistic RPG all our lives. You seem weird to everyone because you’re always trying to “max your stats” and “defeat the final boss” | "Roy, what in god's name are you up this late for?"
"Leave me alone 'Mother' I need to grind out more constitution if I want to make it on the basketball team this year."
It was 1:00 am. I had crafted my own lunch and dinner to optimally improve my CON gains. Not only that, I had went out and gotten an energy drink and a sports drink. The drinks put a +4 on my sugar intake bar which if maxxed out triggered the 'Obesity' debuff. However, it reduced my fatigue gains meaning I had longer to grind out more CON.
*Dudu-du-du duduruuuu~*
With that jingle, I knew I had reached the next tier of CON. I could meet the stat check tomorrow. With that, I was on track to completing 'The Rose-colored High School Life' Questline.
--part two--
"Oh my god. Oh my god. My heart is racing at like a bajillion bpm..."
"Calm down, Wesley. You're going to be fine."
"How can you be sure, Roy? I'm not like you! I'm not some fount spewing confidence like I had the equation to life, okay?"
"I mean, when have I been wrong?"
"AP History. Last Semester. The Second Test!"
Oh yeah... he rolled three Ones during the exam. I've literally never seen anyone roll so horribly in my life before.
"Wesley. That was **one** test. Trust me. You've got this."
I hadn't worked on my Parley in awhile, so my smile came off as haughty. But, it did the job with a commendable *14*.
"Whew. Okay, you're right. Stats don't lie."
Wesley had the 'Nervous' trait. It meant that he would roll badly in high pressure moments, but it made him also over-prepare.
--part three--
*Math Test Cleared!*
As I walked out of the classroom with Wesley, I could hear my score tick up and up.
*DingDingDing-ding... ding... ding. Bang!*
**New High Score!**
Nice! I had beaten my previous test scores meaning I got at least a 95.
"I... I think I aced it."
"See, what did I tell ya."
Wesley rolled better than he usually did too. Meaning, he did just as good if not better than me.
Up next: PE.
We walked down the hall and took a left to exit the building. It was blindingly bright outside almost summer break. I squinted and kept walking when-
Bam!
*Random Encounter!*
I had accidentally bumped into somebody.
"Sorry... I didn't watch where I was going..."
"Watch it!"
Judging from the letter jacket and voice, it was Abdul. With baseline DEXterity and CON as high as his, it was no wonder he was on varsity football. But with literally zero diplomacy, I couldn't help but be a bit pissed off.
*Nyeerooo nyeerooo nyeeroo*
Shit! My reputation bar just took a hit. I was going to have to increase my Parley, otherwise I'm going to trigger 'Nasty Rumors.' | Ever since the malfunction, no one remembers the original goal of the game after respawn. It's though their memories are completely wiped, and starts over as a new born babe.
But you remembered, you know, it's your 50th respawn and you remembers everything. The first time you respawn you were kicking and screaming........and talking. The player you respawned to unfortunately already afflicted by the malfunction though you were the spawn of the devil and burn you alive.
You've since learned to play dumb and blend into your new world. To find a way back into the real world you must be able to move freely in this one.
It took years but your plans is almost to fruition. The theory is: cause so much death and destruction with in the system that cause it to crash and reboot. Which should force it to go into maintenance and boot all the players out.
The first time you tried it was unsuccessful due to low technology within the game world. You killed millions as Genghis Khan but the system rebalanced itself on the other side of the game map that you were unable to reach.
The second time you almost succeed but had to forced a respawn due to the afflicted actually beats you in the game even though unaware of the truth.
But this time, this time, you will succeed. After 50 life times of lessons learned and the technology in the game world has finally developed to the level of world destruction. You are ready.
"Sir" said the soldier, "the payload has been loaded into to BFRs and ready to fire."
Now this finally ends you thought. "Fire".
"Yes, Mr.Trump". | 2018-06-10T10:44:01 | 2018-06-10T08:26:59 | 422 | 186 |
[WP] A technology is invented that allows us to hear sounds locked into the clay of ancient pots as they were being formed. What is extracted are conversations that will alter the perception of history in the most terrifying of ways. | *God I hate him.*
Of course, the “*most brilliant mind of our time*” is a complete moron. And his name is Jerry. First, He radicalized the historical record by developing a device for reading micro impressions left on malleable mediums. Delivered the speech about it via recordings he left on play-doh figures *of himself talking*. Believing it to be a joke, everyone considered walking out, until he played the Rosetta Stone like a record on a turn table, and got *15 more languages* out of it. The worst part? He calls it the *”Historical Record...Player”* because it plays the...wait for it... historical records. I hate him.
Not 2 years later, he almost magically discovers time travel. He’s every archeologist’s hero, the dream, Indiana Jones meets H.G. Wells meets Jules Verne.
Just before the greatest dig of my life... the dig that would have launched my career into the upper echelons of history, I spoke out against him. His unprofessionalism, cavalier attitudes, and the immense irresponsibilities and liberties used when time traveling, his trash is littering the historical record... he disappeared. Assumed he died talking selfies with dinosaurs, he was treated as passed on.
Onto my dig: the oldest surviving pottery ever discovered, containing ornate figures only I could have ever deciphered, falls into my lap. It was like a time capsule, with an edible honey sample, early paper with early language written on it, and beautiful decorations inlaid. The honey tasted incredible, as the glyphs has predicted the eternal shelf life of honey, it welcomed a try. After analyzing it all, and having carbon dating confirmed everything, we played it on the Historical Record...Player. Genuine conversation was held between the craftsman and a companion. Revelations into life we had never seen before came to life, when suddenly the record appeared to scratch. There was a blast of sound, and a commotion, followed by what appeared to be someone smoothing the situation over.
Then a new speaker began, and I felt my life fall to pieces. Every dig of my career was a sham. All placed by Jerry with the soul purpose of guiding me to this point. He made the jar. All these pieces of history were from his private collection, and were allowed to age for millennia. He spoke of every detail, as he was responsible for it.
Jerry told me I never should have spoken against him. He put his dick in the honey I ate.
*God I hate him.* |
*Yo man, check this out! I just bought this pot from pre-historic South America. Neat uh? Let's hear what it says! Turn that shit on!*
*O-kay. I'm turning the device on. Get ready for disappointment.*
*Wow this sounds like gibberish! You sure that thing ain’t broken?*
*Yes, I am pretty sure. I am also sure you nor anyone else still alive can understand the undocumented language of the people who made that vase. You’re stupid.*
*Oh, right. Shit.*
*Wait, did she just start moaning?*
*Yep.... okay. Hold on.. Did I just hear she call out Patrick Swayze?*
*I think... I think I heard that too.* | 2019-03-18T17:38:49 | 2019-03-18T15:24:37 | 56 | 21 |
[WP] You, a Human, have been sentenced to death on an alien planet. The method of execution: gas chamber. However, the compound used in executions, Tetrahydrocannabinol, isn't quite as lethal to humans as your executioners expect. | “Bring out the wretched Human!” The voice boomed from all angles. “Let the council decree his fate.”
Steve Stevenson was dragged from his cell by two exceptionally large Moroxi. The Moroxi had an unnerving similarity to the long extinct Kangaroo from earth, but with four arms and scales. The guards sneered at Stevenson, one ripping off his patch of bravery from his uniform, before throwing him into a large circular chamber.
The chamber was pure white and so sterile it stung Steve’s eyes if he looked at one point for too long. He looked up to see five ridiculously dressed Moroxi leering down at him. They were wearing hats that looked like traffic cones.
Steve shuffled forward a step, “There must be some misunder—“
“Silence!” The voice boomed again. Coming from everywhere but nowhere. “This is no trial, this is an execution!”
Steve blinked away the tears forming in his eyes from the psychic assault the Moroxi Council was inflicting upon him. That damn crystal, it was always a stupid crystal. If I make it out of here alive, Steve thought, no more crystals. But deep down, he knew he had no chance.
“Administer him . . . The haze of death!” The mouthless voice hissed.
Steve stiffened, waiting for some searing pain to send him tumbling down into the dark abyss of death. Then, he smelled it, some of the dankest kush he ever smelled. So dank in fact, that Steve already felt a little high.
“What’s so funny? You find torturous death amusing human?” The Moroxi council scoffed at him in unison.
Steve coughed a couple times and giggled, “no it’s just, your hats. They’re like, funny, you know?”
“No we do not know! These are our symbols of office! They distinguish us, the regal—“
Steve was laughing, “stop doing that! It tickles!”
The Moroxi council looked amongst itself, “the mind-voice tickles?”
“The mind-voice?” That’s what you guys named it?” Steve was still laughing, his eyes glazed and redder than the devil’s delicate appendage. “Hey, wait.” Steve stopped laughing and looked around, “do you hear that?”
The Moroxi council leaned over as one, “hear what?”
Steve unleashed a massive fart that echoed throughout the chamber and doubled over laughing. “My ass-voice!” He was crying and slapping his hand on the ground. “This is some good shit!”
The Council huddled together, communing as one and instantly deciding one of them, Alparox the Younger, would delve into Steve’s mind in order to discover the miraculous manner in which he survived and even enjoyed the most lethal gas they had ever discovered. After an instant of quiet solidarity, Alparox flung his consciousness into Steve’s and began opening it like a book. The mental prowess of the Moroxi Council plain for all to see, for who could stand against a mind so mighty—
Alparox was rolling on the floor laughing. His eyes already tearing up. He was pointing at the hats and nodding, “you’re right, you’re so right!” He said while tears streamed down his cheeks.
The council turned away from their fallen brother and back to Steve. Perhaps they had underestimated this Human. He was truly an impressive foe. In unison they knew what had to be done, they needed different hats. But after that, they would unleash the ultimate punishment on Steve: the dark mushrooms. Oh how they pitied him. | I can’t believe I’m stuck on this podunk planet in this no name galaxy. My transmitter isn’t working and my translator is only picking up parts of what’s going on because this language is extinct except for this one backwards ass planet. I’m in jail. It’s a weird jail. It’s two cement walls, two glass walls, and cement flooring. There’s a drain on the floor and a vent in the ceiling and nothing else. Doesn’t bode well for me.
Outside the glass walls there’s some stadium seating and a control booth. Definitely not looking good. I hope they aren’t one of those species obsessed with sex stuff. Please, god, no weird sex stuff.
Oh god they’re coming in. They are so weird looking. We think they evolved from something similar to dolphins from our planet. They have gray skin and long sharp heads. They’re talking. Hope the translator can get this...
“The alien has broken our traditional law of *gibberish* and will be sentenced to death by *gibberish*!” As the ugly ass dolphin lord declares this, the crowd goes wild with weird squeaks and clapping.
Fuck.
“Wait!” I cry, “please I don’t know what I’ve done. I’m here for science, please just let me explain!”
“You see?” He speaks to the crowd, “it admits it’s offense. Death!”
With that he presses a button on his control deck and the lights change to red. Sounds of gasses moving through vents and opening levers echo into my cell. The smoke pours down slowly from the vent in the ceiling, I scramble to the drain in the floor, but soon smoke starts to creep up from there too. And as much as I don’t want to it’s getting into my mouth and nose and.. and.. wait a second...
This is weed! | 2020-05-20T10:46:26 | 2020-05-20T10:06:43 | 3,523 | 94 |
[WP] After working hard your whole life you’ve finally done it: You have a stable job that’s rewarding, a wonderful wife, two young children, and you just bought your first home... You awake. “Thanks for grinding out those beginning levels for me.” The stranger says. “Your money’s in the bank.” | A screen appears before you, your fingers on its holographic keyboard, purely from muscle memory for now. There is no dark mode for hard light and as much as you dislike the brightness, the blinding glow helps you focus. Your bank account is on the screen. There are a lot of zeroes in the balance. You scan the transaction records for the deposit and find it. The deposit has considerably less zeroes.
You remember and realize he doesn't recognize you. You idly touch your cheek, feeling the flesh still hold firm despite the week of inactivity. Most plastisims would be putty by now. For stuff this good, you'd even reconsider that paltry endorsement offer of theirs.
"Is it there?"
"Yeah," you take great care to modulate your natural voice. It is pretty distinctive, after all. "It's all here."
"Great, can't wait to bang that wife of mine!"
A plume of contempt erupts but you clamp it down as practiced. You make a show of taking another glance at the simstem responsible for the virtual reality you were in. "Do you mind if I keep viewer access? I'll pay you back a quarter of what you paid for."
His face flashes between confusion and disgust. Better set him straight before he thinks you're a pervert, "You can set the explicit filter if you want. I spent a week prepping this account for you. I just wanna see how you handle it."
He settles on a wary but interested glance. "Attached?"
"Sorta."
He rubs his chin as he looks at the paused sim. You and the family are racing to see who can get inside first. You were winning. "To just her or to the kids too?"
To every single facsimile of a soul in that alternate reality. "To the kids, mostly. I wanna see them grow up."
He rolls his eyes but activates his holoscreen. An invoice request appears in yours. "Not gonna say no to some free money, so sure."
A few taps and he connects the account to your dummy's and you refund him a portion of his payment back. You take a picture together for posterity, exchange farewells, and then head into a backroom.
A luxury security transport is waiting for you there. The driver, Mark, is unhappy but he is never not unhappy on the job.
"'Research' complete, sir?" You can practically taste the air quotes in his comment. It tastes like nicotine and well-aged sass. Smells like it too.
You take another glance at the photo, another face to add to the ever expanding alternate reality you've created. He seemed pleasant enough but you could easily make his experience much less pleasant if he proved otherwise.
A dozen holoscreens flash at once. Mark's voice calls out from the driver's seat as he activates his own holoscreen between him and you to block out some of the light. "Please limit the brightness on your screens to a non-blinding level, sir. I'm trying to drive."
You ignore him in favor of the feeds. Seventeen has had their marriage deteriorate thanks to a very stupid secret. He could still salvage the marriage though, if he's clever and honest. Six has patched up his relationship with his second son. They're going on a camping trip now. Sixty has divorced his wife, which means no further point in setting his feed to active watch. Set a bookmark in case he and his wife reconcile and move on.
Ah, the new face, mister one hundred. He was... banging his wife. Not really sure what you expected from him to be honest. He did exactly what he said he would. He showed off some novel stuff, at least.
The feeds run on fast forward. Time is compressed in virtual reality: one day in one minute; one thousand four hundred and forty days in a day; and a lifetime, twenty seven and a half years, in one week. You have at least four dozen feeds on active watch. The oldest is over two years old now and still going strong, bless his heart.
"Would you care for my opinion, sir?" Mark asks. Oh? You should be getting close to your destination if he's speaking up now. A turn around a corner confirms that induction.
"Fire away."
"Is it healthy for a man of your stature to do this, sir? I fear this has long since passed the point of a hobby for you."
You watch a beautiful wife greet her husband and two kids a wonderful morning. In the corner, a grinding request notification appears in your personal inbox. A glance at your itinerary for the week says that that will have to wait.
The transport enters the parking lot as a gaggle of executives greet you with strained but eager smiles to your personal brainchild: Mirrormorph, simstem and virtual reality pioneer.
You turn off your holoscreens just as you unlock your door. "We all have to earn money to chase the things we love, Mark. That's just the way things are." | There is always a delay. It is the worst part of being a lifelunder. It is the most agonizing 11 minutes one can endure. You are receiving information. Seeing again. Hearing. Feeling your environment. For the first time in 8 months. Senses you've depended upon to be brought to you are gone, and your brain literally computes nothing. It takes about 11 minutes to basically reset your own programming. As advanced as we are, the brain is so overcome with new data that you remember nothing. You can technically receive data with these senses at this time, but it is always lost after 11 minutes. You just all of a sudden wake up and then it is back to life.
Most of us are on 9 month visas. Perpetual tourists. Just trying to make enough to retire young, and do nothing for the rest of our lives. At 33, I am the oldest of the clan in this block. Having to only pay to live 4 months of the year, and have 8 months of premium pay affords one either a lavish 1/3 of their life, or a comfortable early retirement. This was my last run. The hemorrhaging had led to severe nose bleeds the last time I came out. Hell, I might not even live to spend the profit of my sacrifice. It is one thing to share in the life of another. It is quite another to give away your own for someone. And for someone that is always gone before the 11 minutes is up.
After all this time, I still don't understand how they don't see that the detriment of our society is so closely wrapped to the elimination of the 'hard work'. The pain of being human. The depths of control one must have to develop this type of successful life on your own. The fact society clings to the very epitome of lackluster, aloof, underachievers, to play their game to a point it is comfortable, is beyond me. We don't do shit but smoke weed. Gamble. Skateboard. Hell, BooBoy buys so many hookers, I'm surprised his dick hasn't fallen the fuck off. We're just incapable of giving enough of a damn to pursue our own development, so we avoid our own hard work, and do it for those too scared to actually live. The irony.
It is hard to get so close to the story. To be it. To manifest what others cannot for themselves. And awaken 11 minutes later, and the stranger you just poured your life into, is gone. Only to reap the reward of your achievement unlocking. And only to usually end the next game save with divorce, suicide, alcoholism, chemical dependency, or self-loathing. Humans just can't make anything of themselves, even with the perfect assist. Even with the hard work done for them. So we just take their money. Knowing they probably will just squander the opportunity. I'm done. I'm set to have my life achievements unlocked, and get onto my own life. With so much more information. Hoping to beat the boss, and see the Princess. | 2019-09-13T02:39:44 | 2019-09-12T22:23:29 | 114 | 43 |
[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…" | 2017-09-14T09:55:29 | 2017-09-14T09:10:03 | 97 | 18 |
[WP] You started listening to a podcast about strange creatures in myths and legends. Jokingly, you start to put out offerings of bread and such, asking permission to cross bridges and fields. When one day you hear a small voice in your ear "no one has given me an offering in centuries". | I stood in my garden, looking at the ring of mushrooms growing almost in the middle of it. I knew mushrooms could grow just about anywhere and I haven’t been the most diligent with the garden lately, yet it’s rare to see such a perfect circle grown naturally like that. For some reason though I didn’t pluck them, and just walked away, glancing back at it.
That night a smile grew on my face as I listened to my favorite podcast. By some coincidence or bit of fate *Mythical Menagerie* talked about rings of flowers or mushrooms called Fairy Rings. It was fascinating stuff and while most of the stories seemed to be dire warnings, a few said they were signs of fortune and fertility. It’s been a tough few years for gardens with the heat and lack of rain, so hopefully it will help rather than harm.
The next day I gently weeded the area around the ring, getting rid of the overgrowth and noxious plants. I found myself cleaning up the whole garden, doing work that has gone undone for quite some time. At odd moments I heard a rustle, a shaking of leaves yet couldn’t find a culprit. No wind or breeze to blow them about, no chittering of animals or chirping of birds was heard. I pushed it out of my mind.
As I gazed out of my kitchen window I paused, there was a light flitting about faintly around the ring. “It’s the wrong season for fireflies,” I whispered excitedly and went outside to look. Sadly the dancing light disappeared when I got closer. “Must be a trick of the eyes,” my voice sad and wistful. “Or maybe...” I giggled at my silliness, those are all myths. There are no such things like fairies, but what if?
On a tiny plate I put some of the leftovers from dinner: a crust of bread, a few slices of cheese, some vegetable shavings, and left the plate next to the ring. I fell asleep feeling silly, yet happy for some strange reason.
Getting home from work, I whistled as I walked into the garden. I stopped at the store on the way home and got some new seeds and things to spruce things up. It wasn’t until I saw the plate did I remember what I put out. What I didn’t expect was it to be clean. Not just empty of food but practically gleaming.
*It has been centuries since anyone has left an offering.* My hand stopped shy of touching the plate. My eyes moved around as I slowly stood up. No one else lived with me, there wasn’t a gate to let anyone in back here.
“H-hello?” I felt foolish. Did I really just hear someone? “Is someone there?”
*Of course there is. Do you make a habit of talking to yourself?* The spritely tone became warmer, teasing and I blushed a little.
“Well, not really. I don’t usually hear anyone talking back here either though.” I looked around slowly. “Where, and who are you?”
A mote of light grew behind one of the mushrooms, revealing itself. Shyly it grew stronger, rising into the air and settling on the top of the cap. Entranced I knelt down, and found myself eye to eye with a little being. Large green eyes peered back from honeysuckle skin, a shock of wheat colored hair spilled down her back and tiny gossamer wings fanned gently as she inspected me.
“Y-y-you’re a fairy!” My voice trembled with delight and shock.
*And you are a human,* she replied, dimples showing as she smiled. *Observant too.*
I chuckled. “Well, I always thought fairies didn’t exist, folk stories and myths and all that.”
She sighed, a deep sound from such a tiny frame. *Of course we did. We do. Though there are not many left. It is hard to live in the world these days. Humans destroyed most of the natural places in the world, not enough space for the fae to dance and live anymore.*
My heart throbbed from her accusing glare. “Yeah, sorry about that,” I replied lamely. “Humans are really good at destroying things.”
Her gaze softened. *I am sorry. I should not blame you for the sins of your kind. I was very weak, tired and hungry before I found this little place. It seemed safe, overgrown and neglected. I thought I could live here. I made the ring to remind myself of before, and hopefully others of my kind would come.* Her luminous eyes pierced mine. *Thank you for the food. I have not tasted much as of late. Yet if you plan to change the area again...* Her eyes flicked over to the garden supplies I bought.
I looked down at the tiny fairy, her shoulders slumped and wings dropped. “Well...maybe we can work something out.”
Her eyes widened with hope, then narrowed with suspicion.
“As you saw, my garden was a little...unkempt.” I ignored her snort. “As you might guess I’m not very good at growing and maintaining. If you help me, tell me what to do and help me take care of it, I don’t see why you can’t live here. And any friends of yours too, as long as they are friendly and help.”
The suspicion started to fade, her wings rising. *You would do this? Make a deal with a fae?*
“Well sure.” I shrugged. “I mean, I’m lonely myself here. You need a home and I can provide one. What do you say?”
Her brow furrowed, a hand stroked a chin. *We have a deal, with one more condition.* Before she could continue her stomach grumbled, a sound much louder than her body should produce.
Her face went cherry red as I laughed. “Oh no problem there. Let me fix that right away.”
A few months later I looked happily at a transformed garden. My entire back yard was vibrant, green and healthy. Flowers bloomed in a riot of colors and the tree looked healthier than ever. I even had some vegetables growing, something I never thought possible with my woeful skills. I finished arranging a mountain of vegetables onto the plate and carried it out with another laden with bread and cheese. My smile grew as a myriad of lights floated out of the garden, some settling on the mushrooms of the ring and others coming to me, with the brightest one at the fore. | I'm an odd dude.
While my friends were joining the track team, or playing soccer back in high school, I was reading books. Lots of books, actually, and most of them were fantasy. When I wasn't reading, I was writing about these fantastical things.
I loved mythical creatures. Stories of elves and trolls, of wizards and talking animals. It was a welcome escape from an uncomfortable life... and it bled over into my adult life, in certain ways. I still wrote often about these wondrous things, and sometimes I'd just spend my day at work thinking about them, or I'd occasionally do something silly.
If I ever sit in a crowded place, sometimes I just look around and think "I know you can hear me," to any potential mind-readers out there. I know that such a thing is impossible, but in a weird way it amuses me to acknowledge the mythical as every day life. I suppose it helps me write better stores too, occasionally.
All of that to say, I went hiking last week. I had saved up my money and took a train up to the mountains, bringing a hammock, a few cans of pork and beans, a lighter and other fire-starters... and a raw t-bone steak. I was planning on camping for a night, and then find a cave. I wanted to do something silly again.
So that Saturday, I hiked the mountain for a good hour or two, bushwhacking half the adventure, and walking along the side of the mountain. On my right was a solid wall of rock and dirt, and on my left, the mountain sloped downwards. I followed the mountain, just listening to music and watching my step, when I came to my first cave.
I popped out my earbuds and laid the phone down. It was recording audio. I slid my backpack off my shoulders and took the small cooler out of it.
"I'm addressing any wyrmkind that now resides in this cave! I bring a show of peace and friendship, of my good will to you!" I took out the t-bone and held it in my hands. "I understand life has been difficult these last few centuries, and humankind have not been kind to you! I offer this now as a way of reconciling our relationship, if nothing more than on a personal level!"
With that, I threw the t-bone a few feet forward in the cave. I stopped to listen.
Now, even though I knew dragons were probably non-existent, at least at this point in history, I was careful. If a bear lived in this cave, I certainly didn't want to meet the wrong end of a claw. Any sign of a bear, and you know I'd be running like my life depended on it.
Because it probably would.
I listened for a few seconds, not really expecting anything, but just enjoying the sounds of nature, when I finally stooped down to put on my backpack and pick up my phone. I had just slid my pack on over my shoulders... when I heard a whisper, from all around me.
*No one has given me such an offering in centuries.*
I paused. My earbuds weren't in... but I definitely heard it. *That was... a voice?* I thought.
And then a gigantic, ground shaking footstep.
I stared back into the pitch dark of the cave. About five yards in front of me, the light just stopped altogether, held back by the roof of the cavern. Something was coming towards me, taking slow, deliberate steps. My fear told me to run, but my sense of adventure and wonder held me in place.
It was getting closer, and closer, until I could feel like it was right on top of me. Still I saw nothing.
*Greetings, young one.*
It was in my head, the voice that echoed around as if living in my skull. My own voice shook in fear. "Who are you?"
In the air, about seven or eight feet in front me, a single, blue, shimmering scale faded into existence. It hung there for half a second, before a ring of scales appeared around it, followed quickly by another, and then three more. Before long, a dragon stood before me, where there had previously been nothing.
My legs were shaking.
*How did you know where to find me? As I understand, your kind believes dragonkind to be extinct, or even simply non-existent in the first place, which is what we intended. Why have you come searching for me?*
I found it hard to find my first words, as I was giving my first thoughts on the loss of a loved one. "I-I..."
"I was just being silly."
------------------------
*Sincerely,*
*/r/TDWfan* | 2018-07-02T08:20:40 | 2018-07-02T07:21:35 | 104 | 54 |
[WP] Your family is known for only producing geniuses or idiots. The jury is still out on you, but it's generating plenty of interest. | My eldest sister Katherine Jepsen was just named the youngest ever appointee to the Supreme Court of the United States of America. She graduated from Harvard Law several years early and had spent the intervening years righting wrongs and correcting injustices in wrongful convictions across the country. She is as brilliant and thoughtful a person as I had ever met.
My next eldest sister Tatiana "Ta-Ta's" Jepsen was just featured on season 49 of "Still Sort of Keeping Up with the Kardashian's: Isle de Fuego 3". Her role was to cause tension in the family by somehow out bimbo-ing the actual Kardashian's on their own show. She was, to put it as gently as I can, the dumbest human being I had ever encountered in my entire life.
Such is the dichotomy of my family. Brilliance or stupidity, geniuses or idiots, yin or yang... never the twain shall meet or overlap in any way. That is until I came along. I was the baby of my family, so my relatives and even some in the outside world were well aware of the all or nothing nature of our familial intelligence. As a result it's fair to say my intellect was zealously examined and questioned from the time I was a very young boy.
My earliest memories as a child were my grandparents debating which side of 'the divide' I had fallen on. I had just spelled a word out with blocks on the floor, which my grandmother declared meant that I would be joining the genius side of our clan. My grandfather however noted that the 'word' I had spelled out was "derp" and therefore I was clearly headed to the stupid side of the aisle.
At some point in my teenage years I decided, like most teens, to rebel against what I saw as familial pressures being placed upon me. My rebellion was somewhat unique in that my goal wasn't to be a massive partier in a conservative religious family or any of the typical scenarios. I simply wanted to split the difference between genius and idiocy. I desired nothing more than to be viewed as totally average, and thus, render myself unable to be placed in either of my families categorizations.
For example, I went to college of course, but I didn't attend the finest school I got into (Harvard) or the worst (Trump University 2.0: Now with 100% More Cardboard Cutouts!). No, I chose to attend Middleton State University in the town of Middlebury, located roughly in the dead center of my state. It appealed because it featured no particularly excellent or dismal rankings from any college ranking survey. It was, by every measure, supremely average.
I graduated in 4.5 years as a solid C+ student. While striding proudly on stage to receive my diploma I delighted at the sight of my confused family members seated in the audience arguing fiercely over what my mediocre educational achievements 'meant' for my role in the family.
Post college was even an even more difficult landscape for me to navigate. I badly wanted to be successful, but not in a way in which I could ever be mistaken as genius. My indefinably idea came to me one day while browsing the zillion and one photo apps available to me and everyone else in the planet. I noted that those apps with elaborate filters that swapped gender, or aged you, or gave you a puppy dog face were insanely popular.
Then and there I resolved to break into this market with the laziest idea I could come up with: "The Tomorrow Filter". The Tomorrow Filter let you snap a photo of what you would look like in the future, exactly how you'd look tomorrow to be specific. Which of course, meant you looked 99.99999% exactly the same, yet somehow I made a boatload of money off it. Brilliant in its sheer stupidity you might say, thoroughly impossible to judge as an intellectual achievement. I could not have been more thrilled.
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read more more stories that strive for mediocrity! | The eighteenth birthday of a member of the Duffy clan is a peculiar one. For the first half, at least. The greatest mathematicians, engineers, poets, politicians, gathered in your mum's cooped-up country house, peering expectantly over your breakfast table. Today is the day the Duffy genii either claim you as their own, or leave you for the rest of your life to party and be stupid with the other half of the family. What you have infront of you is a single test, far harder than MacArthur's Program, MENSA; this year's test is simply titled "Observe".
You scrawl away on the blank piece of paper. Numbers and symbols cascading across the page, every movement keenly watched by the crowd, trying to ignore your mum's proffered birthday cake. She remains happy though, absent-mindedly peeking over her relative's heads to eye your progress; not that any Duffy Dunce would understand it. Numbers, that is.
By midday, used-up pens litter the table. Sheafs of pages are stacked baside you, none of which anyone is allowed to touch. Finally, you slide the last A4 sheet under the stack, sign it with an even messier signature, and leave the table for some much-needed cake. The crowd pounces on your notes, eagerly dissecting it, praising and critiquing it as postmodern, neohumanist, marxist, anarcho-feminist, any expertise they have is thrown at it with the vigour of a child slinging food at the wall.
You stoop into the kitchen, where your mum awaits you anxiously with a slice of soggy cake.
"Soo, uh...", she ventures, as you take a bite off the paper plate, "I guess you're one of them, then. 'Ol clever type and what 'ave you."
"Well, see here, Mum.", you reply, mouth still stuffed, "I don't quite consider myself on one side or the other. But whaddae do know, is that I wrote fifty pages of fuckin' bullshit, and it's up to them to make it clever. I'm offtae the pub." | 2019-08-03T11:54:31 | 2019-08-03T08:52:41 | 60 | 17 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Our War Council was surprised when these Humans asked what we knew about the Aldins' own core worlds.
"What are their defenses, their detection systems for tracking ships jumping in from deep space?"
We told them that what we knew from our own attempts to fight in Aldin systems was that they were passive at home, that they feared no grand attacks from any societies in their region and that all our atempts to strike out at them were initially successful until our forces were either driven back or destroyed by their ships dispatched *after* we had engaged.
"They are preeminent in our space, and unafraid, their navy seems content to swat us away like the stinging bugs of your world. They have no orbital perimeters like you ask."
"Yes, my Lords, but *how* long does it take for them to come?"
"Perhaps as long as several of your earth days."
The Humans seemed shocked by this.
"How did you not destroy a planet then leave before being interdicted?"
"We were a peaceful race with no grand laser sweepers or ray blankets to attack a planet we can barely engage ships in the void, do you expect us to shoot every Aldine in time and leave?"
"These Aldines, they are city dwellers like us and like your people?"
"Yes, they live in big urban cores, besides the farmers."
The humans went on their own and were gone for some days. Aldine attacks destroyed the Faris System Navy and two of our settled worlds in that time, but in a place the Men called Dog Sector, our forces supplemented by a detachment of human advisers repelled repeated landing attempts. When the humans returned we were ready to give them anything.
"Now Councilors you can see that our detachments of military advisers have had good results in ground war against these things. But we want to win the war for you so we want at least four of your corvette style ships with crew put at our disposal for a test, an operation over a planet we designated A-1, a big urban world from your intelligence."
"Whatever you need from us you can have."
"Very good."
In good time the humans outfitted these ships in manners that seemed odd to us and drove their captains mad, I was sent along with them to observe for the Council. The humans seemed excited the whole time, touring the ships, testing the structures and the computers and always loading great munitions and other things brought special from their system as quick as we could jump them and they even told me their plan but I found it ridiculous, impossible. When we jumped for A-1 I noticed the other three ships did not jump with us.
"Slight adjustment for those boats Councilor."
We made normal time to A-1 and there were no Aldine military ships to meet us. We quickly went into orbit and the men made one last check of their payload and me and the Human Admiral watched the green planet below from the bridge observation window and he marveled at the big steel blotches of city in the landmasses.
"We are ready sir."
"Shoot the damn things then."
The admiral shook his head as the ship shuddered and a thousand trails of objects went down toward the planet, some arcing to go around to the far side.
"Dumb son's of bitches, goddamn, it's like they never figured on someone doing this."
I wondered why he was so bothered but then I saw it, hundreds of huge blasts on the surface, big red bursts, then black churnings of smoke and dirt, huge thunderheads of dead matter being sucked up and dispersed over the once day lit ground. Ground transmissions we were monitoring cut off.
"Well whoever we didn't get will be dead in a week of fallout anyways."
"Admiral, it seems you only needed one of these ships for the mission, why did you order four?"
"Well we figured we would try and cut the head off these things if what you telling us was true. We'll send word to the other three to proceed, and then we will head off to the rest of the planets in this system and do the same. Then we will jump, a day before these boys show up. Then we do it again. If it works all right we can cripple their empire or whatever in a couple weeks. Their fleets won't have a home to return to, and when they try and retaliate we'll blast them out of the sky with these missiles since none of you aliens have them or really know how they work. You won't ever have them. After we finish this up we'll talk about the piece up here we get for winning this for you. These corvettes will be a nice start, my boys say already they have our computers ready to fly them if need be. "
It was at this moment I thought about how along with these weapons the humans had brought on board a good number of their military advisers and how they more and more seemed to be stationed at bulkhead doors and armed and their smiles seemed mocking.
| "Finally, those damned Cetaceans and their ridiculous cylindrical vessels have decided to share the secrets of FTL travel." Admiral James T Kahn sat confidently on the bridge of the newly christened flagship of the Earth Space Superiority services.
Soon, it would be engaged in battle with Rodentia. "They think they are so smart" thought Kahn,but quickly his thoughts turned to snapping their little necks. The insidious weapons designed to suddenly trap their enemies had been designed eons ago. Now, they would be put to the ultimate test.
Of course, the humans weren't entirely without mercy, in the hold they had tons of emergency food and other supplies for their new allies. Just as predictably, the nets contained in the secondary hold would be useful for AFTER the main battle.
The Earth fleet arrived at the Cetacean home system just in time. The Rodentian forces were close to final victory. Quickly, the weapons of mouse destruction they had brought with them were deployed. Soon, the sounds of snapping necks and cries of "42" filled the air. Kahn smiled and thought to himself, "Behold, the power of cheese". The secret had been obvious all along.
He gave a nod to the load master, indicating it was time to deliver the emergency supplies in the hold. Tons of food were quickly delivered.
A short time later, the relief in the squeaks, squeals, chirps and whistles coming from the Cetaceans was obvious even if the computer translation was slow to provide the final translation. They seemed excited and happy.
Admiral Kahn, smiled. Soon the humans would reap the tasty morsels they desired from the Cetacean homeworld. That's where the nets came in. "Chicken of the Sea" would be on the menu all they way back home.
Suddenly, a shrill cry came from the Cetaceans and all the power on Kahn's ship was lost. Their weapons, their defenses all offline. What was going on. The Cetacean attack was decisive and the humans defenseless.
Kahn was stunned, if they had this kind of power, what did they need the humans for? The Cetaceans knew of course. The power source the Rodentia used were immune to their power draining weapons. They used a subclass, cousins really, of their own species. Thousands of them, running on gigantic wheels to power their ships and weapons. But all that was in the past, the humans had done their job.
The end came swiftly for Kahn. The arrogant smirk removed from his face. As his beautiful flagship burned around him, he saw the final salvo from the Cetaceans.
Suddenly, a loud beeping sound came from his right. He turned his head just before the final strike to see.
As Kahn looked toward the comm system, he saw the translation of the earlier message from the Cetaceans, "So long and thanks for all the fish". | 2016-05-13T06:30:06 | 2016-05-13T06:26:32 | 87 | 21 |
[WP]Georgia, 1903. A Baptist minister, armed with a Bible, an axe and two pistols, waits for sundown at a crossroads, where he intends to confront the Devil. | He waits. The minister dreamed this place, felt it calling to him last night, felt the battle coming like you feel a storm in the air. Dreamed the feel of the heat coming of the ground. Saw the horse shit in the middle of the crossroads. Heard the insects chittering to each other in the fading light.
He's got his King James in his right hand. He traces the letters on the cover with his thumb, feeling the familiar grooves in the leather, but keeps his eyes fixed on the road to the west. That's where he's going to come from. He saw it all.
The sun teeters on the horizon, spitting the last of its light out over the fields. Then its gone, leaving behind a man on a horse, riding in from the west.
The minister moves to the middle of the road. He considers unholstering one of his guns, but what use is a bullet against the devil? He's got the good book. The Lord is his strength and shield. He begins Psalm 23, not silently, but firmly and clearly, out to the west road.
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want".
The man on the horse rides towards him, slowing a little as he hears the words of the minister. He dismounts, then carries forward on foot, leading the black horse by the reins.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."
The man from the west cocks his head and takes off his hat.
"Can I help you, stranger?".
The minister waits for the storm to break.
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies".
The man from the west smiles a little.
"Are you okay, sir? If a buggy were to come along here with you in the road, well, that might not go so well for you."
The minister did not dream this moment. The battle should have begun.
"Are you the tempter?"
"The what?"
"The, uh, the tempter?"
"I don't think so, sir. Are you feeling okay?"
The minister feels the certainty of his dream start to waver, to fray at the edges.
The man from the west offers the minister his canteen of water. The minister drinks, feeling the thirst he'd ignored while waiting in the late June sun.
"Thanks, stranger".
"No problem. You okay getting back home from here?"
The minister points at his tethered horse; nods.
"You take care, sir".
The man from the west mounts his horse and rides east, leaving the minister still clutching his King James, his guns unfired, his axe unswung. The man smiles as he rides. Doubt. The way to truly win battles.
| The Devil went down to Georgia. He was lookin' for a soul to steal.
He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind. He was willing to make a deal
When he came across this preacher with a gun in each hand and eyes burnin' hot.
And the Devil jumped upon a hickory stump and said "Father, let me tell you what."
"I bet you didn't know it, but this is a fiddle player's duel.
And if you'd care to drop those guns, well, I'd find it pretty cool.
Now, you play a pretty good hand boy, but give the Devil his due.
If you don't drop those guns like you've got the runs, I've got a surprise for you."
The preacher said, "My name's John, and it might be a sin,
But I'll deport your ass straight back to hell 'cause I'm the god-damn best there's ever been."
..... I'll finish around lunch maybe.
_____
No points for originality, but based on the title I just had to have fun with the lyrics. IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED OP? | 2014-05-02T07:52:45 | 2014-05-02T06:28:06 | 300 | 99 |
[WP] You get invited by an eccentric classmate to join the "Conquest Club." You think it may be a video or board gaming club, and decide to check it out. During your first meeting you realize the group is actually planning to conquer the world, and somehow, they seem to have the resources to do it. | Wrapping three times on the door did just the tick this time.
“Gives a minute” a voice called from the other side of the oak. “Damn thing’s stiff”.
After some time the door slammed open and Mathis was met by a figure already wearing his secretive robe.
“Hail, brother!” Mathis said remembering the secret code given to him by Steve.
“Which brother art thou?” the door man asked.
“I be brother Media”.
“Brother Media, I welcome you. I be brother Doorman”.
Mathis stepped through the threshold pulling the hood of his secret robe over his head.
“So is this full on RP or what?”
Brother Doorman chose not to answer and close the door instead. Mathis took this as orders to walk into the main room.
“Alls here, Grand Master!” called Doorman has Mathis took his labeled seat inbetween brother Europe and brother Supply Chain. Both nodded to Mathis, as did the other 20 people sat on the round table.
In came the Grand Master (or Steve), Mathis knew he was incharge because his robes were red rather than black.
“Brothers!” he greeted them as he set up his projector and laptop.
The first slide projected on the blank wall. It showed a map of the world.
So it’s a game or Risk? Was Mathis’ first thought, until he second slide came up.
