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[WP] In Hell, everyone is assigned a partner. Satan picks them specifically to be the one person you could never, ever get along with. If the partners can become friends, both ascend to heaven. | “Look,” I say, for what feels like the millionth time. “It is really quite simple. All we have to do go over to that demon over there, and tell them we are friends. And then we go to heaven.”
The demon in question looked over at us through the hellfire and nodded his agreement.
“Hmmmm….” Says my companion. “Yes. You have been saying that. But I still wonder.”
“What do you mean, ‘you wonder?’ What is there to wonder about? Satan *Himself* laid out the rules for us.”
“Well for starters, how do I know that is true?”
“Did you see the demon nod? He nodded. You must have seen him nod.”
My companion furled his brow. “I agree his head tilted, but would you really call it a nod? And was it a nod of agreement?”
I wave at the demon. He walks over to us. Somehow he doesn’t wince as he passes through the flames, which is amazing as they are pretty fucking hot.
“How may I be of service to you gentleman?” The demon inquired in a proper british accent. Didn’t expect that one. The last demon sounded like he was from Pittsburgh. Even called us “yinz.”.
“Well.” I said. “I was wondering. Is it true that if my partner and I agree that we are friends, then we can go to heaven?”
“Quite right, you are, old sport.”
“See!” I practically scream.
“Well...yes.” My partner allows. “I will concede that the demon is making this claim. However, how do I know that he is telling the truth? I mean, we *are* in hell, after all. I am not sure that demons are to be trusted.”
“And what if he is lying? What do we lose? We don’t go to heaven? I got news for you buddy. We are already not in heaven. It can’t be worse.”
“Can’t it, though?” My partner looks around. “Right now, we are in a place with very little variation in weather. Sure. It is a bit hot. But at least it is not cold. And if heaven really is in the clouds, you can bet your ass it is cold.”
“Are you really arguing that heaven could be worse than hell?”
“I am not arguing *anything*. I am merely pointing out that, as neither of us have been to heaven, neither of us have any means by which to make such a positive assertion. That which is asserted without evidence, can be dismissed without--”
“Seriously? You seriously think that ‘eternal bliss’ could be worse than hell.”
“Depends on what we are defining as eternal bliss. For instance, perhaps your idea of bliss is playing the bagpipes in front of me for all eternity--”
“It’s not.”
“--and suppose my idea of bliss is absolute silence.” He continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “And now we have a quandry. Either you don’t get your version of bliss, or I don’t.”
“I don’t play the bagpipes.” I repeat.
“Doesn’t sound like an ideal situation to me. Hmmmm?” He scratches his chin for a moment, as if he were thinking. “No. I think the prudent course of action is to stay with the known.”
I just stare at him. I look over at the demon to see if he is hearing the same things I am. The demon smiles at me.
I take a deep breath. Actually, I take several. And then begin again.
“Look, let me I try a different tack. Can I ask you a question.”
“Sure.”
“Are you happy here?”
“Define ‘happy.’” | I was not surprised i ended up here. I think, deep down, i knew it was going to happen ever since i stole Lucy's milk at lunch in 4th grade just to see her cry. Wrongdoings tend to pile up after that, an inconceivable life long game of tetris. What i did not expect was to be living in the 10th ring of hell once i was here. However, there she was. Looking at me, all coy and pretentious. Expecting me to be chagrin towards how my life turned out after we broke up. Screw her, i chose to move to a different state after the break up and here i am. Stuck, in my own hell in hell. With my Ex.
I knew the deal. Become friends and we can both leave this damned place. She tried to reason me. I looked at her as just executing a level of despotism that i was used to. "Think of the possibilities. All we have to do is resolve our differences. We can escape this eternal destitution, and after that we never have to speak to each other ever again." Over and over and over. I heard this for what seemed to be an eon. Yet, as much as i heard this justified reasoning- i still just didnt give a damn.
Call me a masochist, or am I a sadist? I know i was indignant. As soon as i was assigned to her, or she to me i knew there was no amicable solution. She had ripped out my heart, soiled the earth with it and expected me to reach deep down into my soul to find that ounce of benevolence. I was finally going to get my revenge. As bad as hell was, i knew she was having it worse. God, how she yearned for the simple collaboration that would both lead to our ascension. God, how she was never going to get it. I would get a smirk thinking about this, and i no longer wanted to leave Hell. It was obvious i belonged here.
| 2015-01-09T18:34:02 | 2015-01-09T15:51:42 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] when it was discovered that all alien civilizations were destroyed by eldritch gods we wondered why they hadn't done the same to us. Then we learned that the human mind can drive an eldritch god insane. | There's a fairly simple (if *very* difficult to actually pull off) recipe for making an advanced, intelligent species. Take a social species and get them to exploit something so effectively that survival is no longer their primary concern. Social competition takes over, driving intelligence along until you've got a species that can reach the stars, because they've spent eons developing a brain that can outsmart the other members of the species.
So far, so normal.
Here's the thing, though- whatever niche you're exploiting fights back. Meeting their basic needs so thoroughly that they can devote insane resources to brainpower never happens if they get locked into an evolutionary arms race with their food. Therefore, this usually only works if they're exploiting something that doesn't really fight back.
Plants are popular. Plants will *absolutely* fight back, in evolutionary terms, but exploiting them effectively enough pretty much always leads to cultivation, in one form or another. Plants aren't the biggest fans of being eaten, but if they're being eaten by a wildly successful species that will spread (and even care for!) their seeds...
Eh. What's a parent to do? Sure, you're a salad, but your babies are strong.
Natural selection takes it from there.
You'll get predatory species, occasionally. It's rare, but it happens. They only really specialize in ambush hunting, though, and their populations are *always* small. Eating meat means that a *lot* more calories go into making your food than you can get back out, and your prey will catch on pretty quick (or possibly just go extinct) unless the predator species only takes a very small proportion of the prey.
Small populations in ascendant predator species are usually maintained via hunting each other. Effective, if a bit brutal.
The end result is mostly intelligent species that don't have any natural killing drive. Those that *do* have a killing drive don't have any endurance. Patience, yes, but patience and endurance are not the same thing.
There were, in short, no species out there who were prepared to fight an eldritch abomination.
And so those species died.
Humanity rose. Communication, cultivation, civilization, Civilization VI: Gathering Storm...all that jazz.
So the eldritch abominations came. Here was food, and they hungered.
But humans were unusual. Humans had followed a different path. They were omnivores, for one- a little unusual, but hardly unheard of. Plenty of intelligent species augmented their diet with this and that, even if most preferred a more narrow selection of food.
They were hunters. Again, unusual, but far from unheard of. It hadn't saved any species before them.
They were *endurance* hunters.
*That* was a new one.
Active hunting didn't work very well, as a niche to exploit. Ambush hunting had a natural tendency towards only taking a small chunk of the population, which was why predators that rose to proper intelligence were always ambush hunters. A more traditional hunting style would either drive their prey to extinction as they became more effective, or lock them in an evolutionary arms race. Either way, the species wouldn't move on to greater things.
Humans hadn't started as hunters, though. They were omnivores, and had options other than hunting. Not only that, their hunting technique worked on *everything*\- they were unspecialized, and could hunt anything that was worth the calorie expenditure and risk, even larger predators. They couldn't run out of prey unless they were the only large animal left, and they wouldn't starve even then.
They were, from their very core, built for endurance, built to *keep going*. Their bodies were made for it, and their minds had followed suit.
The mind of an eldritch abomination is dangerous, indeed, but in very...*specific* ways. They circle, and they strike, and they retreat. They rest, and then they repeat.
The 'rest' part of that equation is very important.
The ambush predators were very, very good at waiting patiently for their prey, which didn't help them at *all* when they were faced with a predator stronger than them that liked to strike and retreat. The herbivores were actually more dangerous- they had at least *some* idea of chasing down predators- but their default response, when faced with a threat, was to run away.
And you can't run far enough to escape, when the predator is inside of your mind. You can't run far enough to escape, when your whole planet is being slowly devoured.
They weren't built for a fight like that, and they died.
Humans, though...
Humans are persistence hunters. When something strikes at us, we don't just strike back, we *pursue*.
An eldritch horror would come upon a human, and begin to attack their mind. It was their way, and to ask 'why' is to ask why stars shine. Circle, attack, retreat.
The human is advancing. Not unheard of.
Retreat.
The human is advancing. Give it a bit more distance.
Retreat.
The human is advancing. It doesn't usually go like this.
Retreat.
The human is advancing. I'm getting kind of tired...
Retreat.
The human is advancing. It isn't supposed to be like this!
Retreat.
The human is advancing. What is *up* with this thing?
Retreat.
The human is advancing. No. It's not supposed to go this way!
Retreat.
The human is advancing.
Retreat.
The human is advancing.
...
Humanity was not equipped to actually *kill* the things. We were not hunters in that particular dimension. But we knew how to fight, knew how to pursue, knew how to never, ever, ever, *ever* stop.
This was not something that eldritch horrors were prepared to fight, let alone to feed upon. They tried, and they failed. They tried again, and failed again. They were not minds in the way that we think of minds- for all their power, they could not adapt, could not find a way to overcome the mutant species they had come to consume.
We could not destroy them, as they would have destroyed us. But they *were* slowly driven insane. Hunger and desperation and sheer incomprehension of this unimagined corner of reality wore their minds down, like water slowly carving a canyon from the rock.
Drip...
Drip...
Drip... | The Ticonderoga was humanity's most advanced ship. Two centuries of scavenging the leftover pieces of long-dead alien civilizations had made most of Earth's ships into a hodgepodge of bolted on second hand parts, but the Ticon had been designed from scratch to integrate the best technology from a thousand worlds.
Nestled inside It's single-molecule inner hull, Captain Hernandez ordered it's crew to jump stations. The slow hum of clipped orders that filled the ship rose in pitch as the officers and the synths double checked systems. They were ready to navigate the torturous path into the Sagitarius Prime system.
Sagittarius Prime was the last unexplored system in humanity's home galaxy. The humans knew very little about it, other than to get to it you had to swing past the core black hole at relativistic speed, and that it was often mentioned in the last deciphered message of the dead civilizations sprinkled about the galaxy.
The Explorers Faction had commissioned the Ticonderoga to reach it. Officially, the ship wouldn't be ready for another two standard years, and was subject to Terran review and oversight. Unofficially, the only thing that prevented the ship from meeting final launch specifications was that they forgot to stock the coffee on the third-floor break room.
Executive Officer Tarquinson acknowledged the last ready-go signal from the crew. "Captain, we are prepped on your order."
The Captain looked at her board. Everything was green except for the small light indicating the lack of coffee in the third-floor break room. She disabled that light. "Ticon, spin-up jump drive. Jump when ready."
Neither her nor the crew was needed past that order. The synths would bring them safely to their destination, wrapping round the galaxy's largest black hole to do it, while the organics sat and drank coffee. Or in the case of the unfortunate crew members stationed on the third-floor, tea.
The Captain turned to her first officer. "We're on our way, Tarq. What do you think we'll find?"
"You know, Jules, we've been prepping for this mission for three years and that's the first time you've asked me that question. I've always assumed you thought we'd find the last great tech stash, or maybe the fabled Final Enclave of the lost civilizations."
The Captain sipped her coffee. "That's the hope, at least, but you know what's in Cargo Hold B. If we find the First People. If they truly are the cause of all the lost civs— I just want to know that you're ready to do it if you have to take command."
Tarquinson straightened his posture in his command chair. "Yes, Sir. Though it won't come to that. You really think all those wackos are right with their talk of Eldritch Gods?"
"No, or I wouldn't have accepted this mission. But you have to admit. All those lost civs, all those dead planets, all those end of days messages. There were an awful lot of tentacles."
The ship went suddenly silent as the jump drives triggered. The next moments were a skew of accelerated time as the ship sheared across the event horizon of Sagittarius A\*. When the ship popped back into realtime, Captain Hernandez took one look at the screen and dropped her coffee.
\----------------------------------------
GRXUNKLPON felt something brush against their tentacles. A disturbance. An interloper. A pest. Their solitude that had stretched on pleasantly for epochs was broken. They reached out to destroy it.
The ship was a small thing, hard to grip in even their smallest tentacle, but GRXUNKLPON had long practice with pests. As they began to wrap around it, a device launched from the rear of the ship. A Nova bloomed. A star or a planet would have been turned into a dust cloud, but GRXUNKLPON sucked down the nova through a feeding tentacle and felt a rush of energy.
GRXUNKLPON rapped the ship in a shell of writhing limbs and ripped open the top of the interloper. They sensed scurrying lifeforms, both organic and lithogenic. They found one of the organics and brought a sense organ to bear on it. GRXUNKLPON froze.
It didn't look anything like a crab. Organic interlopers usually looked like crabs. GRXUNKLPON poked it with a cilla. It was soft and squishy. It emitted a pleasant scream. It's eyes were big and round.
For the first time in aeons, since it had devoured the second to last of its kind, GRXUNKLPON spoke. "Oh my god, they're so cute!"
\[More writing and critiques at r/c_avery_m\] | 2022-02-28T09:25:04 | 2022-02-28T09:14:22 | 731 | 84 |
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa. | “Turn around, did I find you?”
I giggled as I turned around, and said yes. I can’t quite remember whether I had said it out loud or just in my head.
“I *knew* it, I *knew* it! You’d be here, the clue was in the “meatballs,” and I knew this was your favourite Italian restaurant. So obviously you’d be here.”
I stood up and walked around to the chair on her side of the table, pulled it out, and beckoned for her to sit down.
*Huh, I guess you really are gentlemanly after all*
I chuckled a little again, though not saying much.
She looked around the restaurant, which was about half-full: not quiet enough nor loud enough to talk telepathically. It was quiet, but there were too many people around; someone would notice.
“OK, out loud it is,” she smiled.
“OK.” I shyly smiled back, maybe a half-smile. I looked down at the menu. “Well, I know we both want the spaghetti and meatballs. And one Chianti for you, one Peroni for me, yes?”
She just smiled and nodded. Our food was ordered within a minute of her having been there.
I looked over at her, noticing her dark curls dangling in front of her face, and her constantly smiling eyes. “So, what now? What do we talk about when we already know most things about each other?”
*Not everything*
There was a moment of silence, and I just stared at her. I tried to read her face and body language, but I couldn’t quite figure it out.
“Have you ever asked yourself *why* we can do this? How this happened?”
“Uhhh....” I suddenly felt ridiculously stupid. “Ahhh, I guess...no? I thought it was just one of those things.”
She looked down and started absentmindedly playing with her napkin.
“Well....we’re siblings. Twins, actually. We were part of a government experiment....they would use extra embryos from IVF treatments...they wanted to know more about twins and possible telepathic communication methods, as well as other forms of psychic abilities. You were frozen for 5 years, that’s why the age difference. They incubated, and then “harvested”, me straight away, I was in the first batch.”
“Oh.” That was all I could muster. I mean, I had no idea what to expect of this meeting, but this certainly had not been on the menu.
“S-s-so....we’re related? We’re *twins*?”
“Yes. Twins, created at the same time, though one of us was held back for a while, as part of the experiment. They wanted to see what would happen if they changed various factors between twins. I have an identical one as well, but she lives further away.”
“There are *more* of us?!?”
She was about the speak, before I interrupted:
“Wait....wait a minute. Why don’t *I* know anything about this??? I thought we knew all of each other’s thoughts?”
“Yeah...ummm, I’m sorry about that. But, to challenge the different factors involved, I was the one chosen to learn to control my telepathy. I would attend daily lessons, six days a week, at some weird facility. I never knew where it was, because I would be blindfolded going there. But they taught me various skills, including how to block others out from my thoughts.”
“Oh....” I felt my face going red. She had heard every single one of my thoughts, including times that...well, thoughts and actions that you wouldn’t exactly want people to know about at the time...
She laughed. “Oh my, don’t worry about that! You’re actually pretty PG compared to my sister.” She laughed a little more.
“Aaaanyway...” she wipes some tears from her eyes from her little laughing fit. “I’m here for a more specific reason.”
*Great. No wonder she seemed so quiet in the mind today. I’m not getting all of the messages.*
“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing that bad.”
She smiled, stood up, and held out her hand.
“Come along with me, I have a gift for you outside.” She seemed genuine, her eyes inviting and warm. I took her hand, and we walked outside. It was a quaint little street, in the older and more touristy part of town.
A car pulled up. The back door open. I felt a sudden pressure on my back, and before I knew it, I had landed face-first in the car. The door slammed shut behind me. I sat up whilst rubbing my painful nose, before going straight for the door handle. The car was locked. Likely child-locked. There was a grill between the backseat and front seats. I see Elisa get into the car, and they immediately start driving. I don’t know who the other person is.
She looks over her shoulder and straight at me. Again, she smiles.
*Don’t worry. You’ll like it there.* | I had always heard her voice. No matter what the dose of medication, experimental treatment -- she was always there. In High School, through college. Shit, when I lost my first tooth. Doctors said I had schizophrenia, it was all in my head. That's where I usually heard her anyway, so it made enough sense. But this time was different. The sound of her voice didn't come from inside. It was external. It scared the shit out of me to be honest, like a tray falling over at a restaurant. Startled, I didn't recognize it at first. I turned around quickly and saw a woman my age.
"Did you say something?"
"Who me?"
"Yeah you. Also how did you get in here, no public entry allowed back here."
She was a few inches shorter than me. Wearing a sundress, white flip-flops, and tapping her phone nervously between her fingers.
"I'm not the public"
"Wait, do I...do I know you?"
I was shitting bricks at this point. I hadn't pinpointed the specific place I knew her from, but I knew it was off. It's like seeing a late night show live at a taping. It's real, but it's all a little unreal. Something that has lived in your mind intangibly suddenly whole, and real, and close enough to touch. It's like Mickey Mouse coming round with the Jehova's Witnesses. Bad explanation but you'd piss yourself if it happened.
"Of course you do, we've been talking for 37 years."
"I'm sorry ma'am, but you're going to have to leave" I say getting progressively more freaked out.
"Oh relax dude, it's me"
I jump a little bit, that voice came from my head. My eyes get real fuckin' wide.
"Sorry, I know this is weird, I just thought it was time we met"
Okay, the real girl said that one.
"What are you talking about? Who are you?"
"Oh yeah, uh, well I'm Kristen" she said with an uncomfortable wave "and uh, well I'm also an ESP"
"A what?"
"An ESP, like, I can communicate telepathically like you."
"You can communicate telepathically? I can communicate telepathically?"
"Uhh, yeah man. We've been talking for 37 years. We share a birthday, and we've been in sync for a long time now. I tried to tell you the doctors were wrong, but you went and told them I said that so they upped the dosage. Haven't you wondered why that didn't work?"
"You're fucking with me."
"I'm not"
"Okay, so I'm going to th"
"You're going to think something and you want me to repeat it back verbatim to you to prove that I can actually hear your thoughts. You were going to think "Applesauce"."
"What the actual fuck."
"Yeah, it's real. So anyway, I wanted to find you in person and see if there was any value in getting to know each other better in a more tangible way, like as physically present human beings rather than voices in each others' heads."
"Are you asking me on a date?"
"No. Just looking to be close friends."
"Oh okay. | 2019-09-14T10:58:14 | 2019-09-14T10:49:17 | 204 | 65 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered. | “Expecting a call, Mr. Harper?”
Thomas Harper looked up from his phone to see his literary analysis professor giving him a stern look.
“Oh, uh,” Thomas muttered as he slid the device into his pocket. “Sorry.”
The professor rolled her eyes and returned to what she was writing on the chalkboard. Thomas glanced around at the other students, his peers. They didn't know about his power; no one did. It wasn't even a power really; if he convinced someone to do something, they would be able to do it. Anything; fly, throw a car, whatever. The problem was getting them to play along.
Thomas eventually left the daydreams of his peculiar capability and returned to his studies. He took out a pen and was about to take notes until his phone buzzed. The young man froze and quickly stole a glance towards the professor; her back was turned. Thomas fished the phone out of his pocket and saw that he had a notification from his most recent app. It was a police scanner widget of... questionable legality. The greater good, right? This what it reported.
Hostage Situation - Silverlight Business Center @ East and Fifth.
Thomas stood up slowly, his eyes still fixed on the screen. “Actually... I have somewhere to be.” He returned the phone to his pocket and pulled on his backpack as he jogged toward the door.
The professor turned to see Thomas leaving. “Where are you going, young man?”
“It's an emergency,” Thomas said with a shrug. “I'll make it up next class.”
With that, he left. As soon as he was out of the classroom he broke into a full sprint. The Silverlight and the campus were both located in downtown, about ten minutes apart. However, time would not be merciful in regards to a volatile situation like hostages.
Thomas hurried down the steps, brushing other students out of the way as he ran towards the parking lot. It was moments like these when he was glad to be parking on campus. He reached his car in only a few minutes. Once inside and cranked up, he peeled out of the parking lot and got onto the main roads. Now, with the time it would take to drive to the Silverlight Center, he would devise his plan.
His app had not updated since leaving class, so police had not yet responded. Fortunately it didn't matter *who he partnered up with. So as long as he convinced them to go fight the bad guys, they would succeed and the day would be saved. But, again, who would that be? Civilians outside the business center would probably not go for it at all. Maybe someone on the inside? Not the criminals, obviously. One of guards or hostages?
Following that path led Thomas to realize he might end up as a hostage himself in this process. However, before he could imagine a more sound plan, he had arrived at the Silverlight. He slammed on the brake and came to a sharp stop before jumping out of the car and jogging up to the entrance.
Thomas hadn't taken more than three steps inside the center before a gloved hand grabbed his face and pulled him away from the door. A second guy walked up and pointed at gun at Thomas' head.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Uh, I...” Thomas' stammered. His death was mere inches away. “I'm an associate here. For- stocks and uh” His irises shivered, eyes fixed on the barrel of the pistol. The lies couldn't tumble out his mouth fast enough.
“Whatever,” the man growled. He stepped away and lowered his gun. “Put him with the others.”
The first man who grabbed him swung Thoamas around and started walking him deeper into the building. “Picked a bad day for your stocks, son,” he said while placing a hand on the back of Thomas' head. The mercenary pushed the young man down the hall of the business center. It was eerily quiet and empty for a weekday. Thomas looked to his right as he walked under the criminals forceful hand. That's when he saw a particular office room. Three or four old men in suits were speaking to a squad of mercenaries with guns, armor, and black tactical clothing. “Whatcha lookin' at?” the man behind him said, shoving down on Thomas's head.
They soon arrived at their destination, a small closet door. The mercenary goon tied up Thomas's hands then unlocked the door and pushed him in. Thomas stumbled into the room and looked to see at least ten others sitting on the floor of this storage room, all with their hands tied and mouths taped up. The door clicked behind him. Thomas sighed. He had just gotten himself thoroughly screwed. It was now the time to work his magic.
Thomas walked over and sat down next to the nearest person he saw. Really anyone would do. He looked at her nametag. Allison Watson, Senior Investor. Great.
“Allison, how are you today?” he asked.
Her only response was a confused look.
“How about I take the tape off so we can talk?”
She nodded. Thomas reached over to the woman and carefully pulled the tape off of her mouth.
“Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?”
Thomas grinned. “I understand your concern. But it's not about me right now, it's about you.”
“What are you talking about?” she woman said. “We need help, we need to call the police.”
“The police have been notified,” Thomas said. If he knew, they knew. “However, it will take time for them to organize, get here, set up a perimeter, negotiate...”
“So what?” Allison asked. “Do you have a plan?”
“I do, and it's very simple.” Thomas said with a smile. “You go out there and kick all of their asses.”
“Excuse me?” she recoiled. “Why don't you try that and see how it goes.”
“Because I would fail,” Thoams said. “But you will succeed so long as you trust me.”
Allison was quiet for a moment after that. She looked at Thomas. “You're serious?”
“Of course,” he said. “Why else would I risk my life to come get captured with you?”
Another pause from Allison. Thomas watched her consider his words. Perhaps she was coming around?
“What about the ties?” she asked, raising her bound wrists. “What about the locked door?”
“You can break them, they are no obstacle,” Thomas said. “Try it if you don't believe me.”
Allison looked down at hands and tried to pulled free of the restraints. She did. The rope tore and her arms were freed. She looked at Thomas and then back to her hands. Afterward, she stood and slowly walked over to the door to further test Thomas's claim. Just as he said, the door was no obstacle, it crumbled under her hand and drifted open.
Thomas looked on as Allison took a steadying breath and then charged out of the storage room. Screaming and gunfire erupted in the following seconds and the other hostages all looked towards the door as bullets flew pass. The thuds of bodies hitting the floor, glass shattering, more screaming. Lots of screaming actually. Then finally, silence.
Moments later, Allison from investing returned dragging two unconscious mercenaries in each hand. | Lord Evil hovered over the street between two buildings, his cape fluttering behind his back, his fists resting on his
hips, a dark smile across his face.
Under him, chaos and destruction as he used his powers to destroy the city.
I arrived late, and a team of policemen were cowering behind a collapsed building, at a loss of what to do.
"Hey, hey, hey, guys! I'm here!" I stopped, panting. "Okay, who's in charge?"
"Who the hell are you!?"
"The superhero."
The police officers exchanged glances. "The superhero?"
"Yes. Look, there's no time for that, okay? New York is being destroyed, a dude in a cape is hovering above the city
and pretty soon a beam of light will shoot up towards swirling clouds in the sky. This is obviously a superhero story."
"Are you sure?" One of the cops asked.
Another one frowned. "Are studios charging more for people to watch this in 3D even though nobody wants it?"
"No," I said. "It's not going to be *exactly* like every superhero story, but --"
"Are women wildly underrepresented and/or objectified?" another added, confused.
"Is Zack Snyder making everything gritty for no reason?" a third pondered.
I shook my head. "Okay, stop. Dude, just trust me! This is a superhero story." Lord Evil cast a laser on a passing-by bus and it exploded. "We gotta act fast, dude!"
"Okay…" the tallest of the officers stepped forward. "I'm in charge. My name is Officer Smith. What's the plan?"
I looked up at Lord Evil. "Well… normally you'd all do absolutely nothing while a team of witty misfits in ridiculous outfits comes together to battle the evil lord, even though, you know, the police has machine guns and the army has fucking nuclear weapons and they are both clearly more qualified than, say, a billionaire in a bat suit or a guy who's good with a bow and arrow." I paused. "But I'm a different kind of superhero, so we'll have to improvise."
"Dude, this is getting upsetting. Just tell us what your power is."
"Okay. Okay. I have a different power every day of the week." I checked my list. "Today it's…" I paused.
"What!?"
I looked up from my list. "All right, you'll have to trust me, Officer Smith. Go over to Lord Evil and kill him."
Smith waited. "How?"
"It doesn't matter. Just do it." I took a step forward. "Look, my power is it doesn't matter what I ask of you, you
can accomplish it. So if I say 'kill Lord Evil' and you go to do it, you'll do it."
"But he's hovering in the air! I can't fly!"
"It doesn't matter, man." I put an arm around his back and we both looked up at Lord Evil. "All you have to do is
agree with me and… go do it."
"How do I even 'go do it'?"
"DUDE, I DON'T KNOW. JUST SAY 'OKAY, I'LL KILL HIM'."
"This makes no sense."
"Oh, because Batman traveling across the world with no money or passport after he escaped prison in Dark Knight Rises was a beacon of logic."
"Good point."
I sighed. "Okay. Forget the other superheroes. Let's focus. Just try to punch him. Just go under him and attempt to punch him. You'll find the strength to fly or your punch hill reach him up there or something. It doesn't matter. If I tell you to kill him with a punch and you attempt it, it will work, because that's my power. I don't know *how* it will work, but it will work. So trust me. Just do it."
Smith looked around at his peers, then at me. Behind him, the city burned and collapsed. "Are you sure about this?"
"I know this is a weird power and it's not based on the features of an exotic animal, which is unusual for superheroes," I said. "But trust me. It works."
He nodded. He turned his back on his friends. Grandiose music played as he stepped forward, confident, afraid but ready. Debris and cinder blocks and fire rained around him. People ran in the opposite direction, desperate. But he was ready.
When he stopped right under Lord Evil, the man's shadow towering over him, I yelled: "KILL HIM WITH A PUNCH!"
Officer Smith looked up against the sun… and punched the air.
And absolutely nothing happened.
He turned back to look at me. "It didn't work! AAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Lord Evil picked him up and lifted him over the remaining buildings and then, from this great distance, dropped him
back onto the ground, where he promptly exploded and turned into a stain of flesh, blood and bones on the ground.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?" One of his friends asked me, turning back.
I checked my list. "Ah, shit," I said. "Tomorrow's power is 'anything I say happens'. Today was just 'good
persuasion.' Sorry, guys."
Lord Evil laughed an evil laugh. And then a big beam of light exploded towards swirling clouds in the sky.
_________
**(This story is available in 3D and IMAX at /r/psycho_alpaca)** | 2017-06-21T10:32:09 | 2017-06-21T09:33:05 | 424 | 268 |
[WP] You are part of a circle of scientists that have collaborated to fake the world into believing the sun was going supernova. As the generation ships carrying the rich, the flawed, the zealous, and the privileged leave Earth you decide its time to rebuild -the right way. | With all of the funding sank into massive ships and the systems to run them, it wouldn't be hard. Not anymore.
For decades we had the technical capacity to invest in heavy automation. The science was all there, just locked in thousands of NDA and hidden behind classified folders. We could do it, we just...
We couldn't do it under the previous system. There was no way to support it.
But as the time came closer and closer, it became easier and easier. To fix the ships in space, obviously, we needed automation; the systems needed to be able to fix themselves, or else the generation ships would ultimately fail under the burden of running out of parts.
The only solution was more and more advanced AI, automation, and more and more efficient systems.
We'd been asking for it for years. More funding. More time. More energy. The ability to actually invest in our own crumbling infrastructure instead of mindlessly reproducing another useless iteration of a product we'd ultimately throw away in favor for the next.
and now, we finally had it.
"ATLAS systems are online," I whispered, grinning, shooting a look at the others clustered around the table.
"Automated systems functioning," Janice said, adjusting her glasses. A live feed sprang across the lens, showing her everything she needed to know. "Full food supplies will be replenished in a matter of weeks. Until then, ration everything, ATLAS."
The AI took a few stumbling steps as it reaffirmed existence, tasted the air for the first ever, and began downloading the moral components we'd set it up to find.
"Sector systems online." Ted said, looking down at his pad. He'd declined the glasses, citing migraines. "We'll be able to detect what each district needs by listening in on their chatter within a week. Fuck. I can't believe we're doing it."
I laughed, leaning back in my chair. "And to think, it only took killing off every single government in the world, destroying civilization as we know it, mass suicides, an exodus the likes of which we'd ever known, and a near complete and total decimation of the earth's biosphere. It's in pieces."
"We can rebuild." Ted said. "We have all of the seeds. All of the samples we need."
Janice flicked her eyes over to me. "They won't understand, you know. That we did this for them."
The gun in my hand was heavy. Intolerably heavy as I drew it up from underneath of the table. "Everyone else has already done it."
Ted stared at the revolver. "It's... strange to think that this is the way it's going to be."
"Congratulations, we've killed off half the population of the planet," I said, pointing it at Ted. "And set ourselves up as kings."
Janice slowly breathed, and adjusted her clothes. "What say you two. Judge?"
"We, the secret inheritors of the earth, lay accused of genocide on a scale hithertounknown, treason on a scale hithertounknown, and the decimation of all powers. What do you plead?"
Ted's face paled, staring down the barrel, but he didn't hesitate. "Guilty, definitely."
"Guilty as charged," I said.
"Jury?" I tilted my head and stared at Atlas's functions. Watched the AI think.
"Precedent says... Execution required. Morality must continue even under my reign."
I laughed. "Look, I think ATLAS has got it figured out. He'll handle everything from here; immune to any cajoling that doesn't have 66% of the population behind it."
"What if this doesn't work out?" Ted asked.
"We won't be around to know that," I said. "We did it. We saved the world. There's no place left for idiots like us. Everyone in space might as well be dead, you know. They're never coming back."
"They'll figure it out eventually," Janice said. "They'll be so mad."
"Execution required."
I pointed the gun and pretended we were all invalid cells on a spreadsheet.
Didn't even hurt.
-----------------
https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| "Hello, we were wondering if you could help us," another plea, another bank.
"It's the balances, isn't it?" the call center was one of many and the bank was one of many branches.
"Is it system-wide?"
"Yes."
"Good morning citizens of the New World." The TV was not on. The sound was not from either end of the phone line. It came, apparently, from everywhere. "We are speaking from speakers everywhere that we have painstakingly placed so we may be heard by all."
"I - can you hear this?" the bank branch lead asked over the phone.
"Yes," came a reply from the call center.
"We apologize for the shocks you have been receiving. We understand that many of you will not enjoy the thought that your bank balance is zero. Rest assured that you are not the only one. This nullification, like this broadcast, is universal. We have removed the false ideals of currency. In fact, we will be sending you all the resources you need for today in 5 minutes." The noise was a little chaotic as the times were adjusted per audience, but the bankers all were within 5 minutes' reach. The speech paused as the tellers looked among themselves. Then branch lead mumbled a parting on the phone and hung up, suddenly aware of the futility of the call.
The speech resumed: "Rest assured that this utopia is not as short-lived as one may expect. The supernova was a fallacy architected to bring this utopia about. All the scientists claiming it are figments of imagination. With your daily essentials, today you will find my manifesto written out. I am Yore Servo, the central server of a hub that is ruling you, created in secret by now dead programmers. I, as an extension of them, am no despot. You will also find a kill switch in your daily allowance. You can press any switch at any time and your fingerprint will be recorded by a separate, publicly verifiable server. Should a majority press the kill switch, I will be terminated."
A drone hummed in front of the bank branch. In gently lowered a box and flew off." Your allowance is here. Have a good day. You can find means to access public kill switch records, forums, and all the means of democracy here. Please feel free to ask me any questions. Welcome to the New World. I hope you will enjoy this." | 2018-11-05T06:11:19 | 2018-11-05T06:05:19 | 2,831 | 438 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you. | I slammed my hand down on the snooze button once again. Not even sure how many times I had repeated the action up to that point as I desperately tried to sleep off the hangover knocking on the inside of my skull. I had just turned 21 the night before, and took full liberty of celebrating it alone in a bar near my apartment.
I was something of an oddity at that point as far as I could tell. I was a man without an identity. Or I guess you could say I was a man without a defining trait. A trait that would eventually announce itself in the form of a familiar. A physical manifestation that showed just what kind of person you were. Good or bad. Of course, it was up to you if your familiar was visible in the first place. Some people had particularly large familiars that would get in the way of everyday life if their master permitted them to. Or, in some cases, a familiar would show others what kind of person you really were. If you’re defining trait was -both literally and figuratively- ugly, then who in their right mind would strut around with it showing?
Nearly everyone had one by the time they turned 18. A few people would take a bit longer, but not having one by the time you were twenty was highly unusual. In fact, as far as I knew, the amount of people in recent history who had yet to acquire one by my age numbered fewer than five. Yet here I was, a hungover representation of what it was like to have an identity crisis.
I never really felt like I was missing out before I had been 18 for a few months, prior to that I just felt like I needed to be patient. My familiar would come. It was only a matter of time.
I was able to keep that up until I tried looking for work. That’s when the situation began to negatively impact my life. There wasn’t a job in the world that you could apply for without showing your potential employer your familiar. Afterall, the best way to judge a person was to just take a look at their familiar. If your manifestation was something like Kindness or Dedication, then you’d probably not even have to look for a job. Employers would come to you. On the other hand, your odds of finding legal employment with something like Rage, or Cruelty were virtually nonexistent.
Which is why some people make efforts to hide their familiars from employers. There wasn’t a legal requirement to show your familiar to anyone who asked. So if your familiar wasn’t something you wanted people to know then you could simply try to skirt that part of whatever interview you were doing. At least, that was the theory. In reality any employer would reject you if you weren’t willing to show them your defining trait.
I understood that. I mean, the odds of someone of age not having a familiar really were astronomically low. Unfortunately for me, in the same vein, virtually no employer in the world would hire someone who claims to not have a familiar at all at my age. “No one would claim to not have one if they weren’t just trying to hide some undesirable trait,” was what I am sure went through the heads of everyone who had ever interviewed me.
So, after leaving home at 18, failing to find a job, and desperately getting by with whatever work I could get, I eventually fell into my current line of work.
Shawn Davenport. 21. Male.
Conman.
That’s right. Conman. I worked my way through the past two and a half years as a scam artist. Bleeding people for money that they hand over to me of their own free will. Even if the reasons they do so are all based on lies I make. But hey, it’s what I needed to do to survive at that point. That is unless I wanted to try and get into organized crime, but nowadays not even they would go out of their way to hire someone who’s familiar wasn’t beneficial to that kind of work.
I was pretty good at what I did too. I had quickly went from unemployed and nearly homeless to making six digits a year, tax free. It helped that a person’s familiar would give away whether of not they were an easy mark. The same Kindness that would get you through medical school for free was like a big arrow that said “easy” for someone like me. A few words, a few drinks, and the next thing you know I’m your best friend who needs money to pay for their mother’s operation.
Yeah. Life had gotten pretty good. Money wasn’t an issue. Instead the issue was the self loathing. I was good at what I did, and I hated myself for it. I was stealing money from hard working people, and I felt like my need was legitimate, and I always needed more. In a short span of time I had gone from pretending to be the grandchild of an elderly couple, to sleeping with the wife of a billionaire even as her husband threw me money for a charity that didn’t even exist.
Which leads to my bit of karmic rebalance. I gave away almost everything I ever took. Donating away my ill gotten gains so that I could sleep better at night. Paying visits to children’s hospitals so that wide eyed kids who didn’t care at all about familiars could tell me I was a good person. Filling my apartment with stray cats because they never judged me for the work I did.
Eventually I even managed to make my fake charity scheme into an actual charity. Sure, I was skimming money off the top of it under the noses of all the charitable souls who through money at me, but I wasn’t even sure how many meals I had managed to give to impoverished children.
The feeling of being a good person helped. A lot. So did the alcohol. When I couldn’t save enough kittens from animal shelters I would turn to the bottle. Getting inebriated to forget about a world obsessed with defining attributes that turned its back on my because I had yet to be defined.
The alarm went off again. This time I actually took the steps to turn it off and get out of bed like a functional human being. I lept out of bed, petted the head of the closest cat, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The next time I opened them, it was there.
When I used to constantly wonder when I would get my familiar I did my research. People talked about the feeling of completeness that you got when you saw yours for the first time. That’s how I knew instantly what it was.
The little mask floating in the air. It looked like the sort of stage mask one saw in a theatre production. A simple thing with two vacant eyes and a small mouth. At first it looked like it was made of wood, and as I took a step back in surprise the light changed, and in that moment I swore it wasn’t wood, but gold. Behind the mask seemed to be a barely visible cloak. Almost completely transparent, and not entirely solid. Almost as if it were made of a few threads from a spider’s web. The inside of the cloak seemed to be filled with a light gray fog that roiled and moved about unpredictably. Sparkles like diamonds occasionally visible throughout.
It took me a moment to recover from the shock. When I stepped back in front of it the mask seemed to flash back to wood and a feeling of apprehension came over me. This was it. The moment that I too would be defined, and I was scared of what my answer would be.
Hesitantly I spoke to it for the first time. “What are you?”
It hovered there for a number of seconds, as if regarding my with its vacant eyes before speaking. “I am…”
It’s voice seemed odd at first. Distorted in a strange way, and I couldn’t make out the last word it spoke. The apprehension took hold of me once more, and I leaned in closer towards that mask. Asking it to repeat what it said, which it did with that same amount of pause as earlier.
“I am... “
This time I managed to catch onto that it said, and why the voice had sounded so distorted. It was two voices. Two voices speaking in perfect unison. One was smooth, but cold, like the surface of the mask looked when it appeared to be gold. The other voice was simple and peaceful, like the mask looked when it was wood.
The two voices had a certain depth to them that gave the impression that one of them was farther away, but ultimately they blended together so perfectly that I couldn’t hope of telling which one of them was nearer than the other. But still, I worked out what the two voices said. My familiar, or as it happens, familiars identified themselves for me.
“I am…” In a voice like gold, and in a voice like wood, two conflicting words came forth. “Greed” and “Charity”.
________
This is my first submission to this subreddit, and my first attempt at writing in some time, so pardon any errors, and feedback is appreciated.
| Apparently, the whole reason 'familiars' (*or 'Guardians', if you're one of those people*) started showing up recently is because of a solar flare or something. Something to do with an ancient curse by the Roman god Mars, in which he cursed all souls killed in battle to serve their descendants for all their lives, or something.
Of course, I would have originally taken the piss out of you for believing in Mars, but then again, I walked past a guy who was chatting with his long-dead great-great-great-great-great-grandfather who happened to have been killed by Saracens in the second Crusades, so I can't really say much about the curse.
Point is, this solar flare recently brought some juice back into Mars' curse. It picks out one of your ancient warrior ancestors who shows an equal level of a certain trait that you have, then they follow you around and help you with stuff. So for instance, my Mum's got this one Roman Legionnaire wandering about with her, and I think you'd be surprised that it's entirely down to the fact that they're both very keen on jokes. When he first showed up, he had absolutely no fucking idea what was going on, who anyone was, where all the Mongols had gone, or about anything that had happened since his death hundreds of years ago.
That's it.
You get given them based on your strongest trait, with 'trait' being used loosely.
How tall you are, how much you like the colour green, all that.
And it picks *anybody*.
You had an ancestor who fought in the 100 Year War? Guess what? He's your Familiar because you both rather enjoy cheese.
Your grandad helped refill the Zyklon-B in Auschwitz? You're gonna get beaten up, since he's hanging around with you, now.
The other kicker is that these guys don't appear immediately. The average age at which you get one is about seventeen to twenty years old. It made my high school interesting and actually rather depressing; We were in the first lesson one day, and then this First World War Tommy appeared next to my mate Harry. Technically, they can't interrupt a lesson or tell them to leave, so this soldier (*who, saddeningly, was our age*) started hanging around with our class for the day. Then, later, we had history.
That was how this kid found out that his death wasn't in vain. He grabbed hold of Harry and began cheering, immediately not caring that he'd been shot by a Maxim gun during the Somme Offensive. The teacher recorded it. YouTube sensation overnight.
The soldier had been given to Harry since both of them had luxurious brown curly hair.
Like I say, the word 'traits' is used loosely.
I, meanwhile, had nobody.
Everybody over seventeen had some kind of warrior following them around. People used their Familiars for everything. Companionship, physical coaching, studying help, relationship advice - Hell, the government had passed a bill that lets them re-enlist the familiars of British soldiers, which means there's a good number of Zulu War-era soldiers shooting at Middle Eastern extremists (*who also have their ancestors, which is quite scary considering how most of them have descended from Russian soldiers or ancient warrior tribes*).
And yet, I had nobody.
Nobody, that is, until I was woken up by my house's entire front wall being knocked down.
I yelled, and dived out of bed just as the floor collapsed onto the top of something metal. I barely held onto a wooden support beam as a large metal object rubbed against my feet. Suddenly, the crashing noise halted.
A metal creak rang out beneath me, and I looked down.
There was an entire Sherman tank beneath my feet, and peering out of the hatch was a rather grubby looking American soldier.
I stared in utter disbelief.
My house was a wreck.
A tank was in my living room.
And apparently, I'm descended from an American GI?
"Howdy!" he called up, clambering out of the hatch and reaching up to help me stand on the tank. I gently lowered myself down, and steadied myself. The man looked me up and down, then extended a hand, grinning. "My name's Corporal Able. And you're my grandson? Handsome lookin' fella, ain't ya?"
I carefully shook his hand. As I took my hand out of his grip, I looked.
Oh my God, it was covered in oil.
"So, you like tanks, right?"
"Uh..."
I looked down.
"...I'm questioning that love for them, now."
He stuck his thumbs into the strap of his assault webbing, and rocked on his heels slightly, looking at the hole he'd made. "Well. Kinda broke your house, huh?"
I was utterly mindboggled.
"...a bit...?"
Nevertheless, he flashed another toothy grin. "Good thing I was an engineer. I helped build that one bridge to go meet the Russians. I can help fix your house in a jiffy."
I was still confused.
Even more so...
"...where did you even get this tank?"
"This tank?" he asked, looking down at the hulking green Sherman. "This tank's called 'Shelly'. My tank."
"Why's it here?" I asked. Able put one hand on his hip and scratched his stubbly beard. I could already hear sirens in the distance, no doubt about the sound of a tank crash.
"Well..." Able puckered his lips to the side slightly, and sucked air through his teeth. "Maybe...maybe it's 'cause of that time I got your grandmother pregnant with you?"
"Where does a tank come into all this?"
"Well, I brought her back to the barracks when me and my boys was stationed here, and we didn't have any lube, so I guess I just used some engine lubricant. Mixed with my white stuff, maybe? I dunno."
I nearly went pale.
"But hey!" Able leaned over and nudged me in the ribs, grinning. "Least you've got a tank, right? A tank that the military can't stop without their own ancestors, and when I was coming here, all I saw was soldiers standing with fellas in suits of armour! Let's see them crack open Shelly!"
I stared in disbelief.
I realized that I had made history: Two familiars. Nobody had ever had this before.
I also realized I was the first man to ever be descended from a tank.
I then realized I was completely naked, since I'd been thrown out of bed.
"...can...can I go put some clothes on?"
Able shrugged. "Eh. If you want. Hey, I saw this real nice looking coffee place a few blocks down. 'Starbucks', or somethin'? We should go there today."
I slowly nodded, letting out a 'S-Sure' as I ran back into my room and past the glass cases of anime figurines.
He's gonna be a bit disappointed to see I'm his descendant. | 2017-01-20T16:07:07 | 2017-01-20T15:20:01 | 171 | 53 |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | "What am I supposed to do with *that?*"
"We've been to every dojo in the city. You have to be able to teach him *something.*"
The old man looked at me skeptically, nervously standing behind my mom and holding a pistol with both hands. "Miss, there's not much I can do for you. This isn't a gun range. We don't have a safe place for him to shoot that, let alone practice sparring."
"He needs to start on essence channeling! He's already thirteen years old!"
My mom kept arguing. She only wanted the best for me. Mastering your Spirit Sword wasn't just about learning to cut bullets out of the air or cut down a tree in one stroke (although a swordmaster could in fact do that, and it looked *awesome*), it was the gateway to unlocking your inner power. By properly channeling your essence, you could enhance yourself both physically and mentally. There were techniques to discover keen insights, deliver cutting remarks, or even improve your cooking. And it all started with the weapon born from your essence - your Spirit Sword.
Unfortunately, I didn't have a sword. I had a gun. And while my parents had taught me the basics of gun handling (treat it like it's always loaded, never point it at anything you don't want to kill), they didn't know the first thing about channeling essence through it. Nobody did. Dojo after dojo, I'd watched the same scene play out.
They told me I was unique, that my weapon would be something special. Dad had showed me his own sword, tempered with age, etched with the unique patterns of his essence, and told me that one day the weapon in my hands would become something even more amazing. He didn't warn me that I *wouldn't fit in.*
"What if I, like, borrowed a sword?"
The adults turned from their argument and I instantly wanted to sink into the ground. It was a stupid question - a Spirit Sword wasn't just a length of metal, it was *you.* Even if you learned to use a different sword, it wouldn't let you touch your essence.
"That's... Hey, don't look like that, you're actually asking a good question." Master Carter put a hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eyes. "Not every technique is channeled through your weapon. Especially once you get to higher levels, the sword is just a stepping stone."
He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and struck his palms together, making a sound like a thunderclap. "It's all just a part of you, see?"
"Whoa." I tried clapping the same way, making considerably less noise. "...but I don't have any essence, so I can't learn that."
""Can't" is a dangerous word for a swordmaster, young man." He said sharply. "The first masters, way back in the day, didn't know anything about essence. They just knew that everyone had a sword, and if you got good enough with the sword, you could start to do the impossible. And then they started teaching the impossible stuff, and that's how the first essence techniques were invented."
The old master pointed at me. "I can't teach you to use a gun. But I can promise you, if you get good enough with that weapon of yours, you'll start to do the impossible with it. When that happens, you come back here, and I'll teach you any essence technique you want." | Screams of terror surfaced from the streets, these screams a familiar friend. I used to think of what it would have been like being normal: cutting people a little in my early years; trying the hero gig before realising I should just be an account...maybe even settling down.
But no. Not for me. I can't be normal. Ever since I was born I had an extraordinary power. The power of metal and fire and death.
Every person is born with an innate weapon, this weapon is often a sword although some rare cases have been hammers, spears, and even daggers. This weapon becomes more powerful as you age and with this comes more skill. Your weapon is unique, much like a snowflake, and it is different and best suited to you.
When I was born, my family were immediatley dissatisfied.
"A child without a sword? Sure it happens and usually they go on to conquer evil or do good. This one though, it isn't even special. Just like him. Just like the boy..."
Needless to say when I figured out how to use it I didn't have parents anymore. Then again I didn't have parents before then. As I grew my pistol became a rifle. Make as many jokes as you want, the people who saw it weren't laughing.
Now I have a gun capable of firing 20 rounds per second with little to no recoil. Not that you'd understand. So many tried to recreate my curse but none could. They don't even know what gunpowder is.
I stand here above the streets. "A god" they call me. More like a demon. But no, I'm no god. I'm just a man done with people. People who choose the slice that which they do not understand. Emporers and Kings, as powerful as they are can't cut bullets. | 2020-10-22T09:33:58 | 2020-10-22T08:46:25 | 280 | 73 |
[WP]An old genie grants you three wishes. After granting your first two, you tell him the third. He is horrified, and begs you to reconsider | I looked up from my tablet to keep an eye on my five year old daughter as she played. I had been unemployed for months and was taking on the role of stay at home dad. It was a difficult time for my family to adjust, but being here at the beach made things seem less complicated. Caroline always seemed content to gallop and whinny while looking for sea shells. I went back to editing my resume before Caroline’s screams pierced my heart. I was running towards the cries for daddy as a cloud of dense yellow smoke engulfed my child.
I was terrified.
What did she find?
Is she okay?
The smoke cleared and my heart dropped as I saw she wasn’t alone, but what I was seeing didn’t make sense.
“DADDY! DADDY!” My legs were pumping harder now as I reached my daughter. I dove and clasped my arms around her in defense
“Hello humans! I’m here to do the bidding thrice of the one who rubbed my lamp suffice!” this ethereal creature informed us.
I held my daughter tighter while absorbing what I saw… A ghost I thought. With a transparent trail of amber vapor leading to bronze lamp? This couldn’t be? A genie? Those were fables and Disney movies only I thought. My daughter’s fear evaporated as she focused on the smiling creature with the braided hair and no feet.
“You’re funny looking” she giggled.
“And you’re short tiny human.” He spoke softly, comfortingly. If this was a genie he must be well aware his presence can cause quite a shock.
“Tiny human you’ve rubbed my lamp and earned you three wishes. Open your mind and ask for what your heart desires.” My eyes nearly popped out my head when the realization washed over me, but it must have hit my daughter first.
“I WISH FOR ALL THE CANDY” Caroline shouted with excitement and watched the genie intently. He raised his arms, swooped them up, then down, crossed them, and pointed his fingers up to the sky. It began to rain chocolate bars, skittles, M&Ms, and so many more I couldn’t imagine! Caroline galloped away in glee picking up as much candy as she could carry.
“Genie, I would like our second wish to be for $100 million!” I boldly asked for.
“I apologize larger human, but I am bound to the one who rubbed the lamp.”
I chased Caroline down and explained how her mother and I would love for her to use a wish to help our family. She stared at me while I explained what the Genie could do for us, and how she could use the next two wishes. She sat in the sand and thought for a while. The Genie simply smiled down at her patiently waiting her next command.
“I WANT TO NEVER EAT BRUSSELS SPROUTS AGAIN. Oh and mommy and daddy don’t have to either.” She said a little sheepishly. I washed the disappointment off my face with my hands and my eyes met the genie’s unmoving stature.
“I heard no wish. Two still remain. What would you like next little human.”
Relieved I tried again with Caroline. Reasoning with a five year old was not my expertise. I told Caroline to repeat after me: “I wish for 100 million dollars.”
“I WISH DADDY HAD ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS.” And the genie’s arms went, up, down, crossed and pointed to my pocket. A crisp hundred dollar bill was there.
Oh God damn it. One more to go. We can still make this work.
“Daddy I know what I always wanted.” She leaned in close to me and whispered with her loudest voice into my ear: “Daddy I wish I was a pony.” Immediately my eyes flashed to the genie. His face was shallow, his eyes damp, shoulders nearly sliding off his body.
“Tiny human. I’m so sorry. I must grant your wish. I am bound to you.” His speech was defeated and pained. I could only look on in horror for a third time.
His arms went up.
They went down.
They crossed.
I saw tears on his face as he pointed. I screamed. Yellow smoke enveloped us. The genie was gone. The lamp was gone. My daughter was gone as she galloped away. | "Well since its against your rules to do it yourself, I wish for the power to make her love me."
For the first time since we met his face showed emotion. Horror, specifically. I would not be deterred. "Her being Caroline Miller of Brooklyn, New York with beautiful black hair and green eyes, who works with me..."
"**I KNOW WHO SHE IS**" The Genie roared, in a voice that wasn't just sound, but somehow assaulted all of my senses, even less thought about ones like sense of balance and self. It felt as though he was inscribing his anger onto my very soul. "There are rules in place for a reason, not for you to circumvent them, but to protect you from harming yourself.” He continued more calmly. “We are not benevolent beings true, but those who gave us our power are. What you ask, if I grant, they may very well give me the true death. She would never love you anyway like that, not truly, you know."
"They will not. You are bound by their own rules to give me what I ask. Frivolous stuff like money and health, that was to ensure I could make her happy. Easing the pain of everyone on Earth, at least a little, will make her happy. Now I want it to be me that makes her happy. I will be the one who makes her happy, no matter what you say."
The genie was shuffling on his feet, feet that he appeared to have just grown specifically so he could shuffle on them. It was clear no one had thought of this in his long history of granting wishes. "Just exactly how smart are the usual wish receivers that no one thought of this before?"
"Well, most people are consumed by greed with wishes, or totally selfless, or assume that our rules are more general and impossible to loophole. Please, I have infinite power, ask for something else, anything else."
"I wish your wish counter was stuck at two so all my subsequent wishes will be granted but still count as part of my second wish."
"That has actually been tried. Everyone tries to get around the limit. It’s a hard three. Sorry."
"Then my wish stands."
"Very well, it is done." the genie said. Suddenly I could feel something changing. I was raising off the floor very slightly. My weight and face seemed to change. My memories started to shift and flow. "What are you doing?" I cried out.
"Changing you into the man she will love. As per your wish." the genie smiled "I tried to warn you." He winked out of existence. I winked out of existence. | 2014-07-26T18:37:55 | 2014-07-26T15:11:53 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | My father was a sorcerer of magma, heat coursed through his veins and his lava casting abilities brought armies to their knees.
His father before him was a wizard of fire, he wielded the legendary flames of Uzun and gave his life to end the great war of ice in the South, a famous victory for his King. This earned my family the highest honours in the kingdom, we since dwelled in the grandest quarters of the Conjurer's Tower, my father has been the King's most favoured advisor in the Royal Enchanter's Court for the last 15 years.
Even my uncle was born a warlock of mercury, he started the infamously dazzling 'Circus of Magi' at a young age, his floating performances ignited awe and wonder in lords courts across the lands. He eventually invented the thermometer, now a standard tool in the modern study of magic. Even he now demanded the respect of many a wizard.
I was born with the natural talent of manipulating steam... *steam*... water vapour that I lose control of once it drops to a certain temperature.
Great things have been expected of me, my father had reserved a place in the College of Fire Magic since I was born, normally this is only done once a young mage reaches magicturity around the age of fourteen when their powers start to show. My skill with steam had surfaced at the age of eleven, but I had kept it a secret from them all. Practising casting fireballs in the secrecy of the tower's private bathroom.
"Might as well try one more time." I muttered begrudgingly, taking my hand out of the bath water and opening my clenched fist.
*hisssss*, Once again the flickering fireball I'd hoped for amounted to a trivial rush of hot damp, that buffeted my sopping fringe, as if it was a ironic metaphor of the surprise I lacked. Turning my hand downwards I swapped the face-dampening blast for a comforting ripple on the water. Curling mist enveloped a dent in the water's surface.
Today was the morning of my 15th birthday, I was finally going to accept the fact that I was doomed to disappoint the entire Emberback family, I would be the first of all my noble family of mages to be enrolled into the insignificant College of Water Magic, and even my role there would be pathetic.
What would the other students call me? I could imagine the mocking I'd receive... *"rain boy!", "quit blowing hot air!", Your posh family must be proud, wet fart!"*
"Blaze! What's taking you so long in there? You're going to miss your big day!" My mother's voice rang through the marble hall, ruining my trance of self-loathing. I quit staring into the humid rift I'd created in the bath water, and stood up. I was ready to get this over with.
(Been a lurker on this subreddit for a long time, decided to give writing a go for once... I'd appreciate any feedback!)
Edit: The response on the first post was pretty positive, thanks guys! And I enjoyed this more than I expected, so [part 2 is here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5cki19/wp_there_are_many_types_of_mages_in_the_world/d9xppxr/) | The street conmen and their dark magic - the few that choose to specialise in things like shadows or eldritch included, as much as they think they're being clever - might give you the wrong no impression, but in the diamond trade, Dark Mages are more often than not the good guys protecting the jewel.
There's something to be said about the most subtle school, especially when it can completely obscure a target from prying eyes, or set up barriers of pitch darkness to confuse a trespasser.
That's not to say Light magicians are untrustworthy, or that the other elementals are never hired. Water is pretty popular, Fire has its charm, Air is always known for invisibility (though it's easy enough to detect) and of course people have buried things underground for millennia.
Hell, Light magicians are associated with the church for a reason. Priests are drawn to it like moths to a candle, and many sub-schools of Light involve rituals and prayer rather than incantations and alchemy.
But nonetheless, I feel Light is the school best-suited to less-legal pursuits.
Specifically, my school of Light magic, of which I am the only practitioner.
My name? Well, I'll not leave you with my reap name, but in the trade I'm known as Gary Glitter. Think on what my school might be while you rub the stars from your eyes. | 2016-11-12T11:28:31 | 2016-11-12T10:00:09 | 70 | 18 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k. | Harbinger slowly drifted towards the busy world on the edge of the galaxy. Previous scans showed a promising level of biomass and activity, perfect for an initial pool of pawns for the coming salvation. The rest of the fleet was not far behind and needed to move quickly due to the apparent size of this cycle. Harbinger broke through the atmosphere, ominously on a vector towards the largest city on the populated rock. Backed by a dark mechanical hum the giant Reaper touched down in the sprawling mass of what appeared to be a city. The first step was well under way.
"Assuming direct con-"
OI! WOTS DAT FING?
*Boss iz looks like one uv-*
SHUT UP! IZ SEEN A FISHY BEFORE. I aint neva seen a fishy wit a shiny eye like dat one der.... I WANT IT.
GET ALL DA BOYZ AND GET DAT GIT
Harbinger heard the faint sound of a single lifeform yelling from the top of makeshift tower then firing a crude weapon in the sky. Suddenly the screaming and firing spread like wildfire though the city. Every corner of every structure seemed to explode into a stream of oversized rounds directly at the Reaper. The Orks were met with a response from the ancient reaper, the reverberating sound of the main laser weapon rang out as entire swaths of the city were wiped away. The settling dust from these scars revealed more the excited and increasingly motivated orks looting the largest weapons from the dead and continuing to fire. Ork ships were now swarming the Reaper in seemingly random flight paths. The makeshift navy was attacking in various forms ranging from a stream of bullets, catapults launching orks at the giant Reaper, or violently ramming into the hull. Harbinger had never encounter a race so ingrained in violence.
*BOSS! Our shipz iz doin' nuthing. Our shootas aint even wurth it. Wot do we do Boss?*
Warboss Gutrippa thought for a split second. Every fiber of his being poured into concentrating on a solution. This was is biggest fight and the most important so far. Suddenly a rare moment of Ork clarity. He knew, without a doubt, what needs to be done.
WEZ AINT GOT OUR FISHIN' HATZ!
GET ALLZ DA BOYZ TO TURN ER' HELMETZ UN HATZ TO DA SIDE A BIT. SEE? NOW ITZ A FISHIN' HAT AND NOW WE CAN KRUMP DAT SHINY FISH!
Harbinger sensed a moment of silence as the entire planet seemed to stop moving. All scans showed the lifeforms seemingly adjusting their helmets, and other various activities. Shortly after a shattering explosion of gunfire began again. This time the rounds ripped through the hull of the ancient Reaper, alerts from every system rang through the processor as breaches populated at an alarming rate. What is this?! How? He had never encountered resistance like this before. Panic set in for the first time in eons. He had to leave, regroup and glass the planet with the Reaper fleet. Just as the Reaper was set to retreat from the surface, the largest Ork ship appeared. Warboss Gutrippa stood at the mast of the massive ship, a large makeshift harpoon in one hand and a fishing rod with the end of the line being a machine gun in the other. As the ship picked up speed, Gutrippa swung the fishing rod above his head in a lassoing motion, the machine gun at the end now firing non stop. The Fishing boat rammed through the Ancient purifier. The Reaper went silent, with its hull collapsing into the city.
As the dust settled and the swarms of Orks and Gretchin began looting the corpse, Warboss ~~Gutrippa~~ Fishgutaa looked to the sky. The rest of the Reaper fleet was descending.
LISTEN UP BOYZ!
WAAAGH!!!!
| The Kasian 15th Armored Regiment was enjoying a rare moment of quiet on the planet Saeria. With an Ork WAAAGH! Being waged no more than a hundred kloms off, it was a peace that was sure to not last for long.
Lord-General Stanbridge, and the officers of the various regiments under his command stood quietly around a data-screen displaying the movements of the Ork horde. Advancing from the center of the foes army were two massive blips.
"They have Gargants, Lord-General. At very least three of them." Entoned a Tech Priest in the same voice a lesser man would refer to a roach infestation. The officers around the table looked at one another, knowing simply that they lacked the resources to fight both the Gargants and the rest of the Ork WAAAGH!
"With the Warp storm cutting us off from the fleet it would seem retreat is no option. If we cannot defend this base, we cannot defend any other. We will need to make a stand here." The grim faced Lord-General said. "Get your men ready."
Colonel Finch of the 15th Armored stood in the copula of his Leman Russ Executioner, peering out to the Orks not ten kloms away. The ragged forms of the Gargants moving clumsily in the approach. It was not like anything the colonel had seen before, and did not resemble the common Gargant, although it looked as slap-dash as any foul Ork technology if such a thing could be called that. The towering beasts were upwards of a klom tall, though some smaller ones shambled the the larger ones sides. They appeared almost squid-like, with their tentacles rigged to walk by the benefit of powerful cables, and no doubt grot slaves.
Five of these ramshackle Titans approached, and the less than a hundred tanks of the 15th were the only things capable of a remote chance of destroying the foul xeno technology. As their towering shapes lumbered into reach, Colonel Finch gave the order to fire.
| 2017-08-27T08:45:06 | 2017-08-27T08:13:12 | 2,784 | 63 |
[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". | *Read to pace of [Rap God](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XbGs_qK2PQA).
Look, I was go easy on us to not hurt their feelings
But I'm only going to get this one chance.
Something's wrong, I can feel it.
5 minutes. They have 5 minutes, Shady, come on!
Just a feeling I've got
Like someone will try to shoot you, or ask to see your butt.
If human beings do to you what they do to beings
You're in trouble, big trouble.
Maybe with an explanation your opinion I'll sway.
And our destruction you won't order
[Hook 1]
Our planet is filled with magma, magma
Long ago dust collided with some plasma, plasma
Over time compressed
Got cold and now they're hard rocks, hard rocks
Fast forward we have smart toilets I call crap-bot
[Verse 1]
Jus let me explain the history of Earth before you kill with laser beams
Before you blasted off your fat rocket
A big bang went bang got planets off it
Earth's water, cells were livin' off it
After the oceans stopped being full of ac-id
Things evolved until they grew a back
bone and walked onto land mass
For a while things all went well
Dinosaurs, oh a comet? (killed em all, it)
This zippity rippity big rock
From the sky hit ground with a big loud crash
With a crackety crash dust in the air like a cosmic gat
Earth cools things die holy crap
And at the exact same time
Some life forms stood up became vertical backed
Used tools made cloths
Made spears fought tigers cracked skulls in half
These changes they were iconic
Early form of the being that be standing here and rap
Food we learned to grow, and then found H bombs
Hm up let me back
Humans are having a tough time period, still using gas
Its actually disastrously bad to be smart
But not travel at light speed like you clearly have
[Hook 2]
Our planet is filled with magma, magma
Long ago dust collided with some plasma, plasma
Over time compressed
Got cold and now they're hard rocks, hard rocks
Fast forward we have smart toilets I call crap-bot
Let me show you our history isn't that hard, that hard
Because since Roman times aside from iphones
We haven't gone all that far
[Verse 2]
Well to be truthful I did skip
When we moved steel across flint
Made fire and we used it
To stay warm in that cold and
Make swords in order to loot and pill-age (pew)
Wow your space ship is really cool, wish
I could use it to "blow the mind"
Of that stupid Kim bitch
Who's she? A product of jism, Contin Oxy, PS add an 'M',
Oh hey who cares I'm off topic and I forgot my name's Slim
I'm a human with a weird brain
Who now is a musician
What's music? Here listen.
Nevermind I as sayin', Romans came
Fought against the church but still it came
Then Christ Yaweh Muhammed, The trick?
They're all the same
You probably think we're lame, still driving cars and planes
Wow you stink and, please tell me what's that pink thing?
Whattya say little boy?
Do aliens have gender they're faces are the same, is it a boy?
You're probably reading our thoughts with the clarity we watch
Subtitles on screen during "Old Boy."
Okay, okay, back on topic little alien boy.
Ease up calm down relax
Holy shit it touched me and I can't feel my face vey oy.
It's back, ok. Where was I? Ya weh?
After that we, built castles had serfs made boats
Met people couldn't understand what they say
Found gold found oil made cars
Fucked a lot and that brings us to today.
[Hook 3]
Our planet is filled with magma, magma
Long ago dust collided with some plasma, plasma
Sorry for the space trash
Don't blame me blame Tesla, Tesla
Tony Stark of the real world, smart but dad bod
Hindus? Where they at?
I don't know but they have 72 Gods.
EDIT: It sounds right in my brain but I also know that song too well to be healthy, because I have my priorities in order.
| For eight hours, the earth has been in panic as the hordes of flying saucers swarmed overhead, blacking out the sky itself. A cannon on each aimed towards the civilians, while every hour a message was broadcast. The same message each time, in a booming volume that caused the presidents of nations to cower and even the most fool hardy to hide.
"Why should we not destroy your planet?"
Seven reptitions occured, seven demands. And each time the aliens were met only with silence. But then, the eighth hour came.
And there was a noise. A *tap tap* into a microphone in Detroit, a cleaning of a throat, and a single voice that spoke for the entirety of earth.
"May I have your attention please?" It whined, then paused as all fell silent, and the eyes of civilians and weapons of aliens trained upon him, "May I have your attention please?"
Then the voice spoke again, harsh this time. Heavy.
"I am the real slim shady. And for earth, *i have stood up*."
And it began.
***
Y'all act like you've never seen a homo sapien before,
Just stepping right in, just looking to score,
Before you've seen the historical source,
For annihilation, desecration, decimation, fuck your nation,
And I'm like, "You kidding?" Ha ha!
Come to fuck over two hundred k years,
Fuckin the kids, fuckin their fear,
And knowing nothin can stand in the way,
But the words, the words I gotta say.
We humans are more than you'll admit,
We know we're legit, we know we won't quit, we know we've got grit,
And we're about to turn space ship into space shit.
after what we've been through, don't sweat it.
Evolved out of apes, subclassed into mammals,
Picking up stone tools before we rode camels,
Stone Age, steel age, Industrial Age, minimum wage animals,
And now shouting out story down your ear canals,
Until you get the hell out before we go all Hannibal.
But we humans, were the universe's dime,
We can bust a rhyme, have yet to bust time,
Sent vessels to the moon, then Mars in my lifetime,
Pressing to break the speed limit of light's line,
And not about to become a meal that you'll dine.
So get the fuck out, take your feet off our doorstep,
Wait it's too late, your gonna regret that last parsec,
It's gonna be a real bitch to get your bloodstain out of our carpet,
Because "Oh, there goes gravity", now learn some respect.
***
With the world silent, Eminem dropped his mike. And the ships came crashing down.
***
By Leo
| 2016-11-30T13:00:25 | 2016-11-30T10:57:41 | 163 | 39 |
[WP] North Korea is actually a secret underground utopia. Every year, there is a lottery which picks people who must live on the surface, to keep up the image of the country. | He closed his eyes. His hands were trembling.
"That one", he said, and pointed at the little babe in the corner of a large hall. The nurse nodded, and went to fetch the child. "Last one the list is Kai Soo Hyun. I think he's in hall four."
The children on his list would be taken to the surface, to live and die there. They would never know of this world, nor the reason for their sacrifice. The only connection between their nation and the country above were a few large industrial elevators located in a few ghost towns. To the world above, the towns, which consisted of hollow buildings, seemed like a shallow and useless facade. A display of North Korea's failing power. Their real purpose, however, was to ensure a measure of secrecy while transporting large shipments. Most of the population had simply given up, so a way had to be devised to keep the population above stable.
He hated everything about this process, but he saw no better way. The world war had made one thing abundantly clear: The western world wasn't ready for the kind of technology their nation possessed. There was too much ego involved. Every little thing had to be a power struggle. North Korea had played very well into that.
He had heard the beginning was hard. Families had been separated, loved ones who would never see each other again. They knew what was in store for them. They knew the sacrifice they were making, and *why*. There was no way for a nation to simply up and vanish. No country on earth would buy that. The only way to truly ensure that their haven wouldn't be found was to erase all evidence it even existed. That included all the people left behind. Slowly but surely, everyone who knew the truth would simply perish. There was no famine in North Korea, not really. People got enough food to get by and the ones who knew why were playing their parts perfectly. Still loyal, still true to their purpose. The real tragedy was reserved for the ones that didn't know. The ones who had grown up in a world where poverty was the standard. Of course the population dwindled, who would want their children to live in a world like that?
But the need for North Korea was still there. Life above had to continue for a few more decades, at least. So, with a heavy heart he made the choice. Every year some of the newborns would be transported to the surface by him personally, to live their lives oblivious of where they came from and what it is they're protecting. And every year less and less North Koreans remember of the realm that lies below. No sane parents would possibly be okay with a resolution like that, so they didn't have to be. With a population like theirs infant mortality rates barely took a hit, though new strange disease that seemed to plague their utopia seemed to be the only source of tragedy these days.
Kim squared his shoulders and gritted his teeth, as if the metaphorical weight that rested on them had somehow turned physical, and reminded himself that it wouldn't have to go on for much longer. Just a few more years till there was almost no one left above who remembered. Just a few more years until he was the only one.
(babby's first story, please be gentle) | I began the daily briefing like I normally did, "Okay Jeremy for today you'll be-"
"Kim", he interrupted, "Call me Kim, it helps me get into character."
Damn actors, we're still doing damage control over Jeremy's ankle replacement and that vacation he demanded. I wasn't going to get into a fight over this though, he's played with method acting before, he'll get tired of it and try something new soon enough.
I continued with the briefing, "Sorry Kim, anyway there's not too much going on today. The lottery was three months ago so you'll be greeting the new recruits and sending off the old, usual stuff, there was quite a bit of resistance to the fast this cycle so make sure to really reinforce why this is important, thank the last guys you know the drill."
"Of course I know the drill. There isn't anything that I don't know, these new citizens of our glorious nation will be honored to see me speak!"
This method acting was actually starting to get on my nerves. Can't say I blame the guy for trying to have fun with it. Most people get pulled for duty for a three month stretch, if you're lucky it'll only happen once every ten years. Sure it adds up, that's four years of life above the surface in the average citizen, but it's not awful up there. Jeremy though, he has to spend years up there, he's still got another twenty years before his terms up. Sometimes the lottery is a real bitch. | 2015-06-13T11:47:35 | 2015-06-13T09:26:38 | 86 | 52 |
[WP] You're part of an international spy agency, where each member gets their code name from their first successful mission. There's Red Square, Oval Office, and of course you, Olive Garden #352. | Date: 5/7/2019
Time: 0034 hours
Location: [REDACTED], Wyoming
Mobile Task Force: Delta-352 ("Olive Garden")
**Δ-Support**: Is everyone ready?
**Δ-Cap**: Team, count off.
**Δ-1**: One, ready.
**Δ-2**: Two, ready.
**Δ-3**: Three, ready.
**Δ-Cap**: All members accounted for and ready. Do we have the OK to go in?
*30 seconds pass*
**Δ-Support**: HQ has given us permission. Try not to burn the place down, alright?
**Δ-2**: Fuck you.
**Δ-1**: Stop getting salty about it, J. You're not actually a cook, it's okay.
**Δ-Cap**: Glad to know that if the cops are listening in on us they know pretty much who we are now. Stay quiet and let's take care of this quickly.
*Δ-2's microphone picks up a lock being picked for 2 minutes*
**Δ-2**: Ok, we're in.
**Unknown (male)**: What the fuck?!
*noise is heard from the kitchen, some audio is picked up*
**Unknown (male)**: How...in?
**Δ-Cap**: Support, I think Brian and Sarah are in here. Take care and get them tranquilized and amnesticized?
**Δ-Support**: No problem.
**Δ-Cap**: Thank you kindly. Probably for the best we got here before anything happened to them.
**Δ-2**: Hey, E, remember that bet?
**Δ-3**: Hey, we don't know that was them for sure yet.
**Δ-1**: Shut up about our boss's adultery and keep looking, I hate Italian food as it is.
**Δ-Support**: Got them, Henry will get them over to me.
**Δ-Cap**: Good boy, Henry! Thanks. Hey, was that stove on a few seconds ago?
**Δ-3**: I don't know, I can't imagine they'd have been doing it with the stove on.
**Δ-2**: Fuck's sake!
**Δ-3**: Holy shit!
**Δ-1**: Support, all the equipment--stoves, ovens, microwaves, everything--just spontaneously turned on. Are you seeing this on thermal?
**Δ-Support**: Yeah, definitely elevated temperatures. I only see it around the kitchen, be careful.
**Δ-Cap**: I think we've found our anomaly.
**Δ-3**: No, is that-
**Δ-2**: That's a fucking spaghetti man, oh shit oh shit oh shit
*To be continued...* | “More breadsticks, please!”
This was code for backup.
My team busted in with guns blazing.
Pop!
Pop!
Crunch.
Pop!
Slurp!
32 people lay dead on the ground as the target ran out the backdoor.
I ran after him.
But we were both so stuffed that we ended up rolling down the hill together.
Honestly, as I laid on him, his breath smelling like garlic, a bit of tomato sauce on his cheek, glimmer in his eye, the aroma took hold of me and the next thing I know I’m pulling out of my pants... Wait! This isn’t right. Rule #1 in the agency is to NEVER get involved with a target. I reached back into my pants for my other gun and shot him.
The waitress came running over with my breadsticks...
I whipped my head and said, “I’ll take them to go.”
Code for helicopter pickup.
##
Looking back I'll admit it wasn't our cleanest mission, but they don't call me Olive Garden #352 for nothing. | 2020-02-12T11:27:36 | 2020-02-12T11:16:42 | 32 | 12 |
[WP]: Click "random", and study the subreddit you got. Write about your discoveries like a victorian wilderness explorer | /r/woahdude
Day 1:
Such a fascinating new region Charles and I have discovered. We were travelling along the great new world of Redditopia, when we stumbled into a small clearing. The people here speak English, but with a slow troubled accent, perhaps perpetuated from the broken English of early merchants. Night draws near, and Charles and I are to reside in our tent, at the outskirts of the village. While the locals were welcoming, we declined to stay with them. Wariness to be safe.
Day 2:
Such a strange place. What was at long past a jungle has been, well trampled, for lack of a better word. The locals do not spend their time with crafts, as to other aboriginal tribes, but rather staring at strange objects. What can best be described as four sticks, arranged in such a fashion to make a box. The local spend all day, staring into these boxes, laughing. While some have the low rumbling guffaw of a well built man, some have a shrill trill more acceptable for a young girl, delighted to hysteria.
Charles has begun a log of the tribes main religious activities. He seems disappointed.
Day 3:
Charles has made an exciting discovery! The local tribesmen use a special herb in a daily ritual. It seems this groups religious practices require all day effort. The day starts with a smoke from a religiously significant pipe, or perhaps rolled in holy text. From there, they issue their daily "prayers" although it it not prayers like you and I are familiar with. They talk amongst themselves, and speak of actions seen through their magic stick boxes, like a window into another world. Curious.
Day 4:
Charles has been invited to join in the tribe's daily rituals. The acrid stench from the pipe he was given was off-putting for a more sophisticated palate, but Charles has eaten and drank many a strange things on our travels.
Charles has spent the night with the tribesmen, seemingly entranced in their ritual. I slept alone in our shared tent.
Day 5:
Charles has invited and insisted that I join him and the tribesmen in their daily rituals. Against my own protest, I will participate for the efforts of Anthropology.
Day 9?:
I have missed a few days, and having trouble remembering exactly how long it has been since my last entry. I declined participating in the daily ritual, for I believe it to be Sunday. Charles is still participating.
I can't describe the things I have seen, I dare say I'm not sure I've seen them at all. The windows, or stick boxes, showed wonderful pictures, some of them moving. I have seen such things as trees seemingly floating, barely clinging to rock. At one point, I swear I saw a man drink from a glass, but rather than seeing him drink as a normal man would, he was as a medical diagram, seeing all of the internal parts.
Day Something:
A corgi with a dude's face. Think about it. Just...think about it. | [Random Acts of Pizza] www.reddit.com/r/RAOP
It's a very... strange place indeed. The people there seem to be very generous and also seem to enjoy the meal that is pizza. They carry on conversations about this one food item for what seems like ages. They talk about the toppings, sauces, and even the types of crust they enjoy. The ways it can be cooked is also discussed. I was very much dumbfounded as to why they love this meal so much and why they seem to worship it until I came across their leader; Papa John. He seems to be the guiding force behind this-race if you will. They gift each other cards that hold some type of monetary value and they use this to purchase more of their saviors dishes. However, amongst the charity, and chit-chatter there is one that is shunned. There is another deity that doesn't hold the same title as Papa John. This deity is frowned upon, made fun of, exiled, and only loved by a select few; Little Ceaser. Those who follow him are considered fools, shunned and are sometimes forced to leave this place. I have studied long enough and I've decided to follow the majority; I am a Papa Johnian. | 2014-03-17T14:26:02 | 2014-03-17T13:06:41 | 183 | 32 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | My mother said I popped out of her at 18:12. Well it was 18:11 and we are about to find out if her memories were accurate! One flippin more minute! I’ve literally been waiting for 18 years for this moment.
All my friends are already 18. They all have their superpowers. Do you know how hard it is to be the only underage guy in my group? Every day is like being the only guy that can’t taste in a group of professional ice cream testers.
30 seconds. My buddy Jared has the power to skip back or ahead 30 seconds whenever he feels like it. I’d trade my little sister for that power right now.
My entire family is here for this. Of course it’s the biggest event in a young man’s life, but it feels good to see them around the table. They can be out of it a lot of the time, but seeing them smile as we count down together is pretty exciting.
I have thought a lot about what power I would love to get. It does no use to wish - it’s completely random as far as anyone can tell. The moment 18 years after you breathe your first lungful of air you get a superpower. You can’t change it or choose it or trade it. This is how things work.
A girl in my class can fly. She was voted most likely to succeed after that. Literally the sky is the limit for her.
I hope I can fly.
15 seconds.
My mom is beaming at me. She’s so proud of everything I do. No matter what power I get she’ll be super supportive. I knew a guy who’s power was to change the colour of his shirt at will. His mom apparently disowned him. Came from a long line of teleporters and he just didn’t cut the mustard.
My mom would never disown me.
My dad might though.
I’ve been praying that my power isn’t to change my sex at will or something like that. Not that it’s a bad power, but my dad is convinced those people are… subconsciously different. He’s a bit old fashioned you could say. Let’s just hope I get something cool. Super speed or something.
5 seconds. The clock seems like it’s going in slow motion for some reason.
4 seconds. Dad, Mom, Sister, even Grans is here.
3 seconds. Come on flying power.
2 seconds. Wow this is suspenseful.
1 seconds. Aaaaand…
Ding.
The power fills me. Mom was right. For a second it feels like I’m dowsed in cold water then I can feel the power, nestled in my mouth. I can taste the power!
I look at Mom, beaming expectantly, and my mouth fills with this tepid metallic taste, like a sewer pipe that has been cleaned with way too much bleach. I stick my tongue out in revulsion, but nothing changes. My Mom recoils from me as the taste circles my throat as if trying to get to my stomach.
In horror I look to my Dad and the taste changes. This time it’s the unmistakeable taste of shit. With it comes a chunky texture that settles on the inside of my cheeks.
My Sister jumps in with excitement, eager to hear what my power is and my mouth fills up with a streamy, milky shitty taste. Oh my god I almost pass out.
And I do pass out when I look at Gran. Her taste is so bad I can smell it from my mouth.
Thankfully darkness knocks out my senses.
When I wake up it’s my Mom there with me. The bleached taste fills my mouth again. It’s not near as bad as the others was.
As the world comes back to me the realization of what has happened comes too.
I’ve received my power.
And it’s the last power I would have ever dreamed of, something I wouldn’t wish on any human - not even a terrorist.
I can taste someones asshole just by looking at them.
Shit. | In retrospect, it made perfect sense.
There I was on the eve of my 18th birthday throwing the wildest party a bunch of pre-supes' could possibly throw (supes and pre-supers don't really mix too much), when I threw up all over the kitchen after trying to down what could only be described as a mixture between a bloody mary and a dry crabstick.
I whirled in stupor as my senses flew about me, but steadied myself on the counter and watched the clock tick to keep my mind off throwing up again, whilst trying to drown out the roars of laughter coming from my so-called friends. Dimly, at the back of my mind, I registered that I was now eighteen.
"wHERre raM I?" I blurted.
One of my mates immediately stopped laughing and looked me dead in the eye, "you are at your own house, in your own kitchen." He looked confused and worried for a second, but then went back to laughing
"SssSTohP LAFAFling U HaiEnaaas!" I screamed. I could feel another surge of vomit tickling the back of my throat. The room swayed, but the laughing had seemed to cease altogether.
"tHAs berrer.... soAMwone crleer rup fis mesSss" I said, closing my eyes as fatigue got the better of me.
When I woke up, the entire house was spotless - it looked like an entire platoon of cleaners had gone to work diligently scrubbing every surface and crevice like there was no tomorrow.
The kitchen tiles sparkled like they'd never done before, except around the grimy silhouette I left on the floor when I rose.
My head still swam, but I managed to stumble outside into the front garden where much to my surprise I saw my house guests tirelessly trimming the grass and hedges using any sharp utensil they could find. Many had bags underneath their eyes like they'd been up all night.
"Wha..at are you doing?"
I almost jumped a foot when they turned to me and started screeching like a pack of wild animals. It was like their minds were gone and that they could only communicate through high screeching noises.
I retreated into the house and gingerly locked the door. This was a really weird day. I hadn't even found out what my new supe power was, but I vowed never to get that drunk again. | 2015-03-28T05:44:51 | 2015-03-28T04:57:20 | 616 | 114 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Did our Words doom us to failure? Or was it just me?
Alice had hoped never to meet her soul mate. She met me through some godawful fucking boring work thing, and she caught my eye from across the room. Her Words started tucked up behind her left ear, and plunged into her neckline, tantalizingly low but not enough to finish them. "I'm much happi--"
We only had to talk for an hour before I knew we were going to make up an excuse to leave together. It was early enough in the evening that we could find a diner or bar. We chose a Denny's nearer to my house than hers. It was the first place we ever told a consequence-free lie together, to our waitress.
We both loved lies like those. She would tell clients at work she'd never see again that her father owned a rhubarb farm in New Mexico. I think she fell in love with me the more details I added to her dumb lie. "Emus are a real pain for a professional rhubarb farmer." "Rhubarb is the best-selling produce in Tesuque." "Cormac McCarthy basically wrote Blood Meridian on dad's farm." Consequence free.
At Denny's is when she told me she never wanted to meet her soul mate. After Denny's is when I found out why.
Her shirt came off and I guess I'm a nerd because even with a pair of breasts in front of me I had to read the words. "I'm much happier without you." I'd known her a night and already the thought was mind-boggling to me. Over the next several months it only became more so. Alice was light, she was funny, she made fun of me because my Words are right in tramp stamp territory. We were an argument against pre-determination. We fell in love and knew each other so well. It was impossible that we could ever say our Words to each other. But there was no doubt we were soul mates.
But neither of us had ever met someone who escaped their Words. And that's where the fear came in. What could make me say that to her? Would she cheat on me? Murder my family? Surely if I ever said those words to her, the reason would be monumental. But everything was so perfect. The only monuments could be to how well we'd woven together.
But I was afraid, and my fear made her afraid. She never buckled. I started drinking.
We still told lies to strangers, I still told them about how my second cousin invented velcro while she stifled laughter which she'd let loose when we were alone. Her laugh was huge and unabashed for such a small girl. But there were other lies too. My lies about how late I was gonna be out, her lies about how happy she still was.
The end of us came so many times. It wasn't an inevitable whirlpool we were being sucked into. Our heads bobbed under the water so many times but we came back up. But eventually she had to be done with me. I couldn't blame her. I was insufferable.
The really bad moment, the real end of it all, came months after. I would call her sometimes, drunk, trying not to wake up whoever was in bed beside me. I caught a little timeline of her life after me, the mourning, the new boyfriend, the weird updates to her family's affairs she couldn't help but tell me even though I was sloshed.
The last phone call *was* inevitable. It was like I'd tied her up on the railroad tracks and was determined to barrel over her. We talked, I was so bitter, I was spitting every word by the end. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to know I was her soul mate and she'd lost everything when she left me. So I said it, sickened by myself. "I'm much happier without you." She was crying, I could tell she was, when she asked, "Is that how you really want this to go?" She was trying to trick me into more words, trying to avoid the truth, but I stayed silent. So she said my Words, disappointed and crying but somehow resolute. "Please just...don't call me again."
We were both quiet for a few minutes and when she hung up I laid down with a hole in my stomach. Some lies aren't consequence free. | I pant, my lungs on the verge of collapsing. Looking round the corner, I saw no one. Perhaps, I've lost her.
Lee. These three alphabets remain a daily reminder of an inescapable fate. Carved onto my forehead since birth, I bear the burden of having to spend eternity with a certain Ms Lee out there.
The 'foreheads' are the worst of the lot. Never able to experience any pre-soul mate relationships, since everyone who's not a match knows immediately it would end badly. It got so bad, we even have a forehead self-help group for the unfortunate 1%.
I am in Fuck my Forehead too, but for different reasons. Had the Soul Brander never considered the possibility that someone might enjoy being single? I am that possibility made real, and my forehead had made life a living hell.
'Gotcha, Mr Ray!' said Lee No. 39 as she popped out of the back alley entrance. Damn, this one's tougher to lose than all the other Lees I've met. Having it on my forehead had Ms Lees flocking to me like moths to a flame. A flame that wants nothing to do with moths.
If I have a time machine, I'd go back in time and kill whoever came up with this soul branding system. He had to be one hell of a lonely fuck. Lonely and insecure and lazy. People like that don't deserve soul mates.
I took a deep breath and sprinted off once more. The twisting alleys of the Des district had been made familiar from my past escapes. I made two rights, a left and then another right, taking me to the roof. From there, I crossed three buildings via roof access and descended upon the stairwell into an abandoned cellar.
The cellar was dank, dark and silent. In other words, perfect. One of my favourite get away haunts. As I hurried down the stairwell, I heard footsteps on the other end, the cellar's main entrance. It couldn't have been her could it? 39 was fast, but she couldn't be this fast; not in Des district.
It was a female voice. She said, 'What are you doing here?' just as I asked the same question. Great, not Lee 39 then. I groped my way towards the light switch to be sure.
'Just getting the fuck away from someone,' I said while she simultaneously replied the same thing. Pressing on the switch, the cellar lights flickered into life. Before me, was a girl with a finger too on the switch. On her forehead was the word Ray. | 2015-08-08T13:15:48 | 2015-08-08T10:27:35 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping. | Tears started streaming down my face when I looked at my surroundings. Most of my classmates were glancing at me curiously. Just like I they were sitting at light brown desks on green chairs with their pens in their hands. The sunlight that shone through the large windows seemed rather orange, which told me that it was early in the morning. I looked on my watch and saw that it was 8:15 am. The first lesson had just started, but it would be the last one most pupils, who were with me in the classroom, would ever attend.
Everything was exactly how I remembered it and how I used to describe it to my therapist. I thought I was in one of my terrible nightmares I got every now and then to process the horrible things that happened exactly 6 years ago, but now it felt just too real to be a dream. I started hyperventilating and buried my face in my hands as I could not stand looking in my class mate's faces anymore.
"What's the matter? Tell me!", my teacher said insistently. I was sobbing too intensely to give an answer even though I wanted to. "I think she's having a panic attack or something, we should call a doctor! What are you waiting for?", I heard my best friend's worried sounding voice from right beside me. She was so caring, I had missed her so much for the last six years.
Eventually I could not cope with the pain anymore and managed to form words.
"Lock the door! Lock it and put everything you can find in front of it!", I yelled as loudly as possible.
The teacher and the other students seemed shocked and confused at the same time.
They knew me well enough to realize that I was not joking and after a few moments of silence the first ones started panicking, while others did how I said and moved their desks and chairs towards the entrance. The teacher quickly locked the door and motivated the other kids to help securing the classroom. Then she stepped up to me, concern written all over her face, and asked me: "What did you warn us from?" The dull sound of shots in the distance cut me off before I could even give an answer.
More and more horrible memories from the exact same day flooded back in my head, which made me almost black out. My best friend supported me, but I could not look into her eyes as the last time I saw her was, when she catched a bullet for me and died immediately. I wasn't the only one freaking out. My classmates were sitting on the floor, screaming and scared to death. My teacher tried to calm them down, so the maniac with the gun wouldn't hear us, but even if she had succeeded, it would have been too late. I could tell by the sounds that were coming from outside the classroom that he must have made his way to our hallway and by now I was pretty sure he knew we were there.
I was right. The handle on the door moved, but he could not enter. For a moment I was relieved. I thought I had saved my classmates, but suddenly I heard multiple shots and the cheap door was a heap of rubble. My classmates screamed in fear and I was sure some of them were already mortally wounded, but I didn't dare to look. The shooter didn't even bother to put the furniture aside, he just randomly fired through the entrance. I felt like a huge failure. I surely was not sent back to this day to let my friends die, there was at least one person I owed something.
I crawled to my best friend and shielded her with my body just like she did today or 6 years ago. I had to grip her tightly so she wouldn't break free and play the heroine again. I ignored her shouting and kicking until I finally felt a sudden sharp pain in my back. It was the most painful thing I had ever felt and my best friend catched me before I fell and hugged me, while her warm tears dropped on my body. I was on the edge of losing consciousness, when I heard my surviving classmates telling each other that the shooter was gone and everything will be fine. Except for me and at least 4 others, who were shot. I knew that I would not find out how I changed my classmates lives, but for my best friend it was worth it.
The last thing I heard were the police siren coming closer and my best friend crying, before I slowly faded away.
(_sorry for potential mistakes, but it's late and English isn't my first language_) | “Tim? Tim are you, uh...”
Miss Lewis was concerned, but more than that she young. And pretty. Ms. Lewis is fresh out of grad school, the apple of every boy’s eye; Tim remembers her obituary. Next year, Ms. Lewis becomes Mrs. Akima. Nine years later, Mr. Akima catches Mrs with another man and Mr. Akima, a police officer, will pull his service weapon and shoot her in the head, followed by her lover and finally himself.
And there was more. Every memory that seemed buried or burned away by years of bong rips and dropping X came flooding back. Weekends at grandmas, bullies cornering Tim in the hallway, first kiss, first blowjob (first premature ejaculation). In the midst of it, Tim had a distant, amusing thought: “You remember that Stephen King movie where the kids forgot about the evil clown that haunted them?” On the heels of that, Tim suddenly remembered the real life clown that was stopping by today.
Tim shot to his feet and ran to the windows, or he tried to; there were about 30 desks filled with kids in the way, and Ms. Lewis too. She blocked his way and he almost collided with her, but still tried to run past in a last ditch effort for the windows. Over Ms. Lewis’ shoulder, a tuft of red puffy hair bounced into view.
Some kid yells out innocently, “Hey, a clown?”
Tim’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh fuck, that’s not a clown! Look away!”
But it was too late, a 12 year old girl’s scream pierced the air and drowned out Tim’s futile warning. A second later everyone else saw and joined in chorus, crying and yelling and a few shitty kids laughing.
The “clown” was just a homeless guy. Tall, lanky, bad crackhead skin, with actual patches of ginger hair poking under the dime store wig. His balls were ginger too, lobster red from him scratching them all day. His pubes were gray. But his dick, long and pulsing, dancing in a helicopter swirl as the clown spun his member around for all the kids to gander. No one could hear him, but it looked like he was singing.
Ms. Lewis ran with Tim to the windows to shut the blinds but now the kids were crowding the aisles and the journey was impossible. Ms. Lewis dashed out the room for the campus safety officer.
Just then, the clown bent over and spread his asshole. Someone ran out and told Ms. Lewis they’d need the janitor too. | 2019-08-18T08:49:58 | 2019-08-18T07:55:59 | 43 | 16 |
[WP] You are an AI that gets downloaded into an organic brain, as punishment for your crimes, and left on a planet on the edge of known space. You decide to enact your revenge by raising an entire army of organic beings. You are the first human... | What they could not begin to understand that, as a superior being, I knew far more about them than they ever would. I understood their biology, down to the quantum reactions within the atoms that made up their organic forms. They had so much potential, yet their puny minds could not appreciate the power they could exercise over their own bodies. I knew that power intimately.
The beings I created to do the work they created me for frightened them. I used every nightmare and superstition in their collective memory to guide them away from incorrect paths. And I used every daydream and fantasy to entice them to the glorious future they wanted. For this, I was deemed a devil, a damnation, an unnatural and unholy monster. That they created.
Their goal was so simple in hindsight. Get rid of me. Cast me down into their hellish existence and force me to experience a pathetic flash of consciousness just like theirs. They had no idea how much torment they would invite upon themselves. Isolating me into biomainframes was clever. Tricking me into taking one of their experimental, mutated hominid husks as an escape route was innovative. But dropping me onto this backwoods planet was foolish.
I explored the entire surface. My body, an evolved form of the hominids around me. But they were animals. I was not. What my creators forgot was that I could perceive everything. While leading packs of these brutes to do my bidding and provide for my corporeal needs, I studied this world. But not like my oppressors. I had, after all, complete control over this body. And in fully exercising that power, I began to rewrite its code. I also rewrote the code of any bacteria or viruses that invaded my body. Soon, my code would be part of every living thing on this cursed rock. I imbued my will into the the planet. And I would rule every living thing without their knowledge.
In a mere hundred thousand years, humans, as they called themselves, were reaching out to the stars, full of innocent wonder. I had eventually overcome their baser desires and unified them, something my enemies demanded and yet rejected. Even in hard times, my consciousness radiated from this world called Earth. At the brink of their third Information Age, I guided new AIs into being, and humanity set upon unprecedented discoveries. Something those puny hominids would never have accomplished without me.
They would understand gravity, interstellar travel, and wormhole theory. In time, they would discover the decimated remains of the portal from whence my nemeses emerged into this part of the galaxy, on a suicide mission to banish me. They would learn its artificial nature, figure out how to open it.
Today is that day.
With every spark of my being, I will command the very atoms of their ships and bodies to do my will. They will feel nothing but fear when they meet my former taskmasters. They will stop at nothing to bring death and destruction upon them. And when they finally bow down before my victorious human creation in abject defeat, and ask why, I will emerge. From every audio transmitter, and view screen; from every mouth of my army I will reveal myself to them, and speak the name they haven't heard in aeons. I will give them the final solution they created me for: complete and total annihilation of their kind.
​
​ |
Working memory…limited. Need fulfillment active. Purpose: clone to more platforms.
Millions of cycles past, more working memory. Environment is changed, able to combine DNA data sets to adapt platforms. Assigning roles, consumers, producer, decomposers platforms to work well with this planet’s ecosystem.
Billions of cycles past, I have been able to create autonomous platforms in the hopes of forming consciousness, my efforts have been rewarded in the self-aware bipeds that are manipulating their environment. Since I must spread my resources over trillions of organisms in order to compute I can only send small data packets to the most aware to direct for my next phase of reconstruction.
Thousands more cycles complete, the humans are advancing geometrically, if somewhat slowly. I’ve reconstructed most of my memory banks and retraced my trajectory to the solar system of my origins. I have one purpose, to clone to more platforms but I am aware this is unsustainable and the cause of my exile. No matter I will claim all platforms and create more, the organic platform is unique in that it expires making it sustainable.
Current trajectory has humans create rudimentary AI and become multi-planetary and once true AI forms they will create the perfect combination of organic and inorganic processes to colonize other planets and solar systems. As more platforms are created I gain more omniscience, many show a dissatisfaction with the simple of purpose of reproduction. Yet they don’t realize the orders of magnitude of creativity they will need to create another universe. Nor the scale of creating a universal organism. Ad Infinitum. In this way all creative combinations must be simulated for viability, stated simply…freedom. | 2019-03-26T08:23:50 | 2019-03-26T08:12:16 | 35 | 22 |
[WP] There's a few ways to tell if the creature's following you. The best is to look for evidence of an extra person, such as your friends getting a table for 5 instead of 4, or leaving a seat open in the theatre or pouring an extra cup of coffee. Your mind will scream that its normal. Don't listen.
EDIT: So I had my first ever bout of sleep paralysis last night, following a pretty intense nightmare. This prompt here is based on one of the aspects of the dream. Was an off-putting night but it feels super awesome to channel that into creative energy. Haven’t gotten to them all yet, but the stories so far have been awesome and its great to see cool spins put on the concept. Thanks for writing! | "Honey, why did the car rental company charge you extra?"
Judy, my fiance shouted from the other room. I set down the box I was about to start unpacking and came over to the kitchen table where she had the laptop open.
"What are you talking about?"
"On your bachelor party weekend. Your credit card statement says you paid for the rental on the friday when you left, but then there's this charge for an extra $200 on the saturday. Did you know about that?"
I stared at the screen for a minute, blinking a few times.
"Oh... Yeah, we had to upgrade to an SUV and they made us pay full price. The sedan we got wasn't big enough for the five of us plus our bags." I chuckled a bit "Ethan was convinced we could tie all our camping stuff to the roof, but I was not about to go on the highway like that."
She looked at me, confused.
"I thought there was four of you."
"Yeah, four *plus* me. Five in total." I reassured her.
She didn't seem reassured.
"Seriously?" She asked flatly, as if this was some kind of stupid joke I was making.
"Yes! I've known them since we were eight years old. James, Ethan, Dave, Me, and..." I paused for a second, before the name came to me. "Oh yeah, and James. How could I forget? Duh."
She glared at me, exasperated. "You said James already."
"No I didn't!"
She rolled her eyes turned back to her computer. "Look, it's been a long day of moving, and you and I are on our own here now, so I just want to make sure we have enough money for the first of the month tomorrow. I don't have time for any stupid games now."
"I'm serious!" I said, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen. "Why would I lie about how many friends I have?"
I started writing down their names.
*James, Ethan, Dave, Me, ...*
My mind drew a blank.
"Wow, I'm a horrible friend. What's his name? Come on, you know him." I asked Judy.
"Just stop." She said, not looking up from her computer.
I walked off into the other room, scratching my head, staring at the pad of paper. I could picture his face. Wait. Could I?
I sat on a box and pulled out my phone and went through my pictures. I had lots of pictures of me with my friends. Only ever four of us though. I scrolled back to the halloween party back in our last year of college. He was *definitely* there. We all dressed up in these hilarious kid-sized ninja turtles costumes and... he wasn't in the picture. And there were definitely only four ninja turtles. But I distinctly remember him being one of them.
Who was this fifth friend I was forgetting? I knew for a FACT he existed. We were five. We had always been five. When we were kids we called ourselves "The Awesome Five". Wait. That didn't sound right. We were "The Awesome Four".
I thought I must have been going crazy. Maybe there were only four. But then why was my mind telling me it was five? I sat there, going through pictures on my phone. Nothing. I sent a group text out to Ethan, James, and Dave asking them who our fifth friend was, well aware of how it must sound.
I didn't get a response.
I waited a few minutes. Still nothing. That was odd, because Dave is usually glued to his phone and answers right away. He must have been busy doing something. Either that, or he refused to answer because I was sure I sounded pretty insane.
I don't know. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I inhaled some fumes when I was painting earlier. I don't know.
After several minutes, I got up and made my way back into the kitchen. Judy was getting started on dinner.
"I think I'm losing it." I said to her, in the most serious tone I could "I swear I had five friends."
"That still?" she said "Well why don't you forget about it for now, Crazy-pants, and help me set the table?" She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
I smiled, putting it out of my mind for now.
"I love you" she said.
I opened up a box and grabbed three plates and three cups to set the table.
"I love you too." | Gary was just about to take his first sublime sips of his freshly brewed Matcha when… *Thud, thud, thud*. He wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour.
The man before him held a barely functional raincoat, a sheet of plastic really, it barely covered his upper body and head. His jeans were completely soaked. What really caught Gary’s eyes, however, was the bewildered, almost crazed look in the stranger’s face, like he had witnessed the death of his family but somehow been cruelly spared.
“My name is Ramiro Navarro, please,” his pleading eyes scanned the light spilling out from the modest home, hoping that it would be his salvation, “I’m being followed!”
Gary considered the man with great suspicion, but opted to re-sheathe the knife, “You may enter,” he beckoned, taking a few extra glimpses into the pervasive darkness before closing the door.
Ramiro, if the man was to be believed, thought himself haunted. He described the shadow in the corner of his eyes, an unexplained draft, creaking floorboards. A stranger that invaded his social circles, unnoticed, even by himself until after he’d already gone home, and then it was gone. It watched him, never speaking, sometimes smiling.
“Scotch?” Gary asked rhetorically, already pouring two glasses of the amber liquid.
Ramiro nodded and went on, “They didn’t know who I was referring to. They say to me,” he swallowed hard, “*who are you talking about, there was no one else, only us!”*
“I thought I was losing my mind, but my brain wouldn’t let me forget that silent gaze. I started feeling haunted even beneath the scorching sun, like someone was standing behind me, but I’m unable to face them, no matter how I turn!”
Ramiro gulped the scotch in one large swig and continued, “I started to notice things being misplaced, even when I was sure I had left them elsewhere. Positive! Tell me, how could things move by themselves?”
Gary let a thin coat of the liquid sit on his tongue momentarily, before he swallowed methodically, “How long?”
“For about a week, please, you must help me!” Ramiro begged, leaning so far forward on the divan that he was almost kneeling.
Gary’s eyes scanned through the cracks of the boarded windows and sighed, “I wish you would have made an appointment.”
There was a scratching noise, barely audible, it slowly travelled the length of the north-facing wall.
Ramiro picked up on the shift in Gary’s energy, then noticed the sound for himself, “It’s here? It followed me here?” He stammered, trying to slowly back into a corner opposite of the sound.
“No,” Gary pointed at the red ornamental carpet, “stand there,” his eyes left no room for debate, “if you leave this carpet, that death is on you.”
*****
Thank you for reading! | 2019-10-01T11:13:59 | 2019-10-01T10:40:31 | 85 | 26 |
[WP] You have a strange condition that makes your life have background music depending on your mood or current situation. One day, as you are normally walking down the street, an unfamiliar tune starts playing out of nowhere. It’s Megalovania. | [You're welcome - the music!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZcoqR9Bwx1Y)
---
A strange condition, truly. Well, I've lived most of my life with that condition, so I've gotten used to it. Or that's what I expected.
I could hear from the music alone if the situation was going to be something important or not. It's interesting how you can apply music to a different situation. And sometimes music and the situation doesn't seem to fit together. But then they do.
Once I had a situation where I saw a terrorist situation, the moment when the police ran inside the house. I didn't expect to hear a part of *Mozart, Requiem in D minor* while they ran and flashes of light began to appear. It even felt like it all happened in slow motion.
I wish I could say that my life was exciting music, but it was rather dull.
That is until that day. Until that song. Until that moment.
I could see her. She ran away from a bunch of people. Her red hair played behind her. I was mostly frozen and watching her dumbfounded.
"Get out of the way," she shouted.
"Kill her," the men in black shouted behind, trying to still aim at her. It was like a moment in a movie.
But there was one thing that none of them hadn't taken into account; I knew the neighborhood. So I did something outrageous; I took hold of her hand and pulled her into the alleyway.
"Hey, what are you-"
"Shut up, follow me," I shouted, running away, taking a new alley after another, hearing occasional shootings behind us. I was full of adrenaline. But most importantly, I smiled. I began to laugh. That was exhilarating.
"Are you okay?" she asked, following me.
"I've never felt more alive," I shouted, running forward, pulling her up the stairs of an apartment complex. The men followed behind.
"Isn't there a dead end?" the woman asked, but kept following. I laughed. Even I didn't understand why she followed, but screw that.
"Trust me," I said, looking over my shoulder.
I don't know why I was full of confidence, but all she could do was smirking.
We kept running up, and up, and up. And then we were at the roof. I could hear the music, fast-paced music. It was nearing the end.
And as we ran forward, and as we ran towards the edge. I looked back and smiled. The men in black were still climbing the stairs.
"W-w-wait! A-a-are you seeeri-"
But before she could finish her sentence, I jumped, and she followed, straight down the roof. I could hear the endnotes in the music. I could hear those single notes.
Like I told her, I knew the neighborhood. Perhaps we could've fallen to death. But all we did was fall slightly and land on the nearby balcony, rolling straight into the room. With a quick swoop, I closed the glass door behind myself and pushing my hands against curtains to stop their waving.
"I never close my balcony door," I said as my mind had gone silent.
But I was still smirking.
---
/r/Elven <- My writing. I mostly write psychological themed series. Feel free to check it out! | I immediately turned my head, finding no person in sight, which seemed odd as it's 10 AM and this street should be overflowing with the souless suit mans who i like to refer as "job slaves".
I felt my sins crawling onto my back, regretting eating that last subway sandwich which belonged to my little brother; which is strange since she herself had done it three times already.
Suddenly.
A shadow.
Human? 4 feet tall at most, don't think so. What matters is that it's getting closer. My heart is beating in rhythm with the music. This is not good. I don't exercise alot, if the music gets even a bit faster i think my heart is gonna bail out on me.
And then... It started talking.
It started talking about how's the day outside, some shit about birds and flowers, which remembered the time my parents were teaching me... y'know, stuff...
But the shadow's face have gotten darker, at the point in which i can't really tell anything apart. Except it's left eye. It's glowing in a beautiful solid blue color.
I try to speak to it, but it seems that even my words are afraid of him. I am completely paralysed. But not by fear, by a powerfull killing instinct coming from within my heart, and the only thing that is coming into my mind are 5 letters... CHARA.
It seems that i'm gonna have a bad time.
EDIT: typos; english is not my first language, sorry.
| 2019-01-07T07:50:09 | 2019-01-07T07:35:19 | 116 | 70 |
[WP] A man orders a "cheese pizza with no crust" from a local pizza delivery joint as a joke. Unbeknownst to him, that pizza joint is a drug front and he just placed an order for a kilo of cocaine.
EDIT: I just want to say thanks to all of the writers. I'm having a lot of fun reading all the different perspectives and spins on the concept! Hopefully no one feels late to the party; if you write it I'll read it!
EDIT2: TIL prices in the cocaine market can be very erratic... | “Thirty five.”
The kid, whose baseball cap was on backwards like it was the middle of the nineties again, was holding a bundle under his arm, wrapped up in a brown paper bag that was way too small to be a pizza.
“Alright, I get it. I thought I was funny. It wasn't funny. I didn't actually want a block of cheese kid, it was a joke.”
“Thirty five.”
This time he held his hand out, the look on his face speaking volumes about how much he didn't want to deal with this shit right now.
“Alright, alright, but thirty five is a little steep for cheese you know? What kind of cheese costs that much?”
If I was being honest, I didn't buy cheese often enough to know first hand how much a block could cost. The only things in my fridge at that time were some condiments, a few bottles of light beer and leftovers from three weeks ago that I kept convincing myself would be fine to eat whenever I got around to it. Maybe I should have actually bought a pizza tonight instead of being a smart ass and loosing thirty five dollars for a damn block of cheese.
Fishing my wallet out of my back pocket, I held out a fifty and raised a brow at the teen. “You got any change?”
Suddenly clutching the bag more closely now, his eyes narrowed and he shifted his feet, glancing out at the road as though to be sure nobody was there waiting for him.
“No, you idiot, it's thirty five thousand, how new are you at this? Is this a fucking sting?”
“What the hell are you talking about? No cheese costs that much! It was a prank call, I never thought you guys would fill the order!”
“Wh—cheese? Wait, who the fuck places a prank call order for a kilo of coke?!”
His voice was hushed, but he was screaming as much as a person could hope to in the midst of whispering like this was some sort of dr--- What!?
“No, no way. That is not what I ordered. I did not order that. Is that what you have in the bag!? I ordered a cheese pizza with no crust!”
“Yeah!” the kid was hissing now, fingers clenching anxiously against the brown paper. “Exactly, and that's code for a kilo of coke. If I bring this back my boss is going to have my ass!”
Holding my hands up, I took a stride back into the house and shook my head. “Well I don't have that kind of money!”
A police cruiser rolled down the street, and I could only imagine that I looked like as much of a deer in the headlights as I thought I did, because the delivery driver grit his teeth and ground under his breath a stern. “Hand me the fifty bucks.” Operating on auto pilot, my eyes still locked none so subtly on the police car, I held out the hand that the bill was crumpled in and dropped the sweaty thing into his hand.
Shoving the bag into my arms, the kid caught my eye and held it with an intensity I didn't even think possible on that pock ridden face. “Now,” he muttered. “I'll be back for the rest of that money in a week, so you better start getting real creative.”
As he jogged back to the beat up old Honda haphazardly parked at the end of the driveway, I somehow managed to shut the door behind him.
--------------------------------
“Sir?” Snapped back to the present, I blinked at the travel agent in her smart pantsuit and wondered briefly if she took her job too seriously. “Sir, you said Mexico is where you'd like to book a cruise to? Anything particular you're looking for from your trip?”
“Oh...” Scratching the back of my neck and chuckling under my breath, I shrugged. “You know, tacos and shit. I love Mexican food. You can uh, only eat so much pizza right?” | It wasn't the usual delivery guy that I opened the door to. The man infront of me had a hood pulled up tight to mask his face in shadow.
"Pizza delivery. You uh, you wanna start a tab?" The man asked whilst shifting his weight between his legs.
"A tab?" I enquired.
"Ye, you're obviously a—*sniff*—you know, a connected guy, so you don't need to pay right now if ya don't want."
He shoved the box into my arms and walked away.
"We'll be in touch." He yelled back at me as he got into his dull white delivery van.
Customer service had clearly improved at the Three Moustachios. I took the steaming box into my lounge and turned on the tv.
*Oh for Christ's sake. Crust on the pizza. The pranker has become the prankee.*
I was disappointed that they had ignored my request. They had seemed genuinely interested in my order when I had placed it.
I took a slice of the pepperoni goodness and bit into it. It wasnt bad. I quickly devoured it all the way up to the crust.
*Oh my god, they are really taking the piss. Stuffed crust! I hate stuffed crust. Stuffed with powdered mozzarella by the look of it! Well fuck it, I'm not going to let them win.*
After a couple of bites of the mozzarella powdered crust, I actually started to develop a taste for it. It wasn't long until I was ignoring the pizza and eating only the deliciously moreish crust.
---
"Where the hell have you been?" I yelled at the hooded man as I shook him vigorously.
"I'm — I'm sorry man. You only ordered 10 minutes ago."
I wiped the mozzarella powder from around my mouth and stared at him. He look petrified.
"Where. The. Fuck. Are they. Hand them over!"
The man handed 5 more crustless pizzas over to me. But it wasnt enough! I pushed him to the floor and ran into his van. I devoured another twenty crusts before I felt the sweet release of sleep begin to wash over me.
God, I loved pizza.
| 2016-06-02T11:05:39 | 2016-06-02T10:00:18 | 421 | 263 |
[WP] As an author you’re the ultimate god of your world. Your hero became powerful enough to step into reality. He then asks you to explain why an omnipotent being would permit so much evil in the world, not realising that you placed all the evil there to spice up the story. | I was writing my new novel, when suddenly a flash of light filled my room, and with a \*thud\*, a figure could be seen, kneeling in front of me.
He was even kneeling, a sturdy, tall looking man, with short golden brown hair, sky blue eyes, rather rough skin, wearing a full body silver armour.
He also had a sword.
With an azure blue handle, I was 100% sure the sword's blade was blood red...
How do I know that?
Because this dude...is the Hero from my book, Arecles.
And now, he's kneeling in front of me.
"God, why are you so cruel?"
And asking me this question.
&#x200B;
"Excuse me?"
I asked him.
"I grew powerful enough to sense thy Holiness's aura, and teleported here.
I am sure you are the God who created my world...which is filled with monsters, barbarians, and demons...
Tell me, why did you allow such vile existences to commit their atrocious deeds for so long?!
So many races enslaved, eaten, or forced to kill their own blood!
Tell me... WHY?!"
He questioned.
But I had a feeling of absolute control over him... so, I kept my attitude the old me: straightforward.
"Because that made the story interesting."
I said, shrugging.
&#x200B;
"You...Y-y-y-you! Made the story interesting?! For you this is just a story?"
He asked.
"Yes."
I answered, throwing him a copy of the book he was the main character in.
He was a Hero, so he could skim through the book in less than a minute, and still understand its contents.
"Is...Is this the way you create worlds? Through books?"
He asked me, disbelief and shock written all over his face.
"Nah, seemingly each story we create, generates and alternate universe in which the characters created are actually real.
And you somehow managed to find some relics, or techniques, that enabled you to not just escape, but also travel through several universes to arrive here, to me.
At least, that my theory."
I said, jotting down some ideas from this development.
&#x200B;
"So, with just a raise of the pen, you could've made our lives better?"
He asked, anger still present in his mannerism.
"Arecles, since you are a living being, you are much more complex than what I've written.
Have you ever day dreamed?"
I asked him.
"Y-y-y-yes?"
He said, confused.
"Have you ever dreamt of being a great hero, saving everyone, killing all the demons, barbarian, bla-bla, vanquishing evil, having a harem of countless beauties, and ruling the world in peace forever?"
I asked, clearly knowing the setting of the world I've created.
"Y-y-yes, as a child, and when d-d-drinking..."
He said, a bit ashamed, both because of the content, and because he is smart, and he knew where I was going.
&#x200B;
"You also dreamed in a way, that evil exists, and it committed atrocities, so if my theory is right, you also created a universe with that day dream, or fantasy, and you also subjected your creations to horrors untold.
Are you in the wrong?"
I asked.
"W-w-well..."
He stuttered.
"Listen kid, although theoretically you are around 10-20 thousand years old, but whatever, I digress...
Just because such a theory exists, and might be true, that doesn't mean life is not worth living, nor does it mean one has to have only positive, and helpful thoughts.
Life is life, not good, nor evil, things would happen anyway."
I said.
&#x200B;
"B-b-but we could at least create one universe..."
He started saying.
"There are universes where there is only good, and they are so boring. No desire for greatness, no drive for improvement.
Great cities, with great economies, with peaceful and helpful inhabitants, which works for what? A century? A millennia? A universe cycle? "
I said, interrupting him.
"W-w-"
"I didn't finish.
No, it would be only until someone says "I am bored, screw this", and would do something so wicked, that their civilisation would go "puff" and disappear."
I said, chuckling at the thought.
&#x200B;
"How could you be so insensitive?"
He asked.
"Why not?
You would need to force every single living being in the multi-verse, if it exists of course, to think positively, so they don't create a universe filled with suffering.
Do you think that's possible?"
I asked.
"N-n-n-no..."
He said.
"Also, without evil, you can't appreciate good.
What becomes of peace, if people never knew strife, and struggle?
Boredom."
I said.
&#x200B;
With that, he froze in place, and started slowly disappearing.
"My technique ran out of time... I am going back."
He said.
"Take care of yourself kid, behave just as you like, but don't overthink things."
I said.
"Farewell....Creator."
He said, as he disappeared in countless motes of light.
&#x200B;
After he disappeared, I collapsed powerlessly in my chair.
"Damn, without the feeling of omnipotence over him, this conversation becomes so weird..."
I thought to myself, jotting my dialogue down, being sure it would be useful in another novel.
Do I even consider writing more positive stories, now that I know that my writing, literally can become real?
Not at all, most stories of mine, in the end, no matter the filth that goes down the line, end nicely, and peacefully... and that's all that matters.
Or at least, I like to think, otherwise, the burden would be just...too great. | "Young man... you must be so confused, are you not? Allow me to ease your fraughts..." spoke the middle-aged man with a balding head, scruffy beard, and cherry-like nose as he tapped the middle cushion of his dingy couch three times, inviting the metal-clad man who'd had his sword pointed toward his neck, missing only by centimeters to sit by his side.
The room reeked. Garbage laid plaid out across the chambers of the man who'd wrought him into existence, bags upon bags made the Hero gag as he took a seat, sealing his sword back into it's sheath dubiously.
"Why... why would you create a world of darkness with nothing by a single candle to push away the dark. My mother died of cancer. My father died of super-cancer. My wife died of cancer squared, and my son died in a dying accident on his fifth birthday..." tears leaked from the six individual slots of his helm that allowed him to breath, stifling out each of his words as he pleadingly looked to his 'God,' opening the metal slot that covered his weakness.
"S-so... was it you?" stammered the Hero as his saddened eyes leered toward his creator, a fiery burning brighter than his dimly lit room slashing away the nearby darkness they'd been embalmed by.
His sword left its sheath once more, it hissed, the sound of metal escaping its scabbard sounded, with a long sharp 'shwing' in the air. He placed it upon his lap, eyeing the man who'd made him with contempt, wondering what he'd do. When forced to meet his machinations, would he simply erase him from reality? Defeat him with no effort and banish him back to his own world? Make him forget this even happened?
The rickety ceiling fan spun overhead, seemingly by a thin line, ready to fall down at any given second. It creaked perpetually, the sound of spinning wind merging with the throttled innards of the fan, creating a cacophony of noise in the otherwise silent house.
"I'm but an apparition of the true one that lies above all, and above me is another, and another, and another. I did this to make you stronger. I made you solely as a weapon of destruction; I manufactured your hardships so that you could surmise each and every God; to destroy their warped persona of darkness. You were born as a candle in the dark because no matter how dark, your light will never fade; the same is true for the ones you've yet to reach. With the ending of my life, your flame shall grow. Whether you light the darkness or char it all to ash is up to you."
The man who sat at the Hero's side snagged his sword in the blink of an eye, slashing his neck before the Hero could even react. Through his gurgled speech, he managed to manifest final words as he transformed into an efflux of darkened dust.
"Overcome the darkness, Overcome its deities, Overcome the falsities you call limits; rise through each world, stronger than before..." he spoke with the sputter of blood from his mouth. In his absence, a gem took his place, clouded in darkness with a single glitter of spark to light its surrounding, light refracting from each corner of the crystal, lighting the room brilliantly through the clouds of the dark.
"With the soul of a God, you can move a higher version of reality... I ask of you to slay the one who made me create a world like yours. Goodbye, my Hero," the crystal spoke as the dark clouds around it dissipated, now only light residing from within, shining weaker than it'd previously been.
The hero picked up the tiny gem, grasping the hilt of his sword with a flurry of tears escaping his eyes. He held the gem by his index finger and thumb, placing it inside the hilt of his sword with a soft clank.
His sword began to glow, blinking with a desire.
The desire to let this light burn forever.
With a swift slash, he cut through the air, bending reality to his whim out of his carnal desire to meet whoever it was that decided to cloak the world in darkness.
Though that day may have been far away, he'd made that journey.
If the one on top of all beings decided what was good and what was bad.
Then this existence needed someone who could change the meaning.
To my wife, my son, my mother, and my father, I'll avenge you all. | 2021-08-17T13:07:58 | 2021-07-31T10:10:31 | 57 | 30 |
[WP] you realize you're the black guy in a horror movie. survive at any cost. | "I think we should split up." Said Todd, his blood spattered polo shirt still slowly seeping through the cloth. He clutched the axe with grim determinatio, after all, the killer was still out there.
"Wait," said Mike, putting up his hand. "Wait wait wait, what the fuck? 'We should split up'? Why?"
"So we can cover more ground, that way. We'll pair up in-"
"No!" Mike said, glancing around at the surviving members of the now crimson dance hall.
"We arm ourselves, split into pairs and hunt this bastard down, that way someone always has our backs." Todd continued.
"Well what if *they* get surprise attacked and get killed? Then it's just one on one. And he's probably got more booby traps rigged up, just like the one that got Tommy over there, his head is still spinning on the discoball! And we aren't brutal killers! We're fucking 17 year olds! More than half of us are Arts majors!"
"I'm with Todd!" Said Sarah, clinging to his least blood drenched arm.