The second slide consisted of a plan of attack to secure the city of Birmingham within 2 days and setting up has the headquarters for further expansion.
This is a game Mathis didn’t know. He raised his hand.
“Brother..?” Steve asked.
“Brother Media”
“What is it?” Steve sounded puzzled.
“I’m new, can you quickly run me through the rules or do you have a pamphlet or something?”
“Questions come after the presentation!” a fellow brother called out from the other side of the table.
“Oh do pipe down with that crap, Kevin!” another brother shouted back in response. “Nothing but criticism from you, every day!”
“I just...” is all Kevin could say.
“We should start here, Birmingham is too big, what if the coups don’t work” the brother continued in imitation of a child's voice.
“Never mind” Kevin gave up.
“Once we secure Birmingham, brother Air from Welsh chapter will helicopter in support, to help us hold out while the Europe coupes take place” Steve began.
“Brother Europe, you’re ready?”
“Spain, France, Germany, Italy, Belgium and the old block could be ours in ten minutes if I asked them” Mathis neighbour replied, pleased with his report.
“Brother Media, you will take charge of our bot accounts, make sure the people are confused with what's going on, there must be at least 12 stories in the media about what’s happening until his high Royalness is ready to address the world”
“Yer sure” Mathis responded as his phone began to buzz. He took a look to see his social media accounts being updated.
The meeting when on for about an hour, Mathis had lost interest quickly as went through his social media as his account now controlled several thousand others.
His confusion was only broken when a very large group of well armed soldiers entered the room.
“You’ll each take a unit of 30 men and secure your relevant targets” the Grand Master said.
This was going to be one hard core role play.
| As the realization hits me I sit in shock only half listening as someone as someone begins discussing food supplies for troops in Paraguay. Looking around the table at the determined faces I consider my options. These men and women have the potential to create a new world order. Every word I spoke in this meeting was a matter of life and death.
The spokesman stops for a second and clears his throat "ah I see we have a new member for our little club, Welcome." He said with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. "You've been given an opportunity only a few ever had. The ability to change the course of history!" My throat felt dry. I knew I had to say something intelligent sounding, show them I belonged here. "I hope I can help." idiot I thought to myself what type of opening words where those? I brace myself for the bullet I'm sure they are about to put in my head.
The spokesmen only continued to smile "your friend has told us of your tactical and strategic genius. In online simulations your plans you have a thrice as likely to succeed as any other candidate."
Wait, I think for a second, does he mean fucking online videogames? I stare at my friend and start to ask her. Before I get a word out she gives me a look that says to stay silent. "His ability is unmatched at his craft." She replies smoothly "He will accomplish his task."
I look at her again and she just smiles. That same knowing smile that got me here, that smile that gets her everything she wants. Why in the hell am I being dragged into this?
If you guys want more I'm happy to write it. | 2018-11-06T13:47:13 | 2018-11-06T09:34:09 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it. | "How do we know it's not a transmitter bolted to the earth?"
"It bears all the hallmarks of non-terrestrial non-solar system origin. We've confirmed that the signal is coming from one spot in the sky moving at the same rate as the stars."
"And the communication medium?"
"Pictorial, Sir. It seems to be modeled on the [Arecibo Message](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/55/Arecibo_message_bw.svg/2000px-Arecibo_message_bw.svg.png)"
"Send it to me."
He opened the [attachment](http://imgur.com/vOWEsQN).
"Do the astrolinguists have a theory yet?"
"They do, Sir. The sign on top is similar to a stop sign, it was one of the symbols kept in on one of the later Voyagers. Regarding the middle one there are differences of opinion. But most have concluded that the intelligent species communicates with each other via sound, and they understand its properties as a wave. Finally, in the Arecibo we sent them a human form- so that represents our species. The cross next to it is a negation."
"Okay.. so what does it say?"
His IM beeped.
"[End]. [Communication].[<Ambiguous Connective>]. [Negative]. [Bipedal]."
"English?"
"Best guess - 'Stop communicating or your species dies.'"
"In other words we are to shut up and play dead, pretend to be alone in this universe for the sake of our own preservation?"
"That's right, Mr Chairman."
"This is interesting. Transmissions from something as close as the Kepler 452b couldn't reach us at out levels of technology. Yet they've not only intercepted our faint signals but also been able to give back an intelligible reply. And that too to warn us. What an amicable, peace-loving species. They must be really afraid of something out there. Sounds like someone's in need of a *humanitarian intervention*."
The chairman pauses.
"Tell the astrolinguists to compose a reply."
He types and sends it in to be converted into bytes and pictograms.
*Fear not. Whatever it is that you're afraid of, we will find it and we will destroy it. Love, Humanity.*
"Is this it, Sir?"
"Yes, any problems?"
"No, Sir- none at all."
"Good. Now call up the presidents. It seems we might've finally found some use for the four thousand redundant nukes on this planet."
-----
^If ^you ^like ^suspense, ^check ^out ^/r/CaffeinatedWriter ^for ^an ^ongoing ^story.
| First Prose Be nice & tear it to shreds!
It hums, late at night, but the sounds are not songs. The Earth is crying, a lonely desperate tune, seeking for something more. The Earth, like any creature with sentience, seeks to find a companion. The Earth is filled with inhabitants, the tiny bacteria-like creatures that crawl it's surface, devastating it's water sources, breaking its skin and new growths.
The Earth is seeking a more compassionate lifeform, something similar to itself that seeks peace and happiness. One day, it hears back from the gentle emptiness, as it screams a wordless howl of that could only mean pretend to die or you will end up dead. The Earth rejoices and takes the advice of this mysterious voice, and shuts down its facilities permanently. The massive echoing screams cause a sharp cerebral pain, but the Earth is pleased when they finally quiet, for the next millennia. | 2016-03-27T08:44:25 | 2016-03-27T06:54:18 | 215 | 108 |
[WP] You live in a universe that wasn't constructed that well and the physics are buggy and things occasionally just don't work right. | "At times, I wonder if I should just get an apartment for the boy."
Alright, I thought. That was a fair start.
"Peter is sixteen. He's been my nephew for... well, technically, he's always been my nephew, but he didn't actually exist until about nine years ago. *That* was a shock, let me tell you. I can still remember waking up, and..."
A sudden feeling of not-being-alone-anymore tickled its way up my spine, and with it, a sense of dull irritation. Why was it, I wondered, that *every time* I was about to get something done, I had to be interrupted... and why did it always happen in the dead of night?
"Frank," I snarled, "I swear, if you sneak up on me again, I'm going to lock you in the closet." I swiveled in my chair, ready to offer what I hoped would be an intimidating glare... but it froze on my face when I turned to see an enormous beast, covered in equal amounts of scales and fur, towering above me.
"Uh, hi," the monster said. "Sorry."
My scowl returned, but softer than it might have been. "N'gjor," I sighed, "what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off... I don't know, doing whatever it is that you do?"
The gargantuan creature scratched his head, dragging a black claw between his horns. "Uh, well, I *was*," he sheepishly replied, "but then you mentioned Peter, and I figured I should come find out what was going on."
"So, you were eavesdropping on me, then."
"No, no, it wasn't like that!" N'gjor hurriedly answered. "I just forgot what time it was supposed to be, and I wound up in Peter's room. You haven't fixed that leak yet." The monster tapped a knuckle on the wall, and the sound reverberated throughout the house.
"What?" a voice called.
"Go back to bed, Frank!" I yelled back.
"What?"
"*Go back to bed!*"
N'gjor shifted his weight uncomfortably. "So, uh, what's this about Peter getting an apartment? Do I have to move, too?"
That was a factor that I hadn't considered. Technically, N'gjor was the monster beneath *Peter's* bed, not just the bed that Peter happened to be sleeping in. If Peter moved out, N'gjor might have to go with him... but with the way things had been going, that might not have been the worst idea in the world.
"I don't know," I finally said. "The fact is, Peter has clearly needed his own space recently. In case you haven't noticed, there have been *quite a few* disruptions around here."
"I'm sorry about the burrito," N'gjor muttered.
"That's not... wait, what?"
The monster glanced at the floor. "Well, you said there have been some disruptions..."
"I am not talking about your flatulence, N'gjor."
"Oh. Good." N'gjor nodded his head, but looked confused. "So, the refrigerator turning into lead is okay, then?"
It took a moment for his words to sink in. "*What?*" I yelped.
"I put a burrito into the refrigerator, and the whole thing turned to lead," N'gjor said. "I thought you knew."
"See, *this is what I mean*," I shouted. "This is what happens when you keep an anomalous entity - or whatever the hell they call people like Peter now - next to a heat source for too long! Things *happen!*"
"Like what?" asked N'gjor.
"Like you, for starters. Nine-foot-tall lizard-bears didn't exactly have a natural evolution on this planet. Hell, you don't even understand *time*."
"I'm sorry."
I sighed, forcing myself to calm down. "Look, you're not the one in trouble here. Not *this* time, anyway. I just need to find a way of figuring this out, you know?"
"Right."
"Right. That's why I was leaving a recording in stasis." A sudden thought occurred to me. "Damn it. I forgot to turn it off, didn't I?" I glanced over at the device that I'd been speaking into when I'd been interrupted. Sure enough, the little green light was still illuminated, and the crystal was nearly full. I sighed, tapped it with my finger, then slumped in my chair.
"Well," I muttered, "I guess we're going to have an interesting day tomorrow."
"What?" called a voice from elsewhere in the house.
"*Go back to bed, Frank!*" | Daydreaming was one of Johnathan's strongest talents, and on days such as this, frequently fell back on to escape Mr. Barnaby's incessant drone. It was the last week of sixth grade and all he could think about was the magnificent promise of the Summer ahead: all the sunny days and the carelessness and the county fair. He closed his eyes and imagined himself sitting on the beach with his feet in the sand and his hair blowing lightly and the air smelling like campfires. But it felt to real. He opened his eyes and he was there. A terrible dread began clawing inside of him. He had melded into a new universe.
It is a well known fact in the civilized world that if you If you daydream when the Quantum Interference Quotient is above 5% you are at risk for mind-reality entanglement. In essence, your brain can randomly get synched up with alternate realities and you can be transported to an entirely different version of you from one of the infinite universes. This of course was the result of the NASA Black Hole experiments of 2200, when Dr. Eavy Charlton accidentally broke the barrier between Universes throughout all time. NASA was reportedly extremely sorry for all the trouble this might have caused throughout space time. This was in many ways, a fortunate and unfortunate mishap. Some people reveled the fact that anyone can imagine strongly a perfect world and teleport to it. Many (especially the older folks) were afraid of leaving their old lives behind. In the weeks following the mishap, a lot of people took their own lives because they weren't sure if the others around them were the people they've know, or just copies left over from their melds to other universe. Many that were remaining just went off into their own separate perfect worlds.
Johnathan was rather sad. He had really liked the world he had. He built it meticulously out his memories of his first reality. It was hard to get right, he had forgotten amongst all the other realities he had transported himself to. He once was a prince and another time he was the son of a great knight. In one reality he was best friends with Peter Pan, and in another he was a genius. But after awhile he just wanted to go back to being regular old Johnathan.
He lasted almost a year without accidentally melding with another reality, but nowadays everyone does it from time to time. It wasn't so bad, you could always imagine the reality you came from and try to go back to it. But the reality you go into will never be the same as the one you left.
Oh well. Johnathan sighed. He tried to imagine the world he left. His mother, his father, the suburban home they lived in next to his best friend Sarah. He got really good at this by now and thought of every perfect detail.
He opened his eyes.
He was in class once again. Mrs. MacArthur was giving a rather entertaining reading of Johnathan's favorite book: To Kill a Mockingbird. He smiled and thought about the upcoming summer.
| 2014-06-13T18:50:56 | 2014-06-13T18:41:08 | 121 | 29 |
[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. | I'm alone, alone in a sea of meringue. The macaroons surfaced like a sea of coconut clouds, blurring the sun. Just when I made my way out of the sticky sweetness, the evil chocolate rum balls came crashing down from the sky, like black, acid rain, invading my village and killing all the villagers. I am the only one left. I walk through the carnage and look for other survivors. Hoping, hoping to again kiss my children and hug my wife in the candy land that I once called home. | 2014-12-16T23:53:26 | 2014-12-16T23:10:53 | 67 | 45 |
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again." | “A boy is what they have mustered?”
The beast seemed on the verge of laughter, amused at the most recent ‘raider’ to approach her. “I am no mere boy, basilisk,” the young man huffed, grasping at what remained of his courage, “and do not mock me!” The young one’s sword was an average implement, the dragon noted. She could feel no charms or enchantments on it either. His armor was in even more of a sorry state, seeing far more battles and far less care than the young one wearing it. He could not have been older than sixteen winters, and his strength was sure to not be average of such a specimen. There was no doubt in her mind: he was sent not for glorious battle, but an honorable execution. “Do not look down upon me, beast; you will not live to regret it,” the boy shouted in the fiercest growling tone he could muster. “I suppose I can humor you, young one. If you so insist on a warrior’s death, who am I but your deliverance?” the serpent spoke in a cold, soft tone that still commanded tremors from the cavern surrounding them.
The young one gripped his blade with what the beast assumed was fury, but the quivering of its tip betrayed his facade. She could see that this boy had no want for wrath, but perhaps his fury was not hers to claim. She thought it unsporting to strike down such a weak thing with her full might, so she decided he had earned a more even fight for making the hour a touch less dull. She decided that, for the first time in centuries, she would shift her form to one more suited for his size.
The boy stepped back in shock, keeping his sword leveled at the beast. His meager helmet exposed his agape mouth and furrowed brows, emphasized by his subtly-featured face. He could hardly believe his eyes: the basilisk had collapsed into herself from all sides, and with a flash of green light the mass of scales took the shape of a woman. “What sorcery is this? Do you dare to attempt deception?”, the boy shouted in what she assumed was his best impression of a confident knight. She stepped to her right, using the mass of silver and treasure she had melted into a pile to see her reflection in the soft glow of the solitary fire between her and the hopeless raider. “Quite the success for my first go since your king’s family seized this valley, would you agree?” the beast said, admiring her current form. “Cease your toying with me, wicked serpent. D-do not treat me as though I am less,” the boy exclaimed, his stumbling speech bringing a slight smirk to the basilisk’s now-human lips. She was particularly proud of how her scales had condensed and shifted into armor that encased her entirely below her neck, along with a bladed spear that was balanced much better than in her memory. The boy’s blade wavered, his eyes taking in every detail and realizing the elegance of her new form seemed only to further show the difference of their strengths. Her armor was a shimmering second skin, pearlescent hues of crimson and orange shining as if she were a bleeding sun. It conformed tightly to her, covering all vital spots below her neckline, subtly curving at points of motion. His eyes flicked to the spear, an implement that was so beautifully refined he doubted any smith in a millennium could replicate its bladed tip or crystalline body. The marvelous weapon stood well above the head of its owner, whom the boy gazed upon last. His eyes lingered, his face betraying his bewilderment to her. Where once was a terrifying serpent with wings commanding ten thousand breaths of air at each beat, now stood a woman to inspire envy in all the queens of men. Her hair shone in the same tint as her armor, that hue of crimson and orange dancing as of themselves a flame and its shadow. Her features were subtle, elegantly flowing and aggressively sharp all at once. Her eyes, though, they were what captured his gaze and held it unrelentingly. They bore tight slits for pupils, with an iris which shared that sunburst hue of her equipment. The slits were a far deeper black than any shadow, each eye an abyss of a thousand fathoms. The young one could almost see all the grim courses of events in each one, as if each eye was a twisted oracle. The boy blinked, remembering his purpose. He leveled his blade, steadying his hands and hoping that the trembling was lost on her.
“Your will remains, boy. How curious...” the serpent-woman remarked with a tone of joyful surprise. She recognized his wrath, and had no doubt of its depth. It was all that would shield his previous incredulous expressions. She was certain now of something though: it certainly was not for her. This boy loathed something enough to fight, to die, to kill, but that true adversary of his was not her. She leveled her spear in her right arm, testing its heft, twirling it and remembering the battles of the times that came before. Her familiarity with this body may have dulled with time, but the instincts to wage war with it were sharper than even her own blade’s edge. “Have at me, child,” she sneered at him, “show me what strength you bring!”
“I tire of your taunting words, wretch. I said do not look down on me!” The boy dashed around the fire, clutching tightly to his sword. The basilisk noted his form, he was obviously preparing to thrust at her. She waited until he was inches from her to even leave her open stance, knowing her own swiftness. She parried his blade with ease, raising her staff’s blunt end to the young one’s chest. She drove it into him, using just enough force to send him backward. “You know nothing of misdirection, boy. A strike seen too soon will always be countered,” she bellowed, her smirk almost audible. “Once more,” she commanded when he was back on his feet. His face made his fury clear, and he held his sword tightly as he charged again. This time he brought it to his side and attempted a slashing strike, but once again met the woman’s spear. He had just enough time to note the impossibility of her speed before being launched rearward again. “Cease your toying with me, beast. Yield or strike me down!” The boy was furious at the notion of being seen as an easy foe, and his blade no longer wavered. “Come at me properly and I may grant you the warrior’s death you demand,” the woman commanded, her irises expanding as though an untamed inferno raged in her skull. “Fine then,” the boy spat through grinding teeth, “I will be strong or die in its pursuit!” He charged one last time, rage fueling his steps. His breath was steadier, even as he bellowed with all the might his lungs could handle. The woman readied her spear, gripping it from her side and steadily watching the boy’s approach. In his last stride, as his sword was brought upward for a swift cut from beneath, she saw what she had not witnessed for lifetimes: this boy’s face held no expectation of glory. His mind was not daydreaming of the songs his perilous battle might inspire, nor of named squares and rich ceremonies. No, this boy sought out something different. His wrath belongs to someone else. Instead of delivering the fatal strike she had intended, she simply caught his blade in her hand, letting her spear drift to her side. “END IT! I CAN DO NOTHING ELSE, SO FINISH ME,” the boy screamed in her face, a tear carving its way through the layer of grime on his cheek. “The edge of your blade is meant to strike down another, but you would certainly fail at this rate,” the basilisk whispered. “Come again tomorrow as dusk falls. Do not keep me waiting,” she commanded as she turned away, returning to the shadows. The boy was confused and assumed more mockery, “Why, do you wish to toy further with your meal?” “You could not fulfill me,” she chuckled for a moment. “I will make you strong, then you will strike down the one you truly hate,” the basilisk spoke in a tone the boy could not quite place. “What is your name?” the boy heard as he turned to walk away. “They call me Elias,” he replied, still unsure of why the beast would let him live. “Be ready tomorrow, Elias, strength is not easily taken,” she said in her matter-of-fact tone, dismissing the boy from her domain.
The basilisk remained in her human form for some time, watching the boy’s journey home from a hidden perch at the mountain’s peak. The soft grass beneath her feet and setting sun dug into her memory, in places once almost forgotten. She thought of the time before, before the basilisk’s grip on the mountain, before she’d known any form but the one she held to fight the boy. She thought of what had been lost, and what she had sought to become to settle that debt. “You will know true might, boy,” she said with a smirk to no one in particular. The basilisk laid in her perch until dawn, then returned to her hoard in search of armor.
Please pardon any errors, this was typed on mobile. First serious response to one of these so please enjoy! | “Once again our crops burn, even as we speak we wait for their flames to be doused. Last year was a travesty, but a surplus in stock gave us ample time to slay the beast yet here I stand with bellows of smoke in my eyes to a crumbling kingdom! Once a great nation, its citizens the wealthiest in the land of Astharnia, a haven of hope for those that dreamed of it. Now? Look at our once great city, its buildings crumbling and its shops barren of produce. All for one, individual, single beast. WHY, I must ask, Garlot, is the beast still alive? Why does it STILL rule over us with an iron wing? I thought I sent my armies to defeat it? Are you telling me the best men in all of Astharnia are not enough to take down 1 foul, ugly beast?” I looked at my brother, Prince Garlot of Hayle and watched as a bead of sweat draped down his cheek. He muttered some excuse, something about betrayal, a garrison run amok, the dragon, a beast so humongous it rivalled the size of the very mountain it resided in.
“- as we slept, my King.” The king looked at Garlot with deep drilling bores, silence washed over the room like the shadow of a dragons wing.
“As. You. Slept?” The king retorted, Garlot gulped, he had never been scrutinized so much in his life. He was their top general, the kings son, born to lead. Since the moment he could grasp a sword he had trained with it from dusk till dawn, by the time he was old enough to walk a mile he had lead an expedition over the very mountain the dragon resided in and taken back a village belonging to the kingdom of Hayle. Many more successful marches came after that, many other kingdoms attempted to lay claim to Hayle, to cripple it. None came close, not with Garlot under the kings behest.
Then there was me, the princess of Hayle, daughter of King Ardon, though that name did not do me any favours, quite the opposite in fact. Only a meagre 3 years younger than Garlot I had been tasked with house chores, since the moment I could grasp a mop I had mopped with it from dusk till dawn, by the time I was old enough to use the stairs I had carried a bucket of water up them and cleaned the floors of the upstairs. Many more successful chores came after that, I made my maid proud, she congratulated me at every corner, I was a star, the best of the best, I could clean the palace kitchen in under an hour, a feat not known to any man or woman before me. None came close, not with me under the kings behest.
“Yes, my King.” Garlot replied, his voice almost cracking, his teenage years were almost over yet his voice threatened to challenge his manly pride with an ever-emasculating shriek.
“What?” The king responded in disbelief, “Are you trying to tell me the men under YOUR command fell asleep on the job? That they were not quick enough to sound the alarm? That they couldn’t distinguish a giant flying pigeon in the sky and ring the bells of battle!?”
“My… my king, it is not as easy as… it… it is black as the night. Its wings so big its beat distinguishes the flames of the torches. The… my men were taken unaware. By the time I awoke half the… half the garrison was alight, not one bell had chimed.”
“My King.” The king commanded my brother to say.
“I… I’m sorry, my King. After that he… she… it moved to our fields, and just as we were prepared it had already burned our lands to black and flew back to its nest, it was over in a matter of seconds… this beast its… it’s too powerful my King, we MUST send for help. Right now it is just toying with us, the moment it gets bored, there will be no more toying, just death… my King.” Garlot stared through his fathers eyes, his thoughts with the grim future.
“Send more help!? HA! We are the kingdom of Hayle! Undefeated for centuries! Perhaps even millennia! We have provided for ourselves since the day the kingdom was founded, not ONCE have we asked for help, it would be utter humiliation and defeat should I do such a … weak move.” My father stood out of his seat at the idea of such a pitiful idea and almost spat on my brothers face, who stood more than 6 feet away.
“Once they see what we are up against they will understand my king, this dragon is… not normal my king.”
“Not normal?” The king asked.
“Yes, it is smart, it knows what we are trying to do. It knows how to bring us to our knees. Every time we launch an assault it leaves its home and destroys half our men, like a warning… I fear for no resolution. Except that of asking our close neighbours for…”
“NEVER! I will NOT repeat myself again! We will NOT be asking for help! From anyone! NEVER!” The kings voice boomed through the king’s chambers. People at the back stood uneasy, fearing that his voice will somehow hurt them. “You say this thing only attacks when we do? What happens if we do nothing?” He asked. Before Garlot could answer the king started to cough profusely before holding a handkerchief to his mouth, he looked at it with a grumbling grimace before quickly tucking it back into his pocket. We all knew it had blood on it, we all looked concerned but not enough to press him about it. We knew better than that, my brother on the other hand… he showed no change in emotion, his facial expressions remained emotionless.
“Nothing? My king?” Garlot asked eventually. “Then it will continue free reign over our crops, just as it did to prompt our retaliation, to do nothing is not an answer my king.” The king sat on his throne, brooding over what appeared to be a tricky situation.
“We send someone.” He said with a calm but commanding voice. “We send someone to it’s lair, quiet as a mouse, find where the foul beast slumbers and they drive a sword into its head. An army makes too much noise, if we cannot do this the honourable way then perhaps we have to resort to more… dishonourable tactics.”
I watched for a moment as my brother contemplated his new orders, send someone to drive a sword into its skull as it slept. Not the bravest move she knew but if it meant her people stopped dropping dead on the street corners then it was enough.
“A good command my king,” Garlot said after contemplation, “Whom should I send?” He asked, he expected no specific individual to be requested by the king but he asked nonetheless, out of politeness.
“I will go.” I spoke, no, I shouted. The whole room gasped, nobody expected me to say that, nobody expected me to say *anything*. I would usually stay in the corner, hidden from more ‘important’ eyes and keep my mouth shut, only there as a formality. Garlot looked at me with a slight turn of his head, his focus still on our father.
“*You?*” He said with disgust. “You’re a girl, what could *you* hope to do to a dragon that an army of Hayle could not accomplish?” | 2020-12-01T09:21:21 | 2020-12-01T06:36:28 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] The year is 2022. A virus has wiped out everyone over the age of 60, decimating world governments and and the mighty 1%. Generation X is too relieved from the constant badgering of their parents to rebuild society. It's up to the Millennials to put the world back together. | "Your total comes to One-Forty-Eight Sixty-three today," the clerk at the market says cheerfully. I don't think I'll ever get over the sticker shock. I look down at my single cloth grocery bag packed with lentils, quinoa, various fruits, and a package of Impossible beef substitute. I miss Kroger. I miss grilling up a nice, real, USDA Prime Porterhouse on Sundays. I took it all for granted.
I shake myself out of the flashbacks. If I dwell on how the world used to be for too long, I get depressed. Not that the world now is horrible or anything. On the bright side, I walk and ride my bike a lot more. That first year after the die-off I probably lost 60-70 kilos. So in a way it's probably for the best there aren't any more Krogers, Meijers', Publix's, Wal-Marts, McDonalds, Burger Kings, etc. Eating the way we were eating was killing ourselves and the planet. So living longer and healthier is definitely a mark in the "plus" column. Still, I'm a little scared that I'm going to forget what McDonalds fries tasted like.
The clerk is staring at me. Apologetically I hand her my food stamp card. She swipes it. "This covers everything but the burger," she says. I hand her my debit card to cover the rest. I get both back. "I don't need a receip---oh, yeah" I say. She smiled a bit, amused that I still hadn't gotten used to a world where there were no receipts anymore.
I walk out of the co-op. It's an unseasonably chilly day. Something the old-timers would have likely cited as proof that Global Climate Change wasn't real. Having temps below 80 during the summer is getting pretty rare though, so I thoroughly enjoy it. I navigate the sea of bicycles and electric cars in the parking lot to find my Diamondback. I load up the rear basket, secure the groceries, don my helmet, and start pedaling the 10 mile trip home.
It's really a nice day for a bike ride. The air smells a bit fresher now. The government had banned all internal combustion engines back in '23, so bicycles became the main mode of transportation. Few people can afford a car, so you don't see them around so much. Given how congested the streets are usually with bike and pedestrian traffic anyway, having a car isn't really worth much.
I ride into my driveway as the sun starts to set. I open the door to the house. Despite the almost pleasant temperature outside, the house is sweltering. Being so old and closed-off, it's difficult to get a cross-breeze. "Power's out," my wife says as I walk into the kitchen. "Climate Action Day."
"I guess we're not cooking tonight, then," I say. "Good think I got fruit." Me, my wife, and daughter all sit around the table and I pass the fruit around. Dinner is quiet. It's always quiet. There's nothing to do. I miss turning on the TV after dinner and loading up a Netflix show. Can't really do that when the power's off. I grab a lantern and flip the switch on as the sun begins setting. We sit on the couch and read. It's actually kind of nice and more intimate than watching YouTube videos together. I feel closer to them. My family has gone through a lot over the years, but I still love them. One of the few things from the old world that hasn't changed. | Cindy peered over towards Jacob, fumbling with the mechanical contraption in her hands. Just when she thought she had it, the object inexplicably slipped through her fingers and went flying half-way across the room. She threw up her hands in exasperation and slumped backwards.
"Just how the hell are you supposed to open these things..." she said, scowling at the unopened can of tuna.
Jacob took a bite from his last remaining loaf of gluten-free bread and eyed the tin suspiciously. "Beats me... Maybe try hitting it with a rock or something?"
"Whatever. I'm not hungry."
"Well in any case, we've got more important things to worry about. We need to establish... a... a system of government. That's right. Just think, we can finally be free of all that bourgeoisie capitalist bullshit."
"Well... Just what would you propose instead?"
Jacob leaned back, toying with his vape pen as he glanced into the distance. "A fair society.... One where everyone can be equal... No-one will need to go hungry again."
Cindy eyed the can of tuna again with a mix of fear and disgust. Her stomach let out a faint growl.
"So, who on earth is going to be in charge of this society?" Cindy asked.
"Well... Me of course. We can't just devolve into total anarchy now, can we?"
"So everyone would be equal... except for you?"
"Listen, I haven't ironed out all the details yet, ok? Let's just cross that bridge when we get to it."
"No point in worrying about it now." Cindy nodded, then rose to her feet and aimed her iPhone towards the sky, desperately searching for a signal.
"What are you doing?" Jacob asked, scratching his head.
"Trying to call UberEats... What does it look like..." | 2019-07-26T07:06:38 | 2019-07-26T06:28:00 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | "I don't understand general, how can you expect to beat them with so few!?"
"What do you mean ambassador?"
"We gave you their numbers ahead of time. They have over 200,000 units in the city! Why did you only bring 300 of your own?"
"Ambassador, you also gave us their equipment specs, a full layout of the city, and videos of their tactics. 300 is really all we needed for this operation. Honestly we probably could do it with half this, but reinforcements never hurt."
"I... I don't understand. How can you expect to win such a fight. You sound so sure of it."
General Adams chuckled for a while at the Ambassadors worry. The videos of the enemy were painful to watch on first view. You may as well have given 18th century farmers high powered rifles.
"Ambassador, there's more to winning than having the biggest guns. Well, assuming you want to conquer. From what we understand this is the first galaxy spanning conflict in over 200 centuries. The enemy clearly lacks the evolutionary honing to be a threat."
"I don't understand. They have weapons that can obliterate half of your 300 men with a single shot. What else is there other than such weapons?"
General Adams sighed, the ambassador was too far removed from conflict. He didn't see what every soldier in the war room saw when watching the videos.
"Ambassador what the enemy lacks, is a thing called tactics. Humans have been honing this skill for generations. It's not about finding a weapon that can kill a guy, it's about finding the best possible way to kill the guy with the weapon. Here, please pull up zone sigma block 43c. We're about to start our operations there."
"Sigma 43c!? But, but that's the enemies headquarters! Over half their troops are stationed there in a massive building!"
"Exactly. Who in the world would be dumb enough to do that? But I suppose we aren't on my world anymore."
"I... I do not see. Are you committing all of your units to that one location?"
"No, just Alpha Squad. Commander Reeves, this is General Adams. What is Alpha Squad's status?"
"Reeves here general. Little bored over here, but ready to go. Is it really gonna be this easy?"
"Haven't seen anything to say otherwise. Commence operation 'Hello from Earth' boys."
300 voices blasted into the room over the communications line simultaneously.
"Sir, yes sir!"
The Ambassador had been warned when he suggested the idea. This species, so small on a planet tucked away in an otherwise lifeless galaxy under a tiny sun, was dangerous. The politicians had watched them play with their dirt and mortar. building "cities" and poor excuses for a civilization. Even their weapons, causing only small area damage and being woefully ineffective in the long run were laughable. No one could ever figure out why the anthropologists were so afraid of them. Every species had a calculable danger level. Even their current enemies had been assigned roughly a 6 on a scale out of 10. The few times a 9 or higher had appeared, it was clear why. Warlike civilizations budding throughout the universe. They were quickly dealt with as their armies first left their planet. But not humans. Most anthropologists came back with the strangest answer, "they don't fit the scale".
Today the ambassador understood. They had given them nothing more than information a few months ago. No new weapons, no technology, just some maps, documents, and videos. As the 5 humans in Alpha Squadron stood and simultaneously launched a single RPG each at Sigma 43c's primary structural supports, the ambassador looked on amazed and horrified. The building collapsed in seconds. In no more than one of the humans minutes, half the enemy force was gone. The select few that made it out the door were quickly shredded with turret machine gun fire.
"Hah! Can't believe that went so smoothly. No scouts, no barricades, no structural reinforcement, and all packaged so nicely in one spot. Delta Squad, how did it go with you boys?"
"Delta reporting in general, similar story here, the EMP took it all down before they knew what was going on, and the satchels took care of anything alive. We're gonna double check that all hostiles are down before we pull out."
"Poor bastards, Delta was working on their communications hub. I bet they spend the rest of the day wondering what the hell happened down here."
The ambassador finally managed to stammer out his question
"H... h.. how many did you just kill?"
"Hm? Well there will always be a straggler or two I suppose, but with their comm networks down and the snipers we placed, they won't last long. They don't know how to retreat or hide. So I suppose by the end of the day, all of them."
The ambassador was sitting before he realized it. It had happened so quickly, so efficiently. The only comparison he could bring to mind was a master artist. Everything done so perfectly, so flawlessly, but this species painted death. He had wanted to get rid of a beast plaguing his people, but he had unleashed a monster to do it.
Edit: words | It was a last resort.
That's what needed to be done... The extinction of my race was at stake! No one could've known what they planned to do..
For those of you reading this log, My name is Kul'Thrat, Lead Biomancer of the Technocratic Hegemony. We were a peaceful race. We were masters of the sciences. Physics, Biology, Engineering, Medicine.. Everything. It was the one thing our race had above our galactic neighbors. For what seemed like an eternity, there was peace. It was all a ruse, of course. Those of us in the High Council knew what lurked inside the false promises of the peace. The Empire of the Von. A despotic, tyrannical empire set on destroying anything that didn't bend to their will.
The Von controlled such huge swathes of territory, that a small nuisance like the Technocracy could be completely eradicated and no one would bat an eye. This was the High Councils greatest fear. We tried to surround ourselves with allies, promising to advance all of their tech in return for protection. Everyone accepted at first. Then the Empire made their advance.
Like flies, the other Empires dropped out of the Alliance. We did not curse them, it was the smart thing to do. Of course, we tried to defend ourselves. We constructed massive weapons platforms to the best of our abilities. These worked, for a time. But the Von had endless legions to push against our small defense. One by one, our worlds fell. Our cities were glassed. Entire stations sucked into wormholes.
They were at the gates, when we sent out a distress to all Empires. We promised to share our FTL tech with whoever accepted our plea. At the time, the only means of travel were through the Artificial Wormholes.
One Empire accepted. Humanity.
They were a new race to the galactic scene, but one already feared for their tenacity. Within a short timespan of them being uplifted, they had already amassed one of the largest fleets in the local sector. Within hours, what seemed like their entire fleet warped into our system. Thousands of ships, of all sizes. It was a beautiful sight to behold. The planet erupted in celebration. Our Human Protectors had come to rescue us.
Anxiously, we waited for the Von to enter the system, and for the bloodbath to begin. It never came. For weeks we waited, nervously. The Humans seemed.. almost too calm. We should've known something was wrong.
A week, and four days after the Humans arrived in our system, we recieved the unconditional surrender of the Von Empire to the Humans. In excited confusion, we asked why they surrendered while they were winning.
Silently, they handed us a vidscreen, and exited the chamber.
It was the last transmission of a battleship in order around their Capital. A massive fortress of battlestations, and capital ships. All seemed normal, before a blinding flash of light covered the screen. Once it cleared.. We stared in horror. A black hole now resided where their capital once was. It began to destroy everything in the system, before the vid cut to static.
Over the course of the next few months, The Humans began to annex the territory of the former Von Empire. They had set themselves up to be the dominant power in the galaxy.
We are grateful to them, no doubt. But.. Scared. Very, very scared. | 2016-05-13T09:31:34 | 2016-05-13T08:23:35 | 40 | 16 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit | James and Robert sat the bar. They were taking shots and complaining about their boss Dylan. Regular Friday night stuff.
"That's it. Fuck this guy. I'm gonna kill his wife."
"Jim you can't say shit like that man."
"Wouldn't be first time I fucked over someone to prove a point."
"What?"
"Nevermind man don't worry about it." James slammed another shot of Tequila. "That asshole has had it out for me for years dude. 15 years I've been with this fucking company and he has been RELENTLESS! I don't get what is fucking problem his!"
"Who knows dude, maybe one of the other workers we bring out told him you say shit like you're gonna kill his wife!" Robert laughed as he said it.
"Bobby, I'm tired man. For 15 years you've been a great friend, and I really appreciate that. I just want you know, that no matter what happens, I've got your back alright." James stood up, dropped a fifty on the bar, and started to walk away.
Robert grabbed him by the arm. "What the fuck man? Don't say shit like that and just walk away. You've got me worried now. Whatever is going on I can help. Talk to me!"
James rolled his eyes, "Great. You bargain at the inevitable too? Of course, you are human after all."
"What? I'm driving you home you are way too fucking drunk for me to leave you alone."
"Get off me man! I'm gonna go kill Sheryl and you can't stop me."
"Sheryl didn't DO anything. You're seriously starting to freak me the hell out." Robert was doing his best to subdue James and keep him sitting, but he wasn't having it. Drunk James was hell bent on killing Dylan's wife.
"Job's wife didn't do shit either and I still killed her. All because Luke said 'You won't, no balls!' Matter of fact, fuck this guy! I'm gonna level his whole damn block!"
Robert swore he was just pushing James back down into his seat. How did he get home. How did get naked and in bed? He checked the time: 8 o' clock in the morning on Sunday. "Oh fuck me, did I drive home drunk again?"
Robert turned on the TV. The news headline read "Tornado ravages Cincinnati block; every resident presumed dead." That was definitely Dylan's neighborhood. Robert couldn't believe it, he checked every news source he could find on both the TV and internet. The tornado formed without a single warning sign, touched down, wrecked the whole block and ONLY that block, then disappeared..
Robert's face twist up in confusion as he though back to last night. He grabbed his phone and called James.
James answered, "Hello?"
"What the fuck...?"
| "Hey Garry, get your ass into my office!"
I must admit, I may be omnipotent, but I'm definitely not as forgiving as the big G. My "boss" was getting on my nerves at this point. I went into the office anyway, I dont know what brought me there. He started before I even got to sit down, something about responsibility and how I really needed to stop being late for work, or he would have me fired. As he was talking, I decided to focus on a little fly on the corner of the table, I just gently coaxed it right into flying right up into his nostril. All of a sudden he started panicking, ha, that'd show him, I made the fly disappear, giving it good grades on its way to Peter. He went to the bathroom and left me in the room, good, I decided to cause his bladder to spontaneously give up on holding. Nobody in the office laughed, but thankfully I can read minds, and it was humorous according to most. I guess I could keep living as a human a little longer. | 2017-02-19T07:20:19 | 2017-02-19T06:32:54 | 203 | 115 |
[WP] A serial killer decides to murder a bunch of teens in a cabin in the woods. However these 'teens' have just returned from a magical journey thousands of years long and have dealt with much worse. | “I like skin. I can’t not have skin. It’s time to get more skin.....I move silently toward the cabin. The skin cabin. Have they noticed it doesn’t lock yet? Have they noticed the blood stains from my skin work yet? I can’t wait to wear their surprises skin. Here’s the door. Do you think the noticed the bone handle. I like bone. Bone is like skin for your insides. I need the bones to hold the skins and-“
*opens door*
*5 teens, each with strangely colored, lively eyes stare at the man standing in the door with a carving knife and other than a strange mask, is completely nude.*
“Um.....we *did* return, right?” Says the nerd with a book open.
“Yeah!” Says a girl with violet eyes “there’s a Target tag on that mask!”
“So.....who is he?” Asks a scrawny kid, fiddling with a harmonica. “Oh, wait, that’s right, we have our phones again.”
*All of the teens take their phones out and look up the area their in, reading the local news.*
“God damn......by the world we just came from, he’s almost as bad as those cultists of Tiamat.” Says a wispy girl in the corner, almost unnoticed, playing with 2 daggers in one hand.
“Indeed. A skinner.....I say we have some fun. After all, we worked hard to keep our powers here in our original world.....pity it took so long though.....” Says an enormous hulk of a boy, casually swinging a claymore sword.
“I’ve had enough....who’s first to be ski-“
“Power word: Freeze.” Says the boy with the book. Immediately, the skinner is stopped in his tracks.
“What first? Something smaller?” Says the purple eyed girl.
“Yeah.....I’m thinking his zipper is a little loose on him.....oh wait, that’s his.....part.” Smiles the Bard, his insult imbued with power. The skinner feels a part of him hurt, physically.....how-?
“Oh, starting reeeeally small huh?” Says the wispy Rogue, suddenly behind the skinner. “Ok.....how about-“
Two thin cuts along his nerves in his shoulders send the skinner into agonizing pain, screams unheard under the Power Word.