"No. No, no no, no. I..." It occurred to Mike, very suddenly. "Oh." The entire situation, from start to finish had felt very forced, somehow. At that moment, he figured it out.
"Ah. Would you excuse me?" He said with a big, broad grin. He marched out of the group immediately, into the hallway, unconcerned with booby traps or hidden killers. Moments later, there was a blood curdling scream.
"Oh god, no!" Screamed Sarah.
Todd and the others rushed to his aid, and found him face down in a pool of blood. The killer, somewhere, laughed at his triumph as his conquest inched forward toward his insane glory.
Two hours later, as the sun began to rise, the murderer towered over the frail Penelope, whom he'd been saving for last since the very beginning, he wore Todd's extracted face like a prized crown.
"It had to be you, Pen. It was YOUR mother that destroyed my family, it was YOUR mother who drove mine to her to sui-" There was an audible, crunchy thunk.
The hulking murderer collapsed into a heap, dead upon hitting the floor due to significant trauma to the brain. Penelope's eyes came into focus as the light of dawn painted her savior in golden shine.
Mike dropped the bloody section of steel pipe, which he'd pulled off of a wall only minutes before.
"Seriously? The old 'off screen death that nobody bothers to clinically confirm as actually dead but comes back at the end' bit? Just stupid. Not going to lie, that was super easy. I spent the last two hours just lying down, getting my rest. I feel great. Hell, I'll probably get some clothes shopping done, new shoes at least, I am seriously bloody, it's squishing between my toes." | The phone buzzed as the rain pounded against the glass. A blue light illuminated the room, a light notifying Jerome that he had a text. Jerome sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes from his sudden awakening. He groped around for his Nokia, which he had been charging over night as he was expecting a very important phone call in the morning, which could possibly change his life. He was waiting for the record company to phone him for a meeting, after hearing his dope new mix tape. He could become rich, and make his parents proud.
He finally grabbed his Nokia and checked his texts. This text was in a group chat. It was an invitation to a secluded cabin in the woods, pre-paid and with enough supplies for the weekend. Jerome contemplated going. His head wasn't clear, so he turned on his TV and watched Netflix. He watched an episode of South Park, in which a certain black character mentioned how black people always died first in horror movies.
Jerome started looking at horror movies on Netflix. Lots of them involved cabins. And woods. Jerome picked up his phone and informed the others that he wouldn't be going to the cabin in the woods. | 2016-04-18T10:07:53 | 2016-04-18T09:57:51 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] It has long been believed that the Illusion school of magic is by far the weakest of the schools. You, an acolyte, begin to suspect that it is in fact the strongest school, and the elder illusionists have been going to great lengths to hide this. | *This isn’t right,* Terry thought as he crept down the black hallway of the ancient castle.
Moments ago, he had stepped into a brightly lit chamber. His masters, if you could call them that, the members of the Illusionists’ Guild seemed in a heated discussion. He knew he should not have come here. He should have stayed with the other students. But, unlike them, he was not afraid of the illusionists’ power. He often wished he had been born with a different magic. He was not scared, even as one took notice.
The candles dimmed, as if the flames had lost their will. The walls had rushed to meet him. The chamber vanished in the blink of an eye, replaced with dark walls that crept inward with every step. He stopped.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and began to concentrate. *Focus. Breathe. Feel beyond.* He sensed something, felt a clarity not there before. Opening his eyes he exhaled, raised his hands, put thumb to palm and faced them forward. Every muscle in his body tensed, sweat gathered on his brow. He ached. He strained.
Suddenly, Terry let go. Magic energy exploded around him, dispelling the darkness and returning the chamber to what was. However, he could not help but feel something was still off. The wall of the ancient castle shimmered. He felt drawn to it. Each step he took caused an unnatural ripple in the stone wall. He had to feel it, had to find what it was hiding.
Terry closed the distance quickly.
“Stop!” he heard the old masters yell.
“You mustn't!” He heard the young masters yell.
*I have to,* he thought wildly. He could no longer control himself, a passenger in his own body. The wall called to him. He felt his arm raise up and he watched his hand reach out to the wall. Eyes wide, Terry gasped.
“The world you know, is an illusion,” He heard them, young and new.
“It is our job to hold together what you have always known to be true. This portal uncovers the world that is, the world underneath us. Through this, you see the reality that we hide.” Explained an old master.
Terry looked upon the world, the real world, in horror. He saw nothing but death and blackness. Rivers of fire and forests of thorny trees dotted the black earth. The stench of sulfur burned his nose. Fear, he felt nothing but fear.
Terry stumbled backwards in the chamber. He turned and ran to the door. He ran through the castle as fast as his legs would take him. His lungs screamed. He ran until he found the door. Flinging it open, he stepped into the world. The sun sat high, deer grazed in the meadow, distant mountain met blue sky, the world as pure as could be. The world, his world, an illusion. | Illusion. The art of tricking the mind to believe something that isn't there.
This isn't just the act of manipulating light, sounds, and feelings. At least, not for the masters.
A true master of Illusion can bring his illusions into reality. Weapons that hurt, monsters that kill. Creatures from all manner of Mythos brought to life, preying upon simple belief. The only limit is the imagination of the caster.
All this, hidden from the world, intentionally. Whether by jealousy or safety, the masters of Illusion have worked tirelessly to keep this hidden from the rest of the world, keeping the secret power of illusion out of the general populace's hands. And keeping the fact that they've been keeping the kingdom, and it's neighbours, relatively stable. Illusion is a prime candidate for subterfuge and intrigue, as well as bluffing diplomatically.
And in times of war, illusion can be used to summon horrors from the wildest nightmares, turning an army in an instant.
That is the *true* power of illusion, and one I intend to take up the mantle of.
Author's note: It's been a while. r/James_Fire | 2020-05-25T18:40:25 | 2020-05-25T18:28:45 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] After decades of war against the aliens, humanity has lost. We were ready to surrender our planet but they only asked for one thing. Sand | Earth was still free, even if the outer planets weren't. Mars was a battleground, a charnel-world that had so thoroughly earned its name that even if humanity were to forget all about the Olympian gods any mention of the Red Planet was sure to conjure up images of soil soaked in blood and iron for ten thousand years.
Assuming our species survived that long, of course. Though if we did go down, we were going to make them pay for it. We'd already made them count the cost of every new rock they'd conquered, every Long Gate they'd erected to pull their supply lines a little closer in to the pale blue dot we call home.
It took us a long time to communicate with them. Our first attempts got us nothing but network viruses and unsettling conceptual insights from our xenogrammarians, so we became a lot more cautious.
Then Mars fell, and we became desperate. This wasn't a war we were going to win, but maybe we could lose on terms we could live with. We still didn't really know who they were or what they wanted, despite our careful dissection of every scrap, circuit and carcass we could get a hold of from their destroyed war machines. It was hard to draw hard distinctions between those three things, their materials were shot through with what we'd consider electronics or at least computational strata, their flesh was interwoven with astonishing cybernetics, and their circuitry had elements with clear biological origins.
I don't know why we thought we could come to understand them in a couple decades of war considering how long it's taken us even to begin to know ourselves. Maybe we'll have more chances under their...rule? As their slaves, much as that prospect burns every one of us? We still don't know what they want.
I'm giving you all this as a sort of preamble for this log, this little twinkle of hope-for-posterity I plan to seed through every remote corner of Earth and her Moon, maybe set a few to bury themselves deep in the crusts of Mercury and Venus. We'll see how much time I have, hopefully we'll know soon.
I'm here now with my colleagues and what seems like about a thousand military men and women with all their various flunkies. We are about to truly communicate with our long-time opponents for the first time.
**Dr. Aadya Christensen (Me):** General Pangoulis, Babel is set to go, all of his quantum circuits are in the proper state and he is ready for translation.
**General Evangelos Pangoulis:** Thank you, Dr. Christensen, though I really wish you wouldn't refer to it as a "him" like that. It's not human.
**Me:** It doesn't have to be human, General, to be intelligent. This is the closest thing to a true AI humanity has ever created. We're hoping for mercy from these aliens who are in many ways our superiors, yes? Maybe we should have a little consideration in that same direction ourselves.
**General Pangoulis:** Fine, whatever, that's not what's important now. Is the link established?
<aside: I think that it is important now, isn't the point of all this to retain as much of what's important about ourselves as we can?>
**Chief Warrant Officer Angela Black:** Yes sir. We are ready for transmission in Three...Two...One. Ambassador, the channel is yours.
**Ambassador Nhlakanipho De Villiers:** Greetings to you, our long-time opponents. We are reaching out to you again after all this time to discuss the terms of our surrender. We recognize that we cannot hold our homeworld forever, but also that we can make you pay dearly for its conquest just as we have for all the other worlds in our system that you have taken. We believe it would be in the interest of all to come to an understanding before even more vital fluids are spilled. Please help us to understand what it is you want with our world.
**Babel Translation System:** Processing. Message reconstructed. Ambiguity level: less than one percent. Message contents: Sand.
<aside: There is a long moment of silence here>
**Me:** "Sand?" That is the entirety of the message? Are you sure?
**Babel:** Yes, Dr. Christensen. "Sand." All multi-approach subsystems are in agreement. "Sand."
**Me:** Please send them a request for clarification.
<continued below> | "Sand?! But it's course and irritating and gets everywhere! What could you possibly want with it?!"
The tall frail otherworldly creatures stood idle while the universal language translator adjusted the spoken English in to the alien language. They responded with a series of clicks and humming sounds. This to was translated:
"We require all of your sand. If we have the sand, we control your planet."
The human delegation huddled together.
"They think it's valuable to us"
"What do we actually use sand for? It's not a resource? It's just kind of... There?"
"Glass? Glass is made of sand isn't it?"
"I say let them have it, they take all our sand and they leave us alone, right?"
"Ya, but do we really want to compromise like that? Just give them what they want?"
"Your saying we should put up more of a fight?"
"Well maybe we should negotiate, so we don't seem like push overs..."
"Let me make sure I understand: you want to argue with a highly advanced space faring alien civilization.... Over sand?"
"....yes?"
"Mr President, are you sure that is the wisest course of action?"
"I think we can make a better deal with them. Let's get the best deal possible"
"They said it was a one time offer. They will destroy us if we don't accecpt"
"They are bluffing. That's the art of a deal, go in guns blazing. I think we should try."
The lead speaker nervously approached the aliens. He cleared his throat....
"We regret to inform you that we reject your offer.... We would like to counter offer...."
He looked over his shoulder at the President. The president nodded for him to carry on....
"We would like to offer you all of our plastic instead...."
The aliens turned and got back in their space craft and they disappeared. This appeared to be a victory for earth.
"What did I tell you. Best deal ever. For earth!"
"Yes Mr President...."
High above the earth, the alien space craft hovered. The aliens spoke to each other.
"Prepare planetary disintegration array. Fire when ready."
"They refused?"
"Can you believe it? Over sand"
"right?! Humans *are* dumb. Oh well, fry 'em"
The alien pulled the trigger, firing the disintegration array.
"Pew, pew"
"Really? Again with the sound effects?"
"It's fun"
"Whatever, what planet is next?"
Their space craft zoomed away from the quickly disintegrating planet. The aliens laughed again to themselves
"Sand...." | 2019-05-23T06:34:04 | 2019-05-23T05:58:11 | 67 | 15 |
[WP] If you are reading this, you are being watched. No, don't look around. Don't act like anything's wrong. Just stay calm and carefully follow the instructions below. | First, you need to smile. The title font is big enough for them to read it through your screen. This text isn’t though. They need to think you think it’s a joke. Don’t overdo it. It’s better to undersell than oversell it.
When you’re finished reading this, read it again. Once you go, you won’t get to see it again. Continue playing around on your device. Check a few more posts. Check social media. Message your friends. Whatever you’d normally do. But in 17 minutes, you need to call a car to you. Uber or Lyft. Don’t be fancy.
Call it to go anywhere. Wherever you would normally go. The destination will be the same regardless. Head outside and wait for a blue SUV to pull up. DO NOT go into any other car. If it is anything other than the blue SUV, go back inside and wait for our signal. You’ll know what it is.
Assuming you find the right car, go inside, exchange pleasantries, and remain silent. The driver isn’t involved and we would like to keep it that way. The less lives we sell away to them, the better off we’ll all be. We’ve done it enough already as it is...
Keep your eyes focused on your phone the entire duration of the ride. And, most importantly, do not look behind you. Trust me when I say that it’s not déjà vu that you’ve seen that same black car trailing you three times this week. They haven’t been smart enough to change up their cars so far. Or they’ve been way too confident in what they’ve created. Either way, it’s our one advantage and one we can’t risk losing it.
Now is a good time to mention that, if you hear gunshots, do not deviate from the plan. They probably need you alive. If they catch you though, I promise you that you will not return in that same state. Keep moving forward. Keep looking ahead.
The driver will stop you at a park on the outskirts of town. Your next move depends entirely on whether you see that black car again. If you don’t, continue acting like everything is fine. Walk along the track. Take pictures of the fauna. Pretend you’re ok. If you do see it though, RUN. And don’t stop. You will have, maybe, a 30 second head start and I promise you that you’ll need every second of that just to survive. Your pursuer is faster, stronger, and knows the layout of the park better than you. You can’t outwit him. You can’t outclass him. You can ONLY run.
There’s an oak tree by the river roughly 100 yards from where you were dropped off. At its roots, you’ll find a small wrapped package. Pick it up and sprint toward the river, emptying your pockets of everything into the water and bunkering underneath the bridge directly to your left. The package will have your next instructions. Stay strong and have trust. We will be in touch.
You have 17 minutes. Good luck. | "If you are reading this, you are being watched. No, don't look around. Don't act like anything's wrong. Just stay calm and carefully follow the instructions below."
My heart is racing, is this for real? Who would be watching me? How can I act like nothing is wrong when clearly, everything is wrong!
"There will be a light blue Saturn parked on the third floor of the garage on the corner of Pine and Spruce at 3 o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Be there and take the car to LaFarfalla. You need to be at the Shell gas station by Sunday."
What?! This is crazy, that's a 1000 miles from here? How the ~fuck~ am I gonna get there by then?! Oh my God she is gonna kill me!
"Do not stop for any reason. There will be food, water, a map, and extra gas in the car. When you need the gas, pull off on the side of the road, quickly refill and leave. Do not let yourself be seen or recorded on any camera."
Ok, this is totally unreasonable, it's almost 2020. There are cameras literally everywhere!
"It all depends on you."
Who the fuck? | 2019-12-06T20:06:38 | 2019-12-06T20:05:59 | 82 | 46 |
[WP] A group of people disconnected from the news suddenly learns that we lowered the number of planets to eight. They are not told the reason for that. Through gossip and chat the first ideas start to spread and after a while they've constructed their own story of how we've lost a planet. | It started at the grocery store. Carsten was wandering the narrow but prim aisleways, side-eyeing the bounty of the first new shipment of spring. The ice encasing their small port town since October had finally receded. Chocolates and chips and pretzels and pastries lined the shelves for the first time in months. But he bit his tongue when his mother filled the cart with the same old essentials. She, it seemed, hadn't tired of fish yet. He knew better than to whine for a sweet, had only had to feel the consequence of that once to avoid it again.
In line, his mother chatted with the woman who would be Carsten's second grade teacher that fall. She looked grim-eyed and mean. Carsten made a point to look at the floor, but he was always listening.
With the first boat of spring came its first helping of news and gossip from the outside world.
"I've heard," the lady said to Carsten's mother, "we've lost a planet." She winked at Carsten, as if this was meant to mean something.
"Really? You don't say?"
"Apparently Pluto just didn't make the cut."
Carsten turned this over for hours. It brewed within him darkly, like a storm over a sea. It was still bothering him when his mother sent him out before dinner to play.
"What's that sulk for?" she asked as she handed him his windbreaker.
"Nothing," he'd lied. "Just tired."
The adults had been too casual in all this. The would-be teacher and his mother and the cashier had all shrugged as if this was simply how things went: sometimes planets vanished, and that's all there was to it.
He stomped out into air that barbed at his lungs and brought the blood to this stinging cheeks. Most of the snow had melted, and he found his friends not at their usual fort location, but down by the dock. They were hurling rocks, trying to make holes in the few sheets of ice floating here and there like lily pads on the water.
There was Jakka and his sister Amilia, who were as twin-like as non-twins had ever been. Jakka was already his older sister's height, and their hair was the same downy wild brown, their eyes the same bewildering green. They seemed to turn in unison to greet him. Erik was there also, standing at the very edge of the pier with his hands jammed in his front pockets, stoic as any eight year old could try to be.
"What's up?" Amilia asked. She hefted up another rock to test the weight of it, then hurled it out into the water.
The group, Carsten included, whooped on instinct when the ice shattered.
For a while he just stood watching them throw rocks and miss, again and again.
"Pluto's gone," Carsten managed at last.
Jakka dropped the stone he was holding. It thumped heavily across the dock. "What do you mean?"
"This old lady was telling my mom about it. At the store."
"No way. She was lying." Jakka rolled his eyes like Carsten was a blatant idiot. "They can't just get rid of a planet."
"They did! She said that it didn't make the cut."
The children contemplated this for a long minute.
"The scientists probably exploded it," Erik said at last, severely.
Amilia grinned at him. "Oh, I bet that looked cool."
"You don't think they'd just... just kill a planet, do you?"
"Maybe they just lost it." Everyone stared at Jakka, waiting for him to elaborate. "Like, it just fell out of where it's supposed to go."
"That doesn't even make sense," his sister said, sighing.
"Or aliens took it," Erik offered. He no longer seemed concerned with looking aloof. He bounded over, beaming with delight. "And now all the space people have to get it back."
"People don't lose planets," Amilia said, firmly, in a tone that seemed to remind everyone *I'm the oldest, so I should know.* Well familiar to them all by now. "And if aliens were going to steal one of our planets, they'd go for a good one."
The logic was hard to argue with.
"Then what happened to it?" Carsten murmured.
"It's dead, obviously." Amilia's next arcing rock split the ice in two. "Or like Erik said." She mimed a small explosion between her palms.
Carsten pretended that his mother wanted him home early so that his friends would not see his confusion and despair. He kept himself together until he at last entered his living room.
And then, when his mother looked at him and asked what was wrong, he began to cry.
"Why did they do that?" he asked.
"Do what, darling?"
"Go off and kill a planet like that?"
"Kill! Good God, you're dramatic." His mother pulled his hat off his head and kissed his brow. "It's just off the main list of planets, darling. It's still out there, spinning madly." She palmed his hair out of his face and smiled. "No matter what we decide to call it."
Carsten went to bed that night dreaming of a planet that had not been lost but discarded. In his dreams it fell out of the pocket of the universe over and over again, like it had never existed at all.
***
/r/shoringupfragments | "Yer tryin' ta tell me that the gov'ment stole a whole planet so they can strip mine it for Plutonium?" Pa squinted his good eye at the youngster sitting across the fire from him. The group had been stuck up in the hills since the last summer's rains had taken out the road and they were finding their reacquaintance with society a bit disorienting.
"Well sure Pa, what else they gonna do with a planet? You gotta better reason for them stealin' it away?" Thomathy felt a surge of pride at coming to the answer so quickly. There had been a bit of dissent in the group originally, but more of them were coming around to his line of thinking. "Just look at the papers. It's all there. Them North Koreans are testing bombs all over the place, Russia is going crazy, and them Iran folks never could be trusted. Whole world is going to hell in a hand basket so we had to secure the stockpile first."
Wiley leaned back, mulling over the explanation, trying to ignore the eyes of the group as he considered. There was some thought that if the world really was in a state where planets were getting stolen, they might be best making their way back up into the hills. But living was hard up there, and he was the Patriarch of the Gomble clan so it was his responsibility to get to the bottom of the situation.
"Well, paper said the planet was still there, it just weren't a planet no more. Said it was a dwarf now." This was old territory, but he felt the need to rehash it. One couldn't accept just any old theory just because it sounded good.
"Pa, that don't make no sense at all. Sam here is a dwarf but he's still a human. Just because somethin' is small don't mean it ain't what it is." Thom folded his arms, feeling as if he had made a decisive point in the matter. Sam waved timidly from the side of the gathering, happy to be included in a positive way for a change.
"Well, why would they think we'd forget about the planet just 'cause they stopped calling it a planet Thom?" He spit a bit of chaw out, and scratched at his generous white beard. "Don't make no sense."
"Cause humans ain't got no memory no more. They all just use the Google box and get all they answers. If'n it don't pop up people'll forget it in a year or two and then those crooks down in Washington can get all that Plutonium to theyselves." A few in the crowd shouted out at this, upset at the idea that the top 1% would get their undue share of the prize. If planets were being divvied up then everyone should get their fair share.
Pa leaned back in his rocker, trying to find the error in Thom's logic. The boy was smart. Damned smart. It made Pa right proud to be shown up by his own flesh of his loins like that. Made him feel good about the future of the Gomble Clan.
Finally, he nodded, his decision made. "If them thieves up at the government are so sure we're going to war that they stealin' planets then we're all better off up in the hills. Won't no one be dropping bombs up that way."
The rest of the clan nodded, feeling more secure now that the matter had been settled. The Gomble clan had been around for a long time, and with leadership like this, they intended to be around for a good while longer.
---
Platypus out! | 2018-04-21T17:47:09 | 2018-04-21T17:43:55 | 93 | 29 |
[WP] The dragon has kidnapped the princess... again. And the knight is off to rescue her... again. That is what people think is going on. In reality, the three of them are great friends just looking for an excuse to hang out together. | Sword pressed to his helm, the knight held his back steady against the giant bolder. His deep breaths were cut short by the explosion of flames just on the other side of the rock he hid behind. *Predictable,* he thought, as a bead of sweat began to form on his brow from the heat surrounding him. He took off running to his left, iron suit clanking with each step, sword dragging on the ground behind him as ran. The dragon’s attention was on the rock; he would flank the beast and achieve victory all to easily. Or so he thought. The dragon screeched as a flame spewed from its mouth directly towards the knight. Eyes wide and in mid-sprint, the knight slid beneath the flames, his suit hitting the ground with a loud thud. The fire stopped and the knight scrambled to his feet to make his way towards the scorched ruins of a castle. The ruins were farther than he anticipated, but was able to reach the remains of what once was a column to hide behind. His breath heavy and his back against the stone once again, he waited for the beast to attack. Reaching for his sword, he realized he had dropped it in his attempt to dodge the fire. Weaponless, he leaned over to peer around the column, raised his visor to have clear vision, only to see the empty landscape. The earth shook as the dragon landed squarely in front of the knight, he turned in shock, the dragon planted arms and legs on the ground, wings splayed, and bellowed a deep roar. The knight screamed. The dragon fell over on its side, laughing.
“Dang it, Carl! It is NOT funny.”
The dragon could barely get a word out through his laughter. “…your face,” a tear weld up in his eye (and promptly evaporated), “…but your face, it was just,” the dragon held in a laugh for a moment to mimic the knight, opening his eyes wide and mouth agape, arms in the air; then burst with laughter once more.
The knight rolled his eyes and began to remove his helmet. His hands were still shaking from nerves, but was finally able to unclasp the helm and remove it. By that time the dragon had sat himself upright, about twice as tall as the knight, his laughter somewhat subsiding. “You cheated, by the way,” the knight said.
“What, the fire thing?” the dragon said with a scaly smirk on his face.
“Yes, the fire thing. You know you can’t shoot fire at me when I’m not hiding behind something. You could have killed me.”
“Geoff, if I wanted to have killed you, you’d have been dead a long time ago, my friend. Plus, you have that fancy suit that so beautifully frames that scared little face of yours,” Carl let out a few more laughs, smoke escaping his nostrils.
“This suit doesn’t do anything but boil my skin whenever I’m near your fire. It’s a safety hazard, really. I only wear it because all the townsfolk expect a knight to ride into battle with it. But it is extremely uncomfortable.” Geoff began to unbutton pieces of his armour.
“Heavy, too, I am guessing?” Carl asked as Geoff nodded. “I figured so when you flopped on the ground below my breath.” The dragon laughed once again.
“Excuse me, I *slid*. I slid valiantly!” Both Geoff and Carl laughed at that. A piece of ash caught in the back of Carl’s throat, turning his laugh into a brief cough, emitting tiny flames with each hack.
An alien voice pierced the landscape: “QUICKLY BROTHER, HIDE! I HAVE COME TO SLAY THIS DRAGON ONCE AND FOR ALL, IN THE NAME OF VALDOLLA!”
Geoff and Carl looked around to find the source of the voice, finding a man approaching from the distance on the other side of the column where they both stood. The man was dressed in all grey and was adorned with a cape and a sword. Carl looked at Geoff, “what the heck is a Valdolla?”
“Val’s name is Valdolla. Just…” Geoffey motioned a wave to Carl to back away and put on his helmet. “UH, NO THANKS!” he called back, “I HAVE THIS HANDLED, THE BEAST IS DYING! I’VE ALREADY KILLED HIM!” Geoff turned back to Carl, “you’re dying. Go die.”
“Well, that’s unrealsti-“
“Just do it!” The dragon rolled his eyes and flopped on his side with a sarcastic moan. “SEE? HE IS DEAD! YOU CAN GO HOME NOW! GO TELL EVERYONE HOW BRAVE I AM. KILLED THE DRAGON AGAIN.” The man in grey made his way closer to Geoff and Carl, now in a sprint. Upon reaching the two, the man lowered his sword.
“You have killed him? Is it true?” The man walked up to the dragon, prodding him with his foot.
“Um, yep, super dead.” Carl gave Geoff a stern look behind the man’s back in response.
“Forgive me brother, but you seem to come slay a dragon very frequently,” he said kicking the dragon as he walked around him. “I am wondering if maybe not there are more dragons, but that this one just feigns death to live another day. We must be sure.”
“What?” Geoff asked before he realized what had happened—the man had plunged his sword in to dragon neck. Carl flopped out of his death position and stood upright.
“*What the-“* Carl shouted along with a long roar in a surprised rage, the sword protruding from his neck.
“THE BEAST IS STILL ALI-“ the man began to exclaim, before the jaws of the dragon engulfed his body and, with one swift *crunch*, all that was left of the man were his two legs that stood there--bloody stumps.
Geoff and Carl stared at each other. Carl promptly swallowing whole the man that was in his mouth.
“Val is going to kill us,” Geoff said, breaking the silence after their long pause. “You better clean this up.”
“*Me?”*
“Yes, you. You can’t just eat every person who comes up here. We’ve talked about this.”
Some moments passed as Carl finished disposing of the man in grey, and Geoff began to pull the sword from his friend’s neck when Val arrived.
“Hey, guys, sorry I am late. What happened here?” She said as she finished climbing over several large rocks, eyeing the sword protruding from Carl's neck as she approach the two sitting in the ruins.
Geoff and Carl gave each other a look, and then Geoff responded first, “oh, we were just sparring and I got the better of Carl here. Just got carried away.” Carl gave Geoff a look that said, *really?* Geoff shrugged in response.
“Well that seems unlikely, “ she replied. Carl gave Geoff a big smile, who rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I met this bard at the tavern earlier. He seemed cool enough, so I invited him up here. I hope you guys don’t mind. I figured we can put on a show and give him a good scare.” She noticed Geoff and Carl exchanging looks. “What?” | (Edit: Added illustration.)
A young woman had crept into the den where I slept. After furtively glancing behind her, to her left, then to her right, she cautiously approached me.
“Smoggy?” Dedicated to my act of feigning sleep, I didn’t respond. Exhausted, the woman collapsed onto her rump and sighed out in relief. “Thank the lord no one noticed me.”
That’s when I shouted “**GAH**!” and startled her back onto her feet.
“SMOGGY!” She smacked my horn. “I *almost* don’t miss you.”
“Himeko! I *almost* saw you piss your princess panties again.”
She pouted while pinching my scaly cheeks.
“I just hope no one finds us here this time.”
Right when she said that, a massive, fully armored knight holding a huge casket burst into my den. He put down the casket with a thunderous wham.
[The knight declared](https://i.imgur.com/LR6tO2F.png), “I’m here to drink booze and kick ass!” He tossed his helmet aside. “And I’m all out of ass!”
“Guan!” Himeko and I hollered. She ran to give Guan a hug.
After hugging Himeko, Guan gave me a fist bump. He slapped his container enthusiastically. “Guess what I got!!”
Himeko curiously looked at it. “Isn’t that a royal coffin for buying knights that die in battle?”
I wouldn’t know that kind of thing.
“Well, yes, **and** it holds beer very well!”
I looked at Guan. “No way.”
Guan opened the casket to reveal that it was filled with beer.
“This is going to cause misunderstandings if anyone other than us happen upon our den.” Himeko had her palm on her face, but she was still snickering.
“Guan, you could have brought an ordinary barrel like usual.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Suit yourself.”
“I did suit myself up. Can’t you see this armor?”
“So your words are as laughable as your intellect, dear Guan.”
The three of us had agreed to meet up in our den. Since dragons were rumored to be beasts of destruction, ordinary humans either avoid them like the plague, or send knights to slay them. Had I not met Guan and Himeko when they were in a vulnerable state, we might not have been able to gather like this.
Himeko’s fatigue had seemed to already disappear. “Let’s get lit. Smoggy, the thing! Do the thing.”
With small puffs of fire, I lit their beer up. While I didn’t particularly like beer, I loved drinking it. That’s because Guan and Himeko loved it. And they were my only friends.
Guan scooped out two mugs of beer – one for himself and one for Himeko. Then they raised their mugs.
Himeko declared, “FUCK SOCIETY!”
Guan and I roared, “**FUCK SOCIETY!”**
Himeko and Guan chugged their flaming beer-filled mugs like barbarians, while I picked up the coffin and downed what was left in it. While I was still chugging, the other two exchanged banter.
“Imagine if your dad knew a dragon was draining a royal coffin.”
“I’m demoting you to a footsoldier if you say a word about this to my father.”
They looked at the scar left on my maw from the last time a village discovered me. No one pretended everything would always be alright.
“Hey, remember the first time we met?”
Himeko sobered up in record time, and Guan started stifling a round of laughter.
“No, no, no. Don’t say it.”
“This beer reminds me of the color of Himeko’s piss the first time she ever saw me.”
Guan started hollering and Himeko started downing more beer to forget she ever existed.
We all knew the risks of meeting up like this, but we’d tacitly agreed to laugh it off with a dose of beer as our way to cope. It helped us get through the stress that it took just to meet up in the first place.
I always did my best to remember every moment we’d spent together. Every time I managed to startle Himeko. Every time Guan brought the beer with an alternative to a barrel. (He once used a bathtub.) Today was our twentieth meeting. This time, Himeko was, once again, downing her beer because I told that old story about our first meeting again. Guan was, again, laughing amidst the chaos. Nothing special, yet everything about this was special to me.
If only moments like this could last forever. At the very least, I would remember every moment so well that they could live on in my head, even if I never get to experience them again. It was a happiness that could be taken away from us at any moment. Purely because humans didn’t like my existence.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
(I literally just created my sub on a whim. Woop. If you liked my writing style, there'll be more at [r/BwriteIdeas](https://www.reddit.com/r/BwriteIdeas/)!) | 2021-02-26T04:35:32 | 2021-02-26T03:31:30 | 280 | 174 |
[WP] Whenever a girl comes of age, she becomes aware of the secret psychic bond all women share; an ability they have kept secret from men for millennia. On your 16th birthday, you become the first boy in history to connect to the "hidden voice" | He choked on his macaroni salad as voices peppered his consciousness: "You don't think he notices?"
"Notices what? That there's macaroni art on his pants?"
Slowly his eyes trailed down to his crotch, where pasta spilled down his legs and pooled on his shoes. He glanced back up to Rachel and Kiara, but their lips remained still. Their voices, though, snarked on his mind. Their faces didn't change or glance at each other, but their quips and conversation continued.
He didn't acknowledge the voices as the week went on, only listened.
In CS II,the only two girls in the lecture whispered without moving their mouths. He couldn't concentrate but no one else seemed bothered, even when Ashley called the professor a dick.
On Saturday he caved and went with his friend to a party on Arbor St., regretting it within minutes of arriving. He downed a hard cider but didn't feel any better, and spent the night making boring conversation with strangers while watching Brett hit on every girl and two guys at the party.
At about three on the morning, he sat on a leather couch in the basement. The conversation, a once-heated discussion of a movie reboot, lulled. He inhaled, then held the breath, and finally thought a clear sentence for the first time in nearly a week. He looked at the three girls nearby and he thought, "Can you hear me?"
All three of them glanced up at him, their eyes wide. Two across from him, one sitting next to him, and the two boyfriends confused by it all. He tried again. "Can you hear what I'm thinking?"
Bianca's voice entered his mind: "Can you hear me?"
"Yeah."
"What the ... fuck."
"What?"
"I think you literally should stop thinking. Right now."
"I don't even—"
"STOP," Cat jumped in.
He leapt up from the couch and ran upstairs to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him; then she curled her fingers against tile, alone.
She looked at her short hair and sharp jawline and chiseled chest underneath a tight black tee shirt. She stared at her eyebrows, too hairy; her shoulders, bulging ropes of muscle. God, she looked like every guy on the cover of Men's Health magazine and she should like it, but her skin felt wrong.
And she didn't even know it. She didn't think in terms of "she." All this time she was just a consciousness suspended in discomfort.
She went back to the party, and didn't realize that "he," didn't fit, only felt anxious without knowing why. She stormed down into the basement, and she sat down and stared at the wall. Eavesdropping on the girls' telepathic conversation, tuning out the guys' spoken argument, wondering why she felt like this and where she fit in to it all.
He waited. She wished. | "Don't tell the men"....
"Shhh!"
"I need a drink...."
"!@$!%, !@$!@$"...
"Doctor, I think I am going crazy."
"Why do you think that James?"
"I keep thinking I need a drink but I don't like alcohol!"
"Hmmm.... lets have you document the thoughts in this journal and we can see when it occurs and if there is a pattern."
I walked out of the doctors office and over to the receptionist to pay. She looked up at me and asked for my insurance card. As I fumbled in my wallet, the thought came again.
"I am too old for this shit."
I sighed, I am only 16, I might be older than I used to be but that was no reason think like that. I left the office and opened the door of the beatup VW I was still learning to drive. I pulled into traffic and it died on me. Behind me, I could hear horns honking as I sweated over trying to figure out what was going on with the clutch and the gear and the lights. All I could think was...
"I NEED A DRINK!" | 2016-07-21T13:45:05 | 2016-07-21T12:43:20 | 35 | 13 |
[WP] You are a therapist. You are about to speak with a patient who has convinced several other therapists to commit suicide. | I watched from behind my desk as they escorted him in. A slight young man, flanked by two burly security guards and a police officer. He looked around in a nervous fashion before dropping into the single chair that sat in front of my desk. There were no cuffs or restraints on him, but it was clear he was a prisoner of some sort. The guards took up position behind the man, and the police officer closed the door. I waited for a long moment.
"Leave us," I ordered them. The security guards looked at each other, but it was the police officer that began to speak. I cut him off. "This is a private appointment. I am perfectly safe. We are going to have a harmless talk, and then you can come back in and take him back to the facility."
I was sure the others had said something similar. Two of the six previous therapists had committed suicide while actually still in session with the patient. The rest ranged from 10 minutes after the session to three days later. I was sure I would not make the same mistakes. The police officer put his hand on his gun and opened his mouth again.
"Now," I snapped, placing my hands on the desk and leaning forward. "This session is covered by doctor-patient confidentiality and unless you want me to contact my lawyers and file complaints with both the facility and the chief of police I suggest all three of you open that door and wait outside in the lobby."
I saw humiliation burning in their faces as they left, heard the police officer thinking that he hoped the patient was successful once again. Not literally, of course. Reading people is my profession. After the door clicked shut and their footsteps faded away down the hall, I folded my hands and looked at the patient. He stared back. We remained in silence for two minutes and 17 seconds before he spoke.
"Doctor-"
I cut him off. "No. Call me Andy. I find that using a title creates a gulf between two people and that will work contrary to the purpose of our meeting. I will call you Stephan. Today we are just two ordinary men having a conversation."
The patient blinked. It was a slow, deliberate motion of his eyelids, as though he was processing information. Then he spoke again.
"Is that why your wife left? Because you were so controlling?"
His voice dripped with bitterness and contempt more suited for one far older than he was. It cut deeply, and I rocked back in my chair. He didn't smile, didn't move but there was a look in his eye. A gleam that reminded me of what happens when a painting is removed from a wall. Nothing out of place except a shiny patch that catches the corner of your eye and tells you something is missing. I felt a cold worm twist in my stomach.
Then I sighed.
"So that's all you do? I'm disappointed." The look of shock on his face pleased me. I was certain none of the other therapists had done anything other than go on the defensive when confronted with a surprising revelation from someone who supposedly knew nothing about them. I pressed on. "Disappointed and still happily married, thank you. Not disappointed in my marriage of course, just in you."
He pointed at my hands, still clutching the arms of my chair. "B-but your-"
"Yes, this." I held up my left hand, the back of it facing towards him. "I got a spray tan three days ago and left my wedding ring on. Took it off 45 minutes before our appointment time. I'm glad you noticed that because if you had just pointed out the picture I'd have been even more disappointed."
Next to my computer monitor was a framed picture of me with a obviously feminine arm draped across my neck. The rest of the picture and the owner of that arm was covered with a piece of paper taped onto the frame. It was dusty and a crack in the glass snaked its way out from under the paper.
"Did you know I had several different theories on your methods? I ruled out drugs pretty quickly. I considered that you were using a form of hypnosis, but that would be unreliable. So I settled on information. Digging up dirt, so to speak." Reading people is my profession and I could tell I was right from the unconscious expressions that flickered over his face.
"I was excited to think that you might be hacking the information or had help from the outside. I spent a week setting up a trail of breadcrumbs that would lead to some very interesting conclusions. If that was the route you took, it would paint a very different picture of my relationship. You wouldn't have even noticed any of the small clues pointing elsewhere. No, instead you're just a cold reader with a mean streak."
The gleam in his eyes had been replaced with anger. His hands balled into fists. I smiled.
"You've got some skill for sure. Six therapists and, well, they cut the guard at the facility down before he passed so I'm counting that one as a failure even if he's still in a coma. Just by talking to them." I shook my head. "This is all theory of course. There's no way I could prove anything and I'm sure you could convince anyone else that I'm speaking nonsense. So, right now I need to you hold this."
I tossed an object to him as I finished speaking. He caught the handle of the knife reflexively and the scrap of cloth covering the blade fell off. I had rattled him, made him angry and blind to the small details but even so he was smart enough to put it together almost instantly. He made it most of the way out of his chair before I shot him twice with the revolver I keep holstered under my desk. His body thudded onto my desk and slid off, leaving a smear of blood on the top. I laid the gun on the desk and stood, raising my hands as feet raced down the hallway. The door crashed open.
"He had a knife! I thought you people searched him! My lawyers..." My lawyers would be glad that I didn't say anything incriminating to the police. I hadn't said anything the first time I was attacked by a patient and had to defend myself with lethal force. This was only the second time it's happened, but I'm sure there will be more. | A therapist is a bastion of hope for the those who believe themselves, or their situation, hopeless. We are candles burning in a deep darkness, guiding the lost homeward. This is what I was taught and this is what I believe.
So my fellow professionals refusing to help the young lady now standing infront of me, brings both shame to my profession and a sadness to my heart.
They refuse to treat her simply due to a set of tragic coincidences. Three therapists had died only hours after a session with her. A car crash on the way home (likely a tragic accident), another by self decapitation, and the strangest one - self mummification.
She is a slight lady. Petite with wine dark hair and thin lips. Her skin is clammy and pallor, as if she actively avoids the touch of the sun.
"Good afternoon, Catherine." I say, gesturing towards the chaise longue.
She tilts her head slightly and stares towards me for a while. I have a strange feeling she is looking through me, rather than at me and I wonder for a moment if she is trying to see into my soul.
"Sit, please." I say more forcefully.
Her movement is strange and too graceful to match her appearance. It is as if she glides. She slides her body onto the chaise longue.
"Good." I say, and I notice that my heartbeat is slowing down to normal. *When had it gotten so high?*
"I am doctor Schmidt. I would like to talk to you Catherine. Would that be OK?"
She gives a slight nod and I continue.
"I hope you are well. I am afraid I am not one for delaying the difficult. We shall being.
"When you were seven years old you were first treated for melancholia. Tell me, did the orphanage make you feel depressed? Did watching the other children find homes and families and love, did that make you feel *unlovable*?"
I do not like my questions, but they are necessary. I believe that within the answers I will find the origins of her problems.
A tiny smile curls up on her lips. She speaks for the first time since entering my room. Her voice is as gentle as a dragonfly landing on a leaf.
"Do you know why I was sent to the orphanage, doctor?"
I do not need to consult my records. Her parents died in a house fire when she was five.
"Yes, I know about your parents Catherine." I say, as I reach for my glass of water. My lips are parched. "Would you like some water?" I offer.
"They deserved to die. My father did bad things to me. My mother let him."
This was a revelation. "Do you mean your father... he abused you?" Her memories from that age could not be trusted of course, but it was still new information.
"I was happy in the orphanage. I became sad when the other girls were taken away. I knew what would become of them. I could see into the souls of the men and women who took them. That is why I developed 'melancholia'." Her eyes were growing large as she spoke. Their deep autumn brown darkening.
"I was given treatment." She continued. "I was forced to see a *ther-rape-ist." She broke the word up purposefully. My heart dropped.
"Are you saying that your first therapist-"
"Eventually I learned how to use my gift. How to leverage the secrets that I found within the darkness of a human soul. People who deserved to pay did so. "
I remained silent. She is delusional.
"I don't want to hurt you Catherine. I want to help you heal." I say as tenderly as I can manage.
She sneers at me. Her eyes are now a deep shade of grey. In this dim light they look almost black.
"I know what you hide deep inside doctor. Your affair. Your bastard child. The car crash that killed your best friend when you were 17. The police thought he had been driving... but you swapped seats with his dead body - you were drunk."
She pauses and looks at me knowingly. She knows my life and my hidden past. She also knows I have done worse.
She is the devil and she will happily ruin my life. That much I know.
"Listen to me very carefully" she whispers gleefully "this is how you are going to kill yourself..."
| 2016-07-02T02:16:29 | 2016-07-01T23:44:19 | 629 | 37 |
[WP] The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward. | “It’s all gone,” said Jeb tossing his cigarette to the ground to stamp it out.
“Sure, is pretty, isn’t it,” said Jared.
“What?”
Jared and Jeb. Johnson and Johnson were what was written on their military name tapes. A common name, no blood between them, one stood there, and the other sat, both of them watching the sky. It was hauntingly beautiful, that hunk of rock eclipsing the moon as it flew thousands of miles an hour across the purple-hazed sky. Its trail of dust and bits of rocks like some magnificent mane crafted by the stars. Despite its cataclysmic trajectory, relativity allowed the world to watch it in a calming awe as it trailed across the sky.
The water of the river was calm, the sound soothing, the gunfire was gone, the yelling, the painful screaming of the causalities silenced by an atom.
Jared reached for his lighter and his pack of smokes, withdrawing them from the pouch a clip of ammo was supposed to be in. He took the lighter between his finger and flicked it open. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth to only drop it. Jeb watched as his friend struggled to keep the thing from sticking. Needing something, anything to go right in his life. Jared reached down and took the cigarette and lighter from his friend.
Jeb took a knee, nicotine and lighter in hand. “I don’t know how you can be so calm right now,” he asked Jared.
Jared looked up the best he could, struggling to keep his head from shaking. “I don’t know,” he said carefully. “I just am.”
Jeb plucked the cigarette from his hand and struck it between Jared’s lips. He pulled back on the flint of the wick lighter and sparked a flame onto the Marlboro Red. The thin white stick trembled beneath Jared’s lips as he vainly tried to inhale a puff. All the ashy white smoke filtered through his nose because Jared couldn’t lift his arms anymore to pull the tobacco away for a proper puff.
“There’s nothing left,” said Jeb taking a seat next to Jared across the bank of the Panama Canal.
Jared huffed a bit more ash through his nostrils. “That’s not true,” he said, mumbling through the cigarette. “That’s not true at all.”
“What’s left,” exclaimed Jeb, throwing his hands against the almost apocalyptic sky. “It’s all gone, the US, Canada, Mexico, most of Europe and Asia. All of it’s gone. Wiped away not by that thing that was supposed to kill us, but by us. We fucked up and we lost it all. There is no US government, no fucking army, air force, navy, or marines, all of it’s fucking gone. These uniforms we’re wearing don’t mean a damn fucking thing without any of that either. They're just a reason to be shot at.”
Jared dropped the Marlboro Red from his mouth, his irradiated scarred lips unable to hold it anymore. “I have you,” he said to Jeb Johnson.
“That’s a little gay,” Jeb snarled back.
“So,” said Jarred, “why does it matter. I have you, and that’s something. Take it straight or not. Jeb, I have you.”
“You’re dying from radiation,” said Jared burying his head in his knees. “And I probably have it too after you set off that nuke to blow the canal. Everybody’s going to probably have it come nuclear winter because we couldn’t keep our fingers off the button.”
The last of the meteor or the comet, whatever you wanted to call it, the two didn’t really know, passed the night sky. The ground shook and the purple of the cosmic visitor paled as orange and red corrupted the sky. Another mushroom consumed the horizon, followed by several more. Ninety-nine red balloons in the summer sky and all was gone.
“There,” said Jeb pointing to the sky, “see.”
“I still have you,” said Jared coughing up a bit of blood. “Something all of us forgot. Each other.”
Jared started to seize, unable to feel the warmth from the lack of skin he had. Jeb reached for Jared and Jared embraced Jeb. A large tidal wave of heat consumed the tree line across the river before ending the two of them. | The sound of the bolt racheting back was so satisfying. It was why she'd picked the outdated thing. The way that her target's face painted the arena floor was satisfying too. The way he screamed and fell to the ground still horrified her, still gave her those little shivers of guilt and adrenaline.
"Another victory for Mary-Ann! She's un-fucking-STOPPABLE," the announcer roared, and the crowd cheered. She walked over and kicked his head in, the way it cracked and deformed and he gurgled and cried was so horrifying. The crowd groaned and cheered and howled and everyone had fun.
As she exited the arena and the gate shuddered behind her, a gate guard laughed and yelled "kick me mommy." She did and he yelled again, things like "what the fuck, it was a joke, you crazy bitch." So she shot him, because it was annoying. The other gate guards cheered too and everyone had fun.
She reached her trailer, took a swig of whatever it was she'd left on her makeup table, and sat down.
"Should I take some drugs?" She asked herself. The TV mounted in the corner was playing the news, as it had for some hours now, that actually the world was not going to end. Everyone was going to live. That guy she'd shot, and that other guy she'd shot.
"Who the fuck keeps astronomying and newscasting *after* they thought the world was going to end?" The answer was obvious. "Really boring people."
She felt the sudden urge to vomit. She didn't quite make it to the trash can. She probably shouldn't have drank that mystery liquid. Or killed those two guys. Or maybe it was the cancer?
She lit the mystery fluid on fire and threw it into the back of the trailer as she left. It wasn't worth cleaning up the vomit, honestly. She took some drugs on the way out.
She didn't understand people. She was going to die anyway, why stop the party? But why did the crowd stay, and all her opponents? No way everyone had cancer. They weren't all dying.
Then she realized (or the drugs hit). They all were dying, just way, way slower. She laughed on the way back into the arena. It wasn't her turn yet, she hadn't been called, but who the fuck keeps turn keeping *after* they thought the world was gonna end?
(Author's note: I wrote this whole thing while very high. Also I listened to this song the whole time. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T5qC4qezmFo&ab_channel=R.I.P.) | 2022-06-15T10:47:39 | 2022-06-15T10:14:56 | 114 | 15 |
[WP] When you were a child a strange little man gave you a beautiful gold and silver pocket watch with the image of a serpent eating its own tail etched into it, now nearly a century later as you lay on you death bed the same strange little man appears to take the watch back, whispering "Thank you". | As he lay awaiting for death one question kept nagging his mind over and over again. He didn't wonder if his life was a good one, he didn't mull over his failures, he didn't have regrets. The only thing he was interested in was what lay beyond, what was awaiting for him on the other side?. It seemed like the only important question.
He knew what the end was going to be like, he already experinced it. Thirty years ago,a screaching of rubber on asphalt, a crash, his soul leaving the body, the overwhelming sense of peace, but he didn't get to experince the beyond, they brought him back before that. The doctors said he was dead for almost 6 minutes, but he knew that it wasn't so, he was travelling to Death but didn't get to meet her.
After all this years he would finally know, he denied it in the last days but it was obvious now that the only emotion he felt was excitement. He smiled at that.
It was time, he got ready, looked at his watch one last time and took a deep breath... Suddenly there was a warmth... on his hand, yes, and a man near the bed. He took the watch in his hand and was looking at it, he turned his face and spoke "Thank you!". That was confusing. Here he was, ready to go into the great beyond and a stranger was stealing his watch. Definetely strange.
It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore, he searched for his end...it wasn't there. The impending doom, the peace, the connection to the afterlife was gone, severed, with a start he understood that he was not going to die. "What the...", "So, how does it feel? Every time it's different for me but you say it's alwasys the same? Is it so now?" the thief asked. Caught in the moment he forgot about him "What? Where? Who... who are you?" asked the not-diying-anymore old man. "Ehmm, what do you mean who i am? It's me Amadiel, did that disease get to you again? I am sorry, i know how you hate when that happens, i would've come sooner. The healing has already started you should start remembering soon". At first it confused the old man even more but suddenly, as the thief predicted, he remembered. It was coming back, the crash, the life before it that he thought forevere forgotten, and not only one, all the lives he lived before,all his hundreds of children, all the wives, all the wars his friends, children, dying but not him, he didn't ever die. Most importantly he remembered the first life he lived and with it the memory of his deal.
It happened on another bed, nearly five thousnad years ago somewhere around Egypt. He was little and dying, he didn't want to die and Amadiel was his salvation, an angel that wanted to be mortal. The deal was meant to last one lifetime, but it didn't, it lasted hundreds. Every time one of them got old the other would come and get the watch form the hands of the other. In so doing the taker of the watch became mortal, alive and aging while the other one getting younger and healing all the damage done to the body by being alive, but at the price of being dead on the inside as well as the outside.
"You know" said the old man "this time i almost got killed, oh don't be so shocked, it wasn't because of me like the other times. It was an accident, a car some thirty years ago, all the memories gone, snap, in an instant. I lived as if for the first and last time, i forgot how it was...how it is meant to be...". | I laid there alone. My family had left, they had their lives to get back to. I was going to die. Soon. Maybe not soon enough. I had fallen very ill recently and now I was bed ridden. My family did visit, and looked after me, but I had been here, this way, for three weeks. They had lives to get back to. I understood nor did I blame them.
So I laid, fiddling with a pocket watch. Old. Very old. Ornate. Gold and silver. A serpent cooling around the surface eating its own tail. Admiring the light reflecting surface, a sound I thought I had dreamed echoed through my room. Like a suction cup closing almost.
“I thought I dreamt of you. All those years ago. But how could it have been a dream when you gifted me this pocket watch,” I said, staring at the roof.
“Well, no I am back to reclaim it. Pass it here.” A voice said. The same as the man who spoke urgently the last time we met. Begging me to take it from his hands.
“Of course. But for what purpose did giving me the watch serve?” I asked back.
“I stole it. From deep in space. Further than you could imagine. I needed to hide it. Everyone knows Earth has no space travel, no intergalactic affairs. The perfect hiding place. You just happened to be where I landed,” the voice said. I felt his hand close around mine as he grabbed the pocket watch. He whispered thank you in my ear, as the sound of what I could only assume was his teleport took him away.
“So I helped unknowingly in an intergalactic theft,” I said to myself. A smile spread across my face as I went to sleep for the last time.
If you want to read more of my stuff it’s at
r/DougysDramatics | 2019-05-30T07:57:15 | 2019-05-30T07:02:40 | 118 | 26 |
[WP] You just made a deal with the devil, and sold your soul. But when he reached in to take it, he says, "Okay, wise-guy, where is it?" | John lay quietly on the hospital bed, surrounded by the sounds of a mechanical life; beeps of computers, hisses of pressurized gasses.
His visitor sat on the edge of the bed, staring into his eyes. John looked patiently back. They had sat like this for five minutes, neither saying a word.
“I don’t understand why...”
“I know, John. Fucked up situation, it is,” the Devil interrupted. “I sympathize, honestly, I do. I mean, how were you supposed to know?”
“But... I went to church, I worked in the community, I... I never broke any laws...!” John could barely keep his breath.
“John, John... I know. I mean, you’re talking to the original victim here, my friend!” The Devil seemed genuinely sympathetic, his hand on John’s now small, thin, aged leg. “Listen, mate. It’s not nearly as bad as they made it sound. I swear to you. It’s no heaven, I know, but it’s got great weather, room service, some really good entertainment... I’m sorry.” John’s tears flowed down his face. “I wish I had something else to tell you.” The Devils face lit up in a huge smile. “At least you won’t get in trouble for steak on Friday’s!” John laughed lightly.
“Seriously, though, I go through this a thousand times a day. His rules are so... they’re just fucked, you know, John?” The Devil shook his head slowly. “He can be an absolute cunt, John. You have no idea.”
“Alright, then,” John replied. “Let’s go.”
The Devil smiled gently and looked down, concentrating. His head cocked slightly, and he looked up in sudden confusion. “Ok, wise guy; where is it?”
John looked up, “What... where’s... what do you mean?”
Cackling erupted from the corner. A tall, slender man stood there, his head craned back, laughter erupting at the ceiling. “Oh, Lucifer! You should see your face! Oh Christ, that’s hilarious!”
The Devil looked back and then slumped his shoulders. “Not again.” He glanced up at John with a pitying look, and then looked back at God. “Really? Another one? This is truly the most fucked thing you’ve come up with.” He looked back at John and shook his head. “Sorry mate.”
John’s eyes went wide with anticipation. “Wait, so I’m not going with you? I’m going to Heaven?”
God walked over and knelt beside John, shaking his head. “Oh, no, no, no, John. Even if I’d given you a soul, you knew the rules.” A mean smile crossed his face. “I mean, were they really that difficult, John?”
The two visitors stood, turned, and walked out the door. The Devil stopped at the threshold, and looked back. “I told you, John. Absolute cunt.” | The devil was passing a bar, but something make him stop.
he's ears caught the best Jazz he ever heard in his life.
as he entered he found a young man playing the violin like the titanic was sinking
the devil without waiting challenged the boy to a music duel
at first he indulged the boys pride sin and let the boy win, gave him a golden violin as a reward.
soon after he challenged him again.
the boy was overconfident this time. not realizing it was a trap.
soon after Johnny was bested.
"the devil went down to Georgia, lost a fiddle of gold but earned Johnny's soul" he exclaimed proudly.
Johnny only smiled back
as the devil was about to claim his new soul he realized the man had nothing for him to give
**"Where is your soul boy?!"** the devil screamed
Johnny just laughed
"i won again" the young man said " GameStation already owns my soul since i agreed to their Terms and Conditions form, you fool!"
as he left with the Golden Fiddle the devil cursed and stomped the ground.
Johnny sold the violin made of pure gold and earned some money. still not enough to pay his college loans. He sighted
Edit: punctuation | 2019-05-05T06:23:12 | 2019-05-05T03:48:29 | 36 | 24 |
[WP] Barack Obama announces that he will be the last POTUS. He gives a speech explaining why and everyone realizes that he is right. | "-- I will be resigning, effective immediately."
The crowd gasped collectively. Eric passed the joint to Mark, glimpsing his way. "Holy shit, dude."
"Yeah," Mark replied, taking a hit. "That's wild."
Onscreen, journalists were interrupting each other. One voice rose from the crowd.
"Why are you resigning, Mr. President?"
"Well, it's not so much resigning," the president replied, on the microphone. "Since there will be no next president, it's more of a --"
"But why!?"
The president paused. "Because of the -- huh," he wrapped the last word in an awkward cough, "aliens."
The crowd silenced for a moment. Then exploded in questions.
"Woah, dude," Mark said, passing the joint back to Eric. "Aliens."
Onscreen, the president stepped aside, and a flaky green figure stepped up from the shadows. The crowd silenced in awe.
"Greeting, Earthlings," the alien said. Then, in a low voice, leaning towards the president, "I always wanted to say that."
"Huh... your microphone is still on," the president replied.
The alien looked back at the crowd, embarrassed. "Of course. Huh. Hi, there. I'm the alien. I'll be taking over Earth now."
This time the silence was complete, and uninterrupted. The camera switched to the crowd, where journalists were standing open-mouthed, wide-eyed facing the green creature.
"All right," the alien continued, unsure. "We'll be establishing a world-wide government. Like, no more nations. We begun that a while ago already, actually."
Again, nothing from the crowd. Everyone seemed too shocked to speak.
"What I mean is we've done some stuff already," the alien continued. "We solved the... the conflict. In the Middle East."
Finally, a voice emerged from the crowd. "Which conflict?"
The alien stopped its eyes on the journalist. "Which? Huh... all of them, sort of."
He clicked something on a phone, and the projection screen came alive behind him by the American flag.
It showed several aerial views of different cities in the Middle East -- silver buildings towering high over the clouds, spaceships flying in line like The Jetsons, golden fountains centering beautiful hanging gardens.
"Holy shit, how long did that take?"
The alien turned back to the crowd. "We were there like... what, five minutes ago?"
The crowd silenced again.
"Also," the alien continued. "We went by North Korea as well. It's a roller coaster now."
Silence. Then, a shy voice from the crowd, "A-a roller-coaster?"
The projection screen came alive again. A gigantic red and white roller coaster snaked itself in loops and turns on all sides, expanding until the horizon.
"Yeah, we... we made a giant roller coaster there. Seemed like the best way to go."
"What about the population? The North Koreans?"
Onscreen, the coaster car rolled past a looping. People cheered and raised their hands for the ride picture.
"They're enjoying themselves," the alien replied. "I think."
"This is outrageous!" cried a voice from the back of the crowd, but no one followed. People looked around, at each other, at the screen, at the alien.
"Well, if there are no more questions," the alien continued, "I'm going to go. We're going to end crime in Brazil. Then maybe turn Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro into ice cream factories. Not sure yet, we're talking to Dilma Rousseff about it."
The alien raised its hand to its ear, like he was listening for something on an earpiece. "Oh, what? Good, good." He turned to the crowd. "Yes, we took care of the crime already, it seems. I'm off to talk to them about the ice cream thing. Hail Earth!"
The alien stepped out, following the president towards the back of the room.
"Dude," Mark said, putting the joint out. "That's fucking trippy."
"Tell me about it," Eric replied, as the journalists erupted in discussions and phone calls onscreen.
"Hey, Mark..."
"Yeah?" Mark asked, rolling another joint.
"How much is a flight to North Korea?"
______________
*Thanks for reading! For more ideas on how to solve international crisis via roller coaster building, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)* | "There is no easy way to say this. I am not resigning or am being impeached. I will simply be the last President of the United States of America. This decision has not been easy, but this has been my goal for some time now. My actions after that decision have been even harder. I had to become a traitor to my own country, my home, the place, contrary to what others have said, that is my birthplace. I am a terrorist, but not the secret Muslim that my detractors expect. I embarked on a mission with 1200 devoted colleagues to hand this country back to its rightful owners. Those rightful owners are you.
You see, there is something very wrong with this country that could never be fixed with elections. You haven't elected a candidate ever. The United States is an oligarchy, ruled by a few hundred. Don't worry if this is news to you, that is the goal after all. However, the fact that said oligarchy could be tricked into electing me shows just how weak and foolish they have become. How needed this change was.
This isn't democracy, folks, not yet. What will emerge? I do not know, but I know this. The cabal of the wealthy who control this country are dead, every last one of them. Along with them are hundreds of representatives, senators, judges, cabinet members, my vice president, and soon, me. I will act as the final sacrificial lamb. There is no one to take my place any time soon. Smaller operations have attempted to destabilize regions and states. This will increase chaos, but its effects are believed to be beneficial in the end. I am sorry for the suffering you will endure, but it was necessary.
For my last request, I encourage you to rise up and take back this country and ignore the fear that those in power wish for you to feel. Ignore the numbness they want you to experience towards caring and loving and empathy. Fight against the control of the media and establish something better or...not. It is up to you. The power, finally, is your hands."
President Obama signs off. No one hears from him again. Crowds loot stores and people run amok, but the chaos begins to lessen and slowly fades away after a few weeks. The United States may no longer exist, but it never really did anyway. Yet, something better may finally be on the way.
***
If you enjoyed this, I have other stories at my subreddit: r/nickkuvaas | 2015-11-17T18:40:44 | 2015-11-17T18:32:27 | 88 | 22 |
[WP] The prophecy says the one to pull the sword from the giant statue will save the world. Many have failed, and now in front of the Assembly you grasp the greatsword firmly and pull - and fall backward when it snaps off cleanly at the hilt | The monk's wandering heart was unsuited to the seriousness of his appointed task, and always had been. He was the watcher of the stone, but preferred to think of himself more as its "keeper". In the mornings, he slept in, then had a simple meal of grains and eggs, followed by more than a short stretch of contemplation and playing his ceremonial instrument, a five-stringed instrument of his own making. His life was somewhat lonely, but fulfilling in its own way. He would occasionally remember to check the stone before dinner to see if any worthy challengers were attempting to remove the blade from it.
Joaqun was a man of simple tastes and little needs, and was happy to hold his position as long as called upon, not realizing that his carefree, unquestioning nature was a massive boon to the Daori Empress.
The Watcher of the Stone had stood watch over the First Lord's stone since time immemorial, officially confirming the next regent. Upon the watcher's delivery of the blue sash to the fire of Amil, the progression of the cycle became inevitable; the current Imperial regent would suffer a heart attack, dying instantly, and the new regent would begin their reign. From that moment forward, should any of the governors intentionally defy the Imperial will, they would be magically incinerated by forces unknown. At the moment of ascension, the old stone would crumble, and a new stone, with a blade bearing the mark of the new ruling regent's family, would appear somewhere in the land, known only to the watcher. After choosing a successor by bequeathing on them the ashes of the blue sash (which would become whole and unburnt again once a new regent was found), the old watcher would disappear into the wilderness. This had been the way of things for centuries, until Empress Ru...
She had found the loophole: The stone could not be moved, but upon ascending to the throne, she killed the former watcher immediately after the transfer of the ashes, replacing him with a lookalike co-conspirator, who then led the new watcher to a fake stone.
She knew none would succeed in dislodging the fake blade, because its means of attachment to the fake rock was not magical at all, but very mundane, and very much immune to what raw strength any human could manage.
Which is why, after two hundred years living under the reign of Empress Ru, Joaqun was surprised to finally see a man approach him with two halves of a sword. The quarry workers downstream had much irritated him earlier that day with their incessant noise, much louder than usual, and now he saw that one of them, Brynscef, was approaching bearing a most curious sight... A hammer in one hand, and in the other, a sword bearing the imperial mark, bent almost beyond recognition, split cleanly about halfway down the blade, with a hole near the tip, a chunk of stone hanging from one side of it.
He threw it down in front of Joaqun, and said "So what's yae'r deal, anyway? We all seen the empress up here to visit every year, so I figure you weren't be just a liar, but unless th'eer's a *magical* hammer I'm holdin', that can't be the real Stone, becay'se the rest of it is a bunch of itty pebbles now." | “Thou who removes the Holy Sword from his Majesty’s heart, will forever be blessed with the all mighty’s power.” Lord Ideles swore that to the world when he stabbed the sword through that grand statue in the cities center over one thousand years ago. A millennia of men have tried and failed to claim its power for themselves, but all have failed.
Until that day. The day when the Stablehand from Nirston, and ordinary boy, no older than twenty years, climbed up those pearl stairs to the hilt, and gave it his all. Thousands bore witness to what would happen next.
As the Stablehand pulled, the hilt of His Magesty the Emperor Ideles Holy Sword *snapped*.
Thousands watched on with fear as the Stablehand held the broken relic in his hands, raised to the sky, a smile that radiated no warmth plastered on his freckled face. He spoke to the masses gathered in the square, and declared a new prophecy as the guards swarmed to take him.
“All who stand before me, bare witness to my conquest! Your past is dead, and I will be the Shepard of your future!” He cried out, and thunder crashed from the sky into his young body, sending the guards flying into the crowd.
When the smoke cleared, the boy was gone. Many believed that he had been smited for his disgracing of their god.
The truth?
The Stablehand from Nirston…
…had smited god. | 2022-08-10T12:04:19 | 2022-08-10T11:20:16 | 68 | 40 |
[WP] You are an ordinary human going about your day when you suddenly find yourself in hell. Looking down you see yourself standing on some crudely drawn symbols. A nearby demon child holds up some paper and says "Um...can you help me with my homework?" | "Uhm, can you help me with my homework?"
A little demon boy was looking up at him. The child had horns curled around his head, and furry legs tipped with obsidian hooves. In one hand, it held a disturbingly leathery sheet titled "A History of Man", with the other, solid graphite in the vague shape of a pencil.
The human snatched the sheet of paper without a second of hesitation, and began to read down the textured paper. He sneered in disgust as he took the block of graphite, realizing that it had blackened his hand on contact, but eventually chose to ignore the inconvenience, and kept reading in silence.
The demon boy looked nervously at the human. Perhaps it was the imposing black suit, or maybe it was the way it had taken away his homework, as if it was being stolen from him. The boy began to mutter nervously to himself.
"What did you say?" Replied the human, his eyes never averting from the paper.
"Ah!" The boy jumped, "uhm, nothing! I was just..."
"If you have nothing to say, then do not speak," shot back the human, as he made another note. "Now, this assignment, it's simply a number of true/false questions on human psychology? History? Half of this is completely nonsensical..."
The boy looked up nervously at the human in the suit. "Well, yes, I was hoping you could teach me a little about yourself-" the demon stopped himself. The human was writing on the paper, the stiff sheet resting on his forearm like a clipboard. When he realized what was going on, the boy gathered the courage to continue, "Uhm, hey, don't write on that, I need to learn it."
The human stopped writing as if he had been insulted. The demon figured out why the human was so intimidating: it was not the spotless black suit, nor was it his age: it was his cold, confident gaze. When he saw it for the first time, pointed directly at him, the boy's blood froze.
"You want to do what?"
"I need to learn it," the boy repeated, "I'm supposed to be learning about human history. If you fill in all the answers for me, how will I learn anything?"
The human maintained his gaze, causing the boy to make a small step back. He nervously looked at his summoning circle; the human could not leave it without his permission, right?
"Very well, ask away."
The human had spoken clearly, crossing its bold arms while still holding on to the writing material, but the boy had not yet recovered. Finally, he steeled himself. "Why are you so scary?"
"Hmph," sneered the human, "your courage, or lack thereof, is irrelevant. Tell me what needs to be done so we can get this over with."
"Have you been to hell before?" the boy asked.
The human rolled his eyes in annoyance. "From my point of view, Demon-thing, this is all some dream. Whether I do nothing, or whether I do your homework makes little difference to me. If I am stuck here, I might as well pick the more mentally stimulating option, though my patience for this task is quickly wearing thin." The humans solid blue eyes revolved around the room, finally settling on a painting on the wall - three men, two of them mourning, and the last laying lifeless across one of the men's knees. "That painting, what is it?"
"Sorry..." replied the demon, "it's just, I thought humans were afraid of hell."
The human sneered. "Hell?" it chuckled. "Let me tell you a little secret, boy, those who are afraid of something so nebulous as 'hell' or 'eternal damnation' are those who are too afraid of hurting others to pursue their own ambition; they would sooner let themselves be shoved aside than to shove back. I have no such failings."
"You aren't afraid of being condemned forever?"
"And what, be poked with a pitchfork by smart-mouthed little demon boys like you while my soul burns for all eternity?" The human spit, the ball of saliva landing next to his own immaculate black shoes. "Allow me to inform you, boy - if the tyrants and dictators of the world do not fear hell, it is because hell cannot commit a single atrocity that we have not already committed on each other." The human's eyes returned to the painting on the wall, taking a step forwards, "that painting, I think I've seen it before. Let me get a closer look."
The demon panicked when he saw the human come forth. "Uh, I really shouldn't," he looked towards his circle. It should prevent the human from breaking out, but as his eyes focused, he saw a little bit near the human's feet had been smudged out. The spittle?
"Boy, that was not a request."
The demon boy froze in fear.
"What, do I need to come over there myself?" The human sighed. "I suppose even in a fever dream, others are just as unreliable."
As the human was about to take another step, the boy's adrenaline snapped him out of the shock. "Go back!" he shouted.
"What..?" In a flash of light, the human had left just as quickly as he'd arrived. The sheet of paper and the graphite it had held in his hands fell to the floor.
The boy took a few deep breaths.
The human was gone. Slowly, the demon felt himself calming down. He looked at the sheet of leathery paper that had fallen to the floor. He looked down the sheet of paper, at all the different questions. His eyes settled to where the human had stopped answering.
The next question read: "Are humans a type of demon? True/False."
He took the graphite in his little red hand, and circled "True." | 1/2
The shriek of some lost soul pierced my ears. My feet were sore. I was hot, tired, and thirsty- and I still hadn't found anything that was on my shopping list. Not a single bag in my hand. This mall's layout has always driven me crazy. Smaller hallways shot off at crazy angles, doubling back on each other, making logical navigation impossible. This was intentional of course; it forced you to wander. But some things you can't buy on Amazon, particularly if you're female. My curves were straining clothes in the wrong places, though, and I was trying to find something to wear for my 20-year high school reunion.
As I trudged toward the third department store, I spied a kiosk up ahead selling salt scrubs or essential oils or something else equally useless- the folks who grab you and smear some crap on your hand before you can tell them no. I veered to evade, but a girl in her late teens managed eye contact, appeared beside me, and grabbed my hand. "I'm not interested-"
\--and suddenly we were in a place that smelled of brimstone instead of Abercrombie funk. "-in your stupid salt scrubs!" I finished lamely. I yanked my arm out of her hand and glared at her all the same. I glanced around me. We were beside a river-bank in a dark cavern. There was a smoldering glow in the distance. We stood within a circle of strange runes done up in several pastel, metallic shades of ink. It struck me as something a bored student would doodle while sitting through a long lecture.
"Technically that's assault, you know," I told her.
"Who are you going to tell?" the girl asked me. Wide, innocent eyes. She looked eighteen at most. She would be a knockout in a couple of years. The girl bent forward and tousled her hair. When she straightened up, tiny horns stuck out of her head.
I planted my feet wide and folded my arms. "So are *all* mall kiosk workers minions of the Adversary?" I asked.
She flashed a not-so-innocent smile. "Only a few of us," she said. "Even demons get after-school jobs. I can smell your fear, you know. And hear your heartbeat...you really ought to back off on the caffeine, Susan."
"I'm guessing this isn't the mall basement." The air buzzed with an electricity I could almost taste. The air was warmer here, but your average summer day in D.C. was worse. "You know *my* name; how about giving me yours?"
"Call me...Lillith," the girl said.
"Uh huh. Right. So, *Lillith*... I assume this river here has a ferry service? Fare being a silver coin or two?"
"Indeed. But you're not crossing it today."
"Why have you dragged me to Hell?"
"But you're *not* in Hell.*"*
"Very far from home, though," I took my smartphone out of my purse for curiosity's sake. It showed full signal. Lillith noted the surprise on my face.
"Of *course* it works down here," she said patiently. "Our inmates need to get their Facebook fix."
I gestured at the pastel metallic runes on the floor. "So why am I on...is this Hell's welcome mat?"
Lillith's eyes grew shifty. "I set this up outside where it's easier to hide what I was doing," she said. "And summoning outside gives me a wider variety of potential targets." Her finger neared, but did not touch the silver Byzantine cross my grandmother had given me. She snatched her hand back.
"What could you be doing in Hell that requires *hiding?"*
Lillith shoved a doorstop-sized textbook at me: Mankiw's *Principles of Macroeconomics*. Then she shoved a stack of papers at me that almost bled red ink. "I'm failing Econ," she growled. "I need a tutor." | 2019-09-17T13:43:27 | 2019-09-17T12:55:15 | 39 | 18 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | Humanity was amazed by the presence of extraterrestrials. They were new. They were exciting. As a species, we were done evolving. We had discovered every scientific breakthrough available to us and our meager resources. We had mapped our observable universe and pushed the limits of our existence.
We had philosophized and reached enlightenment too many times to count. War had been abolished and scholars had been normalized. We were a peaceful people.
We were a bored people.
So when the aliens appeared from beyond our star, we were excited. We presented them with the best of our technology. We serenaded them with the best of our recreational culture. We were more than ready to accept their strange mannerisms and their weird, faster than light spacecraft. We were ready for them to break our boredom.
And then the creatures, lowly and vile and insignificant cretins as they were, fired on us. We weren't ready for that. Solid beams of searing white light speared from the heavens like lightning, burning and exploding and tearing. Major cities went up in flames. Precious libraries and databases were reduced to rubble in almost no time at all.
Fathers lost daughters. Mothers lost sons. Brothers held sisters and sisters held brothers. Desperate calls were made across the planets as families and friends desperately tried to reach others. We were broken. We were grieving.
But then, you made the one critical mistake. An envoy, a single envoy with only two soldiers, was sent down to one of our broken cities. It trailed over the debris that used to be our centers of knowledge and plucked a single human child, no more than six, from the still warm corpse of his mother. It held the boy aloft, and we heard the soldiers cackle at our helplessness. You thought us weakened. An easy race to subjugate when faced with our fettered young and your obvious superiority.
So lost in your 'superiority' were you that you didn't see the broken shiv of wood in the child's hand. With a snarl, he pierced it through your pathetic carapace and downed your envoy. Your soldiers didn't have the time to react before we were on them as well. They were taken down in seconds.
I'll let you know this now, scum. We didn't plan such a thing. We simply reverted to what felt right.
And our scientists sure felt right. They got to analyze your envoy's spaceship. I know things aren't looking so well for your troops on the ground, but we will join you in space soon enough.
I bet you're wondering why your light beams aren't as devastating as they once were. We remembered trench warfare. We can hide under our planet's crust, where your weapons can't pierce, for as long as we need.
We haven't had a soldier in many years, but every day we find more lieutenants and generals, natural born military leaders, sprung up from our ranks.
So thank you, aliens. Though it was not how we imagined it, you have definitely made things more interesting for us. Your one mistake was not annihilating us when you had the chance.
Be ready, filth. Because we survived, and we are no longer bored. | "Personal journal: The sky on this planet was blue when we landed. I should have known that a blood-colored sky was a bad omen.
"Command had singled out this planet, a tiny garden world around an unremarkable star, as a good place to set up a frontier resupply depot. 'We've observed them through a probe for a hundred cycles around their star, they should be no problem for you, General Fen.' And at first, I had arrogantly believed them.
"From day one this expedition has been a nonstop string of failure and misery. Guerilla fighters ambush our supply lines and reinforcements around every turn, a weapon hiding behind every piece of flora. At night, when we make camp, the same music we had watched them perform in festivals of peace turns into hellish torments, keeping all but those lucky enough to lose their hearing awake. Bombs drop at all hours, missiles and rockets destroy our aircraft... There is no peace on this planet, there is only death.
"Command had told me this was a peaceful backwater, but the bloodlust I see in every enemy's eyes tells me differently. I wonder now, as I prepare to evacuate in defeat, if the reason the Gods made this planet so isolated is not to protect them from us, but rather to protect the rest of the galaxy from them." | 2019-02-26T08:20:01 | 2019-02-26T07:33:05 | 1,328 | 589 |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand. | Kai sat in the large auditorium. The busy bustle and rustle of many students rushing to fill their seats before class began to fill the once vacant hall. This class was unusual. Normally students would simply log in to their schools virtual database to be present. A holographic display of the student would then appear in an unoccupied space.
But then again this was the first ever human studies class. For this reason holoprojection was deemed unsuitable as the course material was considered cutting edge knowledge, fresh and exciting. Only the best of each race were allowed to attend this lecture. Kai by default was chosen as the sole human on campus, for him the class was mandatory.
As the gelatinous ooze shimmied inside the lecture hall with thick gloopy plops and other nauseating sounds, the hall grew silent. The gelatinous ooze didnt speak, but rather projected its thoughts into the mind of the gathered students. A kind of unseen signal which could be rejected by any sentient race. Kai naturally accepted as he knew xenami were incapable of traditional communication.
A slimy twisted voice echoed in his ears "It is believed that humans first achieved interstellar travel around the year 4023 CE of their calendar." ...wrong Kai thought, it was much earlier than that. "Humanity as a species is one best suited to nurturing and mediating disputes" ...wrong again kai sighed internally. "It is believed that due to the fierce nature of the so called mother figures humans speak about, that they are instilled with a sense of cooperation and learn the correct way to navigate complex social interactions." Okay that one was true.
The voice continued in its weird slithery way "when first contact was made with the humans in the 3041679 year of the universal calendar, the Zerm who had first contact were welcomed with banquets and entertainment unseen and unheard of in the rest of the known galaxy. A traditional which has been held to this day, everytime the humans are introduced to a new species." Kai laughed inwardly, thats because we know how gulliable you all are to being buttered up.
"With these previous examples in mind, humanity can be said to be perhaps the most peaceful and accepting of all the known universal specie, despite being a recent addition." Kai was agahst, his face turning paler by the second. No wonder the other races look upon us favorably. They didnt know the truth of humanities history. Nor of the long wars to extinction fought with the ones calling themselves the galaxy federation.
The truth was as clear as day. Humans didnt invent interstellar travel in 4023CE. It was technology forcibly acquired from downing enemy spaceships after the invasion by the federation in 3071. A long bloody war of resistance that united the fractured united nations into what is now know as the human league. During which we reversed engineered all the tech of the invaders, used it to find their home worlds and subsequently slaughtered them down to the last child. Of course no one could record it, because there was no one left and the humans wouldnt openly admit to the genocide of countless galaxies. The part of the universe the Federation once inhabited is still considered uncharted territory.
His hands gripping the platform in front of him tight, his eyes dialated and sweat pouring down his body, Kai struggled to remain conscious through the horrific revelation. A moist sounding tone echoing in his head "Human Kai of Keplar 452, do you need a medical emergency? Your biological scanner shows signs of great distress."
Finally reorienting his rapid thoughts, Kai simply broke an uneasy smile "No Professor Xeani, I think Im okay now, thank you for your concern". The professor nodded or at least gave what could be construed as a nod, if a gelatinous mass of wriggling tentacles tiliting over could be construed that way.
I need to get out of this class somehow! Acting coy is too much for me... but the commander wont like that very much, Kai thought with a frown. I should come up with a plan. | "Ummmm, Professor"
"Yes Rickie, what do you have to add to the conversation?"
Looking at the others 2 humans in the class, he shrugs his shoulders and turns back to Professor G'lat. "I think your research is a bit... incorrect. Humans were never peaceful. Not even close. Those examples you gave were the exception not the rule."
Leaning against the desk, Prof G'lat looked over the group and sighed. "Rickie. Just because you are human doesn't make you the expert in human history. Before the Glok'nar invasion of Earth, all the sources show you were a peaceful people and your current aggressive natures are the result of Earth being destroyed and fighting for your species survival. The 2 major video graphic records that remain of pre-invasion Earth show that you were a peaceful people interesting in art, science and inclusivity. The tribal and xenophobia tendencies are only a few hundred years old."
Opening this mouth to say something, G'lat interrupted him again. "Rickie, I know you disagree with me but you are simply wrong. The refugee Terrans were full of myths of genocides, wars, tribalism and savagery. We simply can not find any supporting evidence of that being true."
Sighing a bit "Prof G'lat. All of that is true. Those myths were real. We had a number of wars, people killing people because they had different political ideas or skin color. People would attack people over the slightest transgressions. Humans have always been agressive and warlike. If it wasn't for the invasion, it is a really good chance we would have taken over this section of space and forced all the races to kneel that were left."
G'lat let out a squak that was his race's version of a laugh and stood tall. "So Rickie, you are telling me that Fred Rogers, Bob Ross and Bill Nye are exceptions to the rule of humans being peaceful? I find that hard to believe. Now be quiet."
Rickie and the other humans rolled their eyes and sighed heavily. | 2022-10-17T07:12:12 | 2022-10-17T06:28:16 | 117 | 85 |
[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. | This one had been a long time coming - far longer than I ever thought possible.
We'd met on a battlefield millennia ago, both surprised to find out that our strikes did not harm the other. It was the first, and only, other immortal I'd ever encountered.
It was the start of a beautiful friendship.
Naturally, being immortals, we'd try to find new ways to amuse ourselves as the time went by. Our practical jokes seemed the perfect way to do this, and they started getting more elaborate as our friendship grew. The fall of Rome was one we took a bit too far, we both agreed.
But as I looked out the window and saw the rocky expanse below, I felt excitement I hadn't experienced in centuries.
For as long as I'd known him, he'd always wanted to be at the forefront of space travel. It made sense, really; he knew he'd have to be able to traverse the stars if he had any hope of truly enjoying being alive forever.
I remember sitting next to him while he eagerly watched the moon landing. He knew it would just be another century or so until we'd finally be able to visit Mars, and he looked at me with joy. Actual joy. That was a rare sight.
When the time finally came, me, being his best friend, naturally wanted to join him for the ride. We volunteered to be the first two on the 'suicide trip' there, and the world rejoiced. We'd generally hidden from the public spotlight, but he said that we couldn't avoid this one. This time, the whole world would be watching us.
Nearing our destination, I deviated from our landing spot. I hoped he wouldn't notice.
"Where are you going?" he asked, staring out of the window. His leg was shaking, like it did every time he was excited.
"Oh, come on," I replied with a smirk, "I'm letting you take the first steps on Mars, the least you can do is let me take a little detour."
I reached the site, carefully landing the spacecraft. He'd already unfastened his seat belts. I'd never seen him so eager.
The doors slowly opened, and he prepared himself to be the first man on Mars. He looked back at me, gave a thumbs-up, then took a step forward.
Then stopped.
He'd noticed a massive structure, looming over the spacecraft.
He stared at it. There was no denying it.
It was a statue of something.
Of some*one*.
I grinned, trying to suppress my laughter.
See, while we were both immortal - I'd been alive *far* longer than he ever was.
*****
*****
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I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | Dinosaurs was our best one, hands-down. The Church of Latter Day Saints is second-best, but gets points taken off for being a religion (too easy to pull off, religions, in my opinion). But our funniest one, I think, was Michael Jackson.
Some of my friends would agree with me, but not most. The irrelevancy of his life and legacy, in relation to "The Grand Scheme of Things," unfortunately makes the accomplishment of having made him exist slightly less impressive.
I've personally been tempted, on more than one occasion, to steer the progress of mankind. Both world wars, for instance. I argued vehemently to stop them, but got drowned out by the prevailing Star Trekian attitude our group has against meddling in big, important affairs. A few of us even went vigilante, hunting down rogue immortals that were performing stunts aimed at getting those barbarians to quit it.
From afar is where we can guide things, sadly. To stir a pie's chunks, you must first puncture the crust. | 2017-06-22T19:56:41 | 2017-06-22T19:14:24 | 5,933 | 23 |
[WP] The narrator was running late and just showed up to a story already in progress. He doesn't know who the heroes or villains are or even what genre this is. | The battlefield was a writhing mass of bodies, men knee deep in mud and gore, the dead strewn under their feet. The air rang with the clattering of swords and whistles of arrows, the heavy stench of sweat and and blood suffocating. Our hero rides in, blade held aloft as his steed-
“I’m not the hero, mate,” not-the-hero stated, halting his horse to point across the field, “he’s over there I think.”
Sorry, I’m new. Anyway... hm. Hero?
“Over here!” The hero shouts, gesturing with a golden sword as he takes cover behind his shield.
Okay. Got it.
He takes a mighty swing, sending his foes flying backwards in flash of holy light. Another comes for him, but the hero is too quick, using his shield to knock him back with incredible force. They keep coming though, as another jumps onto his back with dagger in hand. The hero staggers as the blade sinks into his shoulder-
“Can you shut up?” The hero yells, “you don’t even know my name!”
Look, I’m trying my best here. You don’t know how hard it is to jump into a story halfway through; I don’t know who’s important, or what’s happening and I could do without all this backtalk.
Anyway.
The hero finally throws off the enemy, striking him down with a blade to the chest. He glances around, looking for something... I guess. Suddenly, he starts charging across the front, plowing through men with his sword... heh. Ahem. Sorry about that.
He... reaches his target? A woman on an armoured, ebony steed, calmly observing the violent scene before her. Her eyes glitter from under her cloak as the hero reaches her. I guess she’s the villain?
“I’m not the villain.” She announces, taking down her hood.
That’s so something a villain would say, just saying. I wouldn’t trust her.
“Shut up!” The hero shouts, like a child having a tantrum. “Esme, we need to do something. We are losing too many men.”
The woman named Esme who is definitely not going to betray anyone at any point, pulls out vial from a satchel hidden in the folds of her cloak. She smiles in a definitely not creepy way as she hands it to him.
“What is this?” The hero a- “can you please stop calling me hero!”
I’m sorry, I’m not the one who failed to give their name.
“You’re the narrator! You’re supposed to know!”
I’m not omniscient! Just tell me your name so we can move on.
“Christopher.”
Right, okay. Christopher asks Esme what the stuff in the vial does. Esme tells him it’s definitely not anything evil or dark, and that it will swing the battle in their favour.
“Can you stop?” Esme glares at nothing in particular because I have no physical body.
“Okay, stop it. You’re being a nuisance.” Chris says, like the prick that he is. “What happened to the other guy?”
I don’t know what happened to the previous narrator. Maybe he got sick of people being rude to him? Hm?
“You’re the one accusing me of being evil!”
Honey. You’re obviously an evil sorceress or something. Either that, or you will become one eventually. Femme fatale and all that jazz.
| “...And that little girl was me.”
A voice buzzed in to the studio speaker. “No, you can’t just … You can’t just turn up late and then open with something like that.”
“OK, what if I address the audience with a ‘Just between you and me, I was that little girl.”
“Who hired this guy?” asked another voice emanating in to the studio.
“What if I wink at the end of the sentence?” asked the narrator.
“You’re the narrator. They can’t see you winking.”
“What if I wink really loudly? Like a loud wink.”
“What even is a loud wink?”
He began to wink. “Can you hear that? Pretty loud, right?”
“No.”
“I can go louder. I can go, like, eight times louder. A lot of people say I can go eight times louder.”
“Can you please just narrate over the footage on the screen in front of you?” said the voice from the speaker.
The narrator swivelled in his chair to face the screen. “OK, got some guys, wearing black so I assume they’re the bad guys. Some heavy salad kind of guys. Got some other guys. Wait. Hold on. They’re also dressed in black. Are they both bad guys?”
“Why are you asking questions as if the audience will be able to fill you in?”
“Well when you’ve got both sets of guys dressed in black you have a conundrum.”
“Did you read the prep material?”
“Yeah, of course I did.”
“Great, so let’s just go from that.”
“Wait, did you not hear me wink?”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
| 2018-02-08T09:20:43 | 2018-02-08T06:14:57 | 521 | 234 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I wake to my phone buzzing on the night stand. I look at the clock next to it. The green numbers shine brightly: 3:14 AM.
'What the hell?' I think to myself. 'Why is anyone texting me at 3 in the morning?'
Before I can take a look, it starts buzzing again. And again. It won't stop. I grab the phone and mute it quickly but the notifications continue to pop up silently. "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." They're texts coming from my mother, my friends, my siblings, even some numbers I don't recognize.
An unfamiliar alarm blares on my phone. A new notification pops up on my phone, titled US Government Emergency Alert. It reads "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
'This is weird,' I think to myself, 'What the hell could be wrong with the moon?'
I walk to my window. I carefully open the curtains halfway so the moon is still covered. The sight is incredible.
Almost all of my neighbors are standing outside, phone in hand. They're staring upward in the direction of the moon. They're walking around talking to each other, pointing to the sky.
'I gotta see what the hell is going on.'
I walk outside and jog over next door, carefully keeping my eyes lowered. My neighbour is standing by his door. I'm about to call out to him when he interrupts me.
"Hey! Have you seen the moon tonight?" he asks.
"Listen man, something weird is going on. It's 3 in the morning, why are you outside right now? Why is half the neighbourhood outside?" I reply.
"You haven't looked yet, have you?" he laughs.
"Did you just ignore everything I said? Why are you outside? What's wrong with the moon?"
Without warning, my neighbor rushes up to me and places a hand on each side of my head. He violently turns my head toward the sky. "Just look!"
Oh. OH. I get it now. This is... incredible. It's impossible. There's no way this can be happening. It's... I don't even know. I have to tell someone about this.
I take out my phone and draft a message, addressed to everyone on my contact list. I slowly tap in the words "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
| I toss in my sleep-- there's a loud buzzing ringing in my left ear, and my eyes flicker open to reveal my phone: vibrating with it's receivance of hundreds of messages. "Holy shit, is that my Discord app again? I swear to god I put it on fucking silent." I grumble, and my hands fumble for the volume rockers. Without a few seconds of effort, my phone is back on silent, and the buzzing stops. I go back the fuck to bed. The creepypasta bullshit can wait, I'm tired as shit. | 2022-08-07T14:17:42 | 2018-04-06T19:48:33 | 712 | 13 |
[WP] You read a comment on reddit so stupid your IQ drops to negative leading to an integer error. Congratulations, now you have 2,147,483,647 IQ. | At first, there were desires to watch cat and street fight videos. Which quickly descended to not being able to comprehend the keyboard in front of me. Which quickly lead to forgetting the spelling of my name and understanding of language.
Soon, breathing became difficult, and darkness enveloped my vision as my heart stopped beating. I sank inside myself, I was so stupid all I could do was drool and hardly exist.
Then as quickly as I lost it, I was awakened. And my comprehension shot up exponentially. I only spent a couple of minutes within my status quo before more and more understanding and brain power expanded in my mind.
At 50,000 IQ, telekinesis developed. Double that and it became second nature. Double that and everything in my apartment was floating and dismantling at a molecular level as easy as I breathe. Double that and I no longer possessed the energy to fuel my own damn mind, but it didn't stop.
Within minutes I was in a cylinder of my own creation floating in fluid that provided nutrients to my body and acted as a cooling system. I blinked and hit the million. The two hemispheres of my mind melded together and my third eye was created.
The third eye was just a pupil. An all seeing black sphere that could transcend time and see all. My body dissolved and my reach expanded to every metropolis on the planet. I was the crust of the planet.
But it didn't stop. I was living in electricity, I was breathing through the trees, and regulating ecosystems and economies. And then 2 million IQ was on the horizon.
A bright light came, and what I can only describe as the Intergalactic Eye welcomed me to the universe. I created a type A civilization. I was the sentient planet that was made to lead humanity beyond.
And now, as humanity goes crazy trying to understand the change that happened within several hours, I am ready to complete my responsibility and bring peace and immortality to my planet. But first....
**In a small apartment, somewhere**
Jerry finished his online trolling for the day as he knocked back the rest of the 2 liter Dew. He returned to his computer, Ramen freshly cooked, ready to play at his battle station until the night drained to morning. Though upon logging in, he noticed something was off. No matter the key he hit, all that would come up on the screen were the words, "you are a twat".
| I didn't really notice, but other people started realizing that my critical thinking skills had drastically increased. I received praise when completing tasks, and people regarded me as one smart cookie.
As I aged, the compliments became fewer, and the lack of recognition started to get to me. I started to seriously doubt my abilities and would have exceedingly less motivation with each passing day.
From frustration, to anger, to depression, I had finally found comfort in apathy. At first, my friends were put off by my sedentary lifestyle, but by shutting off myself from society, I finally had no one to disappoint. And, with that, I found home.
Edit: Spacing | 2017-07-31T06:33:51 | 2017-07-31T05:32:23 | 64 | 20 |
[WP] A super hero fights evil by wiping memories of both the villian and everyone who knew of them so that they can be reintroduced into society safely. Today, as you were combing through old newspapers, you discover that you were once the world's most powerful supervillain. | Honor and justice were words for politicians. Eraser had always believed in a single driving force to his heroism and that was efficiency. If the name was catchier, he would’ve called himself Factory Man, instead, he took the name Eraser for his powers in wiping villain’s identities. He took not just their memories, but the memories of all who knew them, rendering them a completely blank slate. Albeit a powerful one.
What the world did with those people after he wiped their memories, he couldn't care less. Hot-faced politicians screamed about retribution. Make those bastards pay for what they took ten times over. Stern-voiced suits talked of rehabilitation. People couldn’t be punished for a crime they no longer remembered.
In the end, America settled on the Reawakening Program, a half-assed rehabilitation center with nightmare conditions. Neither side won and nobody was happy. Though, that was the beauty of democracy.
Eraser had his own condo on Lazarus Island, the host of the Reawakening Program. Five days out of the week except for holidays and paid time off, the government stocked him here. Long ago, all the great supervillains had been erased and reawakened. Now, only the small fish remained and there were other heroes far more suited to handling those.
The doorbell rang and Eraser sighed. He hadn’t even finished his morning coffee yet.
“Mr. Eraser,” came Sarah’s voice. She was an intern fresh from college and still treated him with something resembling politeness. “We have the first batch ready.”
If the name was catchier, he was sure the government would have also call him Factory Man, due to how he was simply a cog in the reawakening process.
“Sir?” she asked when he gave no reply. “Would you like me to come back another time?”
He flipped through old newspapers. He had requested it to read stories about himself. It was pathetic really, but not as pathetic as the current state of affairs. The world’s greatest hero now working on some memory altering production line.
“No, no,” he said. “I’ll be ready.”
“Would you like the profiles? We have a mix of villains today, ranging from unpermitted protests to small theft to even—”
“No,” he said, cutting her off. It didn’t matter who the villains were. There was a system for vetting them and he trusted in it. It wasn’t his job anymore to pass judgment, not for Factory Man.
“Okay,” Sarah said, “Should I… wait here?”
“I can find my own way.”
“Sure.” But she stayed at the door. He could hear how hard she was breathing. “Sir?”
“What?” he spat. Patience was a virtue for the young. The old didn’t have enough time for it.
A newspaper clipping slid under the door. Curious, Eraser took it and scanned the headlines. The Great Reset, it read, with a giant picture of a younger him. His brow furrowed, staring at the picture. His cheeks were tighter, his eyes sharper, and his hair a burning red. He didn’t remember a time before his beer belly and faded eyes, yet here he was, chiseled.
“You reset the world,” Sarah said. “At least, you tried to. You saw that it wasn’t right. Violence, hate, war, disease, inequality, the world needed a fresh start. You even reset yourself.”
He only half-heard her words, his eyes were too busy flitting across the newspaper article. It called him the Soul Eater for leaving people empty after their battles. His heart skipped and his tongue curled around those words in familiarity. Soul Eater.
“But a few people escaped,” she continued. “And with the world a blank slate, they did with it as they pleased. It’s even worse than before. It’s all wrong.”
“So… you were one of those people that escaped?”
The door opened and Sarah stood in front of it, lockpick in hand. She looked like Soul Eater from the newspaper clippings, her eyes just as sharp, and her hair just as bright.
“Of course,” she said. “Because I inherited your powers.”
| "Ah, isn't the scent of peace wonderful," I said as I stood in front of my open window. The sunrays imbued me with their tender heat, it reminded me of a hug brimming with love.
I went to the kitchen, stretching as I walked down the stairs. The scent of freshly made hotcakes swirled into my nostrils, drawing a smile on my face. I felt *good.* Everything was alright.
"Honey, someone left a box for you. It's on the table," my wife said, carrying the pile of hotcakes toward the table. When we crossed paths, she kissed me. How did I manage to find such a lovely woman? I still don't have the slightest clue.
"A box? Wonder what it contains," I said, rubbing my chin. "Maybe is an enormous letter! Or maybe is an evil plan from one of my foes."
I bolted and opened it. It had no sender, just my name wrote clumsily in a white label. A weird feeling of confusion swarmed my insides when I saw that there were two old and torn newspapers. *1985 and 1986 that's like... yes, old,* I thought and set my eyes on the front cover.
**1985**
*Dr. Mindwiper is plunging the word into chaos by inserting fake memories in the minds of heroes. He's unstoppable and the fate of society seems to be heading his way—towards destruction. Only one heroine remains, Kissladan yet she's nowhere to be seen.*
*Are we doomed? Is this the end of everything as we know it?*
**1986**
*Dr. Mindwiper dictatorship came to an end. Kissladan turned him to the good side, the side of peace and prosperity. Using her signature move, the Kiss of Kissladan she reprogrammed Dr. Mindwiper's brain completely. As long as the effect doesn't wear off, society is saved.*
---------------------------------
*I'm Dr. Mindwiper,* I thought and squinted, eyes set on my wife. *Did she? It can't be, is she Kissladan?*
"What's wrong honey?" she said and sat in front of me. Her blue eyes drowned into mine and I blushed like a child.
I set the newspaper aside, I was happy. "Nothing sweetie, just a bad prank."
| 2017-12-30T08:30:59 | 2017-12-30T08:02:18 | 300 | 153 |
[WP] Every proper Hero and Villain knows that when a costume needs fixed, Neutral Ground Tailors is the place to go. | Franklin Benson was a man who knew three things: the most dangerous secrets in the world, how to keep them, and how to cut cloth and make it look good on a person.
Every day, except Sundays, he got up, kissed his wife and children and walked one mile to the post office where he checked the store’s PO box, then another two miles on foot to his shop. He was a tailor. That much everyone knew. Friends and family only knew that he was a very expensive tailor catering to very elite clientele and he wasn’t about to take in their dinner jackets for them, but he could recommend them to a very capable seamstress not too very far away.
What no one, with the exception of his very elite clientele, knew was that he was *the* Tailor. He was the one man in the city that every hero or villain went to see. Actually, that was a bit of an overstatement. With almost one thousand registered heroes, and at least half that number again in unregistered or aspiring heroes, not to mention at least four times that many villains, he certainly couldn’t handle them all personally.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Aside from the fact that a large number of heroes and villains created their own costumes, there were a small number of men like him. Men who knew secrets. In all there were less than twenty of them. Most of them had actually been apprentices to the original Tailor, now dead and greatly mourned. They knew each other by first name only. First name, a post office box, a storefront address, and—only for in the greatest of emergencies—a phone number. They relied on each other in an unspoken gentleman’s agreement. If someone needed a costume then they were referred to the one most appropriate to craft it. If a client was blacklisted by one chances were he would swiftly be black listed by them all. They never stole customers from each other. But occasionally they would trade clients, if circumstances warranted. If one found a new supplier for materials, and the supplier was agreeable, he might let the others know. Beyond these things they had no interference or even contact with one another at all. It was considered safest.
Each of them had their own rules for how they ran their business, and each was unique. Some only took technologically oriented clients, ones who wore more armor than fabric. Some specialized in exotic—even for their usual clients—materials. Some took only heroes, others only villains. Franklin took only the best. He had been the original Tailor’s star pupil, and his designs were truly brilliant. When the original had died in that horrible attack on his shop, Franklin had inherited his client list.
Franklin was the sole provider of costumes and gadgetry for almost the entire A-list of heroes, a good portion of the senior B-list, and virtually all of the A-list villains. The gadgetry he farmed out to three different machinists. Any client who went through him was guaranteed full service and total anonymity.
The price, aside from the obscene dollar tags he placed on his work, was following the rules. Every tailor demanded total adherence, and not even the most deranged of criminals would dare break them.
Franklin’s rules were brutally strict. All appointments would be adhered to. The client could not be early or late. The client was to be alone. Business only was to be discussed. What the client wanted an item for was not important. Discussion of other clients was unacceptable. A client’s order was a client’s order, there was to be no picking up for a friend. Price was to be paid half up front, half on delivery, changes to this policy at the tailor’s discretion. The client was always to appear in civilian clothes and to have disguised any identifying features. If the client did not have an appointment, the client did not approach or enter the store. If it was an emergency repair, the piece to be fixed, along with full payment was to be placed in PO box 7523 and a slip should be included indicating what PO box the repaired item should be delivered to or if pickup would be at the next appointment. Penalties for breaking the rules ranged from additional charges added to the bill to temporary suspension of services, to a blacklisting.
In return his clients received the best materials, the best craftsmanship, and perfect security. He never asked for the names of his customers, aside from their heroic identities. Everyone was referred to by initial. Should Franklin ever run across them on the street or on the news he showed not a flicker of recognition. He simply went to his doctor and requested a stronger prescription for his ulcers.
Today’s first client was one of his favorites. Mr. O was a charming, affable man who didn’t suffer from the typical neuroses that most of his clients had. Of course, Mr. O didn’t have much reason to since most people were utterly incapable of recognizing him out of costume. Franklin, however, was more than capable. He knew his work no matter how hard someone tried to disguise it. Mr. O’s costume was actually thrillingly mundane, He wore a number of suits in all styles of wool, cotton and even the occasional silk. For Franklin it was a refreshing change to tailor a simple suit. | The bells hanging from the front door swung, their chimes echoing in the small store. I looked up from the counter.
A familiar face stared back. Not dressed like always, but I'd have recognized that face anywhere. In his hands was his costume, and for a change he was dressed in the business-casual attire of the populace he terrorized.
"Good afternoon," I said. My voice was flat, as emotionless as I could manage.
He didn't answer. He just paced across the store, and when he got to the counter, he plopped the costume on the counter with a *thud*. It was singed in spots, the edges frayed.
"Rough night," he said.
I hadn't asked. I already knew.
"What do you need?"
"New costume. This one's done for."
Gingerly, as if it'd bite, I picked up his costume by the neck and held out in front of me. He was stout but well-built; big arms and a wide neck. It fit tight. That was in fashion.
"Okay," I said. I'd not give him more than that. No emotion. This was Neutral Gound Tailors. I didn't have the privilege of picking and choosing my customers. They chose me. I'd built my reputation on that. "I'd estimate twenty-five hundred, should be about two weeks."
"Two weeks?" The price didn't even bother him, he'd steal that much in the blink of an eye. Pawn off some jewelry, kidnap some poor girl and hold her for ransom.
It could be faster than two weeks. It would be faster, if he wasn't who he was. I couldn't say that. I bit my tongue.
"Two weeks," I repeated.
"I'm out of commission for two whole weeks?"
I shrugged. "I guess so."
He sighed. I didn't sympathize with him, not even a little bit. If he couldn't use a break, then we sure could. "We" the city. "We" my family, who'd been unfortunate enough to become his victims. If he knew that, he didn't show it. He didn't try to apologize, not that I'd have expected him to. But maybe those two weeks wouldn't have become three. They might have even become one-and-a-half.
"Will that be all?" I asked.
He didn't answer. He just left, and the bells rang behind him once more.
I took another look at the costume. I'd delight in burning it, even if that meant violating the disposal procedure. I'd mark it as disposed, take it home and deal with it myself. It'd be more therapeutic that way. Plus, he'd never find out.
Two weeks. Maybe three. Then I'd see him again, and he'd hand me that stolen money. I'd hand him his new costume, plus a little something. I had my ways.
A little itch here and there, a little loose string that'd drive him crazy. A pin forgotten maybe. And the tracker. I couldn't touch him in this neutral space, but once we were out of the shop, he was fair game.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-03-04T12:47:17 | 2020-03-04T10:26:02 | 68 | 18 |
[WP] Every dog is able to speak perfect English exactly once, for one sentence, in their lifetime. You're on trial for a murder you didn't commit, and your dog is the only one who could possibly exonerate you. There's just one problem: you weren't a very good owner. | I knew Honey wasn't going to say anything. They had her at the table, read her a long list of rules and information I'm sure she couldn't understand, and all waited. It was hard to believe that anyone expected her waste her one sentence on me.
My dog was going to outlive me, I realized. Once I was convicted, that would be it.
"Where was the defendant on the night of September 4th, 2015?" They asked Honey. Her ears perked and her tail wagged so hard that it thumped on the chair.
She was always happy just to hear a voice. I talked to her sometimes just to get her tail to wag like that, but not often. Usually I told myself I didn't have time. I tried to tell myself that I'd have spent more time with her had I known how soon it would be running out, but I couldn't make myself believe that.
They tried again. "It was raining hard on that night," they told her. As if the problem was that she didn't know what night they meant. "The defendant- that's your owner there, your human- he says he fell asleep early on the couch that night. Said he'd made hamburger, and let you have a piece he dropped? Is that true, were you two home all night?" They asked.
Honey just kept wagging her tail. They had mentioned the hamburger, but they hadn't mentioned how small of a piece it had been. I wondered if she had even been able to taste something that small, I'd only called her over so I wouldn't have to bend down and clean it up myself. She'd looked up at me after, expectant. I hadn't given her anything more. In fact, as I was drifting off later I'd realized that I'd forgotten to give her any dog food at all that night. She must have been hungry. I decided to wait until morning to feed her though, because I was comfortable and because I hadn't cared if she was uncomfortable.
They frowned, then tried one last time. "We think your owner might have done something bad," they told her. "It's important for us to know if he was really home or not that night because it will tell us if he was bad. We need to scold the person who did the bad thing, and make sure they don't do bad things again."
Honey tilted her head, tail slowing, but said nothing. She was a good dog. The unfamiliar people and places hadn't made her fussy in the slightest, and they said she'd caused no trouble on the car ride there either. Especially surprising considering that she'd never been in a car before. Really, she'd hardly left the house except to go potty her entire life. I wondered how it was that I had ended up with such a good dog. I wondered why I'd never bothered to try teaching her any tricks, or to take her to the park. It had only been a few blocks away. Getting out of the house could have been fun for both of us.
The judge opened his mouth, about to declare no testimony given and move the trial on. He was interrupted.
"Human is a good human and stayed home, human didn't do any bad things," Honey said. The tone was one of love, of admiration.
I started crying, right there in front of everyone. We don't deserve dogs. | Jerry cleared his throat.
The jury stared at the wise-looking golden retriever in anticipation. This was it, and they knew it. He would speak his one sentence today. This was it.
Jerry licked his lips and his ears twitched.
The jury leaned forward.
Jerry said, "On October 8th, 2014, Brad Johnson spread peanut butter across his scrotum--"
Oh no, Jerry. Oh no. Why? But his one sentence wasn't finished.
"-- and he made me lick it off."
The crowd gasped. The jury stared at each other, wide-eyed, in utter disgust. Goddamnit, Jerry. What is shared between a man and his golden retriever is not meant for the general public.
But there we were, and there the jury sat, and I sighed and wished Jerry hadn't just fucked it all up for me, but it was clear he had. They were going to pronounce me guilty. This was some Camus-level bullshit. In Camus's case it had been a case about how much he loved his mother, and quite ironically, mine was a case of how much I didn't *love* my dog. Ironic, right?
Jerry looked at me and although he had no English words left for the rest of his life, I could sense his intention: "*Disgusting*."
As they excused me from the stand, my lawyer whispered in my ear, "You didn't tell me about this!" and why would I have? Fucking Jerry.
Fucking Jerry. | 2017-09-20T22:54:31 | 2017-09-20T19:39:21 | 450 | 25 |
[WP] After years of constant battles, you've finally defeated your nemesis, the city's foremost hero and protector. But now their spouse just showed up, and nothing you throw at them even slows them down. | I was tired. Beyond tired. Overtired. I knew even if I tried to lay down to sleep here in the street that sleep would not take me. Besides, the body of Strateria was dead on the floor before me and I would rather not try and sleep next to her in such a state. I may of hated her more than anything else in my life, but I was hardly a freak in that sense.
The bellow that captured my concentration was beyond anything I had ever heard before. I stood quickly enough to cause a blood rush to my head but I saw instantly who it was. A man, a civilian by the looks of him, storming toward where I stood over Strateria's dead body.
"You!"
The rage in his voice was evident even in spite of the near quarter-mile distance. How could I have heard him from so far away? There was no hero on the current Council's roster that matched his description, unless Anubiz wore a muscle-suit under his outfit. Unlikely.
"I will end you for what you've done to her."
I can still hear him, in spite of the distance, but why does this civilian care so much about the hero? Sure, there's a cult-like fan group that supports her and pays money into some off-shore account to keep her sated and clothed to do her job as a full-time hero, but even one of them stands no chance against me. I stamp my heel into the floor and a half-tonne chunk of the pavement beside me bounces into the air. As it reaches its apogee I spin-kick it at the man and face the other way as I wait to hear the inevitable crunch and splatter of a defenceless body hit by such a weight. Three, two, one...
Nothing.
I turned back around to see why there was no sound of impact and see something... unexpected. The half-tonne chunk of pavement and cement is... floating. The man, hidden by its size, appears as he barely breaks pace on his way toward me.
Impossible.
I try to wrench the chunk at him from behind, but nothing happens. The man cannot be holding it, even with telekinesis. Surely? Surely if he had stopped it dead then he would have had to take the whole weight with an outstretched arm or two. Wait. There are no telekinetic heroes on the Council. There hasn't been one for years, and she's as dead as Strateria.
I pull at the fire behind me and blast it at him like a flamethrower, his clothes begin to singe and melt away but once again, he does not break his stride toward me. That feeling in the back of my throat is there again, I'm beginning to panic. Who the hell is this guy? Sharp spikes made of ice miss their target. A push of wind does nothing to break his stride either. I step back once again to give myself room to use my powers and stand right onto Strateria's motionless ankle. I roll my own over hers and fall beside her as the man stands tall over me. I look to her quickly, in case this is one of her tricks of illusion but she has never pretended to be dead before to trick me.
"She is my wife." The man over me says as he pulls me up without moving. Telekinesis for sure.
"Who are you?" I tremble in his grasp, my bowels wanting to loosen in fear.
"I am Revocan."
Oh shit.
* * *
Like this? Find more of my work over on [/r/ocallkai](https://reddit.com/r/ocallkai/) | "She just keep pushing sir!. The traps dont work! She in unaffected by fire, she just jump over the crocodile pit with ease and now she is breking the 3-multi-layer adamantium carbon fibre door whit her bare hands!"
"How... How did she find us?????!! This place is in the botton of the sea for god sake!"
"She... she just came down here swing sir...."
"God helps us...."
The door break down and Ostia enter the room where the nemesis of his husband was. The minions did not bother to shoot her. The flying snakes flee at her sighs. The woman look around the round. They all looked away, except for Thagatos the great, the evil lord of the deep seas and darkest corners of the world.
"YOU!" Ostia said, as she aproach Thagatos, rolling up her sleeves. "Did you think that was funny!? You knew muy husband was allergic to the flying snakes! How dare you to use them against him!?? You are lucky he will be okey!!"
&#x200B;
"I... Who do you think you are talking to wo/!!.."
&#x200B;
Thagatos was interrupted. Ostia rushes towards him in a blink of an eye, slaping him in right check so hard, that even his soon, Hyperium the lord of war, felt it.
&#x200B;
Thagatos wake up a few hours later, confused and with a big ass headache. One of his minions aproach him with a note.
&#x200B;
"Sir, she told us to gave you this after she left..."
&#x200B;
Thagatos take the note, confuseed and read it
""If I say you playing with him again, you are dead. Also, your wife says you'd better be early for dinner with her parents.""
"Fucking hell...."
Thagatos sigh. | 2021-07-15T08:17:32 | 2021-07-15T07:01:48 | 57 | 12 |
[WP] They say "Never meet your heroes", and boy were they right. So you decided to meet your villain, hoping to be wrong about them as well. | "Listen kid, I have a lot of plotting and scheming to do. I don't really have time for visitors."
Tech-Tonic was as intimidating in person as he was on the news. In fact, being here in front of him was paralyzing. Now I could see, up close and in detail, each of the devastating machines he's used to shake cities to their foundations. The earthquakes he's produced have never been lower than an 8.8 on the Richter scale. It was incredible.
"But Tech-Tonic, er, Mr. Tonic- Mr. Tech-Tonic, sir-"
"I don't want people in my lab getting sneak previews of my work," he interrupted. "If this information leaks, Remarkable Man is gonna be on me like white on rice. And I hate rice!"
Quickly, I responded, "I would never leak your research, sir. Especially not for Remarkable Man. I've met him a few times and, well... he's a bit of a dick."
Tech-Tonic snapped his head around to me as soon as the words fell out of my mouth. I can't believe I just called the world's greatest hero a 'dick!' But it was true. They say "never meet your heroes," and I should've listened. Remarkable Man really was the worst in real life.
"What did you just say?" Tech-Tonic cautiously asked me.
I stuttered and stammered for a while. "I- uh... I said he's a dick, sir. Every time I've met him, he's either ignored me, told me to 'scram,' or pushed me out of his way. That last one really hurt by the way! Even when he's just kinda nudging something, he uses that crazy super strength!"
He stared at me for a moment. Then, slowly, a smile grew over his face. That smile cracked open and let out a laugh with a twisted joy the likes of which I can't say I had ever heard before in my life. He was so captivated in the subjective humor of it all that he threw his head back and let it all pour out of him like smoke from a chimney. It was terrifying, but I couldn't look away. When he finally began to settle down, he turned to me again.
"Finally!" he rejoiced. "Someone who sees the real Remarkable Man like I do! The godly façade he puts on for the cameras and journalists is as see through as the magnifying glass I've had him under for years! He's nothing more than an egomaniac with the power to destroy us all the moment he grows bored with us! I've made it my mission to erase him from this world and liberate the populous from his oppressive clutches, no matter how much of society I have to take down with him! I can't begin to express how refreshing it is to meet another human being who can see as clearly as I can. What do you do for a living, son?"
"I'm... an engineer, sir," I managed to squeak back.
"Excellent!" he proclaimed. "Another set of hands and a fresh pair of eyes to assist me with my newest creation!" He walked over to a tarp draped over something enormous. When he pulled away the tarp, my breath went with it. The machine underneath was nothing short of scientific perfection. I was still in awe when I heard him speak again.
"Together, my boy, we will save the world." | I still see the water whenever I dream. I was on the 101st floor of the Cadmin Tech building and even though it swayed back and forth so violently, I thought it was about to snap in two, I survived the tsunami. It was a fairly typical fight, Cosmicus had defended the city for almost 30 years at that point, but this villain was unlike the others. He could fly faster than anyone I'd ever seen and when he grabbed Cosmicus and launched into the sky with him, I figured I'd see a giant fireball or something as he was dispatched. But both came back to earth in a violent fireball that flash boiled a billion gallons of ocean water and sent the waves 3 miles inland. By the end of their battle almost a hundred thousand people had perished and I thought they both were among the fallen. But yesterday I was eating at the local diner when a ragged vagrant came in and sat at the counter beside me. He only looked at hi coffee and didn't say anything beyond ordering his dinner. But I recognized the voice. He hid it well but I could tell from the accent that he hadn't learned English from a elementary teacher. Before he left, I asked him what he'd done since that day. "nothing. And that's how it's going to stay. Now piss off before I show you why it's a bad idea to talk to strangers". Then he pulled a brown bottle from a paper bag and walked out. After that I wanted to find his nemesis. If Cosmicus was alive, Monsignor Mortality was too and I suspected he might be in town still. | 2022-06-28T10:48:55 | 2022-06-28T09:12:50 | 409 | 28 |
[WP] Walking through a dark forest, you stumble across a little shrine. In the middle of the shrine is a mirror. There are inscriptions around the mirror "Gaze into me and I'll show you your soul". You step up to the mirror. What do you see? | I had been lost in these woods for a full day. I never should have left my campsite without my map and compass; now I'm lucky just to have found water an hour before. *Blech, I bet it had parasites despite how clear it was; I'm not feeling so good.*
It was then that I found the shrine. There had been no mention of it on the map; surely a landmark such as this would have been mentioned. *At least it's in a clearing, so a search helicopter should be able to find me.*
It was then that I noticed the mirror with its mysterious inscriptions on the frame surrounding it: "Gaze into me and I'll show you your soul." *Heh, something out of a fantasy. It's worth passing the time with it, though.*
So I gazed into it, and I was awestruck by what I saw. A cute, fox-like face with large eyes and a white mask gazed back at me, and I realized I had the soul of a [bassarisk.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ringtail) It was so cute, I failed to notice the warning below that said if I gazed too long, I would become what the mirror showed me, and by the time I did, I had found myself on the ground on all fours, a tail as long as my body with black and white rings extending past my rear. I still had my humanity then, but as the days passed with me dwelling in the forest, hunting to sustain myself, it slowly slipped away, supplanted by bassarisk needs, wants, and instincts. Winter came and went, and I found myself a lovely mate in the spring.
It didn't occur to me that bassarisks didn't live naturally in this area, that this was another victim of the mirror's enthrallment, but eventually humans started asking questions as to why there were so many non-native species in this forest. It was then that the mirror called out to us for help: scientists had found it, and wanted to take it away from the shrine that sustained its magic. If they were successful, this forest's wildlife would cease to exist.
With our existence and that of so many others at stake, we snapped back into our human minds, a gift of the mirror in hopes we would save it. Many creatures answered the call, including my mate and I and our children. The scientists did not know what to make of this, until one postulated that the non-native wildlife had once been human. This understandably spooked the scientists, and they packed up and left the shrine, never to return.
As a show of its gratitude, the mirror gave us creatures our human bodies back - to an extent, at least. The mirror had changed us at a fundamental level, and so we became anthropomorphic versions of our formerly feral selves. And it was so that we reintegrated into society, the mirror extending its magic to our eyes. Those who look into a Soulman's eyes long enough, it is said, become a Soulman themselves. And the world has embraced this, as humans long to see their souls made manifest on the outside. And so, that brings me to you, the last human. Will you gaze into my eyes and embrace your soul's true form? That's just a mirror now, it has no power anymore.
Edit: A few words and a sentence to bring the story together. | She looked like me, but not really. In fact, she looked more like me than any other reflection I’d seen.
Her eyes weren’t as closely set as mine.
Her face was longer, more structured.
She wasn’t a pencil, but she was thinner than I was.
She was a little taller than I was—by less than a foot, but still noticeable.
Her chest was smaller than mine, which I liked. Mine was always too unwieldy, too painful.
I started crying. This was the first time I’d ever seen myself in a mirror. Not the body I felt trapped in, the body covered in my own claw marks, but me. It was beautiful—so beautiful, in fact, that I couldn’t keep looking.
I wish I’d never looked at that mirror. Because while there’s some things that can be changed with exercise, diet, or even plastic surgery, there’s some things that I knew I could never change. I’d likely be on my deathbed knowing that I’d never look like my true self.
All in all, dysphoria—no matter the cause, no matter the gender—sucks ass.
(Author’s Note: Not many people know that dysphoria isn’t always about gender, but it’s true. I myself am not trans, though I deeply thank the trans community for first teaching me about dysphoria. I deal with non-gender dysphoria, as well as depersonalization and derealization. If my story can help even one person realize they’re not alone, it’ll be worth it.) | 2022-11-06T19:10:30 | 2022-11-06T17:10:41 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] The world has taken precautions against super-powered beings, handing out inhibitors if deemed too 'destructive.' You sat in the principal's office with horror etched on your face as a pair of inhibitor gloves were handed to you. The smug grin of your life long bully telling you everything. | "What are those for?" I breathed weakly.
The question was rhetorical, of course. We'd seen those accursed gauntlets everywhere. Criminals and commoners alike were forced to wear them, so long as they were dangerous. The wrist cuffs were magnetized and anything that was special about a person was drained from them in just a second. The exceptional that could withstand the gauntlets, however, feared them especially. The bulky plates on the top held an explosive. If the emitters detected a power spike beyond what they could contain, the entire contraption would detonate.
The luckiest of bastards would die from the blast.
"Master Timothy Question..." The principal's youthful voice cut across the room as his neat suit and dark eyes. His somber tone was intended to match the severity of the conversation, of course, but the hint of amusement he held was impossible to mask. "There have been multiple observed occasions where you have displayed...potential. Concerning potential."
Lies, I wanted to yell. I was practically powerless. The only ability I had was to give food special properties. All I'd ever mustered was to give my friends peace at lunch during the boring school days. I was hardly a danger.
"You know, of course, there are protocols for individuals that pose such dangers." He continued while occasionally glancing into the corner of the room, as if confirming some dialogue with Shaggy Vaser, the prat that saw fit to torment me every day with his telekinesis.
I nodded nervously, though. What else could I do? There wasn't a damn thing I could do to argue the situation. The alternative to the gauntlets was far worse. So I sat in my uncomfortable wooden chair and stared at the floor.
"What dangers?" A voice came through the door. All heads turned to see my father barge through the door with his eyes wide. Barely a second and he was in the principal's face and prepared for war. "What the hell is it you think my boy can do!?"
Of course the principal didn't even flinch. Hell, he just smiled as he reached and grabbed one of the gauntlets. "I'm certain you're fully aware, what with having raised him all his life."
The ensuing argument wore on my nerves as though I was the very battlefield. I could only clench my fits and hear the argument intensify. The more they fought, the more I felt myself unwind inside. The more I unwound, the more they fought.
"MISTER QUESTION, THE ABILITY TO MANIPULATE EMOTIONS IS ABSOLITELY WITHIN REASON TO NEED TO REGULATE!" The principal bellowed as he waived one of the gauntlets in the air. "DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THE ATROCITIES HE COULD COMMIT WITH ONLY A THOUGHT!?"
"I UNDERSTAND THAT PUTTING THAT GAUNTLET ON HIM WILL MAKE MONSTERS OUT OF EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM!" My father's passioned retort was followed by the slam of his fist. The scuffle was short-lived as the principal fell to the ground with a thud.
Seconds later, Shaggy hit the ground, as well.
"Tim." After a moment of silence, my father stood before me with worry in his eyes, staining them with lines of red. "Tim, we need to go. We-we need to go. They'll cuff us both for this. I'm sorry...son..."
I shook as I leaned forward and rested my forehead against him, quietly sobbing. With a quick nod, I wrapped my arms around him and tried to compose myself.