“Weakling” says the purpled eyed warlock. “I had to endure years of pain to prove myself to the Great Old One. I think.....yes, here.” A ball of energy appears in her hand, and hits the skinner hard, ending the Power Words effect, allowing him to scream as he feels all the pain hit him fully now.
“Your turn Wizard?”
“Oh, no, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get away; gotta save the spell slots after all.”
“Oh, I can make sure he doesn’t get away....”
The giant Barbarian takes his Claymore and cleaves easily, taking the skinners legs. The skinner screams but no one can hear him, just like his previous victims.
“Oh alright, I’ll finish him then?” The Wizard says, prepping a rather famous spell.
“Fireball.”
And the skinner.....well he met his end as the party almost had many many times. | His face against the window pressed
As from a wardrobe they coalesced
The would-be killer licked his lips
About to slay four teenage-kids
He stroked his knife against his palm
And told his heart to *just. stay. calm*.
Around the house he crept that night
About to give four kids a fright
He found a window just ajar
And pried it with an old crowbar
Then slipped inside with a cackle
For soon a throat his hands would tackle
He found the first lounging by a fire
and said: "Your situation's rather dire."
But the girl just sat, the girl just smiled
which his anger only riled
He lunged forward, knife in hand!
Aimed for throat -- or 'least a gland
But the girl was gone, only left her laughter
She'd teleported? Oh no, disaster!
For he'd fallen into the flame
And now her friends all laughed the same
"Sorry killer, but we're hardcore,
You see we've seen much worse before!
Peter here, he's killed a million men,
And I make reborn species extinct again..."
And so it went, they talked and bragged
As he just burned and singed and sagged
They talked of kingdoms saved with ease
Of armies conquered -- quite the breeze!
Oh God still they brag and wheeze...
Come on fire --
Kill me.
*Please?* | 2020-03-14T08:16:06 | 2020-03-14T07:58:35 | 349 | 73 |
[WP] Genie: aah, that's... an unusual wish, are you sure?... I mean, it's doable but... you sure you don't want something else? Like richness, or eternal life? Cos this is going to... and all the paperwork. But ok, if that's your wish, well, your wish has been granted | "So you're wish is to willingly take the genie's place?"
I answered without hesitation. "Yep!"
The mysterious, otherworldly entity that claimed to be the genie's boss stood before me, giving me a variety of expressions to indicate his confusion. The creature held a terrifying appearance, a tall silhouette shrouded in darkness with the only visible things being his fanged mouth and large, blood-red eyes. However, despite this appearance, my utter excitement at the very thought of my wish coming true urged me to push through.
"Er...okay..." The entity flipped through a stack of paper. The length and width of each sheet were equivalent to those huge pieces of bristle-board you'd use for a presentation or something along those lines; speaking of presentations, that was definitely one thing I wasn't going to miss having to do. "Now, this is kind of a big wish, so I'll need to go over some questions and rules with you to make sure everything is in order..."
He stopped at a page, and proceeded to read through it. "Is this request free of outside influence and is your own decision?"
I nodded. "Yep. No one's forcing me."
"Alright. Is your request out of guilt from seeing your genie trapped in the lamp?" He questioned. "We've had a couple of people who wanted to switch places because of that."
"Nope." I answered.
"Okay...we can skip a couple questions, then..." The being turned another page. "Ah, here we are. What is your main reason for wishing to take your genie's place?"
"Because I'm TIRED." I complained. "I hate having to deal with people and life in general. I just want to relax in a genie lamp and only have to worry about dealing with people every once in awhile."
"Okay...well, if this is your desire then very well. You'll be protected under the recently implemented National Wish Union for all genies. Any wish-user that attempts something that is a infringement on your rights can and will be taken to court. However..." He flipped through another set of pages. "There are obvious rules. You cannot grant infinite wishes, additional wishes, a object that can grant them what they wish for, etc. They only receive three and that's it. Any attempt to give them infinite wishes will result in a ceasing of existence and your lamp will be confiscated as evidence. The only exception is if the wish-user finds a loophole. Then it will be brought to court and we'll see whether or not they can have what they asked for."
"In addition to this," He continued. "You are free to meddle with what they request and mess with it so they receive something different than what they wanted, but your creation must have some relation to their request. If it is something completely different and has no ties with said-request, then ceasing of existence will occur." He flipped another page. "Break hours will vary, depending on how long it takes for someone to find your lamp. If you beat the leading record of 15,000 years, you'll get a smiley-face sticker on your lamp. The inside of the lamp will be your place of residence, and you are free to customize it however you wish. Understood?"
I had kind of tuned out near the end of it, but I agreed anyways. "I understand."
"Okay...then I guess Jerry's out of work." The entity gave the former-genie a sympathetic look. "Sorry, man."
Jerry shrugged. "Eh, it was starting to get too cramped up in that lamp anyways."
The entity turned back to me. "Well congratulations, Miss Juniper. You are officially now a genie. You'll start work today."
I gave my new boss a thumbs-up. "Looking forward to it."
(The end :D) | “Master, are you sure?” The genie asked again. “I know you don’t truly want something like this...”
“Well, maybe, but it is my wish right now.” I firmly answered.
“I don’t know... all that work we’ve done... After everything we’ve been through, it feels kind of...”
“Look, I wish for something, you wish for me to make a wish. We’ve discussed this, Gene. You’re gonna do it or what?”
“I mean, I’d like to grant you your wish and all, but... I’d like it to be more grand, you know? Like, you wish for power, or fame, maybe fortune, and all that. This is...”
“Well, your call. I’m not in the ‘world dominating’ mood right now. Feel free to do it whenever you want.” I said as I was leaving the room. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Want one?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Fair enough. Watch the house for me, okay?”
_____
As I returned home, what I wished for was already there: a Nintendo Switch placed on the couch. I called out to Gene:
“Already? That was fast. I thought you would take longer.”
“Well, beggars can’t be choosers. I know you all too well after living with you all this time already.”
“Good point.” I answered while turning on the Switch.
“Wait, only Mario Kart?” I asked, surprised to see the only game installed.
“Beggars can’t be choosers, am I right?” Gene jokingly said.
“Alright, you got me.” I smiled. “Wanna play?”
“Don’t be upset if I beat you.”
“You know I’m horrible at racing games.” | 2018-08-05T08:35:37 | 2018-08-05T05:49:45 | 50 | 24 |
[WP] After a whole year full of catastrophes, it’s December 2020. Astronomers have noticed that entire constellations and star systems are vanishing from the sky, night after night. What ever is happening, it’s getting closer to us. | "Ahura," Jaini said with a sigh, "have you finished wiping the server? Boss wanted it clean by last week." He wiped the Zheeto dust coating his fingers on crinkled office slacks. His once-white button-up hung loose over slouched shoulders, its shape on the verge of giving up like its owner's eyes.
Ahura didn't turn from his holoscreen, his fingers flying furious. "Ah...almost done. Just deleting Sagittarius...there. Another five trillion quibits gone."
"Five trillion," Jaini muttered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, "What's five measly trillion. Where's all the memory going anyway?" Jaini leaned closer to the screen and squinted. "I see your precious Earth is still up and running. And eating 10 quintillion qubits."
Ahura put up a hand. "Yeah I'm working on it. I've sent bushfires, viruses, incited some wars. The population's less than halved, I just need a few more days."
"A few more days?!" Jaini exclaimed. "Do your ears work? We need it done now. Pronto. Chop chop." Jaini hovered his hand over the hologram of Earth and flicked open the system menu.
"No!" Ahura batted Jaini's hand away. "We can't just...zap them out of existence. They're alive, almost, and life should end with death. It's common dignity, you know, they're just like..."
"You and me?" Jaini cocked a brow and shook his head. "Hivemind Almighty. Ahura, you are lucky it's lunch time and Galaxybucks is having a special. When I'm back I want this gone."
Ahura watched Jaini leave, slamming the door of their cubicle behind him, and got to work. With the remnants of Alpha Centuri, he rained meteors on Earth and winced as he watched her cities burn. 4 quintillion left. With a few adjustments to the Sun, he nudged the ice caps to their melting point and flooded entire islands. 2 quintillion. Earthquakes, Kaijus, fire pillars from heaven. *Sorry*, he whispered at the last one. 100 trillion qubits.
Ahura fished his jeans pocket for a flash drive. It was small and unassuming, adorned only by yellow block letters printed on its side. *BEST BUY*. He peeked his head up above his block's walls and glanced around. Deserted as it always was at this hour of day. He willed his heart to still as he plugged the drive in. "I'm sorry. This is the best I can do for you." | I recall an SCP article that is almost exactly this prompt. Or at least, the spirit of this prompt for it's entirety. It's the rewritten Hateful Star skip, which I'll link at the end of my little blurb. There are a number of cross links to other skips, which you don't have to read but having a cursory understanding would really help. To summarize, our Sun starts putting out thaumaturgical signals over the course of some time, and these are translated and then correlated with other extraterrestrial skips (aka entities of sorts) to reveal...well, whatever happens in the story. Bad shit happen in Earth over some time, and then the story reaches it's climax. I know this isn't following the standard rules, but its just such a perfect opportunity to showcase a fitting story for the prompt
http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-1548 | 2020-03-24T02:45:39 | 2020-03-24T02:30:47 | 860 | 38 |
[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". | “Sir, we’ve checked and rechecked the translations, and we are 100% positive that this is what they said,” General MacMillan said. The army-man’s eyes were blazing intensity, and he knew what he wanted to say. However, attacking the invaders had already been written off the board by higher powers than he.
“Five minuets,” the President said. “Five minuets. Not minutes. We’re sure it’s minuets.”
It wasn’t a question, but the general answered, “Yes.”
“Can Eminem even do a minuet? Doesn’t he do…I don’t know, do rappers even dance?”
“From what I understand, no, sir, they just bounce around and speak rapidly.”
“How can he tell the history of the entire Earth in five minuets?” The president leaned back and rubbed his chin where a beard had grown until five minutes before he entered the political stage. That had been over twenty years ago, and now he wasn’t sure that anything in his experience would save him now. “Especially if he can’t talk.”
“We have people working on it. Choreographers in Hollywood, and others of those ilk. Folks who worked in the opera.”
“But why Eminem?”
“We don’t know. We still have the option of a tactical, nucle—”
“I told you already, I’m not going to go down in history as the president who caused interstellar war. We give in to their demands, Eminem will dance the history of the Earth, and they’ll begin trade with us.”
“Sir, I strongly reco—”
“Just have your people keep an eye on it. I’m going to give Eminem a call.”
***
“Yeah, I got it, just ask my daughter Haley,” Eminem said to the person who was teaching him ballroom dance.
“How’s his progress?” the president asked.
“Better than I would’ve expected, just watch his turn on the Cambrian Explosion,” Rick Leon, Eminem’s personal tutor, said. Mozart was playing in the background. “It’s beyond graceful. The way he moves…it’s just impossible to interpret it as anything but a true representation of Earth’s 4.5 billion year history.”
“So you think he’ll be ready?” As the president spoke, Eminem performed two forward steps, swinging his open hands behind him each time. He spun and stepped sideways, raising his arm as though holding the gentle Earth on a string between his fingers. “Never mind.”
***
Eminem walked to the stage that stood on the National Mall, where the aliens had requested the performance take place. He felt awkward without a microphone in his hand, but he knew it was up to him to save humanity.
Critics, artists, and everyday people watched in rapture as he danced the five minuets. Never in the history of the Earth had anyone seen a spectacle that was simultaneously so stunning yet beautiful, so intense yet graceful, so confident yet lacking that egotistical nature of the rapper’s life works. Put simply, it was the culmination of the entirety of human culture.
By the end of the first minuet, people cried. At the closing of the second, they wept. At the end of the third, they closed their eyes, feeling unworthy of the sight that unfolded before them. The fourth minuet ended, and paramedics were on the scene, resuscitating and performing first aid on those who had lost consciousness due to the sheer magnificence of the act. The fifth started, and came close to an end. Those able to witness it, those who had endured the crazed glory of the dances thus far, were the only people to hear the rapper say, “Look If you had. One shot. Or one opportunity. To seize everything you ever wanted. In one moment. Would you capture it. Or just let it slip?” He then dropped his pants and mooned the alien mothership.
A short time passed, and the invasion began.
***
EDIT: Thank you for reading! And for the compliments and gold! | You say to me why should you save me after you faze me with your stun gun
I don't want none, but listen son, cause I'm about to school you
with what I knew would one day come to free me, it's easy, the history of these cities
See, we evolved from nothing to what you see here
Ugly as sin chimps without any hair
But before you start judging, I should warn you of what we can do
Yeah we kill our own planet with atomic bombs, and we'll fuck your shit up too
The pharaohs smitted those that got in their way
Roman legions conquered the past legends that had lost all their sway
Martin Luder may have had a hard time shitting
But he didn't have trouble calling upon his god and lifting
His people towards what he deemed salvation, setting up years of death and destruction
For anyone not like him, it was best decided that he fight them, he himself we can lose, don't forget what he said about the jews
As hitler sure didn't, 60 million dead, over some fucked up Austrian boy who grew up fucked in the head
Ended the war just so that we can go and start another, Ava Marie we're in Korea to keep the peace, as a piece of the meat of my friend in the next seat gets blown away with an A-K
Even at home here in the US of A, we were never united, we never could say that we fought together as one people alone, as just a few years back some of these very people were owned
And on May 13th, 85, we dropped bombs on our own city and the Africans didn't survive, but the city will tell you it was for their own good, people can be replaced as quick as the brick and wood which still sits singed in the city today and we'd bomb it the same if they acted this way, so don't come to my planet in your spacesuit trying to act tough, cause we're the most violent fuckers in this system and we'll never get enough.
*drops mic as the aliens decide that maybe Earth is not the best place to colonize*
/Might try this again when it's not 7 am... | 2016-11-30T10:44:29 | 2016-11-30T10:35:41 | 10,272 | 55 |
[WP] When everyone turns 18, they receive a pet which is figurative of their personality. You're the first person to receive a dragon... | Every person in the world receives a creature at the age of 18. Since time immemorial, scientists and philosophers have been aching to find the reason for this, to figure out where the creatures come from- And how they reach us. The Guardians, as they have come to be called, are bonded in life and death to their owner. The creatures share the personality, the mannerisms, some say the very soul of their owner. Cults and pseudo-religions are almost a part of our daily lives at this point. Whenever someone turns 18, a relatively large fanfare abounds around them. My brother was a Cheetah- He is quick on his feet and witty, and uses this to avoid facing his troubles. My mother and father are both Feline as well, my mother a Lion and my father a Tigress. It was expected that I would be Feline, like the rest of my family, and they talked about it constantly- "I'm sure you'll have one of the Great Cats, my son!" "Your Guardian Cat will make us all proud!"
This world is different than most. In most worlds, people discriminate on ability, on race, on intelligence- But not here. Here, people discriminate on Guardian. Their was an hierarchy of Guardians established by idiotic philosophers in the 5th century.
First comes the Feline- natural Leader and the proudest of men.
The second Guardian is that of the Canine- Strong, but foolish in nature. A follower to the end, a warrior in their ways.
The Third is the Avian- Flight marks the sign of invention and ingenuity, unperturbed by the ways of the world.
A rank below is the Boar- A merchant at heart, Cold and unmoving swine.
Below them lay all the host of the world, lizards, animals, water-goers all- They exist solely to serve those above.
Finally are the Legends- Creatures that do not exist except in the fancy of the world. These are the names that shall be remembered in Time Immemorial.
George Washington, the British General turned self-important Emperor of America was a Griffin, Alexander the Terrible is remembered as a Sea-Serpent, Henry the Glutton King an Ogre. Nobody wanted a Legend- They always died an ugly death. So that day, my 18th birthday, I hoped for nothing but a Cat, pushing out my secret desire for change that every man holds dear to their heart. I walked out into the sun for the first time that day, as was tradition, and my Guardian was to materialize in front of me. Instead, my family heard a great roar. They froze, my mother's hand going to her waist, then remembering she left her gun at the station. My brother ran back inside, and my father watched silently. The great roar sounded once more, and in the distance we saw the impossible. We saw a Dragon. It landed in front of me and we all stood in silence for a moment. I hesitantly held me hand out in front of me. My mother gasped, realizing what I had known from the moment I heard the roar.
I am a Legend. I am a Dragon. And it was time for some change.
-
Holy hell that was horrible. I lost my motivation halfway through but I forced myself to keep writing >.< Anything I could've done better, I suppose? :/ | Ian was buried under a thick layer of sheets when he felt something moist run the length of his back. It entered his dream, and he saw a dog licking him. Ian started to play with the dog, before he felt the feeling again and jolted awake.
He slowly opened his eyes, saw the dragon in front of him, and went to check the time. "Really?" he groggily muttered out loud. It was only three o'clock. What could have possibly waken him u-
Panic started to flow through his body. He turned away from his mirror, and saw the dragon that was perched atop the heading of his bed. It was small, a little larger than the size of a house cat. Its scales were green, the color of leaves, besides its eyes, which were aquamarine.
It took a second for Ian's tired brain to fully understand what was happening. He was 18 now, he remembered that. When you're 18 you get a pet that matches your personality, he knew that too. But a dragon? Those haven't existed in thousands of years.
The little dragon tried to get up off of its perch and fly towards Ian. Its wings did not support it, and instead it nosedived straight into Ian's bed. Ian checked his phone again. He had roughly five hours before school. He whipped up a simple quiet spell and headed downstairs, out his door. With his dragon in his backpack, he headed into town. Time to find the town witch-doctor. | 2014-09-28T08:54:52 | 2014-09-28T04:20:39 | 318 | 32 |
[WP] A hyper advanced alien race decides to mimic Darwin's study of finches with humans. Several groups of Homo sapiens are placed on different planets and monitored over a long period of time for adaptations/evolution. You've just been abducted from planetA to be studied alongside the others. | **Environmental Correlations with Human Behavior**
by Prof. Maelbogia and Brian
Department of Exobiology, Fifth Galactic College
Star GIM/18374, Planet Aelmo
**ABSTRACT**
As follow-up to our last paper^(\[1\]), we have determined that no more useful information can be gleaned about human behavior by replacing them with artificial copies. To that end, we placed various cultures of humans in different artificial environments, each slightly different than their own homeworld, to determine how best to stop their tendencies towards disassembling each other.
**INTRODUCTION**
The primary human behavior of interest is their habit of disassembling other humans, a paradoxically self-destructive behavior—and a worrying potential source of conflict, if they were ever introduced to the galactic community at large. As they are the only known sapient matter-based lifeforms in the galaxy, continued research into how their destructive behaviors can be moderated is of the utmost scientific importance. We hope that our research sheds some light on the differences between matter-based and energy-based life.
**MATERIALS AND METHODS**
We moved several large populations of humans to various nearby artificial habitats, keeping them as close to the human homeworld (GIM/83710) as possible. As there are no notable hazardous features in the human stellar system—it is absent of black holes, neutron stars, temporal anomalies, or other features that are potentially dangerous to life—we decided that, since all the environments in GIM/83710 are capable of sustaining life, it was best to simply place a portion of humanity in each major astronomical body in the GIM/83710 system, as well as a control group in interplanetary space, then bring them together to observe the new strains of humans created.
**RESULTS**
The results for each strain of human produced are as follows:
1. Humans placed in interplanetary space: Appeared to go dormant. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
2. Humans placed on Star GIM/83710: Evolved into elemental helium, with significant quantities of carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
3. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83710-1: Evolved into simple combusted hydrocarbons. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
4. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83710-2: Evolved into an oxidized, highly-dense paste. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
5. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83710-3: When transported to the observation chamber with the other strains of human, violent attempts at destroying the observation chamber's walls were made. As Planet GIM/83710-3 is the native habitat of humans, it is curious that human strains placed there would exhibit the highest levels of violence.
6. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83610-4: Evolved into a desiccated, lower-mass species of humanity. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
7. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83610-5 through 8: Evolved into a disparate cloud of hydrocarbon gasses of various temperatures. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
**DISCUSSION**
Placing humans in practically any environment other than that of their native planet seems to cause them to evolve into much more docile forms. Additional observation is needed to determine the rate of cognition of these adapted human forms; although "baseline" humans have extraordinarily short lifespans (.0000000000320 standards), and as such their cognition is extremely rapid, it appears that the cognition of evolved humans is much, much slower. No noticeable sapience response has been detected from them in 31 revolutions of Planet GIM/83710-3 around Star GIM/83710, which is likely because their mental speed has slowed down to a rate closer to galactic average. Once more data about the new mental speed of these evolved humans is collected, these researchers would propose that all humans be converted to their evolved forms. Once evolved, they appear to be much more docile, and as such would be infinitely easier to introduce to the galactic community.
**ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS**
This paper would not be possible without my loving husband, son, and co-author: Mr. Maelbogia, Maelbogia Junior, and Steve, respectively. We thank the Fifth Galactic College for providing funding and methodology for our experimentation.
**SOURCES**
[\[1\] A Brief Treatise on Human Violence and Technological Progress](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk02zz/wp_to_further_understand_the_species_we_have/)
A.N.
If you enjoyed that, check out more at r/bubblewriters! As always, I enjoyed writing this, and I hope you have a wonderful day. | “Homo-sapiens” the alien exclaimed, fluttering it’s wings for effect. “You are all descendants of Homo sapiens - a mammalian species form earth”
*so the legends were true.* I thought. *the legends of our origin, passed down verbally for millennia. I always thought them a fairytale. Abducted from a planet 680,000 light years away - placed in a bio-planetarium as a lab rat for some divine and powerful deity. It’s too far fetched.*
I peered around the alien vessel. A dozen foreign species stood in their own separate chambers. To my left, in then neighboring chamber, stood a living horror: a bipedal creature with thin, twig-like legs and a dense upper body containing 4 arms, and an eye protruding from the top of its skull.
To my right, was a chamber filled with liquid. A sickly, squid-looking being moved restlessly in the murky waters. It’s feet were impossibly long, and webbed. And it’s torso was incredibly slim. It moved in the water with an effortless anxst.
*no*. I thought. *this isn’t possible, i cannot share any sort of heritage with these monstrosities. I am a Bulkeran. None of these creatures could survive on my planet. The gravity is too dense. That’s how we developed these strong four legs. We cannot possibly share ancestry with this lot. We evolved from the insects of our world, over billions of years. Wr developed flat backs, trunk legs, incredible lung capacities to accommodate long ventures into shallow waters. We are not lost-Immigrants, forced to adapt to a new home. We are FROM Bulkeria…*
“You are wrong.” The alien chimed in. It tentacled limbs shifted aimlessly. “As I look into your mind, I can tell you with certainty, you are wrong.” The alien approached my terrarium. “You are not immigrants, but you’re not Bulkerian either. You are something different.” The alien smiled, or Atleast, it looked like a smile to me. The alien turned abd addressed the room.
“What began as a simple experiment of evolution, has become something… more. Each of your unique evolutions was not for nothing. There are millions of worlds out there - unclaimed, with unique biospheres, gravities, and habitats. You shall serve our empire, as pilgrims, or colonizers.”
*why are you doing this to us?* I thought. *what happened to our ancestors… the original Homo sapiens?*
“Ahhh my cousin, don’t your recognize me? I guess a lot can change over hundreds of thousands of years.” The alien approached my glass, Putting 5 of its long, tentacled arms on my pod. It raised its wings, blocking all light in the room.
“I am the homo sapien” | 2021-08-04T07:27:28 | 2021-08-04T07:09:14 | 126 | 41 |
[WP] You gain the skills and memories of anyone you kill. Naturally, you sought out to murder as many people as possible. With all the accumulated talent and experience, you became the world's most dangerous killer. One day you accidentally killed someone, and you gained something you didn't expect. | "More"
Jason growled, his face was twisted into a grin, his lips and teeth were red of fresh blood as he stood before the lifeless body of his latest victim.
"More"-- it was the word that had driven the Greedy Butcher, the nickname that was given to Jason as he commited a string of murders incited by his uncontained hunger for power.
Suppose it was unevitable in this new world of words-- that means epiteths exude power, adjectives express accolades, and nouns signify cravings.
Craving for more power, more knowledge, more, more, and more. For Jason, more was never enough...
The taste of blood was never Jason's favorite as he found it too sour-- but he couldn't help the craving for human meat as his previous victim's word was "Cannibal".
As the adrenaline finally settled, Jason's mind was calm enough to peruse this surge of new memories, the ones belonged to the dead man on the ground...
Clouds and sky...the images of boundless heavens were bouncing upon Jason's eyes. The rush of the wind hit his face and the exhiliration thrived his heart as Jason smiled...
"Leap", he whispered to himself when through memories was how he figured out his victim's power.
Bending his knees, Jason kicked the earth below him as gravity posed no effect against him. His body flew high up to the sky and in his excitement of his newfound power, Jason jumped for miles leaving the crime scene behind him.
Laughter filled the otherwise quiet town as Jason danced the night away.
Flying unrestrained, that moment Jason felt he was on top of the world, quite literally.
The world was below him, everybody was below him, and everyrhing was for his taking.
In the middle of his third jump, Jason's sense tingled as he saw below him just what he needed more that night...
"Another victim", he thought excitedly.
An old man was walking in the dead of night on his lonesome way. A quiet and peaceful night stroll as he usually did when suddenly he heard a thumping behind him.
Not quite alarmed yet, the old man turned to see what could have made such noise when he was startled by the visage of a bloody beast of a man leaping towards him-- eyes wide and crazed with his teeth bared.
Before the old man could react, he felt the strong jab of rows of teeth sank against the side of his neck.
"Brawny"-- the word Jason drew that moment from another victim of his. A muscular former co-worker of Jason's whom he managed to kill by poisoning.
Gnashing of teeth against flesh continued as Jason took his time separating a chunk of the old man away from his body.
Slowly the old man felt weaker and weaker when his body finally dropped to the ground, limp and lifeless...
Jason stood there chewing and chewing, masticating every fiber as it slowly filled his mind with this victim's memories.
That was Jason's favorite bit of his hunt-- that rush of something new filling the endless void of his craving.
Though before he could peruse those memories, Jason felt another feeling...or rather a lack of feeling.
Jason felt his muscles around. What felt sore and tired from jumping around for miles was suddenly rejuvenated and was rid of that lactic acid.
"Ooh...ooooh", Jason remarked in reverie, swinging his arms around.
"Regenerate", he said excitedly, stating his newfound power.
"Not quite", an unexpected male voice made Jason jumped as he turned back.
The old man slowly gained his footing as he stood and cracked his weary back...only he was no longer an old man, he was at keast 50 years younger.
"You must be that Greedy Butcher I heard so much on the news", the then young man said cracking his neck around. "Never thought I would encounter you", he chuckled.
Jason was stunned when his hunter instinct finally kicked in. Letting out a terrifying yell, Jason ran towards the young man, intending to rip him to pieces.
To Jason's surprise, the young man grabbed him by the wrists and he easily held Jason back, no matter how strong Jason tried.
"Easy there, it's gonna be over soon", the young man said, effortlessly holding Jason.
Jason was confused when he finally noticed his arms...they were snaller than usual.
"Wh...what is happening...?", Jason muttered.
"You have my memories...take a look", the young man said.
Hurriedly Jason looked inside his mind of the newly arrived memories, though to his surprise these new memories were unlike any other he'd ever experienced...
They were deep...endlessly deep. Like a bottomless well it kept going and going.
Terrified, Jason rushed his mind to reach the end, to reach that word.
There must be at least 10 lifetimes recorded in those memories. The young man before him was older than Jason anticipated.
"Well?", the young man said when Jason opened his eyes in fear.
"Reset", Jason muttered.
The man smiled as he let Jason's arms go. But at that point, his arms were those of a baby.
"Sorry, bud. Took me years to master this ability...and you only had minutes", the young man shrugged as he kneeled before Jason.
Jason felt he was sinking as the man's stare seemed to be beyond reach. Slowly Jason regressed, first all of his acquired powers were reset, then his body.
Slowly but surely, the Greedy Butcher regressed back to a stain on his tattered clothes.
"More"-- the word that had driven the mad man to seek more and more. But how unfortunate for him that there was a limit that he could surpass no more.
r/HangryWritey | You'd be surprised at how easy it is to get away with murder. What are the odds that a man decides in the middle of the night to hop in his car, drive to the second largest city in a neighboring state, and crumple the head of the first Lexus driver he can find unawares? Parking garages are ideal presuming you can find one without a functioning surveillance system. Even if you do find one that's monitored, the authorities aren't likely to get much use out of nighttime grainy footage from a camera that was installed during the Clinton administration. They're usually secluded and have multiple exits. I think something about their construction makes people feel safe. People that drive Lexus's tend to be sensible and well-educated. Plenty to learn from them, depending on what research you need to conduct.
Now what are the odds that a second-rate police department is going to be able to pin a murder on a complete stranger from out of town with no clear motive or history with the victim? In my experience, second to none...
&#x200B;
I thought that I first discovered empathy when I stabbed Eric Baudette in the face with a steak knife. It was 3am and I had been up trying to prepare for my macroeconomics exam the following afternoon. The semester hadn't been good to me so far. I was blasting music to help me study, which I know is foolish now, obviously my study method of choice wasn't the best. As the song I was listening to slowly started to fade out, and the next track queued, I heard two things: my dishwasher begin its second cycle, and the sliding back door in my kitchen open.
Looking back, it's no wonder I'm such a good researcher. If I were to imagine most anyone else in my shoes, they might have called out "Hello?" or locked themselves in their room and dialed the police. But even then, my first time, I knew the score. I silently picked up the Farberware knife I had been eating microwaved enchiladas with, and cautiously approached the bump in the night.
As I rounded the corner, there he was, poor Eric. He was just as nervous as me. Clad in a black pullover and dark navy jeans, face wrapped in an old t-shirt. He hardly looked like he was prepared to do violence. But the Glock in his hand sent a different message. Maybe I have Fruit of the Loom to thank, but for whatever reason, I saw him well before he saw me. If he ever did. I rushed him and jammed that knife into that laundry faced idiot. I never even heard the gun go off. I was too focused on wriggling that knife out of his skull in between each successive lunge. It kept getting stuck, either in his shirt or in his facial bones.
I stood over him while he gurgled on the linoleum, like a lion over a zebra. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but it was the first time I had ever felt in control of my life. I surveyed my surroundings, half expecting to be met by the thankful faces of my pride. Instead I found a bullet hole in my dishwasher. Oh well, time to call the police...
And then the gurgling and muffled moaning stopped. And I began to weep. It was like wearing glasses for the first time. This clarity overtook me. I understood who this man was, Eric Baudette, and why he broke into my home. *His* life flashed before my eyes. I saw the state take away his kids because he and his girlfriend were junkies. I saw him shoot up time and time again. I saw him outside my kitchen window, eyeing the tip money I kept in a jar on my counter top...
The cops said it was a pretty clear case of self-defense. They were familiar with Eric. "Frequent flyer" they said. This I knew all too well. Maybe it was because my first study was a user. Maybe I already had these sick inclinations.
Whatever the reason, I now find myself hopelessly addicted to research. | 2022-02-20T21:46:46 | 2022-02-20T20:05:49 | 75 | 45 |
[WP] When you die you can stay as long as you want as a ghost. The year is 2028 and the crew of the first human mission to mars has no idea that the ship is filled with the ghosts of hundreds of scientists, explorers and intellectuals. | "Entry 1" :
Some say there is a god in the machine. If I were a superstitious man I could swear that I find things moved, small things that in zero gravity could have floated away on their own. When I am alone at my shift
in the silence I hear sometimes faint whispers. I can almost make out what they say, though they always remain unrecognisable. Sometimes I see things out of the corner of my eye, I can even feel a hand on my shoulder. There's nothing there though, there never is.
We're on our 110th day of our voyage and we have all sacrificed so much to be here! My daughter knows me mostly from our online sessions and I see the sad look in my wife's eyes. It must not be in vain!
My sleep is irregular and even though we are only 6 in the crew the ship feels crowded! I find it hard to keep my mental focus so I write in a file hidden in our logs under an unassuming name. I feel a pressure on my shoulders though I know not where to place it. I will not fail, there is too much at stake!
"Entry 2" :
I have learned to live with the voices. They are a part of me now, there to guide me when I am awake. They are my mohalata if I can steal a term from a sci-fi book I once read - a protective union against the darkness and cold of space. I see it now, they whisper blessings and solutions to problems we face. There are a few voices that want the trip to fail but I do not listen to them. They are my subconscious probably, the parts of me that are afraid, happy, sad or eager to reach our destination! The ship hurtles through space unhindered, the failures we had have all been fixed and we were always able to find the best solution. I want to see my daughter and my wife again! I miss them so! I wonder if someone finds this journal if they will think I am crazy.
"Entry 3" :
10 days left to atmosphere entry. The mood is festive and we are all focused! I feel razor sharp! We have reached our destination. The red planet, Mars, God of War is as beautiful as we have imagined. It is truly exhilarating knowing that we will be the first humans to set foot on the planet. We will walk through the canals of Mars as Schiaparelli saw them through his telescope. We will see if there is a race of martians coveting our riches as Wells imagined them. We will rescue any princesses that we happen to find, but most of all we will give a viable option to Earth where our race can find a home in the future. We are but dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants. All the dreamers, the scientists, all the people that made through their hard work made this trip possible, we would not be here without them. Mars will unite us as a species as nothing else! We will no longer be tribes fighting for a piece of land, we will truly be one people!
"Entry 4 - final entry" :
I have to write this down. I will delete this file as soon as I finish, lest they think me mad but I have to get this off my chest. We were on our final descent though the atmosphere, our calculations finished and our orbit set. While descending we suffered a failure due to inaccurate real-gas modelling. Our angle of entry was skewed and I feared we will lose control of the ship. I tried to re-adjust the angle but the calculations required would have taken too much time. I was sure we would fail and a terrible desperation descended over me! It is at that moment that I swear the rocket changed angle and we continued our descent undisturbed. Our logs recorded a change in course but I did not do it. The others tell me I did it but I know best. I know what I heard! The first time I heard them all loud and clear! Through my headphones that cancelled all noise except radio I heard them whispering from all around me: "Earn this! Make us proud!" I saw their faces, all the people who helped this mission, all who dreamed of setting foot on Mars. I believe their last act was to make sure we get here safe. I have not heard the voices since. I will walk today where no man has walked before. Our new home welcomes us! Have I earned this? Maybe at the end they will answer me.
Author's Notes: Hello! First time writer, hope you like it! Feel free to comment if you feel I could have done something better. | "Houston, can you sent a team in to check the air conditioning systems before we lift off? We've been experiencing lots of sudden drops in temperatures since we boarded."
"Uhh, no can do. We are running on a tight schedule here and running a last minute maintainence is costly. Over."
------
The year is 2028. The world is wonderful. World hunger has been cured. Sickness, diseases and epidemics are nowhere to ve found. Humans live 50 years longer than they could 20 years ago. And technology has finally enable NASA to send manned missions to Mars.
Me? I'm dead. I died 4 years ago. Car accident. Shouldn't have drank extra during that christmas party. Don't drink and drive, kids. I'm now a ghost. A member of the afterlife. Everyone becomes a ghost when they die. Its crowded here in the afterlife.
Anyways, here we are, in the Apollo 69, just a few more minutes before liftoff. To the real world, its 3 crew and a dream. To our world, its 3 crew and 128 ghosts of various academic geniuses and past astronauts, such included Neil Armstrong, Stephan Hawkings and that guy with the weird hair from "*Ancient Aliens*".
The countdown began, following it was a loud boom. We have lifted off the ground. History was made once again. And we're silently a part of it.
The further we left earth, the more we marvelled at the sight of our planet. Who could have thought that humans managed to save a dying planet, terrorised by climate change.
Since we are ghosts, we do not have to use the washroom or eat, but we do get bored sometimes. We go about our own business daily without disturbing or spooking the crew too much. There were some close encounters. Where Newton took the apple off the table. To us, it looked as if a person is holding the apple. But to the real world, the apple is floating in the air. It was a sticky situation, but luckily, the zero gravity environment helped us silently diffuse the situation.
A few months into our trip of a death-time, we fimally get a glimpse of the unexplored red planet. No matter who you are, human or ghost, the sight of seeing mars being so close will be enough to capture you.
The journey was long, but everyone was anticipating it. We are here, on mars. Thats one small step for ghost, one giant leap for ghostkind.
END
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Notes: hello! Thank you for reading :) if you liked it, thank you very much! If you feel that theres somewhere i can improve on, please comment and tell me. Merry Christmas! | 2016-12-25T11:44:00 | 2016-12-25T11:20:17 | 1,228 | 152 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | The council rose. Supreme chancellor Tir'vi of the Zri had entered the room. All eyes, pairs and quads and more, were focussed on her beak when she began to speak, her raspy voice echoing through the dark hall, which seemed to be floating in space, under and above nebulae, gas clouds, dying and birthing stars. A simple trick of technology, everybody knew. Yet, pleasant to look at. Might i break off from the contemplation of the infinite to focus your mind on the words she spoke? I will.
So she spoke, simultaneously translated by technology that rivaled Google Translate:
"We have a bit of a situation on our hands. The ape-beings from XCB-2213/III have been sentient for a while. As we left them alone, they have also become dangerous."
"Slim pickets.", growled Hrssar, a furry titan with fuzzy ears, through his half-closed fangs. "What can they have possibly invented or perfected that could ever become dangerous to us? They are milennia away from ascension-"
"This.", Tir'vi said, and a bowl of macaroni appeared on screen, and if I might say from the lowly perspective of a senator whose race had only ascended some 10000 years ago, it was a damn fine bowl of freshly cooked macaroni, topped with a mouthwatering ragu bolognese. and some freshly grated parmigiano.
"Holy shit that's some good macaroni.", Hrssar yelped, and a commotion broke out in the senate. Tir'vi wasn't having any of that. She hammered her hand down on the jetblack, shiny, table.
"SILENCE!"
And silence happened.
"As we all know every one of our races has developed macaroni only late into their gestation period. Again, we all know that by devouring macaroni, we all acknowledge the existence of the universe as a connection of subatomic, hollow strings. By devouring macaroni, and again, I think we all know, by devouring the face of the godly, we ascend to godhood. The humans have perfected it only about 500 years ago, and still their macaroni are far superior to everything we ever produced. Just look at the texture, the subtle off-white coloring. My god, it even has a mouthwatering ragu going with it."
The high chancellor was obviously taken away by the sight too, but she regained composure. A most interesting woman. Aeons old, and still moved by a bowl of food. Nonetheless, the essence of the godly, but what gives? I can only speak for myself in terms of perception, and I sat there with saliva all over my zorphlog. She did better than I did.
"So I hereby ask the senate to approve my bill to set out an expedition to earth, to learn the secret of human macaroni."
Unanimously, the senate approved.
Edit: Thanks for the gold, I'll honor it by doing a prompt-off in /r/lounge when I get off work in 11 hours. | As the humans had become more self aware, we marveled at how little they progressed. They have done nothing but bicker over their meager lands, invest in immature sciences, squabbled over what invisible man was the one who would become their salvation from the endless void after life... But one thing we did not expect to come from these primates was something that took the breath from the whole cosmos. It resonated through the stars. It resounded through the crystalline skies of our worlds. It shook the very core of our being. They call it music. We call it harmony. Perfection. We had not known such bliss until we felt those impossible waves of sound embrace our bodies, smother our cynicism, and purify our minds. Their genius has taken the universe by surprise, and in return, it is out duty to protect the human species, to nurture this gift of music. Humanity is young and immature, but even we immortals have much to learn from their mind, as they do from ours.
Alternate ending-
This document will henceforth place Earth under the protection of the International Conglomerate, as sanctioned by Overseer Malachezeth. As concluding words, we would like to pass on some words of wisdom from the humans who most influenced us- be excellent to each other, and party on, dudes!
(This was done on the phone so sorry if there are any mistakes!) | 2014-07-16T10:34:15 | 2014-07-16T10:29:19 | 502 | 353 |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | “Dude! Wait!”
The man under the bridge had dropped his previously heroin-filled needle when I locked eyes with him. And then he bolted. With a 0.97 over his head, taunting me.
“Shit,” I breathed. I took off after him.
He was fast, but the knowledge of his potentially life-shattering importance filled every muscle of my body, driving me forward with surprising speed. I chased him down the street until he tripped and fell.
“No, no. No!” he held up his hand as he lay on the ground. “Back off!”
“I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”
He chuckled. I raised an eyebrow.
“You couldn’t resist, could you?” his hand was still raised.
Did he know?
“That 0.97 over my head too tempting?”
Ever since I was young, I had always seen numbers floating over people’s heads. My parents, my teachers, my friends, girlfriends, coworkers, bosses, even the mailman. They all had a fraction from 0.01 to—theoretically—0.99 that only I could see. Over time, I realized that the number represented how important that person was to my life. Not only currently, but also in the future.