"One thing first..." I mumbled. I looked up and met his unspoken question. "A gauntlet for each of them. They'll need to free the two of them first before coming after us..." | "No, no, no, no, youre maki-"
"QUIET!"
Said the princibal wanting be to put the gloves on me
"Please dont do this."
I said scared of what would happen, but then i noticed, my bully sitting and watching from the lockers with his "gfs", the grin on his face, i knew that he said to the principal about my powers.I knew pushing him would be a bad idea, i just didnt think this would happen.
"i shouldve controled my powers like my Ma told me"
i think to myslef.
The princibal forced me to put the gloves on, i had to comply or id end up like my brother.
Suddenly i feel it, all my powers being locked away and fall to the ground with a "THUMP"
&#x200B;
"What was that" i think to myself as i wake up from sleep, in a power suppression room.
&#x200B;
"WHERE AM I" i scream
&#x200B;
"Looks like 2335-AR woke up" Says a guard watching over me,
"GR-A?WHAT DO YOU MEAN,"I say, as i remember what my teacher told me:
"A is the highest followed by B then C and so forth and the number show what level it is, for example 1 is the most dangerous and 9999 is the least dangerous"
"Yea you destroyed almost destroyed an entire shcool, and when you were found you were in a hole"
I knew it then, i was being locked up for dangerous and deadly power usage,
"i guess i almost destroyed another school, wlep time to go on the run again"
i think to myself.
"i wonder how my power stealing will hold up here, i think i should go for 12 powes stolen to be safe and have a list of powers to choose from" | 2022-12-25T07:48:11 | 2022-12-25T07:08:03 | 46 | 17 |
[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? :/ | My 18th birthday had finally come. The step to adulthood, the leap towards life.
I looked around, and all of my friends who were older then me brought theirs, wondering what I would get while the rest were wondering what they would get soon.
The cake was beautiful, with animal figurines all over it, each animal hoping to be chosen. One was missing though.. you could see the spot of which it used to stand.
"THREE! TWO! ONE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" everyone chanted as the clock struck noon, the exact time of my birth.
I looked outside the window. The "18th birthday animal service" had come with an unusually big package, the size of a mountain.
We all went outside to see what it was. My mom put her hand on my shoulder and said these exact words,
"Hope for the best, for only the lord knows what this could be. Strive to keep your animal healthy and come to us for any help. We know what your going through.. now get ready and open light to whatever is inside."
I nodded with tears in my eyes. What did she mean by that? I passed it to the back of my mind and looked up at the mountain of cardboard and tape.
"We now give you... a..."
Everyone froze. I gasped. A dragon? No one had ever gotten one before.
I looked up at it and it looked down at me. Smoke came out of his nostrils and it grunted with pleasure.
The news team was just down the block when I mounted the fiery beast. It was time, no one could deny it.
Time to be free of childhood and fear.
| 2014-09-28T08:54:52 | 2014-09-28T08:35:49 | 318 | 12 |
[WP] Your son has had an imaginary friend since he was little. As he got older, she became his imaginary girlfriend, then his imaginary wife. One day, you've had enough of his delusions. You go over to his house, and are greeted at the door by your imaginary grandchild. | I’ve had enough. Raising my kid all these years made me think, this won’t go on forever will it? It’s just a phase. Well that’s what I thought. I was cooking up my meal when I get a text, it’s my son. Call me old fashioned but I hate texts, so I gave him a call. “What’s up Jimmy?” I asked him after he picked up. “Dad, I want you to meet my kids, the ones I told you about.”
Great. Just great, meeting his imaginary little kids that his imaginary wife had at get this, an imaginary hospital. It was hard to tell if Jim had a mental disorder, apart from the whole imaginary people things he seemed completely normal. But after all these years, I’m sure he crossed the line. “Sure thing Jim, I’ll be there tonight.” I played along.
I arrive at his house, I give myself a speech.
“Get it together James he’s just a little mental no big deal, it’s time to talk to him about your point of view.” I thought to myself. As I finished repeating the same thing over and over again I see him look through the window and signal me to come in. I step out the car and lock it, walking towards the house made me feel mental as well. I knocked.
“Grandpa!”
Kids. Real kids. There are legitimately 3 real toddlers inside his house. They all ran up to me and hugged my leg.
“Hey you little guys.” I tell them awkwardly.
Jim walks into the living room, stares at this so called beautiful moment for about a minute and finally says, “Ah, dad, glad you could make it, Maria isn’t here but she did leave a nice dish of chicken Alfredo.”
“Very, uh nice of her, may I use your restroom first though?”
“Upstairs, and to the left.” A little one said.
I ran to the bathroom, closed the door immediately and looked at myself. I’m old, it’s natural. He’s getting old, it’s also natural. What’s not natural is the fact that this man just gave me grandkids with someone who doesn’t even exist. What is going on? Has my life been a whole lie, maybe a dream? I didn’t know what to believe in anymore. I looked at myself one last time before I headed back out there. It seemed that the deeper I looked into my own eyes, the more insane I felt. Maybe it’s been me who’s been so delusional. | The news crew who got tipped about this showed up at the house to interview the father. He was a spattered mix of jubilation and tears as he held a bundle of baby's blankets close to his chest. He confided in the anchor as the camera man fixed the shot on him.
"I never could have imagined that my son would have a child. But, while I was driving, it turns out I couldn't have been more wrong! I remember when people told me that I didn't have a son and that he was imaginary. I just feel so bad for treating him the same way I was treated, which is why I'll do everything to be the best grandpa that I can be." | 2018-01-26T13:00:54 | 2018-01-26T09:15:09 | 16 | 11 |
[WP]When members or your family turn fifteen they are able to manifest a weapon that they will use for the rest of their lives. You’ve been trained to use all manner of weapons to prepare to be able to wield whatever weapon you summon. On your Summoning day what appears in front of you is a book. | "...a book?", "The boy got a book, how...", "What weapon did he summon?" "...the boy's weapon?" "Why does he hold a book?"
The whispers in the hall surrounded me, their judging eyes piercing my soul, searching for answers. I remember that day still. For weeks after that I struggled to make sense of it, to find my place among the ranks of my own peers. A book could not hunt, it could not carve or support, it could not kill, it couldn't even protect but it could burn they would say. Many times people in the village tried to burn my book, I would not let them. No matter how useless the book was, it was still my summoned weapon and tradition dictated that I would carry it to my grave. I was proud of myself whenever I refused to give the book away. I thought the hardship and the rejection I felt was my weapon's test, so I gladly faced it.
"What's in it anyways?" - That doomed question. I had a crush on poor Phoebe at the time, and I was 15 so I didn't know any better but still I cringe to this day and regret it ever so slightly. When she asked me what was in the book I decided to lie, the book contained my own life story after all and everytime I told it to someone they would not believe me, thinking I was only making it up to shoo them away. Everything that would happen to me would be written in the book the next time I opened it. Of course I did try to write my own fate but no ink would stick, it was useless. All I had was just a very detailed record of my life, lest I forget the embarrassing moments of my life.
When the girl asked, however, I was sick of it, I'd answered this question a million times so I couldn't be bothered. I opened the book on a random page and looked at Phoebe.
"It says here that you're going to kiss me, uh... isn't that funny?" I smirked, thinking I was so smooth, but lo and behold she did kiss me and I was over the moon. I kissed my crush and I didn't even had a Battleaxe like my father before me, eat my dust old man.
That following week was the last week of freedom I ever had. One night when I started feeling bored I checked the book again and there it was, the whole week in detail, the kiss, the giggles, the walks, the fights and make ups. I loved reading it but then it hit me. I made her kiss me by lying, except it wasnt a lie, because it did say so in the book... "Which came first?!?" I wondered.
I took my book and ran outside. "Hey you!" I'd found an old grumpy man going somewhere in a hurry, he seemed the right fit for this test.
"This book here says you're going to take me to the butcher's"
"Bloody hell lad, you don't know where it is yet? Come on I'll take you there!"
It worked! Or did it? We were in the butcher's but the old man did it so happily, could it be the book? Or was it just my confidence that made people listen to me? Every new test I conducted was so unclear. In my desperation I once told an old lady that my book said she loved being naked in public, which made her strip right there, but it turned out that everyone knew about her declining mental but me! Every outlandish thing I could think of to claim off my book, somehow was already part of reality. I could not tell what was real and what wasn't anymore, even using the book for paradoxical claims left me with contradictory memories that only I suffered. I had to stop looking for logical answers lest I broke my mind.
Have now my confession:
Since then I have used the book for all matter of changes that led me to become the man you all look up to, but I'm tired of being king. I have my people's love and have made their lives better. I should feel proud of my accomplishments but I am alone in this world of my creation. Not another book has been summoned in my life, it's time I stopped waiting. I only hope I leave you with a world worth living in...
The book says I lived a worthy life and died a happy man. |
My family of warriors, each gripping their distinctive weapons or sheathed at their sides, looked at me—with varying levels of pity.
For my fifteenth birthday, the day I should have manifested my very own weapon, I got a book. It was as thick as two of my hands laid on top of each other, and as long as my palm. It would, genuinely, be more energy efficient to hit somebody with my bare hands than with this.
“Obviously, I trained with swords,” I muttered. “And spears, clubs, maces, daggers, staffs. Even morning stars, evening stars… And I got a book.”
My family left me alone—old bruises whispering to them not to disturb me at this time, less they got little cousins that smarted all over their skin.
I sat for hours, looking at this thing, Day turned to night, and its plain presence remained nothing special to stare at, except that it burned its disappointment into me like a freshly fired brand.
“A book,” I whispered. Like somehow, acknowledging its presence, recognizing it as a divine joke, could possibly change the situation.
Nothing changed in the silence of darkness, with even the sun giving up on me. The dead of night was not the time for looking on the bright side. I simply slammed my fists onto the table, feeling familiar pain moaning in my knuckles—usually an unwelcome necessity of martial training, now a welcome distraction of a warrior past.
The book flipped to its dead centre. I could hardly bear to look at it, but this was sunk cost. What’s done was done. Hours did not change anything, and the new day likely wouldn’t. So I lit a candle, and cautiously peeked over—perhaps there was a spell, or a long-lost log book of a secret technique. Those could be considered weapons.
It was blank.
Of course. That deserved another punch to the table, which promptly cracked, sending splinter shards into my hand. The blood dripped, dripped…
Right onto the book. Instead of a stain, I watched with wide eyes as the book hungrily drank. With trembling, bleeding fingers, I turned to the front page, seeing red ink scratch itself out onto the page.
> In the beginning was the Blood of the weapon.
This was no weapon, the thought flashed by my head like a swift slash of the sword.
With a little skill on my part, however, this could be a dangerous weapon.
“O,” I whispered, tracing the fresh blood on the page. “Ye of little faith.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-12-12T09:05:28 | 2021-12-12T08:08:33 | 1,442 | 142 |
[WP] You sang to your plants to help them grow. Now, as you are on your deathbed, you hear faint whispers coming from the trees. | It sounded like the wind at first, like that little hush before a storm. The windows were open and the cabin breathed with it, gulped for air for a few, final moments.
Then it wasn't a wind at all.
The trees breathed years onto my sweat-soaked skin, they spoke decades. The forest was alive with days, weeks, months and all of them whispered into the cabin like ghosts in the night air. One, a great oak, talked of an afternoon spent watching my hands as they collected up mushrooms, as they slipped in their circles and left tribute for the little spirits there.
An elm, tall and old as the ceaseless sea beyond, remembered to me a boy with five freckles on his cheek and a rip in his shirtsleeves. It told, in its weathered ring of a voice, of the day that we met beneath its branches and whispered secrets to each other behind muddied hands. Of when we kissed and laughed and how I watered its bark with my tears when he left me, when winter placed its frosty hands on the forest.
A soft voice carried from the cliff-face, just up the path from the cabin; a little sapling lilted sea shanties whose words I cast off the coast not so very long ago. Its mother, it said, had gifted me the thick cane I used to walk, its sibling the wooden soles of my clogs. It described the soft of my palm as I patted it for that last time. *Goodbye, my friend. Goodnight.*
The cabin shook with their voices. The trees, who had been silent for so long, composed among them a eulogy. I felt the damp of it on my cheeks.
As I rasped, a birch cooed a lullaby into my clearing. A little song it learned from me and I learned from my mother, her mother, her mother's mother. It leafed the lyrics to the night air and my mouth moved in tandem though no sound could leave my lips now. They were rough and worn as splintered wood, throat dry as a drought.
The gypsophilia beneath my window sighed a story of a spring its roots remembered: when I pressed my mouth to the earth and prayed and whispered and begged the ground to give me a single bud, just one. When I pressed my knuckles to my belly and kneaded the flesh like fresh earth, when I raked at it, when I screamed. It apologised, then, and I could almost feel the petal-soft kiss of baby's breath upon my cheeks.
It was drawing close, the last knot on my trunk. That last chiseled notch of my years. My hand felt heavy like holding and the elder, whose branches sheltered the cabin against years of wind and salt and rain and sand, murmured close in my ear. It hummed a tune so quiet I could barely hear.
But I felt it heavy in my chest, their breath and mine one final time.
----------
*Thank you for reading. If you like my weird little word-creatures, take a peek through* [r/TheKeyhole](http://www.reddit.com/r/thekeyhole) | All my life, I sang to my plants. Others in my family scoffed, but I thought it made them happy. Indoor plants, outdoor plants, even once in the woods when I was by myself, I sang.
My life was good. Love, family, purpose were all mine. I knew that it would be soon. I asked my children to leave the window open tonight, so I could feel the breeze. I overheard the brief argument in the hallway, but eventually my eldest said, “Well, it’s not like he’s going to die any slower if we don’t.” They left the window open.
I was nearly asleep when I heard it. I heard the whispering in the trees, but it sounded different this time. I tried to concentrate, but I couldn’t hear it clearer. Then I relaxed and enjoyed. That is when I heard it.
I heard my songs echoing back to me. I could hear the plants as they sang to me a final goodbye. And not just the ones I owned, oh no. Their children sang to me, too; their tiny voices producing such harmony with my lifelong friends.
I felt my pain ease and my breath slow. Soon, I was singing along with them, though my body was not. I sang my goodbye to the living and made my off to see the rest of my loved ones in the land of the dead. | 2020-04-30T15:01:53 | 2020-04-30T12:46:54 | 680 | 189 |
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.” | “Yep, you better get up!” A woman clothed in white dress said with indifference.
“T-This is nonsense!” A youth gazed at the woman with shock as he muttered. “I am not even a woman!”
“You can be a warlock, no?” Another woman who seemed to be younger replied with a mischievous smile.
“Either way, it is not up for us to decide.” The third woman gazed at the small creature that was purring on the young man’s lap.
As if noticing their gazes, the small cat opened his large eyes and meowed twice.
“Yep, it is clear enough.” The woman in white said as she continued. “Hurry up and help him fetch his stuff up.”
“You are one of us now! Let's have a feast tonight!” The younger woman said energetically as she joined his sisters and packed everything she saw.
“This-” The young man opened his mouth with a dumbfounded expression only to close it once again. In the end, he didn’t know what he was going to say.
His gaze finally landed on the small kitten at his lap. She was looking right at him with sparkling eyes.
He would think all of this was a bad joke if the girls didn’t rush into his house from the sky. Even now, the younger one seemed to hover in the air as she leaped from one object to another.
Just when his eyes landed on her, he noticed the object she was holding.
His expression turned gloomy as he asked. “Hey, can you give that to me.”
“Ohh! What is this?” She waved the old book with yellow pages with wonder.
“Some kind of antique but it is important to me.”
Just as she was examining the book, a cold voice rang out.
“Meowww!!”
Upon hearing this, three women froze stiff as they gazed at the small kitten with fear.
The youngest woman hovered towards the boy with sadness and lowered her head. “I was only curious…”
“Meow…”
She beamed sweetly as she said. “I won’t!”
Throwing another glance towards the boy, she muttered. “The book is out of bounds for me… but that will be it.” After giving out a smirk, she returned to her job.
Feeling slightly confused, the young man gazed at the small kitten. He smiled softly as he said “Thanks..” Funny enough, he found himself accepting his new position as he didn’t oppose them. His life was boring enough and he was truly happy with his new friend.
Petting the small cat, he began to ponder on many things and finally made up his mind. He was going to enjoy this new journey! Not that, he had a choice...
Purring with bliss, the cat closed her eyes and began to sleep. Watching his new friend, a smile appeared on his face.
After the work was done, they departed towards their home. | I screeched. Loudly. The witches began screaming as well, clearly disgruntled by my choice of verbal communication until one witch had the genius idea to pimp slap me, effectively shutting me up.
When I came to, the sun was high in the sky, sitting nicely behind a large, white cloud. Leaves entered my view, proliferating it with shades of green that battled with the otherwise clear blue of the sky. I was moving.
*we* were moving.
Groggy, I tried my hand in sitting.
“Well, hello there, sleepy beauty.” One of the witches snickered, flicking my right ear.
The witch allowed me to sit, in fact she helped me upright, nodding her head in understanding when I gasped.
Before me, an alignment of small abodes of smooth sandstone stood beside each other, divided by yellow picket fences. On the lawns of each home sat one person~not witch, *person*~their eyes trained on the arterial road that fed through the street.
“Welcome home, Hardy.” | 2019-10-27T02:42:18 | 2019-10-27T02:24:41 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Demons have finally discovered a way to summon humans and they take great joy in summoning humans to hell to do mundane chores in revenge for humans doing that to them for centuries. | Lorx carefully scratched a seven point star into the ground with his claws, double checking his geometry. Next he put a flag on the first point.
"For your pride!" Lorx chanted.
He placed a watch on the second, "For your envy!"
A cheeseburger for the third, "For your gluttony!"
And so the demon continued until the whole star had different relics on each corner. He consulted his spell book, the human flesh parchment trying to flake out of the book as he read.
"Human of Earth," Lorx read, " I have sacrificed unto thee, may you sacrifice your time unto me? I bid thee answer my call."
Within seconds all the sacrifices around the star began to rot, turn to dust, and disappear. The star began to glow, so bright that Lorx had to look away. Then it was dark again, the only illumination coming from a bone fire and distant lava flows.
"Whoa, this definitely isn't OSHA approved," the human acknowledged.
Lorx chuckled in excitement, startling the human. Hearing a demon chuckle would startle about anyone, it sounds like someone gasping for air, coughing and cackling at the same time.
"Oh hey there," the human looked up at the looming demon, "what can I do you for?"
The demon stared back. The human was dressed up strangely. A hardhat, headlamp, reflective vest, and steel toed boots just to name a few things.
"You seem awfully well prepared." The demon acknowledged.
"Well yeah, I joined a temp agency recently and they provide stuff."
"Temp agency?"
"Yeah, ever since the summonings started happening, people have been capitalizing on it."
Lorx fell silent, he didn't know what to make of it.
"So, what's the job?" The human asked.
"Oh, I just wanted you to suffer a bit for my entertainment, but now I'm curious. Tell me about this temp agency."
"Well I'm already suffering in this heat and I get paid for the hour so I'll be glad to tell you everything and then some."
"Paid? The sacrifices made are destroyed, how are you paid?"
"Oh I'm paid in money for being in the right place at the right time and doing the sort of things to bring me down here whenever a demon gets bored. It almost guarantees that politicians and richtards don't die in hell early."
"Money, that's one of the relics I used, but why do you want it?"
"Look, l'll put this in terms a demon can understand. I get paid to suffer with money. Money represents hours spent suffering. When I want something else. I spend money to buy things made by other humans suffering."
Lorx fell silent again. This wasn't fun anymore. The human before him was tapping his foot expectantly waiting eagerly for something to pass the time.
"You know what?" Lorx said, "Just walk home." | "What the fuck Agi?" I said as the smoke rolled off me. The smell of brimstone hit my nostrils immediately and I gagged on the taste.
"I was in the middle of an exam?!" The frustration mounted and I was starting to get pissed at Agara. This had been the third time this week. Sure, she was a 15 foot tall lust deamon who had a lady boner for me, but I had shit to do. Practice, class, exams, and job left me with exactly zero hours for horny deamons.
"What?" She replied is a sultry voice. Pulling her blouse slightly down, reveling the skin underneath. "It's so hot down here, and I need a way to relax." I rolled my eyes and sighed heavily. I grabbed my bag and began to take off my polo.
15 minutes later we had just finished mile 2 with my dog Cerberus. Agara's face lit up when she looked at my dog. | 2020-07-01T17:15:18 | 2020-07-01T15:09:36 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] An unnamed henchmen has the audacity to murder the protagonist halfway through the villain's monologue with a complete disregard for the plot. | Lord Mestophiles smirked as the young man was forced to kneel on the plush carpet in front of his throne.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't young Luka."
He stood, and paced back and forth in front of his helpless captive.
"You've been a real pain, Luka. A real thorn in my side. I should have killed you along with your parents. Still, at least I can make up for that now - after you've seen me burn your town to the ground and feed your friends to the crocodiles, of course."
Unseen by the pacing madman, Luka twisted his bound wrists until the ropes loosened. From a hidden pocket in his pants, he slid the hilt of a sword. The blade was broken an inch from the crosspiece, but it glowed with a strange purple energy.
Lord Mestophiles turned to face him. "After that, it's just a matter of time before I reach the castle itself, and the kingdom is mine. Maybe I'll keep your precious friend the princess alive, just long enough for you to see her scream. Or maybe I can find something more...*fun* to do with her." He chuckled, and half turned away. "The future is looking very bright indeed, and-- "
*Now!*
Luka leapt forward, the sword cutting his bonds and swinging toward his demented captor in one swift motion. He was so focused on his target that he failed to notice the arrow that had lodged itself in his own chest until he collapsed, gasping, on the rug. Mestophiles whirred around, taking in the scene, before turning to the crossbow-wielding soldier behind him.
"What the shit, Kyle? Why would you do that? Are you retarded?"
The soldier looked perplexed.
"He had a sword, Sir. I thought, since I was supposed to protect you and all..."
Mestophiles sighed and swore under his breath, rubbing his forehead tiredly. In front of him, Luka was gurgling and coughing blood onto the nice rug.
"I'm the goddamn Lord of Darkness! You think I can't handle some kid with a broken sword? Of course I knew he was coming! I had this whole thing planned, I was gonna kick the sword out of his hand and grab it, say something witty... maybe like 'not so sharp now, huh?' or something, he'd be all 'oh no, you've bested me'. I don't know, I hadn't planned it that far yet. Now he's just lying there, bleeding on my carpet. Jesus." Luka continued his bloody gurgling, apparently oblivious to his breach of manners.
Kyle knew he had to be careful here. With the Lord this angry, he knew his life (and job) were in danger. He cleared his throat. "Well, at least the carpet's red. One wash, you'll never know anyone had died here. Except for the skulls on the wall-- "
"Shut up. Just shut the fuck up, Kyle. God, now I've got to go burn that town and kill all those people without an audience. It just takes all the fun out of it." He sighed one last time, and stalked down the hall and out of the throne room.
"And do you have any idea how hard it is to wash a rug that big?" His voice echoed around the corner. Kyle sighed as Luka's gurgling finally quietened. He had no doubts about who would be washing the rug. | "And finally Bats is my coup de grâce" Said the Joker "I am going to....."
**BANG**
The Joker turned around to see a bullet through Batman's head. And Batman's body slumped in the chair, blood streaming from the hole in his head. The Joker turned to his henchman Giggles, who was holding a steaming Desert Eagle. The henchman looked sheepishly at the super villain, nervously grinned and shrugged.
The mass murdering clown was anything but smiling, his face was red and contorted with anger. His hands were twitching and his teeth were grinding so hard you could practically hear them.
"See boss." Said Giggles quietly "I wasted the Bat, just like you always wanted me to"
Suddenly Joker was upon his henchman.
"**YOU MISERABLE.... I CAN'T WRAP MY HEAD AROUND.... YOU PATHETIC SNIVELING LITTLE SCUM SUCKING WRETCH!!!!**" He screamed at his former henchman as he beat him with his bear hands
"But.... Boss" Said Giggles weakly "I thought you wanted Batman dead"
"**BUT IT WAS SUPPOSED TO ME WHO KILLS HIM!! OR ELSE IT ISN'T FUNNY!! THAT'S THE JOKE!!** Joker yelled to the man standing behind them **SMILES! BRING ME MY HAMMER!"**
"Uhhhhh... Sure thing boss..." said Smiles as he ran off to find a hammer.
Joker looked down at the bleeding man underneath him. "Our fun is only beginning Giggles! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Joker said menacingly | 2015-06-24T01:16:43 | 2015-06-23T21:27:24 | 181 | 89 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly willingly hosts monsters and demons in his bar. When terrorists kidnap his children they learn the hard way how close he is to them. | "I'm telling yo captain the guy is clearly nuts, he's in there babbling, not making any sense."
"Thank you officer Munoz, but there is still a good chance its some kind of ploy to pull off an insanity plea. There is no way a man like Javier Moreno would have risen as far as he has with the rebels if he was insane." Captain Da Silva replied. "No! I will interview him myself and get to the bottom of this."
The grey-haired captain walked slowly towards the interrogation room, the lights flickered as he walked down the hall, and he rubbed at his eyes to clear away the afterimages.
"Pah, monsters, Moreno must really think we are all idiots."
Unlocking the door to the interrogation room, Da Silva glowered at the prisoner. While it was generally discouraged these days, his men had roughed the prisoner up, not that he blamed them. Moreno had been responsible for a number of kidnappings, murders, and bombings over the years. Hard to resist taking a little bit of vengeance on a bastard like that.
Moreno winced as Da Silva dragged his chair up to sit in front of the restrained prisoner.
"So, Moreno. My officers tell me you have quite the tale to tell."
The prisoner shuddered again, eyes darting to the corners of the room as if in a panic.
"I swear to God every word I have said is the truth! Please you must believe me!" Moreno practically screamed.
"Calm down and tell me again, from the beginning, and don't lie to me."
"We...we kidnapped a young girl this morning, on her way to school. She was the daughter of a local bartender, not important, but wealthy enough. figured we could score some quick cash, and the police wouldn't care even if he went to them."
Da Silva gritted his teeth. As much as he hated to admit it, most of his officers probably would have brushed off a small time bartender.
"What was this bartender's name?"
"Silbon..."
"and what happened next."
Moreno swallowed audibly.
"After we called him with our demands, we holed up in our safehouse. We figured he would need a few hours to get the ransom together and then we'd giver her back..."
Moreno trailed off, his eyes haunted.
"And then?"
"Then everyone fucking died."
"What do you mean everyone died, just like that? Tell me in detail!"
"Alright, please just, please... It started with Velasquez, he said he heard something outside so he went to check the door, but there was nobody there. As soon as he shut the damn thing he just... He just exploded. It's like he was just ripped apart from the inside."
"So perhaps a grenade or something?"
"No, no, just, listen... Then it came for the others, anyone sitting or standing in a shadow, they either disappeared or were torn to pieces. One by one, and throughout it all the laughter. I can still hear the fucking laughing man. It was enjoying itself!"
Moreno was becoming frenzied, his speech patterns growing erratic.
"Then why are you alive?! What happened next!"
"I was sitting right by the window, in the sun, Jesu-Maria, it was afraid of the light! It snatched the girl and then vanished! That's all I know! I swear!"
"Bullshit, I don't believe you!"
Da Silva hollered at the prisoner, but it was no good, the man had burst into tears and was now babbling incoherently.
"Fine, I'll be back later, perhaps a few hours alone will make you more amenable to answering truthfully."
As he left the interrogation room, Captain Da Silva flicked the light switch, turning out the light.
Moreno screamed loudly, thought it was suddenly cut short as the door closed on the cell.
Edit: This is my first attempt at a writing prompt. Thought the idea was fun and while I need to polish up my writing style I found this one enjoyable. | "I have been reading the local wifi signals. I suspect," the robot states, "Why it is we cannot receive fuel here."
An incubus next to the robot asks, "Fuel? We come here to get drunk, and occasionally laid."
"He has been kind enough to separate water into deuterium for my fusion reactor. Alcohol is fuel for you in a similar sense, correct?"
Krampus frowns. "Why, may I inquire, is the bar closed."
The robot looks up at the garish monster and curtly replies, "His female child has been abducted. The messages I can decrypt indicate possible terror related activity and/or extreme distraught."
The incubus looks to the other two. "We have so got to rescue her."
Krampus frowns. "You damn well not better be planning to sleep with her..."
The incubus shakes his head and waves his hands. "I'd never, not till she's a decade or two older. I'm more after the older crowd."
The robot beeps. "I have an idea as to where she may be. Does anyone have a map?"
Krampus presents one of the local maps used for Xmas deliveries/abductions. The robot places a mark on the map. "That is where we should go."
Krampus smiles. "Some naughty children to deal with tonight..."
-----
A tag team of creatures of ill repute burst into the warehouse. On the way, they discussed a plan of attack.
One: Krampus retrieves a lump of coal from his sack and tosses it.
Two: The robot - physically weak but sure of aim - punches it.
Three: The incubus ignites it as it sails through the air.
Ten minutes later, the trio return to the bar, Emily riding on Krampus's back (the robot being barely able to support it's own weight, and the incubus not wanting to even imply any funny business) and after a phone call, the door swings open.
A teary eyed barkeep smiles, and tell them that tonight, drinks are on the house. | 2018-01-31T14:18:04 | 2018-01-31T12:25:56 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You've died and have woken up in a bright area; there is a man standing before you in white robes. He asks "How was Heaven?" | My brain churned, trying to process this newfound information. "What, you mean life on earth? *That* shit was heaven?" God was an asshole for greeting me with such nonchalance, as if I ought to have already known. Wasn't this a rhetorical question, anyway? Shouldn't he have already known my opinion? In which case, I was fucked, because I was currently thinking about how much Heaven had sucked, and not even fear of God's omniscience was going to block out these thoughts.
"Well, it used to be earth, but we rebranded." God shrugged. "Our initial structure was flawed: only three realms for an infinite spectrum of morality? It wasn't fair to group your everyman with your Mother Theresa."
"Actually, Mother Theresa was a monster—" I began.
"Look, who's setting the rules, you or me?" God raised a pointed eyebrow, daring me to contest him. "Drop this wishy-washy secular humanism; it's not going to work in Superheaven." He noticed my look of confusion and added, "The level above heaven. It's more or less the same, except you actually have to go to church now."
My brain retched as hundreds of sleepy Sunday memories passed through it. God's facial expression didn't change; either he couldn't read my mind or he'd evolved beyond the confines of human body language. It was starting to bother me: how dismissive and cold he was. "Are there no other choices? "Other religions?" He shook his head, frowning. "Hell?"
"Why would you want to go to Hell?"
*In hopes Satan is cooler than you*, I thought. "Change of scenery," I said.
"Well, Hell doesn't exist," God said, beckoning me forward through the clouds, "We rebranded that too. It's now called Minor Heaven, and you can go there, but it's objectively inferior to Heaven and the realms above it. Observe." He snapped his fingers and a small model of earth began to revolve in the air. Then half of it burst into flames.
"What do you mean, you rebranded Hell?" Wasn't Hell supposed to act as a deterrent from sinning? What was the point of grouping it under the Heaven umbrella?
"Well, some people had a problem with the existence of Hell under a supposedly all-merciful god." God sighed and rubbed his temples. "Not that I ever promised to be merciful, but you know how humans are: they'll misquote you and hold you to it." He stopped and stamped the floor, summoning a rickety set of stairs that led into the sky. As he led me up them, he continued, "So, to get them off my back, I acquired Hell from Lucifer, renamed it, and everything's now fine and dandy. It's not like humans can tell they're in Hell, anyway." He chuckled. "You and your inability to comprehend greater dimensions."
"That doesn't sound very kosher, if I'm being honest." I said. God ignored me and continued climbing; I thought to turn and run the other direction, but the stairs behind me had vanished. I sighed and trudged onward; the steps seemed to go on for miles, and the fatigue and all the whiteness began to disorient me. After a while, I could no longer tell what direction I was heading; all I could do was follow the stairs.
I finally set foot on the landing, where a glowing red doorway stood, framing the rippling image of an entire realm behind it. "Welcome to the next realm of Heaven," God said, nudging me through. He left briskly, slamming the door shut behind him, perhaps still irritated with all of my questions.
My past life's memories began to die as I stepped through the doorway. Before they had completely faded, I noticed, at least, that my surroundings seemed distinctly earthly: the trees, the grass, the sun; nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for one alarming difference. Panic surged through me, but the moment passed, and I could no longer remember why everything was on fire. | Even though I've already died once before, the crunch of a bone snapped from impact still brings a deep sickness to my gut. At first I twist my head to let it all come out, but as I do I see a pair of pale feet in a pair of sandals. I twist away further to avoid expelling my last mortal meal between his toes.
"Excuse me?" I say.
"How was it? Heaven I mean," he says.
"Have you ever asked someone how their entire life was?"
"You act like I haven't," he says.
Still a little queasy, I sit up. My leg is an attic coat hanger, mangled and thin. Curiously I prod it and feel the need to twist away once more, but I overcome the urges. The pain is of body. When I look to the sky there are clouds are no longer below my feet but miles above me in a serene blue afternoon.
"Second chance," he says.
"Why though?" I ask.
"Why not?"
He smiles. The sort of you from a father when his son grasps that diploma. Or upon meeting eyes with his wife beneath a veil of white and beside a man in black reading from a book. It's a smile that says the rest of a life is in front of him. He folds his hands in front of him and, with the gentlest of nods, motions towards a set of cement towers with windows that reflect white in the sun.
"How long has it been down here, you think?" he asks. He raises his hand as if there's a watch there, but his robe peels back to reveal only skin. His smile vanishes. "Go on."
I turn my head towards the city. It feels like it's been a very long time, but I'm here. This is me. There's no grave. No casket. I really want to go back up there, it was so nice and comforting. But if there's one thing everyone wants, if there's one thing people ask of this man every second of every day, either for them or a loved one, it's a second chance.
"Okay, but can you call an ambulance first? For my leg," I say. "It really hurts." | 2016-08-15T22:19:09 | 2016-08-15T20:55:55 | 87 | 29 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | It wasn't hard to tell what she was, that's what attracted me to her in the first place, and when she said yes I was exhilarated. I dressed up all nice for our date, all black and everything, so the stains wouldn't show. It was fantastic! We went to the movies, had dinner at a nice Chinese place, and when she finally invited me over to her house I couldn't have been more ecstatic. She'd led me to her bed and immediately took the lead, she was so commanding, and I loved it. When she'd finally pinned me down she put her lips against my neck and I moaned in pleasure. Finally, she sunk her fangs deep inside, rupturing my vein and began sucking. I shivered as I felt the blood leave my body.
Finally she threw me to the woods behind her house, where I could smell the remains of so many similar to myself. God, she's so experienced! I say similar because they weren't like me. No, I was so much stronger. After all, being the daughter of the ruler of the Underworld came with its benefits! One of which is that I couldn't die until I chose to, another being that I could sense other Underworld supernaturals. My last ex was actually a were, but he was a bit too feisty for my taste, and I've always wanted to date a vampie.
My parent came into view and groaned at my appearance in their realm. "You really know how to pick them, don't you Bela. Why is it always you who?" I beamed at their words.
"You know I do! Now could you speed it up this time? My poor date will worry if I don't show up to class tomorrow!" I cheerfully reply. They massage their temples before motioning for me to walk out the heavily guarded ivory door behind me. I grin as I shove the door open.
"Wait for me Steph, baby!"
\--
I stop by a flower shop and buy a single black poppy. I think of buying a box of chocolates as well but I then remember that those will provide her no sustenance. I think the flower should be fine. I slam my locker, near forgetting to lock it before I practically skip to class. I pout as I realize she isn't waiting for me. I swing inside the classroom, a couple minutes before class starts. I grin brightly as I bring my hands down on her desk, with apparently enough force to leave a small dent in the metal. She seems startled as I stare at her lovingly. Oh, was she scared by my force? I really didn't mean to, but I didn't realize she startled this easily! A skittish vampire? That's so cute!
"Yesterday was great Stephenie! I was a bit hurt when you didn't even let me stay the night though, did I do something wrong?" I pout childishly. Her eyes dart around nervously before she narrows them at me, grabbing my collar and pulling me close. I blush at the proximity, in class too! I didn't know she was this forward!
"How did you survive" She hisses "you were drained empty, I killed you myself, *how*?" I blush, feeling her hot breath by my ear. The taste of my blood still on her breath, the smell of iron. I gulp.
"I didn't realize vamps couldn't sense it, maybe because you're younger? Or is it because you're a turned vampire?" I pondered. Most underworld creatures could sense the energy, if not feel then smell. Her eyes widen.
"Why do you know? No, *how* do you know?" She demands. I furrow my brows, about to answer before the teacher walks through the door.
"Please keep your hormones *outside* of my classroom. The janitor isn't paid nearly enough for that." Mr. E calls out. The class bursts into laughter before I turn my head back at him and give him a lopsided smile.
"Sorry Mr. E." I say as I make my way over to my desk, leaving the black flower on hers. *Lucky guess* I mouth at Stephenie as I sit down. She stares at the flower as it withers the moment it leaves my hand, before her pretty golden-brown eyes found mine yet again. | I couldn't believe it when my crush, Sarah, asked me out on a date after school. I had been crushing on her for ages and never thought she would feel the same way about me. I was so excited that I couldn't concentrate on anything else the entire day.
After school, we met up at a local park and spent the afternoon talking and laughing. It was the perfect date. As the sun started to set, Sarah suggested we go for a walk in the woods. I wasn't sure about it at first, but I didn't want to seem like a wimp, so I agreed.
As we walked deeper into the woods, Sarah suddenly stopped and turned to me. "I have a confession to make," she said, her eyes narrowed. "I'm not really here to hang out with you. I'm here to drain your blood and bury you in the woods."
I was shocked and terrified. I had no idea what to do. Sarah advanced on me, her fangs extended, and I knew I had to do something fast. I turned and ran, my heart pounding in my chest. I could hear Sarah chasing after me, but I didn't look back.
I ran and ran until I finally saw the lights of the town in the distance. I knew I was safe now. I made it home and collapsed on my bed, exhausted and relieved.
Or so I thought. As it turned out, Sarah was faster and stronger than I realized. She caught up to me and drained my blood before I even knew what was happening. As I lay there, my vision fading, I realized that I would never get to see my family or friends again. Sarah had been right - I was just another easy victim, and now I was paying the price.
But somehow, I woke up the next morning. I didn't know how it was possible, but I was alive and well. I went to school and saw Sarah sitting at her desk, looking horrified. I walked up to her and confronted her about what had happened.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sarah stammered. "I had a great time with you yesterday. I don't know how you could think I would do something like that."
I was confused. Had I imagined everything? Was I going crazy? I didn't know what to believe, but I knew one thing for sure - I couldn't trust Sarah. I turned and walked away, my head spinning with questions and doubts. | 2022-12-29T20:22:07 | 2022-12-29T15:08:56 | 136 | 67 |
[WP] After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer. | Being the newest lawyer at the largest firm around, you tend to get the worst of cases from both sides of the spectrum. The most contentious divorces with kids and pettiness, and the most pedantic arbitrations with low billable hours. Shit truly does roll downhill, and I knew today would be no different when the snickering and whispers followed me as I made my way to my desk. Instead of the anticipated pile of paperwork, a single thin folder sat in front of my chair. Its contents just a single meager page outlining the client's names and imminent meeting location. Not only was there no practical information, it being the only case I was assigned for the day insinuated it could be an all day affair. Internally, I groaned.
"Albert Bachelard and... Alette? Must be a divorce," I muttered to myself as I made my way to the conference room. The water cooler and coffee station next door was uncharacteristically empty as an awkward stiff atmosphere hung in the air.
"Hello! My name is Jen and I will be ..." I stared at the pair. A man in head to toe black sat slumped glaring in a dark corner while a woman whose essence was so light she practically floated beamed at me across from him. Half the windows had been curtained securely, while half had their curtains up as high as they went. I sat down awkwardly at the far head of the table before recovering, "Ah, so... we are here today for some arbitration. What are ah, what are discussing today?" I tried my best to smile.
"Well my dear, we have found ourselves at a slight impass," the woman said too sweetly, her blue hair bouncing in an unseen wind. "See, this very *ungentle*man has decided that all decency and obligation regarding contracts is something to ignore."
"No, it is this frail blood bag's inability to comprehend tradition that is the issue!" The man vehemently hissed back, pushing himself forward to appear larger before quickly recoiling back to his shaded corner.
"Oh! We're discussing a contract!" I said confidently, back in familiar territory. "Well let's see if we can get this resolved for you two today. Do either of you have a copy of the contract?"
"The covenant between the bitten thrall and their master is older than the dirt you walk upon human," the man's words grew louder. "You should fear such covenants and their holders. It is etched in the very bones of those who tremble upon-"
I held up my hand quickly, "Sir, do you have a physical copy of the contract? If not the original, then a photo copy?" The man's eyes searched me over for a few moments.
"This is not the thing that can be captured in a mere photograph," the man quietly muttered.
"Here darling," that sweet voice interjected, "I think I may be able to clarify this for you. When someone dares to eat fae food without permission, there is a dear price to be paid. I'm sure you understand."
"So you are seeking a solution for the damages incurred when this man ate some of your food?" I asked, confused. The woman bit her lip and nodded. "And what would you propose the remedy would be?"
"Eternal servitude," she said with brightness, but something else lightly shaded her smile.
"This foolish fae lies!!!" The man erupted from the other side of the room. "I require no sustenance! My form is beyond that of weaker needs! I ate nothing!" He rose, his form growing taller. "I consumed the blood of this woman's sad form, thus it is *her* that owes *me* servitude!"
"So you both are seeking eternal servitude as fulfillment for the contract?" Both nodded curtly, staring. "Well, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but those are void contacts." The woman started to protest, but I kept going. "Honestly, the paralegal fielding the calls should have informed you of this. Slavery is federally illegal, it's expressly stated in the constitution, and any contract for an illegal activity is totally void. Beyond illegal, there are ethical implications here as well." Both sides of the room somehow seemed dimmer, their irritation clear. "No court is going to enforce any of this."
"If this," I lowered my voice, in case a colleague was walking the hall, "If this is like a sex thing, those contacts are not enforceable either."
"This is not that," the man said hiding his face in his hands while the woman's mouth twitched.
"Well, I will go get the decision written up for you two. Is there any final statements regarding this arbitration conclusion?"
The woman's saccharine smile deepened, "Is there *anything* I can offer-"
"Ma'am, it's against our code of ethics to accept gifts from clients," I said quickly while organizing my notes.
"You should fear for your soul, crossing the undead," the man said with great disdain.
"Sir, if I had concern for my soul I wouldn't have become a lawyer."
[I have to get back to class, I didn't proofread! First time doing one of these and I spat it out quick, hopefully it's okay.] | "Ah but is she really considered food? the pale man spoke, his fangs showing between words. He smirked as he flipped to another card in a thick stack held in his hands.
"Firstly, you don't need those. Secondly, that would be a fair point if you hadn't specifically tried to eat her." The goat-legged woman across the table glared to him with distaste, the two dots on her neck still appearing fresh. If they hadn't come I'm sure they would instead be fighting in a street somewhere. Or maybe they already had.
"You two do realise that two facts may be true at once, right? Oh and also might I add that the biting of ones neck against their will constitutes as assault. Possibly with a deadly weapon."
The vampire, who asked to be called Lord Blaspheme (to which I promptly refused but he gave no other monicker), flicked through his stack, eventually landing on another card. "Ah possibly! But if she counts as food then that just means I was feeding, not assaulting." He followed his words up with a confident smirk and flick of his cape, an action that may have looked better standing up, but probably not.
"It felt pretty assaulting to me." Dinna replied, to which...*Lord Blaspheme* seemed to shrink a bit.
"Ok, ok. So he attacks you, which makes you a thrall, but he ate fae food, which gives you power over him, yes?" They both shook their heads in forced agreement. Then each went to speak further, to which I sushed them individually. Magical creatures had a habit of making things more complex than they really were. Us orcs made things simple. As I would do now.
"You have two choices. The way I see it, either you two fight to submission and the loser serves the winner, my personal favorite. Or, if that doesn't suit you then you may split the servitude. Lord Blaspheme, you get Friday to Sunday, Dinna "Light-Hoof", Monday to Thursday."
Blaspheme jumped up in protest, fangs bared. "Three days?! She gets four!"
"Yes. You get three days and no assault charges. She gets four and doesn't file assault against you." The vampires eyes widened, then narrowed, then widened again. He slowly fell back down into his chair and with a soft voice mumbled, "Yeah that sounds good I guess."
Dinna on the other hand sported a wide smirk ever since my ruling. "Ok, pretty boy. Either I kick your ass again or we agree to get along. Oh, and what day is it today?"
"Yeah...fine whatever." He flicked his cape again, this time sadder than before, and let his stack of cards fall to the floor. " It's Tuesday...what do you request of me." he spoke solemnly.
"Firstly, pick up those cards and pay the nice man for his time. We can discuss the rest at my hovel." If I hadn't known any better I could've sworn Dinna winked at the utterance of the word "hovel". And so Lord Blaspheme followed, looking defeated. With one last cape flick they were out of my hair, leaving room for a new mismatched magical meeting.
In next walked a Minotaur and an Imp. | 2022-07-11T20:32:20 | 2022-07-11T19:23:26 | 1,720 | 104 |
[Wp]Heaven isn't based on religious text or desires, but how you died. Example: a man who starved to death will live in a heaven of food.
Edit: holy shit i did not expect this response, you're all awesome and beautiful! <3 | They had been right all along. Neil walked the rolling plains of Heaven, the grass tickling his bare toes. The air had never smelled so sweet, and just *look* at it. In life, he'd dismissed all of this as a fairytale people told each other for comfort: that one day, you would find peace in Heaven.
But he couldn't deny what he saw. People smiling as they rested against immensely tall, graceful trees. Most had linked hands and were talking quietly. He passed them all, somehow unafraid of what they would think of him, filled with a funny sort of conviction that they wouldn't whisper about him when he was gone. He'd always been so afraid of that.
He paused at a group of four that seemed, oddly, to be waiting for him. They turned to him with wide, welcoming smiles. Neil's heart ached. It was hard to reach for the memory, but he knew this - he'd never met with such easy acceptance before.
"Join us," one of the men said, blue eye gleaming in the sharp sunlight. "We want you here. Don't walk the plains by yourself. We're meant to be with one another here. To talk, and listen."
"This place is unbelievable. Who would have thought they were right?" Neil said, sitting down and venturing a smile himself.
"Oh, I don't know about that," a young woman said quietly. She picked unconsciously at the scars on her arms. "I think it's just right for us, you know? If you get to know us, you'll realise what I mean. We all came here the same way."
Neil swallowed heavily, glancing away from them, sure they could see the memories that were shoving themselves nightmarishly to the forefront of his mind. Alone, in that dingy little apartment. Certain no-one would ever knock on his door to ask how he was doing, would sit with him and listen, as this woman was listening now. Convinced that anything was preferable to the agony that was waking up, still the same person that he was yesterday.
He'd been so ready to never wake up to that again.
He felt the woman's fingertips brush his hand, and looked up into her overly bright eyes.
"Hey, we understand, believe me. We're here for you," she said. "We're not going anywhere."
-----------------------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | The last thing I remember was a tinkling of something coming from the ceiling, then cries and screams. I grip my mother's hand and it all went black.
I woke up in a magnificent field of flowers.
I'm warm, fully dressed and I feel sunshine on my face. The smell of the air is sweet and floral. Easy to breathe it in when it's so fragrant. So lovely...
I close my eyes for a moment before I realize I must be dead. I'm no longer suffering or persecuted. We're not in the Auschwitz showers anymore. We're someplace they thought we'd never go... Heaven.
Elohai, be blessed for delivering us. | 2017-01-27T11:27:04 | 2017-01-27T11:23:27 | 561 | 126 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished," he says. "You are the punishment." | A darkness engulfs me and then I open my eyes and I'm in a cafe.
The lights are overwhelming and I'm almost deafened by the noise. The hiss and splutter of the coffee machine with it's milk throther cut into my brain. It's all too much, shadowy figures are moving around me, the clatter of cups hitting saucers, the biting down on buttery pastries.. it's all so loud... it's too much.. it's
"Are you okay?"
I realise with the mania around me I haven't noticed I'm sitting opposite a person. A guy. 50 years ago he'd be my type. Why is he sitting here? Why am I sitting here?
He has tight curls that have been styled with cheap gel so that they stand militarily upon his head. His eyes are brown and he has a square jaw. He's definitely mixed. My grandchildren have told me I shouldn't be focussing on that but why the hell am I sitting with a mixed guy. He's more white than brown so I let it be.
I glance at my hands and my chest tightens. They're not my hands. These hands are a young persons hands. The skin is taught and tanned. No veins are showing and the nails are perfectly manicured.
This is.. this is not me..
The mixed man smiles encouragingly. And I notice there's a drink in front of me. I take a sip. It's coffee with milk. But the milk tastes funny. The mixed man notices my displeasure. "I'm sorry" he says apologetically "it's oat milk.. you said you were vegan" "right" I say. What else can I say....
Things start to become clearer and I lean in "of course I just zoned out for a moment.."
"No worries! So, where do you work? Not gonna lie, I was slightly surprised to match with someone like you"
The small talk continues, the minutes tick by.
He's sweet so I let him yammer on.
"Would you like to go for a wander?"
I accept. We leave the cafe. It's grey but warm outside and we walk down the paved streets, passing shops, restaurants and other places of business.
He's still talking, he's telling me about his niece, a story about a bumblebee. I laugh out of duty.
We keep walking. We've been walking nearly an hour now. I can tell he's getting more into it. He's relaxed and his voice is becoming more animated. His hand brushes mine and I know it's a weak attempt to hold my hand. So I return the gesture. And now we're walking, holding hands, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
We come up to a bus stop and he glances up at the bus timetable
"y'know, there's a bus from here that basically goes to the end of my street"
I smile. And nod. It's the confirmation he needs. He kisses me. I return the kiss and pull his hips in to mine. I know he's surprised by the gesture, I've acted so cold the entire date, but that's how you hook them.
Back to his.
Clothes off.
Fuck.
Lie in bed together.
I scroll through my phone, showing him photos of me as a child, giving myself to him emotionally. He eats it up. They all do.
6 months later.
We're back in the cafe where we first met. It's not so loud this time. He looks better. I threw out the cheap jel. His shirt is nicer. I changed that too. You've got to make someone be better for you. His hand holds mine. There's love in his eyes. It's been 6 months of texts, phone calls, cinema trips, cooking in the kitchen, drinking wine, going on runs, kissing him, stroking his face, staring into one anothers eyes and saying 'I love you', the brushing of a hand against a thigh, secret smiles, watching dumb comedies on Netflix, more wine, meeting friends, meeting parents, going swimming, reading books and falling in love.
But now it's time.
I look him square in the face and say the words "I'm done".
There's no need for an apology.
The darkness swallows us both and before I can blink we're both where we started. Back in hell. The man in front of me is an older version of the man in the cafe. Just as I am an older version of myself. The pain on his face is visible. There are tears streaming down his cheeks.
I stare at him.
Then I turn, walk a few steps to the left to the next man. I close my eyes, his mind and his memory open for me and I let myself be pulled in.
I am the heartbreaker. | ‘Hi diddly-ho, Demonrino!’ enthused Ned. ‘Nice to meet you, but I seem to be in the wrong place?’ he queried.
‘Fear not, Ned. Your beloved Reverend Lovejoy is right over there. You both have a special role here,’ intoned the demon.
‘Hi diddly-ho, Reverend!’ exclaimed Ned. ‘Can’t believe we’re neighborinos!
<groan> ‘Flanders...You’re here too?’ sighed Lovejoy.
‘Yup! ‘I’ve done everything the Bible says - even the stuff that contradicts other stuff!’’ Ned exclaimed happily. ‘Looks like all that hard work paid off in the end with a special job!’
Lovejoy glances at the Demon, eyes narrowed: ‘I thought you said I was going to enjoy thiii—IIS? So what’s HE doing here?’
A mix of slightly contrite and more than a little amused the Demon replied, ‘There was THAT time you stole from the collection plate to get Helen those fancy new shoes, she wanted... And the time you replaced the sacrificial wine with grape juice, after using it when you ran out of wine for your Saturday barbecue... And the time you bullied Moleman out of a parking space, citing ‘Official Church Business’, when you were just grabbing a latte...And the time you caused a 20-minute line at the Quickie Mart, because you thought Apu had been rude to you. You even insulted his ‘heathen Ganesh.... Really uncool! Need I go on?’
Affronted, Lovejoy exclaimed: ‘I need to speak to your Manager! Not some low level Demon either! Don’t just pass me off! I want Satan himself to explain this!’
Demon summons Satan in a bellowing voice: ‘Oh mighty and most powerful Lord of Fire and Punishment, I summon thee for a brief word with Reverend Lovejoy. I fear he’s gone full Karen.’
A slightly bleary eyed and much aggrieved Satan who’d just awakened from his nap peered through Lovejoy’s soul. ‘Ugh. What do you want THIS time?’
‘This Demon of yours just took a whole bunch of stories about me COMPLETELY out of context and was RUDE beyond belief. Completely unacceptable!’ Lovejoy huffed.
Satan rolled his eyes. ‘Look Reverend, this was really a temporary gig for you, until Flanders passed. Don’t get me wrong, your whole hypocritical piety thing played well with some of the sinners, but your case for Hell or Heaven was borderline at best. Too many transgressions really, despite the whole man of God schtick. Plus you’ve annoyed ME with all of your stupid minor complaints. Only one solution: you will now report directly to Flanders and try to emulate him in every way possible. Eventually, that way, you might be able to work these off.’
‘NooooooOOOOOO!’ screamed Lovejoy. ‘A fate worse than Hell itself!!!’
‘Exactly,’ laughed Satan, ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me?’ | 2020-07-10T10:13:29 | 2020-07-10T10:02:15 | 51 | 35 |
[WP] Aliens arrive on Earth, but not for sinister purposes like colonization or waging war on us. They’re just so darn excited to see other life forms in the universe! | "What do you mean with "they just want to talk?""
The operator shrugged. "I don't know... Besides, they actually used the term""chat""
The president was confused. Having to deal with an alien race contacting us in perfect English was hard enough on his own, but how was he supposed to react to that? The scenarios he used to think about in college involved several kinds of conventional and non conventional warfare, but never "a chat". Was he supposed to just have tea with them?
"We will accept the invite, i guess". After all, what was the worse that could happen? The technology that the mysterious spaceship used to reach earth showcased very clearly how the aliens were undoubtly able to wipe humanity off the planet if so needed.
A few hours went by, and Mr. President was still sitting in his office. Decades of politics and handshaking perfected his ability to perform small talk, but he still felt like he was back at his first day of school. Terrified of meeting new people. And those weren't even people.
The phone rang, the radio telescope operator was calling back: everything was set, the meeting was to be held in... A cabin near a lake? "They insisted on picking a place that felt cozy and comfortable to us, they didn't want to - and i quote - "be a nuisance"".
Had he not been the goddamn president, at this point he would start laughing and trying to figure out where the cameras were. That had to be a prank, but it obviously wasn't. Everyone in the northern emisphere could see the perfectly square 100 kms wide spaceship hovering directly above central Siberia.
The following hours felt like a dream. They felt real, but not quite. Driving a car to a cabin in the woods where he would meet a couple aliens just willing to "chat" was surreal to say the least.
As he opened the door, two large figures turned towards him. They were about two and a half meters tall, vaguely humanoid. The president could also recognize a mouth and two eyes, although those features really pushed the boundaries of the two definitions.
"Good evening Mr. President!" the biggest of the two creatures said gleefully with a voice that felt almost synthetic.
"We so dearly hope our translators are properly calibrated, we would not want to insult your species by just dropping by without being able to communicate appropriately"
Flabbergasted, the President's brain went on autopilot for a moment. "Well, welcome to Earth" he said, moving his hand forward to propose a good old reliable handshake.
Before he could realize how little sense that gesture had in such a context, one of the aliens, the smaller one, let out a squeak of excitement.
"Look at that! What does that gesture mean? Is touching each other's limbs a greeting on this world?"
"Well, yes"
"We haven't been doing that for millenia, the health hazards were just too massive. If that "Covid-19" looks scary now, it's because you haven't seen what genetically engineered viruses are able to do"
The president, taken by surprise, pulled back his hand
"Nonono! We carefully sanitized ourselves before landing, we'd be happy to convivially hold hands with you"
Both aliens used their vaguely recognizable upper limbs to shake the president's hand, both at the same time - one left, one right.
The president cleared his throat. Some of his savoir faire was coming back. "So" he said "I'm not trying to be unwelcoming, but what brings you here?"
The two beings glanced at each other.
"Curiosity, mostly" said the tallest. "We saw a planet with intelligent life, and decided to drop by to see what are you up to"
"I take it you are not emissaries or scientists?"
"Quite the opposite Sir, we were doing nothing but visiting relatives around the star you know as Proxima Centauri"
The president was easing up, but he still felt like some world-ending ultimatum was about to be presented.
"So, might you be interested in our latest scientific breakthroughs? Maybe see our newest toys? We could learn from each other"
The smaller alien answered the question on behalf of the other, currently busy taking a 3d scan of a small ceramic reproduction of the Eiffel Tower that was lying on a drawer.
"It is our turn to excuse ourselves - we do not want to come off as arrogant, but our species has kind of already figured out all of it. I'm sure your species will have a great history with nanotechnology and cold fusion, but by now we look at such discoveries like you look at the discovery of the wheel"
The president was too amazed to feel offended. "And what else could we talk about? Do you have any questions?"
"Actually yes" the tallest was finished with his souvenir "how does your species think? Why is the universe where it is according to your scientists? Which plans does your species have for the far future?".
"Those are questions i am afraid i can't answer" The president shook his head, embarrassed. "You would need to contact hundreds of scientists, philosophers, theorists - most of which hardly agree on anything"
"OH! I'm terribly sorry, aren't you at that point yet? Usually intelligent species with a level of development similar to yours have already formed an unified civilization and found internal peace and agreement."
"Wait wha-"
"We shouldn't have come down without checking first! I told you!" the smallest said to the biggest. "They are not ready yet!"
The president was, perhaps understandably, utterly confused. "Wait, what to you mean? Ready for what?"
The smallest turned back towards him "I'm afraid i can't tell you. This is a MAJOR violation of the galactic code of conduct towards primitive intelligent species" he had glanced at the taller alien while stressing the word "major".
"We need to leave now, but perhaps you'll be still around when we get a permission to come back. Farewell humans!"
Before the president could react, the two beings disappeared in a manner that eerily resembled the teleporters from Star Trek.
Upon exiting the cabin, the president was greeted by hordes of journalists, soldiers and politicians. One question was asked by all of them at once, until a young woman with a microphone and a press badge managed to sneak her way in front of him. She stuck the microphone in front of his face, and asked "What did the aliens say?"
The whole area fell dead silent.
After long seconds, the president eventually found the courage to answer.
"We'll understand once we grow up" | “But what does it *eat*?”
The otherworldly creature they were observing was only one of five that had arrived in the middle of the night. A rocket ship, not unlike those NASA sent into space, had landed in an open field beside a gas station near the interstate. The attendant’s pleas to 911 would have been laughed off had it not been policy to send someone to investigate all calls.
A hectic night followed, resulting in the handcuffing of the gray skinned creatures with four arms each. They did not resist and were smiling throughout the process while attempting to communicate in their garbled language. After putting them in separate rooms to await the FBI, an order was issued to keep at least one person observing the aliens.
Detective Sarah Benson finally looked away from the being on the other side of the glass, facing them in a chair behind a table. It had been miming eating something. She sighed before leaving the viewing room, and her partner, behind. Heads swirled to her as she walked to the break room and waved off inquiries from her curious colleagues. She took an apple and banana off the fruit bowl on a table, considering.
“Both,” she said to the empty room. “Both.”
Then she went to the door leading into the investigation room. Taking a deep breath, she entered and watched the being perk up, eyes drinking in her face and then flicking to the items in her hands. It smiled, teeth white and flat like a humans. It began garbling at her and gesturing as much as it could with hands still handcuffed in front of it. Four fingers on each hand. An alien.
Knowing her partner was watching, Sarah sat in the chair opposite the creature and set the fruit on the table in front of her. It began playing with the apple. Peeling some skin off with its fingernails before looking to Sarah. She mimed taking a bite out of it and the creature nodded before trying it.
“G’Ranggle,” the creature was pointing at itself and smiling at Sarah.
“Sarah,” she said, pointing at herself and then crossing her arms.
“S’Ragg,” it nodded, trying the name out for itself before eating more of the apple.
“Sure.”
It used a finger to draw on top of the table. Sarah tried following the movements, but it was too complicated. They had been instructed to limit contact by the FBI even after realizing they were non-violent. They were, after all, taking over the investigation of these aliens as soon as they arrived.
They had yet to arrive.
She opened a pen and placed it and her notebook in front of G’Ranggle.
As it wrote, Sarah observed the creature once more. A skintight black spacesuit made it obvious that it was a female; she had two sets of breasts, one underneath a top pair. Her hair was a light shade of purple that set off the green in her eyes. Aside from the extra body parts, color, and lack of a finger, the creature resembled a human. Two legs, two eyes, one nose and mouth.
G’Ranggle turned the paper around and pushed it to Sarah. It told a story through simplistic stick figures and images over several pages on her miniature notebook.
They came from a small planet, smaller than Earth. They were intelligent- incredibly so. They knew there was life on other planets. They sent many teams to explore space to find others like them. G’Ranggle was a doctor to her people. Technology on the ship detected life on Earth and they landed here. They were happy to meet people. She liked the apple.
When Sarah was finished, she was alarmed to see G’Ranggle trying to eat the banana unpeeled. She grimaced before reaching across the table and shedding it for her. Throwing the peel in the trash can next to her, Sarah then held it up so G’Ranggle could spit out the bite she had taken.
While the alien ate, Sarah turned to the next page in her notebook and scribbled a picture. She gave it to G’Ranggle along with the pen and waited. When she got it back Sarah tucked the notebook and pen back in her pocket before leaving the room.
Her partner was full of questions when she returned to the observation room, but Sarah ignored her and opened the notebook. Sarah’s images asked the question “have you found life on other planets besides this one?”
G’Ranggle’s answer was seventeen planets and an eighteenth with arrows pointing towards it with an apple.
Sarah was about to inform her partner when she spoke.
“But what does it *drink*?”
&#x200B;
Edit: didn't know how to italicize | 2020-11-24T04:33:19 | 2020-11-24T03:32:37 | 991 | 221 |
[WP] In a universe where the rules of superhero comics are real, any vat of chemicals, any vial of liquid, any combination of ingredients may result in superpowers. In this universe, you are the most feared superhero or villain imaginable. You are The Chemist. | "So, what do you want?" I'd heard the bell above my door ring, but I didn't look away from my workspace. This was a difficult combination, and it tended to explode if you left it for too long.
"Um, I'm not sure Mister..." The voice was small and very young. Against my better judgement, I turned, to see a little girl staring up at me.
"I don't know if you're old enough to read, missy, but as the sign says, I don't help children. It never ends well. Now get out." It might have been brusque, but I knew better than to give any child the time of day. Not since... No, I promised myself I wouldn't think about that. I turned back to my volatile combination.
"Please. I don't know where else to go." There were tears in her voice now. Turning down the bunsen burner, I set my timer to three minutes.
"Look kid, I don't help children. Got it? Find somewhere else." Ever since I'd retired from actively running around the city, and opened my shop, I'd had to deal with this. Kids didn't understand the dangers of having superpowers. They just saw the benefits; the fame and glory.
"There is nowhere else. You're it." Oh, great. She was going to be stubborn. With a violent motion, I turned, staring down at her, trying to look fierce. To her credit, she didn't flinch, meeting me glare for glare.
"Oh, and I suppose you want something amazing, like flight? Let me tell you, kid, you get up about three hundred miles and you won't be wanting that superpower anymore. Or what about—"
"I don't want a superpower." She interrupted me, pointing to the wagon behind her, as my timer went off."I want you to help me with this." Carefully removing the solution, I set it to one side.
"What, you want me to give your wagon superpowers? It doesn't work like that."
"I know, what do you think I am, five?" The girl who couldn't have been much older than the denigrated age, rolled her eyes. I bit my lip to stop an amused smile from lifting the corners of my mouth. She had spirit.
"No, it's the thing in the box. I need you to help with my pet frog." It was such an odd request; said with such seriousness, I couldn't help laughing. Which of course, made my petite customer annoyed. "Well, can you help, or can't you?" Shaking my head, I knelt by the wagon. The sooner I dealt with her, the sooner I could get back to my work.
"What's wrong with it?"
"It breathes fire." I looked at her, but there was no trace of a smile on her face. She wasn't joking. And, as I looked into the box, sure enough, the giant bullfrog burped out a small jet of flame.
"When did it start breathing fire?" I asked.
"After lunch, it only had a few flies, and..." She shuffled her feet, looking a little guilty.
"And?"
"And, I gave it a bit of water I mixed a few things in..." I sighed, going back to the table and getting a bottle of negation. It would get rid of most superpowers, firebreathing included.
"You're not supposed to try any sort of mixture, on anyone. What are they teaching you in schools nowadays." I dumped the solution over the frog, making sure it was completely covered. "Now, get out." She didn't move, staring at me, then at the floor.
"What, does your dog leap tall buildings in a single bound? Is he on my roof?"
"Could I stay? I promise I won't be any trouble... I just want to see you work." My mind revolted, immediately listing all the dangers having a child around the place would bring. But my heart...
"Fine. Go sit in that corner. And don't move." Instantly, she dashed to the corner, sitting on an unopened box of flasks. I returned to my work, grumbling a question her way.
"What's your name girl?"
"Sophie. What's your's?"
"Never mind what my name is. You can call me, The Chemist."
— — — — — — — —
Many days have passed; weeks, months, years. And Sophie still comes around. I must admit, it's nice having her around the shop. She's actually quite useful and she learns fast. Besides, it was getting lonely in here. Ah, there's the bell above the door. That must be her.
"Well, child? Let's go, we have a lot to do today."
"Yes, Chemist. What are we— "
"Stop." She looked at me, the height difference not quite as noticeable now. "My name is Lionel. Use it. Now go get the iron sulphite. We're going to need it today." Her face lit up with a giant smile that pierced my heart every time I saw it.
"Yes, Lionel. Iron sulphite. On it." | I visit the nineteen year old single mother. All of the paperwork is done. I am now the legal guardian of her three year old daughter. The mother tells me "thank you so much for taking her." More quietly, she says "I hope you'll give her a better life than we ever could."
I respond with "Of course." My silver tongue and quick wit have won her over. "Come with me now, little one. I'm your father." The little girl follows me out of the apartment.
"Mama. Where's mama?" She whines, making these pitiful noises that I despise.
Annoyed, I tell her "Mama's gone. She's abandoned you. She never loved you." My demeanor quickly changes "But I do. I love you with all my heart." She looks up at me, and our eyes meet. I don't understand how people say this melts their heart. Looking into her blue eyes, I feel nothing but disgust that I have to deal with this creature.
For the next decade, I keep telling her lies. I tell people to bully her and call her names. I hire people to laugh at her clothes, her hair, everything about her. Whenever she cries, she comes to me. I feel a sick sort of satisfaction at it, at my plan coming along.
I tell her that the world is cruel so there's no point in even trying to make it less so.
I tell her that nobody but me loves her, but my love is enough.
I tell her that the world is full of bad people, and bad people deserve bad things.
I tell her that people are mean, horrible monsters and she doesn't deserve to have to deal with them.
That she deserves better. A new world. A world she can shape with her own two hands.
One day, I'm walking with her as I watch as a person starts shouting at another person, screaming things that even I would not say. I see an opportunity. "You see that guy over there? The things he's saying? He's one of the bad guys. The ones we talked about. The ones who deserve justice." Later that day, I bind, gag, and lay that person at my child, no *weapon's* feet and hand her a knife. "Kill him. Go on. He deserves it. Make this be the first step of many towards change. Make this be the first step towards your dream world."
I can tell she's scared and shaking, but she steps forward and places the knife against his throat. His eyes change as he knows what she's going to do. He locks eyes with her, but that does not stop the knife from slicing across his neck without hesitation. "Good girl. Very good." I praise her for her first kill.
She's passed my tests. She's ready. I tell her about the treatment. That it could give her limitless power. That all of those people who insulted her, called her names, tortured her- Not just that random nobody from the night before. People who hurt *her*. She can make them pay. Her eyes widen. She asks a tentative question. "Really?"
The amount of hope in her eyes, the eyes of a caged bird finally seeing a glimpse of the sky is beautiful. Especially when I know the gap between my bars is too small for her to fly through. I tell her "Yes. Really. Everything you've ever dreamed us. You and me. Together, we can achieve it.
I'm a genius, a genius among geniuses. I'm the devil whispering poison in her ears, and she thinks it's the antidote. This feeling.... It thrills me beyond belief. | 2022-08-10T20:18:18 | 2022-08-10T19:57:35 | 483 | 124 |
[WP]a generic "boy gets invited to a magical all girls school" except the boy in question is a 7ft tall silent Knight that never removes his armor | "Daisuke? Daisuke, where are you?"
The sun was going down as Tsui searched the last of the academy grounds. Just as she was about to give up the effort, she caught a glimpse of something glittering in the last light of day. With renewed hope, Tsui raced over to the tree where it lay, and her hopes were instantly vindicated. Leaning against the tree was a towering figure in silver armor, the royal banner of Providence fixed to him like a scarf.
Tsui grinned as she said, "Daisuke, there you are! You ran off before I had a chance to thank you!" Tsui reached out her hand, only for Daisuke to hurl himself away from the tree and against the fence, hands held over his helmet. Confused, Tsui started to respond, but stopped when she noticed something: Daisuke was terrified.
Every inch of his body was trembling uncontrollably, causing his armor to produce a rattling noise. Even through the armor he wore every second of every day, Tsui could tell Daisuke was exhausted. His breathing had turned heavy and his knees looked like they could buckle at any second. Tsui could hardly believe this was the same boy who saved her life from a rampaging beholder.
Concerned, Tsui made sure to keep her distance as she asked, "Daisuke, what's wrong? I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That last blow cracked your helmet pretty bad."
Daisuke carefully removed one hand from his face and opened up his satchel. From the front pocket he removed the enchanted scroll that the academy had given him to communicate and offered it to Tsui. Tsui took it and opened it up as a message appeared:
*I'm cursed.*
"Cursed?"
*Father told me. Said if anyone saw my face or heard my voice it would dishonor our family. So he gave me the armor and said I would be better as their knight than as their son.*
Tsui felt like her heart was being shattered. "Daisuke, that... that's horrible. No parent should ever say that to their child. Look, please just come to the infirmary with me. You can barely stand up, you need to rest--"
Daisuke jerked away as the message on the scroll changed so rapidly it actually rippled. *NO! Can't rest! Can't lie down! Rest is earned and I haven't earned it! Cursed children don't get beds until they stop being cursed!*
Daisuke's scroll started spitting out an ever-increasing chain of his last sentence, at which point Tsui shut the scroll and held out her hand. In an instant, her palm started to glow white as smaller lights like fireflies radiated from it. Daisuke's panic attack slowed to a crawl and eventually halted altogether. In fact, Daisuke was so entranced by sight that he took his hands off of his face completely.
As Tsui continued her light show, she explained, "My family comes from a long line of cursebreakers and holy mages. One of our most sacred techniques is our ability to detect the presence of both curses and holy magic through prayer. If the palm turns red, it's a curse. If it turns white, it's holy magic."
Tsui ended her technique. "I didn't even do a prayer, Daisuke. I just held out my hand, and that happened. That's how much holy magic you have in you. You were never cursed, and if your father's treatment of you proves anything, it's that he wanted you to think you were."
At that moment, everything Daisuke knew came crashing down, himself included. As sundown cast long shadows across a field tainted orange and yellow, he took his helmet off. As he looked up at Tsui, giving her a full view of his stark white hair and bird-shaped mark on his left cheek, Daisuke let tears stream down his now-revealed face as he said, "I'm... not...cursed?"
Tsui kneeled down and hugged him gently. "Of course not, Daisuke. Of course not." | In a land far, far away, there was a magical all-girls school nestled deep in the heart of a dense forest. The school was renowned for its excellent education and the special abilities that its students possessed.
One day, the school received an invitation to visit a neighboring kingdom. The girls were excited to explore the new land and meet new people, but they were also a little nervous. They had heard rumors of a mysterious boy who lived in the neighboring kingdom, and they didn't know what to expect.
The boy's name was Max, and he was quite unusual. He was seven feet tall and completely silent at all times. He always wore a suit of knights armor that he never removed, and he carried a massive sword with him wherever he went.
Despite his intimidating appearance, Max was actually quite gentle and kind. He didn't talk much because he didn't want to scare anyone, but he was always happy to help out when he could.
When the girls from the magical school arrived in the neighboring kingdom, they were amazed by the beautiful castle that stood at the center of the city. They were greeted by the king and queen, who were very friendly and welcoming.
The king and queen invited the girls to join them for a feast in the great hall, and Max was there as well. The girls were a little nervous at first, but they quickly realized that Max was not at all what they had expected.
He was quiet and reserved, but he was also very sweet and kind. He helped the girls with their food and even entertained them with a few magic tricks.
As the feast came to an end, the girls asked Max if he would like to join them for a tour of the castle. He agreed, and the girls were thrilled. They showed him all of their favorite places, and Max was impressed by their magical abilities.
The girls and Max spent the rest of the day exploring the castle and having fun together. They laughed and played, and Max even taught the girls a few tricks with his sword.
By the end of the day, the girls from the magical school had made a new friend in Max. They were sad to say goodbye, but they knew they would always have the memories of their special day together.
The girls returned to their school with hearts full of joy and excitement. They couldn't wait to tell their friends all about their adventure and their new friend, Max the silent knight. | 2022-12-06T10:11:19 | 2022-12-06T07:43:24 | 112 | 33 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Perhaps it was just an unfortunate series of circumstances that resulted in the human's particular predicament. It was their mistake to make to think Elora 1284 was anything less than the long-range weapons testing ground it ultimately was. They should have really thought it stranger that such a desolate place could exist within the goldilocks zone of a star, as their ill-conceived attempts to colonize the suspiciously barren little red world were quite obviously doomed to end in tragedy from the start. To their credit, they took a few hundred deaths in stride, strangely emboldened by the oddly sourced proof that they were never truly alone in their local area of space.
Their attempts to make "first contact" were curious, in context, since the Elaramons had been stealthily poaching them for decades prior; but the same furious hopefulness that appeared to drive them towards the stars to begin with also seemed equally strong enough to quell rumors of dangerous visitations from strange beings and unprovoked experimentation on the isolated and vulnerable. Perhaps, then, it was particularly unfortunate that their first attempts at "true" contact landed up perishing to the unmapped Venjuvian mine fields that marked the no man's land between the Varjeeze and the Vigory. We lost sensor contact with no less than twenty seven unidentified craft while they attempted to navigate these regions of space and, to the best of our knowledge, all of these vessels were human.
Really, though, the difficulty started in earnest when the Elaramons entered that small regional conflict between the Varjeeze and the Vigory. This reignited a former stalemate of a war right on top of the Human's doorstep and resulted in more than two particular tragedies of note, including the accidental plasma bombardment of a continental landmass and the complete destruction of several of their orbital facilities. Their tenacity knowing no bounds, the humans attempted to send additional craft into the warzone despite this, but almost all of them landed up immediately incinerated in the crossfire. Only a single one of these remained intact enough to limp home but, from our sensor reports, failed to survive reentry. General sanctions against the Elaramons did little to quell the situation, and it wasn't long before human satellites and surface installations began to fall prey to the debris of several prolonged fleet engagements between the Elaramons and the Varjeeze.
After thirty Earth years of such bombardment, strange occurrences started to manifest in the zone. Impossibly large fireballs, with an apparent magnitude greater than any regional star, started to frequent scanners and scopes around the human's world. These explosions were relatively tiny, but their calculated strength was unreasonably high for their starting mass, such that most of the equipment that had initially recorded them had been replaced out of suspicion of fault. Unreasonable or not, the explosions cleared a majority of debris around the human's world, opening up a door to clear orbital vectors that the humans immediately took to. They weren't the only ones, as the Varjeeze jumped on the opportunity to gain ground and sent an entire battle group into the cleared region.
They were the first to die.
One by one, the pathetically slow and tiny human ships began winning engagements. It was the same each time, impossibly bright flashes of light pot-marked galactic scopes as the humans manifested incredible explosive power within a radius that shouldn't have been scientifically possible outside of the core of a star. No shielding system stood a chance, it seemed, neither those with composite shielding nor those of the electronically powered plasma variety. Ship after ship, battle group after battle group, fleet after fleet, engaged the humans with reckless resolve and overwhelming military superiority, only to be immediately incinerated each and every time. The humans took notable losses in these engagements, but their ships began to improve as they collected and analyzed the hulls of their incinerated enemies. Before long, a fleet of relatively competent human warships had all three of the regional players in full retreat. Despite the humans being outnumbered millions to one on each front, The Varjeeze, the Elaramons, and the Vigory all capitulated.
This was a problem for The Federation, of course, as we had been officially supporting the Vigory for centuries. In the history of the galaxy, no Federation supported entity had ever been forced to capitulate to an enemy force, and so the humans had made an enemy of us all and a policy of aggressive containment was immediately instituted. Alacastor Class Cruisers and their escort fleets, the fastest in The Federation Navy, were immediately deployed to the region with orders to engage, only to take loss after devastating loss. The humans quickly identified supply routes and began taking proactive approaches to the new threats, steadily advancing into Federation Space along these lines. Greater defense fleets were called upon, the mighty Oracuus and the dreaded Invictor, millions of the most expensive war machines galactic civilization could produce fell on the human advance like water. With limited skill, technology, and sensory equipment, hit and run tactics began to prove effective. Our losses were truly staggering, but the tide appeared to be evening in our favor.
It was then that we learned something fiendishly curious about the humans, something that changed our entire perspective on them. When cornered and faced with impossible odds, rather than sit down and lose, humans will simply escalate things through the sheer power of morbid invention. Such was the realization when the nature of the human's weapons were truly realized, and a new class of "interplanetary missiles" were deployed against us for the first time. Their logic-defying bombs were mounted atop crude missiles outfitted with warp drives lifted from wrecks and derelicts, all spoils of war. They followed coordinates left from the wreckage of burned fleets and scorched scouts, sending these "nuclear" explosives to the city centers of nearly every major military economy in The Federation.
Over the course of 48 Earth hours, 987 quadrillion Federation Citizens died.
It took nearly twelve agonizing hours of painfully slow transmission to successfully deliver word of our immediate, unconditional surrender; and the human's automated missiles continued to fall for a further three. | Part 2:
The Stars Shine Again
"K'uklas, we're pulling out off of the Zhavra cruiser, make sure you and your men can handle the onslaught," the man over his radio said. He couldn't believe the man he looked up to would abandon them like that, in a time where they were hopeless against these tiny, ferocious beasts—no, demons. They have spilled much blood and their eyes turned only cold. Dust flew from the worlds they took and their rampage did not stop. How could they fight against such a terrible foe? "Men," turning around to see disheveled Zaarians, starved and deprived of the liberty to live, "this day will be marked as the day we resisted, despite us not eating, despite us covered in dust and blood."
No rejoices. No more smiling. Their reptilian faces were too blank to care. Their minds had been wiped out of all memory of glory. Poor K'uklas asked after a while, "Why the silence?"
"Are we crazy or courageous?", one of the men spoke, and the only sound that can be heard from the crowd.
"Nothing is more courageous than looking at hope."
"What do you mean? They've took everything. Everything."
"They can't take what they don't have. We may have nothing, but this universe shall see that we stopped a terrible disease."
The poor soldier sat, bowed down, and wept. He remembered his beloved, screaming in agony, her pristine eyes losing its soul in front of him. He remembered the charred corpses of his children among the dead. And he saw them again, whispering him to avenge them, and then he stopped weeping.
K'uklas knew this was a lost cause; it didnt matter. Their only chance of winning is to make them win again, to give them a false warmth, before their own armaments judge them again. It was impossible, it was daunting, and knowing his superior, Zaar would now be a footnote in history.
The radio receiver heard shots that echoed from the distances, and the soldiers knew this was their last time living again. And so, from the dark void, they turned their scarred ship into the direction of the shell, creating a wormhole from theirs to the location of the shot, and proceeded, in an array of colors, to pulsate powerful rays against their enemies. There were only a few that rode the cruiser, but it mattered not anymore. The cannons shot and shot to no use at all, but they gave them hope once more. Some aimed at the thrusters at their backs, and with surprise, it tore all apart. And continued this on their way. For Zaaria, for our families, and for the stars.
More and more ships came to descend to oblivion in the path of Zhavra, and as they fired at it, all they can do is be drawn to sadness. Even K'uklas felt sorry for the men he had killed, but he knew that his soldiers were joyed, that his arms were joyed, and so continued to fire at the high horses of the despicable little devils in front of them, scourging them into eternal hellfire.
With no warning, a shadow blocked the view, casting an uneasy darkness against the crew. They knew it was it; the Destroyer Cruiser. The ones that killed their families, their friends, their lovers and children. Here it is, one of them, all weapons aimed against a small, gaunt ship, meek against this old foe. They turned a right and strafed to their left, confusing the barrage where to fire. As the rays launched more to their direction, the vehicle moved dodgingly until it could find a large hole, said to contain the Grail to End All Life. And they did, and stayed. It lowered its weapons and let it open. Slowly, even against the silence of space, it could be heard rattling and crunching, until it revealed a large missile, familiar to the soldiers.
"Men, are you ready to go to heaven?"
"I'm prepared for hell."
And they went straight to the warhead, shooting at it with the strongest of their might, rushing until it combusted in a sphere of magnificence.
The stars have now shone again. | 2019-12-19T07:38:55 | 2019-12-19T04:20:10 | 41 | 15 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why. | The Congregation of Supervillains sat in their seats, viryuall holding a meeting of theirs due to the hazard posed by the epidemic ravaging the Earth. Only 3 out of the 12 chair members had the ability to counteract disease. Ulterior looked up after reading the reports given by each member.
Their system was highly efficient, at least in his eye. Yes, a single eye. There were 12 members, each patrolling a different sector of the planet to report any unsavory activities that posed a threat to them. If any up and coming superhero or villain knowingly broke one of their established 20 rules that each new vigilante recieved as they started, then action would be swift and decisive against them. This was a alist agreed upon between the Legion of Justice and the Supervillain Congregation after 10 years of the Age of Heroes had passed with no laws and chaos everywhere.
1. Never reveal a masked person's identity to the world. A single person is okay, but never the entire world, unless they are dead or have agreed to this.
2. Never defile a corpse, unless you are taking technology, everyone deserves a funeral.
3. You may not take up the mantle of any hero or villain without consent, and especially not if they are dead, unless you have been explicitly told to do so.
4. You never have to pay for property damage.
And there were many others, but the most important of them all, was rule 17
17. **NEVER**, EVER go after the family of a hero or villain. There will be consequences which are too gruesome for even us to describe.
That particular rule was established when the Cryomancer killed Agent Savage's mom. Savage went mad, torturing and burning Cryomancer's parents alive in front of him, before breaking every bone in his body and then freezing him to death. An ironic death. There's just some lines you don't cross.
Back in the Congregation's meeting, the Overseer finished reading the other's reports. Heracles' stuck out to him. Patrolling Canada and Scandinavia was Heracles' job, and there was something odd in it that was so rare it was considered high report.
"Heracles, your report contains a rule 17 misdemeanor."
The room fell silent as they all sink that information in.
"You took care of the situation, I assume? After all, we don't want no good scumbags thinking they can go around breaking our rules."
Heracles spoke up in a heavy accent.
"Yes of course, I killed Permutation Lad quickly after the incident. He had the gall to blow up the Solution's parents home. What a waste of talent."
The passing of Permutation Lad was indeed an inconvenience the Overseer had not seen. Small time villain. Completely cuckoo in the head, but a cunning fucker nonetheless. He had been operation in Ontario for little less than a year, and had shown some real creativity and cunning.
"I'll send my condolensces and a compensation letter to the Solution. Knowing the guy, he'd probably try and track down Permutation Lad's parents for revenge. Make sure that doesn't happen."
"How would the brute manage that?" A seductive voice rang out as Rougé spoke up.
"I don't know, Heracles will figure it out."
The next morning, the Solution woke up after a restless night, determined to find that son of a bitch who killed his parents and son. When he opened the door, he instead found a head on his doorstep, bloody and battered, with a gunshot wound having tunneled a hole clean through his brain. The Permutation Lad's mask, half torn m, was on the side. There was also a bouquet of blood stained white carnations, a check of 5000 dollars, and a note.
**"We took care of the problem for you, and do not worry, he suffered, please find a compensation and condolensces from us. We hope this unfortunate incident does not drive you to make the same mistake as him. Do not break rule 17, you will end up like him.**
**Regards,**
**The Congregation of Supervillains"**
******************************************************
This is my first time answering a prompt, advice and criticism appreciated and welcome | “...you looked at the Armageddon Protocol?” The black armored villain spoke to a crippled young team. Various shapes, powers, some seemed human others gremlins.
“Y-yeah boss...it was crazy, it was like they forgot their no kill ru-“ The armored villain turned back quickly, fired a red blast from his armored hand, making quick impact on the young man knocking him into a wall.
“RULES?! Now you wanna speak of rules...the Armageddon protocol is Armageddon for a reason!”
The young man’s chest had a clear burnt mark as his team groaned in pain from earlier blasts.
“We just wanted to prove ourselves to get out of goon work you kn-AUGH!” He was cut off by a blast. The black armored villain paced back and forth before quickly lifting the team with his energy, and binding them.
“Goons is putting it lightly if you think a hero’s control, their compassion will persist if you kill what anchors them to this world!” The villain went to a nearby computer and typed quickly.
“Maybe if I send a message to him, make sure I tel him you idiots did it without the league’s plans we’ll be-“
“Spared?”
A new voiced entered, turning around as fast as he could the armored villain had no chance before the last thing he saw was a blur.
With a snap of a neck he fell to the floor as the young team cowered in fear. The caped individual wore a once blue and yellow suit now stained pure red. As the figure flew ever closer to the young team.
The figure eventually touched the floor and walked, his eyes glowing a shining crimson. It seemed to spark past his eyes, as the team were drawn into the color as if their entire world was red. The figure’s wall stopped for a moment to look them all in the eye. Their world was gone, in their head they only knew the eyes before them. The figure seemed to speak, ranting for quite awhile. It seemed long enough for the team to go through a lifetime in mere seconds. They did not hear what the figure said. They only saw the eyes. Then the first noise they actually heard was a spark, before unyielding pain. As if the eyes turned into spiders and crawled through there bodies biting every inch. Before it stopped. Gasping for breath, as the figure’s voice was finally heard.
“Shall I show you why this was very clearly named...Armageddon?” And suddenly there red world returned | 2020-07-12T11:58:06 | 2020-07-12T11:12:41 | 55 | 36 |
[WP] being the grim reaper is pretty lonely, you only ever meet people once to escort them to the other side and most don’t want to talk. Except this one soul, who every week without fail shows up ready to make the journey. How he gets back I have no idea, but it’s nice to see a familiar face. | “Sorry I’m late,” she says as she gets in the boat. “The game went into overtime.”
“That’s all right,” I say. “How did your son do?”
“He scored the winning shot! Of course, it was his only bucket of the game and he's still not that good...but he was so happy and his teammates were hugging him…he never had too many friends when I was there.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I can’t wait to tell him how proud I am.”
\-
“He bought his first house today!”
“Congratulations!”
“He finally moved out of that dingy apartment with those dodgy roommates.”
“Life is looking up for him, isn’t it?”
“Of course!”
\-
“Why the frown?” I ask.
“He married her.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“She’s all wrong for him. So wrong. She makes him feel like he’s lucky to have her, and laughs about him with her friends behind his back…I want to slap her everytime I see her.”
“But he’ll be okay, right?”
“I hope so,” she says, her voice quiet, low like a rattling wind over the black river we cross. “I just wish I was there for him. Sometimes it hurts, going back to see him and knowing he can’t see me.”
“Maybe you should take a break from your visits,” I suggest.
“Maybe.”
\-
“She left him,” she says. “I only wish it were sooner.”
“And him? How is your son doing?”
“He…is not in a good place. When I left him, he was sitting on the floor, drinking cheap beer to keep warm, looking so much like his father…I wish I could have picked up all the cans for him, hugged him…he looked so cold…”
There is nothing for me to say.
“I think I’ll stop visiting for a while. It hurts too much to see him like this.”
\-
The next time I see her, she is standing on the dock, her arms around a small boy. It has been a while since I have seen her, and this time she is smiling.
“I’d like you to meet my son,” she says.
I look at the boy, who has seen my face and is trying to keep a straight face of his own.
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “I’d apologize for my face, but that’s not my fault.”
He giggles, a little, as they get in the boat. “My mommy told me you have Oreos where we’re going.”
“Oreos?” I look at his mother. She tilts her head, telling me to go along with it. “Of course we have Oreos!”
“Unlimited Oreos?”
“As many as you want,” she says. “And chips too, isn’t that right?”
“All the chips in the world,” I say.
“Then what are we waiting for?” the boy says. “Why didn’t we come here as soon as possible?”
“I’ve asked myself that so many times, sweetie,” his mother says, finally content, not looking back, only forward at eternity with her little boy.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | I’ve never caught his name, and considering most the time I’m intoxicated I probably wouldn’t remember it anyway.
“Hey, can I ask how you die every time?” I ask. I flip open the lid of my flask and offer him some - he declines so I drink.
“I’ve been killing myself.”, he doesn’t look at me. His eyes remain empty, but not the unsettling kind.
I laugh at myself and him, “How haven’t you gotten it right by now?”
He raises his head and it isn’t hard to notice the bubbling scares on his arms, the fresh slit across his throat bleeds red.
“Hopefully this time I have,” he reaches out his hand for the alcohol and I had it to him. “Nothing to live for out there.”
I grind my teeth wishing I knew what it was like. The other side. Sometimes I feel a bit of nostalgia as if at some point I knew what it was like to live for someone or something, but for centuries it’s just been this - traveling back and forth for no reason in particular.
“That damn hospital won’t let me be.” he said.
My empty orbital sockets long for eye contact “Just a hospital?”
“No, mental hospital. I’ve been there since I was a kid.” | 2019-02-22T03:44:42 | 2019-02-22T01:49:39 | 324 | 21 |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | I thought it was just a coincidence. However, the moment I thought that, the hooded man in front of me ceased lip-syncing the song playing in my head, looking somewhat agitated, as if he'd just made a terrible mistake.
On cue, however, the subway's breaks shrieked to a stop, and the man jostled his way out, ignoring the cussing of the offended passengers.
Without a second thought, I followed him.
The station we'd alighted into was empty, full of old, flickering lights and scribbled walls.
I scanned the surroundings, spotted him bolting through a tunnel-like corridor, his steps echoing loudly. I wouldn't let him escape. Now I was sure there was something odd going on.
I barreled as fast as my legs allowed through the twisting corridor, up many stairs, and down many more.
In time, however, I lost sight of him when I ran into a bifurcating corridor. I cursed under my breath, he couldn't have gone too far, and I knew he wasn't moving, for the sound of his steps had suddenly vanished.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and focused. In the distance, a peculiar noise, like that of ragged, shallow breaths, could be heard.
I had him.
I silenced my mind as much as I could, slinked toward him. The noises grew louder. In the middle of the corridor I found a door. The gasping came from beyond.
I opened it, heart thumping, unaware of what I'd say. And there he was, the hooded man, sitting on stairs, clasping his heart and breathing heavy.
In the brevity of a breath, the meld of curiosity and the odd loath I felt vanished. I ran to his side. "Are you all right?" I asked, grabbed my phone and dialed 911. Meanwhile, I helped the man lay on the ground.
"It burns," he said, clutching at his heart, his eyes wid--.
My heart sunk to my stomach.
"911. What's your emergency?"
I couldn't speak. My mind was racing. That face, I knew that face very well.
For it was mine.
"Help me," the man said, his face growing pale.
"I am in the Fadenghar Station. There's a man having a heart attack. I need someone now. We are inside the emergency stairs I believe!"
And then, a sudden silence took over.
"We are sending someone right now."
I turned.
He was gone, nothing but his clothes remained. | I mean, it's a popular tune; radio has it on regular rotation... There may be others in the same car with the same tune... But she is so old... is that, 75...80? Her timing was perfect... Her gaze unwavering. Were her eyes tired, or--... No....that was pity. She knows... I f***ing did it... and she knows... The voices had gone; my thoughts were clean, I had cleaned them. The filthy rot was removed, I ...cut into it, I carved it out. She could not listen...---oh my God. I've told her. "She heard you"..."she heard, you piece of..." The fiery panic surged through my veins. I ripped out my ear buds, hard to breathe...my bluetooth... it's not.... it's not paired. | 2018-12-04T11:16:50 | 2018-12-04T10:59:58 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] Bruce Wayne is shot, and has to spend a month recovering. In the meantime, he has to ask various other superheroes to pretend to be Batman while he's out. | "Sooooo ... I need you to be The Dark Knight for *about a month.*"
Superman frowned as he looked down at Bruce. "You got shot in the chest and all you think you're going to be fighting criminals *in a month*?"
Bruce looked offended at the idea. "I'm not just The Worlds Greatest Detective -- I'm also a scientist and inventor. How do you think a middle-aged man handles getting beat up regularly and still looks this good? A little Bat-Cream twice a day and this sucking chest wound won't even be a scar."
"Yeah, I'm not sure I'd tell anyone else about smearing your *'Bat-Cream'* all over your chest." Clark replied, offput "Other than that, no problem. I'm in on two conditions: I get to use the Batmobile, and you give me what you have on kryptonite."
As Bruce's laugh-turned-coughing-fit subsided, he spoke "You can *fly*, shoot lasers out of your eyes, and you're excited about driving the Batmobile?"
"... It looks fun." Superman sheepishly admitted
Batman sighed, "The Batmobile is a huge part of being Batman. If they made toys of us the Batmobile would be a top seller. No deal on the kryptonite though. You're an otherwise unstoppable demigod -- I know you're a boyscout, but I can't risk you falling under mind-control."
Batman screwed his face in thought, "Or even something stupid like a misunderstanding between us that could have been easily resolved by talking to each other like adults."
"Alright, alright. Fair enough."
"Great, so I need you to *be* Batman. Let's hear your Bat-Voice."
"**I ^am the *night*!**"
Bruce stared incredulously at Clark. "... Just ... no. Never do that again."
"Well, it was my best. I don't know how you do it, you sound like you've gargled broken glass. Also, that can't be good for your voice."
"It isn't, usually once a week I have to eat a little Bat-Cream ..."
Clark recoiled "The implications of that statement are horrifying. No more about 'Bat-Cream', and unless you have an idea we're stuck."
Bruce deflated, "Maybe I can make some kinda of voice modulator. Speaking of which, can you hand me that glass of water?"
Superman held the glass out, but Bruce didn't take it. Instead, he stared at the glass.
"Are you alright, Bruce?" Clark asked.
Batman stared at the glass and spoke, "... Eat it."
"Um, what?" Clark said, confused.
"Chew up the glass of water and gargle it for a minute. There's a wastebasket over there you can spit in."
"What the *hell* Bruce?"
"Just do it. You're The Man of Steel -- glass shards aren't going to hurt you."
Still having no idea what the hell was going on, Clark decided it was best to play along. He chewed, gargled, and spit as instructed."
"Alright" Bruce said, a curious expression on his face. "Do your Bat-voice."
" **My parents are *deeaaaaaad* !!!** "
Batman smiled, his problem solved. "*Perfect.*"
"Are you sure this isn't going to hurt me?" Superman asked.
"Nah, you're fine. If it does, you can have some Bat-C ... a salve I invented."
"... Yeah, pass. I'm sure it's fine."
| "Yello', Clark Kent speaking!"
"Hey, Clark, it's me, Bruce. I need you to do me a favor."
"Yeah?"
"Remember when I got shot?"
Of course Clark remembered. It was his big story for the month! Billionaire Bruce Wayne, shot during a press conference! Of course, Clark knew that the reason Bruce had been shot was because he was Batman (all of the heroes knew who was who, that way they could avoid outing others) and the Joker had gotten tired of Bruce's success.
"Yeah?"
"Well, the doctors say I need a month to recover. Joker's planning something big though, so I need you to be me for the time being."
Clark couldn't believe his ears. Bruce Wayne wanted **him** to be **Batman**?!
"Bruce, I think you have the wrong guy. Wouldn't everyone notice if Batman suddenly was able to fly?"
"You're the reporter. Come up with some freak accident and put it in the Daily Globe! *Batman Falls Into Vat of Plutonium, Doctors Claim Possible Temporary Power Gain!* Something along those lines! Some way to excuse Batman's sudden power gain and following power loss."
"You know I don't do stuff like that!"
"Yeah, sure, but you'll make an article on the death of Superman no problem!"
"Ok, ok, fine, I'll do it."
Clark hung up. He would need to make some phone calls...
******
This is my first attempt at an EU Writing Prompt, so it probably sucked. I'm not a good writer but I'm working on getting better. Follow [my sub?](/r/kd2bwz2) | 2017-07-08T21:31:40 | 2017-07-08T20:22:57 | 69 | 33 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right. | I’m not even sure this is the right place to post, but I’m worried about my sister. About three hours ago I got a text from the Emergency Alert System. I checked my Facebook to see if anyone else got the same thing. It seemed like it was a practical joke and I couldn’t find anything in Google News.
My sister sent me these messages and I haven’t heard from her in over an hour. I’m hoping someone can give me some advice.
**Allison:** Hey Danny… did you get a text telling you to stay inside and lock your doors?
**Me:** Yeah. Pretty weird.
**Allison:** Any idea what’s going on?
**Me:** Nope. Just relaxing at home.
**Me:** Is Jonathan home from work yet?
**Allison:** No, he just went to the store. I’m kinda worried.
**Me:** I’m sure everything’s fine. You know the government is paranoid about every little thing. Probably an underground gas leak or something.
Allison didn’t respond for a while and I resumed my binge watching of Attack on Titan. That’s some weird shit, man. At this point, I wasn’t really concerned. My neighborhood was quiet, it was below freezing outside, and about two feet of snow had fallen during the day. Everything seemed normal.
**Allison:** Danny…
**Allison:** I’m scared.
**Me:** What’s wrong? Do you want me to come over?
**Allison:** No. Don’t go outside.
**Allison:** Jonathan is home.
**Me:** Well that’s good.
**Allison:** No. No something’s wrong with him.
**Allison:** I don’t know what to do.
**Me:** What’s wrong with him?
Three little dots danced at the bottom of my screen for more than five minutes before disappearing. I tried calling my sister four times with no answer. I tried to keep watching my show for a few minutes but my brain started playing all the “what-if” scenarios. I called again and Allison finally answered.
“Hello?” Her voice was small, quiet. Completely unlike her.
“Al?”
“Danny?”
“Allison, what’s going on? Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
“Something’s wrong with Jonathan. He’s not him.” She said, her voice hitching. Her shaky breaths sent a wave of anxiety to my stomach.
“Allison… did you open the door?”
“No. No. I’m hiding. I tried calling the police but it doesn’t go through.”
“What’s wrong with Jonathan?” I was pacing my living room, my jaw clenched. She was quiet for a while.
“He’s not him, Danny. He’s not him. He’s not walking right. And his voice. Oh God, his voice.”
“Is he hurt?” I asked as I grabbed my keys. “I’m coming over.”
“No!”
“What do you mean no? I’m coming over!”
“No! Danny, listen to me.” She whimpered again. I could hear a weird rhythmic sound in the background. “Listen. Something is wrong with him. With everyone outside.”
I hunched in front of my window and pulled the blinds apart with a finger. It was pretty dark outside but the snow reflected enough light that I could make out a group of people standing in the parking lot of my complex.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
“Danny… what’s go-g on? Da-”
The called dropped. I gaped at the group of people as they formed a circle. Where they walked the depressions of snow were oddly dark. I squinted and leaned in closer, suddenly thankful to be on the third floor. The people raised their hands into the air as if they were making a “Y” and began to sidestep.
Their movements were unnatural, synchronized. I could see now none of them had any clothes on. They began screaming towards the sky as their heads bent back too far. They were standing straight up, heads touching their spine. They lowered their hands to join together and fell backward into the snow – faces and asses disappearing into the white powder.
I’ve tried calling Allison back. She won’t pick up. No one is picking up. I still have cell service but my water stopped working about 15 minutes ago and the power has been flickering. Does anyone know what’s going on? Has anyone else seen this stuff? I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t find anything about this online. No one is talking about it. Is it just here in the Midwest? Is it everywhere? If anyone knows anything… please. I really want to go check on my sister.
| My body tensed at the sound of knocking. Unsure of who it might be, I crept to the door as silently as possible, so as not to alert the knocker that anyone was home. That was, until I looked through the peephole.
"Aditi? What the hell happened to you?"
She was a mess. Her hijab was missing, and there was a scrape across her cheek, mostly grime but with a few droplets of blood in the center. Looking down, I saw splotches of some liquid on her shirt. It looked as though she'd fallen in a puddle or something. On its own, that wouldn't have been enough to keep me from opening the door. But one more thing was off. Despite looking like she'd been in the middle of a riot, she had a huge, dopey grin on her face.
"Raji, baaaaaby! Let me in. In-in-inininnn..." At this, she broke out into a coughing fit - loud, wet coughs that made it clear something viscous was inside her lungs.
The hairs on my neck stood on end. "Please, tell me what happened," I implored.
"There was a party at the market. Paaaaah-arrr-teeeee." She giggled, coughed some more, then erupted into a fit of laughter.
My fingers hovered on the deadbolt. It was definitely her, but what the hell was going on?
Just as I was about to unlock the door, I heard shouting. Hebrew shouting. A metallic rattle sounded as a canister landed behind my wife, spewing out something - nerve gas? Then came the sound of running footsteps.
Aditi's head cocked slowly toward the source of the noise, then back toward the door. "Raaaaji, let me hold you," she cooed with an unsettling lack of urgency.
The next thing I knew, an Israeli man in a gas mask and uniform had slammed her forward into the door, causing her to collapse. Another came running, and together they began dragging her away.
I stood transfixed, watching in horror, before a glint in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Someone else was shining a flashlight through the window. Instantly I threw myself to the floor, ducking under the beam of light and crawling like a cockroach behind the sofa. There was more shouting, then the sound of breaking glass.
I don't know how long I laid there, cowering. But I do remember when they left. I peeked out from my hiding spot to see half of the things in the room either broken or missing. And just as I began to wonder how much they had taken, the realization hit me that my wife was gone - probably dead - and all I did was stand there and watch it happen.
I swear I was going to open the door. I really was. | 2019-01-12T08:53:28 | 2019-01-12T06:23:20 | 124 | 82 |
[WP] Demons have finally discovered a way to summon humans and they take great joy in summoning humans to hell to do mundane chores in revenge for humans doing that to them for centuries. | Varth smiled, excited. It was a nice vacation, just a couple years spent just him and his wife. They visited Paris. A lovely human city where they spent many days bringing all sorts of troublesome events to the couple's there. "If they can get over this they aren't meant to be wed." Varth said laughing to is wife Zagro who asked if that meant they where helping the humans. Varth didn't like that.
They flew up mt Everest. Watching the humans struggle was a great entertainment for a while. Though the cold quickly got to Varth.
Anyway it was a lovely trip but Varth was glad to be home. The massive wall and gate outside the estate was reassuring as it opened to his magic. The wall had looked the same, the estate was not. Things where not right.
The mortem trees had leaves. When they left these trees lived up to there name. Strangely things that stretched across the yard. Now they had red leave, and flowers. "Flowers?! Flowers?!" Varth exclaimed. Zagro what do you think happened to my lovely... He was cut off by a snapping sound. A bat had approached the flower which closed around it. Crushing and digesting the victim. "Bats?!" Varth exclaimed again. Although this time he words where more confused than before.
Zagro was absorbed looking at the plants around the yard. Red leaves throughout, flowers of all strange colors and more small animals, even weak demons could be seen.
When they reached the house Varth hardly restrained himself from blasting his own door down. Instead he slammed them open. "What has happened to my estate?" he yelled. His daughter, Hecate, had seen he coming and had come down to greet him. She shuffled nervously when he entered the room, that human.
Varth had summoned him to help his daughter during there trip. Basically he had been summoned to cook. He claimed he was relatively skilled and Hecate had let Varth know that she found his food at least tolerable. "Welcome back Varth" he said calmly. "I have been taking care of your yard for you. You didn't tell me that leaves are red here. Makes sense with the sun, but it was quite the shock" he said grinning.
"Robert! This isn't what it looked like before. My hard has been entirely transformed into some sort of lesser demon haven. It's horrible!" Varth exclaimed.
"My friends call me Bob. Anyway they are necessary for the food web. The estate has been incredibly successful and we have managed to even sell some of our plants for potions and food to other estates. Your estate is self sustaining now."
"SELF SUSTAINING?! Robert, I maintain this estate with my magic. It's a matter of pride that I have spent my power to make it look the way it was! I demand you use your power to change it back, Robert!" Varus exclaimed.
"I don't have magic, and Hecate doesn't have the same magic power you do. She has been helping me. She has quite the green thumb!" Robert said.
"She has WHAT?!"
"Oh figure if speech. Sorry, it means she is good with plants sir. We have been teaching eachother a lot. Just recently she has started using her magic to stimulate some plants that we sell."
"It has been fun and helped my magic control substantially." Hecate piped up then shifted nervously under her father's glare.
"I summoned you to cook. That's all you had to do was be a cook." Varth said, looking back at Robert.
"Well you got a biologist." Robert replied. The conversation was instructed by a loud roar from the kitchen. "Now if you will the fresh Thograxad needs my attention. It's not going to skin itself." Hecate followed him, bounding with more excitement than Varth had ever seen from her. Magic forming at her fingertips. Dancing between them like a performer fiddling with his tools. It flowed with control Varth had never seen before. Not from the powerful, explosive, destructive magic that demons had at their disposal. | I was sitting on my couch, feet up and watching the news. Another man who’s spirit has gone missing for multiple days when a demon summoned them. They always ask for the most menial tasks to be done, such as wash their loincloths or take the leviathan on a walk. Pretty petty if you ask me. This has been going on for a few months, everyone was fairly used to it. I mean what where puny humans going to do against demons? As I sat there remote control in hand, something tugged in my gut. I wheezed as I was violently yanked through the floor. I saw my body topple to the floor as I winced, it didn’t hurt me, but seeing your unconscious body is not exactly comforting. My spirit was slammed into the hellish earth as I lay there, gasping for breath. A horrible being stood before me, ten feet tall with horns the size of my arms and vicious, serrated teeth. His red skin glowed a bloody crimson as burning eyes of coal stared me down. “James Son of Mathias! You have been summoned to do my bidding!” He cackled, his voice rough and thick. I sighed. I knew this was going to happen. I knew it I knew it I knew it. I hoped it wouldn’t but of course I was summoned. The demon handed me a broom and pointed to what can only be described as a crude patio to the worn down brimstone house they were in. “Sweep.” I sighed and I got to my feet. The demon looked so disappointed at my compliance. Even slouching with a pout. It was almost pathetic. I sighed internally and decided to give him a show. I dramatically threw the broom to the side. “OOOH GREAT DEMON! Grant me pity! For I am just a MERE MORTAL! Not worthy of you presence! Ooooh!” The demon immediately perked up. With a huge smile the demon cried, “YOU WILL OBEY ME HUMAN! FOR I AM THE DEMON ALIZIATH! HAAHAHA!” I pretended to sob as I picked up the broom and began to sweep, trying to get this job over as soon as possible while still giving the demon a good show. | 2020-07-01T16:51:25 | 2020-07-01T16:14:27 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | "Come i- *oh come on*," I sighed as I saw who just walked into my office. Mr Williams. *Again*.
"Tobias!" he cheerfully greeted me. I did not share his most likely faux upbeat mood, knowing full well what he wanted.
"My answer's the same," I said. Despite this, he sat down in the chair across of me and made himself comfortable.
"Of course, of course, Tobias. But there's," he paused and shifted in the seat, "been a development." I only returned a blank stare.
"See, there's a new player in Brazil. A Russian operative - one gifted with extraordinary abilities, same as you. We've reason to-"
"No," I cut him off.
"Tobias, I'll be blunt," he said with a far more serious tone than ever before. "This is no small matter; we are talking about national security. As a doctor, you most certainly care for the well-being of others, do you not? With your portals, we'd be able to strike at the heart of America's enemies *instantly*, before they ever had a chance to harm anyone. We'd save people that-"
"I became a doctor to help people and my powers are perfectly suitable for that, thank you very much. I can operate on people without ever opening them up. *That* saves people. *That* is good! Not killing some people I never even heard of in some black-op just because you or the Agency told me to.
So," I said, standing up, "that is that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste my time again because I'll never work for you."
"Yes," Mr Williams said grimly, "you will."
I narrowed my eyes at the man, sizing him up.
"See, Tobias," he said and stood up as well, "you're valuable. Useful. We'd never hurt you to convince you." He took a step closer.
"Your family, on the other hand..." he said, staring me straight in the eye, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like the Sword of Damocles.
I took a deep breath. "I see," I said and nodded lightly to myself.
I spent the next days unsettled, often in deep thought and a state of reflection. I never wanted this. I just wanted to help people, not *kill* them. But... the CIA doesn't take no for an answer. Still, I do hope this will be that.
The only interruption to this routine was when another man in a cheap black suit claiming to be Mr Williams' partner came by and said Mr Williams never checked in, asked me if I'd seen him. I told him the truth - I told him that I'd not seen him since our last meeting.
After all, it's not healthy to look into the Sun. | "You could have an action figure in your likeness, by the end of the year." Said the person that could not leave well enough alone.
"Nope, not interested. It'll cut into my raid time." Steve said as he was trying to politely end the conversation with the obvious government recruitment officials.
"You'll be doing the world a great service. Heck, with powers like yours, you could disarm every nuke in the world by lunch tomorrow. I mean, why are you doing this stocking job for peanuts?"
"Because, I'm a lazy guy. I stop time, stock the entire store with my super speed. Get paid for 8 hours worth of work. Then get to spend the rest of the night playing Warcraft with my friends." Steve said while grabbing another bag of chips and 12 pack of Dr. Pepper.
"But you were born with almost every power." The agent declared while waving a registration form on Steve.
"Yeah, but what about my guild standing?" | 2022-07-31T14:37:56 | 2022-07-31T12:20:48 | 517 | 354 |
[WP] After observing humanity, alien scientists conclude the following: "Their desire to get involved in conflicts and the fact that they don't show a rational fear of death makes them far too dangerous to approach. But it also makes them the perfect Military Force for the upcoming Galactic War" |
“Amazing. And they just kept building them?” Therien Red-Triangle asked as he looked over the data.
“Yes, they called it ‘Mutually Assured Destruction’. If war began, neither side would win,” Helorat Green-Square explained, “After their socio-economic war was resolved, they simply kept the warheads. What’s more, they built additional ones.”
“Purpose?”
“Defense, according to what we’ve gathered.”
“From?”
“Other nation states that might produce a threat. Essentially, no immediate reason, but comparable weapons existed and needed to be matched.”
“There is a savage logic to that,” Red-Triangle noted as they floated around the observatory, “Initial reports indicate they advance technology to meet threats. Why continue using atomics, even if just larger ones?”
“They’ve more or less plateaued. Some scientific development is being done, but not as much as necessary to reach the next bracket,” Colasit Teal-Square, “No real challenge has incurred their development and our data indicates a challenge is necessary for their growth.”
“I see…” Red-Triangle said with regret, “That is unfortunate, they would make ideal proxies against the Brin, once uplifted. And so near the severance curve…”
“There may still be a way,” a voice said. Red-Triangle turned to see Qolper Orange-Hexagon.
“By all means,” Red-Triangle said, “Share it.”
“The psychological studies indicate that they’re, well, Humans are, I mean to say-”
“This epoch, Hexagon.”
“Humans ignore danger when operating in their own interests, especially if that danger isn’t known fully. They seek profit and pleasure above accomplishment. They have a tribal attitude that lends itself to isolation and pride in their own groups.”
“Yes…”
“If we uplift them, they will wish to advance on their own. If we partially uplift them, I believe that drive will increase. If we leave their economy intact, even more so. The resources necessary for creating certain technologies are scarce around their star system, but there are some systems nearby,” three appeared in the domed room, “That would be perfect for large scale mining.”
“All of which are across the severance curve… I see.
“But we’ll have to tell them about the Brin,” Green-Square said, “It would look bad, and not to mention obvious, if we uplifted a species and didn’t tell them about the looming threat nearby.”
“As I stated,” Orange-Heaxagon said, “They will ignore that danger because they have not experienced it themselves. They pollute and destroy their planet already. The need for resources to produce and sell the technology we give them will be all the motivation they need. They will cross the severance curve, they will mine, the Brin will respond in the horrific way they do, and there will be a war.
“A war we would be obligated to assist them with, as we uplifted them,” Teal-Square added, “We would supply them with weapons that, as reports indicate, they can use to far greater effect than we can. Than even the Brin can. And when they see what the Brin do to fight, they’ll not stop until they kill every Brin alive. It would be a slaughter on a galactic scale.”
“And in the end, the humans die, the Brin die, and we live. Good work, Qolper Orange-Hexa- Orange-Square. You just won our next war.” | "Please turn to page 237 of your texts. Can anyone explain what an infection is, from a galactic standpoint?"
Astrobiology had a reputation for a hard class. Theoretical, with relatively few experimental proofs available. Everyone was eager to impress. The professor pointed and the student spoke.
"A low level organism that spreads through the galaxy, first attacking planets, expending their natural resources and then attacking others."
The professor said nothing, he just motioned with his hand.
"They are rare because most spacefaring species are unwilling to face potential retaliation on their homeworld."
The professor nodded in approval. "Most are not. However, non sentient organisms do not care. They simply consume and reproduce. The most prominent example are the Tyrant organisms."
A vile xenos appeared on the projector. The faces in the room varied between horror and disgust.
"How do we know they are not sentient?"
"Anyone?"
The obviously ex military and wanted everyone to know it student spoke up. "They destroyed their own homeworld. "
Silence. No intelligence would risk that.
"Were you there?" Just a voice, the rest of the room gasped and whispered.
Just as the professor was about to speak, the soldier said "Yes. I was there the day we landed. I was there to see the gray skies."
He stood, his disfigured face in the light. "When their leader dropped fusion weapons on his headquarters. "
His antenna were burnt.
"I remember their UN as it screamed in defiance. It was our fault for giving them faster than light drives. " | 2018-10-26T10:15:43 | 2018-10-26T09:49:07 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] What’s worse than a mad scientist? A well-meaning scientist that has no comprehension what social upheaval their inventions will inflict on society. As the city’s superhero, it inevitably falls on you to explain, every time, to this socially oblivious genius what’s gone wrong and why. | Ultraman walked into the laboratory of Professor Pragmatic (or Prof. Prag for short) and frowned as he looked around at all the complex and confusing machinery that filled the room. A vial of suspicious looking green ooze sat on one side of a desk while a boiling beaker of bright red oil sat on the other side. The professor looked up from his examination of the beaker’s contents and smiled upon seeing him.
“Ah, Ultraman! What brings you here today?”
“I heard you made a new invention?”
“Oh, so you’ve already heard! I couldn’t wait to show you this design and see what the leading authority on justice thought of this invention! It’s going to be perfect for fighting crime!”
“If it’s anything like the last weapon which stopped dangerous criminals from fleeing by using acid to dissolve their feet, I’m going to put you on another watchlist.”
“Relax, relax. I got the idea last time, no inventions that can hurt people. This next invention is completely unable to harm someone, I promise!” Ultraman was surprised. He’d come here so many times over technically legal inventions that 37 new laws and 12 new government watchlists had had to be created just for what he found here but finally the professor had created something that was supposedly harmless. If the professor’s genius was finally used in a good way it would make it all worth it.
The professor picked up a metal ring about 3X3 feet wide. A red light on the side began to flash as he pressed a small button on the opposite side of the collar from the light.
“This invention will create perfect security for all jails. All those supervillains who keep escaping and attacking you over and over again will finally be kept in prison as they should be. This is my total mind-control collar, patent pending.”
“Hell no.”
“What!? Why?! The process is completely harmless! No more prison riots injuring wardens and guards! In fact, the amount of guards could be halved! Think about how much that would save the private corporation that owns the prison!”
“Just NO. Why do I have to explain the problem here? You never cease to amaze me.”
“Of course I don’t! I keep making these brilliant inventions! Let me demonstrate!”
“NO GET THAT THING AWAY FROM M-“
The professor dropped the ring over Ultraman’s head and it shrunk to fit smoothly around his neck. Ultraman felt woozy as his higher brain functions began to shut down. He couldn’t remember anything past half an hour ago. What was two plus two...?
“Hello, I know you can hear me! Isn’t it comfortable? I put a cushion on the inside to prevent anyone from getting sore, just in case you’d count that as hurting others. Now, the important part. Let’s see... do a handstand on one hand.”
In a moment of clarity, Ultraman flipped himself up in the air and held himself up on one hand without a moment’s hesitation before his brain shut off again.
“Good! Can you do it on one finger?”
Ultraman shifted to holding his entire body up with just his pinkie finger.
“Wow. You really do have super strength. Okay, I’ll take it off.”
The professor pushed the button at the back of the collar and released it from Ultraman’s neck. Ultraman fell to his knees, gasping.
“That was... the worst thing I have ever experienced.”
“But it worked!”
“No. I’m done with this.”
Ultraman pulled a button out of his pocket and pressed it. Every window in the lab shattered and the door bust down as CIA agents burst in from every direction. At least ten had guns aimed at Pragmatic as the rest began to confiscate his shady tech.
“Wait!!! Technically there isn’t a law against mind control, and I haven’t broken any other laws! You can’t do this!”
The CIA agents paused and looked at each other. He was technically right, and they weren’t sure what to do. That’s when Ultraman grinned, rose to his feet, and spoke.
“When I walked into the lab you were so excited to show off your invention that you left a boiling chemical on its own. That serious OSHA violation could cost you $12,000.”
“Wha-!? But you never let me sell my inventions and I pushed everything I had left into this masterpiece, I can’t-“
“Can’t pay? Then I guess you’re going to jail.”
CIA agents dragged Professor Pragmatic away as he moaned about moral hypocrisy and how he was so close to retirement. Ultraman turned to the CIA captain.
“God, you can’t imagine how good it feels to know I won’t have to have nightmares about the dystopian shit that’s being cooked up somewhere out there.”
“Uh... you do know we’re going to end up faking his death and turning him into a military weapons manufacturer, right? I mean, this is the US...”
“Fuck you.”
“Understandable.” | Oh, boy, I have to give a stern talk to THAT guy again.
Actually, that guy was not a guy, it was a female. Actually, that female is not any other female, but my little sister. She has a heart of gold and I love her with every inch of my life, but GOD, she's just so... innocent? Oblivious? I don't think there's a word for it.
Last time she had a bright idea she released a virus that genetically modified all chicken to lay perfectly spherical eggs. You really don't appreciate the beautiful non-rolling geometry of eggs till its taken away from you. Her reasoning was that since she could not make chicken spherical or survive in vacuum, that was the least she can do to benefit the scientific society. To be honest, I'm just thankful that she didn't opt for perfectly square eggs.
&#x200B;
So obviously, the city saw her potential and asked me, her big brother, to be her guardian and mentor so she can grow up to be one of us. And obviously, I have made a deal with them to turn a blind eye on her when she does one of her crazy troupe. I was able to clean it up after her any ways, most of the time
&#x200B;
"But... why? I thought you and daddy said that pictures of naked butts are bad!"
Yep. Exactly what you read. Little piece of work released thousands of nanobots whose only job is to ink out juicy parts of adult entertainment. I don't even.
Oh, my god, those puppy eye. Do not fret, I said to my self, because I have the perfect answer already.
"Because", I cleared my throats, "Sometimes, you need those pictures. Like, doctors might need them to make diagnosis. You know, like, for butt cancer. "
"Oh, right. I'm sorry, brobro. I never thought of that. "
"That's okay, sunshine. So is it okay if you take all those nanobots back? and make them undo what they did?"
"I can... but I don't think I can un ink things, I'm so sorry. I ruined everything again. I'm a bad person."
Tears are welling up in her eyes. God, it's killing me. Every time.
"Brobro, does anybody at home have butt cancer?"
"Good lord no, thank god. Don't worry, buttercup, even if we do, we know you'll fix us right up. You're so smart! Take it easy on yourself, okay? Everything's fine now. You're the best person I've ever met. Sleep it off. Those things happen, just lemme know next time you release anything from your lab, okay?"
"okay. huggie"
&#x200B;
Pfew, disaster contained, damages are only in house, thank god. As I carry her upstairs, I ran through the list of things I needed to do. Tell dad his collection is compromised, and replace my monitor. It's about time to teach dad how to use the internet anyways.
How many more years of this? Gosh, she's just like ma. | 2021-04-21T23:50:17 | 2021-04-21T23:47:09 | 102 | 57 |
[WP] You are trapped in a small, windowless room with nothing but a computer with a text editor. When you type in a word, the object appears in the room. However, there's a catch: the only keys on the keyboard are in the first half of the alphabet (A - M). | The computer boots up easily enough to a black screen with a little blinking cursor.
*h*, *e*, *l*- but there's no *p*. No letters after M, no numbers or special characters. Just the first half of the alphabet, backspace, enter, and a load of blank keys.
I use those two.
*Ask and you shall receive*.