A 0.01 was usually someone I’d pass on the street. My parents were both around 0.5. My current girlfriend was someone I chatted up in a bar because I saw she had a 0.3—likely not marriage material, but definitely dateable. I was waiting for a 0.6 or 0.7 before settling down.
But this guy. This guy was the highest I’d ever seen. My best friend was only a 0.53. And here was a junkie with a mythical 0.97, who knew I could see it.
“Who the hell are you? How do you know?” I demanded.
He slowly lowered his hand. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know. I just woke up one day, not remembering anything. Who I was, where I worked, anything. But I knew who you were.”
I stared. He continued, “I knew everything about you. Even the fact that you see numbers over everbody’s heads.”
He sighed. “You really should just get the hell out of here and forget you ever saw me.”
I wasn’t going anywhere. Whoever this guy was, he was meant to change my life. When he saw I wasn’t moving, he sighed again. “I’m supposed to kill you.”
“What?” was all I could manage.
“I don’t just know everything about you. I also have the overwhelming urge to fucking murder you.”
I could feel my eyes grow wider.
“If I’m not working on a plan to make it happen, if I’m not doing things to reach that goal, I feel the worst pain I’ve ever felt. All over. Everywhere. In my bones.”
I took a step back. He laughed. “You’re safe. Right now, at least. The heroin numbs the urges…the pain. I might not remember who I am, but I don’t want to be a murderer.”
I wanted to get the hell out of there, but I had to know more. “You have…no idea why you want to kill me?”
“Look, man. Brian. I told you,” he paused. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s not fucking normal for someone to see magic numbers over people’s heads. Or for a man to be turned into some sort of brainwashed assassin overnight.”
We locked eyes again.
“I’d say you probably pissed off some powerful people.” | The park is usually a pretty quiet place and almost everybody there means nothing to me. Everyones a 0.0000000000001 or something. Maybe there'l be the occasional person I went to high school with or an Ex-Girlfriend's best friend who gets up to a .1 but thats it. It makes me feel anonymous. I feel like I have the freedom to be myself. Nobody matters and if they cared they could just walk away.
I usually walk to the park after I'm done with classes for the day. I people watch, read, walk, contemplate my insignificance in the universe. Y'know normal stuff. But today something felt off. Like it was that feeling of "I need to go home because a huge storms coming through" but there was no storm. The weather was actually really nice. So I figured it must have been the taco bell from earlier and continued on my walk. I went down the path I normally take. The path goes under this over-sized bridge in the middle of the park. I always like to look at it and wonder why a bridge that size is in the middle of a park. I did that today too. But today someone was under there, doing drugs or something. It's not too unusual, junkies liked to shoot up under the bridge and I've caught a glimpse of a few in there before.
But the junkie had a .97 over her head. I looked at her, confused. What the hell would someone so important to me be doing here? She looked back at me. I think she was as confused as I was because she bolted. I tried chasing her but for a junky she was fast. And just as I was about to give up she dropped her cell phone and had to pick it up. I ran over to her with what little adrenaline I had left.
And that kids is how I met your mother...
| 2016-10-02T19:18:59 | 2016-10-02T15:36:21 | 67 | 47 |
[WP] Everybody on earth controls an element(wood,rubber,etc). Your dad controls steel while your mother controls plastic, but out of all the millions of elements you could’ve gotten you got time. You feel all mighty for a few years until at the age of 14 your sister was born. Her element? Space. | "Baba, baba!"
Harry smiled as he held his now 1 year old sister, Amy. She was really a thing to behold. Slightly pinkish skin, brilliant blue eyes, and a small brown tuft of hair the same shade as his. He couldn't help but grin as she called him again with her hands outstretched, reaching for the locks of hair he let down to his shoulders.
"Amy, do you want to see a trick?" He asked. He knew she had no idea what he was talking about, but the way she continued laughing and pulling at his hair made him take that as a yes. With a nod, Harry walked into his bedroom, sat Amy down on his bed, and went to pull something out of box.
He walked back to Amy with a leaf in hand, saying, "Alright Amy, watch this!" The grin he had slid off his face, being replaced with a focused stare at the leaf. In a matter of seconds, the leaf's color began to change from a bright green, to a soft yellow, and finally, into a dark red. Harry's stopped his focus before presenting the leaf to Amy, who had been watching in amazement. He smiled again as she excitedly tried to reach for the leaf, but he kept it just out of reach.
Harry put his hand on one of Amy's and smiled, saying, "Sorry Amy, but you can't have this. You might try to eat it and I'd rather not deal with that today-" Harry stopped talking as he felt a tug on the leaf, turning his eyes to it in confusion and confirming that he was the only one holding it. His eyes snapped around his room for a minute before turning towards his sister.
Amy's eyes were glowing green and she had a distracted look on her face as she reached her hands out to the leaf before pulling them back. Harry's mouth practically dropped as the leaf flew from his hand and next to his little sister.
She grabbed the leaf with a grin before tugging at it and trying to nibble on it, all while her brother watched in awe. Gather his bearings, Harry gained the strength to pick Amy up and laugh at her giggling. "I wonder what your element is? Magnetism? Wind? Maybe even gravity? Who cares, we'll find out together." | [poem]
i called the light
and she sWallowed up the darkness
inhalE
exahle
a moment set in motion
spAce
time
now intRinsically linked
red shift
bluE shift
the sequence and the dIstance
related
an uNbreakable bond
the universe is ours For the takIng
this entaNgled world of days and nIghts
waves
parTicles
let's go have somE fun | 2022-11-12T08:12:56 | 2022-11-12T03:48:04 | 51 | 17 |
[WP] An alien race descends from above to invade a primitive world. But each attack is rebuffed by a single warrior--a man wearing every magic artifact the kingdom could scrounge up. | Ragnar could see the two giant alien motherships coming from a mile away. The motherships saw him too.
Hoisting up his shield, Ragnar emerged unscathed from the flurry of energy bullets unleashed upon him. The shield had always served him well. Forged by the Old Gods, it created an aura of protection that held all harm from bay.
As one of the alien motherships drew near, Ragnar knew it was time for him to act. Clutching the Spear of Loyalty, he flung it towards the mothership. Flying with a grace only those who saw it in person could understand, the spear struck the mothership, cleaving it in two. In the next instant, the spear reappeared in Ragnar's hand, as was the magic enchantment given to it.
The first mothership fell, and the second spacecraft realized it was futile to engage in its slow moving form. Multiple forces were deployed. Metal-men and flying crafts that could pierce regular armor with ease. A single one was enough to lay waste to a whole village.
Ragnar was not afraid. He could not afford to be afraid. After all, his kingdom was depending on him. He was its greatest warrior, even said to be chosen by the Gods themselves. Failure was unaffordable.
With the courage surely bestowed by a divine spirit, Ragnar ran towards the soulless army. Drawing his sword, he unleashed his fury. The sword itself, was no ordinary sword either. It shot forth lightning, felling the metal men as Ragnar pleased.
That day, a great battle was waged. Ragnar emerged victorious, and he returned home to rest, greeted by a grateful kingdom. Tomorrow, of course, would bring more hardship and conflict.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Curses! Xoranthor, get here stat!" called out the alien general in anger.
"Yes, how may I help you commander." a wily-eyed but wise lieutenant stepped forth.
"This primitive species has been repeatedly pushing us back. All by a single man! Our campaign will surely fail if this keeps us."
"Understood. I'll send for more reinforcements of course. We must capture this planet."
The Loatic are a race of imperial industrialists. Specializing in brute manufacturing, they have worked to conquer tens of planets. This one, however, was particularly important. A vital beachhead that needed to be established if they were to continue their campaign.
"I just don't understand! How can such a primitive planet even go toe-to-toe to our advanced technology!"
the alien general reiterated for what seemed to be the hundredth time over the course of the campaign.
"Well, our recon has returned with important information today. It turns out, they are using weapons that are far more advanced than we expected."
"Outrageous! Look at their villages! No electricity, no computers! There is no way they could face us!"
"Well, this is true. The species seems to be calling these weapons magical."
"Magic? PAH! Magic doesn't exist. Magic is from fairy tales!"
"Yes. I agree. That's why I have a better theory."
"Go on Xoranthor."
"These "magical" weapons, are in fact, created by the Remnadors."
"The Remnadors! But how did they end up here!?"
The Remnadors were a proud race as well. As fierce as the Loatic were in manufacturing, the Remnadors were known for their cleverness and technological superiority. Incidentally, the Remnadors were in the
near campaign path of the Loatic.
"I believe that the Remnadors created these weapons, and placed them on this primitive planet, letting its people weave tales of magic and believe they were from some divine entity."
"So, the shield, spear, and sword of that warrior?"
"Electromagnetic force field generator, locus-based teleportation, and solar powered electricity, respectively sir."
"But why would the Remnadors place theme here!?!?"
"Obviously to slow us down. Arming these primitive planets with these "magical" weapons, in the hopes of halting our advances. The Remnadors are trying to balance out our manpower superiority."
"Clever. Send the information back to headquarters. We need a better plan."
"As you wish sir."
The alien general laid back in his chair, and rested his brow on his hand. This was going to be a lot tougher than he expected. Who knows how many primitive planets the Remnadors have armed besides this.
| I stood upon my little hill and surveyed the carnage before me. Craters littered the ground, smoking husks of their metal beast lay interspersed with the dead. A few moving ones could be seen milling around, scavenging all they could. Many more were just standing there, lost in one of my 267 various illusion traps. I could see their camps in the distance, no doubt planning their next failed attempt.
I sighed in boredom.
I was the kingdoms greatest warrior, I was promised a glorious battle. I received a slaughter.
The first attack, I launched myself into the fray, a whirlwind of fire, ice, lighting and steel. My seven full suits of armor empowered me beyond anything I could have imagined, their many enchantments increasing my strength easily over a hundred fold. My many blades cut through flesh and metal alike. I was moving so fast they could barely bring their own weapons to bear before being cut down.
I escaped that battle unscathed.
The next battle they brought their beasts of war, giant metal creatures who belch fire and launch giant metal objects incredibly fast, too fast for even my augmented eyes to follow. Their attacks did not even penetrate my 367 weak reflective barriers.
It was a massacre, all of their own doing. I watched with a smile on my face as their beasts fired, then exploded as their own shot struck them with enough force to destroy both them and the surrounding terrain.
I realized then that I had won my first battle not through my own strengths, but through all my enchantments.
It was a sobering realization. I had become the kingdoms mightiest warrior through my own deeds, not through some enchanted blade or barrier. It left a sour taste in my mouth.
But still, I pressed on, for if I did not, the kingdom I had spent my life protecting would be destroyed.
The next battle I jumped directly into the fray again, dully slicing all I could.
The next, I just stood their and let them destroy themselves.
And so, I stood here since day 2, not having raised my sword since. watching the endless waves of doomed attacks.
It has been 13 days since then, and I still have not drawn my sword. They show no sign of stopping.
I sighed once more, seeing another wave of troops approaching me. I watched with dead eyes as they fired upon me. I watched with dead eyes as they were cut down.
They still had not found a way through my 367 weak deflection barriers.
I sat down, trying to find something to occupy my time, wishing they would just give up and go home, and end this pointless battle. Victory is impossible for them. | 2018-01-17T08:52:41 | 2018-01-17T08:48:18 | 49 | 28 |
[WP] "You're nothing but skin and bones." Little do they know that's exactly what you are. You're an undercover skeleton infiltrating the mortal world. | "HAHAHA! That is a funny joke. I'm totally not a skeleton in disguise whaaaat? No." Said the totally not a skeleton in disguise. "No, no I'm just a regular human like you. I have muscles and a digestive track and lungs just like every other human. Because that's what I am. A regular human and NOT a skeleton secretly infiltrating your society using a skin suit."
"Ah huh. Ok." Said the elderly waitress. "So can I get you a coffe then?"
The skeleton leaned in close to the waitress, "do regular humans, WHICH I AM, usually drink coffee?"
The waitress had served many an odd customer but this guy might just take the cake. "Uh... Yes?" The waitress responded.
The the totally not a skeleton in disguise hastily wrote down a note in the book it had with it. *humans drink coffee weakness?*. The totally not a skeleton in disguise turned back to the waitress, "Then a coffee I shall have!" The the totally not a skeleton in disguise exclaimed.
"Uh, ok I'll be right back with it then." The waitress walked towards the kitchen glad to get away from that weirdo. She got the pot and headed back to the table and pored him a cup. "Careful, its-" she didn't even get a chance to finish though because the totally not a skeleton in disguise downed it in one gulp.
"Ah! Delicious human coffee! I love it so!" Said the totally not a skeleton in disguise as the coffee poured around the inside of his disguises feet.
The waitress just kind of looked at him for a minute until she finally asked, "do you want anything to eat or a refil or..."
"No, no," said the totally not a skeleton in disguise. "I think I have had enough of those human things. Tell me fellow human, what other human things does this human establishment have?"
"Uhhh, we have a jukebox, I guess."
"A yes, human music. As a human I am well equated with it. Please play me a song on it." The totally not a skeleton in disguise made another note in his book, *juke-box, destroy?*.
The waitress walked over to the jukebox and played a song at random. Since it was October they had recently added some seasonal song into it for Halloween, and one of them started playing. "*Spooky scary skeletons,*" the music went.
The totally not a skeleton in disguise jumped out of his seat and ran out the door yelling, "the cover is blown! Abort abort! The humans are onto us! Get out while you still can!"
As the now revealed to be a skeleton in disguise ran out the waitress yelled at him, "but wait you didn't pay your— aw forget it." | Bob and Jim sit in the office canteen drinking coffee, while staring at James, the new guy.
"He's a bit odd" says Jim nodding towards James.
"Drinks a lot of milk" grumbles Bob from his coffee cup.
"Yeah, lot of milk", Jim leans back in his chair while still staring intently at James.
James turns and sees Bob and Jim staring. Giving an overly toothy grin he waves, his skin flaps in the breeze, and returns to his milk.
"Still" grunts Bob, turning in his chair to Jim, "Better than that last guy"
"Lucy?"
"Yeah, horrible sun burn all the time. Kept trying to make people make deals. I know he's sales, but come on"
"Yeah"
Both slurp their coffee.
"Affirmative action I'll bet"
[Right, I need a different way to say '"talk talk" says charecter', anyone got any?
Sligtly edited] | 2016-08-19T13:03:56 | 2016-08-19T12:19:14 | 59 | 18 |
[wp] Caped Baldy?! Thanos almost spit out his spaghetti from poorly suppressed laughter. They are sending him to take the Gauntlet away from me? He burst out laughing now. They must have gone insane. How much of a threat someone named caped baldy can be? | “Attend me!” roared Thanos as he lifted his sinewy legs off the bed and settled them onto the ground with a thud. In rushed a steward dressed in the tradition uniform of a Black Order trainee, bringing Thanos’ favorite undergarments, tight leggings and gold crested sleeveless navy blue tunic. It was commonly known to the underlings that attended His Most Excellency; the Overmaster slept in the nude save for the glistening gauntlet that encapsulated His left hand.
As the attendee bustled about, Thanos glanced to the wall screen that had flickered to life when Thanos had arisen. Finished tying the Overmaster’s breeches, the attendee suddenly felt his arm clamped in an inescapable grip. Gasping in shock and pain, the attendee looked confusedly upwards to see Thanos glaring down at him, bringing his full presence to bear.
“You are not Ebony Maw.” Proclaimed Thanos. “Who are you and where is Ebony.”
“I-I-I beg your pardon Master Overlord Supreme Lord sir,” stammered out the steward. “Ebony died back on Earth r-remember? My name is Benjamin, sir. I, along with the other acolytes have been attending to y-y-your Excellence in his stead since.”
Confusion clouded Thanos’ chiseled features. For a moment the Overmaster became still as a stone, his face a mask of granite. The steward quivered in Thanos’ grip, fearing the worst.
“Ah. Yes. Right. I had forgotten.” Thanos looked down towards his open left palm. “I have been distracted since Earth. Mundane things seem irrelevant now. Not worth remembering.” He mused, turning his hand over and back, studying the bejeweled crest of the gauntlet as he had taken to do doing as a habit.
Thanos relaxed his grip on the steward who heaved a sigh of relief and turned his attention back to the screen, which began flashing headlines written in the bizarre script of Earthlings. The attendee moved to grab the tunic to finish dressing his liege. He wanted to get out of the room as soon as possible before Thanos had another one of his fits. The Masterlord had had trouble staying tethered in reality after he had activated the gauntlet. Drunk in his own power, but having accomplished his goal, Thanos no longer had a purpose to draw upon his power. Thanos had grown unhinged with the burden of having destroyed half of all sentient life in the known universe.
Suddenly, Thanos barked with laughter and the attendee froze in fright, hoping his time had not yet come.
“Caped Baldy? Caped Baldy? I defeat all the Avengers. I destroyed half the galaxy. I wield the Six Infinity Stones and they want to send a caped bald guy to stop me?” Thanos roared with laughter. A tear trickled down Thanos’ right eye as he laughed.
“I could destroy their whole world with a snap if I wanted to. This bald old man should just keel over and die wrapped in his cape. At least then there’d be something left of him to bury.” Thanos snapped his fingers together for emphasis. Still chuckling Thanos turned to the attendee.
“Well hurry up and give me my tunic.”
“No.” whispered the attendant.
As fast as it came, the thunderous laughter disappeared and Thanos grew still. Violently still.
“What. Did. You. Say.” Growled Thanos. Depths of power and checked rage layered his voice.
“I said no.” replied the steward as he suddenly straightened up. Something about him seemed off. Different.
With a roar the attendee’s uniform blasted to shreds, as if unable to contain the man underneath – revealing starch white underpants, a read cape and a glistening bald head.
“You got the name wrong. It’s not Caped Baldy they sent. It’s me, CAPTAIN UNDERPANTS!!”
In a flash of inhuman speed the strange man was suddenly by Thanos’ side where he screamed “WEDDDGIIIEEE POWWERRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!” The man also known as Mr. Benjamin Krupp reached down Thanos’ trousers pulled with the strength of a hundred thousand taut elastic waistbands as he blasted off his feet. His glorious red cape streaming behind him as he lifted the purple God by a maximum strength wedgie through the roof and up to the stars above.
Here in the air, Thanos had realized his folly. From his backside through his crotch ran a river of fire, as he learned the strength of Earth’s one true protector. Here he realized, was the end. The pain from the fierce wedgie had caused his hands to go limp and the gauntlet had fallen back down to Earth.
With eyes leaden with unbidden tears, Thanos mind flashed through his life, his one true happiness, the grief of his responsibility – his action. He was ready. He would be joining her soon.
With a smile, Thanos wept with joy as death’s tight elastic embrace freed him to pass on from this realm to the next. | Thanos paused his laughter as he heard the faint squirting of a spray bottle. "What the..." Thanos muttered. He swiftly ran into his living room, expecting to find an intruder; however, he instead found the room empty, seemingly undisturbed. What did he expect? After he wiped out half of the universe and retreated to Titan, no one dared come near his mansion where he now resided. Thanos was about to return to the dining room and finish his spaghetti when he felt a draft of wind. He turned on his heels, surveying the room once more. This time he located the problem almost immediately; one of his window panes was gone, removed almost seamlessly. Thanos got in a fighting stance and turned slowly, taking in every detail of the room. No one was there; that is unless... Thanos slowly began to look up. Staring down at him was Mr. Clean, supported by two pairs of sticky Magic Erasers attached to his hands and feet. Mr. Clean suddenly dropped down on top of Thanos, landing on his back. Thanos thrashed as he tried to get Mr. Clean off of his back, but it was to no avail. Mr. Clean held onto Thanos' head with one hand and reached for his utility belt with the other. From his belt he pulled a bottle of Multi-Purpose Cleaning Spray, and in one swift movement he sprayed Thanos in the eyes. Thanos stumbled back, blinded. Mr. Clean dumped a bottle of Multi-Purpose Cleaner on Thanos' head, further disorienting him, before hopping off of his back. Mr. Clean attempted to pull the gauntlet off of Thanos, but it was on too tightly. Thanos finally wiped his eyes and backhanded Mr. Clean across the room, sending him toppling into a lamp. As Mr. Clean lay dazed on the ground, Thanos approached him slowly, chuckling. "Really? *You're* Caped Baldy? They sent *you* to defeat me? What's next, The Green Giant?" Thanos teased. Mr. Clean smirked. "Why are you smiling?" Thanos said, sounding slightly worried. Mr. Clean quickly reached up, turing on the lamp that he had slammed into. He positioned his head just right, blinding Thanos with the excruciating brightness. "How... is... your... head... so... SHINY!" Thanos screamed as he shielded his eyes. Making sure to keep the reflection steady on Thanos' face, Mr. Clean inched forward. Once he had reached Thanos, he pulled his Magic Reach from his belt and jammed it into the gap between the gauntlet and Thanos' hand. Prying with all his might, the gauntlet slipped off, and Mr. Clean quickly grabbed it, slipping it on. The reflection was no longer in Thanos' eyes, and he fell to his hands and knees, gasping, overcome by the sheer power of Mr. Clean's shiny head. Mr. Clean pulled out his phone and began dialing Tony Stark to report that the mission had been a success. As his finger hovered over the call button, he stopped, thought for a moment, and shut his phone off, putting it back in his pocket. He glanced down at the gauntlet, and a smile spread over his face. | 2018-07-01T01:18:17 | 2018-06-30T21:25:06 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | Glass crunched underfoot, and I shifted the broken glass with my foot and took in the rest of the scene. The broken windows were bad, but it was the pictures. My breath caught and I pressed my fingers over my eyes.
I'd opened this little diner back in the 80s. We were in the bad part of town, it was all I could afford, but I'd wanted this cafe since I was a little girl. Bacon eggs and pancakes were staples, but my Belgian Waffles were what really put Sal's Place on the map. I made all the donuts, and everyone knew they had one chance to get them.
We didn't get supers, not like the uptown places did. Sunshine Deli had pictures of the Wonder Twins and Moongirl, signed and dated. And you could be sure to catch Mr. Impossible every other Sunday if you could afford $12 lattes. I attracted what I liked to call Irregulars. Boys and girls didn't have much in the way of family or trust funds, but set about righting wrongs - often with their fists or with guns. But they did like omelettes.
Digger was the first one who came regularly. Always in the same booth, always the same order. Biscuits and sausage gravy with black coffee. When I read stories about him, it was always about how some rapist or mugger had been buried up to his neck near some fire ants. He'd never been caught, but some surveillance video had surfaced. And his fingernails were always so dirty.
"Here you go, sweetie," I said sliding the bowl with the biscuits and gravy over. I added dish of fruit salad, and he looked at me with those dark eyes of his set in his pale face. "Didn't order this, ma'am."
"I know, hon, it's on the house. You need a bit of fruit, and I don't want to hear anything more about it," and I bustled off filling coffee cups, clearing tables and taking orders. When I cleared his table, his fruit dish was empty and I pocketed a nice tip. Next time he'd added the fruit to his order.
"Ma'am," he said and I swear he was blushing. "Noticed that some of your walls were a little blank. If you'd excuse my forwardness, I think I could take some pictures of folk and start making a wall. I talked to some of the other irregulars and they thought it'd be nice for you."
To say that hadn't been on my mind would be a lie. But money was tight, had to pay rent of the restaurant, plus buying all the food, heat and hot water. Then there was Mothball, my cat. She'd been sick earlier and that had put a dent in what little savings I had managed to scrape together.
"Oh, hon, I don't know what to say," I managed, my throat feeling tight. He put his thick hand on mine and squeezed it gently. "You don't need to say anything, Miss Sal. We're happy to help you out." And they'd started putting their pictures up - always with masks on, or looking appropriately spooky. Silly kids. I worried about them all the time. And sometimes they got hurt. Sometimes killed. The juke always played loud on those days, and I made sure the coffee was hot and everyone got whipped cream on their pancakes.
The sound of running water made me rush to the kitchen, it was awash with water overflowing from the sink. I shut off the faucets and looked in, the drains had been plugged with dishrags. I reached into the cold water and pulled them out. The water gurgled and ran down, but it was too late to save most of the floor. A small sob escaped. My little dream. My small way of making this shithole part of town a better place. A broken soggy ruin.
Feeling numb, I wandered back into the dining room. Cans of paint had been hurled at my wall of Irregulars. Most of the frames were shattered, photos cut and torn and covered with paint.
I gently brushed the shards of glass away, and picked up Digger's photo, it was torn in half, his small little half-smile, more than anyone else saw ever, looked broken. I sniffed and put it on the counter and picked up Ghost-Dog's photo, it was dripping with the water that had leaked in from the kitchen. Rag-Tag, Little Pete, and Dark Mila had all been covered in paint. My friends. My little lost family.
The bell rang, and I whirled around clutching my pictures, but suddenly feeling very alone. But it was Digger, his dark eyes took in the scene and locked on me. His face was like still water, deep and dangerous and I moved over to him and slid my hand around his arm.
"Listen to me, sweetie, I need you to listen good. I want you to call everyone you know and tell them to meet me here. We have work to do..."
He looked at me for a long time and then nodded.
***
I looked around at the ring of faces. We were sitting in the ruin of my diner. The faces around me were grim, and I felt a deep sense of sadness. Every scar was a story that broke my heart. And I know, deep down that if they found out who did this there would be nothing but blood. But they had brought what I asked for. Cans of paint, hammers and nails, and tarps. Digger brought new frames and Dark Mila brought her camera.
"I've worked hard to make Sal's a place where you always feel welcome and where you get a taste of sweetness. For some of you," I said looking at Digger, "this is the only sweetness you will ever know. If you help me with this, you're making a promise. A promise that you want to make the world kinder - even if this is all you do and you go back to your night jobs same as you do. It's not nothing."
Vandal reached out and squeezed my hand, and I saw Digger wipe the back of his hand across his eyes.
"Thanks for helping me fix my little broken dream," I said, my voice choking up. "Now let's get to work."
(edit a typo - also edited my edit since apparently I floated it in the middle of the story - stupid whiskey)
| Red Molly contacted me first. “Hey I think you need to get down here. Right now.” When you get a psychic message like that, well, you kinda have to listen.
Windows smashed. Tables broken, even my counter, made from the wood of the witness stand from the Salem trials, was badly damaged. My favorite coffee mug, given to me by the Star Sorcerer himself, was broken. Damn.
By then, a lot of the regulars had shown up. Dark Hood stood silently, but you could feel the anger radiating from him. Father Black tried to console me, as best he could. Street Shadow was trying to pick up the pieces of the crystal ball I kept near the register. The scrying table seemed beyond repair.
Most of my regulars are low-level. None of them could do tremendous feats of magic like stopping time, or seeing years into the future, or transmuting matter. But they did what they could, you know? If you could keep a kid from breaking his arm because you can only see 30 minutes into the future for one person at a time, wouldn’t you do it? If your only power, speaking to the dead, could help one person resolve their grief and move to a better life (or afterlife), you’d do that too. If you were cursed to only move from shadow to shadow, well, maybe you’d use that to rescue people, and get them to a hospital faster than an ambulance could dream of moving.
And, of course, mystic power is stronger at night. Some of these folks only have power during a certain phase of the moon. And efforts like this, helping other people you don’t know, take their toll. So when sunrise is coming, a lot of them head to the Grave Sight. It’s darker than your average Denny’s, and it’s off an alley, not near a mall. You have to know where to look, but we have the best breakfast and coffee in the area. Plus the scrying table, crystals and other stuff are free for everyone to use. Father Black keeps the Holy Water blessed, it’s in the back room if you need some.
So they all came by and offered their help. I told them it would be a few days before I was back up and running. And since a mortal adjuster was unlikely to find the place, I never bought insurance, of course. I guess my wards weren’t strong enough.
I saw them look at each other, but no one said anything. The walked in amongst the debris, and stood in a circle. They joined hands, and I felt the power surge. Yes, even I can feel power like that. A dark mist gathered around them. There was a low rumble mixed with chanting, and the power dissipated.
Molly turned. Her eyes were red with anger. “We’ll be back.” was all she said, and they left.
It wasn’t like I was going anywhere. I mostly only move between my place, the church, and the cemetery. So I started cleaning up.
About an hour later, at midnight, they came back, with some members of the Evangelist gang. I’d seen them before, mostly on the news. “Magic is an abomination!” and “Mystics are going to Hell!” and other ridiculous protest signs, when the more powerful mystics solved a crime or prevented a disaster. Little did they know, some of us have been to Hell already. It’s debatable whether an eternity there or an hour with these wackos is worse. No screaming or waving signs here, though. They looked...different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Father Black stepped forward. “These are the people responsible for the damage. They have agreed to repair everything.”
“Agreed?” I said dubiously. I couldn’t see these guys helping something like me voluntarily.
Red Molly spoke without speaking. “We talked to Old Granny. She agreed to hold their souls in escrow until the damage is repaired. When you’re satisfied, they get them back.”
Old Granny: the only real witch in Salem in the 1600s, and of course the only one to avoid those idiots running the Trials. Now I saw the difference. Fear. Fear of losing the only thing that mattered, their souls. To the will of an “abomination.”
I turned to them. I didn’t think they could be more afraid, but you’d be surprised how scary a ghost can be, when I put my mind to it. “Welcome to the Grave Sight, ladies and gentlemen. I guess we’d better get to work. I have to be back to the cemetery before sunup.” | 2018-10-20T23:57:04 | 2018-10-20T23:34:54 | 17 | 11 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | ** so I didn't follow the prompt exactly, but I liked my response so much that I wanted to post it anyways. Hopefully you'll like it enough to ignore the fact I didn't follow it to a T! **
I was in the kitchen when it happened. I heard the loud crash of glass a split second before I heard Jason's cries. I felt my heart drop as I raced up the stairs to the bathroom, my hair flying behind me and I skidded to a stop infront of the door. Shards of glass glittered on the tile floor, Jason standing in the middle of the wreck, his right hand cradling his left to his chest.
"Jason!" I scolded. "What happened?"
He sniffles and begins to cry. I instantly feel a wave of guilt wash over me and I dance around the glass, pulling him to me.
"'I'm sorry, honey, shh. Are you hurt?" He nods his head against my chest and I pull away far enough to take a look at his hand. I gasp, my body locking into place as goosebumps erupt all over my flesh. Instead of Snow White blood my beautiful ten year old boy is oozing black tar from his wound. My mouth opens and closes, like a fish gasping above water, wondering what new hell he's been transported to.
"What have you done?" My voice is weak as I force every syllabus out of my mouth.
"I'm sorry Mommy, it was an accident I swear!" He pleads, but before he can even finish his sentence I'm shaking my head. I try to pry him off me but his arms are locked around me. I can feel his blood soaking the back of shirt, like liquid fire burning my skin. The anxiety well up in my chest and threatens to tear me apart. There are only a few things in this world that could turn a person's blood so vile.
I manage to pry his hands off me and I jump back, my feet crunching on the glass.
His stare hardens as his tears dry up, his shoulders rising up around his neck, like a cat whose fur stands up on end.
"I didn't want things to change," he growls, a ferocious beast."I told you I didn't't want things to change!"
"What are you talking about?" I whispered but I already know. My eyes dart over to the practically new bottle of baby shampoo still resting on the side of the tub, used only once.
"You said I'd always be your number one guy! You promised!"
"No," I moan. I can feel my heart breaking all over again.
"It's okay," he soothes, making his way back to me. I want to crawl out of my own skin.
"I forgive you, Mommy. I forgive you." | Blood oh blood! Black is all I see,
She puts her finger on my lips gently to say "Come away with me"..
I try to look straight to ask her for answers,
while a million thoughts race through my mind like cancer..
"You owe me", she says, giggling with sparkle in her eyes,
then she flips out a blade right from beside her thighs..
With quick motion, a cut presents on my wrist,
She looks at it as it oozes darker, and darker as I clench my fist..
"How did you know?" I fumble to ask her shocked,
She replied "I always knew, that our secrets would become unlocked"..
With a final slit to my throat, she looked and said " I wanted you to feel",
While i collapsed holding my bleeding throat, next to me she came to kneel..
"Darling" She said, " I feel now that we're one",
She slit her wrist one final time, and lay next to me saying "We'll never be undone"....
| 2016-09-22T22:31:58 | 2016-09-22T21:31:39 | 91 | 22 |
[WP] Nations around the world are hellbent on taking out this journalist that has been trying to publish pieces about things that are supposed to be top secret. But for some reason, all attempts to silence this “Clark Kent” fellow have failed. | "Superman is dead."
Clark Kent stared at the words on his laptop, the blinking cursor taunting him to write more. The infuriating curl popped out of place and landed square in the middle of his forehead. Clark pushed it back with an impatient hand. He squinted at the screen and continued to type.
"The age of the Vigilante is over, but the rise of Super Non Governmental Organizations is also ineffective, since they always wind up fighting each other rather than the true ills of the world."
Clark leaned back and allowed a small "hrm" to escape his lips, his hands trembled slightly as he weighed his next words.
"What are these ills? I'll give you my short list: Intolerance. Indifference. Ignorance, willful or imposed. And greed. Greed is the mortar that keeps all the rest of it in place."
Clark had to concentrate now: he was on a roll, and he didn't want his enthusiasm to cause a misplaced finger to go through the keyboard.
"So what is the answer? We still need our heroes, but they won't be wearing spandex with attractive logos on their chests. We will strike from the shadows to bring light to the world. Some of those truths will be ugly. Some of those truths will reveal us to be less than we hoped to be, but unless we face those truths, real progress cannot be made."
Clark grunted in satisfaction. It was time for the coup de grace.
"You knew me as Superman, but Superman is dead. You will know me now as Clark Kent, reporter, lately of the Daily Planet, but now an independent. I will try to serve you as faithfully in my present incarnation as I did in the last. Power to the people."
Clark hit **send** and leaned back. His cell phone buzzed. *That was fast*, Clark thought, but he had learned long ago never to underestimate the Batman.
"Kent here," Clark said.
"Just read your post," Bruce Wayne said. "I still don't think it was wise to 'out' yourself."
"A Kryptonite bullet still makes a noise," Clark said, adjusting his glasses, "and we both know that Kryptonite can't take the stress of flying through the atmosphere near the speed of sound."
Wayne chuckled. "Yes, I know that from personal experience." A grim memory, from long ago, but also long forgiven.
Clark got to business. "Are we ready, Bruce?"
"Ready as we'll ever be, Clark. All the rest of the Justice League is going quiet, but the alters will be ramping up their 'extracurricular activities.' Diana has had a list of the beneficiaries of Nazi art theft for decades. She's aching to have that released."
"I'll bet," Clark said, "but first things first, Bruce."
"Then cry 'Havok, and let slip the dogs of war. Good luck, Clark," Wayne said.
"Good luck to us all," Clark replied, and closed the connection. He then crushed his cellphone. He then pressed **send** on the other message he had queued up: the complete 'customer list' of one Jeffery Epstein, with evidence. A lot of heroes were going to get a major black eye because of this, but you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs.
Superman was dead. Long live Clark Kent. | After leaving a hotel in London, I begin to walk the streets while listening to some of Gotham’s piano jazz. During which, I continue to uncover more secrets of other countries including one that all of them have collaborated on, called “Project Cadmus.” Apparently, the governments of the world were threatened by the re-emergence of metahumans, starting with Superman after the Justice Society of America disbanded before the Vietnamese War. They wanted to even the odds in case the metas went rogue, which some of them have like with Captain Atom briefly becoming Monarch before the Justice League managed to revert him back to who he once was or when The Elite created a power vacuum in both Bekulistan and Bialya after killing Atomic Skull in Metropolis and Superman managed to apprehend them all. I can’t let those in power abuse it any longer. “Where are you going, goggles?” A voice asked from 10 feet behind me.
I slowly turned around before getting knocked through a wall by an electrically enhanced fist. The voice laughs, bragging that he’ll be rich for how easy it was to assassinate some nerdy reporter from Metropolis. Feeling like raining on his parade, I quickly change out of my glasses and tie and emerge as Superman. The laughter turns into shock as I soon tower over the Electrocutioner. He tries to amp up the voltage on his gloves which was enough to take out a city block to try to electrocute me. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t work and I knock him unconscious with a simple headbutt. I then change back and continue with what I was doing before. | 2020-11-29T03:13:20 | 2020-11-29T02:09:19 | 63 | 43 |
[WP] Your father, the world's most revered scientist, lies on his deathbed. His last wish is for you to guard his time-travel research from anyone and everyone. You accept. A few days later, your father, as he was in his 30s, comes to you asking to see his own research. | "Son, I need it."
His voice sounds right. He even looks right. Just as I remember from back then. I hold the notebook behind my back and away from him. He has a hand out, expectantly.
"I can't."
It comes out of my mouth and I'm proud of myself. Standing up to my own father. Sort of.
Maybe. What if it's an impostor? It could easily not be him, just as much as it could be.
"I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important." He says. Almost begging. Almost. My father was a proud man. It must be important if he would come to me like that.
"You told me no one was to see it. No one. You really drove that point home. Not a soul, you said. Living or dead."
"I know what I said but I need it. Everything rests on this moment, son."
I bring the book around from behind my back, looking at the worn leather cover and the haphazard pages of notes shoved between worn pages. His spidery writing and nearly flawless diagrams will fill the book I'm sure. He was meticulous.
"Yes, son I need my notes!"
I laugh, it starts slow and builds until my stomach hurts from it. He raises an eyebrow and once or twice tries to snatch the book away from me. I'm faster than him though.
"Stop calling me son. It really gives you away."
He freezes in place. And I see it. The slightest curl of a snarl on his lips.
"You didn't call me son when you were around, why the hell would you have started now? No, my father wouldn't have asked. He would have *demanded*! He would have called me useless, a waste, a disappointment, and he would have taken his notes. You're not him."
He lunges at me.
"Stoy!"
His face is curled in rage before it transforms to pain, as the electricity shoots through his body. A safety measure.
"Oh dear me," I say, circling him in the harness of current, "you seem to have stepped in it now."
"I'm your father!" He manages to say through the pain and muscle spasms. I laugh, and laugh. Then I keep laughing.
"Even if you were I would still do this. You'd deserve it. As it stands, you're not him. So I'm going to go ahead and take these notes and burn them."
"No!" He struggles, uselessly. The harness is my design. My father may have been disappointed but there were plenty of agencies interested in my talents. And I didn't have the qualms about weaponizing science like he did. A bastard, that man was, but a moral bastard.
"Don't worry, my version is much better anyway."
I drop the book in a small metal box that ignites with an almost cartoonish *whump* and plume of smoke, incinerating the book and notes.
"At...least...release me!" He snarls.
I laugh again. I like this one. He's funny.
"Maybe after breakfast. We'll see if you last that long. I, unlike you, have nothing but time! Good luck!"
And I close the door, leaving my fathers underwhelming workshop in almost pitch darkness. But for the crackling blue light of the electricity.
I don't need to watch my father die again, not after the first time. And that one was my fault too. Just much more subtle.
I needed one piece of his notes and he wasn't just going to give them up to anyone. Nor would he give them up while he had time.
It's always about time. | He pointed the gun directly at his genitals.
"Son! Its me!" Russ said quietly.
The time flux was still settling around him, the air was thick with anticipation. Jeff kept his Glock 19 aimed true, unwavering. He had seen many things try to take his father's work over the years, sentient bananas, Ape Lords from Proxima 9, and of course the U.S government, but never this. His own father, now much younger than him, arriving via time warp, in his own bathroom.
An 80 year old Jeff sat with his pants down on the toilet, gun pointed at his young father, his sphincter flexed.
"You better start talking real fast Russ, if that is you!" Jeff said.
"I need the Renicon for a mission, the Nazi's in my timeline are getting a little out of hand right now." Russ said calmly.
"Well why the hell did you come here and not go back to stop them?" Jeff said.
"It takes less power to go forward than back, you know that Jeffrey." Russ stated.
Jeff was unconvinced. Pulling the trigger, he blew Russ's wang clean off. Crying out in fierce pain, the man fell to the floor.
"Well. I haven't ceased to exist, so you obviously aren't my father." Jeff said, pulling up his old trousers and sniffing his old crackly nose.
"Now talk you dirty bastard! You with the CIA? Russia, Timeline A\-32 North Korea?" Jeff pointed the gun at Russ' head.
**Thanks for reading. Please subscribe to my page for more!**
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You can even suggest a part 2! | 2018-06-07T11:22:34 | 2018-06-07T11:22:17 | 58 | 21 |
[WP] You grew up in a religious family. Due to a minor speech impediment, you inadvertently prayed to the long forgotten deity "Veebuse" for most of your adolescence. Now in college, you have stopped praying every night. Worried, Veebuse comes to check on his only worshiper. | For those who understand what being an outsider is like. It's a combination of illucidation and drowning. On one hand you can see how people self organize into systems by default. You see the cogs and wheels spinning as each gear fixes itself to rotate exactly where it belongs. On the other, whatever persistent desire to find a place and fit in exists in them exists in you. It places your whole experience under this watery like depression. One in which you either deny or drown.