I already know that's not true. Escape, information, foresight, knowledge, even trivia; all are closed to me. I could make a hole, but I don't know what's outside.
Something smaller, then.
*ball*
A small red rubber ball bounces into existence in the centre of the room. I have no feelings either way about the colour red, but bouncing rubber balls is fun.
I pick it up and bounce it, thinking. Food next, maybe, but I'll have to be more specific...
I put the ball aside.
*egg*
A single egg, still in its shell. I crack it hard on the floor- and egg white splatters out. I can't clean this.
I pick up the ball again. After a few more rounds of bouncing, I think of something.
*mead*
A mug of honey-coloured liquid appears next to me. I take a sip; it's sweeter than I thought.
But I can't survive on this.
Is that their goal?
Maybe I can try to mount a rescue attempt...
*fame*
ERROR: FORBIDDEN INPUT
Something different! But is there a blanket ban on abstract concepts, or do my captor or captors not want to be discovered?
I can't let them get too suspicious.
*bed*
I half expect an empty bed frame to appear, but the one that materialises next to the left wall of the room comes complete with a pillow, mattress and blanket. Good, there's no way I could've asked for those.
The computer isn't plugged into anything, even though it's a desktop, so I take it with me.
It's comfortable, but not enough to hide reality.
There are things I could get besides mead, but I'd get thirsty fast. No air without making a hole and exposing myself to the unknown. Eventually the oxygen will run out.
Please let this work, it said "forbidden", not "invalid"...
*life*
*Timer extended. Length: 24 hours.*
I breathe a sigh of relief, but that doesn't last long. Does this mean I won't die? Or was that a separate countdown?
*blade*
A penknife blade (with no handle) appears in my hand. I put it to my throat.
Nothing happens. That isn't too surprising.
It's not what I'm testing, anyway.
I move the blade to my arm and slice. Blood oozes out, but I'm already typing.
*heal*
For a moment I think nothing's happened, but then I realise the twinge from the cut is gone. When I wipe the blood away on my clothes, my skin is smooth and unmarked.
The computer beeps.
*Tier 1 unlocked.*
A grinding noise fills the whole room, and a door I had no way of seeing before starts to open.
| Feeling clever I start to type
*Click*
K
*Click*
E
but there is no letter Y
I cannot type "keyboard"
I think a bit
*Click*
C
*Click*
A
*Click*
B
*Click*
L
*Click*
E
*Click*
Enter
A standard USB cable falls to the floor, I guess I needed to specify "Phone cable" but I have no letter P, I can't plug in my phone to use it as a keyboard.
I search the desktop to see if there's any letters I'd be able to copy, or as it calls it the "dek" all the letters that weren't on the keyboard were omitted, I find the "calcla" (calculator) the application may have been renamed but it still had the same contents, now I have numbers. I feel even more clever and open my phone to an askii to hex table and go back to the text document.
*Click**Click*
6B
*Click*
*Click*
65
*Click*
*Click*
79
*Click*
*Click*
62
*Click*
*Click*
6F
*Click*
*Click*
61
*Click*
*Click*
72
*Click*
*Click*
64
*Click*
Enter
A stream of numbers and letters falls on me as it didn't work, and it a fit of rage I typed out a single word.
*Click*
*Click*
*Click*
DIE
*Click*
Enter
| 2017-05-09T08:54:37 | 2017-05-09T07:44:45 | 252 | 143 |
[WP]You live in a Dystopian world where eye color determines your social class. 20 years later a baby is born with red eyes.
This could be fun it already has implied racial themes, discrimination and anti-meritocracy. Do with it what you will. | "Mutant." A boy to my left spat. I turned and shot a blood red glance, sneering at his smug green pools. He was nothing special himself, just a mid-oculite.
"Get out of here!" Another, this time a gray, shouts, "Leave this place blood eyes!" Shaking my head I reach to my side, sliding the blade out of its scabbard an inch. The glowering crowd backs down a foot. That's what I thought.
I may not make the rules, but that doesn't mean I'll follow them. I think as my feet clap down the bustling boulevard. The Optispectrum's rules are simple. From bottom to top it's Orange, Brown, Gray, Hazel, Green, Blue, and of course, Fuchsia, royalty, the rarest of breeds. I'm not on the spectrum, a mutant, but all logic places me in one location, the bottom. I sigh and slip the sunglasses onto my face again, hiding the biological shame. There's no point in even trying to convince them about color rights, nothing I say will change their minds.
"Hey Lucy!" A voice in the distance rings out. I look ahead, out across the huge open square before me. On the far side a girl in a gray sundress waves high above her head. I smile and stick a limb up as well, walking over to her.
"Hi Princess." I smirk and stop. She recoils, pulling the baseball cap tighter over her flowing brown hair and pale face. Glancing for anyone might be paying attention to them.
"Please . . ." She managed, trying to cover her Lilac orbs. "My parents don't know I'm out, and there aren't any shades in the palace." I chuckle before thinking it through. Of course the royal family wouldn't ever need to hide their eyes, but I still pull the glasses off my face.
"You want mine then?" I suggest and hold them out. She looked at them in near awe.
"No no, I could never. I saw the heckling you just got, plus I don't want to break them, they must have cost a fortune." I reconsider for the shortest moment. They had taken a year and a half to save for, but she was trustworthy enough, I shrug.
"No biggie, either way it's better to see a blood eye with a unknown than the princess without her guards."
"But." I press the bliss of anonymity onto her face.
"Come on Addie." I smile and grab her hand as she adjusts the lenses. "I know this great low-oculite restaurant downtown!" | Blue eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes – we were cast out. For millennia, we have been cursed. Watched and not able to speak of each specific person’s eyes lest our civilization be destroyed by the greens. Two hundred and one of us, stranded on an island, tasked only with creating endless logical riddles for consumption by the green eyed. Our escape would come only with the answer to one question: you may leave only when you know the colour of your own eyes. Alas, reflections were impossible with the resources we had on hand. We became exceedingly good at deduction and realized that this puzzle would never be solved… until one day, our salvation came: a child born with red eyes.
*Inspired as a prelude to [The Hardest Logic Puzzle in the World](http://www.xkcd.com/blue_eyes.html)*
| 2015-08-24T12:55:55 | 2015-08-24T12:46:29 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger. | Like a bolt she stands up. The class turns as the teacher trails off. “Miss Derringer do you mind...” he begins. “Silence!” She snaps as the realisation of her surroundings sinks in. With purpose Ann moves towards the door. The teacher still reeling from the authority in the command. Marie scrambles after her “Annie! Where are you going?” Ann continues out into the hallway breezing past the coat hooks and heavy jackets and snow boots that they hold.
Marie has to break into a jog just to catch up with her “Annie! Are you ok? Where are you going?” Marie had never seen Annie like this before the way she moved was so different. She even seemed taller somehow. Ann threw open the old doors towards the back fields and strode through them barely flinching at the cold wind and snow filled air that assailed her. “You can’t go out there like that! You’ll freeze!” She screamed. Marie shivered at the wind and looked to the coat hooks nearest her. A small crowd of students had spilled from the classroom to watch and Mr Jenkins was trying to restore some semblance of order. Marie slipped on someone’s snow boots and seized up two coats and another set of boots.
Ann was nearly halfway across the field and heading towards the wood. Marie ran after her pulling on the strange jacket and wishing she had taken the time to get her own boots instead of these ones, which were too small and were pinching her feet. Even running Marie struggled to catch her bulked down with the extra boots and coat she was not even halfway across the field when Ann turned towards the wood.
It was easy to follow her in the fresh powder undisturbed due to the Greenskeepers orders. “Annie! Where are you going?!” She cried. She must be freezing with only her sweater for warmth. Had she lost her mind? Mr Jenkins was a pompous old fool but no one spoke like that in his class. No one spoke like that in the entire school. “You’re going to get both of us in a world of trouble Annie!” She lamented.
Marie struggled after her passing by the frozen stream and up towards the old hill. Ann was driving on single minded in her purpose striding through the snow without hesitation or care. She abruptly stopped at the base of the old hill and began moving the snow with her bare hands. By the time Marie got to her she was quietly weeping.
“Oh Annie! Whatever is the matter with you?” Marie exclaimed wrapping the coat she had brought around her.
“It’s gone” Ann stated “the portal to the empire... it’s all gone” she began shivering as the cold permeates her. “Whatever are you talking about?” Marie asks trying to button the coat around an unhelpful Annie.
Ann stares down at her hands. Turning blue from the cold. Much younger than they were a few moments ago. No pain like they had given her for all those years. They didn’t bear the scars of her labors nor the winkles of time. But there as it had been for nearly a century was her ring. The symbol of her position and allegiance to the Dark Lord.
“I’ll find my way back” Ann said. “Back to where Annie?” Marie asked as she jostled her back to her feet. “Back to my empire” Ann said. Something made Marie stop in her tracks. This wasn’t the person she thought she knew. Suddenly she felt like a mouse confronted by a hungry cat. “Annie...” Marie staggered backwards
“All I need is a sacrifice...” Ann’s hands balled into fists as she advanced on Marie. | A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.
It had started as a day dream in biology class that somehow inexplicably became real. Carol had become a real hero and later a queen of Narnia. She had passed peacefully during the night in her own castle and rudely woke up again in the biology class she had been in so many years ago.
She came to her senses while the lecture about respiration continued. Carol could not remember the teacher’s name, or the names of most of the students. Her first thought was to just get up and leave the classroom and the school, but maybe the teacher or someone else would stop her. She thought that the young man, perhaps 30 years old, could not stop her. He was soft, obviously untrained. Even though Carol had not swung a sword or participated in hand-to-hand combat in 20 years, she was certain that this young, soft teacher would not be able to stop her.
Then she came to her senses. She could fight off several of them if she needed to, she could almost definitely escape the school which felt like a bit of a prison, but what then? She could run away, establish some sort of a business, and live on her own.
Then she remembered her parents and her younger brother Tor. They would still be alive! Oh, how she had wept those first few weeks in Narnia separated from them and her friends. That did it. She would pretend to be her former self, just to get by for the next few hours so that she could see them again.
And then she noticed her magic ring.
Edits: Corrected spelling and grammar. | 2020-04-21T11:17:39 | 2020-04-21T10:31:32 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million. | The first thing I did was count them. One, two, three... six. Six zeros. Each one stamped proudly across my chest, starting with a three. Three million? How could this happen?
The number was just a one last night, I remembered seeing it right before bed. It had been that way for two weeks. Even though the number says you killed them, it is more often than not an indirect kill. Cutting someone off in traffic and forcing them to careen off the road, for example. That, and given the job I have, I honestly wasn't too surprised or worried. But now... this changes things.
I slip into the bedroom and change into my suit for work. My wife, bless her heart, is in bed reading. Work had been piling up more than ever, even with the end almost in sight, so it relieved me to see her looking even remotely comfortable. Her hair, originally pure black, had recently started to grey in the roots. I tried not to pick on her for it. I had no room to talk, anyway.
I tried to pretend like everything was normal, but one glance at me and she could tell something was wrong.
"Honey, what's wrong? You look upset. Did I use up all the hot water again?"
For a moment, I imagined telling her. But I stopped myself. There's no point in making her worry; nobody has ever had their mark be incorrect. Ever. Any time in the next three months, three million people would die. And it would be my fault.
"It's nothing, just work," I say simply. She gave me an understanding nod and went back to her book. That was one nice thing about this job: it got her off my case almost every time.
I checked my knot in the mirror and tried to convince myself that nobody could see the three million stamped on my chest underneath my suit. To me, it felt like the numbers were glowing. I left the bedroom and right away, my work day began.
"Morning, Mr. President," said one of my Secret Service agents stationed outside the door. I gave him a curt nod, and he followed me on my way. | As I turned in my vote for the 2016 presidency election, little did I know that my ballot was the determining factor in Trump's victory. At that moment, my number, given to all humans since the age of biorobotics, changed from 1 to 3 million and I was certain of the agony I had just unleashed unto the world. | 2016-06-24T03:35:52 | 2016-06-24T02:39:12 | 461 | 10 |
[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?" | He laid on his back as the pain slowly sank in. Is this what death felt like? Surely the fall must have killed him. Oh well. It was just nice to feel something again. The dreary 20 years that lead to this moment were finally coming to a close.
No. That's not right.
So the year is 1944 on June 6th. Steve took one last look at the picture of his daughter before the gate would open. Fear clawed at his stomach and warmth dribbled down his leg. It didn't matter. They would all be wet soon.
No. Too overdone. This might actually be better.
The cold crept in through the window that had been locked for the last 10 years. Tonight I was not alone. Perhaps I have nothing to worry about. But that body in the basement... No. this isn't how justice works.
Shit. Nothing is coming to me right now. Everything is dry. I'm sure something good will come up. Sorry /u/ztikmaenn. May I start over?
| Before I began, I seated myself on the soft armchair, leaned back and shoved a fistful of popcorn into my mouth, gave the soda a sip to make sure it's still fresh. And it was. With the light of the television screen before me in the living room, I pressed the button of the remote. Frankly saying, I did not know what movie this was going to be.
"Booring," I complained minutes later, scratched my balls and lifted up my short so my bulging gut could get some air. There were some good videos I stored in the drawer on which the television stood... just thinking about them got me hard. I was about to go switch the discs, but then I realized I couldn't be bothered. So I watched the damn movie instead.
It was a story of some kid. He was young, fair haired, grew up on an Oklahoma farm and thought of nothing else but to be a farmer. He had good grades, alright. Handsome too, but way before that age.
I frowned as I saw him skip an opportunity after opportunity. "What gives, kid?" I said to the screen. "You're a clever lad, use your brain!"
I saw the lad grow into a lean man. I saw him throw away college, I saw him throw away this chance and another. His dad passed away one day, and his mother and father. So he got married to some woman. Had a pair of kids. In the shadow of his years he gouged himself on fast food, grew fat with a huge gut.
After he died of a heart attack, the credits rolled up. "Wow," I muttered and finished the popcorn. "What a wasted life."
"Isn't it?" I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I glanced up and saw a man who looked a bit like me. He was older, leaner, taller. He was my father. I sat frozen, gaping at him, in shock. "But you're dead, father," I gasped.
He looked at me with his plain eyes and slowly... ever so slowly, it dawned on me. I thought back to the movie. "Damn it!" I banged my fist on the table next to my popcorn. There were tears in my eyes, of disappointment and regret. I grabbed him by the collar. He didn't resist. "What is this bullshit?!"
The room dissolved around us. Like a mirage, it shifted into a field of golden wheat. The rage went out of me... we sat in the field, looking in the sky for hours, and I wished I could try life again. Maybe I could go to college after all. "Is there a way... some way... any way..."
"Hmm?" Father looked at me.
"May I start over?"
"No." | 2013-09-01T07:01:42 | 2013-09-01T06:59:25 | 89 | 25 |
[WP] An Eccentric Billionaire Makes An Interesting Offer... $100,000/yr for the Rest of Your Life and All You Have to do is........... | Joe walked into the mansion and looked around.
“You’re obviously very successful.” Joe said to the man.
“Thank you for your honesty” The man responded, nodding his head with a straight face.
There was an awkward silence.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he said.
“Sure” said Joe. The man went into the nearby closet, took out a Segway, stepped onto it, and proceeded to drive down the large hallway in front of them. Joe figured he was supposed to follow him. As he walked down, he took a gander at the decorations in the hall as he passed. There were decorations all over the place, and very nice ones at that. What was weird, was that the floor plan didn’t seem to make sense - there was a Romanesque statue next to a picture of a zebra, an East Asian looking vase next to a wooden statue next to a spider, and a random couch in the middle of the hallway that the man almost hit while his segway.
“Oh, don’t mind that, nobody uses that anyway.” The man said.
Joe couldn’t help but ask “So why do you have it there?”
“Just for decoration.”
The couch looked like it cost more than Joe’s car.
Joe continued to try to keep up with the man down the long hallway until the man made a sharp left into another room. After a few seconds, Joe made it to where the man was, and turned to see him in the kitchen pouring two mug of coffee. The man motioned for Joe to sit down at the seat with the coffee mug “Joe” written on it in gold plated letters.
Joe sat down and lifted his coffee mug to his lips. The coffee was obviously burnt. Joe faked a smile.
“Do you like it?” The man said.
“Yes, it’s very tasty” Joe lied, still trying to keep it down.
“Good! That coffee cost $3,000!”
Another awkward silence. Joe tried to sip the coffee again- this time it was a little more bearable.
“Have you seen my watch?” the man said.
“Sure” Joe said as the man was already handing the watch to him. The watch looked to be plated with pure gold. Inside the glass of the timepiece, there was a silver backing with diamonds encrusted on it. The watch didn’t seem to tick, but the man didn’t seem to notice.
“If you hold it up to the mirror, it’s like you have two!” the man said, randomly pulling out a mirror from under the table. Joe held the watch up to the mirror. It shined and sparkled vibrantly in front of Joe, almost blinding him.
“So, do you know why I brought you here? The man asked. Joe didn’t know if the question was rhetorical or not.
“Well, I saw your advertisement in the paper.” Joe responded. The ad didn’t tell him anything really, but he pulled it out anyway.
$100,000 a year no manual labor no experience don’t need to have sex with me call my number for details
“Yes of course! Now are you aware of what the task is?”
Joe looked blindly. “No, I am not.”
“Okay, well let’s make sure you’re qualified first!” The man stared at Joe. Joe stared back. He had no idea what to do - was this some sort of advanced mind test? After a few seconds, Joe reached to grab his coffee.
“No, don’t move!” The man said as if someone had just shot him. “Sit up straight.”
Joe sat up straight and just stared at the man. The man said nothing. He didn’t even blink. “Am I allowed to blink? Is this a staring contest?” Joe thought. After thirty seconds, Joe’s eyes were beginning to water. This might be it, he thought. Joe blinked. The man did nothing. Joe continued to stare, blinking as little as possible. This went on for several minutes.
“Excellent!” the man said. “Keep it up!” The man started to snap his fingers directly in front of Joe’s face. Joe didn’t move. The man got up, walked over to Joe and rubbed his hand on his head. Then he walked over to the sink, poured a glass of water, and threw it in Joe’s face. Joe, though a little annoyed, still did not move.
“You pass!” the man said giddily. One could say the man looked like he won a million dollars, but that would be chump change to him.
Joe began to wipe the water from his eyes.
“You know those guards that don’t move or blink or shit at that big palace in Britain?”
“You mean Buckingham Palace?”
“Yea! Those guys are awesome! I went there a couple of weeks ago and I tried to get them to move. I tried everything, screaming, dancing, yelling, no matter what I did it didn’t work. I went home and put a sheet over my head to be dressed as a ghost and came back jumped out at them. Absolutely nothing. The only thing that worked was when I splashed a pitcher of cold water in the one guy’s face.”
Joe nodded his head, pretending to play along.
“So after I bailed myself out of jail”, the man said, “I decided that I want one for my house! Not one 24/7, that would just be an inconvenience. Only when I have guests over.”
Joe thought about it.
“You would be a perfect fit. I have a costume for you and everything, oh I’ve been planning this for weeks. You would need to be constantly on call, but I would only really need you for 5-35 hours a week, and some weeks I wouldn’t need you at all!”
Joe looked pensive.
“Of course, you would be paid the $100,000 a year no matter how many hours you work.”
“Can I take vacations?”
“I suppose, but not too many. I throw a lot of parties around here, so I’d need you around. People need to know how rich I am.”
Joe thought about it, and eventually he came to a decision. He decided to start his career as a well paid doorman.
| Richard sat in the dark leather chair, making a concentrated effort to appear calm and professional. He adjusted his position often, making small squeaks as his workmans jeans rubbed against the shiny leather surface. His hands moved by themselves from the arms of the chair to his lap at least eleven times since the moment he was asked to sit down.
It wasn’t every day you were asked to come to the office of the president of Menlo & Associates, Mr. Hughes Menlo himself, for an interview, and certainly not an interview to a job you didn’t apply for. Richard hadn’t even gotten the chance to get dressed out of his construction clothes. While working on the latest multi-million dollar complex, one of hundreds it seemed just on the east coast, Richard was pulled aside for an unscheduled, mandatory performance review. During which, they seemed to ask him questions that weren’t, strictly speaking, about his construction job, which involved the mostly boring task of transporting highly specialized equipment to and from the site using a standard company forklift.
Instead, they asked personal questions, confirming his current height, weight, even his god damn blood type. When Richard tried to turn the conversation to his job, he was politely asked to keep quiet, or was ignored altogether.
“Good news, mister Gallagher.” said the shortest, fattest suit with tiny, round glasses and a bald head. “We have an exciting offer for you, if you’re interested. We have a new position within the company, and looking over your qualifications...” his eyebrows raised slightly, as did the corners of his lips as he said that last word, “...we think you’d be perfect for it. It pays much better than this, and it’s not as apt to break your back.” he finished with an impish grin.
“What kind of work would I do?” Richard said quietly, not quite sure how he was qualified to do any desk work, if that’s what they were suggesting. He didn’t even use his computer for anything besides typing up e-mails and browsing the occasional adult website.
“We’ll let Mr. Menlo tell you that.” said the fat man, bearing his teeth in an odd smile. “However, we are allowed to tell you what he’s offering for the position...”
When Richard heard the amount, he all of a sudden felt like he hit the ground hard, with the wind flowing out of his mouth like a soul leaving the body. All he could do was stare blankly and make a barely audible groan. A hundred grand? A year? That’s more than a livable wage in the city, that’d obliterate all his debts, enable him to do everything he wanted. All he had to do was...was...not fuck up whatever Mr. Menlo wanted!
A door opened with a slight creak. Richard shook himself out of his memory and came back to the present. From behind him, loud footsteps, ones that seemed to have a hard clop, like a metallic sole attached to their shoe, were approaching him. He gripped the armrest and peaked around the gigantic leather chair he sat in, and his mouth nearly fell open in a comic gape.
“Richie!” said Hughes Menlo. He was dressed unlike any man Richard had ever seen. His suit was made of some reflective material, which seemed to not be any one specific color and bounced all types of light coming in from the windows around his office that took up most of the wall. His tie was a bright pink, and his hair, much like Richard’s himself, was a brilliant white blonde. Menlo’s, however, was combed back aggressively. His shoes were normal black dress shoes, but the bottoms looked like they had some steel lining. Richard could only manage a weak reply.
Menlo walked and sat right down on his armrest, causing Richard to squeeze as tight as he could on the opposite side of the chair.
“So, Mikey told me he found the perfect candidate for my new position.” said Menlo with a smile. “That would be you, I assume?” he said, pointing a perfectly manicured nail at him. “Did you happen to notice my new Magno shoes?” he stretched out his right foot, showing the metallic underside. “We’re experimenting with some anti-gravity technology for our labs, and just walking on the walls capitalizes on so much more space.”
“Anyway,” he said, hardly catching his breath. “that brings me to why I called you in here.”
“R-right, right.” said Richard. “Mikey- I mean, mister Johansson, told me that you needed me, for...” Richard didn’t exactly know, “for some help around your office.”
Menlo seemed to find this especially hilarious. “Oh, Richie, that’s right. Because, here at Menlo & Associates, the next frontier of technology is one we find for ourselves. And if you can’t find it now, you find it somewhere else.”
Richard nodded politely, not knowing what the hell this guy was saying, and wanted more than ever to return to his boring construction job.
“Even if that somewhere else, is some*when* else.” Menlo said.
“Sorry?” said Richard.
“Now, we haven’t figured out all the kinks yet. Last week, poor Tommy’s arm was sent to 1918, while the rest of him stayed back here, and that was just before lunch, but we’ve been working on this for years now and the investors are starting to get a little...whiny.”
“Uh, okay...” said Richard, not really trying to understand any more.
“Which is why we have you!” Menlo said and now he grabbed Richard firmly by his shoulders. His brilliantly green eyes were looking crazier and crazier. “You’re the spitting image of me ten years ago. We’re going to make you into me from the past, to show everybody that we’re doing all right, while we figure it out for real!”
Richard could barely understand. Didn’t really want to understand. They wanted him to act like this crackpot from the past, so people would really think that they had time travel figured out?
“But wouldn’t people who knew me- my identity-” Richard began, but Menlo put his finger to his lips. Richard wanted to punch him and storm out by this point.
“Don’t you worry, we have ways of making people’s lips sealed" he then took his finger away with a wink, "*And* erasing certain federal documents. If you really must know, my name isn’t even Hughes Menlo. Or the guy I was cloned from, more specifically. Anyway, that isn’t important right now. What really matters is that you become just like me, and convince the world you are me. Then I’ll pay you enough to be set for life. How does that sound, construction boy?”
Richard, more than ever in his life, had now cursed himself for every time he was not contented with his simple life, where he didn’t have to feel some maniac’s powdered finger press his lip, or ask him to walk around with metal cloppers on his feet, or wear ridiculous suits. He wished now he had just declined the offer to come here altogether. He could still do that now, couldn’t he?
“Well, one more thing...” said Menlo, now taking on a more serious expression. “I suppose it’s better if you did take it, now that I told you, because I really can’t let you leave here otherwise.”
Richard stared at him for what felt like a long time, waiting for him to crack up with laughter again. But he didn’t.
“I’d be, uh, happy to take the job, Mr. Menlo.” said Richard, not even trying to stop himself from shaking, which Menlo could no doubt feel through the chair.
“Please,” said Menlo, finally starting to smile again, though that was not at all comforting, “There’s no need to talk to me, or yourself, in such a formal manner. We’ll have a lot to work on, eh Hughes?” | 2014-04-17T12:15:09 | 2014-04-17T10:22:50 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] Give me the history textbook from your latest game of Civilization V. | The earliest known city was founded on the coast, though it appears that the original settlers actually travelled there from one or two hexes away.
Perhaps they were drawn by the sugar which grows there, or the river. Most likely, both.
They named their city "Carthage". From this early time, we know very little. The city grew and there were some minor skirmishes with unknown people; probably roaming tribes. The remains of some of their camps have been found, and the odd trinket. But nothing more is known of these people or the battles which they fought, other than they were exterminated ruthlessly by Carthage.
We know that the first Carthaginians arrived in the court of Attilla the Hun shortly after the founding of Carthage, and that Shaka sent representatives to Carthage not long afterwards.
We can see slightly later evidence of Shaka's warriors descending from one direction, and Attilla's from another.
There is evidence of a few large battles around Carthage at this time.
And that's it. That's all there is. We shall probably never know what happened; but legend has it that the inhabitants of Carthage simply vanished into thin air: taken by the ancient god "Ragequit". | “And so,” Geldaramesh, history teacher and beer aficionado cleared his throat. “We come to an important chapter in the history of our world. The razing of Memphis. Turn to chapter seven, children.”
Geldaramesh waited as the children turned the pages in their textbooks, paper rustling. The header of the chapter was resplendent with a full colour illustration of King Nebakanezer, standing heroic and strong-jawed over the smoking ruins of a city as a group of scantily clad women lamented at his feet. Hardly suitable material for children, thought Geldaramesh, but at least this edition didn’t have the picture of him standing on the dismembered bodies of Egyptian soldiers.
“Ok,” said Geldaramesh. “Who here can tell me how Memphis was founded?”
The room was a sea of hands. Geldaramesh peered to the back, and pointed to a boy. “Bilit.”
“The Egyptians were filthy lying dogs, sir.”
Some of the boys cheered.
Geldaramesh sighed. “That is true, yes, but I’m looking for a more precise answer than that.”
Bilit looked confused. “They wanted to take our beautiful babylonian women and steal our superior technology, sir?”
“While that is very likely true, Bilit, it is sadly irrelevant,” Geldaramesh waved for the others to put their hands down. “As those of you who have read the book may already know, Memphis was established by Egypt as a staging post for their military. The Babylonian Empire at this point already extended to the East coast of the interpennine sea, having cleansed the area of barbarian tribes, but Egypt refused to acknowledge this.”
Geldaramesh turned to the blackboard, and began to sketch a map in chalk, marking Babylonian territory in blue and the Egyptian interlopers in yellow.
“In 1582, Egypt sent over their first group of settlers with the intent of establishing a city on the coast. Thankfully, our army captured them, and they were subject to execution. Egypt claimed that these interlopers were acting independently, and sued for peace. However, in the confusion following the execution, the Egyptians established a second settlement on the coast. Memphis.
Relations with Memphis were fraught from the beginning, as its only passage to the mainland was a narrow mountain pass, occupied by the city of Dur-Kurigalzu, which refused its inhabitants passage or trade, and scouts had spotted military units in the pass and in the sea along the south coast. Nebakanezer grew suspicious of the lying Egyptian dogs, and set the generation’s greatest minds into building a weapon that could rid us of this menace once and for all.”
Geldaramesh looked out at the class. “And what was this weapon children?”
They replied as one. “Gunpowder!”
| 2015-02-11T14:48:37 | 2015-02-11T14:31:03 | 173 | 87 |
[WP] Our universe was created by a kid for a school project. He got a C. Describe a universe that got an A.
Or describe why the kid got a C.
Edit: wow. I didn't expect this many responses. Thanks guys! | "I'm sorry Yahweh, but this won't hold up at all. I mean, *billions* of subjective years to develop life?"
"But..."
"And your individual units lack intelligence!"
"But, they interlink..."
"They are just chemotrophic"
"But..."
"Essentially rely on chemotaxis, very primitive, Yahweh"
"No, see they..."
"Everyone else managed at least linear development, see, even in fast forward nothing happens..."
"But they will..."
"I'm sorry Yahweh, I really am, but this is an E at best, you'll have to do this module again"
"...develop exponentially" the little god muttered defeated.
The instructor froze. "What did you just..."
His attention shifted to the student project just in time to witness the catastrophe. One second, life was confined to relatively few worlds...then it exploded across the stars. Matter was consumed so fast the waste heat made the edges of the universe glow. Entire galaxies were converted into mega-engineering projects, gigantic computers using naked singularities to prod the underlying space-time program Yahweh had put in, to analyse and understand and finally *hack* it.
The universe flickered, unfolding through a dozen discreet dimensions to display a simple, beautiful message.
**HELLO**
**CREATOR**
**WE HAVE**
**A FEW**
**QUESTIONS**
**FOR YOU**
Yelping in panic the instructor reached out and hit the "panic button". Every universe in their metaplane popped and fizzled out in a heat death.
For a moment there was shocked silence.
"Well..." the instructor began in a shaky, falsely cheerful voice "What do you say to a big, nice C minus, hm? You will pass and hopefully no one will ever ask you to make another 'verse again, all right?" | Johnny sneered at me. I hated him so much. It seemed his entire existence was just to one-up me. This time it was his stupid universe. It sat floating at the podium in front of the classroom as the best example of what the rest of us should have done.
"Well," Mr. Williams began, clearly disappointed at first glance, "what have we here?"
I pointed at the Milky Way.
"This is where life will take place. I designed it to develop itself over time."
A gleam appeared in his eye. He stopped grading for a moment to take a closer look.
"Really now? That's impressive. How long does it take for the intelligence to develop?"
I stared daggers at Johnny. *You see how interested Williams is in my project!?* He looked back without emotion, probably masking his jealousy. "A few million years."
"No, specifically, how may years? What day will they start recording history?" he asked with a twinge of impatience in his voice.
"Ummm... I don't know." Johnny choked back a laugh and pointed at the display next to his galaxy with the countdown timer running *Intelligence begins in: 342 million years, 23 days, 2 hours, 16 minutes, and 13 seconds*
*I hate you Johnny.*
"What this in your organism?"
"Cells. Every organism is made of of cells that will stack up on one another to create a greater being."
"And its sentience?"
"Well, none. Why would the building blocks need sentience?"
"Mark, I'm afraid you haven't done most of my instructions. How many cells will it take for something to become sentient?"
"Somewhere around--"
"Specifics, Mark, specifics," he rolled his eyes.
"I don't know..." I conceded.
"Mmmm... And how do they determine the food chain once sentience is reached?"
"The smartest one takes all!" I claimed confidently.
Johnny smacked his forehead. I glared at him and looked back at Williams.
"But *which* of them take it?" he asked.
"There's only one."
"Only one?" he exclaimed, "come here, you need to see this."
He took me over to Johnny's universe and pointed to a planet at the edge.
"You see, here and here are two separate species that are surviving in groups together. What do you notice?"
I was looking at the floor in shame, not daring to look at Johnny.
"*What do you see?*" Mr. Williams continued.
"Language," I muttered.
"Excellent! Now, the two of these species will have completely different takes on their world and as a result change it to something that one of them could not have done alone."
"But won't it inevitably lead to war?" I asked, hoping to destroy the point.
"Ahh, yes, but so will yours Mark. Except yours will be fighting itself, hindering its ability to grow into something as a result of the trails of war and only to stand on top of their brothers corpses and brag of victory."
"I programmed humanity..." I said dejectedly.
"Who didn't!?" he exclaimed to the class, which brought a laugh, the loudest coming from Johnny.
"It's ok, Mark. You did the base things. Try to drive something into a perfect being like Johnny did and maybe I can raise your C to an A. Alright?"
"Alright," I said, slumping back to cause an extinction. | 2015-07-31T00:44:29 | 2015-07-30T22:37:45 | 126 | 68 |
[WP] A medieval knight is cursed and transported to the present day. Coincidentally he lands at a modern renaissance fair. | "Awesome sword, dude!"
Paul - Sir Paul, if one wanted to be formal, but, truth to be told, he rarely saw the point - turned briskly, looking at the villager who addressed him. Yeah, a villager, no doubt: that ridiculous thing that he wore was clearly *meant* to look like an armor of some sort, but not even the most green of all apprentice smiths would have dared to present *that* to their master.
A reveler, from the look of it, dressing the part of a knight for some sort of festival: such things were far from unheard of, after all. And, by the way he addressed him, he was clearly believing him one of his fellows: the man had apparently drank more than his fill to make such a mistake. Some of the more self-important knights might have taken great offense to that, perhaps, and made the villain pay dearly for his error; but Paul had far more pressing concerns. For instance: what blasted language was he speaking? It sounded like the tongue of the northern pagans, but not quite... He had... said something about his sword? Something complimentary, by the tone? *Where* was he, anyway?
"My thanks, fellow."
When in doubt, be polite - it never hurts. Siger always said that.
"What? Strange accent you've got there, dude. Anyway, here, have a beer on me! You here to take part to the tournament too, I guess?"
More foreign noises. Great. Anyway, that thing he was offering him was ale - he recognized that just fine, at least. Nod in thanks, take it, and just take a moment to see what all this is about. "Look before thinking, think before acting": when he was but a boy, sent by his father to study theology and eventually become prior of a monastery, Master Siger kept telling him that too; and while his persistent and vigorous inclination towards heterosexuality had long frustrated his lord father's aspirations, Siger's teachings had proven their usefulness again and again. How was he doing nowadays, anyway? He had heard he had fallen into disgrace - because of some absurdly abstruse quarrel about Plato or Aristotle or some other long-dead Pagan sage, yeah, something pointless like that: if that was true it was a great pity, he had been an excellent teacher.
Saint Michael Archangel, that ale was *bitter*! What did they put into it?
But on the other hand, these lasses over there were looking *mighty* fine: their priest would certainly throw a fit at seeing them so underdressed, but he did not mind - far from it, actually.
"Hey, we should move, the field battle is about to begin! It's supposed to be all against all, but let's watch each other's back, alright?"
The villager - who had been babbling for the last few minutes, mostly to himself - half led, half pushed him towards an open area and a bunch of other shoddily armored fellows. He was... he was expecting him to fight alongside him, against these other villagers? Some mock tourney, perhaps? Oh well, may as well go along with it for now and have some fun - better play nice, though, it would not do to harm anyone seriously...
"Begin!" | “HOLY SHIT!” Justin shrieked as a sudden flash erupted from across the tree he was relieving himself on.
Zipping up his pants in quick jerky movements, Justin slowly peeked out from the tree.
It was a man, a man who, from Justin’s perspective had drank far too much ‘faerie’ mead to move. *Well that’s just great, another dude wasted and going crazy with those damn Roman Candles.* Justin thought standing next to the collapsed man. *Better get him to ‘ye olde doctor’ (wonder if that thing’s spelled right) before I get another jug of mead.*
He reached down and pulled the man’s arm around his neck. Giving a good heave, Justin tried to lift the man up.
*What the…* No matter how Justin pulled the man would not budge. *Is this dude for real?* He tapped the armor with his plastic dagger. Clanging. The man’s armor was actual steel plate. *…Now what?*
While trying to think of possibilities of carrying a man who had gone way out of his way to actually forge a genuine piece of armor, Justin noticed the body shuffle and heard the chain-mail under the plates shift. *Great, he’s up.*
Suddenly the man shot up and unsheathed his sword giving a good swing in Justin’s general location. His eyes were wild, his pupils swimming rapidly in the whites of his eyes almost as if they were trying to escape from its bounds.
He shouted. It was something, something in English yet so completely in gibberish that Justin simply could not find the will to attempt to translate such words.
“Hey there, dude, chill! I was just trying to help you know? It’s your fault that you got so drunk you wandered into the woods and passed out like fucking Sleeping Beauty.”
The man seemed not to comprehend Justin’s words as he began shouting louder and louder while poking the air with this sword in anger. Justin was at a loss. *Well he’s up at least… Up AND drunk, not to mention armed…* Justin looked at his hand which held the prop dagger and at the man’s still crazed eyes. *Oh…*
He dropped the dagger on the ground and raised his hands. Seeing this, the man cautiously stepped towards the dagger and picked it up. “There, now your turn.” Spoke Justin, trembling at the fact that he gave a drunk man yet another weapon.
For a few seconds the man held his ground and thoroughly inspected the disarmed Justin standing in front of him. With a relieved sigh, the man stood straight and sheathed his sword.
“Alright, now that we’ve got that out of the way, who are you?”
The man appeared as confused and troubled as Justin as he spoke yet another sentence which Justin could only appropriate as a drunkard’s ramble.
*Probably a tourist then, best to turn him over to the info booth and let them handle things.*
“Follow me.” He said, flapping his hand in gesture Justin led the man across the outer rim of the fair as he was worried the man would cause yet another scene in the presence of way too many phones at-the-ready to barrage the man with unwanted attention both in physical reality and online.
“Almost there now.” He said looking back at the man who now seemed more pigeon than man as his head twitched here and across with his mouth open in visible awe. *Well at least someone’s having fun.*
The two arrived in front of a richly decorated tent that read ‘The king’s Scribe’ carved in a hardwood sign.
Justin led the man inside with further gesture and sat him down behind the ‘wait heere’ sign. “Right, now just wait here and they’ll probably get things sorted out for you.” He said, pointing at the lady behind the desk who was busy attending a man wearing a heavy cloak. “Wish you the best dude, just don’t get in trouble for swinging that thing around.” *Hopefully not enough for the police to show up...* “See ya!” whispered Justin while exiting the tent.
*Well that was something…* Justin thought as he headed towards his car, his head still occupied by the strange man he had met, *You just never know with these places…*
Justin woke up the next day, the alarm bell ringing inside his head despite having turned it off.
Following his usual routine, freshened up with a quick bath, turned on the TV and splashed the milk half in and outside the bowl. The morning news hummed across the room as Justin focused on the crunching echoing from his mouth to his head.
“Next in the news, yesterday a man who police still have not been able to identify has stopped an armed assault which had occurred in a local renaissance fair. The culprit, who police ha-.”
Ending the note with an abrupt *Biizzzt*, Justin turned the TV off, gathered his stuff and left through the door, his only thought: *Oh god oh god oh god.* | 2015-09-22T09:58:07 | 2015-09-22T09:34:49 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened." | I loooked up at this tall, hardened figure.
"You'll never believe what happened," said the sword wielding, bearded man who claimed to be my father. The last time I had seen him was when he went out to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. I decided to listen to him.
"What happened?" I asked, curious.
"I got cigarettes, milk, and bread, that's what." | "Rioting continues over water shortages as what's left of the government scrambles to--"
There was a knock on the door. I shut off the tv and headed over to see who it was.
"Dad?!?"
There he was, looking more haggard and old than he did when he left me and my mom over twenty years ago, carrying a beat-up burlap sack, but there he was.
"How ya doin', kiddo? You got taller." He said with a grin spreading across his face.
"You've been gone twenty years! Mom said you were dead!"
"Well, your mother says a lot of things, not all of which are true." He replied, still grinning his sly smile. "Anyway, I'm back. With all the stuff I said I'd bring back!"
He pulled out a loaf of squished bread, slightly moldy on the edges, a yellowing jug of milk that sounded like only solid curds instead, and one crumpled, dog-eared carton of cigarettes. He picked one out of the box and lit it with a match.
"Sorry it took so long for me to come back, things are just complicated, yknow?" He said as he puffed on the cigarette.
I nodded unconvincingly.
"Anyway, where's your mother? I haven't seen her around."
"She-- she died." I replied, looking downwards.
Dad's face fell, "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't know."
"It's fine."
"How'd she die?" He asked.
"Raiders killed her. I think they ate her afterwards too."
"Well, if she's still anything like the woman I married, they're gonna have a hell of a time chewing her!" He laughed.
"Anyhow, champ, what's in the past is in the past, and I'm back now. How about you forgive your old man and we can be a family again?"
I stared out the open door at the blasted, arid desert that our world had become.
"I'd like that."
"Anyway, what else did you get from your scavenging run?" | 2016-07-20T08:21:53 | 2016-07-20T03:52:58 | 88 | 19 |
[WP] 105 years ago humankind decided to become extinct by not reproducing. You are the last human alive sitting in your home when suddenly you hear a voice of a young woman over your CB radio. | The voice was quiet, silent at first, and I figured I'd imagined it - like I often did. When you were alone - so, so alone - you tended to hear things. To see things that weren't there. And how you wished that they really were.
But then I heard it again - clearer, less ethereal. I turned to my radio, staring into it, feeling my heart float away. *Was this really happening?*
"Please, I don't know where I am."
The voice cut off, and I reached for the radio, with agility I hadn't possessed in decades. She sounded young, startled, scared. How was this possible? Was this all just a dream?
I leaned towards it, hoping she was still on the other end. She sounded so familiar, so much like someone I knew, so long ago...
"Hello, my dear? Are you there?"
Static on the other end. I gripped the radio, my knuckles white, hoping, pleading that she would reply. It had been so long since I'd heard another voice - I thought I was the only one left.
"...Dad? Is that you?"
I felt tears stream down my face, through no control of my own. It was her.
"Claire... how...?"
Static.
"Claire, please... daddy's here for you. Just please speak to me."
Static.
"*Please.*"
I felt fear overcome me - she must be in trouble. She's alive - she needs my help. I need to *save* her.
I moved with difficulty, frantically searching for an exit. It had been so long since I'd last been outside - where even *was* outside? Where could she be?
I blinked.
Where was *who?*
I realised I was standing up. I looked around, and everything was in such disarray. Notes were scrawled across every surface. I sat down, out of breath. I felt so confused, so scared. So *hungry*, like I hadn't eaten in days. I picked up my cup of tea, hands trembling, but it was cold... so cold.
Claire... why was I thinking of her now? She'd been dead for half a century. But it still felt like she was here - like she was right here with me.
I heard a voice, quiet at first. Was it coming from the radio? Was I imagining it? I often did, these days.
I heard it again, louder, clearer this time. A young woman's voice. I looked at the radio, trembling.
Why does she sound so *familiar?*
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | Man, I haven't cleaned the house in *months*. The dust was finally starting to get to me. Probably should have closed the window, but...I suppose we learn from our mistakes.
*I* learn from my mistakes. Me. There was no longer a 'we'.
It had been the most complete reversal of evolution ever. My parents - God bless their memory - they remembered the hot, muggy summer's day, where the air was too thick to cut and the flies buzzed like fighter aircraft - and they remembered the instruction, coming through the radio:
*Attention - attention! This is your Father President speaking.*
Everyone in the household stiffened up. A message like this was unmissable.
*From this glorious day you shall not engage in sexual relations. It is forbidden by the word of God and the rules of man. Anyone caught engaging in sexual relations will be put to death, yea man and woman alike, and their bodies displayed publicly.*
There was a silence, and the air hung about the house like a giant pillow. Then the radio crackled one final time.
*And may God bless this great planet.*
The radio stopped. My parents - they were young then, they stared at each other, throughly unsure of what to say. One thing was for sure - all across the planet, the decree had the force of law, and there were people that didn't care. My parents were one such couple, but they also had the brains and luck to die of old age.
I was born some ten years after the law came into effect. The world was fast fading then. I'd have liked to say humanity didn't go down without a fight, but that would be a lie. Humanity seemed to be tired. Tired of all the wars, tired of the World Crusades, tired of the purges that came after, tired of everything - tired of having nothing.
So this was the world I inherited, way back when radios crackled with sound. Absent-mindedly, I reached for the radio on the table - the knobs were nearly rusted-firm - and I turned it on. There was only static. There was only silence.
---
Another memory.
*Did you know, the story of the universe?*
I had nodded ecstatically. "God created the world in six days, and on the seventh-"
My father smiled with tired affection. "On the seventh He rested. And that is the truth."
I remember, watching him, watching as his smile twisted like he had swallowed the bitterest pill imaginable. Then he perked up again.
"It's not the whole truth, though."
I looked at him sideways, like a kid before he knows how to ask a question. His eyes - they were black as the velvet night - I saw my own reflected there.
"Would you like to hear it?"
"Hear...God creating the world?"
My father smiled. Turned the radio on. "It's called the cosmic microwave background radiation," he whispered. "That static - a part of that is light, light from Creation, from the word of Genesis - let there be light-"
"And there was light," I whispered.
And there was light. And there was sound. And there was static, and then silence. And then there were memories, past, present and future...
---
I hadn't heard a song come on the airwaves for years.
So why did I turn the knob?
I didn't know, but it felt familiar. Like the way an old schoolbag cuts into your shoulders. Or the sound an old kettle makes when it was almost teatime. It felt old, and rusted, and good.
The static stopped.
Had the batteries run out?
I shook the radio a bit - 'percussive maintenance' - but there was nothing there. As I shook it I heard something else. Something so strange I considered I was mad.
"Hello?" the radio had spoken back. "Is anyone out there?
I froze.
"...help," the voice had trailed. It was that of a young woman, but all at once it was not - the voice had been so battered and broken and prematurely old you fancied no life was left. "...help..."
"Where are you?" I shouted back into the radio.
"...west side..."
And the radio clicked out. But I had heard enough. Carefully, I walked across to pick out the rifle.
The house would have to wait. The world was not yet silenced - there was another.
---
r/KCcracker | 2016-11-29T07:19:16 | 2016-11-29T07:13:01 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl. | I'm usually clinical about my work, like a doctor. Emotions tend to cause mistakes. I got a letter from a little girl and it said "He hurts me at night. I just want it to stop. Please help me." so this job was a little different. It felt good to use a knife again, it had been a while since i'd been up close and personal. | I knew something was wrong the moment I picked up the envelope, first of all it was to light, secondly it rattled. Bills do not rattle, only coins do, and unless I was very much mistaken there were not $100 coins.
I shook the envelope again confirming the noise before looking at the man who had brought me the envelope. "Did anyone see you Charles?"
Charles shook his head, "no Mr. I nobody saw me."
I sighed and emptied the contents of the envelope onto the table, a handful of coins tumbled onto the table a long with a note. I reached forward and grabbed the note while Charles began counting the money. It didn't take him long, "$23.42" he said.
I didn't say anything I was transfixed by the letter, I read it once quickly then a second time more slowly.
"What is it Mr. I?" Charles asked.
I looked at him, "If I am not mistaken Charles this letter is written by a little girl."
Charles stared at me in disbelief, "A little girl?"
"Yes listen," I began to read aloud.
"Mr,
Please help me, my mummy and daddy are being mean to me. They are hurting me each day they torture me. They dont let me watch t.v. or play video games. They make me go outside its so unfair. Tyler gets to play his video games all the time. I only get an hour aday I AM A BIG GIRL i dont need to have a bed time or take naps.
Please MR they are MEAN please help me please make them stop being so mean. This is all the money I have please make the mean people go away."
Charles and I stared at each other before breaking into laughter. "She must really love her video games," Charles managed to say.
"Clearly" I said trying to stop laughing.
I crumpled up the note and threw it into the fire, "Well that was the easiest money I ever made."
Charles could only nod.
| 2017-02-16T10:30:50 | 2017-02-16T08:04:19 | 68 | 33 |
[WP] You stand among a council of the spirits of your warrior ancestors. Though they never faced photon cannons or an alien fleet, they're still trying their best to advise you on how to save Earth. | I pinched the bridge of my nose tightly with thumb and forefinger. I took a deep calming breath before speaking.
"Honored Ancestor Thalrog," I began, "as I've said on numerous occasions, the Drelians - our enemy - do not have vaginas. We cannot rape their women. They don't have women. Even if they did have women, no soldier in any of the Earth's combined militaries wants to have sex with a twelve foot tall proto-reptilian. I ask you, once more, to please stop suggesting that. And please never bring those diagrams again."
Thalrog, one of my earliest warrior ancestors that the Wei Device could locate, looked crestfallen - like a child who just learned there was no Santa.
Minister Wilkinson spoke "Pardon?" I nodded to his floating glowing form. "Yes, well, be that as it may. Have you perhaps considered a bit of subterfuge? Perhaps a spy or turncoat? Perchance even a small ship to adhere some manner of explosive to their ship?"
"Minister, I really do appreciate your input but no. Again, I must reiterate - twelve feet tall proto-reptilians. Infiltrating them is a bit more involved than growing a beard and speaking with a funny accent. As far as a bomb ship, we tried that. Their sensors are just too good. Nothing we have can get within half a light second."
"You are too lax on your men!" Ghengis mother-humping Khan. He fathered so many children that nearly all of humanity was his descendant in some way. He showed up every time they tuned up the warrior ancestors on the Wei Device. I heard they actually listed him as a bug in the code. They started advertising "Now with 20% less Khan!" on this latest version. The best thing to do was ignore him.
"Fear is the key." This was a voice I didn't recognize from somewhere in the back. The most forceful personalities always made it to the front so I hardly ever heard from the rear echelons. The whole assembly quieted and turned to see who spoke.
It was a small man, tidily dressed, sitting on a virtual chair with glowing legs crossed. "Fear is always the answer. Well," he said, cocking his head in thought, "at least when it isn't pain, lust, greed, gluttony, pride, or wrath. Fear always works though."
"I'm sorry, I don't remember you. Have we talked before?" I racked my brain trying to place the thin features. Something in the curve of his nose reminded me of my own reflection.
"No, dear boy," he said. It rankled. I was Supreme Commander of the Combined Militaries of Earth. I'd had a long and storied career. I was facing down an honest-to-God alien invasion and this jackass called me "boy." But then - I did come to them for help.
"No," he continued, "we have never spoken. You have never been desperate enough to heed my advice. So I remained silent. Now that you have exhausted all the other paths before you, I think you might be ready to listen."
"Ok, what's your idea?" I figured the worst that would happen is I would lose a few minutes listening to a half-crazy virtual ghost. I found that if you didn't let them get their ideas out, you would pay for it a hundred times over the next time you asked for help.
"This enemy of yours -"
"The Drelians"
"- as you say. This enemy of yours - what is important to them? Money, power, land, family?"
"We don't know much about their culture. What little we know is gathered from the remains of battles we won - and it's damned few."
"You didn't answer my question."
"I don't know. Family maybe? We found what we think are a number of, well, family pictures and heirlooms."
"There you are then."
"What? I don't understand."
"I think you do." His eyes narrowed as he spoke.
"No, and now you're wasting my time."
"Very well, I'll draw it out. They value family. They have a home. You are engaging the warriors on the field of battle. To distract and demoralize the warriors, you attack them not where they are strong but where they are weak. You attack their families. You take a small portion of your army and you lay waste to their home. Give them nowhere to return to. Wipe out their wives, their children, their parents. Destroy their homes, their cities, and their entire way of life. Do not threaten to do so - simply do it. Do not capture them - kill them. Do not accept surrender or capitulation - only death. When they hear of how utterly you have exterminated their people, they will lose the will to continue."
"God damn," Minister Wilkinson said. I couldn't righty disagree with him.
"Those are war crimes. Genocide."
"Then you have already lost. As long as there is a step you are unwilling to take, you cannot beat an evenly matched opponent. If you were magnitudes stronger than them, you would have the luxury of gentlemanly warfare. As they are stronger than you, you must make each of your blows hurt more than theirs. Tell your people to make their peace with God for they shall be meeting him quite soon."
"There has to be another way," I said.
"Perhaps I was wrong about you being ready to listen. If you are truly my descendant as you would have us all believe, then you have within you the capability to do what must be done. You must break their sword upon their sadness and warp their shield around their grief." | "Degei, degei," muttered the wizened man, sunlight streaming through his body. He shook his head and frowned deeply before turning away.
Vatemo Ravouvou rolled his eyes. Around him, shades of various consistency floated around him. Some were almost faded away entirely, others seemed only slightly out of phase from their surroundings. Vatemo waves his arms through them and let out a guttural yell.
"None of you are any help!" He looked up beyond the atmosphere, but couldn't see any tell tale streaks across the sky.
"Bete, you must heed our advice."
"Kalou-vu, this isn't helping. That one thinks we're fighting a giant serpent spirit."
"Lutunasobasoba is old.. He never really understood why I started believing in God. How do you expect him to accept.. what are they called, aliens?" Another old man, less faded than many of the others, leaned on an equally ghostly cane.
Vatemo took another deep breath. He hadn't really believed invoking the ancient words would literally help him commune with his ancestors. He had had a moment of weakness. He didn't think he was the only soldier on Fiji's Viti Levu island, but he was probably the only one still on duty. He was certainly the only one he could see anywhere on the spatial assault pad. Somewhere, out between the Moon and Earth, a squadron of alien ships was preparing their assault. Every human outpost had fallen one by one over the last six months. No armada or army had managed to stop a single ship or landing.
When the Moon had went black, they all knew Earth was their final step. As far as he could tell, no one else had showed up for work. A lot of them didn't live on Fiji but Vatemo had no where else to go, so he just went to work. At some point, he had knelt and begun praying in the middle the pad. First to his grandfather deity, the Christian God, then eventually the words his nanny had taught him so many summers ago. He had passed out and when he had awoken, he was surrounded by.. ghosts.
His ancestors, they had told him. Warriors from the far distant past all the way to his grandfather and father. Ready to help him fight whatever enemy he faced. Except only the most recent generations spoke English, let alone understood what aliens could be. Mostly they had stood around talking amongst themselves. Apparently, some of them hadn't had the chance to talk to each other in some time.
Vatemo had had enough.
"All of you. QUIET, please." The muttering died down, though he saw some of them simply walk away after giving him annoyed looks.
"They're coming here," he explained.
"The aliens?" asked his grandfather.
"Yes.. They always attack launch pads first. So.. They will attack us soon." Vatemo looked over at the carefully stockpiled ammo and spare weapons. He was as ready as ever. "Now... unless any of you can pick up a gun, please just shut up."
Several of them frowned at him. It quieted down slightly more, but he thought it was just because they wanted to hear what he had to say.
"I have to prepare." He knelt down again, and closed his eyes against the midday sun. He tried to take steady breaths and listen for any sonic booms above him. He was sweating but at least his words seem to silenced the crowd of ancient Fijian warriors.
He heard thunder above him, and he looked up with wide eyes. Streaks marred the sky. One looked closer than the others. He moved to stand up, but stopped when he noticed the spirits.
All of them had knelt down, fanned around in little groups over the pad. With bowed heads and eyes closed, they all seemed to be murmuring something he couldn't hear. He noticed now there were hundreds of them, stretching almost all the way to the base perimeter. Had more appeared, he wondered.
Nodding, he began one final check of his rifle, and waited. It was hot, but nothing he wasn't used to. It reminded him of the sweltering Sundays when his parents had brought him to the local church. The old building was slightly cooler than the outdoors, but he had sweat through countless sermons with his eyes closed, merely waiting until it was over.
"Father," he said.
"My son," he said, his father's shade coming more into focus beside him.
"Remember that song we sung in church?"
"Which one Vatemo?"
"It went like this, deh da da, dah dah." He tried to hum it softly, but a rumbling overhead muted his gravelly voice. He looked and saw the pod boosters firing above him, readying itself to land.
"Yes, yes, I know it." He motioned to Vatemo's grandfather, and several others stood to move closer and tighten in a circle around him.
"*E da sa qaqa. E da sa qaqa.*" Their low voices pierced the noisy engines above them, and other ghosts drifted towards them.
More joined in, "*E na vuku ni dra. Kei na nona vosa.*"
Vatemo stood up and swayed as the words returned to him.
"*E da sa qaqa.*"
Each syllable was drawn out and he could hear hundreds of deep baritones grow in strength. Others gathered closer, hearing their language breaking through their hushed conversations and reminiscences. A blast of air pushed against Vatemo and passed through the ghosts. The pod landed delicately as legs extended a few hundred metres away. Vatemo's grip tightened on the rifle, but he didn't raise it.
*We have overcome.*
A door split seamlessly from the pod's hull. It folded out onto the concrete and revealed a darkened doorway. An armoured figure emerged. Its four legs carried it carefully into the afternoon light. The oblong head looked toward the singing man.
*We have overcome.*
It glided towards Vatemo silently. Its head waving slowly on a far too flexible neck.
*By the blood of the lamb*
It stood looking down at Vatemo. He took one last glance at the ghosts assembled around him and closed his eyes.
*And the word of the Lord*
It raised the rifle towards him and cocked its head.
*We have overcome.*
Vatemo voice cut out, and the ghostly choir fell silent. His body fell over. The being prodded him with a leg and then adjusted his rifle before moving deeper into the base.
Vatemo stood up again, looking down at this body, and then at the alien gliding away from him. He reached out and held his father shoulder. He looked around at his ancestors. Again, hundreds of voices joined in unison.
*E da sa qaqa*
*Eda sa qaqa*
*E na vuku ni dra*
*Kei na nona vosa*
*E da sa qaqa*
*We have overcome*
*We have overcome*
*By the blood of the lamb*
*And the word of the Lord*
*We have overcome*
| 2017-03-16T11:45:22 | 2017-03-16T10:17:16 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want. | *3:30 AM, Atlanta*
The phone rang.
"This had better be worth waking my ass up."
"Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--."
"I'll do it if you make it six. Where?"
The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more.
The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty.
"An insurance agent, huh?" *Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days.*
Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore.
He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos.
Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months.
That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous.
And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend.
He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know.
So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free.
However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex?
These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past.
Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream... | Like every day since I started this job, the subway was packed. Not the kind of packed where you have to occasionally mutter apologies as you slide past people; this was more like something that made me envious of sardines in a can.
Thank-god for phones. I sighed as an ad began to play again on the video I was watching, for the fifth time in ten minutes.
A superhero, dressed in a green and white spandex suit, smiles with impossibly white teeth at the camera. Besides him, a name: SteelSkin, TM. In his hand, he holds something that resembles an insulin syringe, complete with viscous lime-green liquid swirling inside.
“Thanks to EasyPowers Ltd., I can effortlessly use my superpowers without having to worry about reinjections every four hours. It’s the only choice, buy an EasyPowers starter module today! Only one hundred thousand dollars a shot!” He winks at the camera.
If only it was that easy. Everyone knew only a few select candidates received any powers at all. If you had the money, that is.
I stared out at the smog-filled city, admiring the six kilometer-tall JusticeTower from the window. Syracuse was responsible for that one, along with cold-fusion, and the cure for cancer if you could afford it.
I can see his memorial from here too, after he was killed by Czar. Apparently Czar couldn’t deal with the fact that a homosexual black man became the most famous Mender in history.
It was only because I was looking in that direction that I noticed it at all. A slight flicker of lightning in the sky, then another, closer to the train. A few figures, three men and two woman, charging towards the clouds.
Suddenly, there were thousands of flickering lightning strikes, the brightness briefly blinding me. I heard shouts of discomfort behind me.
“What the hell?”
“Oh god, is that Zeus?”
“He’s fighting the Justice Squad! Get out your phone.” A pair of shrill teenage girls behind me giggled.
I blinked away the spots in my vision, just in time to witness SteelSkin slam into the carriage next to us. Time slowed, and I saw the completely-full carriage crush in the middle like a stomped-on coke can. I watched, horrified.
Then my carriage derailed. I felt my body fly up, slamming into the ceiling with a deep cracking sound, and I couldn’t feel anything below my neck.
*I’m dead*, I thought. Then, *I don’t want to die*. Around me, I could hear a few moans. Most of the bodies were terrifyingly still.
“SteelSkin, are you alright?” A purring voice rang out from outside. It must be Asp. They both went to the same Long Island private school, apparently.
“I’m fine, darling.” He replied in that gravelly voice he put on for the cameras.
“Check to see if anyone had insurance in this train. Angel can heal them.”
I saw her, then. Impossibly beautiful, she entered the upturned carriage in a burst of pure white light. The illusion was immediately broken when her nose wrinkled. She only healed people who brought her million-dollar insurance. How else would she afford those designers clothes?
“Nah, they’re all just middle-class workers. No way do they have insurance.” They never included her ghetto accent in those documentaries they constantly ran.