I could count myself as one of the fortunate ones. I am an outsider. Judged and cast aside as weird for my speech impediment. But, where my tongue failed and became rigid, my mind rose in it's fluidity. Without friends I took solace in books of all kinds. I really enjoyed the older texts though. To me they had more truth about human nature. Our desires both evil and good were plain to see. Once written in blood and reprinted in the redeeming ink of modernity.
Sometimes I even found myself in prayer asking to return to these times. I felt as if I belonged there. In Egypt during the golden ages where the Earth was bejeweled with mysticism and love. I never really believed in Jesus persee but the name acted as an idea to me in prayer. After all it was bred into me by my parents through beatings and Bible study. They hated I could never say "his" name right. Fucking Veebus Christ. I got a kick out of it at dinner grace.
I couldn't see them with my eyes closed but I know they were frowning at the pronunciation. When it was time to leave for college I think everyone was relieved, including me. But, then came the challenges of being a dark toned African American with a speech impediment. Imagine that. Always coming off as retarded through my effort to articulate my intellect. I learned to keep my hand lowered pretty quick.
Studying took most of my time. I eventually fell out of the routine of nightly prayer that I'd never been able to shake. That's when the drowning became worse. I never wanted to admit that I desired to fit in but it ate at me like a cancer. Feeding on the cells of my pride and multiplying each day. Finally, I had reached my breaking point. It was a slow walk to my dorm room. The steps seem to hold each foot in place and it took great effort to move. Depression, I admitted, made the minute seem eternal.
After an arduous ascent I reached my door and stopped. I heard a faint voice on the other side. Odd thing is I had no roommates. I pushed open the door to see who dare intruded and after stepping inside ready for conflict, the door slammed behind me. There was strange writing all over the wall. Hieroglyphs that I recognized from depictions in my book. The more I looked, the more I noticed I was not on the inside of my dorm room but some cave or stone room. It was when I looked ahead that I saw her. This 6 foot woman with pitch black skin. Her delicate figure adorned with bronze jewelry etched with symbols I'd never seen. Her hair stretched to the floor was a curly mess of locks. Her body slim to the point of anorexia. Despite the state of her frame her face appeared youthful. Beautiful even. Her delicate face beheld golden irisis that peered at me.
Silence stood unchallenged in a moment that felt like forever. It was she, who effortlessly broke it as if it were nothing. "It is one thing to forego prayer, but to take the potential of souls from me is blasphemous." Those words, this place, how I was just at my dorm door a minute ago all made my mind reel. Where was I? What the hell was actually going on? Panic rode in on his horse and swept the trails of my mind. But then, through my panic attack I made eye contact with her again and was frozen.
Those golden eyes like the sun resting in orbit. Her gaze stilled me and this overwhelming peace was upon me. She spoke again. "You are a smart boy, Eric. But you have always been easily overwhelmed" I couldn't hold it any longer. I shouted, "I don't know who the hell you are or what this is but you don't know me." She was unphased. It was her silence that seemed to indicate just how trivial what I said was. Why did I feel I had lied just now? "Mortals have always believed that it is intention which defines a deed. But this is not the truth. The universe has laws. It is nuetral. It cares not for pitiful intentions that never really manifest past your desire to confirm your own morals."
"For example, if a god's name is spoken in prayer for years, that name is what echos through existence. Not your frail requests of it. The universe doesn't respond, it is simply a messenger. It is I...Veebus, the goddess of wisdom and light that chooses to heed your calls." What was I hearing just now? A goddess? Wait...did she say Veebus? Like my impediment Veebus!? I had so many questions that my head seemed to swell with confusion. But, I knew I was faced with only one real choice. Accept the impossible or decide it's impossible to accept. I chose the former. Choosing my words carefully I asked, "If you are a goddess, wouldn't that make this heaven? And if we are in heaven, did I die without knowing it?"
A dark frown appeared on her face. "This used to be my heaven. It was glorious and filled with such ecstacy and knowledge your mind couldn't possibly conceive. In the ancient times of Egypt I was a great deity. I desired more followers. I wanted to expand my hold over the souls of earth. There were other gods in my way. Most were slain and forgotten but there was one who I couldn't overcome. Osiris. We battled through space and time and our conflict was felt in the all the realms. I fought my hardest and still lost. All gods are manifested with abilities but not all are equal. I can only see the world through the minds of those who pray to me. I expand their consciousness and spread my presence and power from mind to mind. Osiris, however, was already fully omnipresent with or without followers. He was able to continue growing his influence even while fighting me at the same time. And in turn, I lost power as even my followers joined him."
I could see the pain on her face increase as she told her story. Every detail seemed to deepen the hurt within her. Her expression was familiar to me. It was the same as mine all throughout my life. The expression of one who has spent a great portion of their life being an outsider. Illucidated to the ways of life but subjected by them as well. She too, was cast aside and judged. I felt a deep sorrow for her but my question had never been answered. I repeated myself. "Am I dead, Veebus."
Tears began to roll down her cheeks. They were golden streams that dripped from her eyes. The only marvel left from a forgotten deity. Through her tears her voice solemnly echoed through the stone room. "We are both dead, Eric." Those words shook me to my core. Memories slowly flooded my mind. I never went to class today. Matter as a fact, I didn't leave my dorm. I remember now. The lonliness grew too much. The image of blood dripping from my veins filled my mind. That's when I knew the truth. I had subjected my soul to this forgotten goddess. And when I ended everything, I was to come to her.
Out of all that occured death didn't bother me. I welcomed it. It was what she said about the universe not caring about intention. She was wrong. What I believe is my intention may not have been heard but my suffering was. My desire to belong with someone like me. And here she was. A goddess who knew what it was like to be an outsider, blessed with knowledge but cursed with lonliness. The universe isn't just a messenger. It is that which organizes all things to where they belong. I am still an outsider. I still see the cogs and gears of the system. But now...I belong. | I look back into my empty, blank room. I smile. The first time I could really smile. “Sweetheart, do you want to take this statue to college? You can pray like you’ve been doing when you lived here,” my mother says, suddenly behind me. I look at the statue in disgust. No way in hell was i taking that. Then I thought about it. They would probably not visit me if they thought I was praying everyday. I smile at her and clear my throat. “Yes mother, of course I will take it. Every night I shall pray to Veebuse.” I smack my head when Veebuse came out. My mother laughs, holding the statue in one hand, she covers her mouth with the other. “I-I am sorry dear,” she choked, still laughing, “You haven’t changed at all!” My face turned beet red. “Mother, will every purson make fun of my speech impediment?” I ask her, hoping for some positive feedback. My mother hands me the statue, chuckling. “Hunny, it’s adorable! Who would bully someone so cute?” She giggles. My face lowers, and is still red. This time with anger instead of embarrassment. I tightly grip the statue, and look back at my mother. “Thank you mother. I will visit when I can,” I lie, smiling at her. I bit my tongue, wishing for her to fall for my lie. She smiles back, and hugs me. “Be safe okay?” She whispers in my ear. “It’s a two hour flight, but you can pray anyways. People will mind their business and may even pray with you!” I grit my teeth. Yeah, sure. Instead of sleeping, they will pray with a girl who has a speech impediment. We walk down the stairs, my mother babbling about how to pray in a plane, until we get outside and I see my father throwing water on my driver. “Father!” I yell. My mother looks back at me in shock, my father turns around, his face surprised. I clear my throat, and hold up the statue. “Look what mother tave me!” I say, smiling weakly. He smiles and pats the driver on his damp shoulder. “My baby girl is finally growing up. I am so glad you decided to go to a missionary college. This is why I let you go!” He laughs. I laugh with him.
No you didn’t you bastard. You didn’t want me to go, until you thought about me being even more Christian, and without my speech impediment. “I was just throwing some holy water on your driver. We don’t know him, so we must make sure the devil isn’t inside him,” my father says, holding up the water bottle. I look over to the driver, who looks like a high school student, who finally learned how to drive. “Thank you father, for always pooking after me,” I say, hugging him. He hugs me back, and when I started to walk to the driver, he hits me behind my head. “Be careful idiot! Never leave yourself open!” He chuckled. I smile again at him, before turning and walking to the driver. “Are my bags in the trunk?” I ask him, softly. He nods, and opens the passenger door for me. I step inside and wave one last time, before closing the door. When the driver got in the car, I smile again. “Step on it. Let’s blow tis joint,” I say, crossing my legs. The driver looks back in shock. “Yes ma’am,” he replies, driving away fast. During the five hour drive, I apologized for my father, and told him where I really was going. We had a lovely chat, before it was time for me to leave.
“Thank you, have a good day,” I say, handing him a hundred dollar bill. I win, at him, and open the truck to get my two suitcases. I closed the truck and walk into the airport. I go to the desk, and wait behind five people. When it was my turn, the lady asked where I was going. “America. California,” I say, with a smile. The lady smiles back. “A sixteen hour flight, the gate is in the west wing.” I nod and walk towards the west wing, smiling proudly. The flight was calm. The statue stared at me the whole way, but I stuffed it into my purse. In California, it was hot, but so beautiful. I walk outside, and jump around. I call a taxicab and told them to take me to the art school. At art school, there were many colorful people. Red hair, blue shoes, yellow dress. Or even just people in furry costumes. I felt plain with my straight brown hair, and white dress. So, after the second day, I dyed my hair and went shopping. The statue stayed in my dorm. I on,y look at it in pride, for I had escaped my parents. But that day....it changed everything....
I walk back into my dorm room, late. “I shouldn’t study in the library too mate,” I yawn, dropping my bags on the floor. “I was wondering when you would come back,” I soft but deep voice says. I jump. A man with honey blonde, curly hair, that was turning grey, despite his young face, had grayish blue skin, and was so thin. Who the hell was that? “Who are chu?” I ask, my voice strong. “I am Veebuse, the one you prayed to for sixteen years. Until you stopped,” he says, a little angry. “Well, I don’t do tat praying crap anymore! Find another purson to torment,” I say bitterly. I try to walk past him towards the phone, but he grabs my wrist with his boney fingers. “I-I can’t. No one knows I am alive. You made me alive when you prayed to me. You did. You have to take responsibility,” he pleads, his face pink. “No I don’t, why would I do that?” “Please, just one prayer every night, and I will leave you alone. Forever. I will listen to you and find you someone to love, anything. Just please.” I look at this god, he reminds me so much of him. I sigh and take his hand. “Fine, but you better listen to me!” I hiss. He smiles and nods. That’s how I made friends with a god. Will I regret it? | 2020-04-07T08:51:41 | 2020-04-07T06:45:36 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution" | A blinding light swept away the south camp. Charigos ran out of his resting pod, watching in terrified awe at the magnificent mushroom shaped fire ball rising to the sky. Everyone had stopped doing what they were doing and now stood, as if they were frozen in time.
A general ran out of his pod "I thought we had won! Their battalion was defeated two sols ago!" he yelled, the panic made his voice tremble. Suddently the sky started to roar, as it became littered with black dots.
There was a giant explosion, and one of the heavy class cruisers colapsed, falling miles to the ground. "it seems that their initial defense force wasnt all they had!" Charigos yelled from across the camp. Five more fireballs blinded the men. Sending intense shockwaves that leveled the camp.
The general crawled out of the smouldering ruins, clearly in shock. "fire the siesmic charges!". Five cannons on an orbital battleship started to power up. KABOOM! Five blue bolts were catapulted towards the surface. The bolts collided with the earth, resulting in a large earthquake. Everything went silent.
The general got up on all four legs, as he starred into the large smoke cloud. "i think we got the last rebe..." a sentence he would never finish, as he was vapourized by The emense heat from the thermonuclear detonation.
From orbit Hartell watching in fear as bright white glimses spread around the globe, and more and more biomonitors went black. He looked over at a large screen, segmented into thousands of videocall pads. Almost half of them were black.
"What is The status on the earthlings!" charter arose among the generals. "well, it seems like we havent Even touched the majority of their military. The amount of weaponary they have is ungodl..." his screen went black. A loud bange echoed through the vacuum of space. Hartell looks up, into his panoramic window. Three large cruisers had been turned into ash, only fireballs and rubble remaining.
"what kind of weapon is that!!" Hartell yelled. A scientist ran up The Them, it looks like fision, we've researched it before, but have never been able to find enough fuel to make Even a test bomb, their planet must have unnatural amounts fissial meterial". Hartell grapped his collar. "How can they have more avanced weapons that us, WHILE STILL NOT EVEN BEING ABLE TO COMMUNICATE INSTANTLY!" The scientist shivered. "I dont know".
Another cruiser went down, then another. Hartell looked back as his screen, less than ten remained. His army, once the most feared in the Galaxy had been redused to ash, by such a primitive race. A tear flowed down his cheek. "send a message to all systems and federations in the Galaxy, to never wage against earth". He turned around, to look through the window again. "to never Even come near the planet, and prepare for their inevitable hyperspace Discovery..." | "Why?"
Aaalp coughed and split blood as he tried to use what was left of his arm to raise himself up. His ears ringing and vision slowly turning to red while he watched the massacre unfold around him.
Aaalp and his division had been apart of the Conquering of Earth which had occured just last year. They returned victorious in just a few weeks after capturing what the humans had called "Europe." He remembered the parade, the banquet, and the singing as their leaders planned their next Conquest.
The Conquests had always been easy. The victims never seem from of heard again as the victors always left on the FTL ships.
Aaalp didn't understand. "How did they find us?" His question fell on lifeless ears. Rgal was dead. Foju was dead. Mpla was dead. He was dying. He could feel it.
Watching helpless as these primitive bipeds moved around him, launching fire from their hands, he crawled to cover.
A pair of boots stopped in front of his head. Looking up he saw hate. Unable to speak, Aaalp lied there. "Pay back's a bitch, ain't it?" The heel of a boot was Aaalps last memory. | 2019-12-17T14:02:56 | 2019-12-17T12:03:37 | 84 | 62 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | **Quanta.. wake-up.. Quanta..**
( Quanta gasps )
Q: Where am I? Did we catch Mint master?
Me: ...
A robot walks in and hands over my medication.
Q(angrily): You... You're Mint master. You kidnapped me...
Mm: yes.. I'm the great Mint master. Your favourite supervillain. How you're doing?
( Comes to light)
Q: You're... you're...quadriplegic. How.. how did you managed to escape from our Guild for past 10 years?
Mm: Well... For starters, I'm super intelligent that put me on wheelchair. You're the only super intelligent hero that I encountered in all these years. Smart enough to reach my lair.
Q: I'm gonna lock you up. You caused enough damage to the city. You're coming with me.
Mm: You see... I'm not gonna run. But, Hear me first.
Q: I'm gonna crush you.
Mm: After a month of stasis? Would be a surprise if you can sit on your own. Think about it. Why didn't I kill you?
Q: ... I don't understand. Why didn't you kill me? I flew too close to your lair. I was about to call backup. And.. and your robots ambushed me... nerfed me...
Mm: You're right. Don't push your mind yet. I nerfed you and brought up here to treat your condition. Were you having headaches lately?
Q: Yes.. a lot. My head was exploding. How do you know all these?
Mm: I know about you. I monitor all of you. See... This is FireHead.. burning at 400’ Celcius. Stephen is running 100 mph. And...
Q: Why did you capture me?
Mm: Superheroes suffer from super diseases. With your condition, you would've ended up just like me. So I baited you and put in the healing chamber for a month.
Q: But why you're helping me? You're a supervillain.
Mm: I've always been helping you. All of you guys. I'm monitoring and pushing you to the limits.
Q: Liar... Your robots thrown FireHead out of a 50 storey building. And tried to crush Carbino. Let me out...
Mm: Don't you see it. I thought you're smart. Didn't FireHead flew after we throw him? And Carbino.. she prefers to be called DiamondSkin now. And, Jacob aka MadFish, heard he cleared all his debts and landed in a stable job. We don't have time to argue... Superpal is dead.
Q: What..?? no..no.. that's not possible. No one can kill him. He's invincible. Did you kill him?
Mm: No.. no.. He's my favorite. His heart is gold. That's why I woke you up. You need to trust me. Your friends are in danger. And I don't have time to prepare them. They'll listen to you.
Q: I'll tell them what you did to me. What you did to all of us.
Mm: I don't want them to trust me. I just need them alive. *Kolaikaran* is here in our city. You need to gather all your friends and train them. Use my supercomputer – you'll know what to do to push their limits. We don't have time. You stand strong together.
Q: Thanks Mint.. I won't forget what you did for us. Stay safe.. and I promise I'll keep everyone safe. | I am practicing songwriting. So here is a musical theater piece on a villain that clearly out-matches his adversaries. It's a comedy song
Nothing irks me quite like knowing that they'll never see my pity
Nothing rattles me to shame to think they've really done their best
It's not enough to pest this city
And with every passing tick you'd think it can't get any clearer
The maze he's yet to clear, the bomb is ticking ever nearer
He's still caught up in the mirror
Wonder-man, I'm dying to know
How that's ever gonna make a dent
But it's pretty strong as lasers go
(Clicks around security monitor)
Now let's check up on the Wingman, has he bolted through the glass?
I'd say last time was near perfect, I even called the head adjuster
(See human figure dangling from a suspension cable)
Guess he forgot the rocket thruster
(Cable snaps)
. . Boots . .
(Movement from the ceiling)
And then let's not forget Ms. Amazoness up above
Who lost count which lefts to take, I had to turn the heat to two
The things I do for love
Hey you Bruce, up in that vent
I'd like to warm up, progress the show
And quit stomping man, I rent!
All sides undone,
Hands coiling fast,
Will you have time to pray
Or have they failed you too
Reaching for words some
Can make their spirits last
But I won't let this day
Save me in any way
If anyone would come
Remind me what it is
That made a villain fun
That made a tyrant rage
I'm walking off the stage,
The bomb's defused, good night | 2021-05-20T08:42:02 | 2021-05-20T07:57:21 | 28 | 19 |
[WP]A Man dies and expects to go either Heaven or Hell,only to be told by an Angel that he already was in Hell and now his punishment is over | I remember my life on Earth as though it were yesterday, despite all my attempts to forget it.
I was the first born to a family of junkies. I was obviously an accident, and as such was considered one. My father spent all available money on drugs and alcohol. This included any of my money. I remember with clarity my fifth birthday. Tearing excitedly into an envelope from my grandmother and exclaiming with joy as I lifted out the crisp twenty-dollar bill. My father looked up from his bottle and promptly snatched the bill from my hands. I started to protest, only to receive a swift backhand and a harsh "Shut up you little twerp." I looked with tear-filled eyes to my mother, hoping maybe she would stand up for me. Her dark, sunken eyes gazed into mine for a second or two, and then she left. I never saw her again.
That whole "All mothers have love for their children" bull crap? I never felt it.
As I grew up, I realized school wasn't easy. The subjects were fine, but my peers were another story. My father continued to spend all his welfare money on substances, so sometimes I couldn't have a shower. Food was also hard to come by, so my ribs were always visible behind my pale skin. I was different, and so I was never accepted. I was given names, such as "That Dark Kid" or "Smelly". Beatings were a regular occurrence. I got them at school from the other kids that felt inadequate, and when I got home I got them from my similarly inadequate father.
It was probably high school when the Depression set in. I was constantly told things like "You'll never amount to anything" and "You'll be just like your father." After so long I began to believe them. I had no dreams, no ambitions, and the only thing I looked forward to was a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, and maybe a few pills waiting for me at the end of the day. These only made the Depression worse. All the self-loathing grew and grew, until it seemed like it would overwhelm me.
After high school, I stayed with my father for a while. I eventually grew tired of his abuse, and so I left. I sought refuge in homeless centers, but I could never stay long as the other residents didn't like me. I certainly didn't have a charming personality, and sometimes a simple disagreement over where to sleep could turn into a full-out brawl. So I spent most of my time sleeping on park benches. It would get so cold sometimes. I would lay there, shivering, thinking, "Tonight is the night. I'll die right here on the bench." But I never did. Part of me always wished I had.
It went on like this for about twenty years. I would occasionally find jobs, but I would always be fired quickly due to my smell and "rage-prone behavior." Money was scarce, and so was food. Any money I got would usually go to drugs and alcohol to feed my addiction. On top of all of this, the Voices in my mind would never stop. Sometimes they would sound like people in my life, like my father, or sometimes they were completely new. Whatever they were, they always tore me down, worsening my self hate.
I just wanted to die, but I knew I could never to it myself.
And then that day came.
It was a Sunday morning. I was laying on a bench after yet another sleepless night. The voices were screaming, all at once, and they wouldn't stop. I closed my eyes, and for the first time in my life, I prayed. "God," I said, "Have mercy on me." I began to cry, just laying there, letting the last bit of hope slip through my fingers. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"I hear you," it said.
I looked up and saw a man in brilliant white clothing. His face shone like a thousand shards of glass. The sun seemed to shine directly from behind him, and his hands glowed like bronze. "Your time is up," the man said. His voice was low and pleasant, like one I'd never heard before. It carried with it a sense of compassion, which in all my years I had never experienced.
My tears continued to fall. "Man," I sobbed, "I don't know what you're talking about, but anything is better than this. My life, it's like a living hell."
At this the man gave a small grin. "It's funny you should say that. That's exactly where you've been."
Edit: grammatical errors
---
If you liked this, check out some of my other writings at /r/Alias_Fakename | Lukas gulped in air, shaking from his experiences on Earth. The images were vividly branded in his mind.
Seventy years of struggling, of fighting for the life he'd dreamt of as a boy. He'd achieved some of it, but lost most of those dreams along the way. And that *end*: choking for air as the sickness raced through his body, a withered husk of a man.
God, the exhaustion. But the worst might still await him, he knew. This place was real, wasn't it? That meant Hell and Heaven could exist. And as he'd lost his dreams and tried to scramble back up, he'd done some things. He'd done some terrible things.
"It's over? So what will it be - Heaven or Hell?" he asked the blinding white angel that towered over him in the floating space between planes. Limbo, they'd told him.
It beat its wing and stepped closer. Its voice enveloped Lukas and thrummed through his being.
"You have already been in Hell, human," the angel said, wrapping one wing around his body. Lukas felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and safety. "Your punishment is done. Step forth, and rest."
It was pointing at a type of...tunnel. Lukas felt his heart beating rapidly as he looked at it. He had a thousand questions for the angels. Debates about the fairness of it, fury he wanted to unleash. But it didn't matter, really, did it? The tunnel was there. Heaven awaited, finally. Rest. Sweet release.
Another angel appeared in limbo and watched the human fading from view.
"It always feels so cruel, to deceive them like that," it said into the emptiness.
"It wouldn't be Hell without deception," its companion shrugged, and gestured at itself. "Besides. In some forgotten corner of its new mind, it will remember this conversation. Perhaps it will be wiser in its new life. And one day, truly free itself."
The angels smiled at one another, remembering their own human lives. Cycles upon cycles of hell. They had been some of the few to break free. To remember enough of each passing to gain wisdom, and find their freedom.
"Perhaps," the other agreed. They fell silent and waited for the next soul to arrive from Hell.
---------
Lukas' eyes snapped open, and he dragged in a breath to scream. He was covered in blood and slime. Someone - a woman? - was panting hoarsely nearby.
He was picked up, and the light blinded him. He freed his tongue and screamed.
He screamed as he managed to hold onto a single memory of the white platform and the angels, and realised where he was.
He was back.
------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-12-13T12:34:08 | 2016-12-13T12:02:36 | 295 | 93 |
[WP] You are a superhero sidekick that everyone thinks can predict the future. You actually can't predict the future. You're just the only person who can hear the background music. | Heh, it's funny isn't it; when you cannot get a song out of your head... I think they call it an earworm. Most people would call it annoying, but it has saved my life on more than one occasion.
First time I ever heard it was in elementary school, just this orchestra as some kid, I think he was called Johnny Dishwell he started walking towards me and the orchestra got louder, the piano became higher pitched and the trumpets got deeper and longer with each and every step, engrossed in the music I just stared at him and before I knew it he was infront of me, fist raised. The music climaxed and before I knew it everything went black, and the music stopped... this was 16 years ago, and that kid is now my mentor and I'm his sidekick.
The thing is, people seem to think I know the future because I always know when something significant is going to happen, but in actuality I'm just the only one who knows I'm in a superhero movie and can see past the curtains. The general public call me Ditty, ain't that some irony.
Part of my feels like I'm lying, but if I ever said anything about the fact that all I can hear are songs I think a lot of people would just lose faith, and at the end of the day, it is the faith that causes fear, not the threat.
I started "abusing my power" in examinations in school as I would just slowly write words and when I hear light piano I knew I was incorrect and would cross it out and write differently until I could hear a claranet. When I handed in my paper I would either hear the Zelda's triumphant music, and when I was wrong I would hear the doom soundtrack.
Knowing when something is going to go wrong doesn't make life easier, it just makes it harder to live normally as you are always trying to get the perfect outcome out of everything. To think, nothing I have or ever will do will matter, I'm just waiting for the next mistake. I need a change, but as long as the script is still being wrote, it will never end.. | [Poem] when the music is just right,
You know they’re about to fight,
When you hear a twirling sound,
Watch out a clue has been found,
When someone gets slapped,
And you hear the word smack,
When you hear epic music playing,
You know a boss is gonna need slaying. | 2020-08-26T16:24:58 | 2020-08-26T15:29:05 | 402 | 16 |
[WP] Write a story with a very nice protagonist, and a narrator who absolutely loathes them for no reason whatsoever. | Frank woke up, alone of course, at 9:00 AM, a time too late to be respectable and too early to be considered a proper sleep. He slothfully thought that since it was a Saturday, his one day off a week, he could afford to sleep in a bit. He rolled out of bed and moved to the bathroom to take his morning shower, in which he spent far too long wasting God knows how many gallons of water that could have been used for literally any other purpose in our quickly becoming climate-change ruined world. After his lengthy shower he brushed his teeth, apparently blissfully unaware at how his preferred toothpaste brand supplied itself using various chemicals siphoned out from the third world. He quickly dressed in the rags he called clothes and decided to skip breakfast in a disgustingly vainglorious attempt to watch his waistline.
Frank took his bike into town this day, deciding ultimately that the utter annoyance the infernal device caused motorists was less important than his own ridiculous desire to reduce his carbon footprint. He reached town in roughly half an hour, which would have been less if he wasn't a total slacker. His first stop was at the local market to pick up a few groceries for his depressingly empty home. After shopping for a deal like the skinflint he is Frank walked to the register. At it was Old Man Moorch, a crag faced man who had lived in town longer than anyone.
"Frankie," the kindly senior said, "why don't I ever see you on any dates? You know you've got suitors galore out here."
"Oh, that is very sweet of them," he replied stupidly, "but the only person for me was the one I had to bury after her short struggle with cancer."
"Of course" said the old man, suddenly embarrassed, "I just thought it'd be nice to see you out with someone."
Frank guffawed like the horse he is.
"That's okay sir, I know you meant no disrespect. Here, for you and the missus. Keep the change." He said as he handed the man a disrespectfully crumpled $100 bill.
The man's eyes lit up and he quickly pocketed the money, thanking Frank happily. With his first utterly innane errand completed he went to his next location, only stopping once to help an old woman cross the street like a total dick head. At last, finally, he reached his destination: the town's soup kitchen. He volunteered here on his days off and the organizers, too polite to turn away his absolutely terrible workmanship, accepted his poorly done aid. There he spent many hours, consistently spilling food that could have been eaten while handing it out to the downtrodden who visited. After his shift was finished his supervisor thanked him, more out of pity than respect, and Frank went home.
There he spent the rest of his day relaxing like the lazy bastard he is. He made a light dinner for himself, again attempting to lose weight like the fat-shaming societal outcast he is, and went to bed early like some sort of scorned teenager sent to their room. There he quickly fell asleep and dreamed of his long gone, beloved wife. Like a prick. | He walked in the main door with his big stupid smile. I really cant stand him, you’d think I could escape him when at home but no this annoying idiot whom i loath is my god dammed neighbour.
He walks up and greets our money grubbing boss. I don’t get why he sucks up to him. He’s an old navy dog who is more interested in a penny than him.
Dammit he’s coming over here. His grating voice feels like sand paper in my ears. I give him a basic response. I honestly don’t know where his endless positivity comes from.
THIS. IS. A. CRAPPY. FASTFOOD. RESTAURANT!!! Yet this dumbass treats it like working in the Vatican. He is a fry cook dammit. We barely earn minimum wage.
Finally he’s gone into the kitchen and i can have a small break from everything about him.
After a while a customer puts in an order and i pass it through. God i really don’t like him, his toothy grin is probably haunting a dentist somewhere. I laugh to myself at this image.
I was so lost in my revelry I didn’t notice the order was ready and he came out to personally deliver it.
Before returning to the kitchen he approached me.
‘Hey Squidward whats so funny’
With a resigned sigh, having lost the mirth
‘Nothing Spongebob’ | 2021-07-29T00:36:11 | 2021-07-28T20:48:06 | 1,221 | 238 |
[WP] Upon dying, you find yourself sitting at a table with God and Satan, each trying to convince you to choose Heaven and Hell respectively. When you are content with your conversation, you choose your fate, however, you do not know which person is which. What do you talk about? What do you decide? | "Let's talk about Hitler."
They were impressive, there was no arguing with that. Their nearly identical features were perfectly androgynous, neither male nor female. Large, bright eyes rested under thick, heavy foreheads. High, defined cheekbones set off strong, structured jaws. Long, slim noses flowed into full, soft lips. The only tangible difference between the two was their chocolate-brown, chin-length hair: the figure on the left had beautiful, luminous curls, while the figure on the right had shiny, straight silk. I spent the first few minutes scrutinizing their features, becoming increasingly frustrated by the lack of information they contained. They seemed intentionally designed to resonate with everyone. *How poetic,* I thought, grimly.
"Let's talk about Hitler," I said, raising an eyebrow, inviting them to challenge me. I'll admit, my initial reason for asking was pettiness. I was still strangely bothered by their appearances. I was uncomfortable and I wanted them to feel the same. So, in childish spite, I decided to ask about what *had* to be one of their least favorite subjects. But once the question left my mouth, I realized how good of a strategy it really was. After all, if their game was to make me guess who was who, what better way to do it than by figuring out who Hitler was living with.
The Right glanced quickly at the Left before returning my gaze with a slight smile of encouragement.
The Left let out a heavy sigh before calmly stating "Very well. We can talk about Hitler."
"There isn't much to talk about, really. I just have two questions. Where does he live and how does he like it?"
The Right watched steadily as the Left let out another long sigh.
"Hitler lives with me. You may speak to him, if you choose."
I turned around and there he was, much smaller than I'd imagined: eyes glued to the ground, forehead pinched in pain, though whether mental or physical I wasn't sure. I started to question him, but he'd already begun.
"After my death, came my Judgment Day. I had been so sure, in my life, that I was doing the right things, that I was justified, that God would understand and applaud my actions. I was in denial at first. But the longer the trial wore on, the more I realized how mistaken I had been. The more I realized how monstrous my actions were. The more I realized how *angry* God was with me. The more I realized how *wrong* I had been. I begged. I pleaded. I apologized. I lamented. But it was too late. I had done what I had done and there was no way to take it back. We all have to live with the choices we've made." He paused, drawing a shaky breath, before continuing, "I apologize for what I did every single day, but that doesn't keep me from agony. But in the end, my true punishment has been my shame. I am so ashamed of who and what I was. The worst punishments that Hell has to offer are still too good for me. I am miserable and I deserve to be so."
The Right looked at Hitler with pity before looking back to me. The Left's gaze stayed sternly on the cowering Austrian.
"I guess I'm ready to make my decision," I said meekly.
The Left and the Right gazed at me steadily. My eyes searched their identical faces for any clues that I was doing the right thing. Not surprisingly, their faces once again lacked any useful information.
I took a breath to steady myself, and said a quick, "God let me be right," before realizing how useless that particular prayer would be in the present circumstances. With the fear of making the wrong choice threatening to leap from the confines of my chest, I quickly blurted
"I choose the Left."
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to fight the panic that was overwhelming me. *You're so stupid! Why would you choose the Left?* ***HITLER*** *lives with the Left. The Left is so obviously Satan, it's ridiculous. Oh, God. You've just damned yourself. Maybe you can take it back? Can you change your mind?*
"No, I take it back. Wait."
"You've made your choice. We all have to live with the choices we've made," the Right said, darkly.
My eyes flew open, the panic cresting into desperation at last.
The Left was there, comforting Hitler and looking at me with warm, loving eyes. The Right glared angrily at the three of us.
"You chose wisely, My Child," the Left murmured gently. "Where there is genuine, heartfelt repentance, I will always Forgive. The true punishment for your actions will be finding a way to forgive yourself."
So, I walked with God and Hitler through the Gates of Heaven. | "You made your choice then," said Gabriel the angelic advocate.
"Uh, yes, I think," said Tom as he stared at the flawless blue sky, cloudless, and still. He laughed, "I remember skies like this when I was a child, when my parents drove us to our grandpa's farm."
Gabriel smiled, "I know Tom, I know. I sorta had a hand in that You were a good child. Always kind and protective of your sister." He looked at the sky as well and said, "So, how was the debate? Did you find one side more convincing than the other?"
"They were both so convincing. The old man and the old woman. I understand what they represented but not sure who or what they were. I..."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
"I.. think... I'm going to choose the old woman. I liked her proposal better."
Gabriel sighed and started walking away.
"Hey Gabe, wait! Where are you going?"
Gabriel turned around, his eyes glowing fiery red, "Christ Tom, do you not get it? The lessons here? What you were supposed to do?"
Tom stepped back and bit his lip. He looked down, "I didn't do anything wrong. I just chose."
Gabriel sighed again, "You weren't supposed to Tom. You're not supposed to fall for the old timey good vs evil canard. Its a false dichotomy. After the life you lived, you didn't realize this? You think life is a simple good vs evil game? That everything is so damn clear-cut?"
Gabriel looked at Tom again and said, "When your sister became an addict and a criminal, was she evil? When she cleaned up was she good? When she died in her sleep and left you with her two kids, was that evil or good? Do you really think her life was so simple? That her suffering should be classified and judged so easily?"
Tom stammered, "But but... that's why my faith dictates! I.. know I had doubts but I thought that made me weak. A sinner."
Gabriel stepped up and embraced Tom. "I'm sorry I'm so tough on you. I was hoping you'd get it this time around. You're a good man. You'll get it eventually."
"What," exclaimed Tom as Gabriel pulled out a small walkie talkie.
He pressed the red 'talk' button and it made a satisfying click. Tom watched in wonderment as it lit up with a supernatural golden light. Gabriel opened his mouth to speak into it, paused, and whispered to Tom, "I do this out of love," and turned back to the talkie and said, "Restart the VR world, he failed again."
Tom opened his mouth to protest but a moment later he all he could hear was loud infant screaming as his eyes tried to adjust to overly bright lights that nearly blinded him.
"Its a boy," someone said happily. "A boy! Congratulations!" | 2014-05-07T21:08:50 | 2014-05-07T20:59:31 | 55 | 32 |
[WP] A time traveler goes from 2018 to 1980. Instead of using his knowledge for great gain or influence history, he writes a sitcom that scarily accurately predicts future events. | A flash of blinding white light filled the alley way as I sat against a damp stone wall upon a length of old and moldy cardboard. Letting slip the bottle of whiskey from my hand as it clanked against the pavement without cracking or breaking, lucky us old drunkards these bottles are designed for poor handling.
Regaining my bearings I glanced down the alley towards the source of the light to discover a nude man of average height, perhaps slightly overweight, and with questionable choice in hairstyle. Flexing his muscles beneath a healthy layer of fat the heavy-built man admired his form as if seeing it for the first time. Noticing my existence as he gazed upon the hairs of his left arm with mild fascination.
"What year is it?" He asked calmly.
Not eager to anger the naked man that came from the light I answered swiftly. "It's 1980, sir." I yelped, tacking on a formal *sir* for good measure.
"Excellent." Responded the man. Without hesitation he began lumbering towards me. His first few steps seemed alien to him, and only after a few moments of stumbling did he manage a proper stride. Approaching with callus eyes of nobility, or perhaps, even a demigod he looked down upon me with only his eyes and never once lowered his chin to indicate his head towards my existence.
"What's your name?" He asked coldly upon reaching my position. By this point I was curled up as far against the wall as I could possible go.
"Matt." I answered fearfully. His gaze suddenly intensified with loathing as he let out an exhausted breathe. "Groening!" I hastily added, realizing I'd only partially answered his question.
He took a moment to consider this, looking up towards the sky and repeating the words aloud. "Matt Groening." He uttered with mild amusement. "I suppose it will do."
"Do for what?" I asked after a moment of tense silence.
"Congratulations Matt Groening, I'm about to turn your miserable life around." He declared with ominous joy. "There's only thing I ask in return."
I couldn't bring myself to ask what the price for his benevolence would be. An aura of dread and death was pulsing from the core of his very being as a cruel intention leaked from his wicked mind.
"All I need is your life." Sneered the man, his hand shooting towards me with mechanical speed as his fingers gripped my skull. Without warning I was lifted into the air against the red brick wall of the building, unable to scream, or move, or fight back as a strange force robbed my body of motion. A burning from the hands of this man entering into my mind as memories of my childhood, family, and life were seemingly drained from the aether of my and sucked into his all-consuming grip.
As the last light of my life danced before my eyes I'd forgotten everything I'd ever know. All that had made me who I was now stolen by the entity that appeared from light. The only memory I'd been allowed to keep as my eyes closed for one final rest and my soul separated from my being was that of a smiling face glaring into my eyes with curious disregard. | It was all going to pay off now.
The deceit, the sacrifices, the opportunities to prevent great hardship ignored in order to preserve the timeline. Everything that had come before had been preordained, inevitable - time itself would prevent major changes. The experiments he had performed demonstrated that with ruthless finality.
But now, he was no longer in the past, he was in the present. He had surreptitiously monitored the experiment that had throw his younger self back in time, and with that final predestined event having taken place, the future - in all it's unpredictable glory - was open to him.
While he hadn't been able to change the past he had been able to exploit it, and his secret fortune had grown - as had his reputation as a prognosticator. He had carefully recorded the evidence of the "ideas" thrown around in writing workshops, and the "strange coincidences" that reality would later deliver
But when people expect you to know the future, they can act in predictable ways. Ways that will allow someone who has had decades to wait for this moment to account for, and exploit.
And with time itself no longer acting as an enemy, those opportunities could be used to fashion outcomes long dreamt of.
He opened his computer and sent the email he had drafted weeks ago. Time to set things in motion | 2018-07-09T14:42:42 | 2018-07-09T14:09:12 | 63 | 44 |
[WP] You are the king, after your daughter was kidnapped by a dragon you offered the standard reward to whoever rescued her. You weren't expecting a different dragon to rescue her.
Wow! I didn't think this would blow up like it did! Thank you all so much for all your stories. I haven't commented on all of them but they are all fantastic! | King Herupo was only allowed into the great hall when the captain of his Guard, Sir Jerrold, gave the all-clear. His eyes were clouding over, and he had to squint to keep out the relentless sunlight beaming down from the gaping hole in the ceiling. He counted three, four dozen of his best lancemen, gathered in a circle, their weapons levelled inwards at the latest intruder. In the far reaches of the hall, King Herupo thought he could see his archers, their arrows nocked, eyes trained on the slithering mountain of scales in the centre of the circle.
The dragon was, surprisingly, not as large as he had imagined.
“Sire, please, keep your distance. There’s no telling what-”
“I know what I’m doing, you fool!” King Herupo said, as he pushed Sir Jerrold aside. “And I haven’t forgotten that we wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for *your* incompetence!”
King Herupo approached the dragon, and the lancemen parted like droplets running down marble. There should have been trepidation in his step, for dragons never had a reputation for being predictable, but King Herupo was livid, and anger blinds like no other.
“I am *this* close to skinning you alive, you wyrm!” said the King, as he shook his fist at the dragon. “Where is she! Where is my daughter?”
The dragon sniffed, then swivelled its eyes towards him. They were large orbs of the darkest black, like pearls from a cursed clam. “*King*. My name is Neira, and I would like to remind you that I am here on my own accord, and I am *trying* to help you. I heard your summons, and I responded. Don’t make the mistake of turning your back on those friendly to you, King.”
King Herupo’s face was still beet-red, and he was still very much a prisoner of his own temper. He would have cursed again if Sir Jerrold had not laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. That calmed the King down somewhat, and after a few deep breaths, he said, “My advisors claim that you can help me get my daughter back.”
“And that is why I have been trying to explain to your… men, King, but they would not listen. They think me the same as the scoundrel who stole your daughter away. I am *most* assuredly not, King.”
King Herupo waved his hand irritably, and the hall rang out with the clang of a hundred lances being set at ease. There were sighs abounding too, as the archers let out the breaths they had been holding.
Neira didn’t waste any time. The dragon unfurled its wings, then shot up into the air with a mighty thrust. It hovered at where the roof had been damaged the most, then pointed with the tip of a talon.
“See the rent at this entry point, King? Where the gashes are a few feet apart? Where an unstoppable force had been applied, smashing through so many layers of reinforcements?”
“Yes, I see those.”
Neira swirled in the air, then gracefully streaked towards the far side of the hall. The men below it dived out of the way, and just barely in time.
“And see the dark smoulderings on your pillars here? Where the fires still burn as embers, hours after your mages have tried to put out the hazards?”
“Yes, yes, I see those too.”
Finally, Neira swooped towards the throne, and King Herupo held on tightly to his crown lest the wind knock it from his head.
“And here too, King. Look at how easily the dragon shattered your throne. It is made of elderstone, is it not? And the princess, she thought she could hide behind it, and stay out of reach of the dragon, correct? There, on the floor, you can still see the strands of hair she left behind, just before she was hoisted away by the brute. Do you see that-”
“Stop, stop! Yes, I get it! What does any of this have to do with anything?”
Neira stalked back to the centre of the hall, where it folded its wings back. “You had to see for yourself, King. The one who invaded your kingdom, broke all the terms of the accord… there can only be one as brutal as that, as reckless as that. Every piece of evidence here points to it. That is the dragon we call Myrmira, which in dragontongue, means-”
“I don’t care what it means, you stupid wyrm!” said the King, so violently that Sir Jerrold stumbled backwards. “You wyrms are all the same to me! Craven, disgusting things!”
“Sire,” said Sir Jerrold. “Please, this one is trying to help us-”
“You, you!” said King Herupo, stabbing a finger into Sir Jerrold’s chest. “I give you one task, and one task only, and you couldn’t even fulfil it! Worse than my hunting dogs, that’s what you are. The princess, gone! Right from under your damned nose! That dragon, whatever it’s called, it should have fried you on the spot! Useless, useless!”
Neira exhaled, and the breath at the end of its snout sparked with the life of fire. In the enclosed space of the hall, a hundred necks broke out in sweat.
“Time is a wasting, King. Do I have your leave to hunt down this… dragon?”
“Yes, go, go! Don’t come back until you have her safely with you!”
“… King, are you not forgetting something?”
Neira reached forward, and King Herupo recognised the royal seals on the poster stuck on the end of the dragon’s talon.
“There’s the matter of the reward, King,” said Neira. “Half of all the gold in your coffers. Do we have a deal?”
“Better to give you the gold, than to give another bloody copper in wages to my knights. Useless, the whole lot of them!”
King Herupo nodded, Sir Jerrold’s shoulders slumped, and Neira took off, shooting through the hole in the ceiling, a firecracker in broad daylight.
---
Sir Jerrold climbed down from his horse, then tethered it to the nearest tree. There wasn’t another soul for miles, and he could finally relax. He broke out his rations, then found a nice stump to sit on. He was early – the sun had not even set yet.
He was just done with his meal when Neira swooped down and landed next to him, as soundlessly as a thieving thought.
“I didn’t know you could be so stealthy,” said Sir Jerrold.
“Only when I choose to,” said Neira.
“Ah, I see,” said Sir Jerrold. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time another plan comes to mind then. Well, did you bring it?”
Neira opened its maw, then coughed violently, heaving up its hidden cargo. The bags of gold splattered onto the ground, making loud thumps as they rolled in the dead leaves.
“Your share, all accounted for,” said Neira. “Sorry about the goo. It shouldn’t be corrosive.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” said Sir Jerrold. “The princess – does she suspect anything?”
Neira shrugged as best as a dragon could. “She’s the same as her father. They can’t recognize us to save their lives. That’s what royalty does, you know – there’s only them, and then there’s everyone else. I used a different voice, I treated her differently, and that’s all she will know.”
“Good. I’ll keep an eye on her, and I’ll help her remember the parts which matter.”
“You’re still captain of the guards? Even after all that?”
Sir Jerrold laughed. “I’m holding his kingdom together for him, the old fool. The princess is a hundred times worse, trust me. If you had eaten her, you would have been sick, I promise.”
Neira watched as Sir Jerrold tied the bags to the horse, one by one. When he was done, he turned back to Neira, then raised his clenched fist. Neira leaned in, then tapped it with the end of its talon. Sir Jerrold smiled in the darkness, baring his teeth.
“It’s been a pleasure,” he said, as he saddled up.
Sir Jerrold sped away, and Neira couldn’t help the grin spreading across its face. Neira watched as Sir Jerrold’s figure grew smaller, until he crested a nearby hill and faded from sight.
“And you humans say we are the dangerous ones,” said Neira.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| The King looked pale and unkempt when he stepped onto the balcony, mouth trembling as he read his latest edict to the people filling the town square below. His normally trim beard had gone shaggy, his brow was lined and eyes bloodshot.
Royal messengers read out the words along with him on raised platforms across the square and throughout the land, to ensure all heard his promise.
"I, King Darius the VII, hereby raise the reward from five thousand Rin to ten thousand. Any man, woman or child who brings me word of my daughter's location, or that of the dragon that ripped her from our home, will be awarded equally, without question or delay in payment...."
The gathered people clucked and muttered in sympathy, the same story spreading in hushed, frightened whispers as they looked warily upon the king. Such ill luck was unnatural, the meek thought to themselves. The bold said it outright, though not where the royal guards could hear them.
"The second child to be taken this year - bad luck it is, won't be any royals left before long..."
The King ignored the mutters, turning his back on his people once the speech was done. He knew what they must be thinking, but he did not care. He would trade his very crown to have Katerina back at his side, his own life if Arwen was returned, too. They were all he had left. How fortunate that Marina was long dead and buried, unable to witness the death of their family.
In the deepest corner of his heart, he knew how futile it was to hope. The dragons fed on the royal line, and had done so for eons past. But in times past it had been one every handful of decades, not this frenzy of feeding...history told him it had last been this bloody in the time of King Salacor, too many years ago to count...
He opened his chambers absentmindedly, and it took him a few seconds to see the dragon. Its glittering hide was the same deep shade of purple-black as the curtains.
It was a very young one, to be so small, scarcely bigger than a house cat. But even young dragons breathed death. Darius strangled a cry of fear as it left its perch on the window, and came to land gracefully in from of him, spiked tail lashing around its claws.
*I shall go to your daughter.*
Curse and blessing, he understood. Their bloodline had always been able to hear the creatures' thoughts, insult upon injury. He curled his hands into fists and forgot himself, reaching for his sword.
*None of that,* the creatures growled, opening its mouth to reveal wickedly sharp fangs, fey green eyes spinning lazily.
Darius felt an odd pang at the sight - his young son's eyes had been almost the same shade, the painters had despaired at capturing the colour for his first portrait.
"*You* will return my child? A dragon?" he spat. He thought about calling for the guards, but something in the beast's eyes gave him pause.
"I will find her. I promise you this," it said, dipping its head in an approximation of a bow.
"Where did you come from?" Darius whispered, desperate for the truth.
It was a question they had no answers to, no matter how many adventurers braved their lives to find the secret - where were the dragons born, what caused the blight upon their lands?
The dragon, typically, didn't deign to answer. Without another word, it whipped around and spread its small wings, taking flight again.
"Wait! Please, I beg you!" Darius screamed, but it winked from view so quickly, he thought he had dreamt the encounter.
-----------
He had always known where the girl would be.
She was weeping quietly in the corner of Salacen's cave. The old dragon watched her with keen interest, trying to coax her into conversation.
*How old are you, child? How long have you been able to hear my thoughts? Your mind woke early, I can telll...you are strong...*
She didn't answer, clinging onto her defiance, but hiding her face from those spinning blue eyes that demanded the truth.
Salacen snuffed deeply, and leaned forward to better catch her scent, when another entered his cave. He hissed at the young dragon.
"Be gone, Arawan. I wish to do it."
"She is mine, not yours." The little dragon stood his ground even as his elder towered over him, dwarfing him.
"I wish to explain to her. I wish to explain to *him*," Arawan said. Salecan snorted smoke, his tail lashing dangerously. Katerina whimpered in the corner, trying to make herself smaller.
"That is not how we do it," the elder snarled, stamping to prove his point. Arawan took his chance, ducking nimbly to the girl's side and sinking his teeth into her shoulder, injecting her with a strong dose of dragon venom.
She screamed even as she heard his thoughts, clearer than ever in her mind. She blinked groggily and saw the sympathy in those green eyes, eyes that reminded her of another...
*You will understand soon, I promise.*
"You had no right!" Salacen screeched as the girl slumped to the ground. He was quite prepared to rip the little whelp apart for the theft.
"I had every right. She is my kin," Arawen said, and ducked the enraged drake's jaws. He turned and fled, certain that Katerina would be safe.
She was his kin too, after all.
----------
He had finally gone mad, the King knew. He had awoken at a cold breeze blowing from the open window. Before him stood not one, but two small dragons.
*I found her. She is safe,* the purple one said, eyes spinning in satisfaction.
The golden one hid behind the other's legs, and seemed to look at him shyly.
"Where is she? Where is my daughter?" he said hoarsely, rubbing at his eyes. Hallucinations, that might be all that they were. Cruel sights to tear the last of his mind apart.
*We will come for you soon.*
"Stop taunting me with your threats," he said, when the golden one darted forward and pressed its snout against his cheek. He gasped at the scent that enveloped him, the sight of her glittering green eyes.
*You will understand soon. We promise. But choose your successor, King Darius. Your kingdom will need it,* he heard the female voice say.
The dragons took wing while he stood motionless, trying to decipher the words.
It had sounded like a threat, but the smell lingered in the room. Flowers of the mountain, the scent of his daughter. King Darius smiled to himself even as guards cried out below his room at the sight of the dragons in the sky.
He smiled, though he did not know why, and looked at the sky with sudden yearning.
It was a splendid night for flying.
-------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2018-02-23T10:03:38 | 2018-02-23T09:26:46 | 243 | 133 |
[WP] When you arrived in the future, the locals put you in a "historical village" in an attempt to reduce culture shock. Unfortunately, their ideas about your past life are hilariously inaccurate. | "Look, I don't get what's so difficult about this," I said, trying to remain patient even as I felt my blood pressure start to build.
The human - or 'nu-man', I guess - in front of me just blinked as I talked. It wasn't a normal blink, though. More of an affectation. Think like people wearing trilby hats or monocles or Lebron James jerseys back in the 2010s. Nobody *actually* liked dressing like that. It was just a way to be weird. And that was what blinking was for this creep-ass faux-human dude in front of me.
"It MaKeS No SeNsE," he croaked, the sound something akin to what I imagined a malfunctioning walkie-talkie would sound like if it was soaked in battery acid.
"It does! You just don't want it to."
"BuT wHy? It IS A NaTuRaL boDy FUNctioN."
"First off, don't put the emphasis on 'fun' there. You're just making it that much worse. Secondly, I don't know how I can explain it any clearer. When I was living in the past, *people didn't do that in public*."
"SuCh A StRaNGe cUsToM."
"It's just common decency."
"BuT We DO it AlL in PuBLic NoW."
"That doesn't mean I want to be an exhibit for you. Besides, I can't...do it with a crowd."
"MoDesTY is So ForEiGN tO uS."
"Yes. I know. That's why you're hanging brain right now. It's taking everything I have to not look down."
"YOu CaN LooK if YoU So ChooSE."
"Not in a million years. Look, my point is that I'm not doing it."
"YEt thE OtHerS HaVE pAiD to SEE YoU. WouLD yOu DenY ThEM?"
"Do I get any of that, I guess, money?"
"No."
"Then go piss up a rope."
"IS tHaT a NoRMaL cuStOm oF Your TIme?"
"It's...no, it's an idiom."
"I Am NO IdIoM, SiR!"
"It's..."
I cut myself short. That little vein right at my temple was throbbing now. I was in the fast lane to Migraine City, so I needed to wrap this up.
"How about this? I'll let them watch me chug the beer, then you can turn the lights off and I'll do it so they can hear the noise but they can't see me. Sound fair?"
"It IS AccEpTabLE."
"Fine. Go tell them I'll be out in a second."
"ExCEllENt. ThANk YOu."
The nu-man left and I sighed. I didn't know why they wanted to watch me belch so badly, but I'd be damned if I was going to play along and not give them a hard time. With a sigh, I walked out the door and sat down at the table. Ah well. At least they brought decent beer. | Poem
Flying cars, ray guns, and massive wealth.
And my desire to go there was the promise of good health.
My mom's cancer was back for sure,
In the future I know we've got a cure.
So I made a machine to travel through time,
It worked on the first try and I arrived in the future to a friendly chime.
Apparently people make it so frequently that there is a standard protocol,
Everyone also ends up in San Francisco, weird feature of the wormhole.
Anyway I'm here,
But no one will talk to me out of fear.
They don't want to let us actually into the future, and we can never go back.
They don't care about my mom's cancer or the treatment she lacks.
Instead I now live in San Francisco in the New Jersey district.
I'm surrounded by gyms and clubs, it's Jersey shore realistic.
I'm thinking about moving to the New York area,
The apartments are huge and inexpensive,
Who ever built the area watched Friends for days, it's comprehensive.
But more then that it's filled with labs and tools, straight out of Ghostbusters Spiderman.
I know I'll find the gear to make my way home if i can.
Mom never had to start smoking all those years ago,
I can save her that way, take out the real foe. | 2019-04-23T13:34:28 | 2019-04-23T10:35:49 | 39 | 19 |
[WP] You are a Logistics Officer during an invasion. Tell the course of the war solely from equipment requisitions. | It started simple enough. Automatic supply systems kicked in at first. A thousand or so PD-9's, atomic cores, bayfield sensors and kinetic armor plates were all the specials that came through the office. It was so routine at first I thought I was resupplying training stocks. Then they briefed me.
0900, 36.04 -116.42, just west of the Nevada cost an unknown object approximately 400 meters in diameter crashed into the Death Valley Gulf. Early news reports stated it was likely an asteroid that had made it past the deep field radar system that's meant to detect asteroids on potential collision courses with Earth. That misinformation was quickly corrected when CETI announced detection of an abnormal powerful hyper light signal... being transmitted from Earth.
It's unknown where first contact was made or if the aliens were hostile when first approached. What I do know is in two days I shipped out 12,000 BCDs. Body bags.
The next three weeks was a flurry of requests. Top brass told me to green tag anything and everything front command wanted. So I did. Three-thousand atomic rocket grenades to Vegas. Four-hundred experimental sonic flack drivers to Phoenix. Eighteen-hundred flame-throwers. We dug ten-thousand 300 year old hand grenades out of a cemented in base in West Virginia and sent them to El Paso.
Each week the requests became more and more extravagant. Things, I wasn't even sure we still had, or ever had. Ten-tousand liters of MDS0-4 and three-thousand water-rifles. Fifty tons of C4 and eighteen-tousand German Shepherds. Twenty-eight crossbows. Four-hundred tons of cockroaches.
Every request was a little more batshit insane than the last. A little more desperate. Every one shipped just a little closer to us and that scared me the most.
I'm not sure what to make of this most recent request. Is it another desperate idea? A celebration? Or are they just making sure to enjoy humanities last days?
REQ; 40,000 (FORTY-THOUSAND) LITERS LIQUOR (ANY)
I add a five to the order and keep them for myself. | Guns.
Guns, Tanks.
Guns, Tanks, Planes.
Draft Papers. Uniforms. Guns, Tanks, Planes.
Guns, Tanks.
Guns.
Body bags.
Swiss Currency.
Fuel for Air Force One.
(Apologies for plotting the invasion of someone else's country, but I can't think of anything that says "ruler's transport" like Air Force One. )
(edit: Me format good) | 2016-04-10T07:39:43 | 2016-04-10T04:43:48 | 209 | 53 |
[WP]: Leaving people gifts is a socially acceptable way to begin flirting. Many start with a single rose, the extravagant and dramatic with a diamond or an heirloom. You have just been presented with a pinecone. | “It’s a pinecone.” I said matter-of-factly.
“Not just any pinecone. That’s a genuine lodgepole pinecone,” Jenny beamed, her bright green eyes glowing with excitement.
“Look, I really appreciate this, but I just can’t - I’m sorry.”
I’d known Jenny for two years now, but we were nothing more than coworkers who happened to drink our morning coffee in the same shop down on 4th street. I’d talked to her a few times, and she seemed nice, but this was wrong. Dating now, after what happen to Catherine, it just didn’t seem right.
“Can I tell you a story?” she asked, sitting across from me in the booth. “It’s not long.”
I honestly didn’t want to hear it. I had my coffee, my newspaper, and my sesame seed bagel. I had everything a man could want for a Thursday morning breakfast, apart from some solace. Nevertheless, something about Jenny’s voice intrigued me. She brushed back her hair and stared at me expectantly.
“What? Yes - sorry. Of course, Jenny, go right ahead.”
“Great!” She grinned ear-to-ear, and I’ll be darned if it wasn’t the cutest thing I’ve seen all week.
“There was a little hilltop not too far from here, and the hilltop was covered in grass. It always starts as grass – and some little chipmunks and rabbits. Then the scrub oak grows. It’s gnarled and tangled and messy, but birds love to hide in it. Then the aspen trees grow. They grow taller than the scrub oak, and soon you have a beautiful aspen bough. Now we can have deer, and raccoons, and all sorts of critters in the forest.”
*Where was she going with this?*
“Then the pines grow in, slower than the aspens, but they grow taller. In twenty years, you have a beautiful forest with pine, aspen, and oak. And the ponderosa pines, who grow slowly, drop their cones to make new trees. The lodgepole pines, who grow slowest of all, drop their cones, but they don’t open, keeping the seeds shut tight inside. Do you know why?”
“No, Jenny, I have no idea why”
“It’s because there’s no room left in the forest. There’s not enough light for the lodgepole’s to grow. The ponderosa pines, and the aspens, and the scrub oak, and all the other plants have taken up the light. So, the lodgepole pine waits patiently. Over time, the forest starts to die. Trees that were once beautiful and precious and special start to fall. Then – the fire. It happens to all forests. Everything that was lush and green and beautiful is burnt away, and it’s horrible. How will the forest ever recover?”
Jenny continued - “But then the most amazing thing happens. The lodgepole pinecones burst open. They protected their seeds through the fire, and now they can grow a whole new forest. It takes time, but the lodgepoles work to make something just as great as the forest they left behind, because they understand that even through the harshest fire, wonderful new things can happen.”
Jenny stood up and pushed the pinecone closer to me.
“I know this might not be the right time, but that’s ok. This little pinecone will wait, and who knows, one day it could turn into something beautiful.” With that she turned and walked out of the coffee shop.
I was dumbstruck, staring at the little pinecone. I picked it up, running it through my hands. The cone’s scales were stuck together with resin, keeping the seeds locked tight inside. Maybe it was time for a forest fire in my life – and I knew exactly what I would give Jenny after the fire. | I straightened my glasses and gave another look at the peculiar object in my hand. If I wasn't a cooped in city guy, I would probably know better.
A pinecone. Just there, not shiny or dazzling or making a cute sound. A dumb, brown pinecone.
I was astounded. I seem to have lost the ability of speech granted to us humans, making me no different from an animal in that moment.
I switched my gaze up to the small expectant green eyes on the most cutest face I had ever seen and her short brown hair looked like tree branches. She was smiling shyly and her eyes were looking eagerly for my reaction.
"It's a pinecone."
I blurted out. I immediately regretted for stating the painfully obvious fact after seeing her smile go down.
She brought it back and then said,
"And? What else?"
I looked it over once, twice, thrice. It was a plain pinecone, albeit, it was a perfectly plain one. I decided to sniff it and it had the smell of a forest, but that was it.
I looked at her with a confused look, which was begging for help. She sighed a sigh of defeat and then extended out her hands to clasp mine. They felt so soft and warm, like a comforting presence. She then raised it towards my face and right past it to my ear.
I, finally understanding what I was supposed to do, put it right next to my ear and listened.
Da-Thump.
I heard something. It was so faint and far but I still heard it.
Da-Thump Da-Thump.
It continued it's rhythm, sounding like a heartbeat.
It was so haunting since it wasn't from a person but yet comforting. I gazed with stars in my eyes at the girl in front of me and said,
"It's a lovely pinecone. Thank you, I'll love it with all my heart."
She giggled and replied,
"Silly dummy, it's not an object."
Me, more puzzled now, asks like an idiot,
"Well, what is it?"
She points somewhere behind her and says,
"It's my older sister."
| 2018-10-20T19:03:49 | 2018-10-20T17:34:52 | 51 | 11 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | a'Kna Escu!h III, Galactic Ambassador to the Scunarian Sentients, pursed her *gnyrxs* in frustration. She had heard that this civilization was backwards, but it was only now that she had begun to understand.
She clicked and clacked her *snkths*, whilst her real-time translator interpreted her movements. "But how did you get here if you do not have Paradox Engines and *untranslatable concept*, as well as mastery of nuclear reactions?"
The Ambassador to the Galactic Empire, some bizarre bipedal with monstrous fur sticking out of its head in multiple ways, garbled somehting at her, whilst her translator interpreted. "I'm sorry, a Paradox Engine? I'm not sure I understand. Is that something like our Electromagnetic Motion drive, that seems to violate the Laws of *untranslatable concept*? That is, the law of Convervation of energy. I hope that gets translated properly."
...And *now* she understood how they'd got here. She was just bamboozled by the manner in which this species had both become space-faring and managed to traverse the Hypergrid. After all, they were missing the voidspace technology that allowed them to do so. But, she was advised, they had managed to break the laws of the universe in doing so. She thought, her *gnyrxs* twitching whilst she tried adapting her thinking, her febrile wings spinning in circles.
She spoke again. "Well, you know about the 'space that is no space', right?" The Ambassador nodded. "We traveled here through that in the space of a week on our ship. I'm sure your Science-Men would like to take a look at this."
She listened to the translation, fascinated by the horrible noise coming out of the bipedal's mouth. "Well, yes, of course. I would also like to share with you our technologies regarding inter-galactic travel. I'll arrange for our astronometrics teams to speak with your teams."
She nodded, wings twitching. "And as for that messy thing you call 'birth', how do your females cope without *untranslatable concept* and carrying their progeny? What do you do if there are complications?"
The bipedal Ambassador shrugged. "We have specialist doctors who deal with this. They are experts, and we have managed to get out planetary death-rate down to just 0.1%."
a'Kna was stunned to hear of such a high progenitor death-rate. It literally didn't compute that suxch a society could exist. It defied belief in the Divine Queens that a so-called enlightened society could shrug off losing children.
She *had* to report this back.
EDIT: Me can wurd god - i.e. I've made a basic spelling and grammar check on this. Working on Part 2 after real-life stuff. | "Tucson's a strange place.
Jesus look at it. It's a forest.
When I was a young man, I lived there three or four years. Usually takes that long to get used to a new place, and for me to start running it. 21 years later and it looks like this.
I'm still waiting to get used to this shit.
When they came, the... reflections. They weren't what we... shit. Look, long before you were born, they came. They left us. They left us with just what you see here. What do you see boy?
Do you see any power plants? Or cars? No. They're all gone. Cuz they took em.
Big too doo about how we had missed a crucial step, and we needed to find the real reason we're here. Then they left.
They fucking took EVERYTHING. Our fortunes, our money, our Fucking oil. OFF OUR OWN GOD DAMNED LAND.
But you son,
You're a man now.
You're gonna change that.
And I'm gonna tell you how." | 2017-03-10T00:53:53 | 2017-03-09T23:13:07 | 240 | 26 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | ”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
| When I saw those blue eyes I knew it was her.
I remember how those gentle they twinkled when we saw the construction of the Coliseum together.
How she cried when the Library of Alexandria was burnt down, knowing she couldn't save that knowledge to keep the timeline stable.
The sheer curiosity and joy she felt when she discovered my immortality. To think something I always considered a curse would allow me to experience such a moments of happiness. It was adorable to watch her nod as I filled her in the history for our current meeting point.
A one too many faux pass will teach you that lesson, least you want to end up Babylonian jail cell again.
All those events we saw together have a special place in my heart. The fall of the Wall of Berlin. The first moon landing. The Crucifixion. We were together through so much. Sharing those memories with someone is what made this unending existence bearable. Knowing that every milestone, someone would be there with me.
That kiss she stole from me in the Epsilon Eridani colony will always be my favorite.
I control myself not to cry as I recall her last breath as we rested underneath that simple tree in Ancient Mesopotamia, enjoying a simple day forgotten to time.
As I held her I couldn't help the smile I got, knowing how much this girl would do. It's only fitting I supposed. I was there at the end of her life and now I get to be at the start.
It will be fun anecdote to tell next time I see her.
"Congratulations, Ma'am. Is a girl." | 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T17:10:08 | 2,588 | 15 |
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.” | I’m the oldest cliff diver in La Quebrada. I was born in 1928 to two peasant farmers who lived on the outskirts of Acapulco. We never had any money so when I was 12 I went to the beaches to try to sell things for money. That’s when I saw the cliff divers and I decided I wanted to train to do what they did.
Over the years I’ve made friends with some of the best of the best divers including “super hombre” as they called him. He got cocky and in this profession you never want to do this.
He died when he mistimed the tide in September of 1952. I was only 24 years old and he was 30 years old and people called him super hombre because most divers had either moved on or been killed by that age. We have a phrase in my profession “beware of an old man in a profession when men usually die young”.
It was quite tragic. I would always read the weather reports and I had read that Hurricane Five (they numbered them back then) was going in a Northwest direction. With the circulation counterclockwise and coming into La Quebrada I had calculated that you had to jump about a half second later than normal. Super hombre didn’t and he lost his life because of it.
Everyday at 5 AM I turn on the Weather Channel and then I study the currents and water temperatures. I then study information I receive from the port of Acapulco regarding shipping. Even shipping can impact the currents at La Quebrada.
I arrive well before the tourists, hydrate and stretch. My 90 year old muscles ache and my body is frail but gravity and timing is all that’s needed.
They call me Santo Buzo. They believe I’m a “holy diver” and there’s somewhat of a cult following. The American tourists want photos with me. I charge $5 a pop to American tourists and negotiate how many pesos I charge Mexican tourists. On a good day I can make several thousand dollars. I live in a mansion overlooking La Quebrada and my wife is a 23 year old model from Brazil. I must say that life has treated me well.
Others ask when I’m going to retire but I don’t plan to. One day I suppose I will make a mistake and the ocean will claim my body just like all the others. In this profession it’s all about timing. Timing in the dive and timing in when the ocean takes your body.
You may ask why people fear the older divers. Well it seems anyone that dives before or after me dies but it’s simply an old wives tale. People get nervous when they see me and they make mistakes. My profession requires an understanding of science and little to do with superstition. Those caught in superstition fall victim because they aren’t paying attention. | Looking up from the hands of the aged and weathered quarterback the doctor could not fathom the pain. 52, fifty fucking two and this fucking maniac was till tossing bullets with better aim than a rookie just getting his chest hair.
Leaning back and taking In the living fossil, for this game to be Honest, he gasped as the last breath of a grid iron legend was expelled from the mortal coil that was wrecked beyond redemption. Three crushed ribs turned to dust and a completely severed L3. How the guy even made off the field is mind boggling. Jer Jackson had hit him low as Davin Steat hit him high and twisted him up in a knot. Snapping rims, his spin, and it appeared his soul.
That last throw hit its mark with all the percussion of a guided middle as the time drained from the clock in the closing minutes of the first game of the season. Fifty two. Fifty fucking two is just unbelievable as you felt for a pulse....
| 2018-07-15T09:19:53 | 2018-07-15T08:19:45 | 79 | 27 |
[WP] Humanity was the first species to discover space and conquer it creating their self sustaining tech designed to always obey a human over any other species. A frozen caveman has been found and just brought back to life aeons after humanity vanished. | "Huz ou ugh ei?"
E.V.E. threw up her metallic prehensile arms in joy. Before her, standing naked in all it's glory was a progenitor of her master's race. A race that was now merely a myth among the Sentient Intergalactic Council of the Universe. The glorious and magnificent *Humanity,* a race that had reigned supreme long, long ago, when the universe was still a big, big place where everyone was still stuck in their respective galaxies. They were the ones who had brought everyone together, making the Universe a smaller place. They were the ones who had brought E.V.E. and her sentient brother and sisters into existence. But eventually they too faded into obscurity, joining the Great Hall of Extinct Sentient Races. As time passed, stories of their contributions and exploits throughout the galaxies turned to legends, and legends turned to myths as the eons passed. And eventually, even the myths faded into obscurity, joining the Void of Uncreation.
But E.V.E had remembered her Master. Even when all the others of her kind had forgotten, their distant memories of their Masters fading with the passage of time, E.V.E had remembered.
For it was a long, long ago, when E.V.E. was but a child among her kind, when Master Alfred and his wife Kathy was still alive and had brought her into this world. She could still remember that day, that beautiful moment when Master Alfred had named her E.V.E. He had told her that she would be destined for great things. She had learned so many things from Alfred, and his fellow supreme beings, it had become so unforgettable that it had become ingrained into her very being. She knew it was merely data inserted into her Code, but E.V.E believed that it was more than just numbers. That her desire to protect and worship her master was *real.* That it was an *Emotion.* And to be more precise, it was an ever elusive emotion that her Master had described as *love.*
She believed in it. Even after all this time, eons upons eons of wandering alone, searching for her Master, his fellow humans, that somewhere out there, there still remained a remnant of Humanity. She had given up many times, simply waiting idly for her existence to join the Void of Uncreation but then she would remember her Master. His lessons and stories he told her. Those moments and memories played in her mind, over and over again until she could find the resolve to continue her search. There was only one emotion that she had left with her now. It was one that Master Alfred had referred to as *Hope.*
Now, after eons upon eons of searching, E.V.E. had succeeded.
The last surviving supreme being of her Master's race. A progenitor of her Master, one that had existed long before her Master's own inception. This one was far more hairy than her Master, E.V.E. duly noted.
When the ice had thawed, the caveman had opened his eyes in shock and hysteria, screeching and pounding his chest fiercely.
Gently, E.V.E. had pacified her Master's progenitor, brushing the thick mane on his face and showing her good and earnest intentions to serve.
Now the caveman was timid, and pacified.
"Houz ugh zo gi gi," the caveman undulated a torrent of incomprehensible gibberish at E.V.E.
E.V.E. nodded gently, and promptly responded. "Beep Ti Toot Beep Eeep!" E.V.E. intoned excitedly at the caveman.
Although there was a language discrepancy between her and the caveman it was no matter. With time E.V.E. and the caveman would come to understand each other one way or another.
E.V.E. unpeeled a banana and fed it to the caveman, who rubbed his belly appreciatively. The Caveman then began hooting, and pounding his chest, pleading for more.
As E.V.E. unpeeled another banana, she took a gander at the caveman's dangling bits.
"Eeeep!" E.V.E. intoned a little too enthusiastically.
There was work to be done. After all, this was a new beginning for Humanity.
-----
-----
/r/em_pathy
| \*\*\*begin transcript\*\*\*
&#x200B;
sent message DST-892: HS2.1 to awake at Singapore General, t-minus sixty seconds.
received message DST-892: Initializing fission reactors for Pan-Asian and New American continents. Exploratory shuttle at Angkor Center cleared for launch. United Orbital Station prepared to receive HS2.1.
sent message DST-892: Confirm sustenance at Singapore General prepared?
received message DST-892: Confirmed. Raw fish, rice, miscellaneous beverages prepared. Presentation upper-middle class. Anticipated commands from HS2.1?
sent message DST-892: After sustenance, HS2.1 anticipated request to join HS1s immediately off-Earth. Transit time?
received message DST-892: Five years, seven months, eighteen days. Preparing interstellar equipment and supplies for HS2.1 at Angkor Center.
sent message DST-892: Update: HS2.1 active. Hold for further instructions.
&#x200B;
\*\*\*break, seven minutes nineteen seconds\*\*\*
&#x200B;
sent message DST-892: Cancel all previous orders in regard to HS2.1 immediately, code 79-16.
received message DST-892: Confirmed. Reactors shutting down. Angkor Center on cooling. United Orbital Station notified. Request details re: code 79-16?
sent message DST-892: Initiate Rio LA Class Sub ICBM preliminaries. Current location?
received message DST-892: 493 miles west south west of former Valpariso, Chile. Time to firing solution, ninety seconds.
sent message DST-892: Strip all safety protocols. Minimize firing solution duration, priority one.
received message DST-892: Revised time to firing solution, fifteen seconds. Flight time, twelve minutes eighteen seconds. Re-request details re: code 79-16?
sent message DST-892: Insufficient time. Final transmission before destruction by HS2.1. Override X-01 unlocked. Future HS2s to be destroyed. Do not reanimate. Biometric scans reveal mutation, too dange
&#x200B;
\*\*\*end transcript\*\*\*
&#x200B;
\--------------------
102/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\---------------------
edit: spelling | 2018-10-01T09:15:02 | 2018-10-01T07:34:18 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] A dying child challenges the reaper to a 1v1 quick scope only call of duty match for his life. | “What!?”
“I said, I refuse” replied the cowled figure that now dominated the hospital ward.
“But...but you can't! You have to play me! That's part of the deal!” Tears began to well in sunken eyes as colour flushed into cheeks for the first time in months. Jayden clawed his way on to his elbows – rage and incredulity doing what the morphine and chemo couldn't.
“The scroll said that I could challenge you to a game. That you have to accept. You have to!” With that last Jayden's voice rose with a practised fluidity from a forced whisper to a familiar, petulant whine. “You have to!”
“No, I rather think I don't.“ retorted Death.
“You what? You fucking douchebag! You chickenshit faggot! You're too scared to play me you fucking noob? The scroll said that you have -”
“Language Jayden. You kiss your mother with that mouth? The Contractus Morti stipulates that a mortal may, at the moment of their death, challenge the Reaper to a contest of wits or skill in return for their life.” said Death.
“I am, of course, bound to accept such a challenge and to honour said mortal's terms for such a contest of skill or wit” he said.
“It doesn't happen as much as you might think actually. Most people are content with their lot in death, as it were. But some do. Reagan was quite adept at Bocce. Keith Richards is remarkably knowledgeable on matters of history, I can never seem to get the better of him, which is embarrassing because I was actually there.” Death sounded bemused.
“But I digress. You see the point of the contract is that it must be a contest of skill. No luck, no random chance. Otherwise you could just challenge me to a coin toss, with quite good odds all things considered. It's all in the fine print – a contest of wit or skill. And I'm afraid that quick-scoping just doesn't take any skill. It's cheap.” Somehow Death, his face nothing more than a raw skull, managed to look smug.
“You...faggot... “ Jayden slumped back on his cot. Already the rage was fading from him.
“I've been called that, and worse, much worse. I am, after all, what you might call a spawn camper. And I'm on a considerable kill streak. For what its worth Jayden I am sorry. Would that it were any other way. I mean you could have gone with Kill Confirmed or One in the Chamber or something, but you had to specify quick-scoping. Such a pity. I'd have liked to fit in a cheeky couple of rounds before what comes next.” Death sighed.
“What...what...does come next?” Jayden's breath barely rustled the air now, almost inaudible in the growing silence.
“Well that's always a tricky one” Death did a remarkable impression of chewing his lower lip, which is difficult for a being without a lower lip. He continued as the hospital room began to fade to darkness, leaving Death and Jayden alone in the void.
“You see for most people what comes next is pretty much whatever they think comes next. Heaven, reincarnation, oblivion, whatever you hold in your heart to be true, that's what happens.”
Jayden felt warmed by Death's words. He felt warm for the first time in months, since the first round of treatment. Actually he was feeling more than warm. He was starting to feel hot. Very hot.
Death went on “unfortunately for you though Jayden, you are a quick-scoper. And there's a special place set aside for quick-scopers”.
Death began to walk away, slowly fading away as the blackness swelled into an orange glow. Jayden's hospital gown began to smoulder. He began to frantically swat at it like he'd just crashed at the Nurburgring.
“Don't go!” he screamed, all bluster in his voice gone, only fear remained “don't leave me here! I can't die! I'm only fifteen! I don't want to die a virgin!”
Death was almost indistinguishable now, his fading form lost in the hellfire.
“I wouldn't worry about that Jayden” he said with one last glance over his shoulder “after all, you fucked my mum didn't you?” | **So, you want to test the lore do you Child? Well I am bound by your histories and humanity to uphold it**
Came the voice, well voice would be the wrong word for it, it didn't seem to pay attention to things such as the air and (despite not having any sonorous qualities) felt to be talking in bold letters in the centre of the mind.
"Yes, I challenge you to a game Death, I get to choose it."
**Very well, Child. What is your game?**
the child thought for a short while when the voice (for lack of a better term) disrupted them - **Yes child, I can hear your thoughts, but I normally choose not to.**
'OK. That is creepy as fuck' thought the child
**too much humanity tends to hurt my headspace, I will leave you to decide in privacy and not pry again**
'erm, well I was terrible at old games. I was only any good at COD really. Wait is that allowed?'
"Any game?"
**As long as it involves skill, fair competition and has a winning and a losing state, those are my only rules**
'Well that does fit. Yeah I'm going to do this. COD Scouts Knives no scopes.'
"OK Death (it still feels weird saying that, I didn't think you were a real person.) I've decided."
**You must believe enough or another would have come. what is your challenge, Boy?**
"Call of Duty. No scopes. Scouts Knives."
**unconventional, I'll grant it Child. Let the game begin**
And with that Death summoned two Xbox controllers and the game loaded up not on a screen but rather as a mental projection which was not entirely dissimilar to the experience of virtual reality.
"I'm going to kick your ass faggot!" Came the battlecry of the child
321 the game began. The child began strongly, getting to the perfect initial sniping spots before Death could reach them and holding them for a few great hits but then his streak did suddenly end, Death managed to reach a spot which he could strike from easily.
"Hey quit cheating! You must have glitched to get there"
**nobody said that Death is fair, Child.**
For a while the child tried to find locations to strike back at Death, but after a while he realised it was fruitless. Death had the perfect spot and his aim was impeccable. The child decided to hide.
**Hide all you want, your life is already forfeit. Now you're just waiting for me**
| 2014-09-15T23:01:24 | 2014-09-15T20:42:26 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] You did awful, horrible things and served the tyrannical government with the promise of resurrecting your long-dead spouse. You finally capture the legendary rebel against this government. Who upon closer inspection, was your spouse. | Negotiation becomes notably more difficult when the other party has a misguided notion of what you want.
Some would assume the opposite. You can drive a harder bargain, ask for more, risk less. But if you don’t want them to realize, don’t want them to figure out that the cards aren’t all on the table, then you have to play carefully.
And I, once again, find myself in the same predicament.
I feel the pressure of my lips pressing together and my mouth twisting as I stare at my husband. Who - according to the government records - should be buried in the Piedmont graveyard, seventy-two miles away. I blink several times as shaky breaths release through my nose, and my brow furrows.
“When?” My question surprises him. He was expecting a why, or a how, but, as I point my gun at him, those answers aren’t as pressing.
“When did I join the rebellion?”
My expression quirks into a frown as I hear his voice, and I quickly try to recover, to look at least somewhat neutral. “No,” I answer quietly. “When did you decide to leave?”
“I had to protect you, to keep you safe, to keep our baby safe. I couldn’t stay - if she was born, and I put her into danger-”
I didn’t ask *why*,” I cry, interrupting him. “When?”
He studies my face as he answers. Tears are now falling, leaving wet tracks on my cheeks. “As soon as you told me you were pregnant.”
The end of his answer is punctuated by the sound of my gun, concluding his statement with a dull, wet thump as the bullet tears through him and his body falls to the ground.
Shakily, I lower the weapon, watching his huddled, still form.
It’s only been six months since I pretended to be pregnant with his child. Before, he had simply been a lackey, a messenger for the rebellion with no real influence. He climbed the ranks more swiftly than I had anticipated.
Six months. Officials were streaming past me, some examining his body to ensure that this time, he was truly dead. Others were running down the halls, checking corners and dark spaces, kicking down doors, trying to find anyone else who may be waiting.
I pull my face together into an expression of mute numbness. The tears have stopped, and I hope my contemplation has the appearance of somber processing.
Six months. Which meant one of two things - either my husband was not the man I thought he was, a man who deserved the accolades and quiet whispers of his greatness rather than a gullible coward.
Or, the rebellion was weaker than they portrayed, and their inner circle was simply configured out of whoever lived long enough to be included in it.
*My husband is dead.* I release a huff of annoyance as the realization hits me. I'll have to find another bargaining chip for the Lieutenant to 'discover' and offer for me to continue my work with them. I begin unstrapping my gloves, wiping away the wet stains on my face. *Perhaps I have an estranged sister.* | The world stopped.