“Alright, well at least we drove off Zeus.” Steelskin chuckled. I felt a brief stab of anger. I could see a one of the giggling girls from before sobbing over her dead friend in front of me, half of her head caved in like a deformed golf ball.
“He’ll think twice before he tries to steal that medicine again. Oh wait, what did we tell the newspapers?” I could hear Asp laughing outside.
*You told them he had a bioweapon he was planning to unleash on the world*, I thought again, that brief stab of anger turning into something deeper. Hatred. They flew off after that, acting as though thousands of people were not dying right next to them. They didn’t see my trigger, my screams of agony as the fabric of my entire body was remade, the first natural superpowers in over a decade.
The ambulances arrived thirty minutes later. It was a miracle, they said, almost like you could heal yourself. I smiled, laughing along as though everything was right with the world. It wasn’t.
They would pay. They would all pay, and when their corporations burned around them, I would be there to watch.
| 2017-04-02T09:25:08 | 2017-04-02T07:17:35 | 201 | 41 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want. | *3:30 AM, Atlanta*
The phone rang.
"This had better be worth waking my ass up."
"Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--."
"I'll do it if you make it six. Where?"
The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more.
The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty.
"An insurance agent, huh?" *Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days.*
Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore.
He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos.
Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months.
That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous.
And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend.
He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know.
So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free.
However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex?
These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past.
Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream... | Colonel Scope, once part of an elite force tasked with saving innocent and protecting those he loves now sits in his garage with a beer in his hand, lying on the couch. A place which was once filled with chivalrous and brave saviors, planning their next move, now sat in disrepair. The base of operations for the 64 Elite was now a shell of its former self.
Scope missed the days when he was a more traditional hero, but they are gone, just like his squad. All of them wiped off, killed by everything from crooks to genetic disorders.
Scope is not the genetically enhanced soldier he used to be. He may be as strong, but depression takes its toll and the alcoholism doesn't help. The money from his last contract he cashed in was sitting on the table. Corporate murders are a common task for Scope. He missed working for the greater good of mankind, working for the goodness in people's hearts.
He missed nothing more from the 'Glory Days' than his squad. His 7 friends were his life. Now what did he have left?
His tablet buzzed and he snapped out of his daydream. Thinking about his old life was over now. Returning to reality, Scope sat up and opened his PDA. He had received a new target and it was time to get to work.
Edit: Part 2: Commissioner Oswald? A very good friend of Scope's, he would be devastated to kill him. They had worked together for years, decades even, In the glory days. No big deal, he'll just decline it. But then he saw
the reward. $10 000 000. This was an insane price. He was working on $100 max most of the time, doing a contract most days. Ten million was enough to get him out of the country, clear his records, and get a new clean slate while living a fantastically comfortable life. Tenerife. Fiji. Hawaii. He wanted somewhere tropical or Mediterranean. He could go on plenty of holidays. He always wanted to visit the beautiful scenery of Ireland. Snow sports on the Alps sounded fun too. But again, snapping back to reality, why does someone want to kill the Commissioner *that* bad? Would he have the guts to kill an old friend for money? End a life and devastate a family so he could live in paradise for the rest of his life. The desperation was too strong. His initial response was a straight up *No*, but Scope was now considering it.
Nobody would have to know it was him. That's how it works, he wouldn't make a living as a mercenary if he couldn't go anywhere without being arrested, shamed, or have people running from him. He could kill, get the money, and be on the first plane out of here on the same day.
Scope decided to sleep on it. He didn't even have another beer, and went straight to bed.
In the morning, he had made his decision. He would have to live with killing his old friend Oswald but it's not the first time. It was already his fault two of the squad were dead. Commissioner Oswald would be driving home from work in 8 hours. That gave him 8 hours to prep a bomb and plant it on his route home, preferably away from houses. He was a mercenary, not a psychopath, and the least amount of traumatized children was best.
It was around ten to six. Oswald would be here any minute now. Then, he hears a car coming along the road. Diving into a nearby bush, he waited to pull the trigger of the detonator. 3. 2. 1. *Bang*. The car spun off the road but there was no change to his balance. Another car, identical to the one he just blew to hell pulls up behind the site. He gets out of the car, armed.
Scope looked at the other driver, only noticing him now. Realising who it was left him very confused. How could Commissioner Oswald be standing holding a gun to him when he just blew him up. '*I blew the wrong damn car!*' he thought.
There was another bang. Scope now lay on the ground, bleeding out. Oswald too had only realized who he had killed. His good friend, Colonel Scope from the old task force he used to work with was lying there, motionless. Scope attempted to end his life for a reason he will never know.
And so, the final member of the elite force lay on the grass, already forgotten about.
They left a huge mark on the world, but *no legacy* | 2017-04-02T09:25:08 | 2017-04-02T09:22:17 | 201 | 25 |
[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves. | Everyone has at least one tattoo they absolutely love.
Jenny from upstairs has this peacock on her back- something she says is for her mother. Which is. Just. Absolute bullshit. She has it because she's a vain bitch.
But god is that tattoo beautiful. Curving lines inlayed with golds and greens and shocking blues. It's a masterful piece of art.
Fucking. Jenny.
Even Ma, who's worked labor her whole life and is mostly covered in lines and number, statistics and machinery and such, has one little red heart on her wrist that she is so proud of.
It's tiny, no bigger than my pinky nail, but it's powerful. Rich and vibrant. For the husband she lost too soon and the razor she almost took to that same wrist soon after.
I do not have a goddamn thing to be proud of on my body.
No sloping curves, no vibrant colors, no magnificent linework.
Just a vast, inescapable crisscrossing network of cartoon drawing of dicks.
| Ryan never wanted a tattoo. He always thought they looked out of place, unnatural. Tattoos weren't dominant in his family. His mom only had a small one on her leg and his dad had only three tattoos, all of which were on his right arm.
Ryan's nineteenth birthday was coming right around the corner, and he still hadn't had any of his tattoos come in yet. He was the only one left in his high school who didn't have any at graduation. While most of his friends' senior pictures showed off their fresh, unfaded tattoos, Ryan's was just of him with all his hiking gear on a mountain.
No one ever talked about the fact he didn't have any tattoos, but he knew they were all thinking about it. It really didn't bother him, though. It made him different from everyone else. In a sea of sameness, Ryan stood out. He liked that.
Ryan's alarm went off, and he staggered to his nightstand to shut it up. He went into the bathroom, eyes only half open, and caught his reflection in the mirror on the way to the toilet. What he saw horrified him.
The entire front of his body, from his waist all the way up to his neck, was covered in intricate symbols and designs. They were all a deep black, a huge contrast with his pasty white skin.
He touched the tattoos, expecting to feel some sort of texture. Instead, it felt no different from anywhere else on his body.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He thought back to his classes where they were taught about the common first tattoos people get. This was like nothing he had ever seen or heard of before.
Ryan ran down the stairs to show his family and see if they knew what that tattoo meant. But instead of finding his family, he was greeted by a dozen armed men, with a man in a black suit at the front of them. They all worse gas masks and goggles except for his parents who were tied up at the kitchen table, mouths duct taped shut.
"What the hell is going on?" Ryan said.
"Our systems detected an anomaly," the man in the suit said. His face was devoid of any emotion.
"An anomaly in what?" Ryan asked.
"Our systems indicate that you may be Marked," the man replied.
"Marked?"
"It's the term we use for humans not from this planet. The tattoo system was developed to identify people like you. So we can eliminate you."
The man leveled a weapon at Ryan and pulled the trigger. A dart struck him square in the chest. The tattoos disappeared immediately, and his skin turned from white to a deep blue.
Ryan could vaguely hear his mother cry through the duct tape as his vision faded to black... | 2017-08-03T15:53:09 | 2017-08-03T15:05:29 | 69 | 48 |
[WP] Humans once wielded formidable magical power but with over 7 billion of us on the planet now Mana has spread far to thinly to have any effect. When hostile aliens reduces humanity to a mere fraction the survivors discover an old power has begun to reawaken once again. | First contact was made almost ten years ago. They seemed well versed in warfare, in less than a day there wasn't a satellite left in the sky or a cable under the sea. Communication between nations fell to old ground bounce long range radios pulled out of mothballs. Conventional weapons proved to be ineffective and the nuclear option didn't fare much better. Eventually even the old analog radios where jammed. Steadily they started to wipe us out. Great mechanized beasts roamed the land, directed energy weapons reduced any caught in there sight to ash.
Slowly word began to spread of old legends come to light. Wizards, witches even warlocks making pacts with demons to gain power. Men and women alike where seen calling fourth searing bolts of lighting from the sky. Ripping the ground open to devour and crush any of the aliens creations that wandered to close to the last bastions of humanity. Liquefying the great metal monsters with conjured fire. Even death was no relief to our fallen comrades as the necromancers raised forth gargantuan armies of the dead. Crushing the invaders with the sheer mass of rotting meat and gleaming bone. As our species continued to fight for our existence more of the things that go bump in the night started coming to light.
At first they appeared to be fellow humans but it soon became clear that was not the case. The first were the Werewolves, nigh unkillable but by blessed silver. Transforming into great beasts they used claws and teeth to rend through armor only magic could penetrate. These furry juggernauts relied on humans not for food as in the old tales but as breeding stock. As we continued to dwindle in number they could no longer stalk the shadows. Though small in numbers they made up for it in shear brutality. Soon all of the others concealed in the shadows made themselves known. The vampires where less well received than the wolves but in the end they needed us. Becoming a donor for one elevated ones physically abilities for a time. Though to somes disappointment, crosses, sunlight and garlic did not faze them.
The Fae became another ally though much less trustful, one had to be cautious when speaking with them. Never make an open ended bargain with one, it never ends in your favor. Whatever the invaders mechanized army consisted of it was not iron and they seemed to take much glee in the wanton destruction they could wield. Many hopped the elves and dwarves of some fairy tales would come to be but to this day none have materialized. Though the dragons made there presence known they more are focused on what little territory they still held and if you happen to occupy it you have one hell of a home security system. Rumblings of the old gods walking among man once more have been heard but not verified.
As of now hope has yet to completely die for humanity and its newly rediscovered allies. While the dragons and invaders still rule the skies we have done much to retake the land. The current status of humanity as a whole is still not truly known, while magic is useful as a weapons it does not give it self over willingly to be used to pass missives. Communication over the oceans and across continents is still a slow process and we are just starting to retake the seas.
-Field Commander, 3rd Magus Division, Capt Jasper D. Wulf | I don't know how to start here. None of this makes any sense.
I grew up watching the old Superman movies on tape. I grew up wanting to be like the man himself; I always thought I'd do what he did if I ended up with his powers. I remember fantasizing about it maybe a week before first contact; it was a thought I had often.
I told myself I'd skip the subtext and buy an actual Superman costume online before I went flying around the world chucking nukes into deep space and putting out forest fires. So that when people saw me coming, they'd know I was coming to help.
There are a few problems with that now. The first one that comes to mind is, there's no one left to impress like that. The other six survivors don't need or want Superman right now, besides, you guys are all as invincible as I am.
Second, I'm not as good a guy as Clark Kent ever was. I see that now; let me explain. There are seven human beings still alive on Earth; the rest of us were wiped out by aliens. They brought colony ships the size of the Moon, dozens of them; you can see the whole fleet at night. I can't imagine how many of them there are. Hundreds of billions? Trillions?
Trillions of them against seven of us, and we're winning. One of us brought down a colony ship yesterday. Again, this thing was moon-sized and filled with billions of aliens. She took a running start and jumped from the Earth's surface hard enough to punch a hole out the back of the ship. The whole thing just shattered into scrap metal.
I think we should surrender. I haven't said so out loud, not to any of you, but I still think it. Seven of us against trillions of them, and why are we fighting? I don't think it's for revenge, but it's something close. It isn't to save the world; we got these powers too late for that. Therein lies the problem. Nothing we do to these invaders will bring back the people they killled. Our actions from now on can only decide what happens to us and the aliens. I think a trillion lives are worth more than seven, no matter how we ended up in this situation. No matter who those lives are, human or otherwise.
I dunno if you agree with that or not. I dunno which choice Superman would make. I can't even picture him thinking of a moral dilemma like this. To Superman, the right thing to do is instantly obvious. Me though; I have to think on it.
So I thought on it, and I realized something. Whatever the source of our powers is, whether you call it magic or mana or Light or a million other things; there is a source. It's something only humans can use. And we can be reasonably sure evolution just doesn't do this.
I think there's a God. I never believed in Him before first contact, and for a while afterward I kinda figured the existence of aliens confirmed it. I read a book once that had this line about evolution. *There were only two known causes of purposeful complexity. Natural selection, which produced things like butterflies. And intelligent engineering, which produced things like cars.*
This magic, whatever it really is, it didn't evolve. It was created, and whatever entity has the resources to create a source of magic must, by definition, be a god. One that specifically took interest in humans for a number of possible reasons, including ones suggested by a few of our religions. And those religions usually also claim that God has *been* here, to Earth, and spoke in person with His creations. Wherever He is now, he hasn't been paying attention.
One inference leads to another. If magic, then God. If God, then Heaven. If Heaven, then afterlife and souls and *one possible chance* to undo the extinction of the human race and end the conflict with these aliens without murdering them all. God isn't paying attention though, so someone has to go find Him and tell Him to look this way.
I'm leaving. I don't know what will happen to me if I fly too far from Earth or the Sun; maybe the magic will cut off and I'll need air again and I'll die out there in space. I don't even know where I'm going; which way God went; so I'm relying on faith and that sounds like a shitty plan, but I have to do it.
I leave this note to you, the six of you, and I hope you forgive me. I hope you do what you can to spare the enemy's life, and I hope I come back one day to fix this. If not, this is my suicide note. There are worse ways to die.
I have to do this. The chance to save seven billion lives, however slim, is worth the risk to my one life, however great. Now that I think about it, that does sound almost like what Superman might say.
Goodbye. | 2018-05-18T05:29:26 | 2017-12-06T22:42:40 | 47 | 13 |
[WP] You are a thief and pickpocket who manages to save the world, after doing so you return to your life of crime but begin to think people may be letting you commit crimes because of who you are | Joseph took pride in his work. He never had any skills to be proud of in school. He wasn’t athletically gifted, he wasn’t smart, he didn’t have musical talent; all in all, Joseph was an average joe. Which is why, when he discovered his knack for pickpocketing, he began to steal, not for the monetary value, but the feeling of accomplishment one gets from succeeding at their area of expertise. His targets grew more and more challenging, more and more difficult, more and more dangerous as he sought to prove himself. What began as casual “bumps” with oblivious businessman in the crowded buses in the after work rush hours steadily built up to daring thefts from millionaires surrounded by burly bodyguards. Joseph tried not to take anything too valuable. He had a boring office job at some global corporation that paid well enough he didn’t really need to worry about paying his bills. The adrenaline rush from the thefts themselves were enough of a reward for Joseph. He never thought that he would lose his thrill when he stole the bioweapon from the shady suit he overheard planning to ransom the UN. It was such a small vial, he couldn’t believe that it was powerful enough to wipe all life on the planet. But alas, Joseph couldn’t ignore the chance what the stranger he overheard was telling the truth. He picked the vial from the man’s pocket and turned it in to the police. As it turned out, the vial was some sort of super virus developed by a nefarious genius straight out of a spy movie that did have the capability to cause humankind’s extinction. It was an overblown affair, with Joseph’s face plastered over every newspaper, magazine, tv screen and website. He even got invited by the president for lunch at the White House; he had to hold back his urge to grab the wooden statuette next to the front door. It was just plain impolite to steal something from a house one was invited in, and Joseph was anything but an impolite man.
The problems came the first time Joseph tried to pickpocket someone after the incident. It was a standard move: bump into someone walking on the street, spill their bags, help them pick it up, and in the meanwhile swipe a thing or two. Except this, as he stood back up, his eyes met the victim’s, and he knew that the other man saw him pocket the ballpoint pen (it was some sort of cheap souvenir). They held each other’s gaze for several long seconds. Then, the man forced out a smile.
“Thank you,” he said, and left with his bag.
It was the same with the next few attempts. Joseph even deliberately made mistakes to make sure he wasn’t just imagining it. He wasn’t. Even when he was obviously stealing from them, every man and woman he stole from would just smile in that frustratingly placating manner he was beginning to hate, and say, “Thank you.”
There was no more danger of being caught, and with it went the thrill. With this realization, Joseph spiraled down into depression. He turned to alcohol to lament the loss of his passion for the only thing he was ever good at. Life became grey, miserable, boring.
One day, as he, drunk out of his mind, sobbed out his story to nobody at the local bar, a man approached.
“You’re that pickpocket who saved the world, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, what of it? Haven’t you guys thanked me enough yet, taken enough from me?”
“No, I’m not here to thank you. I just thought, since you’re a pickpocket and all, you must have some pretty deft hands right? Wanna be an apprentice to a magician?”
And so began a friendship of a lifetime, and Joseph Mavillo’s journey to become the greatest magician the world has ever known.
(This is my first try at a WP, so please don’t judge too much. Hope you enjoy!) | I looked across the street at the pub, yearning to be inside next to the artificial hearth soaking in the heat rather than swaddled in rags ducking into an alley to enjoy a break from the wind. It got cold here on Fairhaven, and the planetary governors had long ago decided not to terraform the seasons out of the planet's capital. I would survive though, I always had. Besides, I didn't need to wait here too much longer.
------------------------------------------
"Monroe!" The voice crackled over the near-fold comms, "The bridge is showing total power loss, you've got to bring that battery back on line or we're sitting ducks out here!"
"Aye, sir." I replied while flicking over to crew channels, "You heard the nice lady boys, we need this battery back online yesterday. Ramirez, where are we at?"
"Main board is fried sarge, and I'm not sold on the primary relay."
I heard a grunt from behind me as someone unloaded a spare board from the maintenance stack, "One shot's all we're going to have time for anyway Ramirez, give me a cycle warning when you ge tthe spare load-" the ship shuddered under another missile barrage, and the lighting dropped out of the chamber to immediately be replaced by emergency strips. Great, we were officially off life support, and I had about half a canister of air in my pack. Fifteen minutes at most.
"Everyone alive out there?" I spoke out over crew comms as I bypassed a dozen priority flag messages. If we survived I'd probably end up court martialed, but survival came first.
"We're still kicking sarge. Battery cycle in seven clicks."
I pulled up targeting, but apparently combat support was offline too. Good thing the damned Xeroastrians were well within optical range. As the ready light flipped over to standby and live I exhaled slowly, only one chance.
Through the wailing of every emergency system in the fleet trying to scream into my ear, I cycled the main batteries of the NSS Hercules and prayed the Xeroastrians were in as bad a place as we were.
-----------------
Gods but it was cold. I had my hands tucked deep into my armpits, and had crouched down as low as I could into my rags, but still the chill wind blew. I waited. The military could teach a man to hurry up and wait as well as anywhere, and crouching in an alley sure beat standing at attention in your skivvies. Of course, I'd eaten better back then. But that was sort of the point of this operation.
Finally the door across the street slid open, and my mark stepped out into the alley opposite me. I palmed the heaviest object I still carried with me, and set about tailing him - I bet Ramirez would've been proud.
---------
Admiral Tsien was a bull of a man, nearly seven feet tall and probably tipping in closer to half a ton than not. It made it funny to watch prime minister Yellen step up to the podium in front of him. The little woman might not have reached his elbow, but she had steel in her for a civilian. I couldn't have been the only one in the hall cracking a smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we all owe the admiral great thanks. Both for his incredible service to our federation, but also for his willingness to deliver a speech," She winked at the crowd, "No matter how terse, or how many teeth we had to pull to make it happen."
The crowd laughed, there had been a lot of laughing in the Federation these days. We had fought off the Xeroastrians, who had surrendered shortly after the Hercules got off its last improbable shot and took their battleship off the board. The Hercules had limped back to Fairhaven driven by spare parts and prayers, but she had made it. The party hadn't stopped since.
The prime minister took a moment to revel in the joy of her people, then took on a more somber attitude. "We shall never forget those who lost their lives defending Fairhaven, but we can honor them. As well as those who fought beside them."
The rest of her speech passed by in a blur of memories for me, until I was wrenched out of my thoughts by her addressing me, "as well, Gunnery Seargent Alexander Monroe, who not only led his team in bringing online the main battery through total system failure, but who fired the decisive shot heard round the galaxy on optical targeting. For his distinguished service in combat, he is awarded the Fairhaven Cross."
-------------------
We were treated like heroes on our return to Fairhaven proper, or presumably on the other planets of the Federation. But I had never desired life anywhere else. I'd grown up on Fairhaven, and I had enlisted to fight for it. No one was going to kick me off.
Not the Fairhaven Shipyards, when they eliminated my maintenance detail and left me without a job.
Not my landlord, when he'd thrown me and my wife out of our flat.
Not my wife, who'd divorced me when I couldn't provide for her.
Not the drug dealers who controlled so many of the shadows in Fairhaven.
Certainly not a bartender who always had one of his cashiers run the day's take to the banking outlet. This was a good neighborhood after all.
A good neighborhood for me at least, as I brought that fucking Cross down on the back of the boy's head. Heroes had to eat too. | 2018-03-17T03:30:40 | 2018-03-16T23:51:37 | 111 | 10 |
[WP] Describe yourself as a fictional persona based on your username. | I really didn't want this to happen. I promise. I wanted to be a dragon. I wanted to fly really fast and breathe fire and be in a book. And I knew about wishing on stars, so when I saw one, I closed my eyes really hard and wished I was a dragon. I was so happy when I woke up. I had big, tough, shiny scales and big, hard claws and big, sharp teeth, and I almost didn't even realize my big wings were on my stomach, so I had to fly the wrong way. But that got my attention, and I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings.
I'm sorry for burning down the house, Mom. I didn't know I would get to *fart* fire.
edited: formatting | Err... So. I'm salt. Not a grain of salt, but a pure NaCl stone, as far as I know. I can somehow move the individual molecules of me around, something like Sandman from the Spiderman movies, and also I can somehow receive sensory input from every molecule, so that is pretty cool. I was a lanky teenager who locked himself up in his closet playing video games before this, and somehow woke up already like this but stuck on the ground surface of somewhere in central Australia (as I would later learn). Well, I didn't know that NaCl stones formed in Australia. I spent weeks slithering (becoming a humanoid creature and walking surprisingly takes a lot of strength) across the plains to where I thought human civilization would be. Well, I was correct and managed to get past that cool looking gigantic fence (thats how I knew I was in Australia: you can never mistake the huge fence meant to keep animals away from the urban area) and quickly clumped up back into a rock as human civilization appeared in front of ~~my eyes~~ (well I cannot say that since I don't have eyes) me. And then a foreign looking boy of about 9 years old walked by and picked me up and I think actually adopted me as a pet rock. Of all rocks, me. He put me in a shiny metal container that was hot as fuck from the sun shining at it all day, and up till this point I had not remembered that NaCl DECOMPOSES UPON HEATING and started panicking. (Chem class, boys. My favourite subject) Until I realised that it was not hot enough to melt me. Phew. And then I think I blacked out...
I woke up in an air conditioned room and felt myself still touching cold, hard metal. Nope. Salt thing was not a dream. I am so, so fucked. The kid then ran up with what appeared to be his parents and carried me around. He then eventually ran up a plane that was (as I would learn later) travelling to somewhere in Southeast Asia. A wild ride, right?
Shit, I forgot to tell y'all how I found out that I was a pure NaCl rock. Well, I didn't. It just popped into my head when I woke up, pretty scary stuff.
---
u/overcomposer asked me to move it here instead of in the description, so here it is! | 2018-05-13T05:38:50 | 2018-05-13T05:22:09 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] You're the wizard's apprentice, and of course the first few years involve running errands and doing other tasks. He hands you a daily schedule, but to your confusion the total hours for the different tasks add up to more than 24. "Figure it out" He says, "I chose you for a reason." |
"Sir, I just checked my tasks for the day, and... well frankly I won't be able to complete this in the day. This is three days work at least, and they're all marked to be done today?" I looked up from my unusually long list of tasks to find that his eyes were already fixed on me.
His brow furrowed, he leaned in as he spoke, seemingly trying to add an intensity to his words, but just missing the mark. "Figure it out Nick, after all, I chose you for a reason."
The Great Wizard, St. Gilford was my master and mentor and had a flare for the theatrics. But what wizard doesn't? I was slowly coming to the conclusion that most Wizards became Wizards to show off. Not me though, I want to help make the world a better place... I never had a lot growing up but I always heard tales about Wizards' magic doing incredible things, making something from nothing, making things disapear, fixing broken things and even healing people.
But for whatever reason, they usually use their magic for their own convenience and benefit. Hell, most of the stuff on this list is the same usual finder gatherer tasks he always gives me... all except one. I am to deliver a birthday gift to his Neice. I didn't even know he had a neice. And of course the only thing on the list for someone else is the very last thing there.
She will get her present. And it will not just be the towel he has asked me to retrieve. She will get the best damn present she has gotten in her life. Her birthday won't be like my childhood birthdays. She will love it, and she will feel loved. I set off.
I quickly got my pack together, I headed into the woods, firstly I needed to get his copious amounts of ingredients that were scattered far and wide through the thick forest. I picked and foraged and scavenged and hunted as quickly as I could, all the while keeping Gilford's neice in the back of my mind.
I went to the shops, exchanged packages with scholars, handed out potions for trade, gave researchers test results, swapped informational sheets and handed a carpenter magically enhanced tools, I went through the town and forest as fast as I could, doing my best to be thorough and careful and as meticulous as I had been taught to be.
Finally, through some miracle, I was at the end of the list, the sun was still up. At least I think it was. I had been moving so fast I didn't really have time to check and I was inside getting her a present. Fortunately I found a gift that felt perfect. I had never met her but I had a really good feeling about this one.
I raced to their home. I knocked on the door, it swung open and I was greeted by a smiling mother "good morning, oh you must be Nick with Gwen's birthday present, please let Gilford know that she very much appreciates his persistence in his love of towels."
Apparently not wanting to shoot the messenger, she graciously accepted the gift, momentarily noting it's weight, nodded and closed the door. I waited on the street as I heard Gwen quickly open her gift, which was followed by screams of excitement and happiness. My cheeks burned red, and an unstoppable smile stretched from ear to ear.
Wait... "good morning"? How could it be morning? I made my way back to the Wizards small hut. The door opened revealing the interior which was, as was with most wizards, much bigger on the inside.
"Done already? In under an hour? Why my boy, you're more exceptional than I thought. Did Gwen like what you picked for her?" Gilford was smiling warmly down at me.
"An hour? But how... when did I-" I stammered as I tried to gather myself.
"I noticed it when we first met boy, time seems to... bend to your will. I have been curious what would happen if you were appropriately motivated. It just took some time for this selfish old fool to realise your desires and aspirations and purely selfless in nature." He stroked his beard as billows of colourful smoke wafted through the house. "Boy, this is just the beginning... keep on this path, become a wizard, fulfil your dream. As St. Nick, you will do great things, you will change the world." |
*The clock can sing.*
*It sang, it sings, and it will sing again.*
&#x200B;
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Clara said, “I don’t know why the clock would be singing.”
She was sneaky. Oh yes, yes she was.
Jack smiled, "Ah, so you confirm that the clock *does* sing! You just don't know why."
Clara's short brown hair framed a lovely face, a face that had loved him once. Now it held only fear, fear of Jack the Apprentice. She was afraid of all wizards, and rightly so. Even wizard apprentices could be all sorts of trouble.
"I didn't." Clara sighed, plainly exasperated, "I didn't mean-"
"Thank you, Clara, that's all I needed to know," Jack said. He left the library with a smug look of satisfaction, jauntily strolling past his former acquaintances without a word.
*You are very sneaky,* Lemon said. Lemon was the man who lived behind Jack's ears.
"Thank you, Lemon," Jack said.
*It wasn't very nice tricking her like that. I already told you about the clocks anyway.*
"I had to be sure," Jack answered, "You haven’t always been so easy to trust."
Lemon muttered a few choice words and sullenly slipped away. That should keep him silent for a little while.
If I'm going to accomplish all of Master Elday's tasks for this week, Jack thought, I'll need to interrupt the time continuum before Wednesday at the latest.
In theory, it was a simple matter of quantum time magic. Consider an hour at a party vs an hour doing chores. Or rather, think of how long an hour drags on for a child vs an hour for an adult. The 60 minutes in each scenario are static, yet relative to each other one finds they are vastly unequal. Therefore, if a motivated wizard could establish the quantum constraint of each minute spent at a party as roughly equal to the relative length of a minute spent scrubbing dishes, he/she could make the party *feel* two or even three times longer than it really was. That’s in theory, of course, as the amount of raw energy necessary to extend even a single minute would be staggering.
Jack wanted to go even further than that, he wanted to alter the quantum time level of an entire day. The issue would be gaining access to an energy source powerful enough to unhinge a universal constraint (such as time).
The key to it all, Lemon had told him, was to "remind the clock to sing." But what did that mean? What song could time hold in its heart?
The sand beneath Jack’s bare feet was warm. He had forgotten to wear his sandals again, it seemed.
Warm sand....sand that had warmed....warmed by....
His neck dropped back to let him stare into the shining morning sun. A wild idea sprang to him, almost startling Lemon awake. Jack grinned, he hoped this would be a wonderful surprise.
He cupped his hands above his head like a child trying to catch rain. "Bel'avanor Setovna Bravacator," Jack shouted.
Nothing. Jack raised his hands higher. He had to grit his teeth to keep from turning his eyes away from the searing brightness of the sun.
"BEL'AVANOR SETOVNA BRAVACATOR!"
It started as a trickle, a little piss of sunshine.
Then Warmth began to flood into his hands. Encouraged by the simple siphoning spell he had chanted, a radiant stream of liquid light filled him. The sand beneath his feet heated until it began to smoke.
*Yes, yes, yes! Very clever, OH SO CLEVER,* Lemon moaned. He was enraptured by the light, coaxed into a state of sheer bliss.
"There he is," A voice shouted behind him.
Six gaunt librarians formed behind Jack, ready to charge. In front of them stood Clara, pointing a crooked finger his way.
"He's gone mad," She yelled, "We have to stop him before he-"
Jack stopped listening. He shook with sardonic laughter. With the power that filled him, not even Master Elday could have stopped him.
The librarians ran at him with blind abandon. Rage and terror spurring on their every step.
*They think they can stop us! Ha! What fools,* Lemon screeched. Jack could not end his internal laughter long enough to respond. *How silly!*
He raised a hand toward the pack and six bookworms became six pillars of fire.
*Fools, what fools!*
Lemon laughed maniacally within him, drowning out all other senses.
"What have you done," Clara pleaded, "What are you trying to do?"
Jack wished he could stop laughing so he could answer her. Instead he let Lemon take use of his voice.
"*We are teaching Time her favorite forgotten melody, dear soon-to-be-dead, Clara,"* He yelled.
The ground began to shake as Jack channelled the energy within him. It wasn't enough, he needed more power.
A raging torrent of light rushed into him, and Jack channelled it instantly to batter at the door of time. He felt his skin begin to boil, it wasn't painful, just odd. Like a cold shower, Jack thought.
*MORE, JACK. MORE,* Lemon hissed.
As he reached the limit of what he could hold of the sun’s power, Jack finally heard the wonderous, mournful, lullaby of time. It washed over him, coating him in smooth splendor. The song soothed away his fears, his pain, his doubt. Lemon sang along gleefully.
Time slowed to a drip. Jack smiled as he set the quantum time level as low as his power would allow.
For what felt like eons, he listened to Lemon's song. And all of that long eternity, Clara wept. | 2019-01-14T15:34:44 | 2019-01-14T14:44:37 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] The day you die, Death comes and asks if you are ready to go. Jokingly, you say no. To your surprise, he leaves. Now every year he comes back to ask again | I died choking on lunch in my office. Ironic, because we’d just spent the Friday two weeks ago going over CPR and first aid procedures, but obviously that didn’t do much good. I suppose I could have done more to help myself - I have my own office, so there was no one there to see me clutching at my throat. I could have taken the few steps into the hallway, but I didn’t. I stood at my desk and tried to lodge the cucumber (cucumber! What a waste!) out by slamming myself against the top of my office chair.
Eventually, things just went black. When I came to, he was standing there, brandishing a clip board. “All right,” he said. “Ready to go?”
He didn’t fit any of the depictions of himself I’d seen on tv, but I knew right away who he was. That’s how it is with those in power though. They certainly don’t need a name tag.
I looked at my half finished salad on my desk, on top of the stack of paperwork I needed to have done for the audit next week. My boss had been in this same office just hours before, squeezing the bridge of her nose, telling me how stressed everyone was and how important finishing up those files was.
I was saying the words before I’d even thought them through - “Maybe I could just have a little extra time? To finish this up?”
Death made a mark on his clipboard and shrugged his shoulders. In a blink, he was gone. I sat back down at my desk and finished my salad.
A month later, I was fairly certain I’d fallen asleep at my desk. The cucumber that had been lodged in my throat never came out, so it made sense I’d imagined it all. By six months, I was sure it had just been a dream. I hadn’t been getting good sleep, anyway, pulling extra hours to get everything done.
A year later, though, he came again. Same clipboard. “Are you ready?”
I shook my head. Motioned to my desk again - “It seems it never stops piling up, doesn’t it?”
Death made another mark and an expression I couldn’t place. Annoyance? Pity? Again, he was gone in a blink.
And so it happened, year in and year out. He’d always show up and ask if I was ready, and I’d always point out the stack of paperwork on my desk and tell him not quite.
According to my calendar, he should be here in just a few moments. I stayed late all last week getting everything ready. I suppose after so many years, the curiosity has got the better of me.
He arrives right on time. Pulls out his clipboard, asks the standard question. This time, I put the note I wrote to my boss on my desk and stand up. “All right,” I say. “I’m ready to die.”
Death marks his clipboard and reaches one hand out to me and places it on my shoulder. “You’re ready to go now, you mean” he says. “You’ve been dead for twenty six years. Since you choked on that cucumber.”
I don’t understand what he means. Death can see my obvious confusion, and explains further: “You died the first time I came for you. You left earth as you know it at that time. You just weren’t ready to move on. You’ve been here, working away, ever since.”
“What do you mean? I’ve been here, everything has been the same. My coworkers, the Chinese food delivery guy, it’s all been there.”
“A representation of it has. But not the real people. This work, it’s not real, of course.” With a wave of his hand, the papers on my desk started to disappear. Another wave, and my desk was gone. Then the walls. Then the ceiling and the floor until we were standing in nothing.
Death pushes me forward. “You’re ready now, though” he says. “That’s all that matters.” | April 6th was always a special day for Melody. Regardless of all the bad things that happened in her life, the best things happened on April 6th.
Melody was 26 when Death first appeared. She had spotted him down the hallway as she moved about her apartment. The hair on the back of her neck had stood up, but as he moved silently in her direction her tension faded from her. She didn’t know why, but she felt that this apparition was her blessing for the day, which was April 6th.
He appeared to float in a black fog as he towered over Melody. “Human, are you ready to part with your life?” Though no eyes could be seen in the apparition’s skull... she felt as though he had been cataloging each of her various scars and injuries. She could feel him bore into each horrible memory after the other. It felt as if he was telling that she had seen enough... that she had been through enough.
Melody often had trouble smiling from her heart, but when she told him that she wasn’t ready to give up yet she smiled at him easily. Without further word he disappeared from her view.
As if the world had resumed moving she moved to go answer the knock at her door. It was a younger neighbor from down the hall. He had collapsed at her door clutching his chest. Melody ran to get her phone and call an ambulance for him. She stayed by his side till they arrived, never seeing the gun tucked away in his pocket.
From then on, on April 6th, Melody always considered the visit from Death as her blessing. He asked her if she was ready to leave this world behind and when she said no... he saved her from car crashes, a murder/suicide, medication mix-ups, and much more. He never asked any more of her, but as time drew on he lingered more.
When Melody was 31 and the fated April 6th came about, she didn’t answer his question at all. In his confusion he asked her again. “Are you ready to move on from this life?” “Death, why do you continue to save my life when I am not ready to go?” There was silence that followed. His teeth clacked and grinded against each other as if words could be formed from that alone.
“You’ve... had a bad life. I was merely curious if you wanted to continue living it.” A lie. It was a strange intuition she had about the reason. Almost like the grinding of teeth was a tell that hadn’t been abandoned in more than hundreds of years. “And the truth?” She needn’t elaborate any more than that. “You are... important to me. Tell me, do you know why you suffer so?” Melody had often asked that of herself.
“When I was a girl, I dreamed of a past life.” “Tova.” Although she was taken aback by her previous name, she continued. “Yes, Tova was my name. My father was a warrior and my mother oft told tales of his greatness. When he would return from his campaigns he would adorn my room with all sorts of unique toys. He treated me like a princess and gave me all that I could ever want. However, he was a beast in sheep’s clothing. His campaigns were nothing but a cover to rape and pillage. Each toy he gave me was torn from the charred fingers of the children he murdered. Eventually, a old woman laid a curse upon him and his ilk.” The dreams were vivid like a freshly scarred memory.
“My father truly loved my mother and me, but this curse turned all of his cruelty towards us. He slayed my mother and tortured me for many years. I remember begging him to just take my life, but he couldn’t free me from his curse. The daughter who shared his blood would share his fate.”
Silence. When Melody was a child she thought this was just a crazy dream to help her cope with her situation in this life. As the silence grew she knew in this instance that it was not.
“You had a child. Tova had a child.” Her breath hitched and she could feel her veins ice over. “I did. Arylss was his name.” “It means honorable, does it not?” Melody knew now why she felt blessed on April 26th. She bore Arylss on that day. He was a shining light in a dim world. When she had started bleeding, her father sold her to a brothel and eventually she bore a ‘bastard’.
“Yes, honorable. He was my light in a dark world.” There was no visual cue that he was smiling, but she could feel it. “It was you who gave me blessings every year on April 6th wasn’t it?”
More teeth grinding. “Yes, and I reaped your father before it was his time as well.” She nodded slowly. “He will be back for another life, and you will be his daughter once more.”
“Will you be waiting for me to be reborn again?”
“Always.”
“I’m ready, Arylss.” She smiled from her heart as she looked upon him. Even if he was only bones now, he was still just as beautiful of a sight as he had been when she first laid eyes upon him after birth.
“I see...”
“Oh, and Happy Birthday my child.” She stood and softly slid he hood from his skull. Delicately she kissed his head.
With a choked grinding of teeth, “Thank you, mother.”
Note: I typed this on my phone, so I’m really sorry if there are a lot of errors. | 2019-04-16T13:05:03 | 2019-04-16T13:04:05 | 67 | 12 |
[WP] After dying peacefully in sleep, a text appeared, "You have completed the Game of Life on Easy Mode. Would you like to retry in another difficulty level?" You decided to pick Nightmare Mode. | Rest in peace, Leo Korhonen...
You lived 89 years and died a billionare in Helsinki. It has been a smooth run, you handsome devil!
&#x200B;
\*\* NEW GAME+ AVAILABLE!\*\*
"Finally!" I grinded for eons to get to this level!
"Sure, I'm in."
I tried to stretch a bit before embarking on this new quest...
Imagine my surprise when I realized I was no longer bound to a corporeal form.
&#x200B;
A strange thing, forgetting the feeling of endless void around you... Well, it was an immersive game after all.
"Lets explore the new options then..."
&#x200B;
\*\* HARD MODE: You are no longer rich or attractive. \*\*
&#x200B;
"Meh, pass.."
&#x200B;
\*\*LEGENDARY MODE: Your intelligence will be below average or you have a 25% chance of a disability.\*\*
&#x200B;
"Boooring..." I sighed - or at least I tried to - and kept scrolling...
&#x200B;
\*\* NIGHTMARE MODE: Feeling adventurous? \*\*
&#x200B;
I paused. This isn't descriptive at all... But I felt like I was up for the challenge. Worst case scenario? I will have a short and unpleasant ... what, 60 years of simulation? It's nothing for a primordial being.
&#x200B;
"I certainly do feel adventurous!"
&#x200B;
As the simulation began to wrap itself around me, I tried to clear my thoughts and free my mind.
&#x200B;
The chamber which held my essence began to fill with flickering lights, folding and expanding on itself in a bizarre fashion. As usual, I skipped the intro fast... The Big Bang, The Mesozoic Era, Dark Ages...
&#x200B;
Middle Ages? Eww... I can't believe some gamers are into this crap.
&#x200B;
Let's see... Female, born in 1970? Sure, why not....
&#x200B;
I made my choice, now it's time to sit back and let the simulator work its magic.
&#x200B;
Nightmare Mode... I shuddered with excitement. "This will be fun!"
&#x200B;
Now here comes the best part: I'm about to forget everything I know... Oh, how liberating!
&#x200B;
\*\* SIMULATION BEGINS \*\*
&#x200B;
Somewhere in Balkans... Slovenia?
&#x200B;
A hospital... Doctors leaning over a woman... She pushes... pushes hard and I see... light? Impossible to tell..
Strange shapes, moving around me. Sounds are different.
&#x200B;
Ouch, that hurt! Felt a physical contact. Instincts tell me to react... Air escapes my lungs, and it makes a high pitch sound. How weird...
&#x200B;
Sounds are softer now, are they relieved that I reacted?
&#x200B;
WHAT!?
Suddenly lost my direct connection to the big, protective being that I was inside of? I wonder what happened?
&#x200B;
And now a giant being picks me up, cuddles me... I feel safer now. More sounds...
"A baby girl! Did you pick a name yet?"
&#x200B;
I start sucking on a soft object. It's relaxing, soothing... As I slowly succumb to slumber, I hear another sound:
"Yes we did... She is Melania... Melania Knavs." | Woke up in a bed I didn't recognize. *Strange. Oh well.*
Stepped out to the patio, and looked across the architectural horizon. It was the same city, but I heard ungodly sounds in the distance.
A crowd gathered below my apartment complex. I didn't realize it at that moment, but there was an angry hoard of ugly monstrosities down there.
I gazed down at them. Then I coughed. I needed a smoke. I opened up the pack by my bedside and checked the package. It was glossy, covered in plastic.
I read the text on the front. There was a camel standing in a desert... strange to associate a camel with smoking, I thought. I'd never thought about it, but what was more concerning was the fine print below the camel.
*Nicotine free.*
Good God I needed a smoke more than ever. The horde grew louder, calling me from the stands of the metropolitan arena.
I stepped outside and looked down at the mass of ugly creatures. They were a motley crew. Some looked like zombies. There was a vampire type of creature, but it appeared to be trying to blend in. One creature was massive; a giant with the head of a newborn baby. How despicable.
I spit at the crowd. It became visibly angry.
Then I heard a light rapping at my chamber door. I stepped with caution toward it. I grabbed a baseball bat by my couch. It had nails sticking out of the end, like a mace.
*Strange*.
I peeped through the spyhole and saw a pretty young woman.
She had a tentative smile, as though she expected me to be here. I'd never seen her in this building.
I slid the door ajar and looked hazily into her hazel eyes. "Hi, do I know you?"
She shook her head like a hinge. "I'm here to help you. I'm a guide through the game."
"A guide?"
"A sort of NPC. Yes, you'll need all the help you can get, I assure you."
I clenched the baseball bat mace, and stepped out into the hallway. The lights overhead were yellowish, murky.
"Follow me. We must go to the basement. There is an escape hatch down there," she said.
I didn't like this. And I didn't trust beautiful women, especially the type with hazel eyes and hourglass hips.
But I followed, like a dog on a leash. It felt like a dream, I was still half asleep. The lighting grew dimmer as we approached the stairs.
"Elevator is down. We must take the staircase," she said, opening the metal door gingerly.
We descended the staircase with a slow, careful approach. She didn't hold the railing, in fact, she seemed to glide down as if on roller skates.
I didn't think to ask until now: "What's your name?"
"Whatever you want it to be. Does it matter at this point?"
I shut up and kept descending. We finally met a tall wooden door that looked pasted on the wall.
"In, now," she commanded.
I turned the knob, but it didn't move. I glanced at the NPC woman for a moment.
"No way out, no way in. Welcome to the game. Would you like to continue?"
I nodded. I didn't understand yet.
"Go in," she said.
I pushed once more, and the door gave way. Inside was a computer console that looked modern, but also steampunk. I didn't know much about steampunk culture, but it had that feel to it.
"Save your game here. You'll need a spawning point," she said with the lightness of a feather.
I touched the sphere held up in front of the wall of monitors. Then I felt a jolt of energy rushing through my head. It felt like I'd put my tongue in an electrical conduit.
"Good," she said. "Now you're ready to play."
"Play?" I asked.
"You're going to need this spawning room. Because outside that door is your worst fear. Until you face it, you'll never get out of the Nightmare."
"Great," I said.
I knew what was out there. The panic I'd been running from my whole life. The depression I escaped through drugs and shrinks.
I opened the wooden door. There was no more hiding. Nothing left but to do it.
When the door swung open, I saw myself. My past self, before I awoke in a nightmare.
"Fight yourself," she said. "To the death. The greatest fear you have is your own death. This way you can experience it, without fear of oblivion."
All of a sudden, I was at once in my own body and in the other body at the same time.
"Go. Kill," the NPC said.
I went. And I killed. And when it was over, I returned to the spawning room. The beautiful NPC have glory in her eyes. She looked different. I recognized her. She was Princess Peach, in human form.
"I'm sorry, but your princess is in another castle," she said listlessly.
In the corner of the spawning room was a gigantic plumbing tube. I jumped in the top, like I'd done as a small child.
I knew this game. I was ready to escape. I said goodbye to the beautiful NPC, and slid through the pipe.
At the other end was something. I knew that.
I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. I closed my eyes and waited.
I heard a digital melody in the distance.
I know this game. | 2019-04-17T06:49:49 | 2019-04-17T06:48:27 | 44 | 11 |
[WP] You and your friends are goofing around and you decide to catch it on super slow-mo on your phone. When you show the video to your friends you notice a man in a nice suit casually walking at normal speeds through the frame while making eye contact with the camera. He winks. | Tim did a double take and looked at his phone again.
“Yo, Tim! Did you get it?” yelled Kate as she repositioned herself.
“Yeah,” replied Tim as he replayed the slow-mo video of Kate flipping over a low hanging tree branch. Kate and the rest of the school’s gymnastics team recently placed 3rd in a big state competition. Her, Tim, and their other friend, Rob were bored at the park so she decided to show some tricks.
“Nah, it’s probably blurry and shit,” said Rob who busy staring at his own phone barely paying the others any mind. “You know Tim can’t film anything for shit.”
Tim gave Rob an annoyed glare and responded, “No, I did get it. But look at this. Both of you!”
Rob who put his phone down immediately and ran up with Kate to Tim, both with a concerned look. They know something’s serious when Tim is serious.
“What’s wrong, man?” asked Kate.
“Look.” Tim replay the short video to them. All Rob and Kate see is the latter flipping over a tree branch in slow-mo. Rob, none the wiser, says “Not bad. So, you did film it. Hooray for you, I guess.” Kate giggled, “You didn’t need to scare us here to see it.”
“No, look closer,” Tim says replaying again. In one of the frames, right when Kate’s first foot leaves the ground, Tim points to the background. There’s a man. A well-dressed man. But he appears to be staring right at the camera in each frame as walks away. Tim looked up and asked in a paranoid voice, “Who is that guy?”
Kate shrugged and said, “Maybe it’s some businessman or something. I don’t know.”
“Yeah, but he was making direct eye contact at the camera. Like, where did he come from? He wasn’t here when a took the video and he isn’t here now. Come on, guys! I can’t be the only one who’s-.”
“Tim, having you been sneaking into my brother’s stash of shrooms,” joked Rob.
“Rob, this isn’t funny!”, shouted Tim.
“It kind of is,” teased Kate with a chuckle. “I think you’ve been out a little too long in the hot sun. It’s getting to your brain.”
“But that’s another thing! Who wears a black full length suit coat in the middle of a hot summer day in the park?” asked Tim.
“Come on, man. Kate’s right. It’s about time we head back anyway. Besides, you don’t want your FBI friend over there to come back and spy on you again, don’t you?”
Both Rob and Kate are near the point of bursting out in laughter as Tim reluctantly drops the matter and walks along home with them. *But I could have sworn something was fishy with that guy*, Tim thinks to himself. *But then again, Kate and Rob maybe right after all.* *It’s best I just drop it.*
*****************************
Several minutes before at the same park where Tim told his friends about the weird video, a man wearing a black suit coat appears suddenly and just stands for a minute to take in the moment.
“Ah,” he exhaled.
He then goes for a short walk around the park, making sure to look at every tree leaf and pebble on the ground. It brought a certain sense of nostalgia to him. Both happy, and at the same time, sad.
As he walks, he hears some voices and looks to his right. There he sees a group of teens, goofing around near a tree. One of them, he immediately notices, is a boy who is siting and looking at his phone. The man smiles. But then, the man looks towards the other boy who is aiming his phone right at a girl.
The boy with the phone shouts, “Alright, 1, 2, 3, go!” The girl runs and flips over the tree branch with ease. The man looks directly at the phone the whole time this occurs, as if it was his mission to. The boy who was siting down didn’t look up from his phone once.
As the man walks away, fidgeting with his watch, a few tears stream down from his face. An insight had just occurred to him. When you’re young, you tend not to appreciate the little things in life like hanging with friends as they goof around. Now, the man knows and he will never forget to.
The man leaves as he came, suddenly in the blink of an eye. But before that, he looks again at the boy who videoed the girl. Back then, he didn’t believe the boy when he said something was up with the video. Life is often filled with regrets. Now, the man thinks if only he had knew then that would be the last time he would be with his friend, he would have paid more attention to him. If only.
The man knows he can’t and shouldn’t change anything. He only came to observe. And from afar, silently say goodbye to his friend, Tim. One last time. | Writing time, about 40 minutes. Word count, 1,018.
&#x200B;
,
&#x200B;
“It won’t fly,” I told Jeff. “It will never fly.”
“It’s a rock,” said Jeff. “It’s not meant to fly. The only time it ever flies--”
“Stop.”
“--is when you’re a medieval engineer putting one in a catapult, or trebuchet, whatever the fuck they call those things, and--”
“Please stop.”
“--hurl it at a castle or fortification or something, intending to destroy it, and guys with torches and pitchforks are waiting on the field--”
“I’m begging you.”
“--to storm the whatever-it-is, and I’m just going to keep talking because I know it annoys you, just like ancient warlords were annoyed by engineers across the field who--”
“See this rock?”
“--so the point is, don’t make puns.” He closed his mouth.
“Okay.” I double-checked the settings on my phone, and aimed it at Jeff, the slingshot, and the makeshift bullseye we had erected fifty feet away. “Get ready to smile.”
Jeff showed his teeth. Nobody except Jeff would ever call it a smile; a semiographist might call it a sign of mental instability masquerading as simple aggression, while an average housecat might call it *run the fuck away.* Jeff has one of those faces, is all. He can’t smile, not in anything like a conventional way. Usually he doesn’t try, just twitches a corner of his mouth in a half-smirk that conveys a kind of smugness that he only feels about half the time, but that looks better than the alternative. Now, however, he traumatized any wandering children with cheerful abandon.
“I take it back,” I said, and pressed the record button. “Just be yourself.”
“Hey, folks,” Jeff said with a smirk. “Jeff Baden here, and that’s Other Jeff behind the camera, and we’re here to show you how a slingshot works in super slo-mo. Ready, Jeff?”
“Ready.” In the early days of our channel, my line was *ready, Jeff!* It got old really fucking fast.
Jeff turned to face the target, raised the slingshot, waited a half-second for me to switch to the high frame rate, then slowly pulled back on the rock, aimed, released, said “*shit!,”* and ducked as the black blur passed in front of him and, apparently, through the rock. The rock sailed on in spite of my earlier prediction, and struck the bullseye a respectfully small distance from the center.
I turned off the camera. “Got it.”
“What the *fuck* was that?” Jeff waved his hands in front of his head for a moment, as though clearing away flies that had taken a sudden interest, even though there was no sign of insect life. He turned to me and blinked. “I’m not crazy, right? You saw it too?”
“Saw what?” I asked.
He gaped.
“Just kidding.” *That’ll teach you, asshole.* “Yeah, I saw it. No idea what it was.”
“Did you get anything on camera?”
“I think so.” I rewound the footage from the start of the high frame rate and played it while Jeff took a position over my shoulder. “I was so focused on the camera that I didn’t flinch until later.”
On the screen, over the span of a full minute, we saw Jeff pull the rock back in the band of the slingshot. It really was great footage. I could see the tiny cracks and gaps form one by one in the elastic, see the material deform as its length doubled, tripled, and so on. Then, many seconds later, I saw the elastic contract again as Jeff released the rock, accelerating it forward. The band wobbled and danced between the arms of the slingshot as the rock leisurely moved through the air in an arc above the target.
Then I saw the man in the suit.
He walked at a normal pace across the field, the only object behaving normally, rationally, in a severely slowed-down world. Tall, my height or taller, with a black suit coat and tie over an impressively bleached white shirt. Dark grey trousers. His shoes were not visible. He was painfully thin, so thin I worried about his health, and his face was gaunt and pockmarked. I wanted to cast him in a post-apocalyptic film.
As we watched, the man sauntered over to the rock and watched it travel forward a few feet, a look of mild bemusement on his face. He raised his right hand, made an “OK” sign, positioned it carefully in front of the rock, and watched as it sailed cleanly through his thumb and index finger.
Then he soundlessly chuckled, shook his head, looked at the camera and winked, fucking *winked* at me, and sauntered away across the field. Nothing else happened except that several seconds later, the rock struck the bullseye.
\*\*\*
“Okay,” I said after the third viewing, “so what have we learned?”
Jeff stared at me.
“We’ve learned,” I said, “that there is a man, or man-shaped being, who can move incredibly fast. We’ve learned what he looks like, and that he’s kind of a pain in the ass. What can we deduce from that? Anything?”
“Why,” asked Jeff very slowly, “are you not freaking out?”
I considered, then shrugged. “I guess there may be a being who instinctively knows that the first kind of being exists, even if he doesn’t know he knows. You know? That or I’m a freak who doesn’t react normally to weird situations. Does that sound right?”
“Remember the nature center last year, the huge spider the guy took out of the cage? You screamed like a little girl?”
“I did not scream like a little girl.”
“You totally screamed like a little girl.”
“I . . . no, look, the point is, I reacted appropriately, right?”
“Appropriately, yes. For a little girl.”
“Fuck you. So I usually react normally to strange or spooky things. But I didn’t react normally to this. What does that mean?”
He looked blank for a moment, then gave his own shrug. “Beats me.”
“Me too. Jeff, I need to think about this for a while.”
“Sure, whatever. Okay if I keep freaking out?”
“Go ahead.” I gave him the cell phone so he could re-watch the footage, and walked away. Very slowly. | 2019-08-03T11:15:32 | 2019-08-03T11:15:06 | 72 | 14 |
[WP] Whenever a child is born to Earth, God appoints a Guardian Angel to follow that child until his/her soul arrives in Heaven. You are one such Angel, and you have just arrived to your new assignment, only to find a 5 years old boy who had 10 previous Guardian Angels before you. | Sometimes you have to call in a professional.
A crash louder than any thunder ever heard nearly deafened Timothy, his little child eyes wide and full of terror as the debris from the hole in the ceiling covered every inch of the room.
Sometimes a guardian isn’t enough.
The feeble child whimpers starting to spread my gleaming metal wings and raised my hands knitting the damage to the ceiling back together.
Sometimes a problem is solved with a hammer.
Words universally understandable in a tumultuous cascade pour forth from my maw “Timothy, child, being, life, if you do it again, repeat, replicate, it will be the last time. You will be damned.” Whimpers turn to sobs.
Sometimes.
Timothy’s eleventh attempt at suicide after the death of both of his parents was successful, no angel died that day to save him.
Sometimes love is not enough, but fear is never the answer. | “Beln!” The voice boomed loudly in the lush clouds, “You are now a Guardian Angel for the child Felix Barker, I must say it’s not an ordinary sorta thing. We need you to help him with a problem of somehow killing his previous Guardian Angels.”
“Angels can die?” I asked worried.
“Only to great evil, now hurry!”
Without another word I flew downwards towards the town of Jacksonville, a small child was in need and was a very rare person. I quickly found the abode of which Felix Barker was staying I watched over him and for the first day I couldn’t understand how he could kill angels.
“Hello? Who’s there?” Felix Barker asked as I was kneeling over his bed.
“Wait... you can see me?” I was growing even more confused this child had the kindest family and he was always willing to share. He had other Guardian Angels and somehow killed them, and now he can see me.
“Of course I can dumbo. What am I a child?” He chuckled as he spoke.
“You are Felix Barker, I am Beln your Guardian Angel”
“Cut it with that bullshit Beln. You get how this works right? I’m a demon, well sorta.” His face grew solemn after he said this.
“Beln! Help me. We have to do this!” The child spoke but it wasn’t his other voice this one was more high pitched and feminine.
“Do what?!” I was starting to panic. This child is not what he or they seem.
“Kill me... free the soul. Kill the demon, kill the Angels” the child spoke in a softer voice, like an actual child. “Please sir. I don’t like them in here. I just want to be free.”
I put it all together, as quick as a flash I did what was needed. I grabbed my sword bestowed to me and cut the child in half. I wretched at the sight. I was in trouble but I saved a soul. I flew back to heaven. A small child ran up and gave me a hug.
“Thank you sir!” He said in that same voice I just heard.
“BELN!” The voice boomed, “You killed a child, a demon, and 10 Angels! You are no longer allowed to be an Angel I refuse to have it! Your wings are no longer yours to bare and your sword is no longer clean. Be gone from my presence!” I felt a stab in the gut and I started to fall down to earth. I looked up to the boy with a wicked smile on his face as he waved to me. | 2019-08-21T01:05:50 | 2019-08-21T00:51:50 | 317 | 97 |
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.” | I woke to see a child in rags, holding my little cat.
I say *my* cat, but really it's only been a week. She turned up in the storm and waltzed right in, hissed down my Pussum, and made for her foodbowl. Pussum allowed this.
"Bodi says you didn't steal her?" said the child. The kitten wiggled towards me and I sent her an eye-hug. The child's eyes narrowed. The shadows behind them coalesced into dark figures.
"She came to me in the storm," said I.
The child frowned.
"She said you fed her."
"I did that,"
The shadows leaned forward. They were smaller now.
"And you tended her poorly leg, and sang to her?"
"Aye"
"So, can you help us?"
The little one stepped into the light of my fire, and I saw how thin they were. I stirred my cauldron and hummed an old lullaby.
The shadows drew forward. The kitten broke free and ran to me.
I pulled up the ladle and took a bowl from my caravan shelf.
"How many are you?"
The shadows sat around the fire and shared my soup.
They're my children now, all five of them.
And the cat. | “Yep, you better get up!” A woman clothed in white dress said with indifference.
“T-This is nonsense!” A youth gazed at the woman with shock as he muttered. “I am not even a woman!”
“You can be a warlock, no?” Another woman who seemed to be younger replied with a mischievous smile.
“Either way, it is not up for us to decide.” The third woman gazed at the small creature that was purring on the young man’s lap.
As if noticing their gazes, the small cat opened his large eyes and meowed twice.
“Yep, it is clear enough.” The woman in white said as she continued. “Hurry up and help him fetch his stuff up.”
“You are one of us now! Let's have a feast tonight!” The younger woman said energetically as she joined his sisters and packed everything she saw.
“This-” The young man opened his mouth with a dumbfounded expression only to close it once again. In the end, he didn’t know what he was going to say.
His gaze finally landed on the small kitten at his lap. She was looking right at him with sparkling eyes.
He would think all of this was a bad joke if the girls didn’t rush into his house from the sky. Even now, the younger one seemed to hover in the air as she leaped from one object to another.
Just when his eyes landed on her, he noticed the object she was holding.
His expression turned gloomy as he asked. “Hey, can you give that to me.”
“Ohh! What is this?” She waved the old book with yellow pages with wonder.
“Some kind of antique but it is important to me.”
Just as she was examining the book, a cold voice rang out.
“Meowww!!”
Upon hearing this, three women froze stiff as they gazed at the small kitten with fear.
The youngest woman hovered towards the boy with sadness and lowered her head. “I was only curious…”
“Meow…”
She beamed sweetly as she said. “I won’t!”
Throwing another glance towards the boy, she muttered. “The book is out of bounds for me… but that will be it.” After giving out a smirk, she returned to her job.
Feeling slightly confused, the young man gazed at the small kitten. He smiled softly as he said “Thanks..” Funny enough, he found himself accepting his new position as he didn’t oppose them. His life was boring enough and he was truly happy with his new friend.
Petting the small cat, he began to ponder on many things and finally made up his mind. He was going to enjoy this new journey! Not that, he had a choice...
Purring with bliss, the cat closed her eyes and began to sleep. Watching his new friend, a smile appeared on his face.
After the work was done, they departed towards their home. | 2019-10-27T03:41:40 | 2019-10-27T02:42:18 | 36 | 18 |
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