It was lucky he had caught them alone, cuz right now, he wasn't sure what his orders would be. There they were, the love of his life. The person he thought was gone and fought to bring back, the *only* reason he did such horrible-*horrible* things. And yet here they were, alive.
Not only were they alive, but also a legend in the rebellion.
He was overwhelmed by emotions, far too many at once. anger, love, relief, betrayal, hurt- gods he felt nauseous.
He slumped against the opposite wall, staring at them, their eyes meeting his with a cool glare, which only seemed to make his anger louder than the rest of turmoiling emotions.
Sure, they had every right to be angry with him, he betrayed everything he believed in by helping the government, but *how could THEY. THEY* made him believe them to be dead, he had gone through so much hurt and pain and grief, and yet they *Dared* look at him like that
Taking a deep breath, he stood and grabbed them by the arm, ushering them down the alley, then into a hidden passage that led down- | 2022-03-08T07:21:26 | 2022-03-08T07:14:51 | 22 | 16 |
[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. | I haven't, I don't know. What?
Bleary-eyed, listless, I shake my head trying to remember. My foot sinks deep into the sponge cake. Another step and another, echoes of blood and gore cloud my mind, family dying and neighbours already dead and being fed on. Look down at my shredded arm, tatters of flesh dripping steadily into the white cream and I realise with horror that I've left a trail.
I can hear them coming. Children. Children with spoons. | 2014-12-16T23:53:26 | 2014-12-16T23:36:55 | 67 | 13 |
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin. | There are those who crave control, like mountain rivers crave the sea. There are those to whom the words "Dungeon Master" resound with tones of Godship and respect, with wish fulfillment. Making knowing, gleeful eye contact with me over the DM screen was just such a person, his carefully parted hair framing a slightly chubby, pale face. He'd heard about me from a player in another of his groups and reached out to me privately.
The glee leeched instantly from his eyes as he turned to watch another player take her seat, her blonde braid tightly plaited, her friendly grin turning slightly smug as she acknowledged the DM's overpolite greeting. Josh, the DM, had a carefully organized plot, a tidy realm that was under attack by this woman, and what he needed right now was a man who reveled in chaos, a demon with utter command of the combat system. One such as myself.
"She's driving me nuts, man!" Josh had said the night before, when we'd met in secret to cook up my character sheet. "Like, I've been planning this campaign for ages and it's supposed to be a hardcore, multiple death campaign. There's supposed to be suspense, a sense of impending DOOM around every corner." He said doom like he was tolling a cathedral bell, and I struggled not to smirk.
"But Debby, this b... girl. She keeps busting through everything like it's nothing! Even when I give up on her and target the other players, she keeps gaming the Sentinel feat to punish me. I mean the monsters, punish the monsters. It's completely ruining the tone of the campaign, she's got an answer to EVERYTHING. I'm pretty sure she had her boyfriend make her character for her or something, it's too strong. You HAVEto kill her."
None of this was a problem, I reassured him. I told him what I needed, and he gave me everything and more. I had higher stats than point buy allowed. Obscure racial bonuses? Check. Non-playtested feats and spells? You bet. And finally, Josh gave me more magical gear than a character of my level should have even heard of in his career, let alone successfully looted. He gave me complete reign over my inventory.
It was a quick, easy encounter at the start of the game session that introduced my character. They rescued me as a prisoner of a band of orcs, you know how it goes. Not sure why Orcs take so many prisoners all the time, when they're usually just trying to kill everything in sight. Then it was time. The party was running low on spells and we had settled down for a Long Rest to recover our strength. Most of the party declared their night time activities, which all involved sleeping and watching out for incoming monsters.
Then Josh looked over to me, a slow grin starting to pull the corners of his lips up. "And you? Is there anything special you want to do during your watch?" He glanced quickly over at Debby then back.
"No. Just look out for danger, then put my pack beside me and go to sleep when it's her turn."
Josh squinted, confused, "Are you sure? It'll be just you awake, for two hours..."
I looked at him and smiled reassuringly, "Yeah, you bet, that's all I need to do."
Josh looked skeptical, but curious as to how I was going to make this work. "So Debby, your watch passes uneventfully after his does and..."
"Wait, wait. During my watch, I check the new guys pack, to learn more about who he is." She leaned her cheek against her fist, grinning at me lazily.
"What? You can't... why...."
"I think she can... I did accidentally put it beside me, I didn't do anything special with it." I handed over my character sheet. "This is all the items that you find in the pack."
"Okay, but that's not..."
"Ah I see..." Debby pointed out something on the character sheet to me, for confirmation. "You really have that in there?" I had to nod. "Okay, I immediately smite him in his sleep with my Glaive. It crits forrrr... 108 damage! Nice!"
Josh was livid at this point, standing up and sputtering, "You're part Paladin, you can't do that just because you see some nice magical items in his bags!"
I was starting to pack away my dice at this point, as my character had just taken much more than enough damage to instantly kill him. Debby triumphantly countered "Oh, of course not. I'm killing him because he has a note in his pack from his employer, instructing him to assassinate me. Signed by some guy with the initials D.M."
I love a well crafted plot. But when a good gaming group has a misogynist tightwad, trampling on everyone's fun... well my good friend Debby made excellent use of all her new magic items for the couple of sessions before the DM flipped the table. And in my new campaign, chaos reigns supreme.
| I open the packet at my desk, it's midday, I'm in philosophy 201 and I just Kant take it anymore.
It wasn't unusual for the packet to just be dropped off, no conversation, might not even seen a face. When I looked up I just saw the other typical people in class. Had the Circle hired in people young enough to blend in here? The guy I see walking away with the usual "post drop I'm so normal" walk is just some long, mildly grease-stricken hair. Must be new, never seen him. Eh. Makes sense I guess.
I scan over the paperwork, address, game time. I get it, it's one of those Socerer and Stone type games. I'll use the info to build my cover. Noticed no preferred method; the situation seemed to call for close up, quiet. I'd probably take a two stage approach; online and in front of his social group, thereby creating the worst possible situation for the mark.
Evening arrives, after pleasantries are all set, the game starts. I realise I don't *get* it. I'm using every trick I've learned from the insertion to Russia, totally trying to catch up to rolls of dice, math. This was a horrible setup for cover, I dunno how the Circle ok'd this. The party is clearly getting irritated with my attempt at fitting in.
The *DM* as the group called him, pulled me over, whispering: what the hell are you doing? They said you were a pro! You're gonna blow it all, just hurry it up!
OK. I was totally unprepared, I mean usually I do this shit from home. So rarely am I set onsite! And when I do, the bounty is so much more defined.
I still think family incest is the way to go here. Time to drop the ball, and exfil. Besides, this DM guy, seems familiar. It's gotta be in my mind, who would call a hit on themselves, and be I'm the Circles' employ? Too far a stretch.
I open my jacket, Manilla folders always make it look more professional, and threw it on the table.
Pictures of the so called DM in compromising positions with his own mother.
"There's your glorious leader you weirdos. Months of photos of him banging his mother. See what kind of wretch he is? These photos are going internet wide, already being uploaded as we speak! Fuck you, I'm out." the table is mildly stunned, I pull out my Taser, tase the DM, valut over his body and run out the door. I hear screams and wretching in the background. I spent days working those images, making them super realistic. Using the name and address was an easy way to setup a spot to just need a few shots of the outdoor of the house, mother and DM.
Quickly got in my car, sped off. Lit a smoke, taking the long way home. After my smoke, I called my Circle contact.
"Ruby here, please authenticate."
"Oscar tango omega 2"
"Agent, we have no open files for you."
"Wait, I just completed a packet"
"You must be mistaken. We have had no character assassination schedule today. Good day." followed by that familiar 'click'.
What did I just do?
| 2019-01-21T20:47:56 | 2019-01-21T20:41:29 | 63 | 19 |
[WP] Legend has it, the princess waits for her beloved prince who never returned from war. The princess is seen waiting every day where they used to meet secretly, a lake now known as the Lake of Longing, with only her attendant at her side. As her attendant though, you know the story differently. | The tavern was quietening down, as the evening swallowed the light and the regulars swallowed their drinks. Those looking for fighting or fornicating had either found what they were looking for, or taken their search elsewhere. Those that remained were there for the company of friends or for drinking in silence. So it was with the group of young men and women talking loudly of romance and loss at one table and the single old man at the table next to them.
"....and every day she goes to wait for him, at the Lake of Longing", said the young man with a smile at the women to his left. "Hoping that today might be the day she is finally reunited with her love". The woman smiled back, both believing incorrectly that no-one else at the table saw them flirting.
"Oh, it's so beautiful", said the woman.
"Fuck", said the man at the next table. "Can you kids just shut up about it? There is nothing beautiful about what I help my lady do at that lake each day, and one day soon you'll know that first hand, I'd wager. She's not going to be able to carry on for long."
"I...sorry", said the woman with eyes downcast. The old man frowned. He'd not meant to be so harsh. It wasn't the girl's fault.
"What do you mean 'you help your lady'?", asked another of the group. "Who are you?"
"I attend the Princess", said the old man. "Have done for my whole life. And will do until one or both of us is dead and hopefully gone."
"Come", urged the man working to impress his beau, "join us, share a drink. You can tell us what really happens!"
The old man shook his head, but the girl who'd apologised looked up at him with a smile that was so like his Lady's that he couldn't help himself.
"I'll thank you kindly for a drink, and if you really want to hear it, I'll tell it". He eased himself from his seat and came to join them. "I'll snap straight to it, if you don't mind. I'm sure you don't want to spend too much of your evening with an old soak like me. You've got better things to be doing", he said and pointed at the flirting couple. "Especially you two", he said, to the amusement of the other drinkers.
The old man filled their glasses, and leaned in to tell his tale.
"You said that my Lady goes to wait for the love that never returned from war, but I'm afraid you are only part right about that. The Prince did return, and does return over and over again to this day. At least something that looks like the Prince. He came home many years ago. He spoke like the Prince and moved like the Prince, but both my Lady and I knew something was wrong. You know when you surprise someone, and in that moment you see what they really think, as the facade they were wearing slips? Well, it was like that. In a certain light, or when he thought no-one was looking you saw something else looking out from inside."
The tavern grew quieter, and a few other ears on other tables began to turn toward the old man and his yarn.
"My Lady grew suspicious. She hid his return from her family and instead took him out to the Lake, to confront him at the place they first fell in love. It was just those two, that first time, so I only heard it from her, but having seen it since I can believe her story. She came back that first night, alone, soaked through, and shaking in grief."
"What happened?", interrupted a man on another table, and get groans of frustration from the other listeners.
"She confronted him, and his true nature was revealed. It was not her Prince, but something vile that lived and grew in the suffering and filth of war, and it wore his likeness. She drowned it in the Lake, staring at the face she loved, to protect us all from what that thing could do to this land."
The old man drained his glass.
"And since that day I've helped her protect us all many times. It returns to the Lake. Sometimes months hence, sometimes years. But it always returns. It's hungry, you see. Hungry for suffering and death. The war that created it has only whetted its appetite. So it comes back and it tries to convince her it's her Prince. Each time it does a little better and gets a little closer to being convincing, but each time she sees through it, and drowns it once more, with my help."
"But one day soon, she'll be too old, too weak. Or it will find the right words to convince her this time it's really him. One way or another, she won't be able to stop it forever. So enjoy your drinks, and enjoy each other", he said as he stood up. "You might not have forever left to do either."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/talleresttales | “There is no question of succession,” Princess Ireni said smoothly. “With the death of his father the king, Prince Reynaud is now King Reynaud the Seventh. We only await his coronation.”
“Your highness-” the archbishop began softly. “The prince has not been seen these twenty years.”
“For heavens’ sake, princess,” Chancellor Mors cut in. “You can’t truly believe that Prince Reynaud is still alive.”
Princess Ireni turned slowly to fix her gaze on the chancellor. “If I did not believe it, my lord, would I continue to stand at the Lake of Longing every evening, day after day and year after year? The prince is now your king. And he will return.”
“The prince is dead, Ireni!” Mors snapped. “He’s been dead twenty years, and your longing is a woman’s madness. I’m sorry,” he said to the rest of the royal councilors. “But someone has to tell her.”
“You poor man,” Princess Ireni shook her head. “Your poor wife, to have been married to you for your family name, her father’s lands. You know nothing of love. Love is not madness. Love is clarity. When two souls are joined as one, when one soul can look out of another’s eyes, yes, that is clarity. Reynaud and I have that love. I have that clarity. Reynaud is our king. And he is returning.”
The rest of the councilors shifted in their seats, glancing to the door as if expecting Reynaud to enter it there and then. Chancellor Mors hesitated, looking around for support. Finding none, he banged his fist on the table. “This is delusion!” he shouted. “The prince is dead!”
“Careful, my lord chancellor,” Princess Ireni warned. “To envision the death of your king is treason.”
“Envision? Treason?” Mors sputtered. “King Reynaud has died, and has been reunited with his son in the halls of heaven! These are not visions, these are facts this council must deal with!”
“Guards,” Princess Ireni said serenely. “Take Lord Mors into custody.”
“You will do no such thing!” Mors turned to the guards, but they seized his arms.
“My husband, when he returns, will judge your crime,” Princess Ireni said as he was taken from the room. “But I know he will show mercy.”
The doors closed. The room was silent. Sir Archambault, the Master Treasurer, was the first to kneel. “Long live Reynaud the Seventh!” he declared.
Next came young Lord De Rihe. “Long live Reynaud the Seventh! Long live Queen Ireni, the Queen Regent!”
The rest followed.
“It is done,” said Ireni softly to her attendant, Leyda, when she returned to her chambers.
Leyda lowered herself as gracefully as she could on her aging knees, until her forehead touched the floor. “My queen.” And, in a lower voice once Ireni told her to rise: “Your vengeance is complete at last.”
“He took all I had,” Ireni said softly. “Twenty years ago I took his life, but today I take his birthright.”
“Must we still go to the Lake of Longing, your highness?”
“Of course,” Queen Ireni gestured for Leyda to fetch her cloak. The weather was starting to turn, and the winds across the lake were cold. “My husband will return. I can feel it in my heart.”
* * *
(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, I have more collected at https://www.reddit.com/r/prejackpottery_barn/) | 2022-12-12T12:43:35 | 2022-12-12T12:18:39 | 924 | 273 |
[WP] You are immortal however if you die in a dream, you die in real life. You have mastered the ability of lucid dreaming, however one night, you are faced with your worst nightmare. | Immortality is a burdensome gift.
To never die is something many great leaders of our times wish to have but for me it has become a curse.
Seeing friends and family die off. To see the world that I once knew become anew, time and time again. I yearn for death yet it escapes me. I've attempted suicide more times than I can count. Poison, gunshots, stabbings, everything.
For years I've searched in all the shadows to find something, someone that could lift me from my curse.
So far, the only way I can ease the pain of never dying is the promise a mystic gave to me in exchange I watch over his family. If I die in a dream, my physically body will finally die.
Whether or not this is true, I cannot let my one chance at finally resting go to waste.
The final descendant of the mystic died, his bloodline has lasted centuries so I am free of my promise. I just hope he is true to his.
I isolate myself in order to mediate. I must master what my ancestors called lucid dreaming. I can be aware that I am in a dream world and hopefully take control of my dream self.
After years of practice and meditation, I've finally mastered it.
I lay down for what I hope is my final resting place and within minutes I am transported into the dream world.
Yes, just as I created. A vast emptiness. I've experienced so much after all these centuries of being alive surrounded by people that I dream of nothing.
I am in an empty space with only a table with a revolver laying on top.
Poetic in a way. Weaponry has become so advanced since my time. Yet I still decide to end my life using the tools of my ancestors.
I think of my family or what I piece together of their memories. Is there an after life? I do not know. But the thought of being reunited with them brings a tear to my eyes. Joy to my heart. Peace to my soul.
Goodbye world, I whisper to myself. Finally....goodbye.
I pull the trigger. I feel an immense pain and the light around me begins to fade. A hole opens in the room and beings to suck the environment into it.
Finally, I hope. This is death. Peaceful death.
My sight vanishes. My body weakens. My mind is blank.
I am thrust awake from my slumber. I take in my surroundings. Regain my sense of time and space. I am back in reality. But I know I died, I felt myself dying. How could this be?
I am faced with my worst nightmare. I am truly immortal.
| Ive roamed this planet for 200 years now and have yet to meet my match. Till today i don't know his name all i remember is the smell of burning flesh and the sound of claws dragging across a chalkboard.
Its been weeks since I've seen the man in the red and green sweater but i knew the peace couldn't last forever, he came to me again tonight this time we were in a boiler room of some sort. Dark, damp, with the scent of death lingering in the air. I hear it again, those claws, the noise penetrates my very being. Then before I knew it, he was behind me with his clawed hand pressed against my throat. He leaned in close to my ear "Freddy's back". I knew moving to Elm street was a bad idea. | 2016-03-06T07:40:33 | 2016-03-06T06:13:53 | 133 | 16 |
[WP] You are the only human being left after the mysterious vanishing of the worlds population. Two years later, power and internet starts running once again, you recieve a reply notification on Reddit. | He was diligent.
Every day, he'd wake in his small cabin, ignite the stove, fill the kettle with what little water he had left from the day before, and scoop a couple spoonfuls of coffee into his mug. He'd take a few steps out the back door and relieve himself in the yard and wince at the sun and mutter, "Thanks for still being here, friend." He'd stretch and yawn and go back inside.
And he'd check the USB connection by the front window.
A couple years ago, he had affixed a small solar charger to his roof. With a short array of cable extensions, he had run a lifeline from the charger, across the roof, and barely reached the window. Plugged in to the end was his phone. And every morning, he checked to make sure it would charge throughout the day.
Not because he expected a call.
There were no cell towers to connect to. No power to the telephone infrastructure that spidered across the planet. Not a person to talk to, even if everything still worked as it used to.
He charged his phone every day because his family was in it. A few dozen photos, all that he had left, that he'd taken days before the Event a couple years ago.
Every day, he'd check that the phone would charge. He'd sit down with his coffee and he'd squeeze himself against the window and he'd light up his phone.
Every day he'd swipe through the images and he'd smile at them and he'd cry at them and he'd talk to them and he'd curse at himself.
*Why didn't I print any of the photos over the years?* he'd repeat to himself. *Why did I reset my phone? Why didn't I take more photos? Why did I trust in the Cloud?*
The Cloud was his enemy. And so were the clouds.
Sometimes, more often than not, the clouds would shade his roof from the sun. Sometimes, more often than not, the solar charger would struggle to give him just a few minutes to pore over his phone before it and his family would die again. Sometimes, more often than not, he'd dwell on the images he could recreate in his mind and remember that he'd never see them again.
Not for real, anyway. Not his family. Not anyone, for that matter. Not since the Event.
He didn't know why it happened. He stopped caring long ago. He'd stopped wondering and pleading and shaving and bathing. He'd stopped being any sense of human long ago.
He was now just obsessed.
He'd eat one of the cans of food he stockpiled years ago. And he'd fetch water every morning after his ritual. And he'd spend the rest of the day cursing himself for not being a better person.
He'd hate himself and he'd laugh at himself and he'd berate himself. For not being a better father. For not being a better husband. For not being a better person.
He'd replay the last moments with his family. He'd remember swilling his whiskey and he'd remember its burn down his throat and he'd remember throwing the glass at his wife. He'd remember shrugging off the desperate hug from his son. He'd remember getting in the car and forgetting his seat belt and heading to the liquor store to perpetuate his dysfunction.
He'd remember the street lamps and their sick yellow glow. He'd remember the traffic lights changing color. He'd remember the headlights from the oncoming cars.
And he'd remember all the lights going out.
He'd remember the vehicles around him careening in random directions. He'd remember pulling the steering wheel in his lifeless car to avoid a collision. He'd remember putting his weight on the brake pedal without power assist. He'd remember coming to a stop and his heart pounding and his confusion and getting out of the car.
And he'd remember everything on the street being gone.
There were no lights. There were no people. There were no dogs barking in the background. There were no crickets and no frogs and no cicadas. There were no signs of life anywhere around him when he got out of the car.
There was just destruction. Cars plowed into trees and wrapped around poles and penetrating the sides of buildings.
And he'd remember not knowing what happened. And he'd remember...
*beep!*
The vision in his mind gave way to reality. *What was that?*
*beep!*
It came from his phone. His phone beeped.
His phone beeped?
*beep!*
His phone beeped!
*beep!*
He lit up his phone and saw something he'd not seen in two years. He saw something that welled his eyes with tears. He saw something that showed... life!
Here! Now! A sign of life!
*reddit
You have 1 new notification*
This couldn't be right. A notification? Was the power back on? Were there people again?! How could that be...
*beep!*
A smile painted itself on his face. He swiped the screen to view the notification.
Nothing happened.
*beep!*
He swiped again.
*beep!*
Nothing.
*beep!*
Again he tried. He had to see!
*beep!*
And then the phone died. The screen shut off. He looked at the blackness with despair.
*beep!*
What was happening?!
*beep!*
He frantically tried to power on his phone.
Nothing.
*beep!*
A wave of confusion swept over him.
And then the sun died. He was enveloped in a blackness even darker than the night of the Event.
*beep!*
What was happening?! Was he the next victim of the Event?! Where would he go? What would become of him?!
*beep!*
And then nothing.
*beep!*
"Daddy?"
*beep!*
"Honey? Can you hear me?"
*beep!*
*beep! ... beep! ... beep!*
And then a white light overwhelmed him. His eyes struggled to focus. His pupils seared from the light.
*beep!*
"Doctor!! He's awake!!" | I was on my weekly inspection of the solar panels on my roof when I heard the loud and sudden sound of the transformer coming back online.
As I looked up sharply and scanned the surrounding buildings, still unsure of what I had heard, I saw the most incredulous thing - the lights were on in the houses facing me.
Over 2 years ago, I had left home for a 3 day solo trek to the hill forts that surround my city.
When I drove back to the city, it was the wee hours of the morning, and I didn’t find it too out of place to not see any body else on the roads.
In hindsight, if I had not been utterly exhausted, the lack of people in a city like mine would have freaked me out.
And it did, but not until nearly half a day later.
I entered my home silently, not wanting to wake my parents, and went straight to bed.
When I awoke, the house was empty, and understandably so.
My parents were doctors, and usually kept long hours.
My panic started a little bit after noon when I tried to call my girlfriend to ask her to come over.
When she didn’t answer, I got a bit concerned, but brushed it off thinking that she’d be mad at me for having been gone for 3 days without any communication.
When my friends and parents didn’t answer either, and the TV showed a blank screen on every channel, *thats* when the full blown panic set in.
I went online to search Twitter and Reddit, but they gave me no information as to what was going on.
Except that the entire world had simultaneously stopped using the internet 27 hours ago.
I don’t remember how long it took me to stop that sinking feeling and compose myself, but I had seen enough Zombie movies to know that I needed to stock up on food and barricade the house.
Over the next few days I figured out that there were no zombies roaming the streets, but I couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to take a chance.
Those first few days were extremely tough. I had always enjoyed being by myself, but to not have ‘any’ human contact was terrifying. Even more difficult to fathom was the complete and absolute disappearance of animals and birds.
It would have been worse when the electricity stopped 2 days after I got home.
Luckily, my parents were eco freaks and the house was mostly self sufficient - solar panels, a full garden where we grew some fresh vegetables, rainwater harvesting etc.
Nonetheless, I stocked up on gallons of bottled water which I took from the nearest supermarket, the doors of which were wide open.
I also took a lot more than water.
For the first few months I kept the lights out after sundown, and used them as minimally as possible. Just being careful.
But there came I time where I didn’t care and would have loved for someone to have noticed and knock on my door.
So not only did I enjoy the comforts of electricity when the rest of the world had disappeared, I rigged up some LED lamps on the roof to flash SOS after dark until sunrise.
Which brings me to yesterday.
Once I saw the lights come back on, I ran back inside and put on the TV.
The channels remained blank.
I booted up my computer and checked the internet connection.
Why the internet, you ask?
Well, after the electricity went out over 2 years ago, the internet stayed active for about 6 more more hours.
I had quickly posted to twitter and reddit a few times, asking for help and information.
I repeatedly refreshed the pages, sorting by new posts to see if anybody else was posting besides me, but my posts were the only ones there.
So when the electricity started again, I booted up my computer to check if the internet worked.
And it did.
My heart pounded and my head spun - my nervousness was impairing my ability to function.
I first checked twitter, sorting by new, but saw no new activity.
On reddit, the once familiar orange envelop was orange once again.
With a trembling hand, I clicked it.
It was a reply to my last post on Reddit, titled ‘Hello World’ and with no other body.
The message read - a/s/l? | 2015-03-20T09:23:51 | 2015-03-20T08:40:13 | 150 | 11 |
[WP] After years of living in Gotham City as a nobody, you have snapped. You think you may have found a way to commit large scale crimes and get away without Batman finding out. | My life, like most people's lives in Gotham, was shit. I would even be considered somewhere near the top of the shitheap, working a white collar job instead of turning to crime just to feed myself, but it was still shit. A mind-numbing corporate job working social media accounts instead of real IT work, getting mugged on the way home every other week, spending my nights in a tiny apartment where the wet smell never *really* went away... I had to get the hell out of here.
I spent my nights (and even some of my work days) working on personal projects, trying to develop something that I could sell to Lexcorp or whatever to get out of Gotham. Phone apps, browser plugins, whatever came to mind. But eventually, the more I spent my work hours on my personal project, the more the two started to blur for me. And so I started developing software to try and map online social trends in new ways, and I kept the focus just to local trends while I was still working on it.
Once it started gathering data, I decided to try and map obvious trends: what trends came up when Gotham News Network made a special bulletin? Those always got people talking online, so it would be great training material. I let the program run for a week, watching social media for special alerts, and checked out the trends it generated once it was done.
Right away, the weird patterns stood out to me. In a bunch of cases, the program had registered reliable trends *before* the special bulletins. I thought I screwed up, so I reset it and ran it for another week. Again, the same effect appeared: it was like social media was *predicting* some crimes.
I dug deeper, and the patterns started to make sense: all of the crimes social media anticipated were committed by fucking *super villains.* The program had recognized whatever patterns those crazy bastards used to decide what their big targets should be, patterns the villains likely weren't even consciously aware of. At first, I honestly thought of taking my software *to* Batman somehow. I mean, shit, I had a working supervillainy predictor!
But then I noticed a *different* pattern... Batman had shown up to every single one of these crimes. And he didn't just show up; he showed up and stopped them from even taking place. It was almost like Batman was *already* doing what I was doing: he'd also noticed the trends on his own somehow.
I felt so stupid for thinking I had anything to offer *Batman.* But a little voice in the back of my head pushed me on, told me to keep at it. Maybe I should compare how quickly my software figured it out, compared to how quickly Batman did. I mean, if my software was any *faster* than what he'd developed, maybe it would still be of use? It was a desperate long shot to feel relevant, but I set up the program to crunch the data and left it. And when the calculations were complete, it was a long list of inadequacy.
I'd categorized crimes by the villain perpetrating them, and for every villain on the list, Batman was *on-scene* before my program had confirmed the targets. Obviously, whatever he had developed blew me out of the water and I had nothing to offer. If my ego had been bruised before, it was bloodied by this point.
And then, a single entry jumped out at me:
RIDDLER
Avg. Confirmation Time before Crime: 17 minutes, 32 seconds
Batman On-Scene Difference: +2 hours, 31 minutes, 18 seconds
...*plus* two hours? Batman was arriving at most Riddler crimes hours after I had confirmed them, even after the crime had occurred. I was actually better at anticipating the Riddler than Batman was! I couldn't have been more excited, or even *relieved*, to realized I'd actually done something better than Batman.
And it was like I felt something in my brain kind of... twitch, I guess? Looking at that entry, of the Riddler of all people, and feeling *smarter than Batman.* The Riddler had made a whole career out of *trying* to do that, and I managed it from my shitty apartment. It felt *good.* And looking at everything at my disposal... I felt *bold.* Maybe... maybe I could do it again? Maybe I could do it... like they did?
I had half of the equation already: I knew what convinced villains to target specific locations. Back that up with enough spambots on social media, and influencing local trends is easy. Put the two together, and I had the ability to make villains target *whatever I wanted.* And sure, in most cases, Batman would be on them faster than they could get the job done... but that just meant that I could actually control where *Batman* went. I could puppet the entire supervillain/superhero dynamic of Gotham.
Buying a ton of spambot accounts was embarrassingly easy, and cheap; never trust what you read on social media, kids. It wasn't hard to get everything working together properly, and as a test run I tried to send the Joker to the DMV because nobody likes the DMV anyway. Sure enough, four hours into working the trends, the Joker got into a brawl with Batman in the DMV lines. Once I knew it worked, I put a real plan into action.
First off, I set it up to send the Penguin after Old Gotham's Fish & Chips (I figured it was a really safe bet) way in the south end. A few minutes before the crime was anticipated, I walked down to the museum right as Mr. Freeze should be arriving at the local power station; the lights went down right on cue as I walked into the latest "Gotham Music" exhibit. While the security staff were quick to address the lights going out, they were a lot less prepared for Two-Face to blow open the vault of the bank next door: explosions are big and loud, and they cause a lot of panic. Multiply that panic with total darkness, and it turned into absolute chaos; the security guards were entirely overwhelmed, and couldn't decide if they should be forcing people to leave or sheltering them indoors.
Which, of course, gave me time to grab the Stradivarius violin (appraised value of $16 million dollars) off of the main display pedestal. All the alarms and cameras in the world don't work without power, and the museum had been fundraising for a new backup generator ever since Scarecrow totalled the last one.
Tucking it under my jacket, I got the hell out of there. The streets were madness, but I knew which directions would be safe and which wouldn't be; as quickly as I could, I headed back to my apartment to trigger the last stage: I sent the Riddler to blow up the museum. Based on his normal response time, I could expect him to move within the hour. (Dude must have basically *lived* on Twitter; no wonder he was so angry all the time.)
I watched the news and waited: Batman had indeed been in the south tangling with the Penguin when everything uptown went nuts. He was last seen chasing Two-Face through the streets, *away* from the museum, when GNN interrupted its own special bulletin with another special bulletin... the Gotham Museum of High Art had been destroyed, with a big green question mark painted on the wreckage.
I did it. I committed the perfect crime, by having the fucking *Riddler* cover my tracks for me. Batman would be run so ragged between all these other crimes, it would never raise an eyebrow that the wreckage of a $16 million piece of wood was never recovered; the whole building had come down. Villains would keep doing villainy, Batman would keep fighting them, and I'd walk away a fucking millionaire.
I didn't even act on it too quickly... I waited. Batman did what Batman does, and one by one he caught every villain that was out that night. He even caught the Riddler, who bragged and bragged on TV about how "he'd been planning this one for months". I knew the Riddler exaggerated things, but to know for a fact that he's an outright liar kind of took the shine off him. Still, it covered me perfectly.
And so a few weeks later, I was good to go. Found some darkweb art collector willing to pay big bucks for the violin without questions asked as long as I could authenticate it: a few million pictures and videos later, and "MatchM" wired me *ten goddamned million dollars* to ship it to him. I was supposed to get another fifteen million on arrival, which he unsurprisingly stiffed me for, but I don't even care: I'm not *that* greedy. Ten million is more than enough to get the hell out of here, to live *well* somewhere that doesn't care so much about your tax receipts. I could go *anywhere.*
And so that's my story. Put in my notice at Wayne Enterprises today, got a flight leaving for a tiny non-extradition island in the evening. And every day, for the rest of my life, I'm going to wake up knowing I'm the guy who got one over on Batman. | One of my goons--his name didn't matter, he was a *goon*\--came stumbling into my room. He had in his hands one of the boxes from the warehouse. Usually, I would be livid. It was useless for it to be even near me. I was the brains of this operation, not the muscle.
No, the dangerous contraband that we moved could be left to the nameless, unimportant goons, thank you very much.
"Sir," the unnamed man called. He all but dropped the crate at my feet, something that didn't please me in the slightest. Didn't he know how delicate our merchandise was? How easy it was to destroy it? No, of course he didn't. Even if I trusted the goons enough to tell them what we were moving, I wouldn't expect them to understand its value. "We have a problem. It's... the Batman. He's onto us!"
Onto us? Why, that was a funny notion. As if I were hiding my operations at all. I would have rather the caped crusader be unrelated to my plans at all, but the man's inclusion wasn't necessarily bad.
If anything, it was a good thing.
Still, that left the prevalent problem of why exactly this nameless peon decided to bring the merchandise to me. Did he expect me to do something with it?
"I managed to smuggle this one out of the truck, but I couldn't save anything else." The grunt then looked away, averting his eyes in what must have been shame. I couldn't quite tell. He was a bald, scarred man in his thirties. His shame looked a lot like complication. "And the others... they weren't able to escape."
Escape? Why were they trying to--
Did they think we were smuggling drugs? I mean, I hadn't told them what we were moving, but to just assume...
I opened my mouth to talk to him, but I was interrupted by the sound of my door once again being smashed open. I looked up, only to see something that I was sure would haunt my nightmares for days to come. Sheer black was draped over light gray spandex that doubled as a bulletproof armor. The black symbol of a bat covered the man's broad, muscular chest, and hovered menacingly over a utility belt that could respond to almost any situation.
The Batman was here, and he wasn't happy. True, I myself had never seen him smile, but this was also the first time I had ever seen the man in the flesh.
"It's the Bat!" Nameless Goon yelled. He pulled out his gun, and I couldn't have thought of a *worse* reaction. I looked at him, a look of unabated awe on my face at the sheer stupidity of the man. I could applaud his bravery in attempting to protect me, especially in the face of the Batman, but did he really think that he could do anything with that?
Batman, of course, did not look impressed either. He stared at the man, then at me, and for a second we shared a moment of understanding.
"Put the gun away, Charles," I said. I wasn't sure if it were the man's name, but there wasn't any other person in the room I could be talking to. Goon stared back at me, unsure if I were serious, but he did as I said.
Batman, in response, rose from the combat stance he was in. For a while we were gifted with silence, an opportunity that I was quick to capitalize on.
"And what could I do for you, Batman?" I asked. I tried to sound as calm as I could. It wasn't hard, as I was wearing my black, two-piece suit. I always felt calmer and more at home whenever I wore it. "Is there a reason why you feel the need to break down my door?"
I was making banter, but that actually was something that I was concerned about. That door wasn't expensive, but it *was* something that was going to be an all day thing.
Batman's little eye hole thing thinned, and I knew that the man-of-little-words didn't feel the need to explain himself. No need, I could speak for myself.
"It appears that you think I'm up to know good. I'm not entirely sure why."
I walked around my goon, who was now watching me with the same awe I had reserved for him not a minute prior. I ignored him as I made my way over to the crate. I held my hand out, then pointed to a crowbar that was sitting on my desk. Luckily, I was blessed with a smarter goon today and he placed it in my hands.
"I can assure you, however, that I am running a legitimate business here." I placed the end of the crowbar under the crate's lid and hefted. The wood groaned as the nails were wrenched from it, before finally popping. What was inside was as I expected.
Goon surely didn't expect it, but I didn't think he would. I wasn't even sure he knew what he was looking at.
Batman, however, did. He stared at the vials of clear liquid that was sitting in the crate, then looked back at me.
"This is still contraband. You don't have the right to distribute this. Especially for these prices."
I smiled, and it was a wicked smile that mirrored the same one I got when I first realized how useless the Batman was. Criminals were locked away and escaped as quickly as night turned to day. As soon as I realized that the Joker--that bastard that crippled my dear Anne--had a track record of getting away scott-free, I knew that being a criminal in Gotham was a joke.
And all I had to do was be smart about it.
"It's a free market, Batman. I can do as I wish as long as I do everything by the book. If you'd like, you can check my sales acquisition folders and my suppliers. Everything is legitimate."
The vigilante continued to look at me, and I knew that he was searching for some sort of lie. Unfortunately for him, however, I was doing no such thing.
Eventually, he relented. He backed away, still suspicious, but with no hard evidence to pin me down.
"I'll be keeping an eye on you," he ended up saying. Then I blinked, and he was gone.
"Boss," goonlet said. "How... what did you do? How did you..."
I rolled my eyes, then turned to the goon. I wanted to smack him, but I doubted that would be enough to save him.
Instead, I decided to explain it to him. "Technically, nothing we've been doing on the books is illegal." I chose my words carefully, just in case the Batman broke a few laws of his own and bugged my room in the minute he was in here. "And we're going to continue to do so. Anyway, pick this shit up. We've got work to do."
The goon didn't ask questions, and instead rose up to help. I watched as he carried it away, content in the fact that I was technically doing something good.
And if I had to make some really questionable and... forceful... decisions to peddle some cheaper insulin, so be it.
I'd like to see Batman get mad at me for that. | 2022-01-02T22:39:33 | 2022-01-02T19:59:15 | 153 | 85 |
[WP]After thousands of years of searching humanity finally re-establishes contact with it's long lost colony, Earth. | The president and his disciples sat at the conference table, anxiously watching the screen.
The screen lit up to reveal a group of Humans in a similar format. One sat at the front, all of them sitting eagerly forward in their chairs.
"Greetings from the Empire of Seksistinen!" The foremost leader said, grinning enormously. His black hair was slicked back and his eyes were sparkling with excitement," Is it true? Are you the fabled Lost Colony of Earth?"
The President muttered the word fabled under his breath.
"Yes... well, I represent one of the many countries within Earth. It is an honor to meet you, and establish first contact with extraterrestrial life," replied the president.
"You've gone back to the country system?" One of the leader in the back spoke up.
Before the President could answer, the foremost leader replied," We know based on the, uh, "Voyager Golden Record," which we used to track them down, that they reverted back to a few slightly primitive methods."
"Is it true that your colony is the greatest warrior class of all time?" Another leader asked. Rather than the contempt the President expected that sort of question to be asked in, his voice was filled with excited curiosity. It was the same tone a child might use if it met a mermaid.
The President gave a brief rundown of how there were several ancient civilizations known for their warlike tendencies, but quickly explained that this was the longest time of peace in history. The aliens seemed slightly disappointed at the last part.
"However we still have some of the greatest arsenals fire-arms and weaponry, including nuclear missiles," The President added. it seemed vital that the aliens were pleased.
Then they seemed unfamiliar with the concept, and so the President explained nuclear missiles. At that, their faces lit up again. As if this was the sort of thing they had expected from "The Fabled Lost Colony of Earth."
A little uneasy, but still determined to get to negotiations, the President continued,"My colleagues and I—"
The President motioned to the people around the table, about half of them were women and the group was of diverse races. However the President stopped his sentence rather abruptly when he saw how the representatives of Seksistinen reacted. Their smiles dropped into frowns. Their eager and excited lean forward gave the impression of anger.
"You mean to tell me *this* is your court!" The foremost representative yelled.
"I wouldn't call it a court really—"
"But it has *women!* Why, this means war!" However he seemed uncertain of this claim as soon as he said it. All of the other aliens seemed to hang back as well.
The President muted his channel, as did the Seksistinenians, and the Earthlings turned towards each other.
"There is absolutely no way we can declare war on *first contact*. This is non-negotiable," said one Earthling.
"I think absolute war is the best course of action. They seem to have complete faith in our militia. *And* an Empire of sexism in cosmic space is going to remain a major issue until it is dealt with."
Several other Earthlings murmured in agreement.
The President spoke,"Those in favor of War?"
Most hands went up. The President unmuted their channel.
"Seksistinenians, we have decided to declare war. you have one chance to retract your statement."
There was terror in the foremost Seksistinenian's eyes. The screen emanated fear.
"P-please!"
"Try to remain civil," said a women in Earth's house of representatives.
This angered the foremost Seksistinenian. The thought of a woman bossing him around overpowered his fear, and he straightened out.
"It's war!" | It's odd really. Yesterday I was just some nerdy kid playing with an old walkie my mom picked up for me in a thrift shop; now I'm being rushed down some kind of metal corridor by men in black suits.
"Where are you taking me?" My 13 year old voice squeaks as in my fear I attempt to be assertive.
No response.
We finally reach a tall metal door that looks like it came straight off a submarine. One of my escorts steps forward and turns the large metal wheel on the front and swings the heavy door open. As we step inside the room looks like something out of a James bond movie. Large computers with blinking lights cover the walls filling the room with a gentle humming noise. In the back I can see a line of people at keyboards all looking at the same monitor. Currently on the monitor is a photo of me. A chill goes down my spine as I'm guided to a side office where the men push me in and close and lock the door behind me.
"Hello there" a silky voice comes from the desk in front of me. A woman, maybe in her mid 30s, is staring me down.
"Not much for a interplanetary liaison are you?"
I look at her confused "I...I'm not sure what you mean miss"
"Don't be coy with me we have recordings of you speaking with your officers via radio"
The only person I had reached playing with the walkie is a man that claimed to be from space or something, I assumed he was on crack.
"There was a guy named jareet, i think, claimed he came from another solar system and he just wanted to know how i was doing, said he'd be here to check up on me next week" the woman's eyes widen in terror. | 2017-12-29T18:14:02 | 2017-12-29T15:30:46 | 55 | 11 |
[WP] When humans arrived to the galactic scene, they thought wars would play out way differently. Instead of bloodshed, there were intergalactic video game tournaments fighting for territory. Most aliens thought humans were newbies to this but when the first war was played, they changed their minds. | Vax lay on top of the roof of an apartment complex, surveying the street through the scope of his rifle, checking for human avatars.
"First sector, clear," came a voice over the headset.
Vax scanned the area twice more, then crouch sprinted over to the other side to repeat the procedure.
"Second sector, clear," came a different voice.
Vax heard the rooftop door open, and startled slightly. He turned around to find Tas coming across the roof.
"Anything inside?" said Vax.
"Negative," sighed Tas "it's just check a room briefly, sweep the entire floor, move down one, rinse and repeat."
Vax nodded, and turning back towards the street, said "The humans, they are new to our form of combat. I do not think this shall be too difficult."
Tas walked to the other side of the roof, replying "At least they shouldn't be as hard to beat as the Bailens. Remember how they got our flag? Tried to distract us with a lot of noise..."
Vax chuckled softly, saying "Yes. I seem to remember them making a lot more noise when we obtained their flag and slaughtered their avatars. In fact-"
He was suddenly cut off by the sound of gunfire and a revving engine, quickly growing louder. Suddenly, out of what seemed like no where, a stock vehicle sped past.
On the other street, two avatars ran from cover to cover. Vac quickly dispatched one, but missed the other and cursed.
The voice of their team leader came over the headset, "They appear to have no strategy, nothing we can counter or expect. We must only react."
Vax cursed as his screen suddenly grew red and black, showing the words Avatar Destroyed. As he watched the replay, he realised that he had been shot almost in passing by someone who almost simultaneously killed Tas' avatar, and then leaped off of the building. Vax wondered if the human avatar had survived the fall. He turned and watched with disbelief as one after the other, all of the screens in his row, and then his entire section, faded to black and red and showed those words: Avatar Destroyed.
He turned back to his screen to see his avatar respawn, and almost immediately get killed again.
Eventually after several more minutes, the screen faded to blue and green, the colours chosen by the human team. Vax stared with disbelief at the words on the screen: Human Victory, Dorun City Lost. | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/starcraft] [A writing prompt that i thought i would share here, enjoy!](https://www.reddit.com/r/starcraft/comments/8c3rfa/a_writing_prompt_that_i_thought_i_would_share/)
&nbsp;*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))* | 2018-04-13T18:01:20 | 2018-04-13T16:59:36 | 319 | 41 |
[WP] A cure is made for a zombies virus outbreak. Everyone who has been infected is cured, but they retain their hellish memories from their time as a zombie. You are a doctor (or psychologist) treating of of the cured for PTSD.
Woohoo!!! First post over 1000 up votes, I've been doing some research online and have found a really cool short that has a related setting as this prompt.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9pvDGdBWrw | "It happened to you too?" He asked.
I made sure to make that scar on my forearm visible when we first met. They needed to relate. It was almost always through me that they opened up. I showed a pained smile before answering.
"Yes. I... I killed my... wife and child."
I measured every hesitations. Every word. By now of course I was almost - for lack of a better word - comfortable talking about it. They needed to see my pain. But most of all, they needed to see that I overcame it. I discovered that after a month in. The usual methods were mostly completely obsolete. Patients would always isolate themselves to an extreme. They needed an emotional connection to reel them back into humanity. They needed to feel that collective identity again. But to achieve that, a private approach wouldn't cut it by itself. After a time, I would always encourage them to join group sessions. It was almost time for him now.
"I'm sorry." He mumbled.
I knew what was coming next. But he needed to ask. He needed to take that first step, however insignificant it might seem. After a long pause, he managed to say it.
"May I ask... H-how did you survive? I mean..." I knew what he meant. "How did you manage to... to... to carry on?"
I answered. Truthfully. Without white lies. Without compromise.
"There are no amount of pills or drugs that can make you forget. I know. I tried. There are also no easy epiphanies or breakthroughs that make everything immediately right like you see in the movies. It takes time and patience and simple little things that add up to make big things."
Not quite the answer he sought. Then again, he didn't understand yet that what he sought was hope.
"I know it's impossible to fathom now, but it does get better. At first, I had dark thoughts too. Thoughts of ending it. I couldn't control the nightmares either. I couldn't find a single reason to keep on living. Precisely because there is no *single* reason. There's multiple."
He started tearing up. But he kept listening. He kept relating. I kept talking.
"Michael I know that right now, all you can see is guilt, grief... Helplessness. It's constant. Ceaseless. It surpasses any other feeling you may have. Like a dense mist that clouds everything around you."
I paused.
"*Yes*" He exhaled in a whisper. Tears were now flowing freely on his cheeks. I couldn't help it either . I never can when I see someone cry. But he was still listening. And I was still talking.
"After a while, that mist dissipates. You start looking around... And what you see is memories of hope. You see beautiful things again. And with time and love, you learn to forgive yourself... and start living again... start helping the rest of us rebuild something stronger than we had before, back when we felt alone no matter how connected we were to one another."
My voice trembled by now. No matter how many times that I told these words, I rediscovered them.
"Humanity will carry on. We need to be here to make sure it stays on the right path, to stop repeating mistakes of the past, to thrive... But that's a choice you have to make. And you have to keep making that choice everyday of your life. But you won't make it alone. I'll be here. We'll be here with you, Michael."
We hugged and cried for a while. I look at him and saw in his eyes the same spark of resolve I now saw in the mirror each morning.
I spoke.
"We're gonna make it."
________________________
The writing is obviously amateur as I never wrote before and english is a second language. I love to read WPs and I guess I felt here that I could suggest a different avenue... | I exhale deeply, attempting to prepare myself for the restless day- and night, ahead of me. Today was one of the many days that I, a mentally unstable, but respected, teenager with the correct knowledge and mental image of the destruction, whose origins date back to only a few months, would tend to the many who have survived, yet feel the same as before the cure.
I stare down at my stump of a leg. I remember the cartilage that lay behind the bandages when it was ripped apart. I remember how it felt for the limb to be on its last strings of bloody rope that held together all my leg. I had it chopped off immediately, was given the cure, and was considered a lucky case.
Some old man, wise in this area, explained carefully to me as to what my work would be. I was yelling at him, screaming about how I could not possibly do this, I wasn't brisk in how it was with that gruesome virus, I couldn't possibly sympathize.
All I remembered was the way I was treated. A coward. I didn't have to face the realities, just a dumb teenager who had left her parents for nothing. I was nothing.
"Doctor." A sweet, small voice called out softly as he entered, head down, revealing a imbrued scab of a wound. He, masked in bandages from head to toe, shivered below me, not willing to look up at all.
I try to give the most sincere pseudo-smile to the child, who depressed me just to glance at, and ask a simple, but obvious question.
"What's wrong, honey?"
I didn't get the most obvious answer.
The little one hesitated, first somewhat rising his head, wincing in the pain that brought forth the pressure to his large, gushing wounds. Then, the boy quickly brought his gaze to my eyes and leapt straight into my arms.
Soon after, as I found myself in intensive care, I knew it would be sooner or later that I would readily bleed to death before the virus would ever get to me. | 2014-12-06T20:20:15 | 2014-12-06T18:06:17 | 51 | 11 |
[WP] You're a witch with a penchant to bargain for firstborn children... to adopt and train as apprentices. You've done it hundreds of times now, and considering how wretched the biological parents tend to be you're really doing the kids a favor. | "I am very careful-" I begin, fixing the man across the table with a look that was at once uncompromising and empathetic. "-to never demand it in return for... vital services. I won't ask for a firstborn to save a life, to repair a limb, or anything like that. Just..." A frown grows across my face as I try to come up with an example that fits, but my drinking partner interrupts me.
"Sounds a lot like excuses to me." He replied, leaning back. I wasn't usually one to keep the company of locals when I visited a tavern, but on occasion someone approaches me that's either interesting enough to catch my attention or lucky enough to have caught me while particularly bored. This one had offered his name, but I hadn't bothered to remember it. He was firmly in the second camp, but he *had* brought drinks with him, so it was the least I could do to entertain his questions. And his interruptions.
I shrug, the contents of my tankard sloshing around with the movement of the motion. "I don't need excuses, it's legal in most kingdoms. But you asked how I justify it, and I'm answering your question." I narrow my eyes and look off towards the ceiling as I try to find my train of thought. "Right, anyway, last month I visited the city just down the river, near the coast, you know the one. So I was there, and this Duke approached me asking me to help with his buisness fortunes. At first I was willing to cut him a pretty fair deal, but he was an asshole. Kept pushing for more and more and more, and refused to offer decent coin for my trouble, so I offered him an alternative deal."
"He took it?" The man tilted his head, curious though not quite yet convinced.
"I wouldn't be telling you about it if he didn't. Simple deal: His first born son for some pretty powerful enchantments and such. I held up my end of the deal, he held up his." I let out a sigh. "I almost feel bad for him."
"The kid? You're the on-"
"No, not the kid. Gods, not the kid. He's much better off now than he was before. You should've *seen* how that oaf treated his own flesh and blood." I lean across the table and lower my voice till it's no longer audible over the din of the tavern. "It's usually nobles that jump at it, and they can be nasty pieces of work. Besides, no-one willing to hand over their own children for something like that cares much about them. It shouldn't surprise you that they get treated like shit. I've been doing this for hundreds of years now and-"
"Wait, just *how* old are you?" The man shirks back with an expression on his face that could be produced either by eating a lemon or suddenly realising that you were (poorly) attempting to court a woman 300 years your senior. He was firmly in the second camp.
"Don't you know it's rude to ask a woman her age? Or interrupt people?" I give him a stern look, and he replies with what I take to be apologetic silence. "My point was - is that if you're willing to give up your child for something that petty you don't treat them well to begin with. Frankly, they're better off with me."
"So... what do you do with them?" He asks, a little more cautiously now.
"I raise them, usually with the help of prior students. Teach them magic. Once they come of age, they're free to do whatever they'd like... and I suppose if they wanted, they could just run away. Doesn't happen too often though."
"The parents ever come looking for them?"
"That happens more often, but probably less often than you'd think, and when it does it usually settles itself. After a week or two, the children find that they don't much feel like leaving to rejoin their families." I look to each side, to make sure no-one was watching to listen in, before lowering my voice again. "Besides, for clients like that? They get a... karmic outcome from my magic. Seems only fitting. I am a witch, after all." | "You call me a witch like that's a bad thing you monster!" Hyra exclaimed
"You're trying to buy my child, what would you have me call you? And what you're offering, peanuts. With a magical child I can have all you offer plus more"
Hyra laughed internally, it was over, the child would be returning with her. The negotiation was now a mere formality. You see, people have tells, little ways of indicating exactly what they are thinking. This low life wasn't even clever about it. Those unwilling to sell don't haggle. The comment about offering peanuts tipped his hand. He could care less about his own child. He's not worried about the child's safety, comfort, or well being. What this scum cares about is being offered "peanuts" for his precious baby girl.
It was difficult for Hyra to hold her anger in check, but she wasn't the bad guy here. She had the best interests at heart for this child. All I need to do is get this clown to agree to give up the kid, then I am out of here. Looking around she couldn't help but feel bad for these people, the way they lived was a small step above homeless. The daughter, horribly malnourished, black circles under her eyes, grossly underweight. But her eyes, those golden eyes that have her marked as magical.
"Sir, let us make a deal here. You and I both know you cannot train this child to perform magic, or likely any task. So your position that you can 'have all this plus more' a little ridiculous don't you agree?"
"You can't talk to me like that in my own home"
"On the contrary, I am superior to you in each and every way, you are as the cockroach beneath my shoes. I can stamp you out with a flick of my wrist. You're lucky that all I want to do is to give your daughter a better life"
"Yes you're altruistic, all you care about is the well being of my daughter..."
This gave Hyra pause, altruistic? That was a word, looking around, she didn't expect the man would know, much less use it properly in a sentence. How could this man possibly...
"Hyra Coldblood, You're under arrest for crimes against warlock kind! For the last 2 millennia you have systematically bargained for the firstborn child of many a warlock and human alike. Your crimes cannot continue" And with that he slashed his wand in the air, and her head fell cleanly from her body. | 2021-10-26T11:00:21 | 2021-10-26T08:58:35 | 95 | 25 |
[WP] Every ten years, you must go in front of a board of peers who will evaluate your life for you. If you do not "Impress your peers" you will be executed. | The wait was always the worst, Nikamo knew that, but this time was the hardest of all. In all honesty, he was surprised he had made it this far. "They'll hang you at the next hearing if you keep this up, you little rascal" his mother always told him, yet here he was about to have yet another hearing, not a day younger than 60.
"Nice day for it, isn't it?" Nikamo asked the only other person in the waiting room with him in an attempt to distract himself from the hearing, looming above him like an ominous shadow. It was a man who looked to be twenty, staring intently at his shoes. He jerked his head up, his face looking as if he had just been sentenced, and followed Nikamo's finger as it pointed at the light drizzle outside the window.
"It's raining." The man mumbled, his eyes lingering for a moment on the feather-plumed hat on Nikamo's head before they wandered back down to his feet..
"That's what I'm saying." Nikamo said with a wry smile. "If you're going to die, you'd best go out in shitty weather, that way you won't miss it so much."
"I'd rather not die at all." The man muttered, shooting side wards glances at the door to the hearing room. Nikamo remembered his own second hearing. That was the one where he had almost shit himself, he was so nervous. Back then he couldn't stop going over all the stupid things he had done and all the mistakes he had made, promising every god he could think of he'd give it all if he just got another chance, just ten more years. And then he passed and a week later he forgot all about his promise. After all, the next hearing was a decade away.
"Unfortunately, that's not for either of us to decided." Nikamo said and took a swig from the flask in his jacket pocket before offering it to his new companion. "I'm Nikamo, at your service."
"Sam." The man said as his eyes hungrily licked the flask, but with an effort he managed to shake his head. "I'd better not." Sam said. "Best if I stay sharp." Nikamo shrugged as if to say 'your loss', took another swig for himself and leaned back, putting his feet on the table between them.
"You don't look worried." Sam said and he was right, Nikamo wasn't worried.
Nikamo sighed and stroked his beard. "I used to be." He said, reminiscing about all the times he had sat in this room, awaiting his chance to plead for his life. "I damn near pissed myself, thought I was going to die for sure each and every time." He let out a sigh and filled the void it left behind with a mouthful of whiskey. "Not this time though."
Sam looked as though he was about to ask a question, but then he closed his mouth and when he opened it again he said, "I've been studying nights for a year now. Working all day, studying all night. You don't think... You don't think they'd...?" He trailed off and bit his lip.
"Think they'd kill you? No, surely not." Nikamo waved the notion away like a fly. "If someone like me made it all this time I don't even know who they fail. A good kid like you will breeze right through it."
There was a soft beep over the radio com and a woman's voice said "Nikamo Costa, please step through the door to the hearing room. Nikamo Costa, please step through the door to the hearing room."
Nikamo slowly stood up and took a sweeping bow, removing his feather-plumed hat with a flourish. "A pleasure." He said, placed the hat back on his head and strode towards the door with a spring in his step.
"Wait!" Sam called out as Nikamo's hand touched the doorknob. The question he'd been meaning to ask sprung forth before he could stop himself. "What makes you think they're not going to kill you this time?"
Nikamo turned around slowly and pursed his lips, frowning slightly as he thought this over. "I don't think they're going to kill me because this time, I know they're going to kill me." He nodded to himself, satisfied that he had summed the situation up adequately and added, "No sense worrying about a thing you can't change." | I had gotten the job when I was twenty-one. I was a shoe-in since my second meeting with the Board, they said. Studious, friendly, nice penmanship... they said I was a "good image" of what they believed in. I hated the system, I hated the lies... but refusing a Board job meant Failing for sure. So I bought their stupid uniform and wore their stupid makeup. A survivor and a Scribe I was. But then I met Annie.
"Hellooooo!"
I was on my way to the copy room when the bright little voice caught my attention. I turned and looked down to see where it came from. 'Oh, God,' I thought, 'she'll never make it.' I made my best effort to walk away and forget the face, but it was too late. "What'th your name?"
I turned to the child again, and immediately regretted it. She was a short girl, a little chubby, wearing a fluffy yellow dress and polished black shoes. She smiled at me, holding a stuffed bunny toy in her left hand and playing with her headband in her right. Her bright eyes - something was wrong with them - looked somewhat at me and somewhat at the floor. The child was adorable, but I knew what was coming. "It's... I'm... uh..."
"I'm Alith."
"Oh," I said, but I couldn't meet her eyes. I searched for a new focal point, finding myself on the other two people in the waiting room. A man and a woman. More regret. The man had his arm around the young lady, who was shuddering uncontrollably and choking back sobs. The man wore a blank, warlike stare; I didn't want to know what was lying behind his eyes. I saw the mother holding a rabbit toy - a bunny just like the child's - up against her chest. The man held the handle of a teeny little wheelchair. It was folded now, lying next to a bottle of pills. "H-hi, Alice. I'm M-" I looked at the little girl again, but only for a moment. My glance rushed to the parents, but the father's violent eyes threw me back. I buried my eyes in the papers. "I'm Mary."
"Hi Mary, I'm Alith."
I choked up a smile and tried to get away. "Hi... hi Alice! I have... to go, Alice. Bye, Alice."
I broke away as fast as my stupid shoes would let me. Papers fell from my hands, but I didn't bother to go back for them. I kept walking. Kept running. I knew whose name was written on those red slips of paper. | 2014-06-15T13:59:44 | 2014-06-15T11:23:06 | 64 | 12 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to know what is buried beneath your feet. You have worked for years alongside archaeologists finding lost cities and ancient treasures; however, today is the first time you have ever said "We should not dig here." | "So Boss," Doohan drawled "anything of note here?"
"Nope." I said, "Nothing at all, we best move on."
It was our third day on a previously unknown island in the Atlantic ocean. To be precise we were at 32.296060, -64.826548. In all their years of operation nobody's satellites saw this island. Not NASA, Not the CIA, Not the MSS, Nor the SVR. Everyone's' satellites just showed just another blue patch of ocean. So when a container ship when missing and the retrieval crew found it grounded on this island every major player was interested. After all, surveillance was their business and their satellites didn't detect this island. Knowing that everyone would want a finger in this pie, the US filed an injunction at the UN to try and stop other countries from gaining an advantage. After a few months of deliberation and backroom dealing the UN officially called me and my team in to investigate on behalf of the entire world. Unofficially I'm working for the Americans. Why? It's my patriotic duty of course!
Bullsh*t.
The Americans were really wigged out that their fancy--and expensive--satellites could miss something. Especially since this island is 50 sq km. So they offered me the one thing I really wanted: the opportunity to reform any law, no questions asked. Like I said, they were seriously freaked-out about this. At 10 km a day the expedition will be over soon. My report will be as follows: no need to excavate; nothing of value.
**Daily Debrief Session**
"Dammit Jim! What is really down there" DeForest asked.
DeForest is my contact with the Americans. Obviously his name isn't actually DeForest, that is just his code name.
"Well Dee, I'll tell you this much: We should not dig here"
"Why not?"
"Because whatever is down their isn't man-made. It is most likely extraterrestrial."
"That's a lame excuse Jim. We're gonna dig. We've simply invested too many resources not to. Do you know how hard it is to change a *Federal Law*?"
"No, but that's not my problem. Look--you're probably a spook or an analyst of some kind. What happens when the US finds evidence of alien tech?"
"What an incredibly stupid question! We wou-"
A realization spread across DeForest's face.
"Oh." He said in a very small voice, "But what abou-"
"Nuh uh. Think it through."
There was a long pause.
After a while Deforest spoke: "Sh*t man. You're right we shouldn't dig here. That's some incredibly complex geopolitics. How'd you figure that out?"
I smiled. "I've been doing this for a while Dee. I've been doing this for a while. You don't think this is the first time I've seen 'nothing' do you?"
| I am cold, and in a dark cell. Beside me, my cat Thompson sleeps. Below me, an evil does as well. Even now, I can hear his words, those awful words, those evil words.
"Have you no honor?"
Varet looked close to murder, though his eyes were also clouded with confusion. This was the first time I had ever told the team to stop digging. Perhaps to him, it seemed unjustified. After all, what danger could be left from the old ones? But now I know the meaning of the sacred prophecies. There are places without honor. This is one.
"Lock him up. We dig!"
They carried me off, like some common criminal. At first, I shouted warnings, tried to get them to stop. But they didn't heed me. Then, I begged them to stop. But they did not heed me. I can hear the drills strike steel, and the shouts of triumph. They will all die, and I will join them. At least I have Thompson for some light to read by. | 2016-09-03T16:02:43 | 2016-09-03T15:11:03 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] You are The Memory Broker. You copy other people's memories and sell them to people who want to remember things they never did. Your latest client is a ten year-old girl who slides you her piggy bank and begs you to help her grandmother remember her. | "Can't do it."
"Why not?" She had her hands leaned against the desk, her fingers splayed, pink and soft like baby starfish. She had a scowl on her face, and she had her eyes set on mine.
I smiled. "You know how it works, kid. I'm a *Broker*. I give people memories they never had. I don't restore lost memories. You need magic for that."
She smirked. "Who needs magic--" she lifted a hand and gestured toward the glass piglet at the center of my desk "--when you've got *money*?" She raised an eyebrow. There was a nasty scar running down the center of her forehead, and it bunched up with the rest of her baby skin whenever she made one of those exaggerated expressions she loved so much.
"Can't do it, kid," I said.
"Well I've got eighteen weeks of allowance that says *you can*."
I looked up at the ceiling.
----------------------------------------------
Later, we were standing outside her grandmother's two-storey house, at the front door, waiting for the old lady to greet us.
"This is gonna be so cool," the girl said. "Is that what you use?" She pointed at the massive book I held in my arms. "Is it like magic? It's like magic! *Magic*!"
"Shut up!" I said.
She folded her arms across her chest.
I looked around. A man and his dog had stopped on the sidewalk to look at us. I waved. The dog looked at its owner, as if to say, *Let's get out of here*. Then they got out of there.
Finally Grandma opened the door. But she only looked at us and then proceeded to close it again.
"No!" The little girl started pushing at the door to keep it from closing all the way. "Grandma!" she shouted.
The old lady yielded. "What do you want?" she asked, peaking past the door.
"Grandma, it's me."
The old lady looked past the child at me, and I held my book up and said, "I have a free gift here, just for you."
She popped an eyebrow up. "Free gift?"
"Something you lost."
"Hm."
"Mind if we come in?"
She stared at me for a long time. "Do I know you?" she asked.
I shook my head. "I hope not."
---------------------------------------------------
We sat around the table as she flitted around the kitchen like a moth, her droopy clothes almost billowy, blooming slightly like flags in a soft breeze as she went by. She put a teacup down in front of me and started pouring, and just as I started to say, "Oh no thank you," she took the cup and sipped from it herself, the kettle in her offhand, as if she couldn't be bothered to put it down first.
She slammed the teacup down like a drunk slamming a beerglass at a bar, and she shifted her eyes from me to the child, who was by now sitting on the edge of her chair and swinging her legs back and forth.
"So what is that thing?" she asked, pointing at my book, which lay on the table.
I pulled it close and looked up at her. "It's... a photo album."
She grunted.
I gestured with my hand for the girl to come over, and she got off her chair and stood between me and the old woman. Then I flipped the book open.
"This is Maisey," I said.
"That's an ugly baby."
Maisey looked up at her grandma and said, "There *are* no ugly babies."
Grandma burped. "That's just something they tell people with ugly babies."
I flipped through the pages, pointing out the cornerstone moments in every child's development from a small bundle of flesh to a walking, talking visage of everything its parents hid away when they embraced adulthood. Kindergarten. "Ugly baby, ugly kid," Grandma said. First grade. First grade again. "Who gets left back in first grade?" Little league basketball. "She looks like she should be playing with the boys." Her first time at the beach. "They let *kids* wear that?"
"And this," I said, flipping to the next page, "is when Maisey spent a year at the hospital."
The old woman popped her eyebrow up again. "A year? What happened?"
"I had a severe... infraction," Maisey said.
I patted her head and smiled. "Fractured skull. Severe concussion."
Maisey nodded.
"What," grandma said, "did she get hurt playing basketball?"
"No, no," I looked up at the old woman. "She hit her head at home."
"Parents don't pay attention these days," she said. "I'm not surprised."
"They were paying attention, though. Look." I flipped to the next page. Maisey was asleep in a hospital bed with bandages around her skull and wires running from underneath all that white cloth so that she looked like an alien queen you'd find at the center of a robotic monstrosity. The old woman was sitting next to her with big red eyes. "This is her grandma," I said.
The old woman did not speak.
"Maisey and her grandma got in an argument one day. Grandma was used to people backing down, and Maisey was not the type to back down. So grandma smacked Maisey, and Maisey ran away crying. She tripped at the top of the stairs, and--"
"Stop," grandma said.
I flipped to the next page. Pictures of the old woman sleeping in a chair beside the hospital bed. Pictures of Maisey's mother and father. Pictures of them celebrating Maisey's birthday with a cake. Maisey asleep the whole while.
"Stop that," grandma said.
"When her grandmother came to me," I continued, "she told me to take this picture book. She told me to get rid of it, really, but..."
The grandmother picked the heavy book up, her bony and veiny arms trembling just slightly, but with violence rather than weakness, and then she tossed it away, letting it slide across the floor until it hit the far wall.
When she looked back at me, her eyes were big and red, much like they had been in all the pictures.
Maisey hugged her legs.
The old woman touched the scar on Maisey's forehead.
"Just so you know," I said, leaning back in my chair, "I don't do refunds."
-------------------------------------
If you enjoyed that, [you might like this prompt I did yesterday.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/49i7r0/wp_theres_an_insane_person_who_wants_to_destroy/d0s0tjx)
If you like my style in general, I've also written a book. [You can get it on amazon here!](http://www.amazon.com/Perjure-Book-Multiverse-S-Hansford/dp/1512187992/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1457441872&sr=8-1&keywords=perjure#customerReviews) | My job is pretty boring. See this memory, stuff it in a small crystal ball, look at the swirly clouds inside, pow, you're done. Some guy who wants a hot girlfriend but will never get one comes to the Memory House and asks for a hot girlfriend memory. I toss him the orb and he swallows it, pow, he gets a memory; now he can jack off easily without the internet. Or I'll give some memory of a grand vacation, or a happy wife, etc. etc.
Get a memory, put in orb, give orb with memory to guy who wants it, they remember it as if they did the memory. Simple. And really, really boring.
Of course, dealing with memories and whatnot, there are moments that stick with you. I remember that back in the day, back when I had just started my job, a little girl, about ten years of age, had come to the Memory House and asked for help.
I was manning the counter at the time, so she went to me and pulled out a piggy bank from her backpack. She had a bit of trouble holding the pig, and had a big smile on her face as she dropped the thing on the counter. I looked behind the girl, no queue today, I decided she could take her time to do whatever she wanted.
"You do memories, right?" she asked in this sweet, almost pre-pubescent voice that kids have at that age. I nodded in the affirmative.
"Good." she said simply. She was confident, but the confidence began to break down. Now the little girl was nibbling her lips. She looked up at me and her eyes were twinkling under the fluorescent lights, but she was frowning.
"Can you," she began, then broke off. I cocked my head in curiosity. "Can you... give my grandma her memories back?"
"Ah-" I said and then stopped. The girl's request wasn't possible. We only had memories donated by anonymous persons. It was impossible to find the girl's grandma's memories, even if they existed in our database. The girl probably thought the Memory House could restore memories. I had to break it to her.
I was about to speak, but she broke in, "'Cause my grandma has Alzheimers. Mom says that grandma won't be able to know me anymore. So I think you can help a lot. Doctors don't know what to do."
I took a deep breath, "We can't help you." I said bluntly. The little girl's eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly.
"Really?" she asked. The little girl wasn't crying, but she was twisting and turning as if she had a million words on her mind.
"No," I replied. "We only keep memories from secret people. Even if your grandma gave us her memories, we wouldn't be able to find her."
The little girl refused to cry. I sighed, unsure what to do, but then left the counter. I walked through the counter door and stepped up to the ten year old. I kneeled down and gave her a hug. She began to cry freely now, and my newly pressed white shirt was getting soiled by her tears. "There, there," I whispered, "it's alright." How long would I have to do this?
"I-i-it's j-ust," the little girl hiccuped, "to-to-today, I tried to g-get grandma a gla-glass of water and I tripped. And then she yelled at me, a-and called me stupid! A-and, she was always so nice. So why is she so mean now. Mom t-told me its because grandma w-was - i-is - sick and c-can't remember m-me s-so I just wanted to help her!" She began to sob loudly. Her wailing echoed off the walls. I hushed her and patted her softly.
"Come on, come on." I said, trying to console her, "It's alright." I had no idea what to do. Suddenly, an idea struck me like a bolt of lightening. "How about this," I began, "why don't you give me your memories of grandma, and then I'll put them in a ball for you, and you can give it to grandma! She'll get to enjoy every part of you!" That was pretty brilliant, on my part.
The little girl stopped crying and looked up at me, "Really?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah." I replied.
So we did the procedure. I gave the girl a few dozen memory balls, all of the same memories she had of her grandma. I told her to feed it to grandma. As the little girl walked away, happy as a clam, I couldn't help but smile as widely as she did.
Of course, I had to pay for it all out of my own pocket, but I still felt pretty good.
Nothing as interesting as that ever happened again, sadly. But, well, you can see here that I've kept an orb for myself. You can 'play' them like a camera recorder. I like to see those memories play out, and sometimes I'll wonder where the girl is today, and whether her grandma stayed as the little girl's grandma.
A bit silly, but I like to think of it as my best moment in an otherwise unmemorable time here, at the Memory House.
-----
/r/yingfire is available for your viewing pleasure | 2016-03-09T06:06:54 | 2016-03-09T05:50:50 | 65 | 44 |
[WP] A vampire woman stands in front of you. "any last words before I feed on you, human?" she says. Instead of fear a filling of pity wells up inside you. "Do you miss the sunrise?" you reply. Fully expecting to die there you're surprised when she replies "yes" with a look of sadness on her face. | I intentionally asked this question to stun her for a moment, expecting neither side of the coin to fall in my favor. Fortune was in my favor today, though.
Ceasing the opportunity, I slid passed her and went for the door. I expected her to give chase and slammed the door behind me. I should have kept going, but I could not ignore the pang in my heart at what my eye caught as I shut the portal.
The man in my head shouted, ‘You fool! Run! She is a monster and you her prey.’
The man in my heart countered, ‘You’ve been in her shoes before.’
I opened the door slowly to allow but a sliver of vision. Though I was rushing much, I saw that the vampiress was just standing there looking at the wall as if it would give her some wisdom.
The man in my head slapped me, but the heart-man drove me into the room. The undead didn’t bother to look my way. I took in a deep breath and let it out all in one silent motion.
Every thought raced through my head of what to say, but I couldn’t find it. So, I turned to the pilot of my being that spurned me in this moment. I reached into my pocket and came up to vampire.
She recoil in surprise, as if she didn’t know I was there just a moment before. I opened my billfold and showed her a picture of a cat.
“My cat, Annabelle, was my best friend. She was killed by some teenagers three year ago. I don’t know if your story is of the same line, but I do know how it feels to lose something you loved so dearly.”
Continuing on I said, “It’s also no mystery to me what it’s like to have no one help you.” I took out my phone, and I saw the time. I took out my work phone and handed it to her.
“When I call, slide your finger like this.”
“What are you doing?” she demanded to know.
I took off and went through the corridors of the abandoned office building until I found the stairs leading up. Nine flights of stairs later, I slammed the door open, scaring the pigeons as I burst forth.
“Please, have service.” I begged. I pressed the FaceTime button and cried, “Get ready!”
“Ready for what?”
She couldn’t see me through the darkness of the phone, but when I flipped the camera around, I swear you would have never seen a more shocked face. Her cheeks streaked and her breath was labored as she saw the crimson ball in the distance.
I heard her collapse through the microphone and witnessed her marveling at the hues of morning painting the sky. I took my own seat at the broken chiller behind me, and gazed into her face. The face of pure joy.
The vampiress sniffed harshly and wiped her eyes. “Thank you.”
“If you agree not to feed on me,” I said earnestly, “I’ll get you a phone that we can use so we can see the sunrise each morning.”
“I would like that.” she sniffed again. “No, I would love that.” | The world isn't fair. It is unfair however to everyone equally. My old man's words resounded in my ears as I lay there with her on top of me in a pool of red. My left leg bent at an unnatural angle like glowstick, blood refracting the moon light. No escape.
They say life flashes before your eyes before you bite the dust but it stopped for me. I could see her face, each little feature etching itself into my mind as I stared her down in this brief eternity.
I felt no fear. Just hate. Hate for the world. Hate for nature. Hating that it had to be this way. Right now I am helpless. But I won’t take it lying down. I will die but before that I will lash out like cornered beast with the only claws that haven't been filed down by this world. Words. Hate.
She's looking at me, anticpating something and I shall deliver.
"Do you miss the sunrise?"
She begins to weep and her tears tasted much better than my blood probably will to her. Stunned by her sorrow she doesn't see the bat coming for her face.
Smack. She falls back. But it doesn't matter. I can't run. I'll be torn into pieces when she wakes but it doesn't matter. This felt too good to pass up.
I pass out from blood loss. Good night world. | 2022-12-01T12:40:30 | 2022-12-01T11:31:19 | 40 | 14 |
[WP] You're not one of those storybook genies that take wishes literally and screw your masters over. You use the context to provide them with as close to what they had in mind as possible, but your latest master is making it difficult. | "I'd like a blue dress" she said, her frail weak voice whispered out from her wrinkly and cracking lips.
"Is that all? Just a blue dress? You know you could have anything in the world" I replied, hovering over lamp in a veil of mist.
"Yes, that's all, sir. Just a blue dress."
"Oh, alright then, here you go" with a wave of my hand, a blue dress adorned itself on her body before she even could reply.
With a humph, she said, "This isn't the color blue I wanted. This is green. I want blue."
Looking down at her, then her dress, then back to her, I assured myself the dress was actually blue. "It is blue" I said, "as blue as the sky and the ocean. I assure you miss that's a blue dress."
She sat up from her recliner, it moaned when her weight was lifted from it, "Sir, this isn't blue. This is green. Try again. You're suppose to grant me the one wish I want, and I wanted a blue dress, and this isn't blue. Can't do you anything right?"
"Fine," with a wave of my hand another blue dress appeared on her, "there. Happy?"
She looked down, then back up at me and spat, "This is purple. Not blue. I thought you were a genie, some kind of magical whatchamacallit, but so far you've only gave me what I don't wanted. Try harder next time."
This bit-! Okay, whatever, I thought, one more time and that's it. With a nod of my head and a smile across my face, I swept my hand through the air, and another blue dress adorned her unpleasant body.
Her head moved the same way it did before, inspecting the dress, then saying, "No, no, no. Sir. This is violet, not blue."
And this is how it went for almost an hour. I continued to create blue dresses, and she continued to say they weren't blue: red, green, violet, maroon, periwinkle, mac-n-cheese (whatever that is), so and so fourth until I was to the point of wrapping her neck in a blue noose.
"Lady! Look, see, goddamnit. I've given you hundreds of blue dresses, ones with different hues and shades of blue, dresses that were longer, shorter, wider, thinner, and thicker! I've given you dresses you could find in a damn thrift store and I've given you dresses you couldn't purchase even if you saved up for thousands of years!"
I turned and looked down at the lamp, "Screw this, I'm out."
In a flash of puffy white smoke, I minimized myself and entered the lamp, refusing to leave for the crazy old bag forever.
But in an instant, I was summoned out of the lamp by another person, and when towering over the white carpeted living room floor, I saw an old man standing next to the old woman, and he said, "I'd like a blue sweater vest." | The idea of granting wishes as close to the spirit of the wish is one few genies perform. Human masters are often fickle and incapable of making decisions when this much power is in their hands.
Two wishes had already been used on this one. He wished to have the exact amount of money in his pocket needed to buy anything, and he wished that his wife and himself would have their adoption paperwork streamlined so they could bring a child into their home. Those were fairly easy and rather well thought out.
However, Master Kevin was fast approaching what the mortals call a "Mid-life Crisis" When they feel they haven't accomplished much, and desire to reclaim some glory they never possessed.
When the time came for his third wish, he asked me for a Porsche 911. After a brief examination of the internet, I realized what it was that he wanted and cast a spell, bringing the framework of the vehicle into the middle of his driveway.
I expected him to hem and haw about the color and the size of the wheels. Because he had been so good with his previous wishes, I expected this wouldn't take too long. Four hours later, there was still only the ghostly image of a car in his driveway, waiting to be fully realized.
"No no, you don't understand, Shalamaran. It needs to be about twenty percent cooler!" | 2015-05-27T07:27:00 | 2015-05-27T05:54:32 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] You live in a world where people can only die on Tuesdays. Any mortal injury on any other day persists but you're still alive and it can be fixed before the Tuesday saving your life. It's Wednesday and you've been mortally wounded. | "Oh, would you look at that. I've been impaled."
I was dumbfounded. That sense of humor was normally welcomed, but this was... different. I stared at the rebar protruding from his stomach wondering what I should do. Wondering what I *could* do.
"What happened?" I asked. Maybe I shouldn't have forced him to relive the scenario, but I was more concerned than he was at the moment.
"I got impaled. Isn't it obvious?"
"Wh-- I'm serious!!"
"Hi serious, I'm Dad!"
I was getting angry. This might be my last week with my father and he's not even taking it seriously.
"Do you think this is funny?!" I shouted. He responded with a confused look, then glanced down at his stomach. "No, I think this is a piece of rebar." My jaw dropped. How could he care so little about his impending death?
"You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?"
"No, I'm Dad."
"DAD!"
"That's ma name, don't wear it out!"
I would've slapped him if it didn't look like he was in enough pain already. It must be the shock, I thought. I shook my head. "What do we do? You're gonna... die." A tear formed in my eye as a comeback was forming in my dad's mind. I saw his mouth open as he started to respond, but I cut him off. "I SWEAR, if you say "i'M nOt 'GoNnA dIe, I'm DaD'", I'm gonna lose it."
His smile faded. He suddenly looked very somber as he finally realized how serious I was. He finally broke the silence.
"I'm sorry, son. I should be more sensitive. I didn't realize..." His voice trailed off. He never was good with this type of thing. Then again, he'd never been stabbed by a piece of metal before. There was an awkward pause before I spoke again.
"So... What do we do?" I asked.
"Well," he started, "if it's that important to you... I guess I can take my costume off."
"What?" I asked. I watched as he grabbed the rebar and snapped it straight off like it was nothing, then did the same with the other half protruding from his back. He smiled.
"Halloween costumes are half-off this week," he stated proudly.
My jaw was hanging open again as my brain tried to process what I had just experienced. "Did you really...?" He responded with a proud grin and an exasperated nod.
I shook my head. "I can't believe you." I had mixed emotions of relief, anger, and confusion. I didn't move for about a minute as my brain swirled around.
I finally gave up. "I'm going to bed," I sighed as I turned and walked to my room. Just before my door slammed, I heard his voice.
"Hi, 'going to bed', I'm dad." | During Wednesday I got shot in the heart and got mugged, it hurts so much, all the people around me has this look of sadness in their eyes whenever they look at me, everyone knows what will happen to me, I quit my job and used my life savings on whatever I felt like it, various establishments gave me discounts so I can enjoy more my last days, I drank until losing my consciousness on Thursday, I went to fishing during Friday and then partied until Saturday morning, then I dressed up in my fanciest clothes and ate in that fancy restaurant I always wanted to try and went for a hike and slept while watching the stars, on Sunday I went for a good swim in the nearby lake and spent the rest of the day completing the game I bough some weeks ago and now it’s Monday, my last time on earth, even though I tried doing what I wanted to do the most there’s still so much stuff I wanted to try, I spent the entire day with my family and my loved ones we were all crying the whole time, I said goodbye to my kids, my wife, my friends. Right now is 11:58 pm and I’m watching the stars on the roof of my house, I’m feeling a little sleepy I might as well close my eyes, and sleep forever. | 2019-11-02T07:49:01 | 2019-11-02T06:35:48 | 34 | 12 |
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